on love

Reason number eleventy million that I love Spencer: sometimes he hides love notes in his computer code.

*****

On July 12, 2003 - the day that Spence and I were married - every guest at our wedding luncheon took a turn sharing their marriage advice with us, the newest couple to have joined the ranks of marriage.

My sister-in-law Gretta, fully aware of Spencer’s love of the color black and an interior designer by trade, advised us to decorate our home with more than just that one color. 

Another guest advised us to thank each other for doing those routine, mundane tasks that go into being a family.

And among other things we were advised to never go to bed angry, to always find time to laugh, and to set aside time for just each other, even when the time came that we were responsible for a house full of kids. Spencer was told to treat me like a Queen {grade A advice, if you ask me}, and I was advised, by his little brother Aaron – who was about eight at the time - to make Spence really good food everyday.

But my favorite, and most memorable advice, came from my Aunt Jillene. And although I've always meant to thank her for her advice, I never have. This is my thank you.

Looking back now I realize that attending my wedding on July 12, 2003 was probably a very hard thing for Aunt Jillene to do. And realizing that in spite of her heartache she still attended my special day makes me cherish her advice even more.

About five months earlier, on February 10^th, my Uncle Rob – Jillene’s sweetheart – passed away while fishing on Bear Lake. On my wedding day her heart was still very much broken and Uncle Rob’s body had still not been found.

On that hot day in July the advice wave made its way around the guest tables; one by one people that Spence and I love stood and offered us guidance. Some were funny, some serious, some a little embarrassing.  Then it was Aunt Jillene’s turn. She stood, and as fresh, hot tears rolled down her face, she advised Spencer and me to say that we loved each other. “Say it often, every day. Multiple times a day. Don’t let a day go by that you don’t tell each other that.” She paused. And then she continued with intent… “Every chance you get, say it; because you never know when that chance is going to be your last!”

I think of her advice often, but especially around our anniversary and in February, close to Valentine’s Day. It’s advice that I uphold and cherish.

In our house we say I love you often. Daily. Multiple times every single day, just as Jillene advised.

I hear people argue that saying I love you too often and too freely cheapens it and takes away its full meaning. I disagree entirely. I think “I Love You” builds upon itself. Every time it’s said it gains strength and serves as a needed reminder to those that it’s intended toward.

Happy Valentine’s Day, my friends. Today – and everyday – make sure you say I love you!

And Aunt Jillene: thank you. I Love You! :)

My mom was right about a lot of things.

“To the outside world, we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters.

We know each other as we always were.

We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. 

We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys.

We live outside the touch of time."

- Clara Ortega

****

Jessica texted a group sibling text Christmas Eve:

Merry Christmas! I sure love all of you! Mom was right

—my siblings did become my best friends!

We’ve started a new family scripture study this year (shout-out to my friend Beth who is always willing to share). Every night we discuss and read scripture about a different gospel principle. The theme changes monthly and January’s focus is the family. It’s given me reason to reflect on my very own family. I’ve been thinking a lot about that text Jessica sent. And about that quote by Clara Ortega. About family. And friendship. And about how absolutely right my mom was; my siblings, no doubt, are my best of friends.  

I thought about it when Jami and I started up on another one of our telephone conversations; it was one of those deep ones, about God and charity and about letting go of what we are and becoming more of what we want to be. We can waste hours talking on the phone, discussing everything and nothing and then still have more to talk about the next phone call (which is usually only separated by hours). I thought about it the other night when the group sibling text turned to grocery budgets or the time when my sisters and I texted back and forth about the price of Costco toilet paper (no kidding) and Alan chimed in “who gives a sh@#...”. I thought about it when Alan came over to take down my Christmas lights and when Jessica volunteered to mail me one of Luke’s stuffed animals because Jace couldn’t find his (meaning I had taken his to DI.) . I think about it every time I go over to Kate’s to do a vacant house check; because every single time, without fail, the kids talk about how excited they are {and about how ridiculously long it is taking} for Kate and Jake to get back home. I think about it when the kids talk about Aunt Marie – they adore her, and admire her – and also when I see pictures of years gone by of the adorable cousins growing up together.

I guess what I am trying to say is that my siblings ROCKS and I am so very blessed to have them as friends.

*****

I think Marie's adorable little Christmas card that she wrote me this year summed up my sibling thoughts best.

"...some people will say that their siblings are annoying or weird, but all I can say are that mine are crazy AND really cool! Merry Christmas."

S+K

367 days + one couple + two letters + 33 different ways, taken on different days

happy valentine’s day, spence.
thanks for being mine.

