Happy 60th to the Pops!

We interrupt the Hawaii goodness to bring Happy Birthday wishes to the man from whom I inherited my nose & ears (two of my best features, if I may say so), as well as my stubborness (and hopefully a few of his good qualities as well): my Pops.

We're so blessed to learn from such an incredible man - I knew few people who have dealt with so much heartache, and he has come through with unwavering faith and determination to continue to find joy in life.

Happy SIXTIETH Birthday Pops! (You're so old!) Wish we were there to celebrate.

Hawaii or Bust

Thanks to the best inlaws ever, we went on a trip with husband's family to their mother land - Hawaii. (Husband grew up there, but the fam hasn't lived there for years now). It was pretty much the trip of a lifetime. Hawaii is amazing and beautiful and every married couple should find themselves in Hawaii at some point (without kids, right?) Seriously - its amazing.

The phrase "Hawaii or Bust" took on a whole new meaning for this trip. In order to go, I kind of almost lost my job (long story) but I was getting on that plane no matter what! (No worries - all ended well and I'm back at work. I THINK that's a good thing?)

Husband and I had to fly to Vegas where we met up with the rest of the family for the flight to Hawaii. Of course there was a delay in St Louie. When we finally landed in Vegas we had to claim our luggage, run outside to find a shuttle to take us to a different terminal, run up 3 flights of stairs, and then re-check luggage. Sorry if any of you happened to be in the Vegas airport and saw two sweaty fools SPRINTING through the Vegas airport with 100 pounds of luggage (did I mention it was approximately 500 degrees outside? Cause it was). Lets just say that we were within only a couple of minutes of missing the flight. Once we knew we made it, Husband's glasses fell off his face (we were sweaty, remember?) and he promptly (and accidentally) stepped on them. Poor husband. Hawaii or bust, right? Right.

It was worth it all.

Why don't I live in Hawaii? I'm still trying to figure that out. I'm so bad at taking the time to pull out the camera to take pictures, but we really tried to capture what we could. Here's a few (more to come later).

GOOD MORNING HAWAII! This was the backyard of the house we stayed at.
Um, yes please?
And this was the morning after the above airport incident, which is why we look
so incredibly awesome.

Some early morning Amberly lovin.

Hike #1. We were 10 minutes into it when these banana trees appeared.
Cool, right? The Husband thought us mainlanders
were crazy for thinking it was exciting.

Thanks to Rach for the hot sunglasses - aren't we cool?

The end of hike #1. Gorgeous. Remember how in Utah you just hike for
a long time, get to a good view, and then turn around? Swimming in a beautiful
waterfall at the end of the hike is SOOO much better. Amen.
And we had it all to ourselves. The day before this I got sunburned like a crispy piece of bacon
(seriously, the worst sunburn ever). The cool water felt incredible.

This is the splash husband made when he jumped off the waterfall.
He forgot to tell me he was jumping, so all you get is the splash. :)

Hawaii has it all! Oceans, beaches, and mountains! Pictures just
don't do it justice.

What's the point of a waterproof camera if you forget to take it
out snorkeling with you? Just trust that we saw some awesome fish. As in,
I don't need to watch Finding Nemo because we saw everything in real life
(minus the sharks of course)

Socks for Lydia

I spent a week in the hospital after Lydia died. The recovery was awful and something I don't let myself remember very often. I believe on day 9 after her birth we were on a flight to Utah so we could bury her. That was flight was brutal, to say the least. During our trip, I couldn't do much, and I'm sure the emotional trauma slowed my physical recovery as well. When we finally made it back to St. Louis, I went to the doctor the next day for a checkup and was immediately re-admitted to the hospital for 3 more days. By this point I had developed bed sores (among other not-so-fun things). It was one of the hardest times of my life. I remember at one point a couple of days into the recovery asking my doctor, "Is this what all c-sections are like? Because if it is, I don't think I can have any more kids." He assured me many times that a normal c-section pales in comparison to what they put my body through, and if I could make it through this, I could make it through anything. I was relieved. And I know now, as I did then, that I would go through it again without hesitation to give Lydia her brief time on earth.

We only had one day in Utah to prepare for her little "funeral." A family friend hand-made her beautiful burial dress, we had a cute little headband for her tiny head, so the only thing missing was something to cover her feet. Others offered to help, but I wanted to do SOMETHING for my daughter, so I insisted on finding them. Dan and I went from store to store all over town - I could barely walk because my body was still incredibly swollen. But no one had any preemie sized socks (and the preemie size probably would have been too big anyway). I'm sure if I had been in my normal state of mind I would have come up with something, but I was exhausted, grieving, and we had other things to get done before the service, so I gave up. We buried our daughter with nothing on her feet. It kind of broke my heart.

