Monthly Archives: August 2014

22 years. 8-28-92

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My sister Lucy loves to tell people that Dave and I owe our marriage to her.

And it’s true.

Set up on a blind date, Dave was the second of 3 young men my sister had deemed worthy. (I have this sneaking suspicion that Dave was considered maybe only marginally worthy as he was not Scandinavian and had no idea what lefse was, but older sisters can’t be exactly right on everything!)

That first meeting was awkward and uncomfortable, but something must have intrigued me, because it wasn’t a week later and I found I absolutely needed to go watch this near stranger play hockey.

After the game, sweaty and stinking like only a hockey player can, he asked if he could call. I said yes.

On our first real date, he brought flowers, took me to a way out of the way, hole in the wall restaurant that served the most amazing food. He didn’t blink an eye as I put away plate after plate. We talked for hours. (I can’t remember what the conversation was, probably due to the onset of a food coma). He drove me home, walked me to my door, did not kiss me (coward) and asked if he could see me again.

I said “no”.
I think I saw his eyes widen just a tiny bit, but he just nodded and said “ok”.
Then I told him I was kidding and that I would love to see him again.

He tells me that is the moment he knew he wanted to marry me.

There was another date, more flowers, another great restaurant.

Then a 3rd date, this time he brought me chocolate, but no flowers.

It was after this date that I called my dad and told him I had fallen in love, and I was going to marry this guy, even though he drove a Chevy (and not a Ford).

56 days after the first time we met, he asked, and I said yes.

6.5 months after that first dinner at Lucy’s house, we were pledging our lives to each other in front of our family and our friends.

It’s been 22 years since we stood in the front of that church.

22 years of (sometimes hard) work.
22 years of (more than I dreamed possible) adventure.
22 years of (never too much) fun.
22 years of (exactly the right amount) of love.

School starts soon….

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11 days to be precise.

It’s a big year here.

Sunny begins middle school.
Broder begins high school.
Kjell begins his Senior year.

It’s tempting to focus on how fast it has gone, since that first day of kindergarten for Kjell, walking him to school with Broder toddling alongside me, and Sunny kicking from inside my womb, determined to make sure she was a part of things, even then.

I could wax about the days when they were sweet and little and they really had no choice but to adore me, as I was their whole world. (Those were good days, days that validated my choice to be home with them and stroked my ego).

But I would be missing so much of these days.

I see Sunny, strong and confident, entering into 6th grade after a rude awakening to the world of mean girls during her final year of elementary school. She could have let the cruelty of unhappy, petty people crush her. Instead, she faced them. Told them they were wrong, and not nice and removed herself from their talons. There were wounds, that is for sure. And she will carry those scars forever. But, just as the physical scars she sports on her face (car accident at 2.5), she is not ashamed, she is proud to have survived.

Broder has been waiting for high school since he was born, I am convinced. He worked hard in middle school, he learned to study. He found out what it was like to be afraid and learned that his dreams may take more work to come true than he could have ever expected. It would have been easy to give up. To be a victim. Instead, he is marching into this next phase with fierce determination. And he will make his mark.

Kjell, after so many years my sweet one, he is now(though still sweet) firmly on the path to manhood. He makes good decisions, not always the ones I would make, but the right ones for who he is and who he wants to become. His growing independence both thrills and terrifies me. My heart breaks knowing this is the last year he is my baby at home. My heart soars seeing him walk into his future.

Over the last week, I have said a couple times, to a couple different people, the following:

I love this time of my life, my kids lives. I am look at them and I get excited about the adventures that lie before them. The unbelievable potential each child holds, and how that will blossom as they move away from the tethers of my mother-love, my sometimes smothering mother-fear. I know I can’t protect them forever, I know too, that I can’t dream big enough for them.

That is theirs.

And I can’t wait to see where those dreams take them.