Define: "Sexy"

The other day my son asked me what "sexy" means.

After retrieving my jaw from my lap, I sputtered out some jargon about how it means "beautiful" but not in a very nice way and that it really isn't something we should be saying. By the time I reached the end of my muddled definition, his attention had already wandered and he was crawling around on the floor in search of the perfect Lego piece to add to his ship.

I don't know if he even gave it any further thought, but I sure did.

Hmm...What does sexy mean?

I mean there's the obvious definition that the world gives us in every song, picture, movie, TV commercial, magazine, billboard, etc.

Big boobs. Big booties. Big hair.
Big big big and tiny tiny tiny.
Tiny waists. Tiny eyebrows. Tiny clothes. Tiny appetites.
Rippling pecs. Ripping bodices.
Fast. Fast cars. Fast relationships. Fast money.
Bright colors and shades of grey.
And everything in between.

Sexy.

According to the dictionary...

sex·y/ˈsɛksi/

1. concerned predominantly or excessively with sex; risqué: a sexy novel.
2. sexually interesting or exciting; radiating sexuality: the sexiest professor on campus.
3. excitingly appealing; glamorous: a sexy new car.

Sexy.

Really??

None of the above is how I would define "sexy" because this is what I found to be "sexy" last week....

I went searching for my missing husband to find him in the cold garage, in his coveralls, covered in grease and oil, devoting his Saturday, his one free day, to fixing our one working vehicle.

Using his hands, time, knowledge, and skills to save us money and keep our old minivan going a few more miles.

Now that's sexy.

Eat your heart out, Channing Tatum.

Love is...

At 17 years old I knew what love was.

Turns out, I was wrong.

Then at 22, as a newlywed, I just KNEW what love was.

Wrong again.

Now, I'm 31, still married with four children, and I certainly know what love is.

Love is...

...tag teaming bath night.
...listening to country music even though you hate country music.
...saving the biggest piece of meat/peanut butter candy/Milano cookie for him.
...watching your husband dance with another girl...your daughter.
...going to Stake Conference with four young children.
...eating sushi when you'd rather have "real food".
...sitting through Les Miserables/Twilight/Pride and Prejudice.
...saying "no".
...saying "yes".
...laughing during *cough* loooove-making *cough*.
...calling to check-in every night.
...siding with your spouse.
...driving a beat-up mini-van instead of a brand new Ford pickup.
...staying home.
...shaving your legs even though it isn't Sunday.
...not having to shave your legs.
...emptying the dishwasher.
...TWO boxes of chocolate just to make sure she gets the kind she really likes.
...making chocolate chip pancakes for the kids while she goes for a run.
...knowing when to let the stupid, little things slide.
...giving your wife, who is applying mascara, a warning BEFORE stopping the car.
...looking past stretch marks and saggy, deflated, post-baby breasts.
...knowing when to keep it to yourself.
...cutting your shower short so there's enough hot water left for someone else.
...replacing the toilet paper roll the "right" way.
...leaving tomatoes off half of the dinner.
...knowing lost wedding bands don't really matter in the long run.
...not using the "D" word.
...bringing in the mail, pumping gas, and shoveling snow.
...trying to replicate his mother's recipe.
...telling your children how wonderful their mother/father is.
...leftovers and Netflix.
...not cutting your hair because he likes it long.
...clearing the table after dinner.
...never, ever, ever giving up, even when the rest of the world seems to be.

That's what I think love is. But maybe when I'm 83, I'll really know.

Nine Years of Wedded Bliss

Today is our ninth wedding anniversary!

Wowza! Where does the time go???

While nine years of wedded bliss is something to celebrate...there's no one here to celebrate it with me. Well, except for four kids. Three of which have snotty noses and gunky coughs and one of those which has yet another ear infection. Super.

While I nurse all the sickos back to health with some homemade chicken noodle soup (so what if it's over 100 degrees outside?!) and a few uninterrupted hours of Netflix, husband Joe is once again off on another business trip.

Sigh. So typical.

Even though he may be absent, I'm so grateful for the hardworking man he is and the dedication he gives to providing for our little family. I love the good, good person he is through and through. He is gentle and kind and sensible. He is calm and down to earth and has managed to balance my wild, erratic side out a bit over the our marriage. He has a sense of humor that sneaks up and attacks you when you're least expecting it and he's managed to keep me laughing for the last nine years.

