—

When I was young, “You’re going to spend the night at Auntie Pat’s” were some of my most favorite words in the entire English language. I loved going to Auntie Pat’s. She lived in an old home in St. Paul with a screened in porch, old, slippery, creeky wood floors and an old, creeky wood staircase that led up to the second floor where my brother, sister and I would share one room. Visiting Auntie Pat meant exciting places and food we weren’t supposed to eat. She took us to the Children’s Museum, we went to the arcade, we drove bumper cars and bumper boats and ate lots of pizza and chewed the bubble gum that was shredded and came in a bag with an ugly baseball player on the front… (deep breath)…

But even among all of that excitement, the best part about Auntie Pat’s was bedtime. Every night at Auntie Pat’s my brother, sister and I would climb into our beds (or sleeping bags) and wait for Auntie Pat to come say goodnight. Then, before she left us in slumber, we would beg for a story.

Auntie Pat told the best stories.

We would lay there in the dark with the peach-ish light of the street lamp falling in through the window, outlining Auntie Pat’s short, dark curly hair, as she told us about the time she and my dad and their older sister and my grandparents went on a family trip to Wyoming. Or she told us about playing Kick the Can in the street with the neighbor kids. Or she told us about the time Dad got in trouble at school, or at home, or wherever. At the end of each story we begged for another and every night she finished with our favorite one: The story of the Time they went to Disney and rode the Space Mountain roller coaster.

Though we had heard it 100 times before, we couldn’t wait to hear it again. How scared they were. How it looked like a space ship. How dark it was. How much they screamed at every drop. How many times they went back. And when it was over, after she kissed us all goodnight and closed the door behind her, the three of us would discuss what parts we thought really happened and what parts might have been added to the memory over the years.

—

The stories Auntie Pat told us were in no way elaborate. She didn’t have a background in early childhood development or any theater or storytelling experience. Her plot lines weren’t well-developed and she didn’t use different voices for the characters. She didn’t weave together before our very eyes wondrous fictional tales of princesses and heroes. But she didn’t have to. Instead, she simply shared her memories. She told us about people we were desperate to know – our father and family when they were younger. She told us of places we had never seen – Wyoming. Disney. To her, her stories were just old memories dusted off and shared so that her nieces and nephew would go to sleep. To us, they were the most wonderful tales we had ever heard.

In fact, I remember the first time I stood in front of Space Mountain at Disney World. I was eighteen years old. I looked to my brother and sister and said in awe, “We’re finally here.” To be standing there was more magical than even Disney himself could have designed.

—

If you are feeling the pressure or have the desire to tell exceptional bedtime stories, the soon-to-be-released Shake-n-Tell app is one way to go, especially for the little ones. However, let me offer you a different direction that your children, particularly as they age, will appreciate even more.

Tell them about your favorite family vacation.
Tell them about a time you got in trouble.
Tell them about your first grade teacher.
Tell them about what you used to do for fun.
Tell them about your first home run, soccer goal, dance recital.

And remember, elaborate plots, over the top fantasy, none of that is necessary. Just tell it as you remember. They will love the stories, they will love the “everyday adventures”… they already do… because they already love you.

The Story of Stephanie + Ryan

In 2006 Ryan bought a home in North Scottsdale.
A nice home, in a nice community, surrounded by very nice neighbors…
Who were all very old.

So when he heard that the person looking at the house right next door was his age, he was pleased. And when he heard that they would get along, he was happy. But it was Stephanie’s mother who was happiest of all – because in the process of moving in, she saw Ryan outside with his yellow lab Kona and immediately fell in love… with the dog.

Though she eventually noticed that Ryan was pretty cute too.

Soon Stephanie’s father met Ryan – and Ryan generously brought him McDonalds as her dad renovated the home. Actually, everyone in Stephanie’s family knew Ryan before she did and everyone loved him. They called him, appropriately, “The Boy Next Door.”

Much to Stephanie’s embarrassment, the excitement over The Boy Next Door continued to mount until, two months after Stephanie was handed the keys, she heard her mother say (in a voice only mothers use),

“Your neighbor is outside.”
Ryan was in the garage. The time had come. Time to meet the Boy Next Door.

The first time Ryan laid eyes on Stephanie is a moment he will never forget:
She was wearing a blue shirt, black shorts.
Her smile was easy and her eyes flashed green in the sunlight.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a haphazard ponytail.
And as she walked towards him all Ryan could think was…
“Holy crap.”
Nothing any mother had said could prepare him for the beauty of the girl next door.

He knew instantly that he should welcome her to the neighborhood – it was the neighborly thing to do after all. He chose not to do it with flowers – that would be awkward. He decided .. instead … to run to Target pack a huge laundry basket full of household essentials: Jet Dry, paper towels, toilet paper, and some fancy candles. THIS was the PERFECT “Welcome to the neighborhood beautiful neighbor girl” gift.

