A Christmas Carol

This Christmas I was visited by the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future (metaphorically speaking of course.)

Past showed me a warm home with flavorful smells and cheerful music dancing through the air. I saw a little towheaded girl who believed in magic and was full of wonder at all the little things the holiday brings. I was reminded of a young tight-knit family who sat together and read the story of the birth of Christ in the Bible as they lit a candle on the advent wreath. Then they knelt in a circle and prayed, together as one happy family unit.

I watched, as if it were a movie, my brother and I huddled together under a blanket on Christmas Eve night on the top bunk bed. I held the flashlight and he drew out our plan of how this would be the year that we captured Santa Claus. If either of us had any inkling that he wasn't real, we didn't say a word to the other. It was too much fun to pretend. Too much fun to believe.

On Christmas morning we tore open our stockings full of gifts that had magically appeared at the foot of our beds. We played show and tell with our presents and then unable to sleep anymore, we turned on the old TV in his bedroom and tried to find sense in the static until mom and dad led the way for us to see the Christmas tree.

But we weren't looking at the Christmas tree. We were mesmerized by what lay beneath. Dozens and dozens of brightly colored packages adorned with beautiful bows were displayed neatly underneath the tree, each one labeled with the recipients name.

I watched each past Christmas year in fast forward. It didn't matter what the packages held once the wrapping was uncovered, it was always something that we wanted, that we couldn't buy on our own. And every year was the same. Happiness. Togetherness. Family.

The Things Nightmares are Made Of

We awoke to the stomach wrenching sound of a tiny voice gasping for air. I bolted upright and reached for the lamp on the nightstand. Chris instinctively scooped up our daughter and held her close, speechless, etching worry lines into his forehead. Her throat sounded full and the more she struggled to take a full breath, the more worked up she became which only worsened her condition.

Every breath drew a hoarse wheeze from her chest. She had colds before, but nothing like this. She wailed with such furiosity it appeared as though her small face was all open mouth. Never have I felt such fear and worry. 

My angel, this precious being, was in so much pain and discomfort and couldn't tell us what hurt. Likewise, we couldn't use words to comfort her. 

Soundtrack of My Life

I was walking back to my car from class the other day, just jamming to the music on my iphone when this song came on, Bright Future in Sales by Fountains of Wayne.

Suddenly I was 13 again in Germany with my dad. That Fountains of Wayne album was the only CD I brought with us on our trip. Instead of listening to any German radio, we listened to that album over and over and over again as we drove from one tourist destination to the next in our rental car.

As the song played through my headphones I was amazed at how quickly and vividly that memory came to my mind. And all it took was a song. It was as if those lyrics and chords carried with it my memories, my history during that time. I've experienced vague memory reminders with smells, you know like the smell of cinnamon reminds me of Christmas, but this was more than just a reminder. It's like when I heard that song I was that 13 year old girl again. I was in that time and that place. My mind was functioning like it did back then but at the same time I was still myself. What? Yeah that does sound sort of weird. I guess the song just let me channel a part of me that I had put away a long time ago.

The Dryer. How many red flags does it take?

Hello friends! I'm going to try and update my blog twice a week: one baby bump post and one...er something else. This is one of the latter.

Since I am still homeless (we move in tomorrow night!!!!!) I haven't been doing a whole lot of exciting things lately unless you consider watching the entire series of Freaks and Geeks on Netflix exciting (stop making that face, there are only 18 episodes). "So what will this post be about?" you ask.

For those of you who have been with me since before I went to Hawaii and then got pregnant (all 3 of you) you might remember a little post called Writey McWriterson (yeah that's a link to the post) (also, Oy with the parenthesis already!). There I listed a ton of fun writing prompts and inspiration ideas and websites and by golly I haven't written any of them!

Well today my friends, that is going to change. I went back to my little post written a whole year ago and chose a writing prompt, number 13 to be exact. So buckle in, this one is going to be fun.

"13. When you think back to your childhood, what is the first memory that pops into your head? Write about it. "

It was a Saturday.

My room was straightened to Mom's satisfaction and I even scoured the bathroom. The rest of the day was officially mine. John on the other hand had creeped away from his disaster of a room to find me content in front of an episode of CatDog.

"I'm bored. Wanna go play monster hunters?"

Meeting Mrs. Langford

February 10, 2004

Dear diary,

 I had the strangest day today. It started off like every other day:

 I woke up to my alarm reminding me to exercise and hurried down the ladder on my bunk bed to turn it off before I woke up Savannah or Sierra in the next room. I found the page ripped from my Seventeen magazine on the table next to my alarm clock right where I left it. The glossy page showed a thin girl in athletic clothes doing a series of simple workouts. The title promised a Bikini- Ready Body in 6 short weeks. I gave up after a few crunches and studied my body in the full length mirror leaning up against my window. I looked like a marshmallow. Or rather, I looked like all I had eaten in the past 4 months were marshmallows. I pinched a roll of fat on my stomach and sighed with frustration at the weight I had gained since moving in with Darla. This was my life.

 Next I headed downstairs to find some breakfast and do my daily chore of unloading the dishwasher. Darla was already in the kitchen, getting breakfast ready for my two adorable little cousins sitting at the table.
"Good Morning," I said cheerily, wiping the sleep from my eyes.
"Jocie!" Savannah smiled from her booster seat and I walked over to give her a morning kiss.
Darla turned from the sink and smiled, "Morning Joce."

The big window in our kitchen showed another gloomy, snowy, England day. Which gave me exactly zero motivation to get out of my warm Hello Kitty pajamas. After breakfast I helped Dar get the girls ready for preschool. She told me that she had a doctor appointment after she dropped them off and I was welcome to come with her if I wanted. But obviously, as you can tell from my earlier statement, I declined.

I was determined that today would finally be the day I would catch up on all my homeschooling work up to this point. I made out a schedule so I could get everything done I needed to, even if I had to stay up all night. I was not going to be the only one of my friends that had to do 7th grade again. Well in my case it would actually just be for the first time because if I do have to stay back, it will be because I didn't do my homeschool stuff in the first place.

I headed back upstairs to my room, plopped down in the middle of the floor, and pulled out all of my school books. I checked the schedule I had created to get everything done. It was colorful with little drawings and bubble letters. It was the way I spent my 'homeschooling time' the day before. But obviously it had to be pretty or else I wouldn't look at it and therefore get nothing done. Obviously. I consulted my schedule:

8:00 am-9:00 am: Read ENTIRE Science textbook

 at complete assignments at end of each chapter.

It was already 10:30 am by this point, but no matter, starting a teensy bit late wouldn't make that much of a difference to the whole day. I picked up my Science textbook which I was already supposed to have read the majority of and opened to the first page. But then I got hungry. Well I wouldn't be able to get anything done with the grumbling in my stomach so I went back to the kitchen to find the perfect study snack. 

As I walked back up the stairs with my can of Sprite and three packages of Scooby Doo gummy snacks, I heard a strange knocking coming from the end of the hallway near my bedroom. The first thing that popped into my head was that someone was robbing us and stupidly started with my bedroom only to find that the most valuable thing in there was the DVD player that Darla bought me for 10 quid. But then the knocking continued. It sounded more as if someone was knocking on my door to be let in. I cautiously made my way down the hallway. My bedroom door was wide open, just the way I had left it. The knocking was coming from inside.

I do not consider myself a brave person. I will gladly admit that I'm afraid of the dark. I'm not sure what prompted me to step further into the room instead of running out of the house screaming, but there I was slowly but surely walking into my bedroom where the knocking got louder and louder. And then I realized where it was coming from: my closet. 

