I’m still trying to recover.  Here’s what’s on my mind, in no particular order:

• We’re getting ready to go on a pack trip with llamas next week.
• I’m on a new diet hoping to get my hormones under control.  I’m tired of having one week a month that I feel totally out of control emotionally.  I mean, should a pile of legos or potty accidents really bring me to tears?  I struggle with hypoglycemia and IBS– apparently PMS can be related to all that digestive stuff too.  We’ll see how it goes.
• I love the short videos on Yoga Today’s YouTube channel.
• I missed posting about our anniversary on Sunday– our 12th anniversary to be precise.  It’s gone by so fast and seems so long all at the same time.  On our trip we stopped at the campus of Utah State and found the tree Barry and I climbed and talked and talked and talked and fell in love in the weekend we met.  It’s a big old tree– all seven of us fit in the branches.

That was a few days ago, huh?  My days are blurring.  If it weren’t for my kids and the meal plan calendar on the fridge I may not even know what day of the the week it is.  My mom has been here to help out, but had to return to real life yesterday.  Today is my first day holding down the fort solo.  So far so good.  (We won’t mention how things went last night when I had to do bedtime by myself…)

So, back to the Valentine’s Day post.

Eleven years ago my cute college boyfriend planned a romantic date.  We’d strap on our hand-me-down wooden cross country skis (that his parents bought while they were dating) and trek through the beautiful, serene woods.  We’d park my car at one part of the canyon, drive up a little further in his, and ski our way through aspen groves and firs pillowed with snow.  We’d stop for hot chocolate and snacks and take our time.  It would be beautiful and perfect.  Our favorite way to spend a winter day in the mountains of Logan Canyon.

But, it didn’t quite turn out that way.  I had worked that morning (I had a super cool job in college working at a wood shop using power tools and learning to recognize all sorts of kinds of wood) and was a bit tired, the weather was pretty bad, and our final parking spot– and starting spot– was near a whole bunch of noisy, stinky snowmobiles motoring up the mountainside.  We started on our adventure anyway– through an open field that was slightly uphill.  My skis weren’t waxed right for the conditions so I was sliding backward, the snowfall was making it impossible to see ten feet in front of us, and quite frankly  the whole thing was making me really grouchy.  I don’t deal well with things when it is really, really cold, really, really windy, and try as I might, I can’t go forward.  I was more than grouchy.  I was on the verge of tears.

So, we resorted to plan B and went back to the car, drove toward home, then stopped at a favorite biking trail  (Right Hand Fork) to see how it looked covered in snow.  I was just ready to go home and sip hot chocolate, but Barry insisted I get out of the car and look around.  I reluctantly obliged, moping through the snow– leaving my door open  because I was not going to stay out for long.  He told me to close my eyes and get ready for my Valentine’s Day present.  I heard him unzip the pocket of his coat, and then I opened my eyes to see him holding a little box with a diamond ring.  “Will you be my wife?”  “Yep.”

That was the beginning of learning that even though things don’t always turn out as planned, they almost always turn out beautifully.  And I’m wearing that ring still, five babies later, and more in love than that nineteen year old me could have ever thought possible.