That night, nervous and excited, Ryan showed up on Stephanie’s doorstep with his basketful of necessities.
Stephanie thanked him and thought to herself, “What a nice little neighbor.”

… Not exactly the response Ryan was hoping for…
Whether she was playing hard to get or just wasn’t ready it wasn’t clear, but if time is what she needed, time he could give her. If she needed space, that would be a bit more challenging. After all, they lived under the same roof line.

For several months they were very neighborly – taking care of each other in the way that neighbors do. Ryan helped when her pipes burst, and Stephanie kept an eye on Kona the dog. Ryan let Stephanie borrow his furniture while she waited for hers to arrive. If one of them went out of town, the other gathered their mail. And from time to time they could both be seen drifting casually to their back windows just to catch a glimpse of the other, or lingering a little longer in the backyard in hopes of running into their neighbor.

By late June, the neighbors had become friends.
By late July, the Boy Next Door wanted to tell the Girl that he could see something more …
And just before autumn arrived, at a wedding in Laguna where they traveled together and shared one room, two beds, the Girl Next Door knew…

Though her family loved him first … she could quite possibly love him forever.

—

It was September 1^st, 2010.
Ryan and Stephanie were about to leave for a ten-day trip out east.
In the midst of the packing chaos, Stephanie and her mother scheduled a family dinner with Ryan the evening before they left. Something quick. Something simple. Something just to say goodbye. Stephanie was to meet Ryan at his place when she was ready to go. But before heading over she called. She text. And she waited. She called again. Text again. And she waited. But Ryan didn’t respond so Stephanie got worried. There was no way she could have known…

That two weeks before, Ryan had a dinner of his own planned with Stephanie’s parents. A dinner where he asked if he could have the Girl Next Door as his bride.

On September 1^st, 2010, Ryan had taken a half-day at work. He had tiptoed around the neighborhood, hoping she wouldn’t catch him – because, after all, she lived next door. He had filled his family room with candles and flowers and when Stephanie walked in, he was ready. Ryan got down on one knee. He had carefully prepared exactly what he wanted to say to the most beautiful woman he had ever known. He was as nervous, and as excited, as he had been the day he dropped off the laundry basket of household items.

And when he asked, Stephanie said yes.
The man who had been the first to welcome Stephanie to the neighborhood, would now be the one to welcome her home, to their home, for the rest of their days.

Immediately, Ryan told Stephanie plans had changed – no dinner with the parents; instead they were going out just the two of them to celebrate their “special moment.” As they drove, Stephanie desperately tried calling everyone she loved to share the news … but no one would answer.

For good reason.
Because both families and their closest friends were waiting at the restaurant. And as the couple walked in, they cheered.

It was the best night of their lives.
The best night … until now.

I’ll be honest – I would have loved to have told the virginity story again … however, this was a different kind of crowd. So instead, I decided to debut The Neighborhood Dirt. And since we had a grandfather and two grandmothers in tow, Michael was able to capture it on film (with his trusty iPhone).

Enjoy – and I hope your holidays started at sweetly.

CLICK HERE TO WATCH

They were just married Saturday – and thank you to their photographer, the talented Lizzie Kimball, who captured these images of the stories being read.

The Story of Kristen + Justin

Meeting Kristen – THE STORY ACCORDING TO JUSTIN

I had taken some time off. Time off from girls.
I needed to focus on my life. Focus on my relationship with God, on my relationship with myself. And I definitely needed to not focus on “some girl” or lose myself in a relationship. And so I decided to take a break.

Then, in January 2010, I met Kristen.
It was at a BBQ with a bunch of my friends I hadn’t seen in a while.
It was definitely going to be a fun time.

I actually didn’t see her at first, sitting there, casually on top of the marble counter beside the grill as I tackled my friend in a greeting. I didn’t really notice I had interrupted their conversation. In fact I didn’t really notice her until she silently slipped back inside.

And then, all I did for the rest of the night was notice her.
I wondered who she was.
I kept asking, “Who IS that girl?”
Was she single? (Hopefully)
Was she in high school? (Hopefully not).
And I couldn’t help but notice … she was very attractive.

At the end of the night, (whether to be nice or something more I wasn’t sure), she asked for my number.

It wasn’t long before she text something sassy.
I was quick to respond. Maybe TOO quick.
Every time I moved closer, she ran away.
And all I could think was she wasn’t feeling it.

Then, for five days the phone sat silent.
For five days I had to be patient. I had to remind myself not to fall back into my old routine – not to make this girl my whole life. It was good to have time to myself and time with God because somehow I knew, if this thing really started … it may never stop.