Tank filled daily

A few years ago, on my sister-in-law’s recommendation, I read The Five Languages of Love.  You know the book, right?  Some smart dude - schooled in love, I suppose – writes a book concerning love.  The concept?  Our personal love-o-meters are an internal gas tank {a ‘love tank’ he calls it} in constant need of a fill-up.  All sorts of lovey dovey stuff fill our tank.  Like the time Spencer dug my car out of the snow on the first day of school.  TWICE!  No kidding, I attempted to reverse out of the driveway and got the car stuck in a huge ole’ snow drift.  Spence dug the car out, made some joke about keeping my hands at ten and two, and sent me on my merry way.  I put the car back into reverse, stepped on the gas, then BAM!  Good crap, stuck again!  Second snow drift and I hadn’t even made it out of our driveway {it was a sorta long driveway, people}.  So I hollered for Spencer, and like a true gentleman he grabbed the snow shovel, repeatedly hit my hood until it was smashed beyond recognition and told me to go back to driving school.  Except for not really, because that wouldn’t have filled my love tank in the least.  Plus, the car was half his and the shovel was brand new so that would’ve been dumb.  Instead he dug the car out, AGAIN, without complaint and didn’t even mutter one stupid women driver joke under his breath.  We both missed our first class on the first day of school but we walked away one inside joke richer and my ‘love tank’ was a little fuller.

Anyway, where was I?  Oh yeah, all sorts of lovey dovey stuff fill our tank. . . like back when Spencer and I were dating lovebirds.  It was a cold, snowy, icy evening and we’d ordered pizza, rented a movie and were planning a date night at his house.  Except, I got sick.  Nauseous, queasy, feverish.  We were poor college students at the time and we couldn’t bear {or afford} for an entire pizza go to waste - so Spencer gave me the keys to his pick-up and I drove myself home and got in bed – and he stayed behind and ate the pizza.  Somebody had to do it.  A few hours later there was a knock on my apartment door.  It was Spencer.  He was there to check on me.  Except for remember how at the beginning of the story I mention I had taken his truck?  Well he’d ice-skated, in the middle of the winter, from his apartment to my apartment, to check on me.  Like, ice-skated.  Laced his ice-skates on his feet, grabbed his hockey stick for added leverage and ice-skated the three miles to my house.  Ice-skated!

Anyway, the author argues that all sorts of lovey dovey stuff fill our tank.  But there are certain things that really make us swoon.  Our primary love language he calls it.  There are five of them:  Words of Affirmation, Quality Time, Receiving Gifts, Acts of Service and Physical Touch. 

Spencer’s primary love language?  Gifts.  Definitely gifts.  Which means he is also a suburb gift giver.  He once spent an entire week researching kitchen knives because I had hinted that I wanted a new set for my birthday.  He read reviews, checked out multiple sets in stores, watched videos and purchased the perfect knife set.  When I mentioned I wanted a bike for my birthday this year he educated himself on all things women’s bikes.  He blew me away when he started talking bikes with the salesman at the bike store.

Ironically I’m a crappy, practical gift giver.  The kind that gives toothbrushes, underwear and socks under the Christmas tree.  And I’m an even worst gift receiver.  The idea of money being spent on me in gift form makes me nauseas.  Truly, nausea.  Every holiday {birthday, Christmas, anniversary, every.single.holiday} I beg Spencer to forgo the gifts.  He never does, of course.  And since reading The Five Languages of Love I’ve been more aware and have been trying to be a better gift receiver/giver.  I still have a long ways to go.

I saw this cute little bench at the antique store and immediately fell in love with it.  I hinted to Spencer that I wanted it for my anniversary gift {since I knew full well he’d be getting me a gift no matter what}.  I made him promise that if he got the bench that he’d do nothing else – that he wouldn’t spend any more money on me.  Don’t worry about getting flowers, please, pretty please might have been my exact statement.

This evening the doorbell rang.  I opened the door to find Spencer and the kids sitting on my new bench.  Happy Anniversary, they shouted.  And then they delivered a huge bouquet made up of sweet, sweet candy.  Because you told me I couldn’t get you flowers.  But you didn't tell me I couldn't get you candy.  And it doesn't count as an anniversary without some kind of bouquet!

I’m the luckiest gal around. 

Happy eight years babe.  Thanks for constantly filling my tank.  And for making me so happy.

 

P.S.  In case you’re curious, I’m bilingual.  Quality time + Acts of Service.

