It's Been A Year

A year ago Tyler and I got married. Our wedding day dawned snowy and freezing, but I couldn’t have been more thrilled. I had been praying for snow to make the pictures absolutely gorgeous, and they were (although it did make it so that a few of our family members couldn’t make the trip. Sorry). The night before our wedding I was in Kamas. I went to a dear friend’s wedding reception, and then spent the night hours talking to some of my dear friends in a bachelorette party of sorts. Really it was just a gathering of Hailey, Merilee, Hannah, and I, and we just talked. It was a lovely way to spend my last night as a single lady. It didn’t feel real that I would be getting married the next day.

After about five hours of sleep (maybe…), I was ready to get the show on the road. I woke up early to put together a Christmas present for Tyler; I couldn’t sleep anyway. Still it didn’t feel real. I couldn’t believe that I was really about to marry Tyler forever. I didn’t have regrets or feel nervous. I was just kind of passive. We got to the church in American Fork where the luncheon was, and I said hello to family and close friends, but it was sort of a dream. Then I saw Tyler. It was the longest we had gone being apart from each other in a month, and suddenly, I was filled with so much love and joy. He kissed me, and I knew that I would never look back and feel regret.

I remember that we were late to the temple, but we got there before our escorts. I remember feeling so happy and peaceful, and I remember how whole I felt when the ceremony was over, and Tyler and I were bound together. I remember getting dressed in a little more than ten minutes, and the ordinance workers were amazed. Everyone told me they loved my dress, and I got to tell them that it had belonged to my grandmother, and she had worn it forty-four years and two days earlier. I could list a million silly details of what I remember, but I mostly just remember the wholeness that I felt with Tyler.

Now a year has passed, and I still feel a wholeness and oneness with Tyler. I know him even better now, and we’ve become even closer. As much as I loved Tyler on our wedding day, I love him even more now. I know his heart, and he knows mine. There are so many days when I feel overwhelmed by the blessings in my life. Being married to Tyler is my greatest gift. I’m so grateful for his partnership and love. The last year has brought happiness and laughter as well as sadness and tears. We've faced disappointment and discouragement. We bought a motorcycle. We've taught primary. We've eaten delicious food, attended funerals, and watched lots of movies. I'm a better person because of all of these things, but especially because I got to experience them with Tyler.

Give Thanks

The missionaries joined us too.

Whew! I am behind on this blogging thing. I just thought I’d share a little about Thanksgiving. We spent Thanksgiving in Kamas this year, and it was wonderful. The food was amazing; it always is when Dianne is at the helm. ;) Plus, I was able to spend time with my cute siblings and veg a little bit. We had the whole week off of school, so Tyler and I didn’t have any class which was nice, but we both worked the beginning of the week. Unfortunately, bills do not pay themselves.

The most fun part of Thanksgiving was just spending time with family. We busted out Harry Potter Clue, and it was a blast. The month of November was pretty emotionally taxing, especially since we said goodbye to Great, but there is still such a feeling of joy when you get to spend time with the people you love. :)

My cousin, Ashlee Smoot, was diagnosed with colon cancer a little while ago, so we got #teamashlee shirts to support her. You can read more about her story here. She is an amazing woman. We’re praying and cheering for her.

We made gingerbread houses at my Grandma Goates’s house, and it was fun. It’s always been one of my favorite traditions. We also slid off the road on our way up to the house. That was an adventure as well. I’m grateful everyone is okay, and the car seems to be running just fine.

After gingerbread houses, Tyler and I took Molly, Lily, and Jonny home with us for a sleepover. It was fun to have them with us, and I especially loved having them in our primary class. The kids get really excited about visitors.

Molly was awake; Lily and Jonny were not.

We met back up with my parents at Temple Square to hear Hailey and Riley sing with the Tapestry. They did an awesome job.

This Thanksgiving I’m most grateful for my wonderful husband and everything I’ve learned after being married for almost a year. I’m also grateful for the gospel, school, a good job, Winco, and bobby pins (among other things).

Be Thou Humble In Thy Calling

Tyler and I are primary teachers. We teach the CTR 4 class, and that means that on Sundays we get to play with four and five-year-olds instead of going to Sunday School and Relief Society and Elders Quorum. Tyler thinks it’s a great gig. I do too, but some weeks I miss Relief Society. When we were first called to be primary teachers, I was excited, and then we taught our first lesson, and I was freaking out. We got home from church after our first week as primary teachers, and I was a basket-case. I told Tyler that there was no way I could be a primary teacher. I’m not fun enough. I’m not creative enough. I’m not patient enough. Basically, I’m not enough.

