Twenty Years Ago

January 17, 1992

Jami and Sam were married in the Oakland temple.

It's been a very eventful twenty years. If I'd been married in a standard wedding ceremony, I would have vowed to have and to hold my sweetheart "for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part." We've had better, worse, richer, poorer, sickness and health. We do love and cherish each other, but I am glad that all that work we've put in through the worst, the poverty and the sickness is going to pay off a little longer than until death. (Let's face it the better, richer, healthier times are their own reward.) Our vows are for eternity and distinctly include a third party, our Father in Heaven. Without him, we doubtless would have quit. With him, we have a relationship worth having for eternity.

I don't remember much of the ad lib part of my wedding ceremony, where the man sealing our marriage for time and all eternity gives his thoughts and advice on marriage, but I remember one thing vividly: his testimony of the importance of the atonement of Jesus Christ, of repentance, and of the need to forgive each other as God forgives us. I remember how intensely I felt the Holy Spirit confirm the truth of those words. As I've thought about what to say about a marriage that has weathered the stormy seas, I just want to say to those on those seas that there is joy and sun ahead through the atonement. Truly, God heals. "Whatever Jesus lays his hands upon lives. If Jesus lays his hands upon a marriage, it lives. If he is allowed to lay his hands on the family, it lives."

Don't get me wrong. I love my husband. I enjoy having and holding him. His quirky sense of humor makes me smile. His humility inspires me. His voice melts me. Tonight we are going to ditch our six kids and go do something fun. Even so, our anniversary is a day, just one out of 7,304 so far. I look forward to many more and to an eternity beyond our years.

Square Root Day?

3/3/9 

Hm. Well 3 x 3 = 9.  So the square root of nine would be three. But it's a bit of a stretch to call it Square Root Day. After all, the year is two thousand and nine A.D. 

If Hallmark comes out with a card, I'm going to begin an international protest. But as long as Hallmark stays out of it, I'm as willing to celebrate a fake holiday as the next person. Behold "my" creation!

And in the spirit of the day I'll even do a little advance planning for a year that is actually a square number: 2025 (square root = 45). Let's all get excited on the 45th day of 2025. OK, friends, pencil it in. February 14, 2025. And I've found the perfect location for our celebration. Bring your sweetheart! Who's in?

Our Carnelian Anniversary

My favorite number is seventeen. My birthday's on September 17th. Our anniversary is January 17th. And this anniversary is a big one! It's our seventeenth. Our Carnelian Anniversary. (Yes, I did have to look that up.) In honor of the day, here are seventeen tid-bits on the theme of meeting and loving my man.

1. My love is a gifted musician. Can't really say enough about the music thing, because his talent is so phenomenal and such an intricate part of him.


2. My man records books. For fun. He's taped Mormon Doctrine a few times. As a Man Thinketh by James Allen many, many times. He's currently moving though the works of Neal A. Maxwell. The dude listens to them while he's at work and in the car, then erases them.


3. My sweetie changes diapers.


4. He's a kid magnet. He doesn't do anything at all to attract the little monkeys but they love him.


5. He's a lifetime member of the John Birch society. Political arguments broke us up several times while we were dating. Politics continued to be a touchy subject for us for the first decade of our marriage, but we finally negotiated a peace treaty. The terms are very snuggly.


6. The man juggles.


7. We both grew up in Davis, California a couple blocks away from each other and attended the same schools. My first year in Davis was my third grade year. He's four years older than me, so he'd moved on to the Jr. High. When I got to Jr. High, he'd moved on to the High School. By the time I got to High School, he and his family had moved to Grass Valley. I might have run into him at church but I joined the church when I was a sophomore and his family had already moved.


8. When I was a kid I used to sing:
   
   

   I'm in love with a big blue frog,
   A big blue frog loves me.
   Its not as bad as it appears
   He wears glasses and he's six foot three.
   Well I'm not worried about our kids,
   I know they'll turn out neat.
   They'll be great lookin' 'cause they'll have my face,
   Great swimmers 'cause they'll have his feet!

   Destiny! Kismet! The man is 6'3", he wears glasses, and he has two webbed toes. (He's a normal pinky-beige, however.)


