FTM final

Last week I gave back my keys to the high school, heralding the beginning of my career as a stay-at-home-mom.

I've chronicled the library job enough that I don't think another post is necessary, except maybe to tell you what I won't miss.

I won't miss the appalling lack of respect or the terrible, terrible ignorance of rural teenage life.
I won't miss the weirdies that the Basin produces in droves, teachers who expected me to do their work for them and got irritated when I told them I couldn't.  Or the bullying, whining, the nastiness I had to deal with.

I will miss the books, the Special Ed kids, the excitement of putting new books on the shelves that I knew the kids would love.  I'll miss checking the stats on our circulation and turning them into wordles.
I'll miss proofreading things for the English teachers and administrators, setting up blogs for the Adult Roles classes, creating and rotating seasonal/historical displays.
I'll miss the unexpected things like finding Lyndon B. Johnson's signature inside his biography.
(That one made it into the local paper!)

And, seriously, I'm gonna miss shifting books on the shelves so that they fit just right.  It was my favorite part of inventory - by far.

I'll miss being part of the education system, part of the workforce, making money "out there."

But you know what?  My new job is not half bad.

For the Money $$$$$

More college jobs: Research Assistant, Teaching Assistant

Details:  I got paid to read.
I did research for my favorite favorite history professor, who was looking at Old English Poor Laws.  I didn't do much research on the actual topic but more on historiography of the topic.  (In layman's terms: the history of what historians have said about history.)  I searched the HBLL's shelves and J-Stor, read and compiled a report.  It took months and I'm still not even close to being an expert on the topic.  Yay for history.

I also applied to be an assistant for World Civilizations, 1500-present.  I hadn't taken the class from that professor (thank heavens!), but after getting a positive recommendation I was accepted.  So I held office hours and review sessions, graded quizzes and assignments.  It was tough.

On the very first day the professor said, "You can fill out teacher evaluations at the end of the semester, but I don't really care what you say.  I have tenure so it won't affect me at all."
Huh??!

I got good at: SKIMMING.  Oh heavens.  I skimmed thousands of pages, online and otherwise, for both jobs.  And I STILL have issues with this.  I can hardly sit down to read a book without jumping forward on the page, no matter how hard I try not to.  I ruin all sorts of surprises for myself.  (And miss things, besides.)

Other awesomeness:  I got paid to do what I love best.  You just can't beat that.

For the Money $$$$

I started this series over three months ago, and now that it's official - IT'S OFFICIAL - that I am no longer working at the high school, I thought I'd finish it up quick-style.

Short-Lived college job: Vector Marketing
AKA Cutco Cutlery
AKA "Knife Salesperson"

Details:  I'm still not sure how it happened.
I was looking for a sidejob to help pay for my Vienna Study Abroad, and the ad that said STARTING AT $14/HR just caught my attention, I guess.  I sat through a group interview and received a call that night asking when I could start.  After training in a little basement office in Orem/Provo, I "practiced demonstrations" on everyone I could think of.

Me?  A salesperson?

Well, the only reason I even considered doing it was that I have a true testimony of Cutco.  It's a family thing.  My parents give knives (the world's best!) as Graduation/Mother's Day/Christmas gifts, and I'll tell you what, that cheese knife could be the best thing that's ever happened to you.  I don't know.
(The ice cream scoop is equally good.)

SO....yes.  I demonstrated Cutco products for family, friends, family friends, bishopric members, coworkers, you name it.  The worst part about it all was making phone calls.  Also, customers getting furious about me offering to sharpen their knives.  For free.

I got lost a fair number of times, cut myself even more times, and sold enough stuff to advance a rank or two in the heirarchy.

I got good at: putting myself out there, something that is reeeeeally hard for me.  By the end of my 3-month stint, I figured that if I could do that, I could do just about anything.  Including a full-time mission.

