Our story.

Our Story.

I think a couple of sales guys in SAKS summed it up best. “We always see you together. You two belong together. I can’t imagine seeing one of you without the other.” They made this remark because every time we walk through SAKS, we are together. We never go in there by ourselves. It is not intentional. But we go to that mall to window shop and stroll, and it more fun to do that together.

But the take home point from that, is that in my opinion, you have to realize that you are in this thing together as partners, as a pair, to have a successful marriage. So when Clint asked me to marry him, of course I said yes. Do we bicker? Only five times a day. Do we get on each other’s nerves? See the first answer.  Do we say hurtful things sometimes? Of course, we are human. Are we always there for each other? Yes, no matter what. We don’t keep tally of a tit for a tat. Since you didn’t pick up the phone earlier, I am not going to pick it up now. We just simply always do what we can to provide support for the other person.

So after five long years Clint finally stops eluding commitment.  About damn time.   But you know what they say, you can lead a horse to water but sure can’t make them drink. However age finally caught up with Clint and he realized that if he didn’t come to his senses and make a proper woman of me, he might be left all alone. And when you hair line is decreasing and your pants size is increasing, you can’t exactly jump back out of the dating scene. So Clint decided to propose.

So when we decided to buy an engagement ring. I wanted to pick it out. I figured I knew what I wanted, so I would be happy. Of course I would only buy a ring that I could look at for the next fifty years. But then reality set in. Diamond shopping is exhausting. There are so many variables it will make your head spin. This is probably why I never advanced much beyond Algebra II. Give me more than two variables and you have lost me.

So I finally decide to buy this ring. And I get it. And I hate it. The more I look at it, the more I start finding things I don’t like. I try to convince myself that I just have to get used to the ring. It will grow on me. I don’t want to admit defeat. I don’t want to have to tell Clint that I don’t know jack about picking out diamonds. But I get so upset that I tell him I want to send it back. Even though I am not looking at him, I can feel him rolling his eyes.  I know he is thinking most people who make sure that this absolutely the diamond they want before they would commit to buying it. But not me. I got caught up in something only to realize I hate it.

After I tearfully explained to Clint that I absolutely hate this ring and can’t fathom looking at it for the next fifty years.  We knew we had to come up with a new solution. We found a woman who was wonderful at making us a custom ring. She understand exactly how I wanted my ring to look and she stayed within our budget. That was really the big seller. Start talking about dollars and Clint’s eyes light up. He is always saying how he wants me to get whatever will make me happy, but in reality he means whatever will make me happy without  breaking the bank.  He would agree that a five carat rock would look nice on my finger, but he doesn’t want to work for the next 80 years to pay for it.

Clint handled the final details of my ring, and kept everything a secret from me. He wouldn’t tell me when he was going to pick it up, or where he was going to hide it. I “re-arranged” (read this as tore apart) our bedroom several times in a frenzied attempt to find his superb hiding spot, but I was unsuccessful. I still don’t know where he hid it. All I know is that when I do figure it out, I will  be hitting the jackpot, because that is where he hides all my presents.

I honestly expected Clint to propose on a weekend and do it sometime in the evening. I kept waiting, and waiting and waiting. I dropped subtle hints. And not so subtle hints. And I flat out threatened him.  However none of these tactics worked. Clint still moved at his own infuriating slow pace. He has his own time line, and he does things when he wants, how he wants.  So, imagine my surprise when on a Wednesday at the end of June he asks me to marry him.

He called me at work to tell me that he was going o have to work into dinner so he was just going to leave work around 6 and head home instead of working out and then going back to the office. I honestly thought nothing of this. Clint does this all the time. If he has to call a client right at five, he will just come home after he gets done and stay home to spend time with me. So  I head home and make a boring hum drum dinner. Clint comes home and I rattle on about my day at work. During this whole time, I have forgotten that today is our five year anniversary. I am honestly worse than a guy when it comes to the “little” holidays. I plan for Christmas all year round. I start buying and stashing gifts in March. But when it comes to birthdays, anniversaries etc., I just put them on the back burner and end up forgetting about them. Not Clint. He is a meticulous planner. So he of course had a plan for our engagement.

