A Ward Wedding Toast...Two weeks later

            I discovered a pretty surprising fact two weeks ago today.  It’s still fresh but I think I’m ready to write about it…  I am not good at wedding speeches.  It’s bit embarrassing to tell the truth.  In case you were unaware, I TAUGHT public speaking for almost 6 years, so you’d think I had this in the bag.  But when I grabbed the mic that Friday night, “My mind just drew a blank, like ‘La-La-La.’”  (Anyone? The Game, early 2000s?  No?! anyway….) 

But Hunter and Jane deserve better than that.   And it is not too late!  So, this is what I wish I’d said even though I definitely would have gotten choked up…maybe have had to hold up a shaky hand and ask everyone to wait a minute while I pulled it together….but this is what I would have said if I had the guts.

Photograph courtesy of http://www.markspoonerphoto.com

            Jane, I love you.  I have loved you since the moment you were born.  I have loved you beyond all reason and cherish every moment with you.  I am so sorry I have tried so hard to be your mother.  I am sorry I have tried so hard to be “cool.”  I am sorry I did not figure out sooner how to be more transparent and genuine with such an extraordinary little sister.  

I’m sorry that I taught you how to skinny dip and streak around town forest….well mostly I’m just sorry you got caught ;)

         I am not at all sorry that we are hardcore Disneyland fans, that we love hiking to Heublein Tower, writing each other letters, and reading the Baudelaires aloud (that was like my first sign that Hunter was “the one” for you.  A die hard Lemmony Snicket fan is a true gem).   

I am grateful for the way you cared for James when I was sick but had to go back to work.  I am grateful that you love each my kids like your own.  I am grateful for our mutual love of ice dancing and Downton Abbey.  I am grateful that we have finally found our groove of being genuine kindred spirits, best friends and sisters.  I feel blessed beyond all measure.  I feel like the luckiest.

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And Hunter….let’s be honest….you are the luckiest;)  I kind of feel that Scout should give this part of the speech since she adores you as purely as only a three year old can. She knew from the moment she met you that you were a good man; that you were her friend; that you were family.  

Photograph courtesy of http://www.markspoonerphoto.com

She has told me that she loves “how you play games… that you are funny and ….your beard.”  I think that is a pretty good list.  But I want to add some qualities that are so admirable about you.  And I’ve found there are a lot of things to admire.  I admire your humility, especially about your skill at lacrosse.  I admire your insight into athletics and the arts.  I’ll never forget how much you seemed to just “get” Jane’s artwork at her senior show.  You didn’t just politely glance at it, you analyzed it and appreciated it deeply.   

I admire your flexibility -both literally and figuratively.  (I mean I’ll admit I was dumbfounded when I heard you could bend over and touch your forearms to the ground…that’s, well, just incredible.)  But more than that, I admire how when you came to visit Jane and she had to go to an Artsbridge thing, you spent the whole day helping me with the kids.  Seriously, THE.  WHOLE.  DAY.  And it wasn’t like one of our best days, when the kids are angelic and I’m like extra sweet super mom.  It was like a real day in the life.  And you were so helpful and gracious.  

I admire how you always notice when Scout and Hadley reach new milestones.  You are always one of the first to celebrate me when Scout overcomes a speech hurdle or Hadley takes a wobbly step.  

 

Photograph courtesy of http://www.markspoonerphoto.com

So, with all those amazing qualities wound together, it’s no surprise you are an incredible couple.  My hope and prayer for you as you enter into the adventure of marriage together is that you always see  each other as God sees us, or to make it a little less daunting…try and see each other kind of like how I saw Jane the first time I held her as a baby…noticing each tiny detail, wondering at her unique personality,  and utter gratitude that her miraculous life was tied to mine.  I am utterly grateful again this time that I get to experience a newborn marriage of two people I love grow and mature.  

PS I think I need to give a shout out to Nick’s speech at the rehearsal dinner because it has now become James’ presedent for HIS obsession with eating frosted mini wheats without milk???!!!

PPS Anne and Pedro you are next. 