Other awesomeness: At the end of August I went to a nationwide Vector Conference in Chicago.  It was in the coolest hotel I've ever seen, and I roomed with a girl who was heading to BYU two weeks later.  We stayed up all night, flirted with boys, sumo-wrestled and walked through a McDonald's drive-in past midnight.  On the last day, we rode the Subway to downtown Chicago and strolled along the pier.  Then I had to make my way back alone - and I GOT LOST on the subway lines.  In Chicago.
Thank heavens I found my way and made the flight, because I didn't have a cell phone back then.
*Shudder*

For the Money $$$

Perfect College Job: BYU Student Employment

Located in the Wilk right across from the Information Desk. So not only do you become the Information Desk when the Informers are gone, but for years afterward when meeting new people you will hear "You look really familiar."
('Course, I could just have one of those faces.)

Details: I lucked out.
Sometime in late July 2005, I pulled into the driveway and my mom came out to meet me. She was crying. "If you go to work, they want you to start August 1st. That's so soon."
My sister had been working in the office for a while and demonstrated such fabulous work skills that they had to be hereditary.... yeah, she pretty much got me the job. I made a trip down to Provo to interview in person, then started work the next week. It was surreal. My friends were still partying it up in Roosevelt before separating for college/missions; I packed the Explorer with my clothes and a few pieces of furniture, and moved into Angie's house in Provo.

The job was good - and it got better as time went on. I learned quickly, my coworkers were wonderful, and we ate better than I have before or since. (Bookstore fudge, potluck lunches, Taco Bell crunch wraps, Sugar N Spice ice cream sandwiches ..... there are definite advantages to working near the WSC food court.) We posted open jobs, laughing at ones like "Cake Donut Froster" (3-7 am??) and "Model" (for art classes, bikini/speedo required). I conducted I-9 audits and kept everyone up-to-date on my family news. When I went on a $5/week grocery budget, Kathleen brought me fresh fruits and veggies from her garden. I talked about Europe and boys and classes and, eventually, my wedding plans.

We had access to all BYU Students' personal information: age & birthday, address & phone number, marital status, class schedule, wages ... ultimate stalking capabilities. Used for work purposes only, of course.

I worked with all kinds of people. Every new student employee at BYU had to come in and fill out paperwork, which is why my face became familiar ... I think. International students were almost always hard to understand, Dress Code violators were sent back to Nancy's office, and one time a lady yelled at me for detaching her Social Security card. Then she came back and yelled at me AGAIN. That lady was crazy.

I got good at: eating, ePAFs, I-9s, working under pressure, OSTs, eating, remembering names, eating.

Other awesomeness: I learned how to make balloon animals. A semi-pro balloon artist came to teach me how to do it, and I ran a booth at Senior Night for two consecutive years. I "practiced" in the office for days beforehand, demonstrated for everyone for weeks after.
Would you like me to make you a monkey?

For the Money $$

High School: L & L Motor Co., Inc.

Details: After applying and interviewing for a library internship which I did not get (it was a horrible interview), I was hired as an “Accountant Clerk” for a local car dealership/repair shop. It was October of my Junior year.

Thus began the most dramatic two years of my life.

I did whatever the Accountant wanted me to do – data entry, titlework, filing, reorganizing files, picking up/mailing out license plates - while we listened to internet radio in a dusty upstairs office with window air conditioners and stuffed ducks on every surface. He didn’t talk much.

Everyone else did, though. And since I was the only female employee (and, I’m pretty sure, the only one unrelated to the rest) out of twenty or so, they teased me about boys and flowers and my little Hyundai. They also told me to bring cookies, which I did a few times, and almost always got a raise shortly afterward.

Why didn’t I take them more often??

To The Boss I was a particular target. After Junior Prom, my third date with the same boy, he decided to start a “fund” for the first boy who’d have enough guts to kiss me. He called it The Pot … then talked about contributing to it every time I was within earshot.

Word gets around in a small town! Within a few months every boy in town had heard about The Pot, and my kissing chances all but disappeared. I knew it was just a joke, so I rolled my eyes and shook my head anytime someone brought it up with me. This went on for another year.

Shortly before I left L&L - and Roosevelt - for college life, I was talking with Bill about The Pot once again, telling him how ridiculous it had been to drag the lie on for soooo long. He promptly pulled me into his office and moved a mug from part of his desk. Behind the mug was a wad of bills. About $150 worth.