I love you Joe! Thank you for marrying me and staying married to me through the thick and the thin.

And to celebrate, albeit solo, why not take a walk down memory lane? Here are nine memories and nine pictures from our wedding day back on July 11th, 2003.

1. I didn't sleep very well the night before our wedding. I woke--wide awake--at 3 am and couldn't fall back asleep. I decided to go ahead and start the beautification process for the early wedding ceremony. When I swung my feet over the side of my bed I heard a loud squish. Or was it more of a subdued splash? Either way, it was quickly apparent that my parents' basement had flooded during the night. Side note: the reception was held in my parents' backyard that evening.

2. Joe cried, nay, bawled through the entire temple sealing ceremony. I was really hoping he did so because he was overwhelmed with my beauty...And not because he realized there was no going back now.

3. For LDS couples that marry in the temple, it's rather a big moment when they exit the temple doors as a newly sealed couple. The family and friends gather around the doors and wait for this joyous moment. I didn't realize this and kind of made a hasty exit from the temple...sans new husband. I was quickly corrected and rerouted, reentered the building, grabbed the hand of my newly attained eternal partner, and then made a more graceful exit...this time with husband in tow. 

4. My dad owned a small limo business at the time and insisted on driving the newly married couple home from the temple. All 104 miles. With the privacy partition rolled completely down the entire way. Thanks Dad. Thanks a lot.

5. On the way home from the temple we stopped at a Sprint store so I could pay my overdue cell phone bill.

6. Our reception started at 6 pm. About 5:56 pm I realized I was so exhausted that I really didn't want to stand and smile anymore. But the show must go on, eh?

7. In an exuberant (translation: stupid) moment I jumped up into my groom's arms with a passionate (translation: awkward) embrace...and ripped the zipper out of the entire length of the back of my wedding dress. I spent that last hour of our reception held together with nothing more than two dozen safety pins and a prayer.

8. My dear sweet husband was so proper he wouldn't even kiss me "enthusiastically" until after the reception.

9. Confession: For all my teasing about his propriety...I was kind of--okay, really--nervous to get in the car and drive away from my family and friends and childhood home with nothing but my new husband and ZERO physical boundaries.

So, as I reminisce about our wedding day I'm realizing there was an abundance of clumsy, awkward, and calamity. And what a beautiful, awkward, magical, exhausting, calamitous, cherished day it was!

Happy "Will You Marry Me?" Day!

Nine years ago today...

...he showed up on my doorstep wearing his Sunday best. It was almost nine o'clock. I had on my baggy, blue and white striped pajama bottoms and my favorite green sweatshirt. He asked if we could go for a walk. I looked into his eyes and I just knew.

I begged for a moment to dash upstairs and change. There was no way on this green earth that I was going to be asked the biggest question of my life while wearing gnarly pajama pants. This occasion at least called for a pair of jeans.

Jeans on, we walked out of the house I shared with four other girls to "our" bridge. The one where we had walked many times before sharing memories from our childhoods, complaining about unjust college professors, discussing what we would change about our future lives, laughing at stupid jokes, planning the size of our families. ("Fifteen children", he had said. I just laughed and fell even more in love with him, hoping I could be the one to "help" with those fifteen children.)

That night we stood close together on the bridge. Three and a half months earlier we had stood a little farther apart, sharing our first dance on New Year's Eve, just as the countdown to midnight had begun. During that timorous dance, he trembled so badly that I couldn't help wondering if he was going to fall over in a dead faint right there on the dance floor. Now, he was steady and I was the one shaking.

Maybe it was the blowing wind...Maybe it was the jitters... Maybe I couldn't hear him over the sound of my teeth chattering (that was definitely one detail I had never included every time I had fantasized about this moment) but none of his words really registered in my head. I only remember him pulling out the ring box and looking at me, expecting a reply.

Ever true to my awkward and floundering nature, I made some goofy comment about, "Shouldn't you be on your knee or something?" 

On his knee he went, more words, and after another impetuous hint from me that he should slip the ring on my finger it was official. We were engaged.

(Never mind that my mom had already called the temple to tentatively reserve a wedding date.)

April 15th.

While the rest of the world dreads "Tax Day", I affectionately remember the day my husband asked me to be his wife.

I love you, Joe! Happy "Will You Marry Me?" Day!

