Edward vs. Jacob

When I left the movie theater last night, I was once again smitten and bitten (not literally, of course, though it is very tempting) with the vampire world in Forks, Washington. This seems crazy to me because I'm not 12. I'm 32. Yet, here I was rushing to the movies, all giddy and restless to see how the love story would unfold on the big screen.

And it is a crazy love story. Vampires. Werewolves. A clumsy, yet stunningly beautiful, heroine. Two men, also heroically handsome, who love her with such a passion that it makes everything else so trivial. It is an all-consuming love. Hold on to it and burn, or let it go and fade away. Just like the characters, even though I sense danger in every scene, I cannot look away.

So, what keeps us coming back for more in this Edward versus Jacob saga? It might be that we enjoy a good love story, or perhaps it's our curiosity about the darker side. For me, and this may be true for many women, it's the burning hot chemistry. It's the way he looks at her, as if he wants to brand her his woman for eternity. "Brand me, brand me," I often feel like yelling.

As much as I love this escapism, I also worry about it. This is not real life. This is not even real love. For those more seasoned and cynical to the world (yes, this is me!), it's just two hours to escape from kids and housework, but for other impressionable young girls, it becomes the picture of perfect love. Everything else, even something honest and real, falls short. It makes me sad because life is hard enough. You don't need to be disillusioned about love, too.

Don't get me wrong here. I'm all for hot love. I encourage sniffing people because you can't live without their scent and imprinting on your life mate, even in the womb. I like hot kissing, but agree about waiting for marriage and losing your virginity until right after graduation. When my friend fell in love a few years back, she said she just wanted to eat him up, hair and all, because she loved him so much. Did I discourage that? No, ma'am. I'm no love hater.

The story in Forks can teach us many things, good and bad. It's been very well done, but it's also Hollywood and that makes it tragically flawed. It's really hard to remember all that, especially with Jacob sporting the hot, bronzed skin and beautiful, white teeth. For now, it's back to my real life until the next movie rolls around, though I am planning to buy some tight flannel shirts this fall. I love you, Edward. I'll see you soon.

Sweet Nothings in My Ear

My husband is a talker. From the minute I arrive home, he's talking about some random part of his day, like the crazy lady that cut him off in traffic or this hysterical joke he heard on the radio. He is so passionate when he speaks, too, as if this is the only thing in the world he wants to be doing---talking to me.

Most of the time (and this will sound terrible, I know), I just tune him out. I'm busy getting chores started, or supper ready, or homework done. Kids are circling me like vultures. He plants himself next to me in the kitchen, or wherever I might be, and keeps going on and on with his stories. I occasionally hear something of interest and insert a thoughtful question that sends him into another half-hour monologue. Noise, and more noise, always in my ear.

My husband has now been gone for four days on a mission trip. There is no cell phone coverage where he is working, only heat and years of oppression. It's been the longest span we have ever gone without talking in our 14 year relationship. We have four more days to go. On the first evening, I was so giddy with the silence that I sat on the couch with no television, radio or computer to distract me. Only the candles buzzed slightly around me as I caught up on all my celebrity gossip. The change felt miraculous.

It's gone downhill since then. I miss my husband something fierce in almost a panicked kind of way, as if this stretch of silence is permanent instead of just a week in our lives. I never would have expected that I would miss his endless banter, or his dirty socks under the coffee table, or his looks of pure mischief before he goes chasing after our kids. I miss the noise. I miss his chaotic energy. I miss, sadly enough, the flawed man. He makes our house a home.

That's the really screwed up part about life, I think. No, correct that. That's the really screwed up part about people. We want we don't have, but then when we get it, IF we finally get it, we often want it to go back to the way it was. We hurt others, we even hurt ourselves, in search of something better. Turns out, it was pretty damn good right here.

Yes, I Do!

When I got married 10 years ago, I had long curly hair, a college diploma with the ink barely dry, a whole plethora of life experiences (I thought!) in my back pocket. I was 22, but I felt 32. People constantly asked if I was ready to get married, being so young and all, and I remember thinking that they knew absolutely nothing about me. I was mature and energetic. I was ambitious, but kind. And above all us, I was loyal, through the good and the bad.