At least I got good at 10-key.

For the Money

School is winding down, so everyone wants to know if I will be back in the fall.

The answer? I don't know.

Crazy things are (always!) happening at the golf course, Slice's job and future prospects are shifting quickly and almost constantly. So our plans could be changing very soon.

The things we do for money...

In the meantime I will be regaling you with stories of my past employment. I may or may not have stolen the idea from Fig, who always has the best ideas. (Good for the stealing.)

Early years: Babysitting
Details: DREADED. I hated hated hated it. I was never one of those girls who cooed over the babies in the ward, asking to hold them at church and during activities; No Thanks. I was frequently left in charge at home, however, and told to track my time so my parents could pay me. (I didn’t, and they didn’t.)

I was SO GLAD when I was old enough that I didn't have to worry about getting those phone calls anymore.

(Not that it has ended entirely.)

I got good at: disliking other people's children. Sorry, it's true. I probably don't dislike yours though.

First Steady Job:Paper Route

Details: Just months after relocating to Roosevelt, my family took on the task of delivering the Salt Lake Tribune and Deseret News to 2/3 of the city. EVERY SINGLE DAY. EVEN CHRISTMAS MORNING. This meant waking up at 5:30 on regular days, 5:00 on Saturdays and Sundays so we could stuff, and working hard to get the papers out by 7:00. (I hate stuffing papers.) We did this for a little over a year.

Mom and I were the only ones who had the route truly memorized -this took weeks- so either she or I had to go. Often we did it together. Someone drove, I sat in the back seat and stuffed/folded/threw papers all around town, and we had good bonding times. Unless the driver was Brent or Angie, who were both so grouchy in the mornings that we completed the route in silence.

I got good at: waking up early, finding my way around this place, learning where people lived and what paper they wanted, where. Also folding, rubber-banding and throwing papers from the back seat of a car in seconds. Most especially, measuring the trajectory of the paper from a moving vehicle based on how big it was, how fast we were going and how far I needed to throw it to get to dry pavement. If my calculations were wrong, we had to stop the car, I had to get out and retrieve/move it. At least a minute's delay (and possibly angry words from Brent).

Other awesomeness: I got a checking account. Citizens all over Roosevelt saw my name about every month. Little old ladies left their checks out on trays with paperweights on them.

small town living: I Am Speechless

I'm sorry to be politicking, but I've just been laughing so hard at this comment that I had to share.

A little background first:

Roosevelt's city pool is so old and rundown, it is literally a safety hazard. The managers of the pool have been saying so for years.
Said managers have been working tirelessly with the residents and political officials of the county to get a new pool built. They've taken polls (we want an indoor/outdoor facility! the people said) and gone to the City Council (we need the whole county in on it! the Council said) and gone to the County Commissioners (we won't do anything about this until the next election because we want to be re-elected! the Commissioners basically said). It's been such a run-around, you wouldn't believe it unless you lived here.

I KNOW times are hard right now, especially in our oilfield community. I KNOW no one wants to pay more taxes, even $30 a year which is like ONE meal "out on the town." But seriously? There's nothing else to do here, especially in the winter! We've got over 1100 signatures! Can we just agree and move on??

Apparently not.
I found this gem of a comment on the oh-so-scientific poll of the online UBStandard this morning. (It's comment #2.) And the "logic" has me completely baffled.

What the .... I just ..... how do you respond to that?

Why should I force my neighbor to pay for the roads that I drive on?! After all, I don't pay taxes. I'm still renting. What if everyone actually drove on the roads? We'd all have to ration our driving time! Or worse, build more roads!

The cost is your LIBERTY, people.

(At least the writer's English skills are acceptable, a small miracle in itself.)

Seriously though, how would you respond?

small-town living: where is that?

Once upon a time I lived in South Jordan, Utah.
We went sledding on Glenmoor golf course and in the gully during the winter; we played night games every night on the greenbelt in the summer. I went to a middle school that was only six years old (I guess Jordan School District had money back then), there was a Wendy's three minutes from my house, and also, daisies bloomed year-round.
I didn't even know where Taylorsville was. It was a charmed life.

