lil beans Compound: A Birthday Celebration

At the corner of Indiana and Emery, in Salt Lake City, stands lil beans Compound.  lil beans received her name from Joe, who cleverly calls me lil bean, and I added in the "Compound" because there are five buildings on this property all of course, lil bean size. 

lil beans Compound is 117 years old, built the same year that Utah became a state.  It's small, it's quirky, it has some old parts, some renovations, and is where I will call home for many years to come.  This week is special to me for two reasons: it's our one month anniversary since Joe and I have been married, and it's the one year anniversary that lil beans Compound became my own.

Now that I have done what I believe to be the three major stressors in a person's life: Master's, marriage, and first-time home-buying, first-time home buying takes the cake as the most stressed out I've ever been in my whole life.  And for those who know me, I stress a lot, and have kidney stones passing at regular intervals to prove it. I had a great experience with my realtor, it was just the wait, the dude selling the house, his realtor, the mortgage company, all the nonsense that told me that this home is it...forever!  I even told Joe that I want to be buried in the back yard or in the basement that few know we have.  He says when I stop saying that line with such conviction, he will know we can discuss moving. 

I imagine sometimes of the family who lived here in 1896.  Did they utilize the rooms the same way I did?  Was it a family?  How many kids did they have?  I have taken what is known as the "birthing room" (a room dedicated to childbirth and sick family members) and turned in into a closet.  I keep that door closed at all times.  In my creative mind, I've imagined a woman "ghost" that lives in there and this house used to be hers.  She's keeping an eye on the place, sort of speak, and approves.  (The above part is where Joe said I'm losing my mind.  So I tested it out on some of his friends.  They said that they think there are good ghosts that live in old houses too, which is why I'm not deleting this part from my submission because if you think I'm crazy, then I'll drag his friends along with me).

lil beans Compound has not been all unicorns and fairy dust, however.  We've had two leaks into the basement and as Joe would call it, "The Great Flood of 2013" when the pipes in his "man den" burst due to cold weather.  We have lost tons of our trees this summer, and every morning, I go outside to see what is on the ground. We've also had some real characters do real crazy things in front of our house including, but not limited to: collapsing and getting run over, bleeding in my flower bed from being run over, she-male prostitutes walking by every night in a loin cloth at 12:30 a.m., and landlord wrestling with her sister tenant.  Many people would say, "why would you live here then?"  I am not terrified living here as I was towards the end of living in my Bountiful townhouse.  And in some way, I feel like I'm free here...Davis County just did not work out for me.  I love the diversity, being so close to downtown, doing yard work, living across from a beautiful park, paying less than I did renting, Minnie...I love it all. 

So Happy Birthday, lil beans Compound! You don't look a day over 117!



This is the second time in a year that lil beans has been completely redecorated. She's been so good to me, I think she deserves a new outfit or two every now and again. Enjoy!

 

Outside/Flowers

 

 



Joe's "Man Den."  I don't have a key.

 

Living Room/Dining Room

 

Yellow Bedroom/Teal Bedroom

 



Bathrooms/Closet

Kitchen/Joe standing in kitchen (haha)

Family Room (my biggest challenge)

 

Some of the trees we lost this summer due to microbursts.

 

 

My favorite neighbor, is "Minnie."  Minnie's real name is Lilly.  Minnie/Lilly is actualyl a male dog!  His/her owner, Thanh, pronounced Tawn, lives across the street from us and went to Vietnam this past year for three months, in which I established a relationship with Minnie.  Every morning, Minnie sits by the fence as I leave for school, and like clockwork, she goes back to the fence around 3 p.m. and sits there until I get home.  She responds more to Minnie than Lilly now, but Thanh says it's ok.  He/she is the best dog and I look forward to seeing her every day!  Thanh has twelve fruit trees and a beautiful vegetable garden.  She told us that it is all ours, since she just likes to watch it grow, and we are nice to her.  Every Monday, we go over and pick, pick, pick.  I am so thankful for Minnie and Thanh!  Minnie is my last picture.

 

She's right behind the blue dish looking right at me.







When in Rome: Our Wedding Day

If 365 days worth of planning didn't suffice, it was too late now.  In twenty-four hours, I would be married.  Joe went to Vegas a day early to spend time with his best friend and Brooklyn hipster, Justin, while I drove down with my mom on Saturday.  We carried in my dress, my bouquet, Joe's tux, everything into our suite that I had booked in January.  But I still felt like I was on vacation, not that I was about to get married. I was certainly itching to play a slot machine, but we had things to do like get our marriage license and view the venue...some vacation this was turning out to be.

