Five years ago

Five years ago today, I went on a date with a boy I had become friends with. After his persistence to date me, I asked him to go to a movie with me. Little did I know it would be my last first date.

We went to Pizzeria Uno in the Fashion Valley Mall in San Diego. We split a deep-dish pepperoni, with mushrooms on half--the same toppings we still order today. He ordered a beer, non-alcoholic because neither of us were 21. He paid, he now admits, "just in case it was a date."

We walked to the theater, purchased two tickets to "Shark Tale" and walked around the theater while we waited for our movie to start. We talked about our likes and dislikes, our classes, our friends and our families. At one point, he told me he had a brother who was the same age as my younger sister, and I said it would be fun to go on a double date with them sometime. And he asked, "So, is this a date?" I laughed because, of course, it was. We walked hand in hand back to the theater, and he put his arm around me while we watched the movie. He was a perfect gentleman, and even asked if he could kiss me when the night was over. (He would tell you now, just for the record, I said he had to wait until our second date. And I would tell you now that I should have let him kiss me then.)

On our first date, I had no idea that I would spend the rest of my life with him. Compared to now, I knew so little about him. I didn't know that his favorite band is Metallica, or that he loved watches, or that he'd be so kind a gentle despite his manly exterior. I didn't know he'd graduate cum laude, or that he'd be so well-rounded, or that he'd be the best friend I'd ever had. And, it's amazing that compared to what I'm sure I'll know about him in 10 or even 20 years, I know so little now.

What I do know is that first date was the first day of the rest of my life with the man of my dreams, and when I wake up to that sweet face each morning, I know I am a blessed woman.

Happy five years, my love.

Fragility

I started a post on our wonderful trip to Vegas that I was going to post today, but I'll have to post tomorrow.

Last night, the Lumberjack and I found out that his dad has prostate cancer, for the second time. The first time, the Lumberjack and I had been together for about a year. I remember finding out, crying with my man and praying his father's recovery would come smoothly and quickly. And it did. After a prostate removal surgery, his cancer was gone.

This time around, cancer treatment means radiation. There is no prostate to be removed, but somehow he has prostate cancer? We are praying for a speedy recovery and healing and that the radiation banishes all forms of cancer from his body.

I don't know much else at the moment, other than life is fragile and precious. Please keep my father-in-law and our family in your prayers.

Comforting vs. Fixing

As a newlywed, I'm still learning things about the Lumberjack, and how men in general think.

Last night was a prime example. I've been frustrated in an area of my life recently and don't have too many options in regards to it. Last night, I let it get the best of me and got upset about the situation. The Lumberjack, being the amazing husband that is he, tried to comfort me in the best way he knew how--by fixing it. And, luckily for both of us, I was rational enough to see it.

While all I wanted was to be told, "It's gonna be OK; you're doing your best," he told me I need to buck up and be happy because I am blessed beyond many other people. So, I didn't get what I wanted. And as he was talking, I could have gotten angry that he wasn't comforting me how I wanted. Instead, I was thankful that he was comforting me the best he knew how.

Like most men, the Lumberjack thinks in terms of fixing things. And instead of getting irritated at him for not doing things "my way," I need to be thankful that he's willing to do something at all. I am, more than anything, a work in progress.

Marrying for money

I read this in an article today and it made me chuckle:

"Young women, here is some advice:
Don't throw your hot, youthful selves away on young, financially unproven men. They may never become successes, and if they do, they'll probably just chuck you for younger models when you're too old to successfully compete again in the marriage marketplace.
Instead, marry rich guys while you're still taut enough to snag them. They may dump you, too, but at least you'll have nice, fat divorce settlements with which to pursue true love, or the pool guy, whoever comes first.
Notice I didn't say it was good advice.
But that is the gist of a new book, Smart Girls Marry Money: How Women Have Been Duped Into the Romantic Dream -- and How They're Paying for It, by Elizabeth Ford and Daniela Drake."

