Silent Night.

Shout Out to the Mama and the Papa.

Marriage has taught me a lot of things. (So far.)

Like how to hold my tongue, for example. And how to apologize when I don't hold my tongue. And learning when it's okay to just say it. Gently, of course. 

Being married has also made me realize a lot of things about my own parents' marriage, the kinds of things that you don't really notice until you're in the same-ish boat. And noticing those things has taught me even more about how to go about this marriage thing, thanks to their excellent example.

Here's my biggest realization so far:
I've learned that my dad's not perfect, even though my mom always talked about him like he was.

Shocking, I know.
Now, let me explain.

From a very young age, I remember my mom often saying "When you're looking for someone to marry, find someone like your dad." When she would talk about their marriage, she almost always spoke about my dad in glowing terms, particularly praising his maturity in communication and problem-solving and his supportive-ness. It was clear that she thought very highly of him. And growing up, I just thought of him the same way because clearly he must have been all that and a bag of chips.

My mom said so, after all.

Now, on some level, I should have realized he may not have been perfect all the time. I watched my mom get frustrated with him (being the oldest child, I got to see more of the evolution of my parents' relationship than the rest of the kids, I think) and that they would have their disagreements (behind closed doors, of course...and no, I didn't spy by listening through the door....all the time...) but I just kind of assumed my dad had a good explanation and that my mom was just being ridiculous. My mom never tried to change my mind. She seemed to be okay with letting me think that. Or maybe she just didn't know I thought that.

Although I'm almost postitive she did; I'm pretty sure moms can read minds, especially my mom.
(I'm still waiting to be bestowed with this gift...)

After being married, I've realized that my dad is just as great of a husband as she thought he was. And that he isn't as great as I thought he was, because I didn't really understand why he was actually great.
I thought it was because he was perfect. She knew he wasn't. But she talked about his greatness, and left his weaknesses for me to discover on my own, when I was mature enough to look on those weaknesses with understanding and compassion instead of the disdain and anger that my mom and her weaknesses had to suffer (more than I care to admit) as a result of my teenage arrogance and ignorance. It allowed me to love and respect my father greatly growing up, to listen to him and his counsel when I wouldn't listen to anyone else.

(I was SUCH a brat.)

Now I know why my dad is so great; it's not because he was perfect, but because he did a really good job of working at being a great husband and father. He really is the ultimate example of both those titles. Whenever I was mad and letting loose on my mom, he would be quick to say, "don't talk to my girlfriend like that!" which usually diffused the situation as my mom or someone else giggled and I rolled my eyes. So silly.

Being married has let me see some of the ways he might have had his share of being ridiculous when it came to their relationship, too, things I might not have noticed before...but really, it's all just given me a greater appreciation for both of those great people I call my parents.
Both my mom and my dad have set the bar high when it comes to how to treat your spouse. And I'm only hoping that I can live up to the example they've set....somehow.

Until then, I'm still trying really hard to train that tongue of mine.


New year's resolution number two hundred and fifty-three: Increase my self-control...

A Superman New Year.

Oh, blog, how I've missed you.

I'm not even kidding a little. I wasn't lying when I said that I love to write. Or when I said that this was mostly an online journal. All these thoughts I have in my head want OUT.

So first of all: I'm starting the forty-forty again. My timing wasn't so great; I started right before Christmas vacay...when any kind of scheduled anything majorly suffers. So that's my excuse. And I'm starting again. (ec, you with me?)

Second, an announcement: D-Hubby and I have set a goal to hike the West Coast Trail this summer!
I am beyond excited.
There are, however, some things to consider with this mammoth, bucket-list goal of ours:
Hiking the WCT is not cheap. It's a looong ways away, gas is expensive. We have pretty good gear, but we'll need a few extras (read: waterproof everything) to be prepared. It costs to make the reservation, and it costs to actually make the week-long hike because a guide has to come with you and your little group. SOooo....we've taped an impressively hand-written label on a former Miracle Whip jar and it sits on our dresser, collecting all the dollars and cents we can spare.
And then there's physical preparedness: hiking the WCT is not easy. There are 30-stinkin-stories of straight-up ladders you have to climb. And all while packing everything you need to survive on your back.

Whew. Gym, here I come.
(Think they'll let me train on the Stairmaster with a backpack full of rocks?)

As an extra goal for the endurance side of my own physical preparedness, I want to run a 10k at some point before then. I'm on the lookout for one.

(Okay, my heart is totally beating faster after typing that all out and thinking about it all over again...SO EXCITED!)