Hold My Hand! Actually, Please Don’t By Jane Dietrich

Our blogger this week is my sister, the sculptor,  writer and one of my favorite guests on this blog (and in real life:)

Check out more of her work at www.janedietrichart.com

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I’m walking along the sidewalk hand in hand with the man I love. It’s a beautiful day; 75 degrees and sunny. A light breeze carries the songs of the birds above to our ears. Our arms swing slightly with each step, telling the world “Hey! Look at this hottie. I’m dating him!”

Yet, something feels off. Is it the growing clamminess of my palm? No…(though that is a bit embarrassing). Is it that our steps aren’t quite in sync? I suppose, but there’s something more. 

It’s the feeling that I’m not centered. My internal compass feels askew. I want to walk a bit more to the right, but then he would be falling off the curb. Isn’t that better than me scraping my arm against the wall? Don’t I deserve to dodge pedestrians coming the other way on my own time?!  

Suddenly claustrophobia sets in. 

The buildings are too close. 

But on the other side l’ll run into the parking meters!

Our pace is too fast, 

now too slow. 

CAN’T YOU LET ME WALK AT MY NORMAL CADENCE?? People say I have a walk that is “so me”. 

WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO CHANGE ME INTO SOMEONE I’M NOT!? 

Suddenly, the sidewalk situation morphs into a metaphor for my life. The spiral downward picks up speed.  

Is this what marriage is going to be like? Never having my own space? Always touching?   If I can’t get over this, how will I ever make it through a lifetime with you?! 

More importantly, WHY ARE YOU MAKING MY HANDS SO SWEATY?!

Now remember, I am madly in love with this guy and usually love him holding my hand. But there’s something about the sidewalk. It just doesn’t seem to be made for two. I need some independence here people. 

So there I am walking, internally freaking the hell out while Hunter observes how beautiful the clouds are.  Lost in my angst, 

I trip. 

Our grasp tightens and I don’t make a complete fool of myself. I snap back to reality.

I do love him. I do want to hold his hand. I can use my words like a five year old and ask to not hold hands for a hot sec. It doesn’t mean we won’t last together. When it comes down to it, I would always choose holding his hand than not having the option.

It is nice to walk on the sidewalk together… but sometimes, let’s not hold hands.

Spoiled by Simon Wha

http://sarahjhwangphoto.blogspot.com/2014/06/e-simon-christine.html

Last night, my fiancé and I were sitting down and watching musicians practice for our rapidly approaching wedding ceremony. As we were watching them, she said something profound. She leaned over and said “Gosh, we’re so spoiled.” And in that moment, there was 100% agreement. If you were sitting down with us watching these friends play music, you’d know what I’m talking about. If you put a book down in front of me and asked me to read it out loud, I’d surely slip up with some sort of reading mistake.

 (Funny side note, I always read the word “misled” as "my-zulled.” I don’t know why. It’s a gap in my brain).



Anyway, these friends of ours could look at a score of some classical piece and play it better than I could read “Cat In The Hat." No mistakes, no hiccups. Flawless. So of course in that moment, yes, we felt spoiled with friends who love us and want to play music for our ceremony.

As I walked away from that practice, my fiancé’s statement hit me harder than I had anticipated. During this past year, I’ve been continually reminded of how much God actually loves His children and that we are utterly spoiled. When I say “children”, I don’t mean all of humanity. I mean His adopted children who were once far off but are now near. 

http://sarahjhwangphoto.blogspot.com/2014/06/e-simon-christine.html

The reality for God’s children is that everything in this life is a giant-ass cherry on top. Consider what your sins deserve. Consider your tendency towards rebellion. Consider your subversive disposition. Consider how by nature and choice, you’ve sinned against a Holy, spotless, perfect God. And then consider that even in all of that, God has spoken the words “I love you and will not treat you as your sins deserve.” Consider that He has given His beloved Son in your stead in the midst of your rebellion and has secured your future forever.

God has given what you could never attain. And yet, day after day, He gives gifts upon gifts. He has given me friends that support me financially, He has given me a soon-to-be wife who loves me despite all my flaws, He has given me parents who work tirelessly to provide for me in places I can’t, and the list goes on and on and on. Spoiled indeed.

This is not to neglect or undermine a life filled with serious hurt, trauma and struggle. But as a loving Father, He has rhyme and reason for all of it. One day, He’ll let you know why. One day, He’ll undo every ounce of torment in this life. One day, He’ll use all of it to remind you how amazing He really is and that He actually knew what He was doing.