9. I met my husband after a church dance in the parking lot. His insane friend asked my hot friend to dance. In the parking lot. She answered that there was no music. My music man sang a song for them and they danced right there. I was charmed, so when everyone went out to eat after the parking lot solo, I borrowed his jacket. I was cold, but I had ulterior motives. I was trying to steal it, so I'd have an excuse to call him later. He caught me as we were leaving, so I sheepishly handed it over. Busted. So embarrassing.


10. When I moved into his ward about six months later, I carefully avoided him. I was dating someone else and my attraction to my future husband was a bit disconcerting.


11. After I stopped dating the other fellow, I attended a ward family home evening. "Sardines" was the activity that night and I was "it." I chose a nice niche in the shrubbery for my hiding place. As my prey walked by, I gave him a hint. "Psst! In here!" And in he came. Yes! Then he proceeded to pull in the next person that went by. And the next one. And the next one. Hm. There seemed to be a lack of communication going on here.


12. One day he stopped speaking to me, suddenly, inexplicably. I knew then that he knew The Secret. I liked him. He could tell and was appalled. I was heartbroken. Shortly thereafter, he came into Relief Society to make an announcement. As he turned bright red, tried to become invisible, and was barely able to squeeze out the message, I had a revelation: the man was shy! The man was shy and I'd been clueless. There's only one reason a shy guy stops talking to one of his gal pals. It was all I could do not to stand up, pump my fist into the air and yell "YES!"


13. Did you really think I was going to write a thirteenth? You know me better than that.


14. Our first date was a double date. The four of us had been hanging out as a group, but one Sunday, we played Trivial Pursuit, guys against girls. Losers to buy the winners dinner and a round of miniature golf. [BTW, they never stood a chance.] After miniature golf, we drove around in the foothills looking for some sort of astronomical phenomenon that was supposed to be happening. The only phenomenon I saw that night? My shy guy and I set our hands next to each other and our pinkies touched. After about ten minutes of that excitement, he HELD MY HAND!


15. He kissed me for the first time a few nights later. Then he looked at me and whispered, "Does this mean I get to keep you?"


16. He spontaneously proposed while I was studying for my Romantic Literature mid-term, abruptly halting my recital of Christibel. I flipped out. (Tend to do that. Perhaps you've noticed.) And made him withdrawal the offer. The next day, I didn't do so well on the exam due to my brain spinning like a top as I pondered my romantic life instead of delightfully morbid, supernatural poetry. A week later, I surprised him by inviting him to resubmit his offer.


17. We were married in the Oakland Temple on January 17, 1992. For this life and for eternity.


18. Those doubters who placed cash bets that we wouldn't make it a year lost. Big time.

Three Items of Interest

I'll color-code it because I'm fun like that.

First: Seth and Teresa broke up. Time to move in for the kill Sister Cordy. (Didn't I ever mention that I love a good hopeless romance from time to time? Consider it mentioned.)

Second: [Cue the applause] I got my first blogging award. CTD from The Crash Test Dummy Diaries who said, "I think I would pick Jami at Superfluous Micsellany because I don't know what those words mean and I never understand what she's saying, Plus there's something bold and brave and sweet about Jami." I sound a bit like a barbecue sauce, but I am never one to pass up a compliment. Thank you, my dear.

Now for the hard part, choosing six people who won't roll their eyes too much at getting an award, who haven't already received it, and who are truly kreativ.

• OK, Blogger #1: Elastic Waistband Lady at The Smiling Infidel. She is one of my all-time favorites for looking at the world in brand-new and somewhat freakish ways. Here's one of my favorite posts from EWL.
• I love Tracy M and Mo Mommy, but they are both a tad busy right now, so I'll just say, they're mighty fine, talented, fun ladies. We can save the pyramid scheme-type flattery for another day.
• Blogger #2: Sue. I know she'll roll her eyes and not have time to do anything about it, but she breathes kreatively. By turns her blog is silly, heart-wrenching, fun, and profound. I never miss a post. Those of you who have been around for a while will remember this poem, posted in her honor.
• Blogger #3: Ray whose spiritual musings at his blog Things of My Soul and comments throughout the bloggernacle have earned him a favored spot on my must-read list. I know he's not a mommy blogger, but he is married to one. Ray, please feel free to pass this on to BCC and T&S, etc. That would be kinda funny.
• Blogger #4 Jo over at Tangled Me. Because I really like her. And because she used to be a midwife. And because she takes beautiful pictures. And because she calls her husband "Bald Man."
• Blogger #5 Heidi Ashworth at Dunhaven Place will single-handedly bring clean, fun Regency Romances back into fashion. And that, my friends, is a very, very good thing.
• Blogger #6: You. That's right. You. The person who is reading this list hoping that I will type your name. Consider it typed. There are so many blogs I read and love. I can't stand leaving anyone out.

