I Didn't Want to Wake Up.

Two nights ago I had a wonderful dream.  I fell in love.  I fell in love with a stranger.  He told me my thighs were amazing.  My thighs!  And I was just the way I look in real life, which means he was either clearly lying or really loves jiggly thighs.  The feelings of first love were so real and vivid.  It felt amazing.  He was handsome and romantic and he adored me.

At this point my dream took a turn for the bizarre, as they sometimes do.  I was suddenly pregnant and a serial killer was on the loose and my lover was gunned down in cold blood and I was taking the subway to get away from the killer.  I have a lot of pregnancy dreams.  I'm always turning up pregnant in dreamland.  Most of the time the baby daddy is someone famous.  Like Ringo Starr (doesn't he have a dreamy nose?) or Gerard Butler.

Back to the dream at hand.  Regardless of the scary ending, when I woke up I didn't want to be awake.  I wanted to climb back inside that dream where the all consuming feelings at the beginning of a love affair make you feel as if you could walk on water.  It bothered me all day.  My husband and I have worked hard on our relationship to get it to where it is today.  I quickly learned that part of the work of a marriage is honestly...lowering your expectations.  With the stresses of finances and children and integrating two different family styles that first glow of love that you once shared with your spouse can simply not be sustained.  That's not to say that you don't love each other, it's just a more day to day constant of being there for each other in whatever capacity is needed.  I know this.  And yet...and yet I still yearn for that novelty and excitement. 

If someone could bottle those very potent feelings, that person would be a very rich person.  In counseling we talked about the concept of what being in love means.  People talk about falling in and out of love.  But I think the most long lasting and enduring marriages are made between two people who choose each day to stay in love with their spouse.  I'm not saying it's easy.  I'm the last person to judge someone else's relationship.  I know there is a lot of behind the scenes details that aren't apparent to the outside world. 

The fact is the people we are is not static.  We all change and grow in different ways throughout our lives.  It's difficult when five, ten, twenty years into a relationship you may look over at your spouse and wonder at who that person has become.  I think being married takes an awful lot of patience and compassion.  When something is really bugging me about Brigham I have to sit down and think of all the ways I fall short and the actions I either take or don't take to make our union a happy one.  Sometimes in the harsh light of scrutiny I realize I'm doing things to aggravate him on purpose.  I'm kind of a stinker in that way.  Hey, I never claimed to be perfect. 

There are days I get angry about the realities of marriage and family life.  I think to myself Why didn't anyone tell me it would be this way?!  I grew up on the myth of marriage being the end all and be all of a woman's life.  Why in the heck would anyone who claims to care about your well-being not be honest with you?  Although I do have issues with some of the things still taught in my culture pertaining to marriage and motherhood, I also think, even if someone would have said, "Listen, you might want to really think about being married.  He's not always going to tell you how beautiful and fabulous you are each day.  He's going to doing things that annoy the crap out of you, then he's going to get you pregnant and the spawn you created are going to enslave you to their very rigorous demands of well-being.  You're going to have messy little finger prints all over your walls and you just might curse the day you thought to yourself how great it felt to be kissed by the man that became your husband."  Even if someone had told me this, I'm sure I would have thought, yeah, well it might be that way for you, but it's not going to be that way for me. 

I think naivete, denial and a good dose of Vampire literature keeps the human race reproducing.  Seriously though, like everything in life anything worth doing or having is going to take work, lots and lots of work and that includes family life.  I still think the best advice to follow is LOWER YOUR EXPECTATIONS, Cinderella.  It's interesting to me that real life is almost the complete opposite of the fairytale.  When I grew up in my parents "castle" I had someone who cooked and cleaned for me.  I had someone who worked each day just so I could buy new clothes each year.  Now after I've married my "prince" I'm the one cooking and cleaning for everyone else.  I wear a lot of "rags" all day long and I live in a basement that smells strongly of moth balls and the occasional wafting of sewer. 