Someone or something was in my closet and wanted out. I mentioned that I'm afraid of the dark. Add the boogey man to that list. There are two places that the boogey man lives: under the bed or in the closet. This being the latter made me reconsider my choice to go towards the knocking. And then I heard something else, "Helloo?" It was a girls voice, coming from my closet. How in the world did a girl get herself locked in my closet?! I briefly considered that the boogey man had disguised his voice but pushed that thought away and decided to let the girl out.

It was more troubling to me that a girl was stuck in my closet, because my closet does not have a lock. The doors don't even really close all the way. In any case, I slowly slid one of the doors open and peered inside. There was nothing there. "Is someone here?" I asked. Then I heard the knocking again and the voice, "Hello??" The voice sounded so strangely familiar, but I couldn't place it. "Don't worry, I'm coming," I replied. I pushed my clothes to the side and still couldn't see anyone. And that's when I noticed something I hadn't seen before.

There was some sort of door at the far end of my closet. I don't usually open that side of the closet and there are a lot of clothes hanging there. But still, you'd think I would have noticed a door. It was very small. Someone could only fit in there if they were crouched down. This brought up the question again of how someone got into my closet. To quote a favorite childhood movie, this was getting curiouser and curiouser. The door didn't have a handle, but I was able to get my fingers around the edges and pry it out of the wall. 

The first thing I saw was a mess of blond hair as she crawled out of the cubby space. "How did you get in there?" I started to ask as she pushed herself to her feet and stood up. "I don't know," she started to say, but stopped abruptly when she saw my face. For a moment, neither of us said anything. We just stood in my small bedroom and stared at each other. 

We had the same blue eyes, the same button nose, the same full lips. We both had a face full of freckles. She was my height, with blond hair, like mine. Her dark roots showed that it was obviously dyed, also like mine, but the color was less brassy and had more dimension with highlights and lowlights. Her hair was straight, just past her shoulders. She didn't have on much make up, but she was pretty. She wore a bright green short sleeve summer dress with grey horizontal stripes and a tie around her waist that came down to her knee. She had on strappy sandles and a big diamond ring on her finger. She was obviously not dressed for an England winter.

 We looked so much alike it was uncanny. But she was obviously older. And thinner. Much thinner. I suddenly felt very self conscious in my Hello Kitty pajamas, and mussed hair, and let's face it she was pretty and I was ugly. My first thought was that she was my long lost sister come to find me. But the whole closet thing still didn't add up.

The look on her face was shock. She couldn't stop staring at me. It's like she knew me, but I didn't know her. For some reason neither of us said anything. I suppose we were both shocked. She reached out and grabbed my shoulder, a little harder than I expected. "Ow!" I exclaimed, "What're you..." I was cut off when she reached up and touched my face almost in disbelief. "I don't believe it," she half whispered. When she finally looked away she gazed around my room. I have to say, my room is not much to look at, but she looked at it as if it was her favorite, secret place. She walked along the window, past my mirror, and touched my small knick knacks on the window sill. She picked up my Little Mermaid Christmas ornament and stroked Ariel's velvety dress. She walked over and touched my Series of Unfortunate Events calendar where I had taped up a picture of Jeremy Sumpter and she smiled.

Suddenly she turned and jumped onto the bottom bunk and pulled herself up to the top bunk of my bed. I was so shocked I couldn't say a word. She carefully picked up each stuffed animal and doll, looked at them longingly and placed them back exactly where they were. She climbed off the bed, using the ladder this time, and walked out into the hall. She went into Savannah's and Sierra's room, the loo, down the hall to the family room the bathroom, the office and Darla and Darryl's room. All I could do was follow her as she gave herself a tour of our house. The weirdest part of the whole thing was that she seemed to know where she was going. 

Walking down the stairs, she stopped suddenly and I bumped into her. She stepped back and forward on the steps with the loudest creaks and giggled. The same steps that I always noted when going down the stairs, in hopes of someday finding the perfect spot to step and miss the creak all together. It was at that moment that something snapped in my brain and I realized that this was weird.

"OKAY, Who are you and where did you come from and why were you in my closet and what are you doing here and why do you look like me????" The questions were shooting out faster than I could control them. She turned and smiled at me, "Let's go sit in the living room and we can talk, okay?" she said as she continued down the stairs. "How do you know where they living room is?!" I called after her.

I followed her into the living room and she closed the door and sat down on the couch across from the fireplace and pulled her feet up under her. She looked comfortable on that plaid couch, as if she belonged there.

 "NOW will you answer my questions?" I asked, frustrated at the fact that she seemed to be enjoying my annoyance.

"Is Darla home, or the girls, or Darryl?"

"How do you know..."

"ARE they home?"

"No, no one is home."

"What day is it today?"

"February 4th."

"What year is it?"

"2004. Are you okay? Did you hit your head or something?"

"This is truly unbelievable," she said in a half whisper again.

"You still haven't answered any of my questions."

"You're right. I guess I owe you an explanation. First of all, I have no idea how I got here or why I was in your closet. My name is ... you can call me Mrs. Langford."

She looked way to young to be Mrs. anything but I figured I'd oblige. "Alright Mrs. Langford how did you know your way around the house? And why do we look so much alike?"

"Well...I used to live here, a long time ago. As for our similarities...I don't really think we look alike at all. Listen, you can't tell anyone I was here. And honestly, you should probably forget all about this."

"Really lady? You think I'm going to forget that I random chick appeared in my closet, looking like she could be my long lost sister and started caressing my face? You've gotta do better than that."

"Okay. The truth is, I'm not from here. I live in Hawaii with my husband."

"That's it? That's all you have to say?"

"I'm afraid, bad things would happen if I said anything else."

"Of course they would. Well you should probably go back to wherever you came from, as long as it doesn't include you living in my closet. I have a lot of school work to do and Darla is going to be home any minute." I was lying about both these facts. I had no idea when Darla would get home and obviously I would be getting no school work done today. But I had read in my Seventeen magazine that playing hard to get works for getting boys to want to talk to you. I figured it wouldn't hurt to try it out on this perfect stranger.

"School work?" she laughed, "Listen Jocelyn, if there is one thing I'm going to say it's, don't worry about your school work. Or boys, or your looks for that matter. I promise it will all work out. Just don't stress."

"I know I shouldn't stress, I'm just really behind and...wait, I never told you my name."

Mrs. Langford looked startled and suddenly stood up, nervously brushed off her dress and headed towards the door. "I really should go. Just, be happy okay?"

"Wait a second, you can't just leave!" I chased her out of the room and assumed she had gone back upstairs to the closet. I started to run up the stairs when I heard the front door slam. I ran back down the stairs and threw open the door. There was no sign of her anywhere. I started outside, running through the snow in my bare feet, across the front garden and around the hedges where I was sure to see her down the street. But no one was there.

"Mrs. Langford!" I called, " MRS. LANGFORD!" and then on a whim, "Jocelyn? JOCELYN!"

"Jocelyn! Jocelyn! JOCELYN, WAKE UP!"

I opened my eyes to see Darla standing over me holding Sierra. "Jocelyn did you get anything done today?"

I looked around and saw my Science text book open to page one, a can of Sprite, three empty packages of Scooby Doo gummies and my colorful school schedule with none of the assignments crossed off.

"Uhm...I guess I just fell asleep," I replied. 

Darla sighed, "Well can you watch Sierra, I need to get dinner ready."

"Sure," I said and took Sierra from her, set her on the floor, pulled a stuffed bear down from my bunk bed and handed it to her. 

