The Crush

In light of a couple conversations I've had with women IRL about their teenage daughters and the fact that I think mostly mom's of preteen and teenage daughters read this blog, I thought that it might be of benefit to talk about my years as a hormonal teenage girl. We'll start with boys, since that seems to be a big deal right now.


When I was younger, I had this...fantasy, I guess you would call it, that a "bad boy" would discover me, turn from his ways of wandering, fall in love with me and we'd live happily ever after. That's what happens in the movies. That's what happened to some people I knew in real life. I thought it would happen to me. I wanted it to happen to me. I thought it was horribly romantic.

I wanted to live that fantasy so badly and was convinced that it was the reason God had made me so innocent and pure--which really turned out to be ignorance and pride--that I started throwing myself at any bad boy who I thought fit the bill. Not physically throwing myself (because I was so pure, remember) but I would let myself and even encourage myself to become completely emotionally involved with a guy before he had even given me the time of day! Blame it on Hollywood or blame it on the hormones, I was crazy.

At an awfully young age (sometime between 9 and 12, I honestly don't remember): I met the love of my life. At least I was convinced he would be. We'll call him The Crush. He was everything I could have wanted: He was cute, older than me, a singer and musician, a Christian, and above all else, he had a dark side. He was mysterious. He was troubled. Lots of other girls liked him. I was certain that we were meant to be together, even though he didn't show much interest in me. The Crush went to my church and our sets of parents were friends so we saw each other fairly often. Each time we did I fell more and more in love. (I use that term pretty loosely.) I spent many nights (I'm not exaggerating when I say over 200) over the years crying in my mom's lap because he didn't notice me. I mean, he knew who I was, and probably even knew I was gaga over him, but he was just. not. interested. I prayed with all the sincerity in my heart that he would finally love me back. Most of the time was dating other girls.

Why wasn't he dating me? What was wrong with me? I even knew that he wasn't best for me. My parents had told me. A girlfriend of mine who was his age and was friends with him had told me. I saw it for myself in his attitude and character. It didn't matter. Every time I thought I had gotten over him he'd do something cute or funny or just look at me with his clear blue eyes and I'd fall head over heels again. I had the songs picked out for our wedding. I got dressed each Sunday in hopes of catching his attention. I joined the youth group worship team to spend time with him. I jumped at any chance I had to be around him.

I was obsessed with The Crush until I was 16 and living on the opposite side of the state. Why, even after years of rejection and advice to just move on, why couldn't I do it? I still don't really know how to explain it. The whole situation was so ridiculous I'm embarrassed to even think about it. I was focused on "The Story" we would have. I grew up in a home with both my parents. They loved each other. My brother and I got along better than any of my friends and their siblings. We had enough food to eat. As I got older I didn't sleep around or even kiss. I didn't have the amazing, tear-jerking testimony. The kind that all the popular speakers had. This was going to be my story. He was going to be able to get over all his issues because of his love for me. And I was serious.

What did my parents do? Let me talk about it. For days. For months. For years. I know they were sick of hearing about it. They helped me process it. They talked to me about why he was the way he was and why it was a good thing we weren't dating. They let me cry. A lot. They didn't try and force me to get over him, or just ignore me. I felt real feelings, no matter how misguided they were, and my parents were willing to address those feelings.

How did I finally move on? Well my family moved more than 700 miles away, and I met someone new. Someone darker. Someone taller. Someone who seemed to be even more screwed up. Oh goody. I was just what he needed. Click here to read about The Frog.

BTW, I did finally get my revenge on The Crush. At least that's what I call it. A year and a half after we moved, my family went back to San Diego to see family and friends and get out of the snow for a week. Some friends hosted a party for us and The Crush was there. I knew he would be, and, to be honest, I planned to blow him away. I was completely focused on The Frog, but that didn't mean I was going to pass up a chance to get attention from The Crush. I got all pretty-fied and went to the party. I still have a the picture in my mind of his face. I was cool and casual, chatting with other people, and he stood off to the side of the room just staring at me. I was no longer an awkward teenager. I looked much more like a woman, and insisted on carrying myself like one, at least while he was looking. Yes. It felt good. I'm not even afraid to admit it. :D