Tyler assured me that we would figure it out and get into the swing of things, but I was doubtful. How could I really be a good primary teacher when Tyler and I both were in school full time and working part time? When would I be able to prepare the lessons? How was I going to not lose my mind in a room full of eight energetic four-year-olds? I took a step back and figured we would do the best we could and hopefully the kids would enjoy it and sometimes remember something spiritual. I was amazed when I was set apart. The man performing the blessing blessed me that I would be able to manage my time well and even have extra time for my hobbies. He also blessed me to be inspired to know what specific things the children in our classes needed. I felt peaceful after that, if still a little overwhelmed. Then I came to the conclusion that I wouldn’t have been called if I couldn’t do it, so I got to work.

I called my mom after that first week and she gave me a “bag of tricks.” It’s this magic bag full of primary bingo cards, bean bags, wands, puzzles, a matching game and all other things that make four-year-olds’ worlds go round. I went back to church, and things went a little better, but we had a major reverence problem. I could not figure out how to teach little kids to sit still and listen. It was easy in class because I could let them stand up and twirl around or hop on one leg for a minute, but they couldn’t listen during sharing time at all. I pondered and prayed and came to the conclusion that we would do the best we could, and we would make reverence books during class. We worked on a page a week, and then I took them home and laminated them and put them together.

It was a project inspired by a reverence book I had made to help me be reverent during the sacrament when I was in primary. They had words to our favorite primary songs and pictures of my favorite temples and of Jesus and of my family. It worked for me, so I figured I would give it a try with our class. The kids loved them almost as much as they loved using glue sticks to make them. Slowly, the kids in our class began to be more reverent. I don’t know if it can be traced back to the reverence books, but I was grateful for the improvement.

Last Sunday, the sacrament meeting talks were about humility. They were fantastic, and I found myself nodding along with everything they said. Then one of the speakers read the words of the hymn Be Thou Humble. It’s one of my favorite hymns. I’ve always loved it, but it had been a long time since I listened to the words of the second verse. It says:

“Be thou humble in thy calling, and the Lord thy God shall teach thee

To serve his children gladly with a pure and gentle love.

Be thou humble in thy longing, and the Lord thy God shall take thee,

Shall take thee home at last to ever dwell with him above.”

I was so moved. I know that we are all God’s children, but I had literally been teaching children about Jesus and about the gospel. I realized that I had been blessed “to serve his children gladly with a pure and gentle love.” I didn’t start out feeling that way, but over the course of the last eight months, I have truly learned to love those crazy, wonderful children in a new and special way, the way that God loves them.

I gave the kids the books they had made. The excitement in their eyes was amazing. Several of the children told me that they loved me and gave me perfect hugs that only children can give. I was so humbled by the love that I have come to feel for each child. So often I have had glimpses of the love Heavenly Father has for these sweet children in our class. I am in awe of the strong personalities that they have that will help them stand up for what’s right as they continue to grow and learn. I feel so blessed to be their teacher.

Great

It’s been an emotionally exhausting couple of weeks. I’m already an emotional person, so when situations that are emotional for somewhat unemotional people come along, I really don’t have a prayer to keep things light. I’ve been struggling and feeling extremely emotional for about a month now, and last week when I heard that my Grandma Great had passed away, my emotional exhaustion just compounded.

Honestly, I’m happy for Great. She was an amazing woman. She lived for almost 93 years, and she truly embraced and experienced life. She was witty, spunky, cheerful, and sparkly as well as being strong-willed and bossy. I loved her a lot. She wasn’t the kind of grandma that I only saw once a year. I saw her often, and she always knew my name and what was going on in my life. Even though I was her great-granddaughter, she attended my sporting events, gave me a string of pink pearls for my sixteenth birthday, and went swimming with me. She was stylish and fiercely independent. She loved the gospel and embraced the atonement in her life.

My family at the family party

I got to see her the night before she left this life. Tyler and I headed to Salt Lake right when I got off of work at 5:00, and when I saw her, I knew that I had been given a true treasure by being among her posterity. In life, she was always put together. She always had her hair perfectly done and makeup expertly applied. That last night that I saw her, she didn’t have makeup on, and her hair wasn’t done, but she looked as beautiful as she ever had. I knew that she was going to be able to move into the next life peacefully. Even though I already miss her, I am so glad that she isn’t in pain anymore, and she gets to be with her loved ones that she has missed over the years.