After dinner we were going to walk around U of R. Again, nothing out of the ordinary here. We usually walk after dinner a few times a week, and sometimes we go to places like U of R to spice it up. Now where I should have gotten tipped off, was when he decided not to wear actual work out clothes. When Clint and I walk together he usually sweats like a pig, so workout clothes are a must. But I was so tired, I figured this was just going to be a leisurely stroll and I was grateful for the reprieve.

We get to U of R and we begin our usual stroll through the campus. It is quiet since most of the students are back at home, and I was more focused on the gangly teenage ducks then on the surroundings. I was intent on trying to catch one and hold it, until I realized that the ducks reaction to fear is a violent explosion on poop. Uh yeah. There went my love of ducks. I love animals – but only when they are excrement free.

So we stroll into the Gazebo and this is where you go to steal a kiss or ask a girl to marry you. Now this should have been a major red flag because usually I have to drag Clinton into this Gazebo and this time he went willingly. He gave me a couple of kisses and then I watched the ducks paddle in the water. When I turned back around he was down on one knee, telling me that he loved me and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. I started crying. But of course I said yes.

The proposal suited me perfectly. It was low key, no crowds and loving. Clint and I have had a wild five years .A lot of good times, a lot of bad times .And times where you laugh and cry at the same time. But through it all, he has walked right beside me and I know he will continue to stand by my side during our marriage.

I am an addict.

I am hopelessly addicted to caffeine. I acknowledge this fact, and actually go out of my way to feed my caffeine addiction. I have decided that the world looks better when I am full of caffeine. Or at least I am less likely to bite off somebody’s head because they have just asked me the same question three times in a row.  Most people get hyper and jittery after a couple of cups of coffee and have even less patience then before. But as for me, if I can get a cup of coffee, I have all the patience in the world. I do not feel rushed and on edge. I feel calm and refreshed. I am sure some of this is just psychological. My body is not actually refreshed from receiving caffeine, but I have fooled my mind into thinking that.  Let’s hope I never get hooked on anything harsher then caffeine, lord knows I would be a mean addict. I will do anything to get a caffeine fix, who knows how far I would go if it was a real drug.

I resemble a ravenous wolf during my morning hunts for caffeine. Get in my way at the risk of your own life. I take no prisoners. There are only four things I want out of my mornings : a workout, a shower, breakfast and coffee. If you prevent me from those four simple objectives you will have a very miserable day.

Rumor has it that back in the day, I used to be able to just get up and roll out of bed. No fuss. I would go with the flow. I didn’t have to drink a pot of coffee before I could pry my eyeballs open. I could eat breakfast on the run, and if I didn’t make it to the gym, I would just go later. There was no set routine and it was virtually impossible to ruffle my feathers. But then age caught up with me, and suddenly it was interrupt my routine and I will become a demon. My routine coddles me and allows me to wallow in pity for the first few hours of my morning.  I don’t have to embrace the day before I am ready to. People who genuinely enjoy rising while it is still dark scare me. The days I am the happiest are the days I am allowed to sleep in til 6 or so. Just so that it is not pitch black outside when I open my eyeballs.

It takes a lot to be me.

Clint always teases me because I am a hopeless over packer. I feel like there is always a chance I might need this one item, so I have to have it. Otherwise my whole day might be ruined. Obviously a logical person would realize that your whole day will not ruined if you are unable to wear a certain shirt. But in my mind that is not the case. If I think I need a certain article of clothing to complete an outfit, nothing can change my mind.

I have a few items that I need to survive daily. These items include:

Hair straigtener, or hair scrunchi (I don’t want to scare small children with my unruly hair)

Sneakers (I have to be able to run off some of my manic energy to me more pleasant to anyone around me)

Gum (If I am chewing gum I am not stuffing my face with food)

Coffee (My long standing love affair with caffeine)

Cell Phone (Heaven forbid I have to go without entertainment while waiting at a stoplight for people to figure out that a green light means accelerate)

Car keys ( I would love to be able to walk everywhere but Bon Air is not pedestrian friendly)

Make-up (Again, don’t want to traumatize small children)

 

 

I run like a girl, and damn proud of it too.

 love running. I hate preparing my runs. I hate getting started. And I hate struggling to finish the last mile – ok the last two miles. I hate alternating between being so thirsty I could drink enough water to hydrate a small family and feeling so queasy that you have thought I had just eaten at a Mexican restaurant of questionable reputation.