I had no flippin' idea. Marriage was actually work, really hard work at that. This person who wooed me and loved me and read poetry to me turned out to be the least romantic husband in the world. It's like the wedding package was all bright and shiny, but the marriage center was kind of gooey and tart. I already took a bite, so it was too late to return it to the store.

Today, it's been 10 years since we took our vows. I am 32, but I feel 42. I am still the wife to one, but now a mother to two. Life is so exhausting that I rarely think about the day I wore white and promised to love, honor and cherish. I hardly know the girl I was. I have, however, gained a few more life experiences, which is good because the jeans are a little bigger these days, too.

If I could give advice to a soon-to-be-bride, who, like me, is young and a tad foolish for the bright, shiny package of marriage, here is what I would say:

• Nothing can prepare you for your new husband moving his stuff into your one bedroom apartment in trash bags then asking where he should hang his black light. Do not be afraid. It may take 10-15 years, but he may mature into something really amazing, especially with your love and acceptance. Then again, he may not.
• There are five love languages. Know your own, but especially know your husbands. You are wasting your energy doing four other love languages when, really, all you need to focus in on is one--his. It helps to tape your love language to the bathroom mirror, so he reads what you need every morning of his life.
• Nobody is perfect. If you can't forget, at least try to forgive. You may sacrifice more, hurt more, give more, love more than you ever imagined, but there are great rewards. The ironic part is that you might not always see those rewards. Keep working on it anyway.
• In the first year of marriage, go through a Dave Ramsey Financial Peace class, so you the last thing you have to worry about is your finances. Also, please don't play the lottery. Being rich gets you in as much trouble as being poor. Aim for the middle, or a little higher, I say.
• Never mention divorce in jest or in anger. I truly believe saying the word gives it power over your relationship. It's like a seed in the bottom of your heart. It may grow sprouts at the oddest time and push all the other good stuff right out of the way.
• Lastly, be careful of all marriage advice from others, including the information above. Every person is different, so is every marriage. Cookie cutter advice only works well when making cookies, not when talking about relationships or people.

I can honestly say I love my husband more today than I did when we got married. He also drives me just as crazy. It's our anniversary and we made a wonderful family meal in the kitchen together with our kids, which just tugs on the heart strings, but now I've got to go clean up in the kitchen all by myself. He's on the couch, sprawled out, laughing hysterically at the TV.

This is my married life, the good and the bad. I do, I do, I do.

Smooth Like Butta

I wasn't really sure what to expect when our 5-year-old son had his first choir recital at church this evening. He's been going to choir practice all year, but he doesn't talk much about it. He says they sing. He says they sometimes dance. It was good enough for me.

When we arrive, all the other kids are dressed in khakis and button ups, or dresses and bows. They look all shiny and perfect. Cooper has on his bright green shirt that says, "Smoother Than Butta," with a big ole' stick of butter plastered on the front, and one end is stuck in his jeans after his last bathroom break. His hair is going straight up. He gets up on those risers with the biggest smile I have ever seen.

All the parents in the room are beaming, too. They've got front row seats and big cameras to record every moment. We are seated in the back row because, well, we're those kind of parents. When the kids began to sing, I felt pure pride welling up inside me as Cooper sang every song with his whole heart. You could hear his voice above all the others. He also started every song early, hit his drum with a little too much gusto, and missed a few key moves.

My husband and I give him a thumbs up every time he looks our way. We also get laughing so hard that I have to cover my mouth to keep from snorting. It's the most entertaining performance I've ever seen. When I glance over at my husband, I notice that he's started to get emotional watching our son. He wipes a tear from his cheek before anyone sees.

It suddenly hits me. This is one of those moments. You know the kind where you look back and think I was so happy, right here and right now. It's such a random moment in time and, as usual, we were totally unprepared. Happiness comes anyway. God, I'm thankful for that.

Priscilla Knows Best

All day today, I've been thinking about Priscilla Presley. I should have been thinking about Priscilla in the Bible, which is where the discussion started this morning, and what an amazing woman she was to open her heart and her door to all those in need. She was a woman, my friends, that had it all together.

But I don't give her a second thought. Instead, I immediately start thinking about the Priscilla of our time, the one waving to me on the steps of Graceland when she is still a girl. Her hair is witchy black, piled dangerously high on her head, and her eyes are painted dark. She takes pills to sleep and pills to wake, but that will be much later. Now, she is a girl in desperate love with a man. He loves her, in a fast lane, rock-and-roll kind of way, which might be enough, I think, if he had learned to love himself first.