Size Does Matter

Every so often I come across a worn, yellowed sheet of paper.

It just seems to magically turn up as I am sorting and filing paperwork.

It's a receipt.

From a small town jewelry store.

For the engagement and wedding ring set that Joe purchased the day he asked me to marry him.

On April 15, 2003.

Eight years ago today.

That ring set cost all of 735 dollars.

Do you know what that price tag means to me?

It is a symbol of the humble and simple man my husband is. He doesn't need money or possessions or "bling" to illustrate how capable or manly or important he is. He didn't feel the need to go into thousands of dollars of debt just to prove something to me or the world. With that small ring he gave me his heart, his love, his loyalty, and his life.

I cannot claim to be so consistently pure of heart as he is.

Sometimes I look at this ring I wear on my left hand and get a little wistful, maybe even slightly jealous when I see my sisters and friends with their big fat bands and diamonds.

Sometimes I want something fat and ferocious on my finger too.

Maybe someday I will.

But can I tell you something?

I think there is a reason that yellowed piece of paper keeps "magically" reappearing in my pile of paperwork.

I need a reminder.

Of the good heart my husband has.

Of how simple and precious life and love and marriage can be.

Of what is truly important.

Funny how one little $735 gold wedding band set can be worth more than a whole pile of diamonds.

Happy "Will You Marry Me?" Day Joe! I love you!

How to Make Your Way to a Man's Heart

And that, my friends, is most definitely through his stomach. At least in Joe's case. And I must love him a lot because he has gained a good 70 pounds since our wedding day. As for my weight gain...well, let's not stray into dangerous waters today, shall we?

Our little how-to for today is how to make one of Joe's favorite recipes: Homemade Pasta Carbonara. Simple to make. Fattening beyond belief. Delicious to the taste. Husband made blissfully happy.


Pasta Carbonara (8 servings)

5 cups (1 package) uncooked mostaccioli or penne pasta
1 package bacon, diced
1 jar (8 oz) whole mushrooms, drained
1 and 1/2 cups half and half cream
2/3 cup butter, cubed
2 tsp dried parsley flakes
2 tsp minced garlic
12-16 drops hot pepper sauce
1 tsp salt, optional
2/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup sliced green onions, optional

1. Cook the pasta according to package directions.

2. In a large skillet, cook bacon over medium heat until crisp. Using a slotted spoon, remove to paper towels to drain.

3. Drain most of the drippings from pan. Brown mushrooms in drippings; remove to paper towels. (Side note: I can't find jarred mushrooms in my town. I bought a little basket of raw mushrooms, washed and sliced them up, and sauteed them. I thought they worked just as well as the jarred mushrooms.)

4. Add cream, butter, parsley, garlic, pepper sauce and salt if desired to the skillet; cook and stir over medium heat until butter is melted.

5. Drain pasta; add to cream mixture. Stir in the bacon, mushrooms and cheese; heat through.
6. Remove from the heat.

7. Sprinkle with green onions.

Serve with a heaping bowl of plain green lettuce and carrots so you can say it's a balanced meal with a straight face. A few kisses sprinkled through out might not hurt either.

Who needs marriage counseling with a recipe like this?

Make sure to check back tomorrow for another how-to! Maybe how to make maternity jeans look sexy when you may or may not be pregnant and just need something that fits after eating too much Pasta Carbonara?

On Wife-ing

It's Wednesday and that means another guest-post by Cannwin! Find me over at her blog today. We tackled the same topic: Wife-ing. Make sure to leave her a little bloggy love in the form of a comment and come visit me over at The Great and Random Ramblings of Cannwin. And Happy Wednesday!


A friend never defends a husband who gets his wife an electric skillet for her birthday. - Erma Bombeck

I have been married for nearly ten years now--we've been together for nearly eleven years--and you know what? He still buys me size 20 pants.

I used to think it was ridiculous for women to cry over such things... that was before I got married.

I used to say it was the wife's fault for marrying someone who can't tell sizes... before I got married.

Now I know.

"Honey." He'll say in that happy, boyishly excited tone. "I got you something."

Two things run through my head at this point--1) uh-oh 2) maybe he got something good this time. Inevitably I get my hopes up.

The worst present I've ever received was actually not clothing.

"You are going to love this!"

He got me so excited. I was practically bouncing when Christmas morning came.