However, after a run I feel magnificent. I feel accomplished. I look back at all the miles I ran, and think wow, I did that. I ran those miles. I struggled up every hill and coasted down the other side. Every time I push myself to do just one more mile, my body rebels. I keep glancing at the time, thinking omg how has it only been 30 seconds?

The best part of running though is all you have to do is put one foot in front of another. Sometimes that is the only way I get through a mile. But that is all you need to know to even run one mile. If you can put one foot in front of the other, you can run a mile.

I look at my body, and I know that even though I am not overweight and am slender. I will never be stick thin. My body needs to have substance to push itself through thirteen miles.  I am proud of my body for what it can accomplish and I don’t worry about weighing a certain amount or squeezing into a certain size.

I think women get so caught up in being a certain size, or looking a certain way that they forget about what is healthy. It is not healthy to starve yourself to make your body unnaturally thin. If you eat well and exercise, your body will find it’s happy weight. But that might not be a size 2. And I think we as a society need to learn how to live with that.

When I go shopping and try on a pair of jeans that are a size 4, they have an inseam that would only fit a woman 5’8 or taller. So what they are insinuating is that if you need a size four, you better be tall. Otherwise you are just a shorty who is overweight. It amazes me that I wear a large in underwear from Victoria’s Secret. I honestly don’t have any body fat, but the way my hips and ass sit, they require a large. If I were more sensitive to this kind of thing, I might get my feelings hurt. Luckily I know that Clint loves me the way I am, and I like me the way I am.

If I had to pick between being a size 0 and being able to run, I would pick being able to run. I feel my best after a run, but if I were a size 0, I would only feel good when I was trying on clothes.

 

I hate everything!

 hate how it takes forever for the ice cubes to come out of the stupid shoot in my freezer.

I biting into a grape and finding out it is sour.

I hate realizing that I accidently put my favorite shirt in the dryer and shrank it.

I hate getting to the pool, putting on sunscreen only to realize the sun has disappeared.

I hate getting rained on when I am dressed up and have somewhere to be.

I hate that coffee doesn’t taste good cold, but if it is too hot it will burn my taste buds off.

I hate there is never a light switch right next to my bed, so I have to climb out of bed just to turn off the lights.

I hate that checking Facebook on my phone uses up so much batter power.

I hate that eating to many potato chips is bad for you, but you can never eat just one.

I hate that you can’t open the windows in the spring without the pollen getting inside your house.

I hate the smell of bug spray, but I hate mosquitoes more.

I hate how fish smells fishy.

I hate ordering steak medium-well, only to find out that means there is more pink then I thought.

I hate having to send my food back to the kitchen.

I hate ordering something and being disappointed.

I hate when they don’t have what I ordered.

I hate when the waiter doesn’t refill my drink.

I hate when people mispronounce my name.

I hate when people don’t look at me while talking.

I hate when people mumble.

I hate when people have food stuck n their teeth.

I hate when people think brushing their teeth is an option.

I hate when people don’t let me finish my sentences.

I hate when I can’t pronounce a word correctly.

I hate when my ice cream melts faster than I can eat it.

I hate when I get a stain on a brand new outfit.

I hate that the only time I have to go shopping is when the mall is the most crowded.

I hate that the piece of clothing I like the best is never on sale.

I hate that I can only buy clothes that are on sale.

I hate my bills always seem to be more then what I make.

I hate that anything work having is worth working for.

I hate that directions to an electronic item are never short and concise.

I hate that I can’t speak a foreign language.

I hate that math feels like a foreign language.

I hate that I would rather watch reality TV then an educational show.

I hate that I secretly like the stupid shows on Disney.

I hate that I know all the words to the songs from Disney movies.

I hate that as soon as I paint my nails, I chip them.

I hate that I am too much of a chicken to get a tattoo.

I hate that animals are so much work.

I hate that I prefer junk food to healthy food.

I hate that I have to work out stay fit.

I hate that I wake up to an alarm clock.

Welcome to La Casa de Severson. I advise leaving while you have the chance.

I am putting my family up for adoption. I am sure everyone has had moments where they truly wish they didn’t have to claim their family members. Whether you are sick of being embarrassed or you are just tired of the drama or you honestly wonder how in the world you share the same gene pool with these people.