I was right.

Late one evening in December, nearly a year after that first day at the Barbecue, Kristen fell asleep next to me while watching “How I met Your Mother.” I turned off the television and was just about to tip toe out and head home, as was customary for me to do, when I paused and stole one last glance. The room was completely silent. The moonlight rested peacefully on her face. In our busy lives there was so rarely a quiet moment – and watching her there, sleeping, I knew… I wanted her to be my wife.

Meeting Justin – THE STORY ACCORDING TO KRISTEN

I had taken some time off. Time off from guys.
I made a New Year’s Resolution to not have a boyfriend for a whole year and for the first time in my life, I kept it. I needed to focus on my life. Needed to get my priorities straight. Needed a break from heartbreak.

Then, one year later in January of 2010…
I was at a BBQ where I knew almost no one.
A BBQ where I met Justin …

I was casually sitting on top of the marble counter out at the the grill talking to one of the few people I knew when, from out of nowhere, a guy exploded onto the back patio tackled my friend in a greeting. I looked for the fastest way to get back inside. But I thought to myself, “He is loud, and fun, and I probably should get to know him.”
For the rest of the night, I noticed him notice me…
But he wasn’t who I had pictured for my next boyfriend.
No blonde hair. (Strike one)
No blue eyes. (Strike two)
But if he liked me, maybe I could like him… and I couldn’t help but notice… he was very cute.

At the end of the night, knowing that the ball would be in my court, I asked for his phone number.

It wasn’t long before I text something sassy.
He was quick to respond. TOO quick.
He kept getting closer and I needed space.

I just didn’t have time for someone who was so available.

For five days the phone sat silent.
For five days I had to consider if I was willing to change the picture I had for my life. I considered if I wanted someone who was so different from me. Somehow I knew if this thing really started… it may never stop.

I was right.

Late one evening in December, nearly a year after that first day at the Barbecue, after nearly a year of dating, Justin and I were up late just sitting on my bed. And while the rest of the house slept, we sang Christmas carols. Just the two of us, side by side, singing every song we could remember. It was a simple moment, but it was the moment when I knew … I wanted to be with this man for the rest of my days.

The Proposal – THE STORY ACCORDING TO JUSTIN

With the help of some of the Youth Girls, I had the perfect plan.

I would propose at WoodLeaf. I would make the trip with signs, a Chik-fil-a box, and a ring. I would have the medic call her down to the lake – claiming a camper needed her help. A videographer would be there to capture it. Finally, I would get on one knee and ask her to be my bride.

I decided it would be best to do it right before dinner. The medic, the videographer and I drove a golf cart down to the lake. We called Kristen on the walkie talkie several times – she didn’t pick up. And when she DID pick up and the medic told her he needed backup, my logical beloved Kristen protested – she told him he wasn’t following proper procedures. I could tell she was confused and concerned. When she finally arrived down at the lake, she was so focused on finding the camper who needed her, she walked right past me. Me and all of my signs. I called her name three times – until she did a double take. She looked at me in complete surprise, then smiled her Kristen-smile and ran to me.

When I asked her to be mine, she hugged me and shook her head yes on my shoulder. There simply were no words.

With Kristen I know these things to be true:
My life will be filled with notes on the bathroom mirror, and hugs from behind to remind me I’m hers.
Kristen is patient, willing to love others, to serve others, a cheerful giver– qualities that enhance my days and make me want to be better.
With Kristen, her activity will always be narrated with song, she’ll pretend she is angry just to get me to play, and hand holding will always mean I love you.
Our strengths will balance our weaknesses, and though we are very different, I know that Kristen will take me as I am – imperfections included.
Together we will grow closer to Christ. Together we can serve God better.
She is my best friend and I am blessed to spend the rest of my days loving her.

The Proposal – THE STORY ACCORDING TO KRISTEN

I was at WoodLeaf – fulfilling my duties to care for the kids while they were visiting. I was in the shower just before dinner when I heard the medic calling for me from the walkie talkie. When I finally answered he mumbled something about needing back up. Back up? Back up? I was confused – there was a process and the medic was doing it all wrong and it wasn’t making any sense.

Frustrated and hungry I headed down to the lake where some guy was standing by the water.  I walked past him, looking for the camper who needed ”backup.” It was then that, though he had said it twice before, I heard the guy by the water call my name.

And I knew.

With the ring thoughtfully wrapped in Chick-Fil-A packaging, Justin asked me to be his wife. I held him and shook my head yes on his shoulder. There simply were no words.