I started to clean up my books and my snack mess when I looked over and saw and little piece of paper stuck in the bow of the the stuffed bear I had just handed Sierra. I pulled it out and unfolded it. It was a note with two simple words in a familiar handwriting:

Be Happy.

It was my handwriting.

"I knew it!" I screamed, and ran to the closet and slid open the door so fast that it made a crash when it hit the other side of the frame. The loud sound made Sierra begin to cry, but I took no notice. I threw the clothes to the side and searched the wall for the hidden door. But nothing was there. Just wall.

I have my suspicions about my "dream" of Mrs. Langford. That note came from somewhere, and I don't remember writing it. And if my suspicions are correct, there is only one thing I know for certain: My life is going to be good.

Well diary, I'm off to sleep. I HAVE to do my schoolwork tomorrow!

Love always,

Jocelyn

"Imagination often carries us to worlds that never were, but without it, we go nowhere."

 - Carl Sagan

First Date

Three years ago today, my husband and I went on our first date. This is our story. This story is the second part in a series. You can find the first part here.

Every Tuesday at 11:00 am on the dot, Brigham Young University holds a devotional. Usually it's a church leader or professor or some other person of interest asked to speak to the student body. Because of this, there are no classes ever scheduled for 11:00 am on Tuesdays and all offices, food establishments, and anything else of interest are closed during that hour to encourage students to attend. During the fall and winter semesters devotional is held in the Marriott Center, on the furthest end of campus away from any classroom buildings. So for most students who have classes ending at 10:50 or starting at noon, it's not easy to get there. For this reason, I was sitting in the JSB (Joseph Smith Building) auditorium where the devotional is broadcast. Alena had a class in there at 10 so she could save us seats. It was at approximately 10:56 am on Tuesday, September 22, 2009 as I was sitting next to Alena, waiting for devotional to start, that my phone began to ring.

"Alena! Alena, it's him!" I exclaimed in a not so hushed whisper.
"Who?" She asked, not bothering to look up from her New York Times sudoku puzzle.
"It's that motorcycle boy! He's calling me right now!"
That caught her attention, "Well, answer it."
"I can't, devotional is going to start any minute."

By that time the opening hymn had begun and motorcycle boy's call had been forwarded to voicemail. Unfortunately for me, since he assumed I had saved his number in my phone when we met, he didn't start the message with his name. Just a 'Hello' and simple request to call him back.
Which I did.
Roughly 4 hours later.
After much stomach-knot tying and such.

The phone didn't ring nearly long enough to calm my nerves.
"Hello?"
"Hey it's Jocelyn," I introduced myself like every normal person should, "I got your message."

The conversation went on with some pleasantries in which we both talked about our wild weekends, where he took a spur of the moment trip to Vegas with a friend who would soon be deployed and I passed out in the parking lot of a dance club (another story for another time). The phone call ended with a picnic date planned for the following Thursday.

Thursday afternoon around 11:30 am.

I had just put the finishing touches on my perfect picnic date outfit when my phone rang.
"Hey, I'm right outside."
Not only was I about to go on my first motorcycle ride, but I was about to go on a date with a guy who drives said motorcycle.I was psyched!
I opened the door of the dorm building and walked outside. It was a beautiful late summer, early fall day. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. My mind however, was not so calm. What if I don't remember what he looks like? I only saw him for a few minutes. Right, motorcycle. Look for a guy with a motorcycle.Crap, what if he's not as cute as I remember?? Oh well, I'll still get a free meal and motorcycle ride out of it. And there he was. Standing next to a beautiful motorcycle. And surprisingly enough, I noticed him first. He really was as cute as I remembered. Maybe even cuter.

I smiled as I walked up to him. But the first words out of his mouth caught me off guard a little.
"Hey. Sorry if I wear my sunglasses a lot, I got in an accident as a kid and hurt my eye and sun really bothers it." I instantly looked up at his eye. His pupil was dilated and kind of in an odd shape. That's a weird thing to say. His eye kind of looks like one of those cat eye contacts. What if he's totally faking and playing some kind of joke on me? That would be weird. No he wouldn't do that it's our first date. Stop it Jocelyn, say something. "Oh no big deal." Why didn't I ask about what happened to his eye? Now I've lost my chance. I can't bring it up again, that would be awkward. Oh whatever, just forget it. We're about to get to know each other a lot better, I thought as I climbed onto the back of his motorcycle, wrapped my arms around his waist, happily noting the lack of pudge, and held on as we headed to our date.

At the various stop signs and lights, he explained that he didn't have time to make a picnic lunch so he figured we could just get sandwiches from Subway. Well that sounded familiar. We went to a different Subway from the one where we met and ordered our sandwiches. I was in line in front of him and ordered my classic turkey and cheese on wheat with mayo, mustard, and olives. As I neared the end of the line, and he was still advising the 'sandwich artist' on what to put on his sandwich, a thought entered my head. Should I pay for my sandwich? I mean I am in front of him maybe I should just pay for it. But what if he's planning to pay for it, would he be offended if I tried. Thankfully when I walked over to get my Sprite out of the soda fridge he had paid for both sandwiches and drinks and put them safely in his backpack so we could head to some mysterious picnic spot.

We ended up at a beautiful little park with a gorgeous fountain. We sat down in the soft grass underneath a tree and he explained to me that this is actually private property for a mental hospital. But boy it sure was pretty.

We talked about our families and our experiences travelling abroad. I was pleased to find out that he not only traveled for his mission but he had been to Israel and Egypt while he was in high school. I followed his stories with mine about living in England and mentally checked off 'likes to travel' which was right below 'has a motorcycle' on my husband list. The picnic was going great. Until the unthinkable happened. A glob of mayo/mustard slid out of my sandwich and partly onto the grass and partly onto my pant leg. The first thing that popped into my mind was my mother's voice, "If you don't learn some better manners, boys will never want to take you out." I tried to slyly cover the glob with the paper wrapping of my sandwich without him noticing and silently wished that it would magically disappear before I had to stand up and throw away said paper wrapping.

We started talking about how much we both love the fall weather and the changing leaves, and he told me about how beautiful the leaves are up Provo canyon and the great hiking trail up there.
"How would you like to go for a ride up there sometime?" He asked.
"That would be awesome!" I replied, thankful that he was already planning another date that included his motorcycle.
"How about now?"
"Oh well Ok! Sounds good to me."

There was only one problem. I still didn't know his name. We had to run back to his apartment so he could get a jacket because it would get cold the further up the canyon we got. I waited in the living room while he went back into his room. As I was looking around and noticed a season of Gilmore Girls sitting next to all the DVDs (which I later learned did not belong to him), there was a knock on the door. He rushed out, jacket in tow, and answered the door. A girl quickly let herself in.
"Is DJ here?" She asked.
"Uh no, he's not," was the reply.
"Do you know when he'll be back?"
"Nope, and I'm actually on my way out so..."
The girl didn't seem to get the hint but instead stood awkwardly in the living room staring at my date. I assume she was hoping that he would snap his fingers and make DJ appear. Or maybe she thought he was lying and wanted to go check the back bedrooms for herself.
Presumably to end the awkwardness, my date smiled and said, "This is Jocelyn." Girl continued to silently and awkwardly stare. " And I'm Chris, DJ's roommate." Girl mumbled something about trying to find DJ later and left. I on the other hand was doing the happy dance in my head. Chris! his name is CHRIS! Oh thank goodness!

