Oh, by the way...

I like to think that I'm a man who likes to take my studies seriously. I'm taking 19 credits of classes this semester, and I'm enjoying all of them to varying degrees. If asked to single out my favorite, it would have to be "Infant and Family Mental Health" with Professor Larsen-Rife. It looks at infants in the context of the family, and looks at both helping the family to adjust to the infant, and helping them to be able to read the infant's cues, as manifested in its behaviors. The mantra for the class is, "All behavior is meaningful."

Anyone who knows me knows that this class is right up my proverbial alley. From a very young age, I can remember having an acute interest in babies and their welfare. I won't go into the details, but my behaviors were meaningful in communicating that I had an interest in young children. Oddly enough, I've been working with kids of varying ages in one context or another nearly every year since the beginning of high school up to the present time. Considering all of this evidence in collective measure, I consider it only fitting that my career path be somewhere along this vein. Further updates as warranted.

Claire is doing very well. We're still waiting to hear on that (verbally) promised promotion and pay raise at work. Note to self, get everything in writing. That aside, she is really enjoying her continued position at Eccoci in the Red Cliffs Mall. She loves being able to help other people look as good as they possibly can. She has a definite gift. I recently witnessed a consultation with one of her family members, leaving the concerned party absolutely thrilled with the forthcoming chance to strut their stuff in perfect confidence at an upcoming social event. (You know who you are, and you looked great!)

That about sums up our continued existence. People keep getting after us for not updating our blog more than once a month, but... what are you gonna do?

Oh, by the way, we've recently decided to conduct an in-depth case study for my favorite course. We're in the process of obtaining our own little research subject, and looking forward to making a lifetime of observations. Just FYI. ;-)

V8 & Vice

We're busy. That's all I can say. They say that the more familiar a routine becomes, the less dense your memory of any one particular recurrence of it becomes. This would explain why moments of intense fear seem as if they're in "slow motion". Our brains are just making more sensory-dense memories, because, hopefully, it's not something we experience very often. It would also explain, and much more relevantly apply to the fact that our days fly by so fast. The same routine, day in, day out, makes for very quick weeks. (Forgive my rambling. I'm a Psychology major. Sue me.)

It was one of these relatively quick evenings that found Claire and I sitting at our table, deeply involved with our evening interests. I was reading a book (It was Sunday. The only day I have for recreational reading.) and she was perusing the posts and updates of various acquaintances on the web. To further set the scene, allow me to describe to you our snacks: Claire had chosen a dish of Nielsen's Frozen Custard-- Chocolate (she highly recommends it) accompanied by an occasional m&m and washed down with a glass of water. I had opted for a handful of raisins, mingled with a carrot or two, followed up with a glass of Great Value V8 equivalent (If you know us well at all, you'll know that these choices are fairly typical).

At some point during our evening repast, Claire nonchalantly picked up my glass of V8 equivalent and moved it to the far end of the table. This was not my first rodeo. I voiced the observation that-- perhaps even the smell was too much for her? She readily agreed. I laughed, and wondered aloud "If you can't stand even the smell of it now, I wonder how it will be down the road when you're expecting?" --Author's note: This is not an announcement. Read on.-- She laughed in turn, replying that perhaps she wouldn't even allow it in the house at that point.

I was shocked, and not a little dismayed. Knowing that her father shares my affinity for the stuff, albeit at a lesser potency, I interjected that he and I would, of necessity, become drinking buddies. Oh, cruel world, that so strongly rejects a man's drink, that he must pursue the opportunity to indulge outside of the comfort of his own home. And what, when I came home late at night, the distinctive scent of that elixir on my breath? What then?! Would she put me out? Would she bar my entry to my own domain? Upon raising these concerns to her, she merely smiled, in her winning way, and said something pseudo-comforting, devoid of even the inkling of backing down. Alas. A man must choose his battles, and choose them well. Oh cursed day, that saw me possessed with a vice of V8 (equivalent).

Musings...

This post may not be very literarily (is that even a word?) correct, fyi. It helped a lot to talk about it with Justin last night, so I figured I'd write it down.
Yesterday while folding clothes I got a call that one of my friends, a lady from work, had passed away. I was completely shocked, as I'm sure everyone else was. There was nothing at all leading up to this. She's in her early 40s or late 30s. I called the other 3 ladies that I work with and let them know, which was hard. When I hung up I started thinking of everything we ever talked about how much I had learned from her. Questions for the future, and remembering the past. The last conversation I had with her was on Tuesday. Her mother is dying, so all last week she had been in California with her. When she got back she was telling me everything that is going on there with all of her siblings, who are all into drugs, and I asked her why she isn't a druggy since she was surrounded by it the whole time she was being raised. She's truly lived an exemplary life. She's a remarkable woman. She had a very rough upbringing in a home where everyone either smoked or drank or both, and yet she was never involved in any of it. Never had any desire to be. Many other defining events led her to where she is now.
She was such a strong woman. Just from watching her you'd never know that she had so many hardships in her life. She's one of the most energetic people I know. She is ALWAYS doing something. She made the rest of us look bad, because if there was nothing to do at work, she'd still find something to do. If there truly was nothing to do, she'd draw (she was an amazing artist). She had to be doing something at all times. She was a wonderful mother. She was always talking about her 3 kids and the fun they had together. She never had a thought for herself. She was always so concerned about others. She would always talk about how excited she was for Justin and I to have a baby (that is not an announcement) so I could bring it to work and she could hold it all day. One day she was joking about how she was afraid we didn't need her anymore (we did her job while she was gone) and I burst out with the song I Need You by America and she teared up and said that's the loudest she'd ever heard me be and she felt special because it was for her. Haha. :) I didn't think I was that quiet. I think she just meant soft-spoken. I was having some customer service problems with Barnes and Noble for about two weeks and by the end she was itching for me to let her talk to them and give them a piece of her mind. She said she'd never yell at them if it was for her, but if it was someone she cared about she had no problem. :)
These are a few of my favorite moments with her and I wanted to write them down while they're fresh. I'll miss you, Wendy.