Road trip.

Still not getting to play a slot machine, we went and got our marriage license.  I couldn't stop laughing at the questionable courthouse and that their hours are 24/7, 365 days a year.  I wanted it to feel special, but instead, I felt like I was ordering an extra-value meal.  My mom insisted that we take a picture, to capture the moment that we shared with dozens of other couples at 8 p.m. on Saturday, July 6, so here it is:



Oh boy, aren't we thrilled?

 The following morning, I woke up to thunder and lightening...in Las Vegas in July. Our room was right above the pools, so I just sat and watched it pour into the swimming pool.  I knew that if my mom or Joe's mom were awake, they were freaking out thinking of all of the things to say to calm me down about the rain.  Strangely enough, I heard a dozen years ago that rain brings good luck on a wedding day.  It rained on my high school graduation, my masters graduation, and now my wedding day.  I was pleased.  Besides, my wedding was indoors.

Joe and I went and had breakfast with my dad and his best friend Joel.  It was as sketchy as a casino could get, but they did offer one thing: free, celebration champagne.  I am not a drinker, but the mere mention of free and celebration in the same sentence got my attention.  The four of us clinked our glasses and cheered to a wonderful wedding day.  I drank the whole glass immediately and Joe and my dad looked at me in pure shock and horror.  The breakfast was buffet, so we all took turns getting up and getting our breakfast. On one of the rounds, I asked Joe if I could have his champagne and he said yes, he was drinking orange juice anyway.  Two glasses down.

And then the waiter came.  "Can I get anyone more celebration champagne?" he asked.  Just as my dad and Joe simultaneously nodded no, I came back with, "Oh yes, please!"  I was getting "the look" at this point, but I now had more champagne, so why did I care?  As the breakfast went on, they were all chatting about the rest of the day, how exciting it all was, who knows.  I was in the process of lining up all of my empty glasses of champagne in a straight row preparing it for a possible Facebook picture.  "Just one more glass," I whispered to Joe.  And so, he was able to get my fifth and final glass of champagne.

As we departed from breakfast, Joe said out of all the crazy things he imagined I'd do on the day of our wedding, drinking five glasses of champagne wasn't on the list.  I wasn't drunk, let me immediately throw that out there.  I find that to be classless and tacky, especially on your own wedding day.  I was however, completely relaxed which usually doesn't describe me in the slightest.  So thank you, sketchy casino buffet for your free celebration champagne!  Joe and I departed ways, and it was mere hours before we say "I do."

Once I got back to the hotel room, I couldn't believe how tired I was.  I started curling my hair, which, I really should have started the night before, and quickly grew disinterested.  I called my mom and told her I was going to come visit her in her room. 

As soon as she answered the door, I burst into tears.  "What is wrong?" she asked.  "I don't want anyone to look at me or give me attention.  I just want it to be a normal day.  I want to...I JUST WANT TO GO SWIMMING!" I opened my mascara-filled eyes and my mom was speechless. I wasn't scared of marriage or more specifically, marrying Joe.  The thought of walking down the aisle with all of the attention on me was enough to get the waterworks going for the next hour.  Do I think I would have freaked out if I didn't have any champagne?  Yes.  I think it just intensified it.  And why did I want to go swimming so bad?

So two hours before the limo was scheduled to pick us up, my mom was wiping away my tears, persuading me to get ready, begging me to take sips of Coca-Cola, and not get into my swimsuit.  I went back to the room, and looked at my frizzy hair.  It didn't look half bad...right?  I then started putting on my make-up like I do on any other day.  But in the end, I washed 90% of it off.  Whether I was tired, or nervous, or hot, I was not going to look like a Vegas show-girl.  I wanted to be natural, so I went with the very little make-up/too tired or nervous to care approach and who knows, maybe my swimsuit would fit underneath my dress just for good measure.

I've seen many wedding shows where immediately the bride has to use the bathroom right after she put on her 75 lb. gown.  That wasn't going to happen to me, so I went the bathroom.  As I tried to open the door to let my mom in, I couldn't.  This fancy hotel had even fancier locks and I couldn't open the door.  I called my mom over and was reaching my tiny fingers under the door.  "This isn't a joke," my mom said.  "Not today, Kristin." 

