I like country music. I like the tunes and I like the stories that go along with them. Usually I think it's the words that get me hooked though and the more they relate to my life the better. In fact, that is what I like most about any kind of music. I like listening to the lyrics and relating them to my life. I've even been known to rewrite lyrics to better fit my story. I know it's cheesy, girly even. I don't really care, I still like it.
So I was driving to work the other day and a new one hit me--some of it. It doesn't really fit because it's a getting-over-a-boyfriend type song and I didn't lose a boyfriend. I did lose a boy though, and it really did break my heart.
Woke up late today,
and I could still feel the sting of pain,
but I brushed my teeth anyway.
Got dressed through the mess, and
put a smile on my face.
I got a little bit stronger.
I know my heart will never be the same. But I'm telling myself I'll be OK, even on my weakest day. I get a little bit stronger.
Here's to getting a little bit stronger, and becoming a little bit better.
Post Edit: I just want to clarify that this is in fact an automatic car wash we are talking about here. Read on.
Let me set the stage for the story I am about to tell that took place last Thursday evening:
As you can see from my last post we are already out one car (which is currently being fixed and that is another story of it's own).
I am pregnant.
It was late.
I was tired.
And my car was dirty.
I was just getting ready to drive home from a long, particularly challenging day of teaching (teaching is hard). I got to my car and realized that I still hadn't made time to drive through the 5 minute car wash. Every night that week I had left work too late to even take an extra 5 minutes to get home! Terrible. Thursday night however, I was determined to make time. I thought that if nothing else positive came out of that day, at least I would go home with a clean car.
I pulled up to the machine.
I rolled down my window.
I paid my 5 dollars.
I pulled forward.
But as I pushed the button to roll up the window all I heard instead was a very disconcerting grinding noise. I tried again. The window was absolutely not rolling back up. In fact it was sinking farther down!
My mind raced to solve this problem, but after a few short seconds (and after the window sank all the way down into the door) I gave up. I could come up with no way to fix the situation and was too tired to do anything but wait to be rescued. I hung my head in defeat as I sat there pointed toward the car wash with my window down.
Then came the car wash man. Noting my distress and with a hint of concern he asked, "Are you okay?" With a shaky voice trying to keep myself somewhat composed I told him that my window was stuck. He tried a few car wash man tricks like having me turn the car off and back on a couple of times, but it was all to no avail. He too had to admit defeat and moved a cone so I could turn out of the car wash lane and get a refund for the car wash I never got.
Hysterical even. I was honestly chuckling to myself on the inside, but all that came out was a day worth of bottled up emotion in the form of unstoppable tears.
As I drove away I called Justin and immediately lost what composure I had. I sobbed the whole way home with the wind blowing in my face and five extra one dollar bills in my purse.
Justin had a pretty wild ride this week. Luckily he was kept from all harm. For that I am so grateful. I feel sick to my stomach any time I think about how much worse things could have been. Ugh. No. Stop.
Luckily all we have to deal with is a broken car. That we can handle.
In other news, school starts on Monday. . .
for both of us.
I would even go so far as to consider myself very trustworthy if it is an important or confidential matter.
But when it comes to surprises--those kind of secrets--I'm not so good. I think it has to do with not being able to contain the joy or excitement or anticipation within my one little self. I just have to share it. And the bigger the surprise, the harder it is.
That being said, we have a surprise. . .
And if all goes well it should be here around March.
"You're like a Lamborghini," Justin said when I randomly asked him if he thought I was still pretty.
I honestly didn't see how he could see any trace of beauty in me that night and was amazed as he assured me that he did. I had been sick for days, was wearying dirty sweats and a baggy T-shirt that clashed terribly, didn't have a trace of make-up left on (which I desperately need if I want to hide my pale, uneven complexion, pimples, and dark circles), and hadn't done my hair which also needs a lot of lovin' to look like anything but an unattractive, flattened, wad of frizz. Needless to say I was definitely not looking very pretty. Like at all. Seriously.
His reasoning was this: Lamborghini cars are BEAUTIFUL (to him). Even if they are painted a funny color, they are still beautiful. While I am "green" and sick now, all he sees is the beautiful car underneath.
"My husband just compared me to a Lamborghini." I thought out loud. Despite how it sounds, I secretly loved it.
This morning I was feeling a lot better and was showing it. While we were getting ready to have breakfast he mentioned something about how now I'm like a Ferrari.