With Justin I know these things to be true:
My life will be filled with laughter, and child-like excitement.
Justin is gracious, forgiving, and merciful – qualities that enhance my days and make me want to be better.
With Justin, stories will always include silly voices, strangers will quickly become friends, and hand holding will always mean I love you.
Our strengths will balance our weaknesses, and though we are very different, I know that Justin will take me as I am – imperfections included.
Together we will grow closer to Christ. Together we can serve God better.
He is my best friend and I am blessed to spend the rest of my days loving him.

To celebrate our accomplishment, my five roommates and I hosted a graduation party at the house we called home for two years – 912 8th St South, Moorhead MN, (56562). Despite the inclement weather, The Outback Steakhouse (for a mere $150) set up a tent on our back parking pad with two over-sized grills and fed 60 of our family and friends a feast of BBQ ribs & chicken, caesar salad, baked potatoes, and cheesecake. Inside we turned moving bin lids into table tops and filled our house with people, laughter and chaos for one last time. When the party ended, the families went back to their hotel rooms to rest up for the move in the morning and the six girls retreated to their rooms for one last night.

Tomorrow was moving day.

I remember walking down to my bedroom in the dungeon (the basement). The room was dark except for the glow of a multi-colored lamp I had purchased a WalMart. I remember my boyfriend sitting on the bed as I slowly sank to the floor. The carpet was as hard as concrete; equally as cold and less attractive. And the contrast of a day filled with excitement and celebration, to the sad silence of a final night in a place called home was sharp and emptying.

Sitting on that chilled, hideous floor, I simply started to cry.
A few tears turned into graceful sobs as I mourned the end (of an era).
Under that roof, I knew what to expect – the good, the bad, and (living with six girls, a double major and an extreme dislike of doing the dishes) the ugly. I loved that house and everything it was to me; a place for me to grow from a girl into a young woman. I knew that walking out of that house meant leaving behind a time of innocence, forever.

And so I cried.

—

The next morning the rain had stopped but the pavement was still wet. I loaded the last few items into my red Chevy Beretta and hugged my roommates (friends for life) goodbye. Just before I climbed in the car to start the long drive to whatever lay ahead, I looked back over my shoulder (in spite of how cheesy it was) at the house that was mine for only as long as that final glance lasted.

It was still (but truthfully, it was always still).
Against the gray sky it looked a little sad (but truthfully, everything looks a little sad against a gray sky).
And though it looked sad, it also looked pleased.
Pleased it had done its job. Please it kept me safe. Pleased I was moving on.

I climbed in my car and as I drove away, I could feel the house breathe a sigh of relief.
—

It was a Monday night and Michael, my real estate impassioned (“It’s still the best place to put your money”) husband, mentioned that he had seen a house. A house that had just dropped in price. A house that we might want to consider taking a look at.

When he casually mentioned it over dinner, we were living in a beautiful little home we had purchased and fixed up just two years earlier. We tore out walls, we put in wood floors, we labored over light fixtures, and we created a backyard heaven. And though it was a little tight — only three closets, two bedrooms, one bath and a mere 1,100 square feet that had been entirely overrun by baby gear — we weren’t really looking to buy something new.

Nevertheless, on Tuesday we looked at the “new” house together – a four bedroom, three bathroom, plenty of room for the gear of many babies- house. We stood at the top of the stairs, surrounded by unlimited closets and space (and all in the right school district) and gave each other the “lesdoit” look.

On Friday there was a sign in our front yard that read: FOR RENT.

I should have been excited. I should have been. The house was exactly what we wanted but thought we couldn’t have. We could live comfortably in that house for at least ten years. And, (though it wasn’t necessary but certainly a bonus), the house was even closer to my favorite jumbo chocolate chip cookies. But for whatever reason, I just couldn’t get excited…
Because moving into a new house…

Meant leaving my home.

The home whose walls I marked with a Sharpie to take down.

The home where we had to buy a tree to bury our kitten in the backyard.

The home where we laid on the bed and timed, what I thought were gas pains, until it was time to go to the hospital.

The home where I sang my baby to sleep in his tiny little nursery.

Under that roof, I knew what to expect – the good, the bad, and (living with a husband, a baby, and two cats in 1,100 square feet) the ugly. I loved that house and everything it was to me; a place for me to grow from a young woman into a wife, a mother. And it kept me safe as I did both. I knew that walking out of that house meant leaving behind a time of innocence, forever.

However, this time there wasn’t any time for crying.

On Friday, November 4th, (after many trials and tribulations that are a story of their own),
at 5pm we got the keys to the new house.

Saturday morning, it was raining. In Phoenix.
I knew it was time.

At 7:30am the movers showed up. Then a painter arrived to erase the blue from the walls in my bedroom and the green from the walls in Arn’s. Then Stanley Steamer Carpet Cleaner did quick work of the two small squares of carpet. And finally a general cleaning crew arrived to remove any trace of us living there at all.