Have you read the book?  What is your love language?

The tragedy of the carpet man.

He knocked on the door right as the kids and I were finishing up Operation: Fine! You Don’t Have to Wear a Coat but You at Least Need to Put Shoes On.  He was there to measure for our new carpet {fist bump}.  I showed him were to do the measuring then excused myself to check on the kids who were now outside playing.  Coatless AND shoeless, in case you’re wondering.  He was a friendly gentleman - teased with the kids, told me all about his new carpet measuring thingamajig, complemented me on our teak floor and laughed openly when he came outside just as I was trying to impress Brynlee with a flip on the trampoline.  Oh heaven help me.

As I followed him back upstairs to discuss our current carpet pad situation he pointed to my collage of family photos hanging on the wall, “You have a beautiful family.  You know that, right?”  I thanked him and we continued talking carpet.  It was a conversation with numerous interruptions.  Jace decided he wanted his coat and shoes on after all.  Brynlee asked if she could have some strawberries.  Jace needed to use the potty.  Brynlee decided she wanted her coat and shoes on after all.  Brynlee and Jace had a squabble over the yellow swing and Jace used his teeth as a weapon.  There were tears.  You know. . . the usual interruptions.

As he was getting ready to leave, and with yet another interruption, he made a comment that caught me by surprise. “You are so blessed.  Whatever you do don’t ever do anything to screw this up.”  I’m sure I looked at him strange.  I mean, I had to of; that’s just not a comment you expect to hear from the carpet measuring dude. 

Then he told me his story:  He was raised a good kid.  Served an LDS mission.  Came home.  Met and married the love of his life.  Graduated from college.  Got a good job.  Had two beautiful children.  Life was all he dreamt it should be.

And then he was introduced to cocaine.  He became severely addicted.  Suddenly all he cared about was his next fix.  He lost his job.  His house.  And eventually, his wife and his kids {who were 3 and 5 at the time}.  Then, while high on cocaine, he was involved in a shoot-out with the police and all but lost his right arm.

They were able to fix his arm – to an extent.  It’s stiff, robotic, can’t be raised above shoulder level.  Years later he fought his cocaine addiction, and won.  He’s a recovering cocaine addict – clean for three years.  He was able to find a new job.  A new place to live.  But his family?  His wife?  His kids who are now 15 and 13?  He’s lost them forever.  He will never get back the years he missed out on.  Never, ever.

“Ya’know Kimberlee, he said while moving his bum arm in my direction, his voice cracking, I’d give my right arm.  My left arm.  And both my legs if only I could get it back.  If only I could raise my kids as I should have.  If only I would have treated my wife right.  If only I’d never found cocaine.  That’s years of my children’s life that I will NEVER be able to get back.  Like I said. . . you are so blessed.  You have a beautiful family, you have everything.  Whatever you do DON’T EVER SCREW THIS UP.  Don’t EVER screw this up.”

I thanked him for measuring for carpet, for sharing his story and then sent him on his way.  I ran outside and hugged my kids.  Tightly.  Called Spence and told him I loved him.  Because the carpet man is right, I have everything, indeed.  I’m living my very own fairy tale.  I am so blessed.  I.  HAVE.  EVERYTHING. 

And honestly, so do you.  And whatever you do DON’T EVER SCREW THIS UP.  Just don’t. 

If I do one thing right in this world I hope it to be this - I hope to never, ever screw this up.

XOXO

*This post is also being used as my Project 52: Glimpse into Motherhood post.

Because to me motherhood is being fully aware that with family you have everything.

i know you love me because. . .

spence and i seven years ago today

i know you love me because you ask my advice and then you listen.

i know you love me because even when you don't really want or need my advice, you still listen.

i know you love me because i've never mowed the lawn, yet the lawn always gets mowed.

i know you love me because you don't complain when i order a salad and then eat all your french fries.

i know you love me because you tell me.

i know you love me because you know the stories behind all my inside jokes.

i know you love me because you've 'got my back'. always have, always will.

i know you love me because you support all my bright ideas. even the really, really stupid ones.

i know you love me because if the potatoes are lumpy, you insist that you love lumpy potatoes. if the toast is burnt, you insist burnt toast is your favorite. if the chicken's dry, you insist that you prefer your chicken dry.

i know you love me because you've seen me with food in my teeth, nine months pregnant, in labor, with the stomach flu, overwhelmed and frustrated and/or without make-up and you still tell me i'm beautiful.

i know you love me because when i tell you i'm cold in sunday school you offer me your tie.

i know you love me because every morning you get up and get the kids breakfast while i sleep for just 'five more minutes'.

i know you love me because it's been seven years and, to me, we're still newlyweds.

