Sunday, August 29, 2010

I have a story to share...

Words really can't describe how I am feeling tonight. 
While I do have a story to share, I won't share it tonight. 
In the meantime, let this picture tell it for me. 
(Thank you, Eddie Bear.)

Saturday, August 21, 2010

About the Author

I've always liked to write. Growing up, I'd write notes to my friends in class. Who didn't? In the summers, I would write letters to friends and send them in the mail. (Elisha and I became very close with our postmen. We'd write little notes to them as well on the outside of the envelopes. Sweet things like, "PRIVATE PARTS" and "DO NOT OPEN POSTMAN". Mature.) When email came about, I was addicted. I had a account and an AOL account. I've kept a lot of the emails I've sent and received over the years because let's get honest - the things you write about in college are hilarious. This is when you are really getting to know yourself. The emails I wrote really captured where my head was at during a lot of first time experiences. And they are hilarious. (My favorites happen to be between Lindsay and I, largely due to the fact that these email exchanges were better than any journal or diary I'd ever write.)

Recently my parents put their house up for sale to move closer to us (well, and because John got a fantastic job in downtown Bellevue, so the drive from Gig Harbor to the eastside wasn't super fun... or realistic). As they were clearing out the clutter my mom came across this.

A book I wrote when I was 10 years old. 

I can remember writing this story and typing it on Mrs. Micheal's Apple computer. I can also remember making the cover. I was such a good artist. As you can tell. I blew paint through a straw... 1991 at it's finest.

Here you'll see another example of how creative I was, even back then.

Do you like our Uggs?

What I don't remember is writing this.

I mean, seriously. Who am I at 10 years old? Who says that? Who WRITES that?!!?? "She plans on having one child then having her UTERUS taken out." Was there spell check back then? I mean, how did I spell UTERUS right at 10 years old?

The moral of the story is this: I'm still finding ways to express myself through writing, 18 years later. And, if I were to illustrate this book now, the pictures would look exactly the same.

Monday, August 16, 2010


This past weekend, we celebrated my mom's birthday. At dinner, we all went around the table to say a little toast to celebrate her and just how amazing she is to each of us. We all said a little something. My "little something" happened to be an opening joke, followed by tears. Thank the few several beverages I consumed leading up to the sit down dinner -- or just the fact that words really can't describe how much I love my mom. The winner for the best toast of the evening went to my husband, hands down.

When Ty and I first met, I was definitely in the "single" mind set. I had come out of a 2.5 year relationship that lasted about 2 years too long. Ty was a nice guy. The perfect guy. He liked me a lot. Right away. What more could you ask for? Well, it freaked me out. He jumped into the deep end of the pool, while I was still sitting on the stairs at the shallow end. As Ty continued to yell (not literally) "Come on in - water's fine!" I was coming up with excuses to grab my towel. (OK - I am done speaking figuratively now.) One of those excuses happened to be:

He's too nice.  What's wrong with me!? 

About a month into the relationship, I had dinner with my mom. She hadn't met Ty yet but I had talked very openly with her about how things were going with him. I will never forget her telling me, "Jord. Just go with it. Enjoy it." So I did.

I don't remember ever telling Ty about that night and what my mom said but apparently I did. (Surely I was drunk. I can't imagine telling him "Hey buddy - you like me too much. You're too nice. But my mom said to just go with it, so I am.") When it came time for his toast, he raised his glass to my mom, looked her right in the eye and told her that if it wasn't for her, we probably wouldn't be together. I would have probably ran away and never looked back. He thanked her for her advice, despite not meeting him yet. It was the sweetest thing he's ever said to her and I know she'll never forget it.

And I won't either.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Everybody Poops!

Everybody poops. We all know this. Some of us have even read a popular kid's book with a similar title that helps us all make light of this - no matter our age.

Today I had an experience that I have no shame in sharing, because folks, it's real. Ty and I are a real couple with real issues. Issues that could potentially tear some couples apart. Not us. Issues like poop. Ty and I haven't always been so open about this topic, however having three dogs, two of which had a real issue with potty training, we're a little more willing to state the obvious yet again. Everyone, including our dogs, poop.

I am obviously just scratching the surface here... skirting around an issue if you will. Fine, I'll say it. I poop too. And Ty knows it. And if he didn't know it before, he most definitely does today.

In an effort to ensure I didn't skip a beat this morning, I went to the powder room (notice how non-disgusting I will attempt to write this story) in between calls as I worked from home. Unfortunately for me (yah right - stay tuned) our commode had a minor malfunction... as in, it practically filled to the surface and poured out the brim when I attempted to flush it. Too scared/impatient to see what could happen, I closed the door and thought "I'll deal with this later, I have things to do." I went back to work. Two hours later Ty came down from his office and marched his unassuming tush right in there. It was slow motion from there. Right as I realized what was about to happen, Ty shouts "OH GOD! WHAT HAPPENED IN HERE!?!?!?!?!". As mortified as I was, I could not get a grip on myself. The poor guy was absolutely disgusted with me, yet did what any Exceptional (that's right - I am giving my husband a performance rating for his work... he consistently goes above the call of duty) husband would do. He grabs our industrial strength plunger and gets to work. I was in hysterics but I don't think he could hear me in between his aggressive plunging efforts. The job took a good 4 minutes before he came back out to simply say, "OK Babe - New rule. Three tissues. That thing was packed. Have a good day" and off he went to another meeting.

All I have to say is this. That's love. And Marriage. And completely embarrassing, yet I feel better sharing it for some reason. My thought here is this - you people can relate to this right? I am not alone am I?
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