At 7pm the new renters moved in.

I was there when it happened.
It was a young couple – recently engaged, the world at their feet. They were so excited, I could tell. Excited about the backyard (especially since we “handled” the gophers), excited about the dark wood floors, excited about the open space the walls we had removed created.

I loaded the last few bins (of crap — because that’s always what is in the last few bins) into my car; Michael was going to stay behind to go over the details – that the faucets in the shower were actually the opposite of what they said, that the fridge door sometimes stuck when you opened the freezer, and that someone wrote something on the underside of the toilet seat.

After shaking their hands and wishing them luck, Michael went into the house to wrap things up and I climbed into my car. But before I started the 1 mile drive to the new place I would call home, I looked back over my shoulder at the house that, though we still owned it, was no longer ours.

It was still (but truthfully, it was always still).
Against the evening sky it looked a little sad. And I was sad too.
I hoped to never forget the warmth of that kitchen during the holidays, or how cozy the couch felt watching Modern Family on a Wednesday night, or how long it took us to get the photo mural hung just right on our bedroom wall, or the way Arn’s room looked at three in the morning.

But while saying goodbye is never easy, it is no reason to stand still.
Though the house looked sad, it also seemed pleased.
Pleased it had done its job. Please it kept me safe. Pleased we were moving on.

I put the car in drive and as I drove away, I could feel the house breathe a sigh of relief..

Because we lived the heck out of that place.

(photos by melissa jill)

So I emailed her back and said I would tell the story about finding out I was going to have a baby. She said, “Someone is already telling a story about having a baby. So no.” Crap.

She suggested maybe I just wait and tell a different time – maybe in January, or December. But it was the day before the event – I had already told my friends. I had already planned on telling. I had already picked an outfit. I wasn’t backing out.

In a desperate attempt to not be pulled from the lineup I wrote:

“How about a story about losing my virginity… “

To which she responded:

“I’ll take it.”

I got the email on my phone, sitting in my car. I started sweating. I immediately regretted the decision. But there was no turning back.

That Thursday night I stood on the stage and told, to an audience of unsuspecting strangers, a story that previously I had only told a handful of girlfriends. It was terrifying (the glass of prosecco I downed right before was perhaps the only reason I didn’t run). But it was fitting – because telling the story was a moment on the edge for me.

I have never been afraid to be vulnerable or tell stories that make me look like a fool. But there are definitely stories that I don’t tell – because they’re too embarrassing, or they’re a little dark, or I’m just not sure if the words are appropriate to say. Telling that story on that stage that night was a risk for me – edgy. And now, looking back, perhaps a risk I’m willing to take more often…

However, that is for another time. Right now, without further adieu, I give you the story entitled: The Time I Thought I Lost My Virginity.

(Adult Content)

CLICK HERE TO WATCH

Arn loves the iPad for reading books, catching up on the latest news, and watching Beyonce’s “All the Single Ladies” video. The iPad is also Arn’s preferred device when it comes to love – the iPad and FaceTime.
—

I remember the first commercial I saw for the iPhone 4 and FaceTime.
A wife (presumably) telling her husband (presumably) that after trying for so long, she was finally pregnant. The biggest news of their lives and they decide to share it via FaceTime.

Gross.

Worst. Commercial. Ever.

The concept, the acting, the weird airbrushed hand holding the phone – it made my teeth hurt. I vowed to never use FaceTime.

Arn, however, felt differently.

Arn loves FaceTime (though, in all fairness, he was still in utero when the awful commercial aired). Arn has video conferences with his father, he enjoys showing off various new skills (jumping, rolling, scooting, tooth-growing, and spraying food on the hand that feeds him) to his grandmothers, and most of all Arn uses FaceTime to pick up chicks.

His first was Valentina.

Valentina lives in Mexico and is one day younger than Arn (but only because she was born in Central time — in Pacific time they share a birthday). I lived with Valentina’s mother, Carolina, in 2001 when I studied in Mexico City for a month. Caro was my host sister. Ten years later, we had babies within 24 hours of each other, and five months after that they had their first date.

I think this is what Steve Jobs had intended FaceTime to be all along; a platform for infant dating.

Or at least something of that nature.

And though I am happy my little Apple Baby can experience the world in ways I never dreamed, rest assured, he still gets plenty of time with books that have pages made of paper.

A few days after they became husband and wife Darcy was kind enough to send me this message:

… wanted to let you know the wedding went great.  Specifically the story.  It really made the ceremony.  It was so much fun to see what Chuck had to say and our friends loved it.  Literally everyone was talking about it the whole night. Thank you so much!