The viewing

I’m so glad that I am one of the privileged people in this world that got to know so many grandparents, and I’m even more grateful for my knowledge of the plan of salvation and the hope and happiness that I associate with death. The gospel of Jesus Christ brings me so much joy and peace, and I know that because of the blessings of the temple, I’m going to be with my family in the eternities. Being sealed to Tyler is the crowning joy of my life. I can hardly believe that I was able to find such a wonderful companion and partner. He completes me in a way that amazes me on a daily basis.

Flower from Great and Gramps :)

Happy Fall Y'all

I love fall. I love feeling the crispness in the air and seeing the leaves change colors, and eating soup for dinner and cuddling up. It’s such a fleeting time of year, and I’m amazed that it is already October. I know I always say this, but time is moving too fast! Tyler and I have been married for nine months already. I still feel like we just barely met. (In many people’s minds, we did). With General Conference coming up, I’m feeling a lot of excitement. Watching General Conference with my parents and siblings is probably my favorite “holiday.” For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved it.

Last year after General Conference

I used to look forward to General Conference just because it meant wearing pajamas on a Sunday. Hooray! That’s still a benefit, but it’s come to mean so much more to me. To me, conference means family. It’s a time when we are all home. We are all (mostly) focused. We sing songs and discuss the gospel, and we eat amazing food. I feel so connected to them when we watch General Conference together. Last year, I invited Tyler to watch with my family. My mom joked that it must be serious if I was willing to bring him to General Conference. Tyler and I actually went on a walk at my grandparents’ house, and he told me that he wanted to marry me. It just adds to the specialness of the weekend for me.

Bean bag beards are all the rage

It’s not just the family bonding that I love about General Conference. I also love that it’s a time that I get to listen to God’s prophets here on Earth. As usual, I have questions that I will be pondering as I listen. I know that I will feel the Spirit and be inspired. I always am. It’s been a kind of erratic little while for church attendance lately due to the Ogden Temple dedication and an area conference we had. We usually teach the four year olds, and it is such an amazing experience. Some weeks, I feel like I’m lucky if they all are still in one piece when they go back to their parents, and other weeks I feel like I have the best calling in the world because they are the sweetest little kids. As of this week, we will have only taught one lesson in four weeks. It’s been a little bit of a nice break. I love teaching them, but sometimes I miss the adult conversation from Relief Society, and I’m a lot more worn out after primary than any other church meeting I’ve ever been to. I’ve already grown so much since I became a primary teacher. I’m so excited to keep learning with these cute kiddos!

This week has been an interesting one to lead up to General Conference for several reasons. For one, I got sick on Friday, so I’m not at the top of my game physically. I was dreading this week of school knowing that I wasn’t feeling very well, and I’ve been super tired and not sleeping super well. I miraculously wrote a paper on Saturday, and I was feeling like I would survive this week one day at a time. Then blessings abounded. I have had the lightest week of homework since the semester started. I feel so humbled and so blessed. It’s truly a tender mercy to know that I don’t have to stress about loads of homework on top of feeling kind of crummy and preparing for General Conference. Call it what you want; I call it a blessing. Happy Fall Y’all.

Ladies, Don't Sell Us Short

I'm taking a human sexuality class this semester, and I love it. It's one of the best classes I've ever taken. Today, though I was kind of surprised by the comments in our discussion in class. We were talking about the advantages and disadvantages of each of the sexes. I know some people struggle with gender roles, but I never really have. I love being female.

During the discussion, I was shocked by the amount of disadvantages people, both men and women, associated with being female and conversely, how many advantages seem to be attached to being male. This was a group of educated young adults. It wasn't a bashing or complaining session. People just naturally came up with their answers on the spot. The list included things like periods, not being taken seriously, being weaker, making less money, double standards, pregnancy and childbirth, and having to sit down to pee. There were only four things listed as advantages, and the only one I remember is the ability to get out of things (like tickets). Obviously, that isn't the whole list, but it does offer some perspective into my classroom.

I was pretty shocked. To me, being a woman is fulfilling and valuable, and to the women that think we have a disadvantage, I would say that that is not the case. Women have a lot of things going for them. We live longer. We have stronger immune systems. We're more likely to survive pregnancy and childbirth as babies (fewer female babies are miscarried or stillborn). We're less likely to have developmental or learning disabilities. And I'm just getting started.

That's not to say men are inferior to women. I don't think that. All I'm saying is ladies, don't sell us short. As women, we have the unique potential and ability to nurture life within our own bodies. That's miraculous. That's something that men cannot do. It's a gift. It's not a disadvantage, and those periods that you say are, make the miracle of life possible. Pregnancy and childbirth are not negative aspects of being a woman.