"Mom, I promise.  I'm locked in.  I'm not joking this time!"  And then silence.  I knew my mom was grabbing her chest thinking about how I don't have my dress on and the limo driver would be here any minute.  And then I began laughing hysterically.  "I hope you aren't joking," my mom said.  I wasn't, but what else was I going to do but laugh?  So I sat on the ground in my fancy robe, sliding my fingers every which way to try and get the door to open, laughing so hard I was crying.  I finally started throwing myself at the door (because that would really help), and then suddenly, it just unlocked.  When I saw my mom, she was both laughing and crying, and her face was all red.  "Were you just messing with me?" she asked.  "No, I promise."  I think after thirty-two years of jokes, she finally believed me.

My dress went on pretty quick, so we waited for my limo driver, Lorenzo, to come and get us.  He had only called me about five times to give me an update that he was running late.  I did get a kick out of the whole "late" thing, because I am never late, and I do everything possible to make sure everyone else around me at the time will not be late either.  This will be the first and last time people will be waiting on me. 

When Lorenzo was waiting downstairs, I knew that there would be fuss in the lobby if people saw me in my wedding dress.  I thought to "disguise" myself, I would put on my sunglasses.  It didn't work, especially since these sunglasses didn't seem to hide anything but my eyes!  People started clapping and cheering and even tearing up!  I ran fast into the limo, shooing away "the commoners."

One of the biggest things that was important to me is that Joe never saw my dress until I was standing next to him at the chapel.  To do this required a lot of people and careful timing.  Lorenzo had to call the chapel, in which Joe was ushered into a private room.  Strangely enough, when I arrived at the chapel, they ushered me into this corner in which Joe was pacing immediately on the other side.  We could both hear each other, we just couldn't see each other.

As we were waiting for our turn (yes, you have "turns" in Vegas, just like a ride at Disneyland), Joe's mom looked very concerned about the time.  I had told our guests the wedding would start at 4:30.  I even went so far as to print that on the invitations.  I knew all along that the wedding wouldn't start until 5, so we were right on schedule.

And then it came...5 o'clock exactly. Sharon, one of the consultants, ushered everyone into the chapel and then it was my turn to walk down the aisle.  When they opened the doors, I saw that I had to make a quick turn and then walk down straight.  "I didn't prepare for turns," I said to my dad, who started laughing.  And then we walked and Joe was there waiting for me at the end.  All of my worry was for nothing because I didn't notice anyone looking at me.  I was just looking at Joe (and the photographer, no need for second takes).

Right before I came down.

We had a fabulous Justice of the Peace.  She was female (yay) and when I told her "none of that obey crap," before it all began, she high-fived me and said that I was her favorite.  She gave a beautiful speech, or so everyone in attendance has said, but all I could pay attention to were the sniffles.  I see both of Joe's sisters, his mom, and Chelsea just with tears streaming down their faces.  I didn't even want to look at my mom.  And then Joe started with the waterworks.  So I did it.  Right during the sermon/speech/whatever, I whispered to him, "Please don't.  If you do, then I will, and I won't be able to stop."  So with Joe sucking up his tears, I decided to lighten the mood with jokes, because that's what everyone should do on their wedding day, right?

So for my first performance, was the part of "I do."  I whispered/growled it, and got a few laughs.  That just got me started, so when it got to the "forever" part, I paused, rolled my eyes, and said, "forever?"  That got even more laughs.  And then, without tears on my end, we were married!  I didn't know what to do with the train on my dress as they played that cheesy wedding march, so I kicked it behind me and everyone laughed and clapped.  It all may sound silly, but it really was perfect for us, with a few laughs along the way.

Someone needs to teach me when and when not to joke.

Then it was picture time: inside, outside, and all around.  Cars would honk, pedestrians started taking our picture, but at this point, it didn't bother me.  I got what I came for.  One of the workers claimed that it was exactly 117 degrees, one of the hottest days of the year so far.  So I got both rain and sun on my wedding day.

As we got ready to leave, the Justice of the Peace, the photographer, and our consultant said how classy and fun we were and they were so happy to be able to do this for us. We got extra pictures at no cost, and he even put up with our (we think we are hilarious) Real Housewives picture! Props to the Little White Wedding Chapel.  They did a phenomenal job, and I know I will go back there some day (with Joe, of course).

I will always find us hilarious.  And yes, I did send this in to Bravo TV.

It was now time for my costume change.  We had three vehicles, so vehicle #1 was headed to our restaurant, Capo's, while vehicles 2 and 3 was transporting me to get changed.  It was no time at all to change into my second dress, in which my mom said, "whatever you do, don't pick anything up."  I think I'll leave that to your imagination.