I like nice things as much as any girl, but is that what our society has come to? I see the benefits of not marrying for lust and taking a more business-motivated approach to marriage, but at the same time, give me a break.

I tell the Lumberjack that I married him for his money. It's in jest, of course. We married when we were both penniless, just out of college and ridden with student loans. But the thing is, it's not about the money, nor should it be.

The Lumberjack and I grew up in different worlds--I with a silver spoon in my mouth, he with a plastic one. And, despite our very different socioeconomic upbringings, we both arrived at the same conclusion: money doesn't buy happiness, nor does it secure a marriage.

Yes, money is nice. Life is "easier" when you don't have to wonder if the rent will get paid this month. But I also know that I married a man who makes wise financial decisions, and even if I never have a million-dollar mansion overlooking the Pacific, we'll be OK. Personally, I'd rather a lifetime in a condo with him than a mansion with someone I don't love.

But, is that common anymore?

A Reflection: Traveling

Two months after we got engaged, the Lumberjack and I moved to London to study abroad for a semester. It was a life-changing experience. There's something about seeing the world outside of yourself -- outside of your friends, your family, your country, your customs--that gives a real perspective about how finite and insignificant we can be.

For four months, the Lumberjack and I lived in London. It was one of the hardest but most rewarding experiences I'd had up until that point. We had moved to a city where we knew virtually no one, except for a few classmates. There were times that were hard -- we were surrounded by the same 20 students, not only for classes, but living with them. And then there were some amazing times.

We spent evenings after dinner walking to Kensington Park, feeding the swans and marveling that we were thousands of miles away from home--together. We took weekend trips to Dublin, to Cardiff (Wales), to Paris, Venice, Lisse (Holland), and Edinburgh. We traveled to Stratford-Upon-Avon, Castle Combe, Lacock, Stonehenge and Bath (all in England). We spent afternoons exploring the tube lines and getting off whenever we wanted. We wandered Harrods, St. Paul's Cathedral, Picadilly Circus, the Embarcadero, Big Ben, Westminster, Trafalgar Square, the British Museum, The National Gallery, St. Martin-in-the-Fields, Shakespeare's Old Globe theater, and so many other places that will forever be photographed in my mind. Afternoon teas and bottles of wine in the park, along with scrumptious Hotel Chocolat treats litter our time in Europe. We saw Phantom of the Opera, Wicked, Titus Andronicus, Comedy of Errors, Cymbeline, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Taming the Shrew, The Tempest, Twelfth Night, Othello, Anthony and Cleopatra, Les Miserables, Spam-A-Lot and so many other plays and musicals. We ate the food, drank the drinks, rode the public transportation, studied the culture and absorbed every moment of the culture that we could.

Traveling can either make or break a relationship. Something about having to rely fully on the other person, to be your best and your worst and have no escape, really challenges a relationship to grow or fall apart.

Toward the end of our trip, the Lumberjack and I planned a romantic trip to Venice. That Thursday afternoon, we took the tube to Heathrow airport to catch our flight. When we arrived, we realized EasyJet, with whom we were flying, didn't leave from Heathrow. Instead, I had booked our tickets for Gatwick, an airport on the other side of London. Talk about a challenge!

After purchasing two bus tickets from Heathrow to Gatwick, we arrived in Gatwick to miss our flight by 15 minutes. The next flight out was the following morning, or we could fly to Milan that night and take a train to Venice. The Lumberjack suggested we sleep in the airport and fly out the next morning.

Hah. Those who know me well know sleeping in the airport is never an option for me. Unlike the Lumberjack, I need quiet, darkness, and a horizontal soft space to sleep. So, we booked a room for the night, woke up at 4 a.m., and took a taxi to the airport the following morning. We made it to Venice by 8 a.m., and the delay actually turned out to be a blessing because we never would have found our hotel in the dark the night before.