“He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?” -Rom 8:32

http://sarahjhwangphoto.blogspot.com/2014/06/e-simon-christine.html

Paul’s basically saying, “You’re freaking spoiled.” Believe it. 

Date night

In theory, my husband and I have no excuse for going so long without a date night.  We have the best neighbors in the world whose kids we can watch one night and then they watch ours another.  This is crucial because the kids are with people we love and trust and we don’t have the expense of a babysitter (I should know,  babysitting was my main source of cash flow from middle school through college.)   These saintly friends even watch our kids when we fail to uphold our end of the date night trade.  

I’m all about the date night because in my mind and according to my definition it is comprised of several things that I love:

1. Routine

2. Deep though-provoking conversation. 

3. My husband 

Some date ideas I always offer as options are:

1. Both reading a book silently and then discussing what we read
2. Reading a book out loud to each other and discussing it
3. Listening to a book on tape and then discussing it. 

However for my free spirited love of my life

I’ve realized even the components that I consider mandatory to make a “successful date night” are not the same as his.  He values:

1. Spontaneity 

2. Laughter

3. Me 

His ideas for date night are usually

1. Watching a movie
2. Go out to eat at a new place
3. Making Rice Krispy treats and then eating them while we watch TV.

Here are the things we both love:

1. Sports

2. Being outdoors

3. Good food

4. Eclectic music

5. Each other

And so I consider our day at Fenway a huge success!  

1. The Red Sox won
2. We got to walk around Boston before and after the game.
3. We sat beside each other uninterrupted by chores or work for 9 whole innings.
4. Fenway Franks, Hot Pretzels, Corn dogs and Ice Cream...what is not to love?  
5. The time away made us miss our kids and the level of exuberance in their eyes when we came home (and presented them with a new baseball hat) was half ridiculous and mostly priceless.

First Kiss by Blake Harper

      In 9th grade I got my first “girlfriend”. Her name? Kelli Reilly, she was an adorable, girl-next-door type and inexplicably thought I was the bee's knees. Sadly, I was a terrible “boyfriend."  Now before you start judging, let me explain this was not due to laziness, it was a product of fear. I would avoid eye contact in the hallways, say only the stupidest things when we would talk, and was terrified of handholding, hugging and kissing. I don’t know how she put up with me for the better part of freshman year, but God bless her she did. Then things took a turn for the worse.

At the end of the year our whole school had ‘Knotts Berry Farm Day’, Knotts is a theme park that’s less fun but cheaper than Disneyland. And we would get one day off to go and have fun there. It was a few days before Knotts Day and I was getting real pumped, then Kelli’s best friend Kailey approached me and gave me horrible news: Kelli expected me to kiss her at Knotts. I was still terrified, and now I had a kiss deadline?! My heart stopped. My greatest fear fulfilled (give me a break, I went to a Christian school, all of us were like this).

So the awaited day came, and it started out surprisingly well, with me being less awkward than usual. We went on the Ghost Rider with all our friends, and we even held hands during it!!!!!! OMG!! Walking off the ride, I was feeling like a boss. Then suddenly I was violently pulled behind a bush by an unknown force. I turn and see it was Kelli, and she is now staring at me. One word leaves her lips, “Well?” Days pass. Or seconds, who knows. Finally, I grab her and kiss her, then I do the stupidest thing anyone can do after their first kiss. 

I run.

Yep, I ran, and I ran for a while. Once I finally stop running, I realize what I just did, and begin despising myself. I spend the next few hours moping and reminding myself of my stupidity. Then things get even worse, I run into her again, and she’s with her friends.

I decide the only thing to do is surrender all pride and apologize. She shocks me by accepting the apology and not mocking my very existence. She even asks me if I want to go on Montezuma’s Revenge with her. Clearly I accept, beyond relieved.

It was towards the end of the day, so there was no line, which meant we got to repeatedly ride without having to get off. Now I had never been sick on a ride before, so I ignored it when my stomach began to feel very strange about the fifth ride. By the sixth I was clearly sick, yet I didn’t want to run to the bathroom since running hadn’t served me too well thus far. The seventh time there is no question I was going to puke, and now its just a matter of getting to the bathroom in time. I would not blow this! I got off the ride, holding dear, forgiving Kelli’s hand, with all our friends behind us. And while walking down the stairs, the unimaginable becomes a reality. I throw up, all my friends laughing, all her friends laughing, and all I can do is run. Again.