Chris then took me back to my dorm where I got my own jacket and we headed up the canyon. The ride was beautiful. And I didn't mind the company either. The windy road up the canyon led me to hold on a little tighter than I probably needed to. Then at the top we parked and headed up a trail to a waterfall. The hike probably took an hour or so, but I didn't notice. We talked about everything under the sun. We shared stories of our brothers that...well took their 'own paths' in life. And he told me about his sister and the time she tried to make her own body form by wrapping herself in duct tape. He even mentioned how much he likes short girls (Score!). Periodically, Chris would jump up on a rock or branch and then with some sort of turn jump back off. "Are you impressed?"
"Oh yes of course," I would reply with a giggle.
It's amazing how comfortable we were with each other that very first day. I didn't put on any kind of show, and he was hilarious and silly and cute. We just clicked right away.

On the way back we passed another guy on a motorcycle. Chris leaned back and asked, "Do you know  why my motorcycle is better than his?"
"Why?"
"Because I've got a cute girl on the back of mine."

We got closer and closer to my dorm and Chris asked, "Are you hungry?"
"Yeah, I guess I am."
"How does Chinese sound to you?"
"Fantastic."
I was glad to find out that neither of us wanted this date to end.

After our meal at Panda Express, I opened my fortune cookie which said something to the effect of 'You enjoy the thrill of a good adventure'.
"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked Chris.
"Well," He said with a goofy grin, "It obviously means that you enjoy the thrill of dating a guy who drives a motorcycle.
"Yeah," I laughed, "I suppose I do."

Sadly our date ended after our second delicious meal because Chris had to go to his best friend's bachelor party because he was getting married the next day. I gave him a hug and said goodnight and that was that. It was the first date I could think of that I hadn't kissed the guy. One thing was for sure, it was the best date I had ever been on. And there was something about this guy. Something I couldn't put my finger on.

I found a group of girls from my dorm afterwards and told them about how amazing my date was. "I bet you two will get married," one of them said. (That's BYU for you.) But little did she know, that's exactly what we did.

I don't believe in fate, and I've never believed in love at first sight. But love at first date, that's a different story.

How I met Chris

Three years ago today, I met my husband. Here is the story of how it happened.

It was the big BYU-FSU football game. Up until this point I never understood football, nor did I care to. But I was a freshman in college and in order to fit in and meet people, you had to have school spirit. That meant going to football games. My best friend, Alena, and I had an ongoing plan to go watch all the away football games together wherever they were being broadcast on campus. It was cheaper than buying tickets to the game, and we could still go and hang out with the people who would be at a game and pretend to like football.

This particular game was in Florida, and it was being broadcast in the student center ballroom. Wanting to be involved, I signed up to be a part of a BYUSA school spirit type event where I'd get a free t-shirt and help pass out free food or something to that effect. I got up early and put on make-up and made sure I looked in tip-top shape in case I met anyone cute and trudged my way across campus so I wouldn't be late. To this day, I have no idea whether I got the date wrong or just got lost on campus since I was new, but either way I never found the BYUSA event.

Feeling defeated, I went back to my dorm room and fell back to sleep. I woke up several hours later to my phone vibrating on the pillow next to my head.
"Hello?" I said groggily, not bothering to open up my eyes.
"Hey, do you still want to go watch the game in the Wilk (short for the Wilkinson Student Center)?" Came Alena's familiar voice.
"Uhh...well..blargedy grumbledy, blah de blah de blah," was my response as I explained my frustrated morning walking around campus in the heat and never finding what I was looking for.

After some convincing on Alena's part, I met her outside, in between our respective dorm buildings at Helaman Halls and we walked together to the Wilk. After my defeated morning and little nap, I wasn't looking as great as I did this morning. But I was pretty positive that nothing exciting was going to happen watching the football game. Alena, like me, had no real desire to watch football or understand football. But we were both drawn to allure of being a part of something bigger.

As we entered the main doors to the Wilk, we could hear cheering down the hall.

"That must be where the ballroom is," Alena said, and I followed her past the Cougareat (the food court) to the source of the noise. It appears I was right about nothing exciting happening. The already gigantic ballroom had open walls and was overflowing with people. Every little nook and cranny was filled and people were even standing out into the hallway. We walked in a little but determined that not only could we not see the game, there weren't even any interesting looking people (let's be frank, I mean hot guys) to stand near and get to know.

Well this day just keeps getting better and better, I thought to myself.
"Well, I haven't eaten. Let's go get lunch," Alena said and led me towards Subway.

To add to the annoyances of the day, the line for Subway was longer than usual since it was one of the only food establishments open. We got in line and started talking about this and that when behind me I heard,

"Have you been waiting long?"

The source of the voice was a tall (lets face it, everyone is tall to me) guy wearing a plaid, short sleeve, button up shirt and jeans. And he was pretty cute. I didn't think too much of it, but that didn't stop me from getting a little flustered.

"Oh uhh..well no. Well..uhm..I'm not sure. To be honest, I don't really have a good judge of time," I answered, "Or space," I felt the need to add for some reason.

The cute guy smiled, "So parking must be an issue for you."

"Actually no," I replied, "I just have my little Honda Civic, so it's not too bad."

"Oh I used to have a Honda, but I sold it. Now I just have my motorcycle."

Suddenly my head is spinning and I can't think straight. A motorcycle. This guy has a MOTORCYCLE!
**Okay side note: Something you have to know about me is that by this point I had become rather obsessed with motorcycles. When my dad took me out to BYU to show me the campus and shared his narrative on where he used to take his motorcycle and all the girls he took for rides my obsession began. I just imagined myself looking like a Bad A on my own bike and being basically the hottest chick ever. The obsession continued to grow when I got to school and realized how many guys drove motorcycles around and how likely it would be that I could ride with one of them. And now I'm actually meeting a guy with a motorcycle. This was my chance. Okay back to the story.**

And this is what I replied, verbatim as I stuck my hand out, "Hi, my name is Jocelyn. We should be friends."

He shook my hand, being a gentleman and not making fun of me for sticking my hand out and we started talking. This is where it gets a little embarrassing. I have NO IDEA what we talked about. Alena was the one buying a sandwich and I was just following her in line. So I talked to this cute guy while he ordered his sandwich. I vaguely remember him telling me something about his mission but all I was thinking while I was hopelessly flirting was, he has a motorcycle! I wonder what it looks like. I wonder if he'd teach me to drive it. I bet he looks hot on a motorcycle. I bet I'd look hot on a motorcycle.

By the time both he and Alena got their sandwiches, he asked for my number. I gave it to him but I was still totally in motorcycle la-la land.

"Why don't you text me and then I'll have your number," I suggested.
"Oh, I don't have texting." Um WHAT?? "I'll just call you instead."

Then there was a brief exchange about my ringtone being Disturbed's Down with the Sickness and how a guy who works with his dad has the same ringtone and then he walked away.

After he left I looked down at my phone and went to add his number to my contacts. Then I realized,
"Crap! I don't remember his name! Do you remember his name?"
"I think he said it was Chris," Alena suggested.
"Crap, but what if it's not...."

And that's the story of how I met the boy who for the next couple weeks I referred to as, Motorcycle Boy.

Stay tuned to find out how I finally learned his name, awkwardly, halfway through our first date.

Majestical Newsroom Land

I arrived just in time for the hustle of a busy newsroom to be at its peak-an hour before the evening newscast. I called my supervisor to let me in, since I don't yet have my own name badge that opens the majestical doors. Okay, let's be honest, they were normal double doors in a normal looking office building. But they lead into a majestical land that I like to call newsroom land. The ceilings are high and showcase exposed pipes and air ducts. A series of cubicles with low walls cover the majority of the floor space, arranged diagonally across the room. High on the wall are maybe ten flatscreen televisions, each silently showing a different channel, labeled underneath. The room is broken up by royal blue pillars that are cleverly placed to run cords and electricity from the ceiling. A whiteboard shows a list of stories, when they will be aired and the reporter who is doing the story. On one side of the big room is a raised platform where my supervisor's desk sits. And directly across from that is a strange window surrounded by a curtain that looks like it belongs in a theater. On the other side of that window is the coveted desk. The one where the pretty anchors sit to read the pretty news and get paid the pretty, pretty money.