Hiccups like this teach you a lot about your relationship. While I was freaking out, apologizing and practically crying because I was so upset about leading us to the wrong airport, the Lumberjack was calm, reassuring and not upset at all. Instead of getting mad at me, he held my hand on the bus ride over, gave me hug while we tried to find a hotel at the last minute, and kissed me good night while we stayed in a two-star hotel with a window that wouldn't close all the way (and it was November, in London, and COLD).

In fact, most of our relationship has been like that -- balanced. Whenever one of us is stressed or freaking out about something, the other is calm, and that perfect balance is something I treasure about our relationship. There is something so wonderfully reassuring about finding someone who balances you so entirely that you know you can face anything that comes your way.

That's what travelling did for us and I wouldn't trade those four months--or those memories and experiences--for anything in the world.

A Reflection: The Engagement

It was May 21, 2006. The Lumberjack and I had talked about getting married, we had shopped for a ring, we had even read one of those "101 questions before you get engaged" books. We were spending a wonderful weekend at my parents' home since he was living in San Diego, and I just knew he was going to propose to me that weekend.

But he didn't.

Oh, he asked a question, all right. He asked, "Wanna go out on a date next weekend?"

Well, sure.

He wouldn't tell me where we were going and, after my disappointment from the previous weekend, I didn't want to get my hopes up. (I mean, who I am kidding? I made sure my nails were freshly manicured for two months before he popped the question, just so I'd be ready to show of my new ring the second it was on my perfectly-polished finger.)

I didn't want to get my hopes up but, being the silly girl I am, I pulled a silky white dress out of my closet and borrowed some pearl earrings from my mom. I even bought some cute heels to go with the dress, you know, just in case.

He drove me downtown and took me to Blue Ginger, a swanky Chinese restaurant I had been dying to go to. The food was delicious and the atmosphere was incredibly romantic. The meal ended, and I suggested we go to the beach and watch the sunset. He suggested Shelter Island, a place we'd go to watch the boats on the harbor and be alone.

I agreed. When we arrived, he took me over to the Bali Hai and I had a good feeling it was finally coming. I knew his dad had asked his mom to marry him in the gardens behind the Bali Hai. But he kept walking. Again, I was disappointed but tried not to get my hopes up.

We walked over to a gazebo shaped like a shell that had been built in the grass near the water. We stood in the middle and looked up at the middle of the shell.

And when I looked back at him, he was down on one knee.

I started freaking out. (He later admitted to me he was so excited, he was shaking.)

He told me how he brought me to this spot because we had shared to much time there. He then asked me if I would do him the honor of becoming his wife. "YES, YES, YES!"

We hugged; we kissed; we laughed.

And then he said, "Oh, by the way, my friends Tori and Dave have been over there taking pictures of the whole thing."

WOW.

He knows me well. Not only did he pick out the ring of my dreams, he knew I'd want photos to commemorate the best day of my life, up until that point at least. It was the most romantic day of my life, and everything was absolutely perfect. I didn't even cry until the photographers left.

Looking back at the photos from that day makes me smiles. We were so young, so in love. The great thing about it is, we're still young, and even more in love.

So many people had told me that marriage would change our relationship, and not necessarily in a good way.

I loved the Lumberjack when he proposed to me, but it was a fraction compared to my love for him now.

Everything about that moment was perfect, but it was just one of many more perfect moments together.

Marriage was the best thing that has ever happened to me--to us--but I'll blog about that later.

Weddings, Fourth of July, etc.

I know, it's been almost a month since my last post. But, I can explain.

See, first I had about a trillion (that's not an exaggeration) wedding-related events. Being in weddings take up a lot of time, even when they're not your own.

On June 26, the Lumberjack was the best man when our dear friends Drew and Christine got married.

Photo by Jeff and Erin Youngren.

And then, one week later on July 3, I was the matron of honor when our dear friends Lisa and Josh got married.

Then, the day after Lisa and Josh's wedding, the Lumberjack and I spent the weekend in Orange County with our parents for the Fourth of July.

The most exciting part of that was: Dutch learned how to swim!