The moral of the story? Even the most embarrassing stories can become funny after a few years of blocking them from your memory. Hope your Valentine’s Day is better than my Knotts Berry Farm Day.

Count Down

My husbands' return from the West Coast is mere hours away.  I'm not sure if the kids or I are more amped up with anticipation and excitement.  He's been gone too long.  It has made me very glad that his work does not require him to travel on a regular basis.  Here are the top 10 things I have missed most:
10. The sound of him and James playing "Goliath of Gath" while I bathe Scout.
9.  His guidance in the kitchen...our menu this week has been bland to put it nicely.
8.  The treats and necessities he picks up on his way home from work.  He rarely comes home empty handed and it is the highlight of our day when he walks in the door.
7. Watching the UEFA champions cup with him.  Nobody gets behind European soccer like he does, except maybe europeans.

6.  His inquisitive nature and constant wealth of new information.  He knows so much about so many things.  It always makes for a good dinner conversation.
5.  They way he makes Scout laugh.  She laughs for me too but there is this giddy hilarity that she saves only for her daddy.

4.  His ability to help me lighten up and take myself less seriously.  He helps me admit that yes, my son's impromptu hair washing in the sink might be just a little funny.  Whereas on my own I only see a mess I have to clean and miss the joy that's there.
3.  The stories he tells about people watching or work that make me laugh even now as I recall them.

2. His common sense.  I find that I do far fewer foolish things when he is around.  I miss that!
1. Working together as a team. He is truly my better half and I can not wait till he is back here with me.

Hottest Man with a Mustache

Well, Tom Selleck you held the title for over 30years.
You had a good run......

but there is a new mustache in town.  No, not a Boston Cop or a Hipster or even a Cholo.  This mustache belongs to my very own husband and if he's gonna rock it, I'm gonna love it.  #oksortofahipster #retiredcholo*

I used to get super embarrassed when the love of my life would do things like this (i.e.grow an epic mustache that hides his gorgeous smile.) In fact, to be honest it still makes my cheeks a little red when the kids at church burst into laughter the moment they see this industrial broom adorning his face.  But I realized that things like this (see above) show how wonderful he really is.  He doesn't think twice about doing something as time consuming and eccentric as manicure marvelous whiskers just to make others smile and maybe even laugh.  So, bring on the mustache jokes, quotes, look-alikes and puns.  I've realized I can hate the facial hair but love the face:)

*Cholo [urbandictionary.com]

The U.S. context of the word Cholo/Chola originated in Los Angeles and can be [but definitely NOT in this case] a derogatory term meaning Chicanogangster or pandilleroor marero. They are born in the U.S. and favor Spanglish. They might refer to any Latino unlike them as pocho, or white-washed. 

A hardcore cholo will wear the baggy look, bigtime tatoos, and a shaved head. The chola might have long permed black hair, dark lipstick and a teardrop tatooed under her eye, (and their toddler might have a shaved head and wear the garb unless abuelita steps in.) 

This look is subject to change as gang-culture evolves. So what a cholo looked like in the times of Cheech and Chong is out-of-date, but still revered with some pride. There are even plastic figurines with this look sold in gumball machines all over the streets of L.A. 

The word has a totally different context in South America, where it means indigenous peasant. But in the States, it has been appropriated and the context has evolved.

Examples:
1) "My homeboy got shot up by some cholos from Norte." OR "I'm cruisin' the eastside with a couple cholos."

2) "Hey ese, check out that vato over there looking all cholo."

Love Story

So, I have been working on writing about how my husband and I met...and then against all odds got married:)  I've been chipping away at it for about two weeks and then today, in a desperate search for something to post I found this piece that I wrote to my roommate about 8 years ago, in order to remember the story I am now trying to write.  It is so funny to delve into old photos, letters, and journals.  I could have never imagined myself where I am now, so truly and deeply happy.

