The shift

I was pretty sure it was coming before Christmas. I knew we were getting married in 2009.

Yet, when he proposed Saturday I was in utter, and complete shock. It's been almost exactly 48 hours. I am still in a state of overwhelming emotion. Emotion at the amazing support and love from my family, friends and strangers. I didn't know what it'd be like but I could have guessed it would be hard to comprehend.

What I didn't expect though was the immediate shift in our relationship. The shift in my alliance to him first. The love that got deeper and more committed. The trust that was strengthened. The inner peace as my patience (however weak) was rewarded. The vulnerability that was cut open. The new awareness of the depth of his love for me, and mine for him.

I can't really explain it. But it's different. And better. SO much better.

25 on his 25th

Today the boy is a quarter-century old. I feel so lucky to be in his life for the last year. Here's 25 of the infinite number of reasons why I love him.

25. He brushes his teeth BEFORE breakfast.

24. He picks horrible movies (Tropic Thunder, Indiana Jones) from RedBox and insists I stay awake for them.

23. He hates Valentines Day, his own birthday and New Years Eve.

22. He adores Fantasy Football and sets his mission in life to make you love it, too.

21. He drinks milk with pizza.

20. He can throw a baseball farther than you.

19. He drives with his elbows so as to free his hands for important nail biting.

18. You may not look at those nails.

17. He is the most opinionated person I know who cannot make a decision.

16. A year ago he hated politics and politicians. Now, he gets excited for CNN.

15. He cannot resist brownies, gummi bears or Junior Mints.

14. He wears boxers and undershirts that have more holes than actual material.

13. He can make a spontaneous purchase for a $300 suit but will agonize for days on which $4 candle to buy.

12. He dislikes conservative churches, but has found one that works.

11. He reads me bedtime stories.

10. He will force his children to play sports even if they are missing both legs.

9. He works so hard with such passion.

8. He nailed up blankets to the bedroom window in a fit of frustration to keep the sun out.

7. He likes to cuddle.

6. He looks sexy in black button up shirts.

5. He loves his family.

4. He has plans for the future. Big ones. And I know he'll come through.

3. He can roll with the punches but still demands respect.

2. He's the funniest, happiest guy in the room.

1. He loves me more deeply and more passionately than I ever knew existed.

Happy Birthday!

I voted!

There were 284 people ahead of me in line to vote today at 7 a.m. when the polls opened. I have never had to stand in line to vote and this morning I waited more than an hour and a half.

They are expecting an 80 percent turnout in Minnesota. Makes me proud. I don't even care who you vote for (GO OBAMA!) but at least vote.

Then go get your free coffee at Starbucks.

Dress shopping

I hate dress shopping even more than I hate shopping in general. Mostly because stores make nothing in my size and dress fashion these days is reminiscent of a paper sack. I dragged poor S to almost every store in the Mall of America. One would think the largest mall in United States might have just one dress for me. False.

However, I found this BCBG dress half off at Macy's the next day which I dressed up with cheap jewelry and shoes. It's a nice balance between end of October and 80-degree weather and wedding guest and date of the man of honor.

Tonight I have to make my I-am-going-on-a-trip-so-I-have-to-have-new-makeup Target run.
Then it's off to Laguna Beach for my quick 24-hour dream of making my own episode of "The Hills." Then the SIL wedding extravaganza begins.

One year

It’s been a year now that I’ve been his other half.

Since then we have found a comfortable balance between best friends and lovers. Between fighting and forgiving, friends and family, appreciating our current state and IWANTTOBEENGAGEDRIGHTNOW.

I knew it would all work out and I’d be happy, but I never would have dreamed THIS happy, THIS in love and THIS excited about my future. A year ago if I read that, I would have rolled my eyes. Now, I understand.

So Happy Anniversary. I love you with everything that I am and will ever be.

Poisonous gas

It smelled when I walked into work today. Like a s'more-worthy campfire with a hint of gasoline.

Then I get an e-mail indicating it's not a fall weather campfire but instead ethanol gas. They are meeting with Environmental Health and Safety within the hour to determine if we're at risk. They have determined though that the ethanol emissions from the building next door are going directly into our air intake system.

Which my question is, what if cancerous gas is currently infiltrating my lungs while these meetings take place? Yikes!

Who she is

One of my best friends got married last weekend. And every time I relive the wedding, my eyes well up with tears – the overwhelming, happy kind.

I didn’t know Edie when she grew up at the farm, played basketball or coped with her parents divorce.