"What about that whole bit about me being a Lamborghini and beautiful no matter what!" I scolded, remembering the nice things he said the night before and not wanting him to go back on his word.
Realizing he had spoke too soon and fishing for a way out of his blunder he carefully explained, "You're still beautiful, but now your just better for racing."
I love that man.
P.S. Don't tell Justin, but now I think I like Lamborghini and Ferrari cars a little bit more too.
These photos were taken in April, on two separate but equally snowy mornings. (Notice how on one day my car is still caked with ice and snow even though it is parked under the carport.)
I'm so glad we're past THAT.
And on to warmer and sunnier events in a place that looks a little something like this.
(Real pictures not stolen off the Internet coming soon.)
But despite the cold weather, don't think I hate Rexburg. I am actually quite fond of this town. We got to do things like go shooting and wear cowboy boots while walking around the farmer's market.
And, since Justin was pretty much done with school in December, we were able to spend a lot of time together. We went to the Temple regularly, watched a lot of Red Box movies, read books and of course did a puzzle. We even got to cook together. (Let's be honest, if Justin didn't help, dinner might not have happened quite so often.)
Since I never really posted any pictures from that day in history, here are a few more.
For our big one year celebration we did several celebratory activities. Justin took me shopping in the morning (which is a big deal because he hates shopping), and while we were out we went to lunch at Cafe Rio. Afterwards we came home and decided to catch a chick flick at the cheap theater (I know we really spared no expense). Then Justin cooked a really nice dinner that we even dressed up for. We dined, we danced, we made merry. It was the best anniversary.
after his interview at Western University in Pomona
(thanks for the picture Dad):
This was justin one week and five days later
when he got the acceptance letter:
Actually that last one was a reenactment depicting what he was feeling on the inside. What really happened was this. I was sitting at my computer and Justin was gone running an erand for me. Then all of a sudden I hear the door open and extreemly determined footsteps thumping down the hall. Before he got to me he called my name in the most serious voice I have ever heard leave his toung. I was somewhat worried by his tone and hurried walk until he got to me and shoved the letter in my face. I scanned as fast as I could to see what school had sent it.
Unless divinely guided in another direction, we are going to Pomona!
He's on a special North West track, which means that we will spend
the first two years in California, and the last two in Oregon.
He will also be doing an intensive summer anatomy course, (kind of to get ahead)
Occasionally we eat breakfast for dinner. Usually because I can't think of anything else to eat or just want to do something fast. Today was one of those days. Before a trip to the grocery store for some eggs (and 75 dollars worth of other items that we were in need of), we decided to have french toast. I hadn't had it in a long time and it sounded like a good solution to the looming dinner problem (yes, to me it is a problem) of the night. When we got home with our bags of food, Justin asked me if I would cook the french toast, so he could study. Fair enough. And besides, french toast is like the easiest thing to make.
I got to work.
The eggs were mixed, complete with sprinkle of cinnamon, the pan was hot with a light coating of Pam.
In went the first slice.
There turned out to be only enough room for one at a time, but I was in no rush. As it started to brown I realized it was still soggy. I turned the heat up a little and pulled it off after a moment longer on the stove.
In went the second slice.
Oops, didn't spray the pan. (We don't have non-stick pans.) Oh well, it will be fine.
To my dismay, the remains of the first attempt started to burn in the pan that now must have been much hotter, and so did my second slice. I began pealing the corners up with the spatula, which I realized a few seconds later was melting right off into my pan! It started to smell like burnt everything so I pulled the whole pan off the heat. As I swung around toward the sink the pan brushed up against the plastic bread bag which immediately clung and melted to the bottom of the pan. At that point I knew that I was not going to save this.
And so did Justin, because he got up off the couch and came to the rescue. He got another pan and finished the french toast while I proceeded to scrape melted spatula and wallow in self pity. I can't even make french toast! I used to make it all the time as a child. A child! Really. Am I now digressing in my cooking abilities? I didn't think I could get any worse. Apparently I can, and the french toast is proof.
Thank you to my husband who is patient when I manage to let things like this happen. . . And for blaming in all on Aunt Flow. His french toast was wonderful by the way. And he is now scraping the remains of the bread bag off our pan while I sit here, still puzzling (and laughing inside) over this whole thing.
Both compliments of Shannon. She had a purse like this only teal. My heart wanted teal, but I went with the brown one for almost half the price. I followed my logic this time. Next decision, maybe not so logical.