Some stuff

Some basic stuff:
I'm 22 years old
I've been married for 3 years
I lived in San Diego until I was almost 16 years old
I now live in a small town in Northern California
I am a Christian
My husband and I own our own engineering business

Some fun stuff:
Dogs are awesome and want to own a Great Dane some day
I love to cook and try new foods
I thoroughly enjoy music and play piano and bass guitar.
I also have played flute and french horn, but not since high school
I sing and love karaoke
I like gardening, but I'm not very good
I like photography, but never make the time for it
I like wrapping presents

Some other stuff:
I hope to be a mother some day
There is nothing better than getting to cuddle up in bed with my hubby
I use the term "hubby"
I had thought about being a journalist or a nurse
Jake and I watch British TV shows, and love them
I used to have really long hair. I cut it in September and have had issues with it ever since
And I complain about it fairly often
I work out so I can eat junk food
I prefer fresh fruit and veggies, but junk food is so often easier

Some more stuff:
I'm organized when it comes to projects outside my home. Inside, well, I can ignore a lot of things
I have an iPhone and it is awesome
I'm married to a hunter
We installed a pull up bar in our hallway and I can't do even one.
If we had a garage I might take up taxidermy

I've run out of things, although there is tons more. I guess you'll just have to wait to find out.

Now what?

I have a couple followers now. Not a couple. Four. And I have comments now. Six. I didn't want to admit that I counted, or have been paying attention to that sort of thing, but I did, and I do. But now that you're here, and I know you're here, I don't know what to do. Maybe it's because there is no real purpose to this blog. I don't have any direction. I'm not planning a really awesome cross country road trip. I'm not an amazing prayer warrior with tons of wisdom about life. I'm not a cancer survivor. I'm not (I tried to wrap my mom up in a single sentence, but I just can't. She's too complicated) my mom. But on the up side, I'm able to check out all my followers and learn who they are. :) So welcome, and thanks for following.

I'm flattered that you've followed, although I really don't know why. Well, I know why mom did, and I'm pretty sure I know why Susan did (or at least I assume) but I don't even know you other ladies. What could I possibly have to offer you? And the commentators? As far as I can tell, you all probably have much more interesting lives than I do. I re-titled my blog a couple times in it's remaking, trying to come up with the best name. I finally settled on "a day in the life of a young wife" because I guess that's my direction. Why would that direction be interesting to anyone who isn't a young wife, or my mom, or my mom's friend? And even to them? I don't know. But I really appreciate you being here. I assume that I'll have some epiphany or something in the future and become really famous in the blog world and you'll be glad you stuck with me all that time, and you can say you knew me when, but it might never happen. Just a heads up.

This is me with no direction. Sad, right?

Anyways, I don't mean to be all whiny, but since this is my blog, and I can write whatever I want, and I don't want to NOT write, because then I just stop writing all together, this is what I wrote about today. And that is an example of me writing how I talk, in sentences all pushed together. I don't do this in real papers, just so you know. My momma taught me well. I at least KNOW that I have bad writing edict when blogging. However, through writing this post, I got an idea for another one. So thanks for listening. :)

I heart my mom

We're having a GNO (girl's night out). We're out of town, in a hotel room, having a blast. Well, right now we're just laying side by side being chill and getting ready for bed, but up until now it's been a hoot. Hot tubbing, strawberry mojitos, pedicures, and girl talk. I love hanging out with her.

She's such an inspiration to me. I think she knows it, because I'm pretty sure I've told her before, but I want all of you to know that she's an inspiration to me. She's a hard worker. She's opinionated. She's truthful. She's got a rockin' marriage. She's gorgeous. She's strong. She's gracious. She's wise. She's fun. She's loving. She's compassionate.

She's my best friend. I strive to be like her.

She hasn't always been my favorite person though. I totally believe that the reason we're so close now, the reason I respect her so much now, is because she was a MOM when I needed her to be, even when I didn't want her to be. Not in a mean way, but in a great mom kind of way. She punished me when I needed punishing. She called me on my crap when I was messing around. She made me go to school (or do school since I was home-schooled) when I didn't want to. She kept me in line. She told me about God. She taught me how to cook. She taught me how to do laundry. (And for the record, she taught my brother too, he just refused to remember. I'm not sure who does his laundry now because he still claims that he doesn't know how when he comes home to visit.)