I did know her though when she stood up in front of an angry mob and maintained her composure. I knew her when she struggled to figure out past relationships. I knew her when the next step in her career was confusing. And then I knew her when she met the man she would marry. And when she got the ring. And when she was pissed about the color of vests. And when she said “I will.” (Note: Weddings never actually include the phrase “I do.” Why?)

Edie and I don’t talk much about the weather, politics or the mundane details of our day. We usually ponder the struggles of relationships, the greatness of loving and being loved and the awareness we have of our own insanity.

Edie is the most caring, soul-searching, thoughtful person I know. And it showed in her wedding. In the speech she gave her special girls right after applying her mascara, careful not to brush the black wand against her perfect white dress. In the way she included us in the processional, ending with a pink rose presented by the man who holds her the closest now. In the prayers of thanks for the wisdom, love and laughter we’ve given to her life.

The day was about a sacred union of two great people. But it was also a celebration of the people that made Edie the wonderful girl she is.

And before she ran out under a shower of birdseed, she walked over and handed me her bouquet with a hug. “Because you’re next.” And I cried for the 100th time that day.

Tina Fey reprise

I want that shirt.

Me: I just feel lucky when one person calls me on my birthday.

S: I'll call you.

Me: Psst. You'll be busy voting. And transporting elderly Democrats to the polls.

S: Why yes, everyone who gets in my car gets a party hat and t-shirt with your face on it that says "Celebrate with the better Sarah, vote against that Alaskan bitch."

And that is why we are friends.

Keep the camera charged!

We picked out the ring I am going to wear for the rest of my life on Friday.

The jeweler knows the boy’s family and his dad, brother and friends all bought from him. His store is the size of my living room and the walls are plastered with pictures of professional athletes from Minnesota buying their rings there in addition to Clair Huxtable (Phylicia Rashād) from the Cosby Show (hi, fate).

Gene, the jeweler, had rings and diamonds ready for me to try on. We narrowed it down to a few and then we both just loved one more than the others. It’s a set. Custom designed in NYC for this jewelry store. Only sold once to a couple in Seattle. And it is very, very sparkly.

And it was my size. (fate, again).

There were loose diamonds chosen, prices given, phone numbers exchanged, and then it went back into the vault.

And now, until I see that ring again, every conversation will go this way:

Boy: Hey, do you want to grab dinner tonight?

Me: Yes. WHY? What’s the occasion? Should I dress up? Did you remember the camera? I hope my cell phone is charged today. And the camera! Did you charge the camera? What if the camera battery IS charged but it’s still in the charger in the kitchen? Oooohhh no! Not again! Not now!

And then realizing that it’s highly unlikely I am going to be proposed to at Chipotle, I will cease the panic attack and walk out of the house confidently sans camera in my jeans and sweatshirt.

More serious than someday

Friday afternoon I am leaving work early for a date. And this is no dinner-and-a-movie kind of date.

Lampshade made an appointment downtown. At a jewelry store. To look at rings. The “will you marry me” kind of ring.

We did this once about six months ago but it was a fun, haha, free warm cookie, bottled water and shiny rocks on my hand kind of thing. Just for ideas, for someday.

Now it’s serious. Though I don’t know when it’s going to be for real because of the surprise factor which takes my "I need to know everything, always" brain to the brink of EXPLOSION. But as much whining as I do about the tight-lipped, taunting boy, I secretly want the happy surprised tears whenever they may come.

I have to keep reminding myself that yes, it’s my life I am talking about – this amazingly blessed, rich, uncomplicated, busting daily with love life.

But for now, I build little walls around my dreamy head to focus on the approved topics of work, dog parks, weather, Jamba Juice, K-State football, the Twins, the election and most importantly, how much I love daily life with the boy. And all that is more than enough.

Emotion imbalance

Sometimes I have no trouble hiding my feelings, almost to a fault. Like when I talk about my Grandpa that is dying - slowly suffocating to death as his smoke-damaged lungs fail to give his brain the oxygen it needs. Only a few measly tears well up in my eyes when my mom tells me about how my dad is coping with the idea that his father will be around for days or weeks rather than years. He had time to prepare, it's been no secret that my Grandpa has been hooked up to oxygen for years or that slowly he was taking more medications and was understanding less. I think about my dad losing a parent. I think about losing my own parent. It's too much to think about so I just don't think about it.

Then there is Lampshade who travels for work regularly. Again, I think about my dad. But this time without any trouble expressing my emotions. My fear that he'll miss birthdays, anniversaries and confirmations. My fear that we'll get used to it. That he'll just call to say goodnight but we'll be too tired to talk. My fear that I'll get used to him being gone and not cry when he leaves or get anxious for his homecoming.