Third: I HATE TO SHOUT BUT I NEED A FOURTEENTH FOLLOWER BECAUSE I AM RIDICULOUSLY NERVOUS ABOUT THE NUMBER THIRTE-you know which number I mean. Anybody? Anybody?

Never a Story of More Woe

Balloons and I, we want to get along. They wish to please me. I admire and respect their uplifting potential. Alas, 'tis a star-crossed relationship. In spite of our best intentions, things always go awry.

Long ago, I decided that my man needed a huge buoyant symbol of my love. What to do, what to do? Ah! Fill his car with balloons while he was at work. I would write little things I loved about him on slips of paper. "Musical genius." "Amazing singing voice." "A melt-me reading voice." "Great with kids." "Comfy hugger." "A fine enchilada maker." Stuff 'em in balloons. And fill his car! He'd love it!

Let me tell you. I don't care how much you love someone, finding 100 ways to say "You're cool! Glad I married you. Let's smooch!" is a creative challenge. "You leave fantastic outgoing messages on the machine." "You are so gifted at Jenga." "No one reaches high places quite like you." "Wow! Can you open jars or what?!?"

So after much effort, I got the little love notes done, stuffed into balloons and began inflating the eighty-some-odd balloons the old-fashioned way: I huffed, and I puffed, and I puffed, and I huffed. Then I bagged them all up and drove to my man's parking garage while he was still working, my car filled to the brim with loving balloons. It was so fun emptying bag after bag into his little sub-compact.

OH NO! I was out of balloons and the car was nowhere near completely filled. The loving gesture wouldn't work if the car wasn't completely full! He had to pop his way in so he could see how much I admired his ability to carry out the trash with athletic grace and poise. Scrambling around, I managed to come up with some leftover balloons.

But OH NO! I had no paper, no pencils, and to be frank I was plumb out of ways to say, "Hey Baby, you light my fire!" Besides he was getting off work really soon and I needed to skedaddle. Oh well, this batch would have to be love note-free.

I puffed and I huffed and I huffed and I puffed. Thirty more balloons! Whew. In they went. On his car door, I taped a pin on a copy of Browning's "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways." It was SO CUTE! I knew I'd score eternal brownie points for this one.

OK...let's stop. What happens next? Jewelry, right? Special snuggles? NO WAY. The experience involved balloons. It was doomed from the start.

My man came home a bit perplexed. Apparently, being forced to pop a hundred balloons after a hard day at work didn't strike him as romantic.

"The little love notes were sweet though...right?"

"I guess, but what was with the empty balloons? It was like you ran out of stuff to say."

"Uh...well..." Doomed.

And so it has gone. Balloons have burst, gotten caught in trees, flown away, caused fights, caused tears. Balloons were shiny sorrows on strings. I swore them off forever.

Then I was struck with Stephanie Nielson's story and the whole balloon release for NieNie. Surely for something so beautiful, surely, it would all turn out well.

E and I bought our balloons last Tuesday. As always, the sight of the balloons gladdened my heart. Eight red balloons, gloriously glistening, bouncy and new! Watching the baby's delight as she bobbed them up and down—pure joy!

The homeschooled kids were curious. My man was curious. Balloons? Mom never gets balloons! Who were they for?

"You'll see," I'd answered mysteriously. I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I had the markers ready. After the school kids got home, we'd each get a balloon, choose a wish and a goal to work on, write wishes and commitments on the ruby surfaces, then we'd release them heavenward. We would remember it for the rest of their lives.

OK...let's stop. What happens next? A sweet bonding moment for the family? Treats? A big group hug? NO WAY! The experience involved balloons. It was doomed from the start.

When L and V got home from school, they noticed the balloons in my bedroom right away and immediately began fighting about them. L grabbed the bunch and ran out the front door. V ran screaming after.

"Do not take them outside!" I warned. By the time I got to the door, L had released them to the tune of V's sobs.

I sighed as I watched them shimmer away. I should have known. Doomed.