Check out my dad's blog!

My dad has a new photography blog that showcases some of his photography. Check it out!
www.outdoorphotoquest.blogspot.com

Life Itself is a Most Wonderful Fairytale. . .

So decreed the 19th century author, Hans Christian Andersen. I'm of the persuasion that he knew what he was talking about. In fact, I liked this idea so well that, for Christmas, I had it put on a mirror, along with the family name and the increasingly popular "Est. (year)" motif, wrapped it up, and gave it to Claire for Christmas. It now hangs where I can casually glance up and, if I'm lucky, catch a glimpse of the heroine of my story. We both like it a lot.

I've been reading quite a bit of Dickens lately, and there's one thing about Dickens that I've identified as striking my fancy. He knew that all will end well. During the course of his story, terrible things happen to characters that you've come to love. (C'est la vie, non?) And yet, by the final page, he's managed to somehow wrangle a heartwarming tale of triumph from some of society's darkest hours. (For instance, see "Tale of Two Cities" or "Barnaby Rudge".) If that isn't a microcosm of what it means to be human, I don't know what is.

I've decided that fairytales are what one chooses to make of them. On the one hand, at left one could choose to see only a temporary reprieve from the mundane struggles of an average newly-wed couple. But if one were to look closer, one could see the looks bespeaking pure enjoyment, or the ripples reaching through time from a single day's activities. Some would call me a romantic; often even couple it with the word, "hopeless". I pity these people. Love, the great ingredient in all fairytales, is found in the simple things. It's finding an open pair of arms at the end of a day's work. It's found in making that trip to town: buying and spending nothing but time. It's being able to hug them and say nothing, while having it all said in perfect eloquence.

Life is a fairytale. What more can I say? Claire and I are both very excited for what this new year will bring. For me, I'm anticipating leaps and bounds toward the checkpoint of my Bachelor's in Psychology. Three semesters more should do it. It was recently brought to my attention by a family member that I've found "my thing". That area of interest that I can't talk about without a smile creeping into my voice and features. I'm really excited to become a child psychologist.

Claire is excited for the job she loves, helping others accomplish what seems to come so easily to her: looking good. She'll be the assistant manager at Eccoci this year. She's really looking forward to this next big thing in her life. . .

We have it all. We're young, we're still in love, and our life's just beginning. Tell on.

"The darkest hour is just before the Dawn. . . "

The origins of the statement "the darkest hour is just before the dawn" isn't known. But any fool, be he sailor or soldier, secular or spiritual, has experienced enough of life's eccentricities to know that it's true. It seems that just before he can obtain the greatest sweetnesses in life he must undertake the most bitter. He can call it Karma, call it Divine Intervention, or just call it sheer dumb luck, it comes to the call just the same. He can only remember that it is only a forerunner. . .

We're not sending up the flares, throwing in the towel, or anything similar. On the contrary, we're a "Whirlwind. . . (we're) back in this fight again, staying on (our) knees. Just because (we're) fallen, (we're) not givin' up. You're gonna have to break (us). . ." (Rumbleseat, 2005)

Man, are we looking forward more than ever to the end of this year and this semester of school. As many of you are more than likely aware, Claire has made the decision to take a year completely off from school, cold turkey, and take an assistant manager position at the Eccoci store here in St. George. (No, for all of you inferring schemers, she isn't pregnant. Thanks for the encouragement, though. ;-) ) She's really excited about this, as she hasn't had a break from scholastic rigors since. . . before Preschool. . . ? Yeah, she's a little ready for a break. I say more power to her, and go for it, kiddo! I'm behind ya all the stinkin' way!

To give you an idea of why we're so excited for this momentous change, let me give you an overview of today, which is typical of the next few left in the semester. It's Saturday. Claire left for work at 10:00, a little late, stealing some time for us in the morning. She worked until about 6:15, when she promptly went to the Cox Auditorium on Dixie State Campus to rehearse with the Southwest Symphony for the upcoming performances of Handel's "Messiah". Rehearsal cut off at 9:00, after which she had to stop by Wal-Mart. (Curse you, evil empire!) The time, when she got home, was near 10:00. Twelve hours. I was dying. Inversely, a look at my day:

Claire left for work at 10:00. I quickly ran through a short list of to-do's around the house. (I've never seen so much carpet-shed stuck in a vacuum! Disgusting!) After that, I sat around the house, finishing a take-home final due next Thursday for American Sign Language (ASL) and reading Dickens. (He was my only comfort during this dark time. Bless you, Chuck.) I've felt significantly less of a contribution in the months from October to December. When my seasonal job with the Division of Wildlife ended with September and Claire made her decision for the upcoming year, I decided I would try to do the full-time student thing for that year. (Does 20 credits qualify for full-time-and-a-half? Insane. . . ) I didn't think about how worthless I'd feel for the Holidays. Oh well. "This too shall pass" huh? Yup. And you can bet when it does, we're gonna come out the other side in a "Whirlwind. . . "

P.S.

We recently discovered that Justin can eat a regular sized piece of toast in 4 bites, while it takes me 16 to eat one of the same size. Enough said.