When I was a child, I would watch the mini-series of Elvis and Priscilla over and over again. My mom could never understand my infatuation with their story. I couldn't really explain it either. She was so young, but knew in her heart that she wanted to be with him. She lived his crazy life to be near him and tried to be perfect, outside and in, so the world would love her, too. He loved her, I know he did, but he just had too much of everything (fame, talent, money, etc.) for everything to survive. It didn't. They didn't. And it was so sad to watch.

Priscilla is a woman that teaches us an important lesson. Love hurts us. It breaks us. It often makes us into people we cannot recognize in the mirror, hair all ugly and piled up high. No matter what we morph into on the outside, we still yearn for love and acceptance on the inside. It may kill us or keep us, but it will certainly define us.

Crossroads

I've been feeling lost lately. I feel like I should be doing something different, something more, but I can't really figure out what it is. Could this be, like in one of those mythical novels, a crossroads in my life? Will my life completely change if I go left, or then suddenly decide to go right?

As of next Tuesday, I'll be 32 years old. This number doesn't really scare me since I've actually been telling people I'm 32 for the last full year. Apparently, I can't subtract correctly. On all the forms I've filled out, I've been 32. I feel 32, so it seems appropriate to be there for another year.

In all honesty, what scares me the most, is that I feel like I've been standing still for quite some time, going nowhere. It's not been a meditative stand still either. It's more of a growly, stamp your foot on the ground, howl at the moon, let's get this thing moving, Lord, if it's ever going to move, kind of stance. You can see why I'm still stuck. I'm impatient and, on my worse days, unkind.

The more I pray, the more confused I get. The more I ask people, the more lost I feel. And here I be, still standing in front of this crossroads, birthday crown in hand, shaking and afraid.

Mall Walkers

I love to walk outside. Since mid-August, I've been trying to pound the pavement and trails to get my heart a little healthier and my mind a lot calmer. It's also helped shed the pounds, too, I might add. I feel really good.

But now winter has arrived. Cold temperatures. Ice and snow. Walking outside has taken on a whole new dimension. It's not pretty. In the absence of a gym membership, I've taken to walking at the Capital Mall in the evenings. It's not real pretty either.

Here are some observations from my last mall walk:

1. I'm the youngest mall walker by about 40 years, yet some walkers are still kicking my butt. This might be embarrassing if I had any pride left. I'm a mall walker now. I've got really thick skin and a gigantic, get-out-of-my-way stride.

2. I made eye contact with an old boyfriend (and his wife, I assume) that I haven't seen in more than 15 years. He was impeccably dressed with the same beautiful, blue eyes. Though we ended on a harmonious chord, we don't nod, wave, or talk. We just pass by.

3. Pregnant ladies in their final trimester like to be at the mall. They don't look happy nor do their men-folk holding their hands, or their purses, or (in some instances) their bellies.

4. Nobody buys anything from those kiosks in the middle of the mall. Those workers must be the most patient people in the universe. I would hurt myself after that many hours of people just passing me by. I would also hate Christmas music.

5. Kids are crazy. Parents aren't much better.

6. Couples really like to demonstrate their love and affection for each other while shopping. Holding hands is never enough. It's important to kiss and rub all over each other, so people know you are definitely not on the market.

7. The make-up counter ladies at Dillard's aren't real busy. I've never seen them putting makeup on anyone but themselves, or each other.

8. I miss Orange Julius.

9. When I round the corner by the Sears wing and a Kelly Clarkson song comes on, you can bet I jump around like a crazy person. I just noticed the camera this week. Crap.

10. After one hour of mall walking, despite all my eye rolling and complaining, the scenery isn't half bad. It's exercise. It's free. It's not much different than my 7th grade year when I would stroll around with my friends, just too cool for school.

I will be glad when the milder temperatures come back around or I reach my goal weight, whichever comes first, and then I can treat myself to a well-deserved gym membership. Perhaps I'll actually use it this time around since I've seen the dark side of exercise now. But, in the meantime, if you happen to be at the mall, keep your eye out for me. Don't be shy either. Start waving.