The phone rings only once. "Newsroom." I know this woman is perpetually busy, so I talk fast, "Ms. S, this is Jocelyn Langford, I'm waiting right outside the double doors."
"Jocelyn."
"Yes."
The realization of who I am and why I am there sinks in.
"Oh, Jocelyn, right. I'll be there in one second."
And the phone clicks, signaling that the call has been disconnected.

I wait what seems like 10 minutes but I'm sure is only 2.

"I forgot you were coming. You didn't remind me."
"Oh, I'm so sorry."

She leads me to a big white couch next to her raised platform desk and asks me to wait. She then sits down at her computer and the rapid typing commences.
I've never really understood why someone would choose a white couch, and this one doesn't even have a family of young children sitting on it all day. Yet it is obvious to me that it is not a new couch because, well let's just say its not all that white. The color of dishwater comes to mind. This couch was obviously also not meant for people in slacks to sit comfortably on. Especially short people in slacks. It's too deep for me to sit all the way back without looking like I'm sleeping since my feet won't touch the floor. So here I sit on this couch, hunched over awkwardly blogging on my phone, waiting for something majestical to happen.
The only thing I can really do while I wait is sit back and listen. The common background noise is a steady clicking of keyboard keys. Just above that I can hear a what I assume is a police scanner or some other kind of news radio which is mingled with the occasional telephone ring. Every so often I hear familiar words like "VO" and "SOT". Oh thank goodness this isn't one of those bad dreams where I've accidentally been taking classes in a completely different field. I might be ok.
Ms. S. talks very quietly and bids me to follow her so she can show me the control room where I will sit during during the newscast.
She leads me behind the curved walls and theatrical curtains and past the coveted desk to a door that is almost hidden. Inside the room is dark and I almost don't notice the two men sitting there because I am overwhelmed by the computers and screens. She introduces me to two men whose names I have already forgotten and we leave. Before I know it, we are walking around a wall until we are right in front of the coveted desk. To the right of the desk is another desk with computer screens that show weather charts and I am introduced to a man who tells me about how much he loves snowboarding in Ogden. To the left of the desk is a couch on a raised platform with two armchairs on either side. There is a dark wooden coffee table in front that ties the mock living room scene together. This is the set of the Sunrise show.
An hour rolls by an it's time for me to head on into the control room. Ms. S. warns me that it will be cold in there, but I assure her I'll be fine as I'm still getting back to normal body temperature from my no-ac drive to the station. As I pass by the coveted desk I see the pretty anchors with their pretty papers getting ready to read the pretty news. There are more people in the control room this time. I settle into my chair and get ready for the show.
I'm staring at three huge, flat screen television screens mounted on the wall. In each screen are dozens of little squares, Brady Bunch style, and in each little square is a different channel. Some of the squares are just different cameras around the set. One shows the live feed of the channel the show will be airing. Another shows the Teleprompter relating the show's script. Below the screens is a long wraparound desk where two women are sitting at different computers. Each computer appears to have several monitors. The one on the left looks more like the controls to launch a spaceship than something you might find in a news station. There are hundreds of little square buttons the light up when you press them and lots of switches and other controls. The woman sitting there keeps pressing buttons in a seemingly random manner the way I used to when I pretended my old bunk bed was a spaceship and the wall, in my mind, had similar controls.

Watching the show wasn't much different from the show in our control room back at BYU. The women in the room talked to reporters on headsets about their cues and the show went off almost without a hitch. There was the occasional wrong shot or sound byte. But it's all to be expected. So how was this different from watching the news in the comfort of my own home? I got to see what goes on when they aren't on the air. I get to hear what the anchors say during the commercial breaks and how they deal with breaking news. The whole experience was fun to observe from the sidelines and not have anything to do. Much less stressful that way. And Ms. S. was right. The room was a little cold.
As I watched the newscast, I was reminded of the few times I've actually sat down and watched the news on my own free will. It was usually when my mom had it on in her bedroom while she was folding laundry. I remember wondering how they got the footage of mass production of medicine or other random behind the scene shots. Well now I know. I know because I've been there and had to get similar awkward footage (b-roll). But I can't help but think that I'd much rather be sitting on my moms bed, watching this newscast and helping her fold laundry.
I watch both the 5:00 and 5:30 show, thank my supervisor, take one last peek at the pretty anchors getting ready for the 6:00 show and went off on my way. As I walked out the normal looking double doors a man stopped me.
"Are you the new sales rep?"
I must look professional.
"Intern." I explain concisely. And I realize how nice it is to say that. Intern. I am an intern.

Rain, rain come to stay

I woke this morning to the soft pitter patter of rain on my window. I love rain. I love the smell of it and the sound of it and the way it makes the day feel. I really didn't want to get up and get ready for work. Then, much to my surprise, Chris got a phone call from Hanauma Bay.

"Good Morning Chris, this is a service call to let you know that Hanauma bay has been closed for an undisclosed reason. Thank you and enjoy the rainy day."

Unexpected? Yes. Unappreciated? No. With that good news, we cuddled back underneath our blanket and drifted off into a light morning sleep. When we finally did wake up, an hour and a half later, the rain was still steadily beating on our window. We rolled out of bed and made a delicious warm breakfast of homemade waffles with gooey syrup, fluffy eggs with cheese, and hot chocolate.

After breakfast I opened the windows to let in the rainy breeze and light mist of water making its way through the screen. I wrapped myself in my oversize, blue fleece blanket and settled into the couch, putting my steaming mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table, to watch a Simpson's marathon. I barely pushed the play button and heard the familiar theme song start to play, when Chris rushed into the living room, hands still wet from washing the breakfast dishes.
"You started it without me?!" he questioned in dismay and poked his bottom lip out for further emphasis.
"Only a little," I said, opening my blanket and pulling him inside.

Two hot chocolate refills and five episodes later, we turned off the tv and I just laid in his arms and listened to the rain. "I think I'm going to go read for a bit," I said as I headed into our bedroom in search of my latest book, "Two for the Dough". I found it right where I left it, on my dresser next to my bed.

I dragged my blanket outside where the rain had begun to come down in sheets and wind was howling away. I sat down on the porch swing on our wraparound porch. I sat and watched the trees sway and felt the brisk wind on my face, the rest of my body shielded by my trusty fleece blanket.

I spent the rest of the afternoon reading and finally went inside at the insistence of my growling stomach. Lunch was a girl cheese sandwich for me and a boy cheese sandwich for Chris and hot tomato soup.

We ended the day on a sweet note, by turning our kitchen into a bakery. We made chewy chocolate chip cookies and sweet banana bread and of course, funfetti cupcakes with buttercream frosting and plenty of sprinkles. Not long afterward we fell into a peaceful sugar coma and ended our perfect rainy day.

************************

This perfect day was made up for so many reasons. For one we don't have a porch swing. Or a wraparound porch. Or a porch for that matter. So instead this morning when I woke up to the rain I got up and went to work to stand out in the cold wetness and offer people rides to the beach. But I like my pretend version better. Sometimes it's just more fun to pretend.