And unlike with my Grandpa, I have no trouble expressing those emotions - crying on the phone like an emotionally imbalanced girlfriend while all the while trying to balance my absolute pride and genuine support for his career successes. And reminding myself that it's hard for him too - driving long, lonely hours in a rental car, sleeping in a strange bed and wishing he was home, probably even more so when he hears the tears.

I know he and I will be fine. I don't even doubt it a second. My grandpa won't be fine. He's going to die. Why then do I cry for the one that I know will be more than amazing yet unable to show emotion for the one that ends with the ultimate finality?

Stomaching 'Sex'

I had a life breakthrough this week - I went to a movie by myself. I had previously learned to eat at a restaurant by myself, go on museum tours alone and handle most travel situations solo. Movies, though, were the thing I could never conquer. When I see someone alone at a movie, I feel compelled to sit with them. I wonder why they are there alone, if they are sad, and if they also do everything else alone.

But this week I found myself stranded at a mall for almost six hours so I conquered my fear, and went to "Sex and the City" sans date. It's an ironic choice considering my most memorable episode of the show was about how we carry around "armor" to ensure no one thinks we are alone in life, but just in the present situation.

The hard part ended up not being sitting with my legs draped across the empty seat next to me, but instead swallowing the message the movie portrayed. I could handle the forgiving of infidelity in Miranda's marriage and Samantha's decision she'd rather be single than in a relationship. They stayed true to themselves and didn't make any decisions without consequences.

It was the main storyline, Carrie and Big's, that I could not stomach. The entire TV series revolved around the romance and inevitable breakup of Big and Carrie. Big can't commit. He is self-involved. And in the movie, he commits his worst sin - abandoning his bride on her wedding day because he's not really into the big wedding idea. She beats him with her bouquet, mourns him for six months. And, of course, gets back together with him and marries him at City Hall, which is what he wanted.

Message to girls: Abandon your dreams for your man. Love isn't logical and it shouldn't be so just follow your heart no matter how much he has hurt you. Past behavior doesn't indicate future expectations.

And we wonder why marriages fail. Why women stay with abusive husbands. Why they abandon all expectations and standards in order to make their relationship work. I guess a huge closet filled with designer shoes and a Fifth Avenue penthouse is enough for the movies.

It will never be enough for me.

Normalcy

My mind has been in overdrive lately. Every time I felt myself getting a much-needed grip, I fell back into a very unnecessary, dizzying slip.

This week I got a chance to get away. To sleep in a bed that wasn't mine. To sit in a room that wasn't surrounded with reminders of what I should be doing instead. To explore areas with incredible sights, smells and a overwhelming sense of calm. To just laugh, talk about nothing and eat a lot of things that aren't good for me.

Sometimes I wonder if we have those weights on our chest or the lump in our throat in order to experience the incredible feeling that comes when you finally achieve peace. The way it feels to breathe deep and giggle freely. To know that you are being yourself and in fact, there isn't something wrong with you, you just needed to get away for a day or two from the pressure cooker of life.

On being saved

I had a bad day today. I remember on past bad days thinking of the significant people in my life and just willing them silently through tears to come save me. Just come over, come sit with me, hold my hand, make me eat dinner, give me a hug that lasts longer than a minute, tell me it's going to be OK and really mean it. And do all that without sucking away my pride.

I remember wishing it, hoping, but knowing it wouldn't happen. Not because these people didn't care, they just had other commitments, other priorities.

Today when I texted Lampshade at work to tell him of my rather unfortunate day, he called. Four times until I answered. Through tears, I told him the details. He wanted to fix it as unfixable as it was. Shortly later, I got a voicemail. "I am on my way home." To save me.

There was nothing he could do from home to fix it. Except sit on the couch with me. Hold my hand. Order me Chinese food so that I refueled after the tears zapped my strength. Gave me a hug that lasted for hours, not minutes. Told me it was going to be OK and meant it because he was the one who was going to be there if it did all fall apart.

And did all that in a way that not only salvaged my pride but empowered me.

It's 3:30 a.m. The tears that are stinging in my eyes are a little about the events of my day and a lot about the overwhelming love and gratefulness I have for the one that holds my hand in solidarity even as he sleeps.

Convincing paranoia

So I have this lump in my neck, right below my hairline on the left side of my spine. It hurts to touch it and I almost throw up from the pain if someone massages it. I've had severe tension in my neck and shoulders for the last month. I got a pretty deep massage last week that was painful but helped for..a day.