 

i know you love me

and

i know

you know

i love you, too

happy 7^th anniversary, babe.

you are my everything.

and i wouldn't want it any other way.

The Trip

Hello, my dears. We're back. And it's March!! March 3^rd.

{Anybody mind telling me what happened to the second half of February?}

We've returned from a little vacay in Las Vegas.
We had a great time…thanks for asking.

This is our second trip to Las Vegas.

The first time there were two of us.
Spence and I. We were freshly married. As in very freshly married. As in only been married for twenty-four hours kind of freshly married. Thanks to Spencer's sister, Liz, we stayed in the Excalibur in a honeymooner's suite. She had the hook-up. We were there in the middle of July. It was hot. And humid. One day we walked the entire strip. From the Excalibur to Circus Circus and back to the Excalibur. And then we cranked up the AC and slept the rest of the day. It was SO HOT. Times were different back then. There were two of us. We slept when we wanted and ate when we were hungry. If we longed to spend the afternoon wandering aimlessly around the Strip, we did. If, at 2:00am, we were craving ice-cream we'd go out in search of ice-cream. We were poor college students at the time. Our trip was funded exclusively on monetary wedding gift. Every time we spent money in Vegas it meant we would have less money for groceries when we returned home. We picked the shows that we attended solely on ticket price. Spencer wanted to see the "Blue Man Group". I told him we couldn't afford it. We instead saw the "Tournament of Kings Dinner Show." We had a buy one get one free coupon. We would eat one meal a day. At an all-you-can-eat buffet. Our sole souvenir was a little jackpot toy from M&M World. We never took a single shuttle or taxi. We walked everywhere.  We were younger then. Spencer got ID'd in the Casino. He was 23. Spencer would call me his wife. I would smile. It seemed so strange. Strange, yet exciting. Spence and I spent a lot of our down time making life plans. We dreamt big. We discussed what we wanted, what we expected, what we hoped for. In Las Vegas. It was just the two of us. A lover's retreat. A poor-man's vacation. A celebratory get-a-way in honor of us. Our new life. Together.

::Spence and I in Las Vegas.  With eyes shut!  July 2003 on our Honeymoon::

This time it was different.

There were more of us. Spence, me, Brynlee, Jace and my little sister Katie. We stayed at The Trump International Hotel. Because there's no casino. And no smoking. Plus it had a kitchenette…perfect for warming sippy cups and some Easy Mac when needed. We requested a baby crib. And would pull it into the oversized bathroom every afternoon for Jace's naptime. Brynlee went swimming in the Jacuzzi tub with swimming suit and Dora floaty. We brought princess movies and Barney to watch during down time. We Built-a-Bear, went to M&M world, ate at Rainforest Café and spent an evening at Circus Circus. We'd spend our days pushing baby strollers down the strip and comforting exhausted kids. Our daily itinerary was planned around lunchtime and naptime. When kids (and adults) were tired we'd opt for a taxi instead of walking. And we would take the long route to bypass the Casino. We'd be sure to have the kids tucked safely into their beds before Las Vegas would wake-up for the night. Then at night we'd rotate. One night Katie and I went to the "Phantom of the Opera". One night Spence and I went to the "Blue Man Group". And one night Spence and I walked the entire strip. This time I wore a jacket. It wasn't anything near as hot as it gets in July. We held hands and walked from one hotel to another. Sometimes in silence. Enjoying the quietness. The escape. Other times in conversation. Conversations that would always, somehow, end up about our kids. How perfect they are. How much we love them. How happy they make us.

Oh, how time changes things.
Isn't life funny?
Isn't life perfect!?!

The gang in Las Vegas.  Feburary 2010.

(seven o'clock) on the 13th

{7:00}

{at our house}

Love Day Wishes from our house to yours

::insert image of my big sister rolling her eyes here::

****

Valentines Day subway art idea from here.

The story of a heart-shaped potato chip

I cried today.

I'm sick. And tired. And my kids are sick. And grouchy and tired. And Spencer is sick. And dizzy and nauseous. And tired.
As they say…I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired.
Uggh!

I don't cry very often. And I 'feel down' even less.
I really am an optimist.
I try to find beauty in everything.  I think there's always a silver lining.
My glass is half-full. My glasses, rose colored.  And they lived happily ever after. And all that optimistic blah, blah, blah.
I don't think being optimistic makes me better. I don't think it makes me worse. It just makes me…ME!
It might make me naive. It might make me sappy. It might make you gag.
But, that's me. It's who I am.
An optimist.