Then I found out that my family was moving ... to Roosevelt. For this eighth-grade girl, the news was shattering. I had spent seven years working to make and keep my circle of friends (a post for another day!), and now I had to start ALL OVER. In a town that no one had even heard of.

If you didn't know, Utah is simultaneously one of the most "urban" and least densely populated states in the nation. This means that anyone not living along the Wasatch Front is basically living in OUTER DARKNESS. Worse than the mission field. We were moving to Outer Darkness.

As I tried to explain to my fellow SJ-ers where "Roosevelt, UTAH" was, pictures formed in my mind. Pictures of tiny church groups with no piano players. A 20-piece school band. (It WAS that small.) School colors: black and yellow. No Wasatch Mountains or Copperton Park or Ensign Peak. No mall!

Many things didn't occur to me back then, of course, but have surfaced over the years since. For example, did you know that big mountains get in the way of spectacular sunrises? And that in some places, you can't get a decent shake after 9:00 at night?
(Sorry, have I mentioned that before?)
For better or for worse, my pre-conceived notions were waaaay off.

For nine years now, I have come home to a town that's "On the way to Vernal."

What - you don't know where Vernal is?

Where do YOU live, a bubble?

small-town living: crime edition

You know it's a bad sign when the only two people in the [church] meeting who recognize a name are the two attorneys.

6 mos.

You may think you know what you're seeing ... but you probably don't.

For example, the basketball is not growing out of my belly.
Thank goodness.

it's Thursday again

This is what happens when The Photog stays in bed, even though I (sort of) asked him to take a picture this morning because it's Thursday.
What are we at now, 24 weeks? I don't even know exactly.
Maybe that's weird.

For those who are wondering, I have gained approximately 11 pounds. I still wear my regular clothes about half of the time, thanks to all those clothes I bought in college when I weighed more than I do even now (see here for details). I don't drink enough water, I don't exercise at all, and I eat a lot of oatmeal and fruit snacks. I also take naps when I can.
Obviously, not much has changed.

Baby has a favorite song - if jumping frantically and beating against the chamber through the entire thing is any indication of favoritism (see here for details). We sang it at the end of choir practice Sunday, and OH BOY can this child move.
He also gets excited whenever Daddy is around and talking. Practicing his golf swing in there, no doubt.
Too bad I won't be able to help with that.


Yesterday I went to German class to talk about Austria. I was so excited about it, I took almost an hour instead of the 20 minutes I was supposed to take .... whoops. This speaking opportunity made me realize three things:

1. I did not bring back anything from Austria for myself. Salt & Pepper shakers for Mom, miniature Black Forest clock for Dad, Mozart puppet for Em, nothing (except large clothes) for me. Check.
2. Gosh, I miss it! I miss the food and the old beautiful buildings, the churches, the opera. I miss hearing and speaking German every day. Someday I'll go back, just you wait and see.
3. I'm so lucky to have experiences to talk to foreign-language students about. Two classes in two months? (Seven countries in three years??)

SERIOUSLY, SO GRATEFUL that my life hasn't turned out the way I thought it would.

The Day that Carolyn Worked her Magic

Warning: hair post ahead.
Well, mostly hair.

Yesterday I was thinking about hair, and c jane, and identity, and of course pregnancy.
(My hair is GROWING NOW!)
("Do we have to get a newsflash every time your body does something?" --What movie, anyone?)

If you know c jane, you know that she mentions her stylist about once a week, because she visits her once a week, which is strange to me; I thought that didn't happen past 1972. My siblings and I used to make fun of my grandma for her weekly hair appointments. We thought she would never move to the Basin and leave her stylist behind. Then she did.

But if you know me, you know that I get my hair cut about twice a year. And I dye it dark every winter, by myself, to fix the two-tone summertime highlights. With semi-permanent dye so I won't have to keep up the process (roots are so tacky). Low maintenance, please.

So yesterday was one of those hair-cutting days.
I was so sick of my hair I complained about it every day for a week. It hadn't been cut since The Great Chop of 2009. I told Carolyn, "Surprise me." She did!