During class, I said that I thought a woman's influence was an advantage and was told that that was just me, and not representative of our gender. What I said is that as a woman, we have a unique influence on the men around us. Fathers, husbands, friends, brothers, and sons all have had women in their lives that have made them who they are. The same could be said for men's influence on women, but I think a woman's influence is different. Women have a tendency to love, nurture, and reach out. Women probably have held your hand for support or hugged your tears away or cheered you on from the sidelines of your life. Their influence and perspective matter.

To me, that is not weakness. That is great strength. A short while ago, a friend of mine asked me if I was a feminist. I feel like my answer to that question is a complicated one. Do I believe that men and women should both be treated fairly and equally? Absolutely! Yes! But I don't believe that we have to demonize or hate men to get there. Besides that, I feel like many women don't want equality, they want preferential treatment, and I cannot support that effort.

One thing that should be understood in the quest for equality though is that equality is not equal to sameness. My aunt used this analogy to explain: if three children of different heights are trying to see over a wall, you want them all to be able to see. The tallest child can comfortably see over the wall, but the child of middle height needs a four inch tall box to stand on in order to have a good view, so you provide him with one. The shortest child however, needs nine more inches of height so he can see. You give him a box, and now all of the children have an equal view over the wall. They aren't in the same position or situation, but they are in a state of equality. The tallest child isn't better than the other two because he didn't have to stand on a box. Neither is the shortest one at an advantage with the tallest box.

Women are not superior to men. But they are not at a disadvantage either. We all bring different skills and talents and assets to the table. We don't need to compare or attempt to be the same as the men around us. We are unique, but we are not unequal.

I Am Not A Failure

I just looked at the balance on my financial account for the Fall 2014 semester at UVU. Please excuse me while I cry and console myself with chocolate chip cheeseball and cream cheese frosting for the next month. The whiney part of me is just so annoyed. Why does it cost so much money to go to college? Everyone seems to agree that education is a necessity and that it is important, so why is it something that is virtually unattainable for so many people?

My perspective on this issue comes from a relatively spoiled standpoint, but I am also coming from a unique perspective that I have found to be quite rare. I entered college with a scholarship based on the fact that I was the English Sterling Scholar for my high school my senior year. That meant that my tuition was covered for a year at UVU, so I just had to pay fees, books, housing, and other living expenses. I received a pell grant that covered all of those expenses. I had some money saved from working in high school, and that became my safety net and play money. What I didn’t count on was the fact that I was woefully unprepared for college and the prospect of love and marriage.

Obviously, falling in love with Tyler and getting married was not on my radar. That ended up being a small part of the adjustments I would make in my life though. I’ve always identified myself as an intelligent person. I did really well in high school. I graduated at the top of my class even though they don’t recognize valedictorians at South Summit, and I got good grades. Looking back I realize that I sailed through my classes. I don’t remember ever really doing homework except for for my AP English classes, and I loved those assignments so much that they were fun for me. When I got to college, I learned that I couldn’t just breeze through my classes. I realized that I had never really learned how to study. It’s painful and humiliating to admit it, but I doubted my intelligence and decided that I was not cut out for a college education.

After the Fall semester ended and I returned from my honeymoon, I got an email saying that I had lost my scholarship. I read the email while driving to our wedding reception, and I cried. A lot. I was utterly defeated. I felt so stupid and useless. I was worried about our finances and embarrassed that we would have to pay my tuition instead of putting $2500 into our savings account. I was even more aggravated that I had just missed keeping my GPA up by .09 points. I went through hypothetical situations in my head incessantly, wishing that I had worked harder or done more. I didn’t tell anyone about my humiliation. Tyler was a trooper. He didn’t judge or criticize me. He told me we were going to be fine, and we were, but it’s still painful to acknowledge my failure.

This has been a real trial in my life. It hasn't just been hard because I have to pay for my own school. It's also been hard because I have defined myself by my grades in the past, and I have considered myself to be a smart person. I didn't realize until after I lost my scholarship that I had been basing some of my value as person, potential spouse, and daughter on that financial award. I have been brought very low through this experience, and I have been humbled by it. To me, this trial and struggle has been very real, and it has taken it's toll on my heart and my head. Before this post is published and everyone has a chance to read about one of the most difficult things I've ever coped with, there are less than ten people that know about this experience.

After I finally told my parents that I had lost my scholarship, and thereby part of my identity, my dad sent me the link to a scholarship appeal form. I didn’t even look at it. I couldn’t. I just told my parents that I obviously was not worthy of a scholarship and didn’t deserve it. I know they were exasperated by my response, but they didn’t push me excessively, and I’m grateful for that. I just wrote an essay for a scholarship appeal. I lost my scholarship almost eight months ago, and I am finally putting myself out there again. I’m working on forgiving myself, but I’m not quite there yet. As I write these words, I am still full of frustration with myself and my failure, but I am not going to let that define me.