She also took me to the movies. She giggled about boys with me. She taught me to really appreciate a nice pair of heels. She took me out to eat. She lay in bed with me while I cried about my first love (a lot. I'm a crier. And he ignored me for years) We got pedicures and massages together. We went to the theater together. She offered to slash the tires of my ex-boyfriend's car. She supported me in my musical endeavors, even when piano recitals were filled with horrible stinky children.

Now that I'm an adult(ish) and married and moved out, I still totally love hanging out with her! I love talking with her. I love laughing with her. I love crying with her. I still call her when I have a question about anything. I still feel the need to go crawl in bed with her. She has great insight, and I trust her with my heart.

This is us in February getting ready to go out for Valentine's Day with our Valentines. She's so awesome Jake and I double date with her and dad. :)

Anyways, it's way later than I planned, but I just wanted to show some appreciation for my momma.

I LOVE YOU MOM

Songs that make me happy

Although I'm croaking talking a bit better today, I still can't sing. But these songs still pump me up, so I thought I'd share.

Ignoring the half naked ladies and the poor morals in the lyrics, I LOVE this song. I makes me happy and I can't help but get up and dance around. So be happy with me and get up and shake it! :)


I can't get enough of this girl's voice.


I love Train. Have for a long time. Never actually had watched any music videos until just now searching for this song. Not sure who I was expecting, but it wasn't him. lol. Anyways, this song melts my heart.

Life as a mute

I still don't have my voice back. At all. If anything, it's gotten worse. I don't just sound like someone else, most of the time I don't sound like anything at all. Occasionally I can get a few words strung together, but for the most part it's a whisper punctuated by a squeak here and there. It's really quite pathetic. I miss singing. I usually sing all day. I miss making noise when I laugh. I miss talking. I feel crippled by my inability to vibrate my vocal chords. I can't even grunt like Frankenstein!

Jake and I went to the big city today for some hang out time and shopping. We went to Chipotle for lunch and I had to whisper/squeak my order to Jake to be reiterated to the guy behind the counter. I think the guy thought I was agoraphobic or something. After that Jake dropped me off at TJ Maxx while he ran some other errands. I found a muffin pan that I'd been wanting and cautiously headed up towards the cashier. I tried to keep the croaking to a minimum, but the lady looked at me like I was The Creature from the Black Lagoon.


I couldn't make pleasantries with my fellow shoppers. I couldn't ask for help. The poor Starbucks drive-thru window dude really earned his tip trying to make out my order. They say all you need is your looks...well whoever "they" are, they have grossly underestimated the power of vocal communication.

I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way.

So maybe I'm just not cut out for the blogging stuff. I've been reading lots some of my friends' blogs and some other blogs that I find interesting as well...and I don't know how they all do it! I'm a stay at home wife with no kids and I can't seem to find to time to actually sit down a write. The only reason I'm here now is I'm up nursing a sore throat. I had a pretty good flu on Sunday (not the tummy part, but everything else including fever and aches) and since then my throat has just been on fire. Then I was really naughty Wednesday night and went out to karaoke with my parents. I love to karaoke. I just can't help myself. I only sang one song because I was going to be nice to my voice, but it was already too late. By the time I got home I sounded like Jessica Rabbit. Sultry, sexy Jessica Rabbit. I love it when I sound like that.

Unfortunately by morning I sounded like Jeff Bridges. By mid afternoon my voice was swinging towards the other end of the spectrum and I sounded like Betty Boop. By evening I sounded like a combination of Mickey Mouse and The Chipmunks. Now, I don't even know what I sound like because it hurts too much to try. Or sleep for that matter. I'm sucking on a cough drop and drinking chamomile tea with lemon and honey. Maybe in a bit I'll be able to sleep. That would be nice. In the mean time, I've learned how to do my makeup like Mrs. Rabbit. I guess that could come in handy next time I have a cold.