This weekend I convinced myself that this lump is most definitely cancer - probably lymphoma despite the WebMD articles suggesting if it were a tumor, it'd be hard, immobile and not tender. Mine is movable and tender, and most likely just a swollen lymph node.

As Lampshade and I drove home after dinner at his grandparents house, I am quiet because in my head I am imagining my cancer diagnosis - the doctor telling me the news, the long walk to my car, the tearful phone calls to come. Then telling him I have cancer and only have a few months to live. And then imagining that I wouldn't get to spend a long, fulfilling life with him buying a house, having babies, traveling and loving.

So when he looks over to my side of the car and see tears rolling down my cheeks, I then have to explain the reason for my tears is my overactive imagination and perhaps an intense case of paranoia that I only have a month to live, followed by "Do you think I am crazy?"

We both know that he thinks I am insane and perhaps need a more constructive creative outlet. We'll find out who is right at my doctor's appointment tomorrow.

Delayed appreciation

I never really fully appreciated Kansas weather.

I did today when it was snowing on my way to work and I read this: "Heavy snow warning for most of central Minnesota and west central Wisconsin Monday and Monday night...some areas could get 6-9" of snow."

It's pushing 60 in Manhattan, Kansas right now and I am going through a HEAVY SNOW WARNING. Baseball starts today. I did my spring cleaning this weekend.

I just want to pack up my sweaters, damnit.

Growing pains

When I was in sixth grade, I would wake up in the middle of the night crying because my calves ached so badly. My mom would run to my bedside, and massage my legs til I fell asleep again. I couldn't run as fast as I used to at summer camp because my muscles would twitch and throb. When I finally went to a doctor, we figured out it was simply growing pains. According to kidshealth.org:

"Although growing pains often point to no serious illness, they can be upsetting to a child - or a parent... Support and reassurance that growing pains will pass as children grow up can help them relax."

Though I no longer get throbbing pains in my legs, I still experience growing pains that are both upsetting to me and my parents, just as the pains were 14 years ago. Though I am definitely my parents' child, I'm also a product of society, my political and religious beliefs, my friends and most significantly, my own life experiences.

Sometimes I make decisions that aren't in line with the life my parents would have chosen me to lead. It's not because I don't love them or respect who they have shaped me into being. It just means I have experienced life in a different way. One that includes text messaging, inevitable financial debt, a world where traditional dinner-and-a-movie dating no longer exists, the expectations of being a strong, independent woman while still being gentle, caring and motherly.

It doesn't change who I am at the core. Rather, it shows my intensity, ability to love with great depth, confidence in my future and logical approach to life.

And what I ask from then is simply the freedom to be myself, to make the decisions - good or bad - that we all desire to make for ourselves and the understanding that it's nothing personal, but truly the act of being me.

The Big Apple

I'm not sure why I love New York City so much.

It's certainly not the thick, polluted air, the smell of garbage on the streets wafting from mounds of black garbage bags tossed at the edge of the sidewalk or the ever-present fear of terrorism, crime and corruption.

It has more to do with the click of a hurried woman's heels against the pavement as she walks down Fifth Avenue with an armful of colored bags with rope handles. It's the surge of business men carrying leather briefcases and talking on their Blackberrys who cross a full minute before the crosswalk flashes permission to cross. It's gazing into a restaurant window to see a group of gay men enjoying appletinis and laughing uproariously. It's the dog parks as the only oasis in the concrete playground and the peace that envelopes you when you reach the southern edge of Central Park.

It awakens in me a hurried, energetic spirit that often lies dormant in the depression of a Minnesota winter.

I'm on the plane, 45 minutes from landing at LaGuardia. I'm tired, stressed and a little lonely. But all I can think about is the rush I will feel in the back of a yellow cab heading to Midtown. Looking up to be surrounded by people and buildings and feeling that jolt of exhilaration as the hotel bell hop, complete with a top hat, greets me: "Welcome to New York, miss."

My neighbors are rude and stalk me

The condo has two 24-hour guest spots, and then a parking lot full of parking for restaurants and 2-hour guest parking. This is a ridiculous setup considering the hundreds of people that live in the complex most definitely have more than two guests with cars at a time who might want to stay more than two hours.

Lampshade pays for a spot in the garage, which I get to use when he travels. Otherwise I alternate between using one of the 24-hour spots which are ALWAYS open and the street a block away. I only park in the condo spot when I am carrying groceries, it's super cold or it's going to snow and the street is off limits. Granted, this has been the majority of days lately but last week Lampshade left, and Sarah gained a warm garage spot.