I loved it! And so did Slice! (Triple score.)

He loved it so much, in fact, that when I got home he made me pose for a photoshoot during Biggest Loser commercials.

But the only three pictures I liked are the ones posted here. And they don't show my face or my haircut that well.

I'm just not photogenic, okay?

Take my word for it, the haircut's awesome.

Yesterday I also wore maternity clothes for the first time. Five months pregnant and finally wearing maternity clothes. Sweet.

What We Know So Far

19 weeks- finally something to show

• IT is most definitely a HE. HE was not being very cooperative today, trying to make us think he was a girl (that was an interesting half-hour), but he does seem to put on a show for us every ultrasound: yawning, smiling, waving, etc.

• He is a vegetarian. Or at least, he wants Mama to be.

• He also wants Mama to go to bed early, sleep in cold rooms, and eat every few hours.

Also,

• He wants to be a ninja. (I know, I know, everyone says that. But seriously.) I'm pretty sure he knows that Daddy always wanted a Japanese baby .... and that we have a Samurai practice sword IN OUR HOUSE.

What have we done.

I am...

growing a human

that the Dr. is "95% sure"

is a BOY.

Did you know?

Could you tell?

It has been 15 weeks now....

(Michemily, that's 3.5 months)

.... and I haven't quite been myself.

And good heavens,

can I tell the REAL STORY of Japan now?

and the third

For spring/summer of 2007 I moved back to the Villa and in with three Nevadans. Let me tell you - you cannot take the Nevada out of the girl. We partied non-stop! I'm pretty sure I got 4 hours of sleep total during those 4 months....Apt. 35 certainly didn't help.

Gabe came back and I moved down the hall (but Ashley and I still spent most of our time in 64). I was in denial about school starting again, until October when I had to catch up. Oops.
Winter semester I moved BACK in to 64, started dating Slice, got engaged, etc. etc. I left Provo in June, "walked" in August and finished up my last class here. Kind of anticlimactic, don't you think?

At least I've lost all those college pounds.

recap: second year

I went to Vienna and had the best time of my life - rediscovering food, history, culture, and myself. Myself indeed! Twenty pounds more of her! Of course my roommate Maggie was a twig.

Here's my philosophy: if you spend four months in Europe without gaining some weight, you did not enjoy yourself enough. Clearly.

When I returned to the USA and then Provo, a miraculous set of events (about which I have already written) placed me in an apartment with these lovely ladies.

We had a blast together, despite/because of the drama....

It's Official

The period of my life I call "college" ended as quietly as it began.

How did it begin again?

Oh yeah. One day in late July, I came home from work and my mom started crying. She had talked to Angie, who said if I wanted to work at SE I'd have to get my application in, because they wanted someone to start August 1st. I did, so I did.
After many phone calls, an interview and even more phone calls, I left Roosevelt with a car-full of clothes and a tank full of gas.

I came home (at least) every other weekend for the next year.

Can you blame me? I was sending off my best friends one by one -

to Missouri, Taiwan, Japan, Russia, Mexico - and having a pretty hard time of it.

Around the beginning of February I realized that I was, quite literally, becoming a hermit. I had no roommates and almost no friends. It was time for a big change.

So I moved in with these girls

and they started me on the path to re-socialization. We studied, ate, played and planned. One thing that I never planned for was this:

I give you the Most Awkward Picture in the History of Mankind. (I can't believe I'm putting it up, really, except that it's so hideous I find it amusing.....) You're welcome.
This was taken the night Slice came to Provo to say good-bye, after he cooked us a delicious meal and we talked on the couch until *ahem* past curfew.
I gave him a sweet letter and some missionary gifts -along with a very awkward hug- and he cried the whole way home.

Observations of a Uintah Basin - winter ed.