Knowing all this, would I still have even given my husband a second glance?  I think I would.  I'd hope I would.  After all, what is the point of life if you have all you ever wanted but no one to share it with?  Relationships with anyone take sacrifice and work.  I wanted to be a mother.  I wanted to be a wife.  I could have been better prepared.  But I wouldn't trade the messy chaos of my life for an empty mansion. 

If you're still reading I really don't know what my point was.  It's just what I've been thinking about over the last couple of days.  I don't know if men analyze marriage as much as women.  I kind of doubt it.  Does anyone else feel the way I do?  I feel guilty for feeling this way.

Weight Loss Wednesday

Another week.  Through some miracle I lost one pound this week.  That's eleven pounds total.  I have three weeks left in my biggest loser competition.  I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be the winner as my oldest brother in true oldest sibling style has been losing three or four pounds every week.  I don't have any idea where he can possibly be losing it from.  He is lean!  I chalk it up to him being a pilot with a lot of time on his hands while in South America or Hawaii.  One time he ran twelve miles just because.  Wasn't training for anything, just running.  Dan, gotta love him, but really...can you stop being so superior in everything you try for once? 

Confession: I have a guilty pleasure and this guilty pleasure may or may not make you think less of me.  Here goes - I watch The Real Housewives of Orange County.  There, I said it.  I feel so much better.  I was watching last night's episode where Alexis went into the plastic surgeon to get her nose done.  Let me just say that she is no stranger to the good doctor's scalpel.  Anyway, she was walking around in leggings and all I could think about was how it would feel to have thighs that don't touch.  I'm not sure if I'll ever know.  Also, I've always disliked my own nose but after seeing that surgery and her recovery...blaaaaaah!  I think I'll pass.  The only reason to submit yourself to that much pain is to bring a child into the world. 

Brig has been going to the rock climbing gym a lot.  I really admire how he has this drive to be active.  He has big plans for his road bike this summer.  In fact he wanted to turn our anniversary into some "romantic" getaway where he rides a few hundred miles to St. George and I get to be his support car.  Shudder.  It brought back memories from my childhood, where every vacation was planned around one of Dad's races, be it cycling or running.  I recall staying in a run down motel in Tooele once and wondering why anyone in their right mind would willingly choose to live there.  We were there for Cycling Nationals.  It consisted of us getting up early and heading to the bike course where we'd nap in the van/station wagon (whichever variety we were rolling in at that time) or bicker with a sibling until it was time for the race to begin.  Then, grumbling, we would all trudge to the start and cheer for Dad as he wheeled off down the road.  Then we'd climb back in the vehicle and try to entertain ourselves for the next couple of hours.  I make it sound boring.  I actually look back with fondness on all the road trips we got to take that we probably wouldn't have otherwise.  My favorite vacation/bike race was in Santa Rosa, California.  A few of the races were in wine country and I've never forgotten how beautiful the land was.  I love Northern California and if it weren't for the high cost of living/my grandmother's absolute belief that California will fall into the ocean then I would be finding a way to live there along the coast. 

My goal for the next week is two pounds.  To accomplish that I really need to stop being so lax about what I'm eating.  I'm thrilled the weather is great.  Maybe I'll get down to Liberty Park run/walk around with Bree in the stroller. 

My Face Stinks

Which can only mean one thing...it's spring time and I've begun my yearly transformation from transparently white skin that would make Bella Swan envious to a light peach color via sunless tanning lotion.  I'm curious as to what essential ingredient is used in sunless tanning products that causes every formula I've tried to reek.

Tanning has never been my strong suit.  I'm a burn and peel kind of gal.  My arms and face have the potential to tan, but the rest of me...forget about it.  I recall one summer as a fourteen year old when I vowed to tan my legs.  I'd lay out in the sun, the smell of coconut on the breeze from the Hawaiian Tropic SPF 6 slathered on my body.  I'd sweat, because that is my strong suit and generally doze in and out of consciousness.  Guess what?  By the time September came around I was the color of French Vanilla ice cream.  Slightly less white than I was to begin with.  My progenitors must have been living at the north pole to cause me to have such a lack of pigmentation in my skin.