I am not a revoked scholarship. I am, however, a girl that was unprepared for college. I am a girl that is receiving help from the government to pay for school while working a part time job. I am a girl that pulled her GPA up by .20 points after losing her scholarship. I am a girl full of potential. I am a girl that wants to receive an education and earn a degree. I am a girl that is embarrassed by her failure and is trying her best to do better. And I am a girl that is not going to be defeated anymore.

8 Unforeseen Benefits Of Being Almost As Tall As Your Husband

It’s pretty clear that Tyler is not very much taller than me. He has about two inches on me, and I am 5’ 7” exactly. I always kind of thought that I would marry someone tall (picture Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe), but height was in no way a deal-breaker for me. The really awesome thing about being almost the same height as my husband is that I have discovered so many amazing benefits that no one ever tells you about as a preteen when you are dreaming about Prince Charming. So, as a public service I will list eight of these marvelous things for you. Enjoy!

• We can share clothes.

I didn’t realize that this would be such a bonus, but honestly, men’s clothes are sometimes so much more comfortable than women’s. What is up with that anyway? It’s been especially nice to be able to dip into Tyler’s UVU shirt collection (which is extensive) because I have to wear UVU paraphernalia to work once a week.

• It’s easy to find a comfortable position when we’re cuddling.

I love to cuddle with Tyler, and we can cuddle anywhere. We both fit on the couch lengthwise, and it’s comfy.

• We can both reach everything in our house.

It’s really awesome that I don’t have to use a stepladder to get to anything in our house. We do live in a basement apartment, so there aren’t high ceilings, but still! Tyler never puts anything away that’s out of my reach.

• My neck has never gotten sore from kissing my husband.

Sometimes when you kiss a really tall person, your neck cranes or kinks weirdly. Not so when you're kissing someone your own height.

• Our small bathroom mirror is the perfect height for both of us.

Both of us can see our whole face in the bathroom mirror when we are getting ready. I bet you never thought of that benefit!

• It’s easy to figure out headroom when you are taking a picture of us.

My sister, Hailey, loves photography, and she tells me that this is super nice as a photographer, and I have to agree. Strangers never have a hard time taking a photographing us in picturesque locations either.

• We can stare romantically into each other’s eyes without Tyler bending over or peaking out from under his eyelashes.

This is really nice in that I know that I will never cause him neck or back pain because he does love to look at me, and it would be a shame if that were an uncomfortable situation.

• We don’t have to adjust anything in the car when we switch drivers.

This is arguably my favorite thing about being almost the same height as Tyler. I love that the mirrors and seat don’t have to be adjusted every time I need to go somewhere. It’s just one of those simple things that makes life a little sweeter.

Obviously, there are millions of things I love about being married to a man that is almost my same height. I’ve only listed a few of my favorites, and I hope they at least made you giggle a little bit. :)

My Hair Is A Metaphor

It’s no secret that high school was not my favorite part of being a teenager. I was constantly frustrated with it, and I was also always doing what I could to be different from the people around me. In April of 2012, I went to my Junior Prom in a dress that I had designed and my mom had made. It was one of a kind, and I still love it and think it’s the most beautiful prom dress ever. At the time, I had really long hair, and my aunt Heidi did it in this gorgeous updo. I felt beautiful, but I also felt different. As I looked at my classmates, I felt like I lived on my own planet. I realized that the only thing I had in common with these girls was that we all (mostly) had long hair. I recognize now that that wasn’t necessarily true, but that’s how I felt.

A month after prom, I ran for student body president and lost. I wasn’t expecting to win, but running for office was really my last effort to be really involved in high school and trying to change and influence the culture of South Summit for the better. I had been a cheerleader the whole year, and I had a wonderful experience, but at the end of our year long season, I decided that I wanted to dedicate my time and energies to other things I was involved in. So after losing the election, I decided I needed to do something to get out of my funk. I was not looking forward to my senior year; I wanted to be graduated yesterday, and I knew I needed an attitude adjustment. So I chopped my hair off. It was my way of saying, “I’m different from you, and I want to be. I am me, and I love me.”