It's an awful lot of excitement for a corgi puppy, though you can't tell from the picture above. In fact, he looks like he's hating it, but he actually had a pretty good time. See, there he is swimming along. He kind of looks terrified there, too, but he figured out the whole swimming thing pretty quickly.

And, as long as one of us was holding him, he seemed to relax and enjoy the cool water on such a hot day.

He did occasionally look to my mom, who was taking pictures, for help. But, each time he'd swim to the steps and get out of the pool, he walk around and try to get back in. The thing is, he's a baby, so he wasn't brave enough so jump in. Plus, when he does jump/fall in, he sinks. Silly dog.

But he definitely had a fun time swimming. In the photo above, he's swimming to me. Such a good boy!

And his daddy was so proud not to have a wussy dog!

Tomorrow, he will be nine months old, and I can say, despite the mishaps, he has been a perfect addition to our little family. We love that little corgi!

A Reflection: Dating

Over Christmas of 2007, the Lumberjack and I spent five days together visiting each other's respective families. It was those five days that solidified what I wanted in my life--him.

When I was 15, I started a journal. It wasn't just any journal; it was a journal to my "future husband." I wrote in it monthly, sometimes daily, expressing the hope I had for the man I knew God would one day bring to me. Perhaps it was naive, but at 15 I knew that five or 10 years later, it could be an invaluable gift for the man I waited for. I also knew that the man I would feel comfortable with giving something so raw and unedited would be the man for me.

After the five days that the Lumberjack and I spent together, I started addressing my journal to him. He was the first man I could ever picture myself growing old with, and the only one since then. He was the only man I could ever imagine giving my journal to. He was the first and only man I ever wrote to in the journal and when he proposed to me, I gave it to him.

One week after our Christmas together, he told me he loved me. And I loved him back.

The following months flew by. Our freshman year was nearly over and we had "the talk," the one that determines where "this is going." That May, we both agreed we were serious, and we could make the three months of long distance work.

Long distance was hard. We were only an hour and a half away from each other, but we only saw each other on weekends, sometimes every other week, which was a big change from every single day. But, distance does make the heart grow fonder, and my time apart from him made me realize that I always wanted to be with him.

There were so many things that made me fall in love with the Lumberjack. He's like no one I'd ever met before. The Lumberjack has a tough, manly exterior--he loves sports, rock music, beer and UFC. But, there's a softer side to him that loves fancy dinners, shopping, sunsets on the beach and romantic comedies. He'd suggest watching the movie "Underworld" together and then sing Tim McGraw's "Barbecue Stain" song to me. One night we'd watch a fight together, and the next he'd take my out to a five-star restaurant and surprise me with Tiffany's jewelry. He is one of the most well-rounded people I've ever met, and that made me fall even more in love with him.

The second reason I fell madly in love with the Lumberjack was his 100% acceptance of who I was. I never felt like I had to put on an act for him to like me. I could be me--goofy, crazy, nerdy, studious, food-loving, emotional, passionate me--without having to worry that he wouldn't like it. The truth was, he loved me as madly as I loved him, and there was and is very little that could keep us apart.

By July, he took me engagement ring shopping. I picked out a beautiful platinum-set, octagon-shaped solitaire diamond in a cathedral setting. But I wouldn't get it from him until nearly one year later.
Above, our sophomore year of college before our engagement: one of my favorite pictures, despite my poorly chosen perm.

A Reflection: How We Met

One year ago, I was barely three weeks out of college and four days away from my wedding. It's amazing the things that have changed since then.

I loved my Lumberjack when we got married. But my love for him then was so minuscule compared to my love for him now. The comfort and support he gives me every single day is incredible, and I can't imagine spending one day of my life not married to him.

In celebrating the last amazing year of our lives, I thought it only appropriate to share how my Lumberjack and I met, just five years ago.....

It was August 24, 2004. We were freshman at Point Loma Nazarene University in San Diego. After being assigned to a small group for our Psychology 101 class, I found myself sitting on the roof to the PLNU athletic training building with 11 strangers--two senior psychology majors and 10 other freshman, who were as confused and excited as I was. We sat in a circle, cross-legged on top of the building, overlooking the athletic field and then the vast ocean that lay before us, much like the future in our simple college-freshman eyes. We went around and said our names. He was cute--fair skin, blue eyes, light brown hair--but it was far from love at first sight.