But today.
Today I'd had it. I was frustrated. And overwhelmed. And did I mention we're sick. AGAIN!
I tried to handle today with a smile. With dignity and grace. But I was fresh out of all those things.
My kids wouldn't stop C R Y I N G!
My head was spinning. I couldn't breathe out my nose.
And I wanted nothing more than to crawl up in my bed and pull the blankets over my head.
But, I couldn't. I can't. Because I'm a mom. And my kids, they were C R Y I N G, and lunch needed made and favorite toys found, and stories read, and noses wiped.
Plus, my sick husband was already upstairs on my side of the bed, with the blankets over his head.
So I endured. The best I could.

And then when I felt I just couldn't endure anymore.
…both the kids took a nap.
God is good.

The house was quiet. The fire a'blazin. I curled up on the end of the couch with a blanket. AND C R I E D! I felt sorry for myself. Which only caused more tears. More C R Y I N G.
And right when I was getting into a real good cry-fest, Brynlee woke up.
She called for me. Told me her "body hurt all over" and asked me to "snuggle her with both my arms".
And so I did. We curled up on the end of the couch together. Snuggling. And eating Ruffles cheddar and sour cream chips.
Because of all the congestion neither of us could taste a thing. But the greasy empty calories still tasted good.

Then Brynlee pulled a chip from the bag. Looked at it for a bit. Then handed it to me saying, "Look! A heart, mommy. You can have it."
I took the heart chip from her little hand, and while fighting back tears snuggled her tightly and said, "Thanks Brynlee. I love it. I love you! You're my favorite little girl."
And then as she kissed my cheek she replied, "And you're my favoritist mommy. I love you!"

And suddenly it was all worth it. Every.single.bit.of.it!
Which made me cry again. But this time very different tears.
Tears of joy. Of happiness. And love.
Tears of family. And togetherness. And motherhood.
Tears of joy and delight. Of optimism. And sappy-ness.
(I mean it was a potato chip for crying out loud)

I know I'm far from perfect. I know there are times I screw-up. I can be controlling. My house gets messy. Sometimes we spend the entire morning watching cartoons. And forget to brush our teeth.
But you want to know what. I'm happy. And loved.
And at the end of the day that's all that really matters.

My Family

Earlier tonight Brynlee and Spencer spent a good fifteen minutes laughing hysterically in the kitchen. Spencer was standing on Brynlee’s stool and would jump up and hit his head on the ceiling. With that Brynlee would laugh uncontrollably and insist that Spencer do it again. And of course, he would. Which would only cause Brynlee to laugh harder and louder. Then Spencer made Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies. Now don’t let that statement fool you, this is a rare occasion. Spencer is NOT a cook. Which is one of the reasons we work well together; I enjoy cooking, he enjoys eating. Every now and again when I refuse his gracious offer to make him homemade cookies he will pull out a box of brownies or cookie mix and make some semi-homemade ones himself. Tonight was one of those nights. When he got the cookies from the oven he stated that the cookies smelt just like butter. And then in a very engineer like way pretended to calculate the butter to cookie ratio. He concluded that there had to be more than a “pat” of butter in each individual cookie. I laughed out load when he next sat down at the table with a plate of cookies and said, “Gosh, these cookies have oatmeal in them…it’s just like eating health food!” In the meantime, Jace was sitting on my lap quite contently sucking on his right hand. The entire top of his snowman pajamas were soaking wet from the excess slobber. He would pull his chubby little hand out of his month long enough to cue or giggle at everything that was going on around him. That little guy can laugh, and has a contagious smile. I love it.
 Brynlee got this adorable little hand-me-down baby crib for Christmas. My sister-in-law had purchased it for her little girl a few years previously, but due to the fact that there are boys that live in their house (that like to stand in their sisters baby crib) they needed something a little heavier duty. We were hoping that the cute little crib would last at least until Jace was big enough to stand in his sister’s crib and break the bottom out. Well, today Brynlee stood in the crib and the bottom fell out. Spencer was busy eating his plate of, um, healthy butter-loaded cookies so told Brynlee she had to wait a bit before he fixed it. Brynlee immediately said, “Me’s got a idea” and ran to get her little tool kit from her toy box. She spent the next five minutes trying unsuccessfully to hammer, file and screw the crib back together.And the moral of the story (or rather a random sampling of short stories) is that I love families! I especially love my family. They make me so happy.