Shortly before my husband and I's first date I fell asleep on the quad at USU under the April sun.  I think I slept for a good hour or more.  When I woke up I could tell almost immediately that my face was burned.  Not my whole face mind you, but the right side of my face.  For the next few days I walked around like a toned down version of Harvey Dent off of Batman, AKA Two-Face.  My husband was in heavy pursuit of me at that time and for my part I kept a few steps ahead of him.  I recall him being incredibly delighted at my two-toned face.  I always think that my husband was initially attracted to me because he had recently returned from Venezuela and well, he was still a bit under the Latin influence.  I was curvy with dark curly hair and I was certain he was pursuing me because of my shared physical traits with those Venezuelan lovelies that he had left behind.  I still wonder who Bianca was.  He suggested Bianca as a name for our first born because it was a girl he knew on his mission.  Hmmm?  Anyway, I also believe that Brigham kept on chasing me because I made him laugh.  Starting with that fateful day I fell asleep with my head to the side.

I love spring time.  It holds the promise of all things good.  Gone are the days where I'd try to tan my skin beyond it's capacity.  I've learned to accept the milky white glow blinding those who dare to stare directly into the skin of my shins.  Sunless tanner can take the edge off.  Maybe add a little color to my face.  You know, not make people wonder what long term illness I'm suffering from.  But in the meantime I must endure this gosh-awful smell.

Weight Loss Wednesday

I regret to inform you that I have lost zero pounds over the course of the last two weeks.  Not surprising.  I have been hating on exercise lately.  The sweating, the jiggling, the over enthusiastic instructor, the frizzy hair that results from the sweating.  Have I ever told you I was the sweatiest girl in gym class?  Well I was.  Red faced and wet hair ringing my face.  I distinctly remember shoving folded up paper towels under my armpits in an effort to cool down before I had to rush to my next class.  Thin or fat I've always been this way.  It bothers me.  I imagine sometimes that people must think I have a Meth habit from the beads of sweat that break out on my forehead from the slightest effort. 

Brig and I went on a date tonight.  It's been a while.  As we drove down 7th East I found myself talking about Book Club, the stupid Sex Ed bill, and how my high school friend and I once took six cans of Pepsi with us to a local sledding hill and drank all of them and then peed our pants on the way back.  My youth was spent peeing my pants, truthfully.  I pretend like my incontinence is a recent event with the birth of children, but what my unsuspecting neighbors don't know is that I'm a long time pants wetter.  That's right.  The trampoline has never been my friend.  Put the singular spotlight on me and it's a sure way to make my bladder quiver.  It started with T-ball as a six year old.  I have fond memories of running around the bases with urine coursing down my legs, and then pretending that nothing is out of the ordinary.  News flash: the big wet spot on your backside kind of gives it away. 

Sweating and urine.  Good topics for weight loss Wednesday, don't you think? 

Now if you'll be so kind as to leave me a comment telling me why eating lumpy oatmeal and sweating my hair into an afro will be beneficial to my well-being in the long run.  Seriously.  I need motivation!

Ice Skating Lessons

When the flyer came home from school about ice skating lessons Ava was insistent she wanted in.  She had never tried ice skating, but was positive she would love it.  Sorry about the glare.  I took the pics from behind the plexiglass. 

Ava's face took on that look that I've seen many times...fear.  She kept falling.  I wasn't a big fan of the teacher either, who didn't notice for about ten minutes that Ava's skate had come undone worsening the falling down problem. 

I'm not sure it was good I was sitting there watching her.  Every time she made eye contact she started to wobble. 