One of the most important things for this dinner was that it resembled "us."  One of the very first things Joe and I did when we started dating was we watched all of The Godfather movies and the entire series of the Sopranos.  Joe told me it was how I would learn about his family, and it took me only a few murders, prostitutes, and murdering of prostitutes to realize his family is far from this "lifestyle."  With that being said, we picked a restaurant designed after The Godfather. 

This is how you enter the restaurant.  Dominick, the owner of Capo's.

This hidden door leads you to the restaurant.  At this point, I started screaming with excitement.

 

Capos was exactly how I imagined it.  You rang a doorbell, someone yelled at you, you ordered in the dark, the windows were all covered, and all of the food had some mafia-fun title.  I love myself a themed restaurant!  We  had a private room that even was playing The Godfather on a jumbo screen.  Joe and I were serenaded and had our first dance to something in Italian that sounded real pretty, and it all ended with a free dessert and several fun photo opportunities.

The singer.

So that's it: July 7, 2013.  We ended the night back in our suite in which we both started laughing so hard we were crying.  "What are you laughing at?"  Joe asked me.  "I'm laughing that we are actually married," I giggled.  "What are YOU laughing at?" I then asked Joe.  "I'm laughing over the exact same thing." 

So here's to the laughter...forever (and the sweet cabana that we got on our honeymoon).

It's NOT Them vs. Us

I'm in the process of blogging about my wedding and reception extravaganza, but over the course of the summer, two pictures and a plethora of situations stood out to me and are not only worth saving, but worthy of a blog post.  Some may click on this post, roll their eyes, and think that I'm up to my "liberal" ways again and that's fine. This is more for me than you.

I grew up in a neighborhood that didn't have many children my age, but enough to keep me outside every day from sun up to sun down (these were the days when we drank out of the hose, and no one freaked out).  My old neighbor, Mrs. Betts, who at the time I thought was 100 years old, had her daughter and her five grandchildren come to live with her.  This "temporary" situation turned out to be about ten years, so for those ten years, I had five constant companions.  Barbara, Mrs. Betts daughter, had twin sons who were about six years older than me, a daughter who was three years older than me, and twin daughters who were two years younger than me.  We would walk to school and back every day, but it was the summers that I remember the most.  We built forts, rode our bikes for hours, and went up to the corner gas station to buy gummies.

On one of the occasions, the girls twins, Catherine and Cassandra and I went to the gas station for our usual stash of gummies.  Only this time, the cashier wasn't behind the counter, she kept following us, and reminding us we have to pay for what we are touching.  I thought this was odd behavior, so we grabbed our gummies and walked home.  I remember telling my mom this strange situation, in which I learned for the first time about racism.  Catherine and Cassandra were black.

Another school year rolled around and the boy twins, Clay and Jason, were entering into their Sophomore year.  Jason decided to be in the Roy High Marching Band for the colorguard team. The girl twins and I would spend hours on my porch watching Jason throw the gun up in the air and twirl it around.  He would sometimes let us, but it was too difficult.  As the year went on, Jason proved to be one of the best members of the color guard team, and sometimes all of them would practice in his backyard giving us an exclusive show. But when other kids would come around, he would get called a "sissy" and immediately withdraw.  Jason had some of the biggest muscles I've ever seen, so I don't know where they got the idea of sissy...didn't they see he had a wooden gun?

Years later, at my first job, I ended up working with Jason again.  While he was always older than me, we had a good relationship and I felt he looked out for me as he did his little sisters.  Jason told me he was engaged to be married and even had a ring to show me.  He said he would be moving to Colorado shortly with his fiance, Richard.  So if you are keeping score, that makes Jason gay and white.

Some may think I am incredibly naiive.  Jason was in the colorguard.  He HAS to be gay, right? Just like ALL black people steal, live off of the government, and are incapable of getting through and affording medical school, right?

This is the part where some people may justify their stereotypes with the word "most."  Well, MOST _______________ do this, and MOST ___________________ do that.  The only time I think the word most works is in the following sentence: MOST people living in the United States are Americans and ALL people living in the world are human.

And now let's address how easily people throw out the term Mexican.  This term is one of my triggers  because few people say it without the derogatory tone and negative connotation attached.  Let's define a "Mexican" shall we?  A Mexican is a person born in Mexico.  If a person has darker skin and speaks Spanish that does not make him/her a Mexican.  He/she could have been born in Peru for all we know and unless you are going to be asking everyone in your path for their birth certificate, I would refrain from using it all together.  My Uncle Ben is hispanic and my cousins are half hispanic and half white.  If you were to ask to see their birth certificate, they are just as American as you and me and that cheesy line of apple pie.