At large family gatherings it is tempting to step away from the chaos and look at my family as a stranger would. It is then I realize that a stranger would be fighting a battle in their mind about whether my family belongs on Jerry Springer or Maury Povich. It is a very delicate decision so the choices need to be carefully weighed.  Springer grantees physical harm but Povich comes with shocking realizations.

Even if my family manages to gather without any one getting injured or without losing someone at a rest stop, my family is still a very loud group of people. You can hear us long before you can see us.  We all talk at once and it we through in obscure body gestures to emphasize our points.  It is not just enough to call someone an idiot. You have to roll your eyes, through up your hands and walk around in a circle while muttering obscenities under your breath to emphasize how stupid that person was being.

If you wanted to survive in my family, you had to become good at two things. Talking and eating. You had to learn how to talk loud and talk fast if you wanted to be heard, and you had to learn to eat quickly and stash any extra food, or you would go hungry. I learned real quick that setting a tub of ice cream in really cold water in the bathtub was not enough to keep the ice cream from melting.

I know at the end of the day they are my family members and I stuck with them but sheesh. One of my sisters is known for attempting to eat a pistachio – shell and all. This wouldn’t seem like such a big deal, but she is eighteen years old. Does the hard shell around the green nut look edible? If you bite down on it and hear you teeth crack, it might be sign the shell is not meant to be ate.  Another sister used to eat play dough like candy. I realize play dough is non toxic but surely it is not meant to be eaten as part of daily diet.  And my other sister has so many foods that she refuse to eat. Crackers and water are actually her idea of an ideal meal. However god forbid those crackers have fiber. You can’t eat any fiber because you might go to the bathroom. Never mind that is what the human body was designed to do, she has decided it is unnatural.

And let’s not forget the condiments.  The one that has a fiber paranoia also must coat whatever food you can actually get her to eat in ketchup. This might not sound so bad until you start thinking about all the different things you can coat in ketchup.  Anything fried can be dunked in ketchup. But pretzel sticks? Cinnamon toast crunch? The possibilities are endless and not appealing.  The only thing I can truly understand coating in ketchup is fish sticks. They are so revolting that you have to cover them in something to force them down. Now whenever I am in Ukrops and see a Gordons Frozen Fish Sticks box, I gag reflexively. Some things should just not be eaten.

My family members also have an unusual dependence on cell phone technology. I am pretty sure if you took away their cell phones they would wither up and die like you had cut of their supply of oxygen.  They have become adept at integrating texting into every part of their routine. Eat and text. No problem. Drive and text. No problem. At least until they rear end someone or run off the road. But so far they have someone managed to remain accident free while texting and driving. Not that I am recommending that activity.  But I digress. My sisters text while conversing with another individual, at work, at school. Even at the pool. The only activity that makes texting tricky is taking a shower. It is difficult to successful y text and wash your hair without either jeopardizing the phone or your hair.  But there is nothing more annoying when you are trying to have a conversation without someone and you are actually speaking to them in person, and they are intent on texting another person while speaking to you. This accounts for long breaks in the conversation and confusion between the topics being discussed via text and the topics being discussed in person.  I of course have to be the center of attention so when someone attempts to converse with me, while texting with another person, I have to resist the urge to smash the cell phone into little tiny pieces. The problem with that solution is that most phones are made so crappily that I wouldn’t get any real satisfaction is breaking one. After one toss the phone would probably crack. Not nearly as satisfying as getting to hurl a phone into a wall multiple times before it finally comes apart.

Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy using my phone as much as the next person. I would even say that I suffer from a mild addiction to the social integration it provides.  Anytime I wake up in the middle of the night, I slide my hand under my pillow and pull out my phone to see which of my friends is drunk posting on facebook.  And anytime I am unfortunately stuck waiting in a line, I whip out my phone and peruse facebook and FML.  3.5 hours at a football game. No problem. I have a 98% charged phone battery and a whole plethora of hilarious unfortunate events that happened to other people thanks to FML. But I am not glued to my phone when having an actual conversation with someone in front of me, or when I am doing a dangerous task like washing my hair or cooking dinner.

Speaking on dangerous tasks, if you ride with a certain member of my family – you might as well say your final prayers. Riding wither her is always an adventure. If by adventure you mean holding on to the sides of the car for dear life and praying you don’t throw up on your cute new dress.  On this ride all beverages should be left at the gate and you should watch for loose contents. Anything not tied down will be flung around during sudden stops and sharp turns. This experience would be fun if I wasn’t 75% sure that continuing to ride in this death trap would result in my early demise.