The story was read by Chuck’s Best Man and Darcy’s Maid of Honor (her identical twin sister Marisa). Enjoy.

The Story of Darcy and Chuck

Today we are here to celebrate the marriage of Darcy and Chuck. But before they begin their future as husband and wife, they thought it only fitting to look back on their ten years together and celebrate, just for a moment, how far they have come.

 The First Date – According to Darcy

Darcy was a freshman when she met Chuck for the first time. He was standing outside their dorms the Friday night before a football game. Though the encounter was brief, it never takes long to make a first impression and as far as Darcy was concerned… Chuck was kind of a jerk. A tough guy. She wasn’t impressed.

A year later Marisa (yes, that’s me) suggested Darcy go out with none other than that jerk Chuck. Darcy said no. Marisa suggested it again, strongly. And again. And again. Unsure of why her sister was so persistent when typically she keeps her relationship opinion to herself, Darcy finally caved. A few nights later she found herself sitting at a Starbucks in Pasadena with a guy who was SO not her type. They talked about books and what they wanted to do in life. To her surprise, Darcy was enjoying herself and enjoying Chuck’s company. He made her laugh – he was so funny – not at all jerky. In fact, Darcy couldn’t help but think he was actually kind of … sweet.

When the coffee was gone and it was time to go home Darcy was pleased, but guarded. She was no fool. She knew this was Chuck’s senior year – a time to enjoy the last few moments of freedom before real life began. She also knew herself – that she’d likely get bored. It seemed pretty unlikely that anything serious would come of it; pretty unlikely that there would ever be a “Darcy and Chuck.”

The First Date – According to Chuck.

Chuck was a junior when Darcy claims they met outside the dorms.

Strangely enough, Chuck doesn’t remember that meeting.

He does remember telling Marisa to put in a “good word” for him.

And he does remember calling to ask her out – just for coffee or something. He carefully dialed her number and when the answering machine picked up, and left her a message.
And then he waited.
And he waited.
He sat in his dorm room, next to his phone and waited for Darcy to call.

He waited until he was almost late for practice. And when practice was over, he blew his friends off, skipped dinner and didn’t even shower. He ran back to his dorm and with eye wax still covering his cheeks he saw he had a message. He held his breath as he listened.

It was Darcy. He was happy. She left a very vague message… She said something about “maybe this day” but “maybe that won’t work…” Chuck was pissed. However, a few nights later, Darcy relented and he was able to take her to coffee in Pasadena.

During their coffee “date,” Chuck quickly realized he was sitting with a girl who was WAY out of his league. It only took one cup of coffee to confirm what he already suspected: this girl was awesome.

When the coffee was gone and it was time to go home Chuck had already decided: though it was his senior year, no amount of freedom mattered. He would give it all up if it meant he got to keep Darcy.

The Future – As Darcy Sees It

In this relationship that has spanned a decade, Darcy and Chuck have been five different versions of themselves. From college kids to college grads. Through career changes, financial stresses, and family challenges. Though it wasn’t always easy, they weathered the storms together and came out on the other side stronger; each with a renewed appreciation for the other.

In their ten years together, here is what Darcy has learned to love about Chuck:

She loves how Chuck makes her laugh. She knows that when she gets too serious, Chuck will be there to lighten the mood.
She loves how he makes her coffee – no matter how hard she tries, coffee is never as good as when Chuck makes it.

She loves his loyalty. He is loyal to his friends, to his family, and loyal to her.

Darcy loves Chuck’s family. She loves their spicy food and their warm, welcoming ways. More importantly, she loves who Chuck is when he is with his family; watching Chuck love his family is very touching.

She loves how hard Chuck worked for his dream to become a police officer. She knows it wasn’t easy and she is proud he didn’t give up.

Darcy loves how close Chuck is with his friends – though she sometimes believes he should be marrying them. It is a testament to his character that he has friends who are that special to him.

She loves that he acts as the middle ground between her and her sister.
That he knows exactly how to make Marisa’s coffee.
She loves how he loves her sister.

Most of all, she loves the man he’s become and the woman he has made her.

The Future – As Chuck Sees It

In their ten years together, here is what Chuck has learned to love about Darcy:

He loves how compassionate Darcy is. He knows that when he is focusing on the negative aspects of people, Darcy will help him see the good.  He loves that she chooses to trust first.

He loves how bubbly and outgoing she is. People are drawn to her. He loves how smart she is. He loves that she chose him.

He knows that Darcy will be there to smooth his rough edges and cool his hot head.

Chuck loves how Darcy embraced his family. And he loves how much they love her.