I went to one of my dearest friends for the haircut, and she tried her best to talk me out of it. She had the cutest short hair, and she’d been trying to grow her hair out for a long time, and she really didn’t want to cut mine off. After I explained myself to her, she put my hair in a ponytail and cut thirteen inches off. I cannot fully describe that freedom. Feeling the weight literally lift off of my head was exhilarating. I was stoked. I decided I would grow it out from there until after I got married or needed another emotional revolution, but my affair with drastic haircutting was fulfilled for a while (remember, at this time, I thought marriage was at least five years away). The only problem with that plan is that I love having short hair. I let it grow but ended up cutting it off again in December, this time even shorter than it was in May. This time Heidi cut it, and although I loved the haircut, I knew in the back of my head that I wanted to do something more drastic. I wanted a pixie.

I was just a little bit of a chicken about it though. I had never had my hair shorter than it was at that moment, and I wasn’t sure if I would really feel beautiful and feminine if I cut it even more. My mom has had short hair most of my life, and I think she’s gorgeous, but I just wasn’t convinced that I could do it. I was unsure of myself until my friend Madison told me that she was going to cut her hair really short, and she encouraged me to do what I wanted to do. Her opinion lent me the last push I needed. I got a pixie. Heidi was surprised when I showed her the picture, and told her I was sure that was what I wanted. Here’s the coolest part: I felt amazing. I felt free and beautiful and sassy and strong and powerful. It was so empowering to rid myself of not only my hair, but also my last bit of insecurity and social pressure that was keeping me from being who I needed and wanted to be.  After having a pixie, I knew I could do anything.

It seems silly, but everyone knows that there’s a lot of pressure as a woman to be the most beautiful and done up and put together. Right now having long hair is considered the standard of beauty for women’s hair. When I was thinking about cutting my hair, one of my guy friends actually told me that “boys prefer long hair.” That was a defining moment for me as well. I thought, “Well, in that case, I’m going to shave my head. I’m not trying to impress boys.” I wanted to be me regardless of what anyone else thought. I wanted to be able to be attractive because of more than my hair or my clothes or the brand of my shoes. It may seem ridiculous that I rebelled against absurd social expectations by cutting my hair off, but it was one of the best and most liberating decisions of my life.

I loved my short hair, but it took more maintenance than I was used to. That was really the only drawback. As I started to think about it though, I decided that having such short hair on a mission would be kind of a pain. I didn’t want to have to think about getting haircuts every couple weeks, so I determined to grow it out. This time, I stood by my decision, and my hair is growing pretty fast. There are days that I desperately wish that I still had short hair, but for some reason, I keep it growing. I think I want to prove that I can. I can chop my hair off without a tear, but I can also grow it out. I can be whoever I want to be, and I can define myself without letting society and trends dictate who I have to be. It’s a beautiful world.

Ty-Dye (As In Tyler and Tie Dye)

This is the only tie dye picture I could
find, and it was obtained through
Facebook stalking.
(It's allowed when you're married to
the person you're stalking).

Right around the beginning of September (before Tyler and I were dating), I was headed over to hang out at Tyler's apartment with his roommate, Robert. I spent a lot of my time at their apartment, and I was good friends with all of the men who lived there. It was not uncommon for me to spend a higher percentage of my time at their apartment even before Tyler and I were dating. It was relatively late, and I had changed from what my mom used to call "school clothes" into "play clothes." These consisted of a tie-dye t-shirt and soccer shorts. When Rob saw me, he said, "Tie dye, huh? You should ask Tyler Johns about tie dye."

I did and learned that Tyler had done some serious tie dying the summer before his senior year of high school and had then worn a different tie dye shirt (there were five of them) every day of that school year (including Prom). He was tired of deciding what to wear every day, so he simplified his life by having a perfect system. Each shirt had his initials and a day of the week written inside the collar. He had no way of knowing that the next summer, I would decide that tie dye was the coolest thing ever and tie dye various articles of clothing to wear to soccer practice. I was so obsessed with tie dye that I hosted a tie dye party, and my whole family made tie dye shirts together. It was a blast! Our tie dye also made us easy to spot as triathlon spectators and kept us together in Disneyland. I guess it was some sign from the universe that people who tie dye are awesome and should marry each other.

When I learned about Tyler's tie dye experience, my heart melted a little. It was a way for him to be different. He set his own trend. A group of his friends even planned a "Tyler Johns Day" when everyone wore tie dye. People look up to Tyler and respect him. He's kind and considerate, and I swear he can make friends with anyone. He also loves to do secret service. He gets really excited and gets the most wonderful smile on his face. His happiness is infectious as well as his laughter. For some reason, hearing about Tyler’s tie dye made me so happy. When we were engaged, Tyler gave me his Friday tie-dye shirt. It’s one of my favorite articles of clothing. It’s a piece of Tyler from his teenage years that I get to have now. It also gave me a peek into his adolescence.