Fish Out of Water

"I love you, you love me." You can hear the familiar childhood song up the walkway, where the singer's face is hidden by bushes that line the path. But we all know who it is. Harry comes to snorkel at Hanauma Bay every morning, without fail, before 7am. Though he insists we call him Ow. But Ow isn't like all the other regulars that arrive with the sun. This 85 year old comes with his share of worldly advice.

"I just don't know how you guys manage. You got so many people, I don't know how you can manage."But he doesn't wait for an explanation of our tram business operations, he moves right along without missing a beat into a new rendition of "I love you, you love me," almost as if that was how he was planning to end the conversation all along.

Ow is disabled, as I'm sure many 85 year old human beings are, so he gets to ride the tram for free. However he insists that we wait for other passengers so we don't make a special trip just for him. He even takes it upon himself to help drum up business whenever he sees anyone else attempting to make the epic journey down the hill to the beach. "Going down! Two dollars, all day! Going down! It's a hard walk down the hill!! Going down!" followed by some elderly advice, " you guys got to be loud so they know you're here. I just don't know how you manage." quickly followed by another rendition of "I love you, you love me."

So how does a man who can barely walk up the ramp into our handicap vehicles swim from one end of the bay to the other? Well Harry explains it best, "It's better in the water. It's not so hard like on land. In the water I'm free and I can move." I can't imagine being that old and having a body that works better in the water. Like a fish forced to live in land.

"When you get old you start to fall apart. I'm gettin' old. You betta live your life now." Ow knows that Chris and I are married since he sees us almost everyday. And he always reminds us, "When you have kids that's when your life really begins. It's not always easy, but it's good. Your life doesn't start until you start havin' babies."

I love the consistency of seeing Ow every morning. He's so sweet and jovial. I love hearing about how his swim was. I listen intently when he tells me about how things use to be or how his wife hates that he won't get a hearing aid. I laugh every time he talks about his kids and says how great the girls were and are but, "I don't know about my son... He's just, I don't know. But the girls are great."

And I think I will take his recommendation to swim more often and spend time with the water. "It's like the water is breathing the way the waves move, like it's alive."

The Perfect Summer Day

My body is slowly aroused from sleep by the chirping birds and growing light outside my basement bedroom window. The light shining through the hunter green blinds make lines on my tiled ceiling and shines awareness into the holes where a tile is missing. I have somehow ignored my mother's calls to 'get up' and 'not sleep the day away' and she has inevitably given up trying for a more rewarding task. I lay in my bed, eyes open, enjoying the feeling of having nowhere be and no one to answer to. I glance around at my purple walls, the black and white posters of old movie stars, the way the small round mirrors cast a glow on the opposite wall. I smile, pleased at my decorating abilities and giving myself a mental reminder to hang  my red, flying V guitar above the red bookshelf that I painfully stripped and repainted. I finally pull myself out of bed and my feet find the clothes-carpeted floor, just the way I like it. I carefully avoid several dust bunnies and manage to find the cleanest looking bathing suit on the arm of my futon where I left it the last time I wore it. I pull a thin cotton dress over the bathing suit, grab my cell phone, and shuffle up the stairs in search of sustenance.

Luckily, no parental figure is immediately in sight, clearing the way of any danger of possible chores. I crack an egg into a hot skillet and as it sizzles, check the blinking envelope on my phone. It's Mallory, who has also gotten up late but is on her way over. I quickly finish cooking my egg and immediately crack another and put in two more pieces of toast. Soon both egg sandwiches are finished and plated and shortly afterwards Mallory waltzes in the front door, parks herself at the table and in mid chew bids me good morning. My best friend looks stunning first thing in the morning and I would hate her for it if she weren't so humble about her beauty. I can see her bikini poking out of the top of a short summer dress that hangs loosely on her thin frame. The elegant picture stops there as she pulls one leg up into her chest and leans over it to finish eating. She denies my offers of apple juice but I guzzle my large, cold, glass in delight.

As we run out the door, bare foot with towels, ipod, book, sunscreen and phone in tow, I yell something about heading to the pool, hoping that my mom has heard me but not waiting for her response. We take Mallory's car an easily walk-able distance to the pool. The air smells warm and damp in the Georgia summer. I get sweet wafts of honey suckles on our way down the hill and briefly wonder when I last tasted their nectar.

Once inside the gated pool, we situate our towels over beach chairs and then unceremoniously plop ourselves down before applying a minimal amount of sunscreen. We are both quiet for a moment as we enjoy the blanket of warmth the sun provides, like being wrapped in a warm hug. And then, as if someone had cued us, we begin talking about anything and everything. Mallory turns on her ipod, she always was the music person between the two of us, and we spend the afternoon relaxing, reading, talking and sleeping.
When the heat becomes more than we can bare, we ease ourselves into the cool pool, carefully avoiding splashes from children playing so as not to get our hair wet. Then we immediately make our way to our nest of towels and dry by the light of the sun.

As afternoon approaches, Mcdonald's beckons us with promises of $1 cheeseburgers and icy cold refreshment. We hop in the car, still damp and shoeless, bound for the drive thru. Not more than 5 miles down the road, the most important decision on the way there is what music we will listen to. Replenished, we head back to the pool and complete our afternoon as happily as we began it.

A warm rain shower sends us back to my house, but not inside. We are already in our bathing suits, after all. First a booming thunder and then the rain pours down in sheets and we make our way through the garage into the overly air conditioned basement where our wet bodies freeze. Since our sunbathing until nightfall plans have been squandered, we make our way into the kitchen to do something equally as useless- bake a cake. Words can't describe our incessant giggling over nothing in particular or the way we can entertain each other by simply being ridiculous.

Finally evening rolls around. We pick a movie, but unable to watch it without some form of snack, we head back down the road to Kroger and fill a basket with anything and everything that strikes our fancy. Energy drinks, cheez-its, ice cream, frosting, zebra cakes, potato chips and swedish fish all make the cut. The ride back home on the dark country road, the windows are down and the air is filled with the booming sound of Paramore and we sing so loud and off key that our voices become hoarse. The words are irrelevant, but I have never felt more alive.

We settle on the couch in the basement, our assortment of food laid out before us, and the movie begins. 30 minutes in, I fall asleep and Mallory is left to her own devices until the movie is over and she too succumbs to sleep. At some point during the night, my cat joins us and finds her way to her favorite perch on Mallory's face. The night is still and quiet as my perfect day ends. Only to be repeated in one form or another tomorrow.

I miss my best friend.

I Belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

This past weekend, a really amazing and exciting thing took place: The 182nd Annual General Conference of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Every 6 months we get the opportunity to hear guidance and council from the true Prophet of God, President Thomas S. Monson. I feel so blessed and almost giddy at the thought that my Father in Heaven can give me direct council through his prophet here on Earth today.

General Conference was 2 days and 5 sessions full of wonderful loving words about how much we are loved, and great inspiration to live our lives the best we can.

If there is one big thing I took away from conference, it is that I am never alone. No matter how sad or lonely or down I am feeling, there is one person, one man who knows what I am going through. Because He too went through the same pains and anguishes I am dealing with. He knelt in the Garden of Gethsemane and bled from every pore and suffered not only for the sins of the world, but for every feeling of angst, embarrassment, and fear. He felt every heartache, every sorrow, every feeling of unworthiness. And then He was crucified on the cross so that we, despite our mistakes and imperfections, can return again to live with our Father in Heaven. He is our Savior, Jesus Christ.

Through Christ's atonement we can accomplish anything. We can be forgiven of our mistakes and imperfections. We can receive comfort and guidance. Where we were once incomplete, we can become whole again. Christ is our brother, our redeemer, our friend.