Dear Roomie (Kind of embarrassed that I still call you that),

        So, I trust you remember the very beginning…the part when we met David Lauda, the most amazing looking guy I had ever laid eyes on. We were working on making those reception snails, when I still didn’t know his name and when you had to drag me over to talk to him.  Fortunately I found out his name before we went bowling…I’m still laughing about our crazy costumes, those stinking basket ball jerseys we borrowed from the rugby guys. I still am embarrassed by how badly I bowled and how David told the security guard he was “Twenty?” I thought he was lying for sure, he didn't look a day over 17.   Hmm…so that’s the start.  

        Even that fabulous night  hardly scratched the surface of getting to know David.  The day he was baptized I stayed late at church.  He made me laugh at his simple humility and crazy sense of humour.  I was struck by his straightforward faith and the way he opened up to me as we drove with Katie Anderson back to Westmont.  That was when his dad was still alive, and coming home in only a month or two.

     Then you left and Mayterm began.  That’s when I first became friends with Mina. She guessed my secret crush of David right off the bat.  I guess it wasn't that much of a secret. I was super grateful that she would always give me rides to the house to hang out.  She loved to tease me about how awkward I’d get.   I finally admitted to Val, that I tried avoided David because I felt so awkward.  She promply signed me up to do Sunday school with him.

Then Nate died.  I was in art class when Kirsten told me.  I came home and called Chase then I went for a run…I ran so long I got sick..you know how that happens to me.  I almost didn’t go to Reality I felt so bad but I mustered all my strength and made it to Calvary Chapel just in time to rush to the bathroom for another bout of sickness.  I came out and sat myself in the back of the room, I hardly noticed when David came late and sat down next to me.  After the singing and service we joked about his imaginary compassion child and I realized I was no longer feeling sick.  Kelly came rushing over trying to organize a hike to seven falls.  When David said, "Sure." I looked at him in disbelief.  “You like to hike?” I questioned.  “But I thought you were from the ghetto.”  He assured me that he really did like to hike.  And that was the end of that.  The next day I got a call asking if we should get together and plan Sunday school.  I was catering for an art opening and I called back later apologizing for stereotyping him as a thug and not a nature lover and saying maybe we could hang out at Liz’s.

And so it began, Sunday School, hiking, talking on the phone and perhaps most importantly sitting on the DP wall, talking.  I remember writing in my journal one night, “ I finally found someone who can out story tell me”  David’s stories captured my imagination and my heart.  I was amazed at the humor and bravery of his childhood. But I was so scared to care too much.  I wrote for and against my feeling, battling in my mind a war waged in my journal over whether or not caring about him was wise.  I convinced myself that after he and Liz dropped me off at LAX that would be the end.  I would spend the summer enthralled in camp and preparing for PC.  When I hugged him goodbye, I thought that was as close as we’d ever get…

Wow, we were soooo young

Love

I think one of the first things that amazed me about my husband (though there were many) was his validation of my writing. He liked to read my poetry, my childhood stories, my random thoughts while journaling, he loved to read everything I wrote and I was amazed. Now, I'm sure that this seems like I fell victim to the first flatterer to compliment my work. But this is certainly not the case. The part of this story that reveals the depth of our love is that I showed him my writing at all.
I began writing everyday in elementary school. I wrote in a locked diary, I wrote letters, notes- I even roped my sisters into writing a family newspaper with me. I wrote like my pen was on fire. I wrote like I had to get out onto paper everything that was in my head. And that was enough. I just wanted it on paper. I didn't care if anyone ever saw it or liked it. And for the most part I did not show anyone what I wrote. At least not until it was polished or perfect, usually I had someone read it only because it had to be submitted for a grade. My writing was mine and mine alone. It was my private world to escape to when this life seemed unbearable, unbelievable or amazing. I escaped there to sort things out, to think them through with myself.
But something about my husband made me trust him. I remember when he read the first poem I wrote for him. He paused for a long moment, looked up and told me, “You are a great writer.”
He reminded me that you cannot get any better unless you show others your work. You cannot write in a vacuum. He gave me confidence and I doubt that I ever would have begun writing seriously if not for him. He taught me to trust my writing instincts and not worry about being perfect but just about being me. How can I express my gratitude for his encouragement and love?
How about you? Do you have others you can count on to appreciate your work? I would love to hear about your critics, fans and inspirations.