He loves that she knows when he’s having a bad day. And that when he comes home at 3am after dealing with the ugliness of the world, Darcy will have left cookies and milk on the kitchen table before heading to bed. He loves coming home to place that feels comfortable and safe if for no other reason than she is there.

He loves the little things Darcy does to show him what he means to her. Those gestures never go unnoticed or unappreciated.

Chuck will never forget how Darcy supported him in achieving his dream. And though he has always been a man who speaks his mind, when he thinks of the strength Darcy gave him… he can’t find the words to express what that meant. And he’ll never forget it.

He loves that Darcy took a chance on him – that even though she is smarter, sweeter, and way out of his league, she gave him a chance to become the kind of person who deserved someone as wonderful as she is.

Most of all, Darcy was there when Chuck went from being a kid to becoming a man. And because of her, he is a better man than he ever thought he could be. For that, if for no other reason, he will love her forever.

Today we are here to celebrate the marriage of Darcy and Chuck – it is a story that spans a decade before this day, and many more decades to come.

I was in graduate school, I was recently single, and I was dangerous. I bought the sluttiest costume I could find – a referee. I then made it sluttier by having black panties printed with silver lettering that said SCORE on the butt. Then I made it downright trashy by wearing a long, curly ponytail I had purchased at a mall kiosk (though at the time I thought the fake pony was a genius and totally legitimate alternative to a bad hair day).

That Halloween night, (after wearing the entire slutty ensemble to the mass lecture hall that morning where I was a TA and monitored an undergraduate exam) I hit the local Las Cruces club. There, I blew a whistle that hung around my neck, I hollered “Unnecessary Roughness” at the top of my lungs with unnecessary frequency, I flung my fake ponytail from side to side in a sexy manner, and I flashed my silver-screened panties any time a guy came near me. After all, isn’t that what Halloween is all about – the holiday for dressing up slutty and parading around guilt free?

… I don’t remember much more about the evening.

Since that time I’ve been in Halloween limbo. I didn’t want to go out – the inevitable pounding headache and vague recollections didn’t sound appealing anymore.  But wandering around the neighborhood knocking on strangers’ doors asking for candy didn’t seem appropriate either.

Until now. Until this year.

Because this year I have offspring.

In the weeks leading up to Halloween I spent a portion of each day online researching various infant costume options. I debated between an infant lion, an infant elephant, and my personal favorite – an infant lobster in a pot. However, when the price tag on each of those options didn’t fall below $50 (before shipping), I opted for the infant tree frog that I found at the (“upscale”) baby consignment shop for $7.99.

By Halloween Eve I had secured a pumpkin bucket for candy collecting and did a practice run with Arn as an amphibian. And though he didn’t appear to be impressed, (after all – what prince wants to be turned into a frog?), I had high hopes for the evening.

As a proud first-time-mom I couldn’t wait to hear the “Oh how sweet!” and “Isn’t he the cutest frog you’ve ever seen!” chorus of comments. I even dug out an old costume for myself to be fully engaged in the festivities.

It would be Michael, the Tree Frog and the Slutty Referee hitting the streets of Arcadia that night.

And we did.

We drove to a friend’s house who was having a party and whose street was the best for Trick or Treat loot. We enjoyed a little homemade chili, a piece of candy corn or two, and then we set off – ready to make my Halloween dreams come true.

My tree frog in my arms and a pumpkin bucket in my hands, Arn and I approached the first house while Michael opted to wait in the street – with beer in a red plastic cup and a smirk. An annoying smirk. A smirk I didn’t understand and I didn’t care –  I was Trick or Treating with my offspring – as far as I was concerned, I had discovered the meaning of life.

Arn and I had to walk through a wad of cotton peppered with plastic spiders, several styrofoam headstones, and one large spider that jumped out at us when I stepped on the sign that said “Step Here.” I attributed Arn’s emotionless face at the sight of the large, venomous creature to bravery rather than a lack of understanding.

Moments later we arrived at the front door where, sitting outside, was a couple with a bucket of candy between them. They smiled at my little Tree Frog and then looked to me.

Naturally, I smiled and said, “Trick or Treat!”

It was then, as the couple reached into their bowl of treasures, that I realized what was about to happen.

They were going to give us some candy.
But Arn didn’t have teeth.
Which meant I would have to eat it.
Oh crap. (I felt myself start to sweat).
My teeth already hurt from the two bags of candy I had eaten earlier in the week. (I bit my bottom lip nervously).
And a girl could only go to Spin class so many times in a week to burn off candy calories. (I could feel my heartrate rise).
And I had worked so hard to lose the baby weight, I did not need this stupid holiday to add it all back on. (I started to twitch).
So the truth was..

“I don’t want your candy.” I shouted.

The couple stared at me.
Arn burst into tears at the sound of my raised voice.