I feel so blessed to have a testimony of these things, and sad that I don't take more advantage of the things I know to be true. I wish I had more discipline to take more time to read my scriptures on a regular basis. I know that the words in them can uplift me and answer my questions.

I wish I could keep this uplifted feeling from General Conference all year long. I know that I am capable of it, I just need to work on it.

There is one General Conference that really stands out in my mind. I was in high school and it was one of the first times that I was really taking extra care to pay attention and remember the things that were being said. I remember that I prayed before conference started that during conference I would receive the guidance that I needed and the answers to my prayers.

I sat on the floor in the living room with my back up against the couch. I sat with my mom and dad and siblings as we watched session after session. I had my journal, and I was taking notes and hearing some wonderful talks, and yet I still didn't feel like I had gotten the answer I was looking for.

Then came a break in one of the sessions where the congregation would join the choir in singing a hymn. To the rest of my family (since we were watching conference on TV at home) that meant a quick minute to run to the bathroom or grab a snack. But I stayed and watched as the words of the hymn appeared across the screen for those at home to sing along if they chose to.

And that's where I found my comfort and my strength. Not in the wonderful talks, but in the words of a song that I'm sure I had sang a hundred times before: the third verse of How Firm a Foundation.

Why did I ever have any reason to fear? I am never alone. Christ is with me, he will give me aid, help me guide me. He will give me the strength I need when I feel weak and think I cannot go on. The words of this song gave me more comfort than I ever imagined possible. I still tear up when I hear it. But if I had not been in the right mind mentally and spiritually, maybe I would have gone to the bathroom or grabbed a snack, and missed the spirit I felt when I heard this song, and the spirit I feel every time I hear it now.          

Do you want to know more about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints or the Mormons, as we are more commonly called?

Check out Mormon.org 

Have your read the Book of Mormon? You should. It's a great book. Let me know if you're interested and I can help you get a copy.

I have been blessed in countless ways by the truth this gospel has given me, the testimony it has helped to me to develop and the love I have found for my Father in Heaven and all He does for me.

This gospel has changed my life. Are you ready for a change?                                                                                    

So I started a fitblr on tumblr (which is basically a fit blog but it's tumblr so it's called a fitblr or some people call them fitspo for like fit inspiration) and now I like never update this blog which is sad. But I'm going to start doing that a little more. I have some super exciting news that I'm not entirely ready to tell the world yet.

I know what you're thinking (I can read minds). So I'm gonna stop you right there, I am not pregnant. But this is a life changing adventure that I and my significant other are embarking on and I'm excited to give you all the dirty deets when I get around to making a truly incredible post about it.

So be patient friend. The time is near.

The Boy Who Lived...Come to Die.

It was more than just a story for me. It was my home away from home; my escape. The letter I was waiting to get from the owl I was sure to meet. It was the possibility that I was more than just me.

I remember the first time I read a Harry Potter book. I was about 8 I think. Dad had driven me all the way to the Dr's office...an endless drive for an 8 year old. I remember I was young because I was still sitting in the back seat of the car. Then again I've always been short so I sat in the back seat for a long time. Anyway, we took care of everything we needed to (Dr's visit, I think I had strep throat, and I got a new military ID card while we were there) we got in the car to head back home and Dad stopped at a gas station on the way out. Me, being the impatient person that I am, could not bear to sit and wait the 5-8 minutes it would take to fill up the car with gas. So I looked around to find something to occupy my time with. And that's when I saw it, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I specifically remember studying the cover of the book for a while before finally deciding it was worth my time to open. The rest...is history.

I found myself waiting for my 11th birthday when I would inevitably get an invitation to a secret school.When my birthday came and went, my imagination filled in the holes. I carefully read every book and became good friends with Ron, Harry and Hermione (In my head I pronounced it Her-me-own-ee). I remember waiting in line for one of the books to come out so we could buy our family copy.I remember that each book got exponentially better. I remember that when I read the 4th book I got half way through and took a 3-4 month break before picking it up again.

And then the movies came out. It felt that they always came out around Thanksgiving time and Harry Potter is closely related with my memories of family Thanksgivings. The weather was always wonderful and Maddie and I would head out in search of the perfect stick, or rather, the perfect wand. We would play 'Hannah Potter' (since we were both girls) and I would be all the characters except 'Hannah' (that was Maddie's part). We wrote each other invitations to Hogwarts and sealed them in wax.

And then Dumbledore died. I was sitting on the couch in my bedroom reading. My Aunt Darla had just arrived at our house for a visit right as I read about his death. My cute little cousin Sierra ran into my room, excited to see me and was very concerned when she found me bawling my eyes out in front of a book.

The last book tugged on my heartstrings. It had such a beautiful ending. It was so much more than the ever so common, Good Triumphs Evil. The end of the book talked about how the witches and wizards, gryffendors and slytherins, goblins and trolls and whoever else all gathered and celebrated together with no prejudice between them. The perfect world. The world where everyone came together to fight for a common goal, for the good of the world and won and that's all that mattered.

Tonight Chris and I went to see the last movie FINALLY. And once again, there I was bawling my little eyes out (in the second row of the dollar movie theater craning my neck with those stupid 3D glasses, trying to get comfortable). Because I watched my favorite oasis, my home away from home, my escape: Hogwarts, get destroyed. I saw my favorite teachers and best friends fight to the death. I watched them all pull out their inner strength that they had been suppressing (Neville much?) and kick some ass.

So go ahead and say it, I'm a dork. But these stories bring me back to my childhood. And still now they are making me remember how I felt then: I might not have a magic wand, and I might not be a witch going to Hogwarts. But that doesn't mean that I can't make incredible things happen.

Those who don't look for the magic,will never find  it.

One Year, Three Months (and 10 days) Ago: What I Remember.

I woke up in the hotel room before anyone else; Mom, Dad, and Maddie were still fast asleep. I was strangely calm considering that activities that the day held. I quietly retrieved my face wash from the shower and stood at the sink peering at my reflection in the mirror.

"I don't look any different, " I thought to myself.

And I didn't. I looked like the same 19 year old girl who went to bed last night in a small hotel in Salt Lake City. Several minutes passed before there was a knock on the door. It was Heather, my hairdresser, looking beautiful and alert despite the early hour. We crossed the hall to my Aunt Darla's hotel room and I sat quietly in a chair in front of the mirror as Heather started to curl and pin my hair into the beautiful design we had practiced only weeks earlier. She asked me questions about my excitement and nervousness, but I don't remember my responses. I remember having a very clear mind and not thinking much of anything. Maybe it was too much to comprehend that early in the morning.

Slowly, everyone else in the three hotel rooms that my family occupied started to wake up. At some point my dad went downstairs into the lobby to buy me breakfast since the Shiloh Inn didn't offer a free continental one. I don't remember what the Styrofoam container consisted of when he brought it back upstairs because I didn't eat any of it. My stomach was already full. Of butterflies I suppose.

Finally Heather finished my hair and it looked perfect, better than it did the day we practiced. It was exactly what I wanted. Then Aunt Darla got to work on my face. Not long after she started my make up, Chris got to the hotel. Maybe he was anxious because he was surprisingly early. But he waited very patiently because I wasn't good for much conversation. That darn clear head of mine didn't seem to come up with anything to say.

Chris and I drove to the temple together, our last few moments as truly separate people. I don't remember what we talked about. That is until Chris realized that he didn't have his temple reccomend (a card that says he is worthy to enter the temple). After a little bit of panic he realized that it was in the pocket of his suit coat which he had lent to his cousin to wear for the day. A couple frantic phone calls resulted in success...we just had to wait for his dad to bring it to him. We sat at the front of the temple on a bench watching our wedding guests file in as we waited for Chris' temple reccomend.