One of my summer setbacks is the reality television show called Big Brother.  I say that it is a setback because that darn show is on three times a week and can really take up a lot of time unless you record it.  The biggest controversy of this summer and now one that requires a Viewer Discretion Advised panel at the beginning of every episode has to do with a blonde hair, blue eyed, female named Aaryn, who thought it would be funny to talk about the racially segregated fish tank and how all the "black fish settle on the bottom."  She then turned a fellow contestants bed over and talked to her in a demeaning tone.  This fellow contestant is black.  The amount of hate mail and nasty tweets that Aaryn and the Big Brother show has now received is endless.  Why in the heck is she still on the show?  Does CBS want to capture people how they normally act in the real world?  These contestants are competing for a half-million dollars.  Is this how we reward racism? 

Last Saturday, Joe and I went to Walmart to return some of our wedding gifts.  There were three lines, one noticeably shorter than the rest.  We got up there immediately and had a woman cashier who was wearing a hijab.  Joe smiled and said, "Happy Ramadan!" in which she gave us the brightest smile and talked about her fasting and how she is purposely working ten hour shifts to avoid thinking about food.  We laughed and talked about how spaghetti may be the best thing reheated at 4:30 a.m.!  Her personality was contagious, her vocabulary impecable (some words I didn't even understand), and as we left, she asked us how we knew about the Muslim religion.  Joe's response was simple, "it's part of our world."  She had tears in her eyes as we left.

So I guess to end what may seem as a random rampage (give me credit, it started out strong), is it's not a them vs. us mentality.  It's not white vs. black,  gay vs. straight, Muslim vs. Christian.  We are all just a bunch of muppets trying to make sense of this world, and hopefully doing it in the kindest, fairest way possible.

The Curse of June 27th

Warning: This post has nothing to do with the wedding.

Maybe it's hard for you to believe that I've taken a masters final with a mariachi band blazing outside my window or that my landlord got murdered when two weeks previous I got into a verbal altercation with him.  Maybe you don't believe that I have male-dressed-as-female prostitutes that walk down my street every weeknight at about 12:30 or that as I was eating dinner one winter evening, I looked out my dining room window and saw a man bleeding in my flower garden.  Believe it or not, it's all true.

But there's more.  A teenage girl tried to run over her boyfriend, and as he ran toward me standing on the sidewalk, so did her vehicle.  The female renters and the female landlord at the house next to mine got into a wrestling match in their yard the day before school got out and kept me up until 1 a.m.  A man (heavily under the influence) at the so-called "drug house" walked out into the busy street, collapsed, got run over, and then the neighborhood decided to watch in my yard.  Yep, that's all true too.

There is a big difference between having luck and being lucky.  I have luck, just the kind that no one wants.

Joe and I used to joke about the Curse of June 27th.  After last night, and yet another horrible incident, June 27th can spontaneously burst into flames or die by a thousand paper cuts. 

June 27, 2009: Joe and I had tickets to my favorite band, 311 and my favorite EVERYTHING, Snoop Dogg.  On our way to Salt Lake, the freeway going southbound was closed due to a bad accident.  With all of the side-streets, it took us four hours to go from North Ogden to Salt Lake.  When we arrived at our hotel, Joe got out, and his nice, new, khaki pants had turned black from sitting in a hot, black car for an extended period of time.  He had nothing else to wear, so he had to wear these "soiled" pants downtown until he could find a replacement.

June 27, 2010: Joe was already in Napa/Oakland/San Francisco visiting his friends, and I had my plane ticket to fly out.  I was scheduled to arrive at about 3 p.m. that afternoon.  Instead, I was stuck in Salt Lake due to an airplane malfunction.  I ended up on a teeny plane headed elsewhere, and a few of us were dropped off (meaning there was no terminal for us to go to) at about 8 p.m.

June 27, 2012: I was headed to my realtor's office to turn in my final papers on Lil Beans Compound.  I was rushing, so when I opened the large, steel door, my foot went under it.  No big deal until I pulled it out and saw that the top part of my big toe was still under the door.  Blood was everywhere.  Joe, who was planning on meeting me there, shows up and just stares in shock.  Amanda comes running down from her office and begins to dry-heave.  We go to the doctor where I was told to "stop bleeding on the carpet," and given several shots and prescriptions.