I am pretty you can describe my family in a few short sentences. We are horrible drivers, fast talkers, voracious eaters and a tendency to embellish. Out of all  those characteristics, the tendency to embellish is probably the one that creates the most problems for us.

Childless by Choice.

So this is a subject that is always on my mind but I can never quite seem to get all my thoughts out. So, I am going to try again.

I come from a rather nice sized family. Four kids and two parents.  There was always someone to entertain me. And there was always someone bothering me. But four kids seemed like the perfect number.  There were always enough playmates to go around.

However, I honestly have no desire to have children of my own. Now, everyone says that I will change my mind, or they think I had a bad experience with my siblings. Neither of those opinions are correct. I am simple selfish. I really enjoy living my life without having to consider anyone else. Of course I consider Clint, but he is a grown man and is not as needy as a small child. I can leave Clint for three hours to go on a long run. But if I have a two year old, I either need a babysitter or I will be taking a much shorter run.

I feel like I am mature enough to know that I am not ready for that. I am completely aware that accidents happen. Leisel, my youngest sister is a prime example of a “mistake.” How my parents managed to muster up the energy to deal with her after the three of us got done with them, I will never know. Although my parents’ exhaustion with child raising is probably part of the reason Leisel is allowed free reign and therefore frequently just does whatever she feels like without worry of the consequence. I tell you what, I would have loved for some room to breathe when I was her age, much less the freedom to come and go as I please. All I ever heard was “It’s my house, so you follow my rules.”  I usually followed that comment with a very dramatic eye roll which would earn me a week or two grounding from my only tie to the civilized world – the phone.

So just because I don’t want to spend all my energy and resources raising a zoo, does not mean I don’t like children. I do. I find them very refreshing. They aren’t catty and conniving. They don’t go out of their way to play hurtful games. And they are genuinely funny. Kids really do say the darndest things.  I interact with kids on some level almost every single day. But that doesn’t mean I want any of my own.

I enjoy going home and vegging out on reality TV. When I watch my god kids, even though their bedtime is at 8 o’clock, I usually don’t get to sit through a full episode of mindless entertainment until after 9. I also enjoy being able to eat my meals without having to prep the food for others as I go. I don’t have to cut up anyone’s food, pick out the veggies or get up for countless drink refills. I now know why my mother was so thin.  You never get to overindulge at a meal because you are lucky that you even get to take five bites. However I can totally understand why you never hear a parent say, “I don’t drink” or “No thanks, I won’t have a beer/glass of wine/whole bottle of vodka.” I do believe that after a particularly trying day of parenting, life looks better through beer goggles.

But as far as Clint and I go, we are childless for time being. And will remain that way for the foreseeable future. We both enjoy babysitting, and hanging out with other people’s kids. But at the end of the day, we enjoy our very independent routine. We can lay in bed together on a Sunday afternoon and nap and read the news. We can go away for the weekend and not have to worry about disrupting anyone’s schedule. We can work late, go in early and do just about whatever we need or want to and it doesn’t affect anyone but us.  I can hear people calling us selfish. But honestly, aren’t we the exact opposite of selfish? We know that right now we would not make the best parents in the world, so we are not actively trying to have children who didn’t ask to be born. I think the people who are selfish are the ones who want a baby so badly that they overlook the fact that their lifestyle might not be conducive to raising a child.  We have some acquaintances who travel so frequently for both of their jobs that they only see their seven year old daughter one week out of the month. And during that week they see so many of their adult friends that their daughter gets squeezed in when she can.  And let me tell you it shows. Their little girl is whiney and clingy and very anti-social. She would rather sit in her room by herself then engage in a play date.  She is very non-verbal and hard to engage. But the most telling of all was when I read her a good night story about a little girl whose  dad takes her to the playground. She said : “My parents never play with me. They are too busy.” Out of the mouths of babes.

So even though one day Clint and I might change our minds, we enjoy our work hard play hard life. And we know that in order to have healthy, happy, well adjusted kids, something would have to change.  So our immediate plan is  to continue bonding as a couple, participate in the occasional “what if we had a baby” fantasy. And give ourselves plenty of time as a couple before becoming mom and dad.