If you could see her face clearly here you'd see tears streaming down her face.  When she gets frustrated she cries, and oh man was she frustrated.  She couldn't wait to get off the ice and told me that she didn't know the ice would be so "slippery".  She said she didn't ever want to ice skate again.  I told her the first time you do anything, you're probably not going to do it well.  Yesterday we went back to the ice rink and Brig went out on the ice with her.  They skated for an hour and by the end Ava was confident and happy on the ice.  Hopefully her lesson next week will go better. 

Oblivious to her sister's struggles Brielle got into my purse and pulled out my sunglasses.  She's so funny.  She likes putting things on her head and always looks expectantly at me waiting for a compliment. 

She's obsessed with stairs right now.  She loves going up and down them.  Unfortunately she doesn't want to go down the stairs the safe way so I always have to be vigilant.  Her and Ava have been playing a lot more together lately.  It's really fun for me to watch them play and cooperate together. 

Hangin' Out in the Cemetery

Before you think I'm some sort of morbid freak who enjoys hanging out in a cemetery let me assure you that I am not.  Although I once sat in an old Ford Granada with my high school boyfriend and kissed in my home town cemetery.  Which looking back now seems like bad ju-ju or at the very least the opening scene from a horror movie.  But you know the stars were out, we had a clear view of Gunsight Peak and nothing says romance like graves and headstones.  The obstacles that teenage hormones can overcome is astounding.

Anyway, I've been looking into my family history, this time on my father's side and found a few ancestors who were buried in the Salt Lake City Cemetery.  Most families from my line who came west with the Saints were just passing through and so the majority of my ancestors are buried in Cache Valley.  With the exception of the Coopers who are long standing residents of West Texas, my Grandpa Stewart being the only member of his family who converted and moved to Utah with my Grandma Margaret.  My Grandma Margaret's father was Golden Wesley Barrett and her mother was Barbara Irene Lewis.  

I was looking into the Lewis line.  The Lewis family have roots that go back to before the Revolutionary war.  This information I owe to a distant cousin whose blog I found by typing in a specific ancestor into Google.  Gotta love Google.  The Lewis family gradually moved west.  From Kentucky to North Carolina and then into Illinois which was frontier at the time.  Neriah Lewis Jr., my four times great grandfather and his wife Rebecca Hendricks Lewis were converted to the gospel while living in Illinois by either an Uncle David Lewis or Neriah's older brother Benjamin.  There are conflicting reports.  All of the Lewis siblings converted, and about four or five of Rebecca's siblings converted as well.  Thus began a lot of sacrifice and heart break for Neriah and Rebecca.  They had the misfortune to be some of the Mormons that settled near Haun's Mill in Missouri for a time.  If you know church history you'll have heard of the Haun's Mill Massacre.  By all accounts the Lewis brothers were first hand witnesses to those events.  Most escaped with their lives, except for older brother Benjamin who was shot and later died from the injury.  Shortly thereafter they helped build Nauvoo and had a short period of rest.  

The Lewis and Hendricks family came west in 1850.  Neriah Jr. and Rebecca had four children ages 13, 9, 7, and 2.  Nine year-old Benjamin Marion Lewis is my three times great grandfather.  It makes me think about the song Pioneer Children that we used to sing in Primary.  I wonder what those long days were like for him.  I wonder if it seemed a fantastic adventure.  Rebecca had a younger brother and his wife traveling in the group.  His name was Allen Hendricks.  His wife died in June 1850 in North Platte, Nebraska.  They had four children at the time.  Allen died a month later in Sweetwater Wyoming.  Neriah and Rebecca took in their two oldest children, while the younger boys who were just two and three at the time went with another relative. 

I can only assume they came into the Salt Lake Valley in that same year 1850.  On December 6, 1854 Rebecca Hendricks Lewis passed away at the age of 37.  I can't imagine it.  She had endured so much and finally made it to a place of safety and four years later she is dead, leaving four children and a niece and nephew.  Neriah Lewis Jr. remarried four months later to a Martha Youngblood.  The family then moved to Richmond, UT and settled that area.  Neriah and Martha went on to have nine more children.  They are buried in Richmond.  While I was researching their story I found it really sad that Rebecca was buried by herself in the SLC cemetery with no siblings, spouse, or children around her.  Maybe it doesn't matter to her.  I can't say.  But it kind of matters to me.  She sacrificed so much so I could have a better life.  I went looking for her grave this past Monday.  To my great sadness she had no gravestone.  