June 27, 2013: The freeway is closed on my way to Layton, so I sit in traffic for two hours.  After I get home, Joe and I decide to have a nice evening watching Moneyball.  Suddenly, we hear what we think are fireworks.  We run outside to see a branch on our biggest tree 75% snapped, and caught in our power line on the roof.  At 9:30 p.m., I call Rocky Mountain Power.  At 11 p.m., an idiot comes out (who I've had problems with before) and says it's "not his problem," and "it's not windy, so nothing will happen."  At 1:30 a.m., the branch snaps and the neighborhood wakes up thinking it's an earthquake and rushes over. I now have a forest in my yard, three broken shingles, and a sore throat from yelling at the power company.

But there is light at the end of this crap-filled, varmin-infested tunnel:  June 27 is now 365 days away.

No Excuses

One of my favorite classes that I teach is Base Camp.  Base Camp is a credit recovery course for students who are behind on graduation credit.  Most of the time is spent in silence while these kids are feverishly working on homework or packets, but every now and again, I take the opportunity to teach them a life lesson. 

On Day 1, as teachers are passing out disclosures and going over their long list of classroom rules (which I do in my other two courses), I have only one statement on the board for base camp.  It reads:

 On June 6, I will be at graduation, will you? 

 

I use this statement to start off class and to teach them that obviously something has happened along the way to land them in my class.  Maybe it was illness, or laziness, or home school, or lack of parenting, or pregnancy; regardless, they need to check their baggage at the door and concentrate on graduating and only on graduating.  My classroom motto is simple: No Excuses.  My only goal is to get them to graduate whether they are down one credit or thirteen. What do I want from them?  To see the value in graduating and meeting a goal...there is no excuse not to.

At graduation, while all of the students stand in line alphabetically, I go and congratulate my base camp students and my CE students.  I've done this for four years, and it is one of the things I look forward to the most out of the entire school year.  Last year, as I was hugging one of my darling base camp boys, he began to cry.  His words were simple and heartbreaking, "You are the only person here to see me graduate."  I didn't know what to say, so out it came, "there is no excuse for some people."  This particular student worked full-time, went to school full-time, and gave his parents every cent of his paycheck because they couldn't find work.  All he wanted was for his pathetic parents to sit in a hot auditorium and clap when his name was read or to fake a smile, and then take him to Chuck-a-Rama for a piece of processed chicken and a sundae. They weren't there, and he will never graduate from high school again.  There was no excuse reasonable enough for them not being there. 

We are fourteen days away from getting married.  As time winds down, we often catch ourselves reflecting on the whole engagement/wedding process, and I see how I am adopting the whole Base Camp No Excuses mantra.  For instance, since I've had exactly one year to plan, there is no excuse for it not being exactly how I wanted it.  Similar to my base camp student, however, I can only be responsible for so much.  He didn't have control over his parents, much like I don't have control over the people in my life (except for Joe, haha). 

If I could do an investigational research study on this whole wedding process, I would focus my energy on others' behavior rather than my own.  Picking Joe's brain, as well as my own, here is what we have learned about others during this process:

• Our married friends and family are more supportive than our single friends and family.
• Our vendors have become some of our biggest fans and friends for life.
• Everyone has an opinion about something, but you have to do what's best for you.
• Weddings, funerals, births, and graduations bring out the best and the worst in people.

We've also classified our friends and family into five categories for our own amusement.  I tried to stick with a common theme, but due to our newly-discovered green thumbs, all we could think of at the end was lawn care.

Rock Solid: Those that have been supportive from the beginning, but we assumed they probably would be. (Mamacita, Joe's immediate family, Grandpa George).

Gems: Our "shiners."  Those that we knew would help us, but they went beyond what we expected from them, and we truly feel that they have helped us make this wedding possible. (Shannon, Shannon, Melissa, Kristin, Justin, Peter).

Fossils: Those that weren't on our radar, but once they surfaced, have helped us realize that there are great people out there who are selfless and 100% happy for us. We need to upgrade our relationship status from "acquaintence" to "friend."  (Joe's aunts and cousins who aren't really his aunts and cousins are driving from California and have been so sweet to us throughout the year).

Crab grass: Those that exist without any expectations placed on them, and somewhere along the line we invited them out of obligation.  As rude as that sounds, let's be honest: they are just coming for the food and I probably won't see them again until the next obligatory event.

Dandelions: These are some of our friends and family members who we thought would be beautiful flowers and surprised us/disappointed us by being dandelions.  We were waiting for a phone call SOMEWHERE in the 365 days like, "Hey, so excited for you.  Do you need help with anything?"  Instead, we got a whole bunch of excuses and I cried many tears along the way. 