Over the next few sessions, twice a week for one hour, we got to know each other more. He loved Metallica and basketball; he grew up in San Diego with his two brothers and parents, still married after 25 years. He was "passionate," I wrote in my journal about him.

By Labor Day, he had a girlfriend. And it wasn't me.

He started dating a girl who played for the basketball team. I was less than crushed, after promising myself I wouldn't waste my time on silly boys like I did in high school. I told myself that the next time I date someone--the next time I kiss someone--it's going to mean something.

The Lumberjack and I continued to see each other in class, and we became friends. Within two weeks, his relationship with the basketball player had ended, and he was on to better things: namely, me. We started spending more time together--he'd come over to my room during open dorm to watch movies, and wasn't the least bit deterred when he learned another boy was pining after me. In fact, the Lumberjack encouraged Boy #1 to make a move, or he would, which led to a very awkward conversation when Boy #1 asked me out. I thought Boy #1 was gay. Oops.

Later that week, the Lumberjack was in my room for another open dorm night, and he asked me to dinner. Trying my best to uphold the standards that I had set for myself (and being slightly cruel, I'll admit), I said, "Sure, as friends."

Ouch.

I remember thinking that I didn't want to be his second girlfriend in a month. I wasn't at college to date; I was there to earn a degree and get the best education possible.

When he told me he didn't want to be my friend, I remember thinking he was brave. Not many men would face rejection so boldly and go back in for more.

But he did.

If you ask him now why he stayed around for more, he would tell you that after I commented to him that "making out should be a sport," (yes, I was brazen in my young age), he knew he wanted to know more about me.

And so, the Lumberjack continued to be my friend. We'd spend time together in group settings: going out to movies, eating at the Caf together or attending freshmen-themed events. He even befriended a girl on my hall whom I had grown close to--a sly move.

She came to me one night and told me that the Lumberjack had said "She doesn't know it yet, but she's going to be my girl," about the prospect of dating me.

What an ass--I thought.

But he was persistent. One night, out at a movie with some of our mutual friends, I commented that I was tired and he offered me his shoulder to sleep on.

"No, thanks," I replied.

Now, the Lumberjack lovingly refers to this as Rejection #2.

And he was ready to give up. It was one thing for me to reject him privately, but doing it in public got to him.

I don't remember much of the following week. I do remember getting pneumonia and, right before I left for home, he handed me the sweetest "Get Well" card he could find, even if I didn't deserve it.

When I returned to school the next week, he now admits he had nearly given up on me. But, that Friday, October 22, I asked him if he wanted to see a movie with me, and he accepted.

He expected me to bring a bunch of my girlfriends. I didn't.

The Lumberjack and I took the campus shuttle to the Fashion Valley mall where we split a pepperoni pizza at Chicago Uno. He paid, he admits, just in case it actually was a date. We walked around the mall, taking about our lives and our goals while we waited for our movie to start. At one point, I discovered his middle brother was the same age as my sister and I suggested we go on a double date sometime. And he asked, "So, is this a date?"

Yes, it was. Our first date of many. We continued the night by watching "Shark Tale" together, which to this day is very "us."

But the rejection wasn't over yet. At the end of the night, he asked if he could kiss me.

And I said, "No," telling him that he could kiss me on our second date.

But I didn't make him wait that long. Two days later, we went for a walk and I stopped rejecting him. In fact, I made the first move and kissed him (when I told my mom that I had made the first move, she called me a "brazen hussy"). It was the best first kiss of my life.

Four days after that, the Lumberjack asked me if we could be exclusive, and we were.

And, while his dorm mates called me his "October girlfriend," I knew I was so much more than that.
Above, Christmas at my parents' house, Dec. 2004. This was our first photo together and the first time he met my parents.