Earlier this year, I had a lot of couch time while waiting for the longest miscarriage ever to pass. Since I'm not very good at sitting still, I learned how to crochet and eventually I was good enough that I was able to follow simple patterns. After hours of searching, I found a pattern for baby booties that are actually small enough they would have fit Lydia's feet.

I've slowly been making them over the last several months (I'm still pretty slow). We also worked on making some teeny tiny hats that would have fit her head (Dan even helped cut some of them out). And today we donated them to the hospital where she was born.

Today we celebrate Lydia's 2nd birthday. The literal ache in my arms to hold her is still so strong - I just don't let myself feel it all the time like I did right after she died. It took months before I stopped feeling guilt any time Dan and I just up and left the house to go do something, because I know how near-impossible that is with a baby. And sometimes on Saturday morning, when I'm lying in that state in-between sleep and consciousness, I can almost hear the pitter patter of her little feet, running to open the door to wake up Mom and Dad.

A few months ago I was driving to church (Dan had to go early for meetings). It had been one of the coldest winters on record, and that particular day the sun was actually shining and I was reminded that warmth still existed. Birds were singing and I could tell it was the beginning of spring. As I pulled out onto the street I saw a cute little squirrel run across the road. Without thinking, I turned around to the back seat where Lydia should have been to point out the squirrel to her. I cried that she wasn't sitting there in her car seat. But in a strange way it also makes me happy that every part of me still remembers her and still knows she is part of our family.

Happy birthday, my little one. Your parents love you so much and can't wait to see you again!

ps - any assistance you can give on bringing a little brother or sister to us would be greatly appreciated :)

Husband Time

Not that I'm ever a great blogger, but I'm too busy catching up on 3 years of missed Husband time to blog. Now that we have more time to spend together, we're reminded of why we like each other so much - spending time with Husband is the best. And I don't plan on getting tired of it until our next adventure gets in the way (whatever that adventure turns out to be). So for now I've kind of stopped responding to emails/phone calls (aside from what I can get done on my lunch break at work), cause I'm selfishly enjoying husband way too much to do anything else but be with him. We've already played a ton of Kubb (I finally won this week), spent some good time with the white trash folk at 6 Flags (I almost do a wee wee whenever we ride Mr. Freeze), and catching up on some good movies.

Here's the problem with the movie bit - for the life of me I cannot stay awake through an entire movie. And I'm a movie lover - usually if you sit me down (preferably with a bowl of popcorn) I'm good to go, even if I don't love the movie. Weird. I don't know what changed (no, I'm not pregnant), but for the last few months, there is something in my brain that tells me to sleep approximately 23 minutes into whatever movie we're watching. (I guess you could say I take after my Mom!) So I guess for the time being, I'll be watching any movie that I'm dying to see in 23-minute increments. Awesome.

This is why I love my husband . . .

Monday after work, we had to run some errands. My gas light had just come on, and since I HATE getting gas on my way to work, we stopped to fill up. While husband got gas and washed my windshield (love me a clean windshield), I ran across the street to the library to pick up a couple books I had on hold. We ran a couple more errands then came home and that was all. (Yes, I get that so far this is a boring story. How about I add in the fact that while we were out running errands, we witnessed a drug deal between the ice cream man and a local dealer. Just another reason why I love living in St. Louie.)

Tuesday morning comes along and for some reason I'm running a few minutes late. I finally rush out to the car, and lo and behold the gas light is still on and its showing I have an empty tank. What the! My first thought was there was something wrong with the car and it wasn't registering the full tank. Then I realized that was unlikely since everything else was working fine. Then I figure someone in my ghetto neighborhood must have siphoned my gas! (Maybe it was the ice cream man!) So I call Dan to tell him the bad news.

Thankfully, husband is calm. He told me that siphoning would be unlikely without any other evidence. Hmm.

Then husband calmly says, "Maybe I didn't actually pump any gas last night."

Uh. Seriously? "You mean you didn't notice how many gallons it took or how much it cost after you finished?!"

"Nope."

Uh. Speechless. How does that even happen? And lets all remember that he drove around after "getting gas" with the gas light still on and the gauge reading empty. Good thing I love my husband. A lot.

Remember how I hate getting gas in the morning and I was already running late? I grumpily ran to the gas station. And of course the credit card didn't work (long story) so I had to go inside the MOST ghetto convenience store ever (as in, there's ALWAYS someone there in a wheelchair asking if I'll buy their food stamps). Rather than just magically making the credit card work the right way, the cashier asked how much I wanted to pump.  "But all I want to do is fill up my car with gas and I don't know how much that's going to cost!" I know. I'm not dramatic at all.