I love a new year.
Or anytime, really, where you set goals and rededicate yourself to being something more than mediocre. Those are the times where I feel like I can do...anything (if you could see me right now, I'd be standing and flexing like Superman...minus the red undies on the outside of my outfit.)

See?

Well, maybe a slightly more masculine version of what's happening over here.

But just as inspiring.

Ha.

"Back to Life. Back to Reality."

I'm pretty sure that I may be the only one who still gets that old school Soul II Soul number stuck in their head occasionally.
(If you click on the link, be warned: there are some serious shoulder pads going on.)

Anyways.

We're back! The last two weeks were spent on the road, hanging out, enjoying the company of family and friends, and eating WAaaaYyy too much.

Yumm...

And I've returned with all the beginning-of-the-year gusto to be better than I was last year.
And with a couple monster blog posts rolling around in my head.
Now all I need is the time to spit them out...

Until then, loving 2010.

See.

It has been ridiculously cold lately.
With our car throwing up its hands in protest and refusing to start, there were a few days there where cabin fever was starting to set in.

All I could do was take pictures of the frost gathering on the inside of my windows.




(Brrr.)


Other favourite photos this week include:






The window sill.






Baby Rae's temporary tattoo, courtesy of her dad.

(She was asleep in his arms, and he had a pen in his hand.)










And D-hubby.
Not from this week, but I can't help but love it. It's so...him, even if it's just his feet. He said once that you can tell a lot about a person by what kind of shoes they wear. It was in response to me raising an eyebrow or three about how he always notices people's shoes.
He has been smoked by his finals these past couple weeks. They're almost oooover!
Only one more tomorrow, then we're outta here for the Christmas season.



Family, here we come.

Forty Forty.

As of Monday, I've started this program called the "40-40" that I heard about when I was a teenager:

20 minutes of scripture/gospel study,
10 minutes of pondering,
10 minutes of prayer,
Every day for 40 days.

In a perfect world, I would be perfect (...), and I wouldn't need a 'program' for motivation to consistently participate in a meaningful spiritual study, or need to write a blog post about it to make myself more accountable to the invisible "you" (Hi Mom!).

But I'm not, and I do.
It'll be a good habit-starter, anyways: a good kick in the pants.

I'm already feeling the difference it's making; my days just go....better.

So here's to the kickoff!
Ya-hoooo!

His Beard, My Secret.

This is THE Beard.

For the past couple months, D-Hubby has gotten in on a beard-growing contest with some other random guys (also known as wanna-be Yetties.) They've agreed not to shave it off until Christmas.
This is the point it's gotten to, the growth D-Hubby is currently sporting; the photo was taken just today after coming in from his early morning paper routes.

Last year, he tried to grow a little one, too.
I told him that if he didn't shave, neither would I.

I told him the same thing this year, but I didn't last long. My resolve to be hairy was far weaker than his this time around, and I threw in the towel and shaved me leggers just a couple weeks in.

They were still pretty hairy, though.
(...Recognition? Congratulations?...Anyone?...)

(...crickets...)

Anyways, I still make sure to razz him about it; I crinkle my nose each time he comes in to brag about the length of the hair growing out of his face, make sure he knows that I'll be grateful when it's gone, and roll my eyes when he takes proud picture after picture of it.

But.

Truth is, I have a secret:
My resistance is a little forced.
I actually LOVE facial hair on guys. And he does grow quite a handsome beard.
Either way, I think he's adorable and attractive.

So why the fuss?

I'm pretty sure that my love of a little facial hair comes from the same place inside me that loves a little Dr. Pepper now and then...and really wants dread-locks...and kind of wants to live at a coffee shop writing furious and depressingly inspired poetry all day.
It's the part of me that loves things that are just a little...what's the word....borderline? controversial?
I don't know. You get my drift.
And it's the part of me that gets greedier when fed.

Then there's the part of me that wants us both to be the best we can be. That's the part of me that loves being a mom and wife even though I have sometimes overwhelming responsibilities, that wants to be clean and neat and conservative, but deeply passionate about things that are good and uplifting, beautiful, creative and truly inspiring.
And that's the part that tries to encourage my hubby to be a clean-shaven hunk instead of sporting the sexy-scruffy look he's got going on.

He asked me the other day what really thought of the beard, with eyes big and sincere. I had to tell him. And now he knows my secret. But he also understands where I'm coming from as far as being so...torn.

I'm still not sure how long the beard will last. Right now it keeps his face from freezing off in the -30 degrees Celsius weather he braves in the morning.

So I'll continue to protest,
and he'll continue to understand,
and soon it will just be something we both secretly miss, just a little.