I stood there looking at the unidentified grave and tears began to pour down my face.  The trials in my life are so small compared to the things she face in her life.  The faith she had propelled her from a stable life on a farm in Illinois to pioneer.  I don't believe that people's spirit hang around the cemetery that their physical bodies were laid to rest in, but I hope that wherever she was that she was listening as I told her thank you, and that I was glad to be her great-great-great-great granddaughter.  Maybe one day I can put a marker where she is buried.  

The corner plot where Rebecca Hendricks Lewis was laid to rest.

The Barrett story I know less about.  I will have to try to find out more detail.  The Barretts were living in Tennessee when they heard the Gospel and decided to join the Saints.  I know they were in Tennessee as late as 1873, which is when my great-great grandfather, Samuel Bell Lewis was born.  His father William Riley Barrett, and his mother Charlotte are buried in the Salt Lake City cemetery as well.  Samuel Bell Barrett and wife, Margaret Ricks settled in Cache Valley and are buried in the Logan cemetery. 

The view from the SLC Cemetery facing downtown.  The cemetery is on fourth avenue.

Most prophets of the church are buried in this cemetery.  This is the monument to President Hinckley.

I'm not sure why there was change on Pres. Hinckley's headstone.

The prophet's wife.

Looking south from Pres. Hinkcley's gravestone.  The tall monument further down the hill is where Pres. David O. McKay is buried.  I realize that my lens must have a big smudge on it.  Kids. 

Weight Loss Wednesday

I lost 2 lbs!  Hurray!  Wait.  I gained two pounds last week though so...yeah.  I admit I am struggling.  I've been complaining in my mind.  But why can't I eat pizza and fries and soda?  Why do I have to eat healthy?  This sucks!  You get the drift.  But when I think about the alternative it's not good either.  Obviously eating poorly is not going to make me feel good about my body, or myself.  So I have two options. A. Eat the same, and keep gaining weight and be fine with that or B. Alter my eating habits and hopefully lose weight and feel better about myself and my life.  I'm never going to feel good about being overweight.  I know there are women out there who claim they are fine with who they are and feel confident regardless of their size.  I am not like those women.  Sometimes I wish I were. 

I had used an anniversary trip as motivation to get in shape, but we decided to use our tax returns for new furniture.  Maybe I can picture my future hot self sitting in that furniture.  That's motivation, right?  Not so much. 

I've kept hoping for the weather to warm up.  I'd like to start walking/jogging regularly.  I've never liked to jog in public.  It's ironic that people who are overweight, like myself, feel self conscious about others seeing them work out because we are the ones who need it most.  I don't know why I care so much.  I guess I think about people driving by and thinking about how big I am or how slow I am going.  Why I care about strangers' passing thoughts is really stupid.  When I see someone who is overweight working out I am usually impressed.  Because they are braver than I am, or obviously care more about their health than other people's thoughts.  

Gotta get my mind right.  I've been feeling negatively about a lot lately.  So let's put something out there that is positive.  I'm grateful my body knows how to dance.  I tried Zumba this week and it was a lot of fun.  Dancing has always been something that has come instinctively for me.  Jogging or basketball...not so much.  I'm grateful my feet seem to know the steps after a couple of counts.  I'm glad my hips sway in time to the music.  I'm grateful I enjoy the "African Beats" segment of the video especially the tiger claw move at the end that is equal parts tribal and absurd.  Beto says, "Pretend you are a hunter - strong!"  And I do.  I'm a warrior on the prowl for a twenty-six inch waist.  I'm still not quite sure what Beto is on the prowl for.  He was definitely giving some intense come hither looks in the cool down.  Latins...so saucy.