She looked at me like she didn't care (she didn't). I grabbed my credit card and drove to ANOTHER gas station. I had to prove my point and I was going to get my full tank of gas if it was the last thing I did!

And that, my friends, is why I was 30 minutes late to work on Tuesday. Thankfully, by the time I got to work I was done being grumpy and I realized how funny it was. And I may or may not have enjoyed telling the story to all the coworkers who laughed their heads off trying to figure out how you get gas without actually getting any gas. :)

Masters of the World!

Now we're both masters!!

Husband graduated! Hoorah! Here's a few stats from what's happened in our lives since Dan started school in 2011:

• 1 engagement (ours)
• 1 marriage (ours)
• Moved twice
• Washed approximately 602 loads of laundry
• Held a total of 9 different callings
• Made at least 17 trips to Ted Drewes - the best frozen custard in America
• We've gained, ahem, some pounds (there's just way too much good food in St Louis!)
• 16 house guests (definitely not enough - and none from my family. I'm just sayin.)
• 8 road trips
• 3 moving traffic violations (ouch)
• 10 parking tickets (ouch again)
• Survived 11 tornado sirens
• Saved over $1126 at Schnuck's thanks to triple couponing
• I tried adding up the hours Dan spent studying and it made me sick, so I stopped :)
• Used our blendtec 462 times
• Played 57 games of Dominion
• 2 pregnancies
• 1 miscarriage
• 1 perfect Lydia

And now for the photo dump. I remember when I came with husband to St. Louie for the first time (he was just boyfriend at the time) we walked around his new campus and I made him take this picture so in 3 years he could take it again at graduation. (I didn't tell him this at the time, but secretly I knew I'd be taking that picture as his wife.)

Before

After

Oh yeah. We totally still got it.

The arena showed all the student's names along the big scrolly thing (no idea what that's called - but it was cool)

I'm a non-crier. But I kind of lost it during the ceremony. I asked husband if he got emotional and he just laughed at me and said I was cute.

Another "before" picture from our pre-wedding days

And after

 And just because I happened to still have my robes from when I graduated with my master's degree SEVEN years ago (I'm so old), I made us take some photos together. Now our kids will never wonder if their parents value an education.

What's next? We have no idea. If you know of any job openings for an aspiring MBA graduate, send them Dan's way!!

Paint Louis

I have to intro this post with a story. One time, when I was a teacher, I wanted to make my classroom look less boring. (White cinderblock walls are HARD to decorate . . . but I did it!) So I told all my students that I was looking for someone with graffiti skills to graffiti the word "Multimedia" above the door. A few hours later, a young hooligan with crazy long and affro-ie hair, lots of piercings, and pants that didn't cover his bum, entered my room. He was perfect.

I asked him to do a sketch and showed him the spray paint cans I had bought from Walmart. He took one look at my paint and rolled his eyes at me, "Those aren't going to work. I'll bring my own paint." Apparently to be a good tagger, you have to get special tips for the paint cans that can only be bought on the black market. Nice. I didn't ask any questions.

He showed up after school a couple of days later, I approved his sketch, and he got to work. I think it took a couple of hours. And it was super cool! He DID add a little "embellishment" that wasn't in his sketch - he signed his gangster name to the side of the painting. It didn't bother me and I didn't think much of it.

The next day, first period had JUST started when the vice principal and school cop showed up. Uh oh. I assumed they wanted a student. Nope. They wanted me. Word spreads fast when it has to do with gangsters and graffiti. Apparently the whole "let a student graffiti the school wall thing" was a bad idea. It took some convincing, but eventually they decided I could leave the work of art up there if I would just paint over his gangster name. Phew.

This thing worked like a charm, and having the cop show up just made it even better, because students like to tell each other cool stories about when their teacher gets in trouble by the cop. So for a couple of weeks I had all sorts of students coming into my room to check out the wall.

I remember when the student who actually painted it came by with a couple of girls to show them his piece of art. One of the girls said, "Oh my gosh! This is so cool. I am so going to make out with you for this." Classic high school.

I just spent an hour trying to find a picture of my Multimedia graffiti wall for you to see - tragically I couldn't find ANY pictures of my Skyline classroom! Le weep!

BUT I do have some awesome pictures of PAINT LOUIS. Apparently St Louis has a wall that is legal for taggers and they even have a festival every year where the really good taggers are invited to come and paint something cool. I've been wanting to go ever since I heard about it, and with Nathan and Rachel Ditto in town, we had an excuse.

Dan, the St Louis thug

 This wall is literally MILES long. Every inch covered in paint. And sometimes we had to avert our eye from the ahem, "inappropriate" things. Gangsters can be lame that way sometimes.

 Can you tell what it says?

Of course the missionaries had to get in on the action. Giant name tags. Well done.

Yay for friends who like us enough to come visit!