Friday Ty-Dye shirt!
(and overalls because they're
awesome)

Tie dye may seem like a silly thing to confirm your choice of companion, but that’s what it did for me. My abundance of tie dye clothes has always been a conversation starter, but I had no idea that I would marry someone who was able to use tie dye to open up conversations and make friends. Tyler is incredible. I’ve never known anyone more kind and thoughtful and fun than he is. Everyday I wake up amazed that Heavenly Father put us together. Tyler has so many talents and strengths that I don't possess. It's a wonderful feeling to know that he fills in my gaps and makes me a better person. He loves me so well and so fully.

A Lesson In Breadmaking

Shortly after Tyler and I got married, I started making homemade bread for us. It’s cheaper for us to make it than to buy it, and I like to bake, so it seemed like a good option. I was raised by a mother that believed that cooking is a valuable skill that everyone should learn. I had my dad’s favorite cookie recipe memorized when I was thirteen, and I have known how to proof yeast since about that same time. However, when I started making bread every few weeks, I learned quickly that I was far from an expert in the bread department, and I was frustrated.

Tyler was a good sport, as always, and he ate the bread, but it was dry and not delicious. It was very aggravating for me, but I also felt like I had done everything right, so I didn’t know how I could make it better. I blamed the failed bread on various things such as the low temperature of our house and the fact that I didn’t have dry milk, so I was using a substitute. Tyler wondered if it was the recipe, but I had tasted heavenly bread from that recipe that my mom had made. Needless to say, I was exasperated.

I'd just like to pause in my story for a minute to explain a few things. I love bread. A lot. I love it more than dessert. I am of the opinion that delicious, well-made bread can change lives and lift hearts. I also don't like failing. Most people don't, but I especially do not like to feel like a failure in the kitchen. I love to cook and bake and make deliciousness, and I'd like to think I'm pretty competent, so this bread was seriously getting on my nerves and facilitating extreme frustration.

Finally, a few weeks ago, I decided to stop making excuses. Obviously, this bread struggle was my own. I determined to make an amazing batch of bread or destroy the kitchen in the process. It was a Saturday, and we didn't have anything to do until quite late at night, so I dedicated my whole day to the pesky bread. I ended up relearning a lesson I've been learning all my life.

Here's a copy of the text I sent to my mom after the bread came out of the oven: "After being married for five and a half months, I made delicious bread today. My secret? I didn't rush the process. How is it that I am still learning that lesson everyday??? The only consolation is that I have an amazing partner that is the best possible teacher for that." I should clarify by saying that I am not an inherently impatient person. I actually am quite patient in some circumstances, but simultaneously, I am constantly looking ahead to the future. I've always been fascinated by what comes next whether that be in life, my day, or even my baking. This is not always a good trait. While sometimes it pays to be thinking ahead and planning, sometimes it filches the joys and wonder of the present.

I was especially bad at this as a teenager. I was always wishing I could just move on with life, and as far back as I can remember, I have had the five years after graduation from high school planned out almost to the month. I'm sure that a lot of the time Heavenly Father was just thinking, "Don't rush me, Ash. I know best." The thing is, my life now was not part of the plan. It's so much better than I could have dreamed. So naturally, after having all my careful planning upended, I thought my lesson had been learned. Evidently not. Maybe I read into my bread making more than I needed to, but I really believe that Heavenly Father was sending me a little reminder not to rush Him or His plan. He knows best, and I know that. Sometimes I just need to be slowed down, and apparently, using bread as an object lesson was a perfect way to communicate the message this month.

I'm still learning this virtue of being still and recognizing the beauty and joy of the moment every single day. It's a really good thing that I married Tyler. He is such an amazing example. He is so good at knowing when we should plan and when it's okay to just snuggle and whisper and play and not worry about our life in twenty years (and yes, I am prone to do that). I'm so blessed to be married to such a wonderful man. He is constantly teaching me wonderous and beautiful things. So folks, don't rush the process, and you may end up with some delicious homemade bread (and a heap of blessings too)!

Please Excuse the Waterworks

Daddy and Me

When I met Tyler, he introduced me to a tv show called Psych. I thought it was really funny, but the first time I saw Gus crying and heard his explanation I thought, No way. This cannot be real. In the show, Gus proclaims to be a sympathetic crier. I'm hear to tell you that I am living proof that that is a real thing.

I'll never outgrow this lap.