So there you have it.  My last post before our wedding that, like high school graduation, will come and go whether anyone (except for me and Joe) is there or not.  We are excited to share our day with you and you can eat all of the unprocessed chicken that you want!  But please, keep your excuses (and children) at home.

On July 12, I will be at my wedding reception, will you?

Meet the In-Laws

Disneyland 2012

It was a cold, dark, winter evening and I was at Joe's restaurant helping out after work.  Joe started putting on his black, leather coat, gloves, and a black beanie.  His dad walked in, wearing the exact same thing.  "Are you ready?"  Tom asked, looking intently at Joe.  "Yes," he said.  "We will be back shortly," Joe whispered, and they both got onto their motorcycles and drove away.

I'm not sure how long they were gone, but my creative mind pictured all of these things...most of them illegal.  When Joe returned, I know that my face must have been ghost-white, and I said to him in the most serious tone possible.  "I'm going to ask you something, and no matter what, you have to tell me the truth.  Do you promise?" I asked.  "Sure, what is it?" Joe said. I started out looking at the floor, and finally reached his eyes. "Are you in the mafia?" I whispered.

There was a long pause. Joe smiled, and I almost started crying.  He started laughing, and continued laughing so hard he cried and was bent over the counter holding his stomach.  "Well, are you or not?" I asked.  "I hate to break it to you, but I am not."  Joe continued,  "one day this will be a funny story and you will laugh just as much as I am right now...trust me."  I shook my head, wiped away my tears, and continued working.

 *****

In-Laws.  You don't marry just your significant other; you marry his family.  Joe and I chose to keep our relationship private for the first few years.  Yes, I said years.  We felt we needed to focus on us before bringing in outside factors.  I think for Joe, part of it was if I passed his test.  If I did, I would meet his family.  If not, why waste everyone's time?

I actually met Joe's family separately, which I think was a good idea especially since I am an only child.  I was very intimidated at first, and I blame Joe for this, because he would just tell me terrible stories, and being as gullable as I am, I believed him!  I can honestly say that I feel I fit in now. I had to put on my big-girl panties and just learn how to use my voice. And now, since I'm the first of their official in-laws, I'm their favorite, AND I always will be AND that's that!

Tommy, Joe's younger and only brother, was the first person I met.  He was playing hockey for Canada, and came home to visit around January.  His hair was bleached blonde and down to his shoulders.  He said, "hi," sat on Joe's couch, and ignored me the rest of the night.  He returned to Canada shortly thereafter, and I wasn't sure if I would ever see this odd, nineteen-year-old again.

Six years later, and now Tommy is twenty-five. I adore him as if he were my own brother and sometimes I forget that biologically he isn't.  I've caught myself saying "brother" instead of "brother-in-law" or "Joe's brother" several times.  Do I think that Joe and I maybe sometimes enable Tommy?  Why yes, yes we do.  Tommy has a soft spot in our hearts and always will.

When Nancy graduated with her Bachelor's.  One of my favorite pictures of Joe and Tommy.

One of the best memories I have of Tommy is the day I was finally allowed to move to Lil Beans Compound.  The grass was nearly as tall as I am, and the weeds were even worse.  I was at my town house in Bountiful cleaning, and Tommy and Tom went to my house and took care of the grass.  When I showed up hours later, Tommy was so happy to show me what he had accomplished and even bought me my first piece of yard equipment...a rake.  I tried not to cry, but I could feel it coming so I hurry and hopped back in my car and went and got us both McDonalds.  When I came back, the tears started coming.  "Oh gosh, please don't cry," Tommy begged.  So I sucked it up, and we had a picnic in the empty living room, just Tommy and me.  I've never had a brother, so I don't know what brothers and sisters do, but I imagine that something like this would be it.

The second best memory I have of Tommy is when he got my name for Christmas.  He was able to "slut up" a Bratz doll and named her "The Real Housewife of Salt Lake City."  IT WAS HILARIOUS!  I adored the fact that he went to all of this trouble just for me.  I have this doll on display and it will always have a special place in my heart because "my brother" gave it to me.  One of the best pleasures that I will have throughout my lifetime is that I am literally going to be part of the majority of Tommy's life.

Real Housewife of Salt Lake City.

The second person I met from Joe's family was his sister, Kate.  Kate is six months younger than me, and from the beginning, scared the heck out of me.  Again, I blame Joe for this.  Joe painted Kate to be the perfect sister, perfect female, perfect everything.  He made it very clear that her opinion about me was what mattered...and that was that.  Early on in our relationship, I saw how much he valued Kate.  When she would call, no matter what, Joe would pick up.  It was Kate, and he needed no explanation otherwise.  Then came the part where she was studying to be a cop and had a gun.  I was scared of her before I knew she had firearms and this was making it worse!