“I’m sorry, I don’t … I don’t need any… your candy looks delicious but… I don’t need any candy.”
They stared at me as I stood there, awkwardly, and with a screaming Tree Frog.
This was not going well.

“And he,” I continued, nodding my head toward Arn. “He has no teeth so he doesn’t want your candy either. Your delicious candy.”
They stared at me, all slutty in their driveway, as a line of toothed children formed behind me.

“So unless you have any breastmilk…”

I smiled like a sheep, and laughed, and desperately wished for Michael to wipe that knowing smirk off his face and come save me. But, he didn’t. And they didn’t have any breast milk. So I wished them a Happy Halloween, feebly waved Arn’s (who was now quietly staring at a four foot Spiderman standing behind me) webbed hand for him, and walked back down the driveway.

“How’d that go?” Michael smiled.
—

We spent the next 30 minutes walking up and down the block – the Dad, the Tree Frog, and the Referee (who barely looked slutty by 2011 standards). We admired the ghosts and goblins as they passed and collected as many “oh how sweet” and “isn’t he the cutest little frog” comments as we could.

Though our bucket remained empty (except for Michael’s  empty red beer cup) Halloween 2011 was a success.
I got to dress my baby up and parade him around guilt free.
After all, isn’t that what Halloween is all about?

You’ve all been to the wedding or event where someone decides to “wing” their message to the honored guest and RARELY does it turn out good. Fortunately, with a little time and thought and even a little help, the perfect toast IS possible.

Yesterday I posted The Story of Annee + Scott. Today, I give you the Maid of Honor toast. Jessica and I worked together to create a small speech that would honor her older sister in the perfect way. I sent Jessica a list of questions to think about and then we talked for about thirty minutes on the phone as she told me some of her favorite memories with her sister. I took those stories, sorted them out, put them together, and both Jessica and I were thrilled with the outcome. In fact, Jessica was sweet enough to send me this message: 

Kindra was a delight to work with! She responded to all of my e-mails in 24 hours or less and was flexible with me when I accidentally missed our scheduled call. She provided me with a great starting point and helped me express my ideas from which she crafted into the perfect toast for my sister’s wedding. A gorgeous gal that has quite a way with words!

There are many things to love about my sister Annee. She is elegant, she is graceful, and she isn’t afraid to have fun no matter where she goes. She has the poise of Doris Day and the sassiness of Marilyn Monroe. My father always said “a room is better when Annee’s in it” and I have to agree.

Growing up with ten years between us, Annee was my idol. I would do anything she told me to — I ate things I probably shouldn’t have, I flipped people off without knowing what it meant, and when Annee got fed up with me she’d say “Kiss my butt” … and I would. I would bend down and plant one on her denim wrapped bottom. Anything she said, I’d do.

But Annee didn’t always take advantage of me and most of the time, she was the kind of big sister younger sisters can only dream of. I remember when I was eight and Annee was eighteen, and I was desperate to go to Disneyland. All of my friends had been there and I wanted more than anything to go. So she took me. Annee did. Just the two of us. For a whole weekend we dressed in matching clothes, took photos with the Disney characters and ate McDonalds for every meal. It was the most magical weekend of my eight year old life – a magic I will never forget.

When Annee left for college, I missed her. So much. I slept with pictures of us in my bed. I drew her face on a pillow to keep her close. And at our home in Flagstaff I would sleep in her room instead of my own – just to feel close to her again. And when she came home from college, I cherished every moment I got to spend with her. I may have been ten years younger, and I may have been her sister, but even I knew what an exceptional person she was – a person to be cherished.

Annee called me after her first date with Scott and told me she’d met “the one.” I remember sobbing with happiness, (and then sobbing with jealousy when I saw the ring). After all her years of “kissing frogs” Annee had found a prince… And once I met Scott I knew she was in good hands. He adds charm to her class, strength to her sassiness, and loves her the way my sister deserves to be loved.  And Scott is a perfect for me too – because when all hell breaks lose in our home, Scott is the only one I can turn to. Their love inspires me and I can only hope that I find love as genuine (and aesthetically pleasing) when my “frog kissing” days are done.

Words of wisdom for Scott? Pretend to like her cooking because she tries. Anything that sparkles is fair game and be patient with her – we sisters are known to be divas from time to time. Finally, if she ever tells you to: “Kiss my butt,” you don’t actually have to do it.

At this time would ask that you all raise your glasses to honor my sister, the bride, and her new husband. May your days be filled with the loyalty of a younger sister, your nights as magical as Disneyland through the eyes of a child and more than anything, may you cherish each other with the innocence of a face drawn on a pillow just to feel close. May you cherish each other the way I have always cherished you, Annee.

To the bride and groom.