I am a sympathetic crier. I am also a simple crier. I cry for every emotion: sadness, anger, happiness, being overwhelmed, feeling spiritually moved, and pretty much every other emotion under the sun. I don't mind crying. I actually enjoy it in an absurd way. It makes me feel more relaxed and cleansed. I’m not ashamed of being an emotional person, and Tyler says it’s even attractive, but there is a certain sense of self-preservation that I have adopted in response to my overactive tear ducts. That self-preservation has kept me away from my blog for the past little while.

It seems like no matter what I want to write about, this flood of overwhelming emotions attacks me, and my brain is like, “Aaaaah! Just ignore it. Don’t write. We cannot handle another emotional breakdown right now!” I’ve decided to ignore that voice. The truth is, being able to cry is important for me just like some people think it’s important to exercise. (I’m still fighting that ideology).

Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad the last few days, and I’ve found myself feeling really emotional, even more than normal. I couldn’t even bring myself to write this post or post a picture of him for Fathers Day for fear that I would dissolve into a puddle. I think that for most little girls, her dad is her first hero and her first prince. My dad is no exception. He understands and knows me in a way that is uniquely...fatherish. I idolized him when I was really little, and after a brief break in my adoration (from ages 12 to 14), I was back to thinking he’s pretty much the coolest guy around (with the exception of Tyler, of course).

When I was teeny tiny, my dad would tell people to ask me why I was so cute. They would humor him, and my response was, “Good genetics.” My dad trained me to say that as soon as I could talk, so naturally when Tyler romantically asked me why I was so beautiful after we started dating, I said, “Good genetics” and then felt embarrassed and proud of my dad’s brainwashing skills simultaneously. Needless to say, my dad has a great sense of humor.

Apparently, he isn't the only one
with a sense of humor.

My dad also instilled in me a love of literature and deep thinking. My mom facilitated those things as well, but my dad is the one that pushed classics such as The Scarlet Letter, Frankenstein, The Poisonwood Bible, and Edgar Allen Poe’s literary collection into my hands. Of course, after I read, we had to rehash and discuss and learn together. Books were sometimes the only things we agreed on, and that was okay because my dad also taught me (with my mom’s help) that you can disagree with someone and still love and respect them. When I was five years old, my dad read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone out loud to Hailey and me. I was enthralled. I had to remind myself later when I was sobbing as I continued on the Hogwarts Express, that he did that because he loved me and not because he wanted to introduce a literarily induced pain into my life. Little did I know that about seven years later he would plop a pile of books no twelve year old could read onto my bed in order to pull me out of a sappy Mormon romance novel phase. Thanks Dad, I owe you one.

This is after the tradition of running
through the finish together as a family.

Fathers Day has had me thinking a lot about my dad, but I also just spent three days with his mom and sisters, and that was thought provoking as well. My dad isn’t the same little boy that they tell stories about, but some aspects of his life are the same. He still loves adventure and teasing, and he’s a cowboy deep down. He loves to be outside and to challenge himself mentally, physically, and spiritually. He knows how to work hard, and he taught me that if there is work to be done, I would do well to put my energy into it. He set an example of serving other people, even if that means not being able to finish his own projects or do what he wants to be doing. He also showed me how women should be treated. He treats my mom like a goddess, and I have never doubted his love for her. From watching the way he adores my mom, I knew what kind of man I wanted to marry, and I found him.

Girls Camp
My dad has been to even more than I have.
(P.S. This was some fun first aid certification).

He’s also a spiritual giant. He isn’t the kind of guy that will boast about the callings he’s had or brag about his understanding of the gospel, but he has one of the firmest testimonies I have ever heard. Through the years I have received countless blessings from him. I’ve always known that I could rely on my dad being worthy and prepared to exercise the priesthood when I was in need whether that be for AP tests, sickness, heartbreak, or clarity. I asked my dad for a blessing the morning of my wedding. It was a tender and precious moment, especially knowing that my dad was going to be handing me over to Tyler in just a few short hours. My dad was always protective of me, and when he told me that he was happy for me and approved my decision, I felt so validated.

Another thing I really respect about my dad is that he is unashamed of displays of emotion. I have probably seen my dad cry just as many times as I’ve seen my mom. He even cried at my junior prom while my mom just smiled. It’s no wonder I have leaky eyes! Despite his emotional nature, he always swore he wouldn’t cry at my wedding, and he’d do cartwheels instead. He did cry at my wedding, but he also did a cartwheel. :) Thanks for all the lessons, Dad. I love you infinity and beyond. I’ll always be your Littlefoot.

Fulfilling his promise

P.S. When I picture my nuclear family,
the one I grew up with, this is how I see it.
 These are my dearest friends.

Also, thanks Dad. Making you cry with my simple tribute via picture caption on Facebook reminded me that I need to write, if only to keep making you cry. :)