It was two boxes. I opened the big one first (because big presents are rarely as good as small ones).

It was a remote controlled car.

"It's great isn't it?" My husband of three years asked me. I stared at him as he finished unwrapping it.

Then he handed me the next one. "Hurry, open it."

I hesitated, I had honestly thought this was a new camera, but I was beginning to rethink that assumption (you know what happens when people assume, don't you?). It was a battery for the car.

Yep. That's what happens when you're married. It's not really a matter of marrying the right man. It's more a matter of marrying a MAN.

They just don't think the way women do. I could almost equate it to taking a child shopping for a friends birthday, they always buy what they want.

One time he did, honestly try... and that's the time I cried. I had been out with friends watching a monumentally sappy love story and when I got home I was filled with an overabundance of love for him.

"I love you!" I exclaimed passionately.

"I love you too." He said equally as fervent. "And I bought you something."

What a man, I thought to myself. Without hesitation I ripped the bag open. It was a pair of Arizona State capris (Sparky sitting neatly on the side of my behind). I lifted them excitedly into the air and unfolded them.

And unfolded.
And unfolded.
And unfolded.

"Honey!" I cried out, "what size do you think I am?"

His face went from giddy to guarded in .02 seconds.

Poor guy, he didn't understand why I burst into tears. He didn't understand why I would barely talk to him for the rest of the night. It wasn't his fault that I'm a woman and full of inexplicable, uncontrollable emotions.

As the years have gone past I've learned to deal with these 'presents' I just smile, pat his arm and take them down to my sewing machine.... hoping that at some point in our lives I don't actually fit into the clothes he buys me.

And to me, that's what wife-ing is all about. Learning to deal with the idiosyncrasies that make men what they are.... all logic.

My friends tell me I should just buy him things I want for his birthday. I can't do that, because in all honesty I know that he's trying his hardest and I sure do love the effort.

Seven-Year Ditch

Seven years ago yesterday, Joe and I entered into the doors of the Logan, Utah LDS temple and made covenants with each other and our Heavenly Father that sealed us together as man and wife for time and eternity. It was a beautiful day, in every way. I will never forget it...

Until yesterday!

Yesterday, I totally spaced it was our actual anniversary! The only thing that reminded me was Joe sending me a text from work: Well it's official! Happy anniversary!

WHAT?! He can't be the one to remember and me forget! That's just not how it works...at least not in every TV sitcom and comic strip. Wife FAIL.

Well, truth be told, I didn't completely fail. I remembered for months before that our anniversary was coming up. I tried to plan and prepare and save in hopes of creating a special romantic weekend getaway for our anniversary. But all my little plans crumbled like the crackers shoved in every nook and cranny of our couch. It's the thought that counts, right? At least that's what I keep telling myself today.

No bed and breakfast or theme-room hotels. No rose-petal strewn paths or mountain top dessert by candlelight. Just a regular old date night of dinner and a movie last Friday. Boring and reliable, but still always nice to get away from the kids for a bit.

I remember when we first got married we would go on date nights and see elderly couples sitting and eating. No conversation. No starry-eyed gazing into each other's eyes. Just eating and staring off in the distance. Boring and reliable. I would always plead with Joe, "Let's not allow ourselves to slip into that rut, okay?"

Fast forward to last Friday night. Every where we went for our date night, we were surrounded by senior citizens. And I'm talking about senior citizens of the elderly persuasion. Born pre-WW2. And they partied harder than we did. A couple wobbled in and sat at the table next to us in the steak restaurant we had chosen for dinner. Immediately they ordered gin on the rocks and some kind of fancy martini. Woah! Grandma and Grandpa are gearing up for a wild Friday night.

At the movie theater, we purchased tickets to Knight and Day thanks to the suggestion of the teenage cinema employee. But I had to question our movie guide's choice when we found ourselves literally sardined on every side by octogenarians. I liked the movie, but apparently not as much as the elders belly-laughing long and loud all around us. With all the unrealistic action scenes, shooting, high-speed chase scenes, and explosions...Really???

I am so confused. What happened to us??? We used to be cool...ish. How did we get so boring that we fit in perfectly with the senior citizen crowd? And in only seven years?!

Next year, maybe we'll just order take-in and watch the Lawrence Welk Show wrapped up in our matching Snuggies. We'll leave the real partying to the experts.