I met Kate for the first time at the restaurant.  She came in, gave me a quick hello, and was telling Joe about some stupid person who she wanted to kill.  All I could think of was is she really going to kill him/her or is this just an expression that she uses?  I also started looking at her wondering where her gun was.  As soon as she left, Joe stated, "that's Kate, she's just the best, isn't she?"  I tried not to pee my pants in fear.  I just replied with, "yeah, she's great!"

I would like to say that six years later I am no longer afraid of Kate...that much.  I feel that there are two sides and it's best to be on the side that she is on.  If I was on the "other" side, then that's where I would be fearful.  Kate is passionate and loyal and will do anything to stand up for what's right and protect her family.  She and Joe have this unique relationship where they just sit and say nothing for five solid minutes, and then they just start talking, and they both get it, and no one else does, and that's ok.

My favorite memory of Kate was when we both "left/were escorted/kicked out" of Tommy's hockey game.  In short, a stupid, fat, old man takes a cheap/illegal shot on Tommy, and the refs do nothing.  Joe is standing up saying every name in the book and gets kicked out (super classy).  Once he leaves, the crowd dies down, and Kate and I feed off of each other and continue what Joe started (super classy).  We are then "leaving," when Kate spots the jerkface walking to the locker room and got in his face.  I then climb up on the railing, lean over, and start yelling again.  Needless to say, Joe, Kate, and I were sitting in my car during the rest of the hockey game dreaming up all of the things we would like to do to this idiot and laughing about it even more.  A Word to the Wise: Don't Mess with Kate!



Kate and Joe at Downtown Disney.

Tom, Joe's father, and who I originally thought was the mafia boss, is a man of few words.  I first met him at the restaurant.  After sitting there for nearly an hour, and of course no introduction from Joe, I finally say to him, "Hi, I'm Kristin, you must be Joe's dad."  His reply was short, "I know who you are, but let's make Joe introduce you."  Later that day, Joe finally did.  During the summers, I would spend my afternoons at the restaurant with Tom talking about everything from food to presidential candidates.

Tom and I both have our masters degrees so we have our little jokes that drives Joe crazy such as "we don't have to do that, we have our masters degree," or "we have a fist-full of degrees."  At Disneyland, we were also the first two ready EVERY SINGLE MORNING, so we would sit on the steps and laugh at all of the nonsense we could hear in the hotel rooms of the others frantically getting ready.  Tom frequently has told me that he thinks that his family is totally crazy, but then one day he realized that "everyone else's family is just as crazy."  I think he is wise...and right.

Because surely anyone who holds up their hands in Splash Mountain has to be part of the mafia...right?

Nancy, Joe's mom and Nikki, Joe's sister, were the last two I met and who I've mentioned in previous posts.  As I get to know both of them, I cannot believe how much Nikki reminds me of Joe, and how much Nancy reminds me of...me!  Nancy and Nikki are both better cooks than I am, so I need to get better at that, and they are both better under pressure, where I just crack!  Nancy has the ability to put everyone else's needs in front of her own and accomplish them all at the same time.  I don't think she ever has a day off or anyone tells her "thank you" enough.  So Thank You, Nancy, from Your Favorite!  As far as Nikki is concerned, her personality is contagious and I forsee many times in the future of us being together and getting into trouble.  Hopefully, someone will be able to set bail!

Trouble with a capital T.

We were little school girls in Sleep Beauty's Castle!
 

Chelsea, Tommy's girlfriend, was the last person I met.  I love Chelsea for several reasons.  #1 She is an only child so she understands my social awkwardness.  #2 She is only twenty years old and is going to graduate with her bachelor's degree in social work so that makes her incredibly smart and focused.  #3 She never complains, and always listens.  #4 She likes owls!  #5 She has the best fashion sense out of all of us.  I think she adds a calming element to the family and I can't imagine a family function without her.   

Tommy and Chelsea.

*****

Some people say, "You can't live with them, you can't live without them," or "Oh great, I have do deal with the in-law's again!"  As Joe's mom, Nancy, was cleaning my disgusting fridge in Bountiful, I asked her why she was doing all this for me.  She stopped immediately what she was doing, looked at me dead in the eyes, and said, "NO MATTER what, this family will always be there for one another.  It's what we do." 

And now, I am part of it.