Finally I made it back into the bride's room where I changed for the ceremony. Remember that calm feeling I was talking about earlier? Yeah well that left as I changed into that beautiful white dress. As I checked my bag that I packed that night before I realized that Chris' ring box that I thought I grabbed was in actuality a pearl necklace and earrings that a friend of mine had given me. Panic mode set in...big time. In fact as I am writing this my stomach is filling with anxiety just remembering.

" I don't have his ring, I forgot it, we have to go get it, someone has to bring it, we have to go NOW!"

I was talking so fast I'm not sure if my mom could understand what I was saying. However, thankfully the temple ceremony doesn't have a big focus on exchanging rings and she assured me that it wouldn't matter if we didn't do it.

The second my mom left me (for whatever reason) I hit panic mode, again. I was pacing the bride's room, and I had the worst case of cotton mouth ever. I kept drinking water and going to the bathroom and pacing. Nothing in the entire world could have forced me to sit still for any length of time. I wasn't scared about getting married as much as I was just in disbelief. I was amazed, dumbfounded. In only minutes I was going to become a Mrs.

My Mom was alarmed when she came back and found me practically running laps around the bride's room. Her attempts to calm me down were to no avail. But there was nothing else to be done, it was time to go meet up with Chris. When I saw him I was momentarily relaxed.

"Oh Yeah," I thought as I sighed a breath of relief, "he is why I'm doing this."

I explained to him the ring fiasco and his laid back self couldn't care less. He was just happy to see me. But he still insisted that he put my ring on me even though I didn't have one for him. We didn't buy a wedding band yet so I reluctantly handed over my engagement ring, feeling partially naked.

My anxious feelings immediately returned when we ushered into a room where we talked with Chris' grandfather who was going to seal us during the ceremony.  It was all I could do to answer yes or no to his questions without crying. Thinking back, I have no idea why I was on the verge of tears. I don't remember feeling at all sad or scared. I guess I was just anxious or something. Although that feeling has not caused tears since.

To be honest, I don't really remember much of the ceremony. I remember holding Chris' hands and smiling so hard I thought I was going to explode. I was no longer anxious, no longer...whatever feeling had been consuming me. I was simply and purely, happy. Several times Chris and I were smiling so hard that we almost burst out into a fit of giggles. It was unreal. We were getting married.

The time came for him to slide the ring onto my finger and it didn't even matter that it was one sided. We were married, and that is all that mattered.

The whole morning was surreal. We left the temple together to see our family lined up, waiting to see us. We were hand in hand, husband and wife.

There was Megan, Mallory, Alena and Cameryn. The last time I saw them all was the night before at my bachelorette party and now I was a married woman.

Regretfully Darla, Maddie, Savannah and Sierra were running late because they had the task of picking up the flowers and bringing the forgotten ring. So they didn't make it for the big group shot.

But they were all there in time to take our bridesmaid/ flower girl picture. (From left to right, top to bottom: Mallory, Maddie, Megan, Cameryn, Me, Alena, Alyna, Sierra, Savannah.)

This was my 'hiding the fact that Chris didn't have his ring yet' picture

I was really having a blast taking pictures. It was my own personal photo shoot, finally. (Personal including my husband...obviously.)

\

We finally got his ring!!!

 He was very happy about it.

Now that we're married it's about time he sees my true crazy side.

Wanna know what caused me to laugh so hard? Chris informed me that he could see right down my dress...

My parents rented a car to drive us to the reception/luncheon. (because of money and time we decided to just do a big luncheon rather than a full on reception.) As we were sitting in the back of whatever that car was I remember that it felt like seeing the world through new eyes. I had ridden up and down this street several times. But this time was different.

The luncheon was absolutely beautiful, just as I had planned it. The food was delicious and we actually had a chance to sit down and eat it.Chris and I were sitting at a table at the front of the room with  my parents and his parents. All my friends were sitting at a table just to the left of us. Every once in a while I could hear them say my name, then I realized my older friends, Mallory and Megan (older as in friends for a long time) were telling my newer friends awesome "Jocelyn Stories". I was jealous I didn't get to sit with them and laugh and joke around. 

Christopher's dad gave a beautiful speech/toast. I remember him specifically talking about an older couple in their ward (church)  and the husband was sick. He asked the wife how she was doing and she said, "I'm not sure. Sometimes I can't tell if my pain is mine or my husbands..." I always remember this when either Chris or me are in some sort of pain. I hope that we can become one as that couple had. Chris' mom sang a beautiful song for us. She has such an incredible voice.

My cake. Was perfect.

I am kind of a cake fanatic. I am crazy obsessed with cake! I love it! [Sidebar: I one time got my mom to drive me to the grocery store (before I was old enough to drive) So that I could buy myself one of those pre-made birthday cakes. I even bought a thing of plastic forks so I could eat it on the way home.]

I had been really turned off by fondant but the woman who made my cake ordered some special foreign fondant that was actually good.The top and bottom layers of the cake were vanilla and the middle layer was chocolate. There was a incredibly delicious caramel frosting that the cake maker had invented that was in between the cake and the fondant.  Long story short that cake was the best cake I have ever eaten and I am craving some right now.

I can't resist a good cake in the face opportunity...

I'm pretty sure he wasn't planning to push it into my face until a clobbered him.

We had the traditional bouquet throw and garter toss. Neither of the people who caught them are married yet but someone who didn't catch it is now...so obviously those things aren't legit. I hadn't been wearing my garter all day and at some point my cousin Sierra came up to me, in front of a group of people I might add, and handed it to me. Lovely. Way to be discreet. 

Unfortunately there was no dancing at our luncheon. And I love to dance. So Chris and I went out to the back before taking some more family pictures and danced to the music in our heads.

After about a million pictures we were practically kicked out of the reception hall so the staff could get ready for the reception that was starting soon. As much as Chris and I would have loved to have headed to our hotel at that point...we had another sort of reception get together to go to.

Since I really wanted close family and friends at our luncheon, there were some friends of Chris' parents who didn't get invited. So to remedy that Chris' parents had a little get together for us in the church building of Chris' Aunt's church. It was nice to meet some of Chris' family and actually get the chance to talk to them whereas at the luncheon there were too many people to have a real conversation with anyone. Plus I got to do the classic 'have someone hold my dress while I pee' as shown in 27 dresses.

Finally, (and I do mean FINALLY) we were excused to leave and we drove to our super cute hotel at anniversary inn. We chose the Swiss Family Robinson Room:

Yeah. That's our bed in a tree.

I believe this is the point where the cute little animated birds fly across the screen with a sign in their beak that says " They lived happily ever after....The End."

There were several things that I regret about my wedding. I didn't have dancing, I didn't get my daddy/daughter dance, no one decorated my car, I didn't get to go on a honeymoon. But all in all I got married to the most wonderful man on the planet and that's what the whole day was about anyway...none of that superficial stuff. It was really a day to celebrate joining two lives into one, and that is exactly what we did. So when you think about it, there is not much for me to regret...not really. On the plus side, I did get to celebrate my wedding two more times (one in Georgia in August and one in Colorado in September) at open houses where each of us grew up. Honestly how many brides can say they wore their wedding dress at two different events? I can!

I'm not that 19 year old girl anymore. For one thing I'm 20 now. But being married for one year (three months and 10 days) has taught me a lot about...well...just about everything. While that may not seem like a very long time, to me it feels like we've just always been together. It just feels so natural.

The End.