Last night, we get a letter from the association including the following:

"It has been viewed and reported in more than one occasion that the above-listed vehicles have bene parking in the Guest Condo parking spot on a consistent/daily basis. It has been reported that the Mazda was parked the guest parking spot last evening. It has been reported that both the Mazda and the Camry listed above will be parked in the guest parking or the assigned garage stall of #99."

We're in the wrong because we are abusing the system of the guest spot, however I am extremely disturbed that someone is documenting where our cars are located. Correction, IT TOTALLY FREAKS ME OUT. Who cares enough to not only document this consistently but then report it to the association repeatedly?

Don't worry, stalker friend, I am parked on the street. Put away your binoculars and get a life.

Diets are bogus

I am not on a diet, more like a "I have to wear a swimsuit in three months" exercise plan. I was running an hour about five days a week and then Lampshade (as the boy would now like to be referred to, even though he never reads this blog) broke his foot while trying to scare me as I came out of the bathroom. Motivation shot.

I have lost about five pounds since October just with running but trying ever so slightly to eat more things that are red, orange and green. Last night, though, I had two pieces of lasagna, red wine, several pieces of bread and salad. And, I haven't run in about three weeks.

This morning I weighed what I weighed my freshman year in college - the lowest in seven years.

Clearly, lack of exercise and eating enough for three people is the best route.

My parents met at Northern Illinois University in DeKalb, Illinois. It's halfway between each of their hometowns. My dad was the front desk worker at my mom's dorm. My dad worked in a lab at the Geography Building. My mom took classes in the Education Building.

When we travel to Illinois as a family, we drive through DeKalb each time - my mom and dad recounting the stories from college, their engagement life and scraping by on such little cash. They point to buildings where they attended classes, the library where they studied and the bus stop where they waited, huddled against each other in the cold.

This morning, NIU is a much different place. Instead of dreams of graduation, excitement of the weekend's basketball game or stupid decisions at frat parties, it's filled with horror and fear.

My mom said on the phone last night, "I don't understand. This kind of thing never happened when we were in college."

I don't understand either.


"What broke in a man when he could bring himself to kill another?" ~Alan Paton

Real love

Much to Hallmark's dismay, love doesn't come in pre-printed red and pink cards, expensive chocolates in expensive foil boxes or carefully selected yet overpriced roses.

When I was 5, I thought love was when my dad left for a business trip and he gave my mom a "TV kiss" as I called it. I'd beg for them to kiss that way and then hide my face in disgust as they kissed passionately.

When I was 10, I thought love was born in the cheap metal hearts you could have engraved at the school carnival with things like Joe + Jane = *heart* This would no doubt start a fight with Mike who really was fourth-grade love with Jane and who in return would throw Joe in the school jail until someone used three tickets to bail him out.

When I was 15, love was confusing. Was it in the couples who were already having sex or the big dramatic displays of "Love, Tommy" written in the trivial notes on lined paper folded into impressive shapes so as to be easily slipped in the receiver's backpack?

When I was 20, I thought I knew what love was. I thought love was ignoring crazy habits or picking out the perfect presents.

When I was 25, I found out what real love was. It's not just accepting idiosyncrasies, but loving them. It's not about presents but the small things, done daily. It's about wanting to be a better person even though you're loved exactly the way you are.

Why I Voted for Obama

I participated in a caucus primary for the first time last night. It was an overwhelming turnout, almost 200,000 in Minnesota they say.

I cast my ballot for Obama because after listening to him speak at a rally here Saturday, more than once I was choked up with tears. In my lifetime, no politician has brought me to tears, at least ones of joy and hope. After eight years of lies about the war, the stripping of individual rights, wiretapping, the acceptance of torture and the degradation of what it means to be American, I am ready for something new. It was during the Bush presidency that I stopped saying the pledge of allegiance because I can't imagine dedicating myself to a country in such a state of despair and misdirection.

Yet, Obama makes me want to believe again. And though it's his mass appeal, his inspirational message of hope, his uniting vision and his powerful public speaking that first attracted me to his camp, it's his policies that kept me in.

His health care plan bridges the gap between the current system and the eventual universal health care system. He is committed to a reduction in troops in Iraq. His charm and uniting attitude will bridge the gaps between the aisles in Congress. Though he might not have experience as part of a Clinton-like political machine, his idealism and direction are what we need.

I'd rather elect a president with a idealistic hope for the future than one who has proven to be a divisive figure who is so beat down she fails to dream big.