{Taken from a four-wheeler}

{Taken from my car}

{Taken from my house}

The biggest surprise: Pt 2

Later that day I came home from church early. Slice was driving from Roosevelt to Provo, picking me up, and then we were going to his grandmother’s condo in downtown Salt Lake. He showed up and we were on our way.
As we drove, he told me that he needed to get the address of a Japanese sister on Temple Square. We had seen the sister on previous visits – she was from the place where he served his mission – and would be going home soon. I was doubtful about finding her on Temple Square on a Sunday afternoon, but agreed to try. We also agreed to stop for gas before heading back to Provo.

After a quick stop at Grandma’s we walked down the hill to the temple grounds, as we had so many times before. Once before the mission on an overnight trip to retrieve keys, once for a MoTab Easter concert, once for a first kiss, once for General Conference. We sauntered and sat, enjoying the flowers and the quiet (but not the wind) of that April afternoon. Slice eventually told me that he didn't really need the sister's address, it was just a ploy to get me to Temple Square, and I told him he was ridiculous. Finally, we came to the shell-shaped fountain between the North Visitors Center and the Temple.
Slice pulled some coins out of his pocket and we sat, tossing them over our shoulders. {I pretty much cannot flip a coin in any precise direction.} I gave up after a while and threw the last few in, waiting for Slice to finish.
“What did you wish for?” he asked.
“I’m not telling you,” I replied. Hello. You don’t ask someone what they just wished for.
“Come on, tell me,” he tried several times, but I refused or countered with the same question. I didn’t want to admit that I hadn’t actually wished for anything.
He kept pushing so finally I ventured, “What would you say if I told you....that I didn’t wish for anything?” I’m so sly, aren’t I?
“I want my wish back,” Slice said, and started unbuttoning his long sleeve.

“What?? No way. Why didn’t you take my last few pennies? I could care less! Why didn’t you take some of mine?” I couldn’t believe he was about to fish pennies out of the fountain.
“I’ll wait until they’re gone,” he indicated a group that was at the fountain. They left, and another walked by.
I started to get impatient. “Slice. I will get it for you. Look, I can just pull my sleeve up (he was still adjusting his suitcoat and sleeve), and there’s a dime RIGHT THERE.” I was three seconds away from grabbing the penny when Slice said “No, I got it,” and turned away from me. He plunged his hand in the water, knelt before me and extended a sparkling ring all in a split-second.
“Will you marry me?”

I stared at the ring as if it contained my entire future within its round, sparkling diamond.....I couldn’t even look at his face. I had never been so shocked in my life, and the eternal implications of this decision attacked me all at once. They should have attacked me long before.

I thought of my old roommates, my mom, Shawna, my plans to serve a mission and attend law school. I thought of my family and his, all those years I had patronized Slice, denying any chance he had to win me over.
And kept staring.
I thought of my recent relationships and the heart I had worn on my sleeve, only to be broken again and again. I realized how much Slice had helped to heal those wounds while asking nothing in return. Plus - he had asked me to marry him without even discussing the possibility with me beforehand. That took some guts.
I thought of my future family, the struggles and triumphs that would constitute its existence. Hard times would surely come. I thought of how much harder they would be if I didn’t know that my husband loved—adored—me as much as this man did.
“Yes.” I said.

We ran out of gas on I-15 between Highland and Lindon.

The biggest surprise of my Life, Pt. 1

I’m a really big fan of surprises. In fact, I just might like surprises more than anyone else you know.

One time my sister drew my name for Christmas, and a few weeks before the Big Day I spotted some pink furry slippers in a bag on her bed. I knew they were for me; I was (literally) sick about seeing them for the next three weeks. Oh the remorse.
Christmas morning came, and it turned out, they weren’t even for me.

Many times growing up I told family members and friends that I DID NOT want to pick out my engagement ring. How fun is that??? There’s no surprise! If you’ve picked out a ring, how can your man surprise you with a proposal of marriage? “Um, remember that ring I picked out? So when you gonna give it to me? Maybe tonight since we're at a really fancy restaurant?” So unromantic, I’d say.
I blame my lifelong obsession with the romantic on Anne of Green Gables.

Eight months ago, I was eating lunch with some former roommates at California Pizza Kitchen and fawning over Bonnie’s recently-acquired engagement ring. It was beautiful and really unique; none of us had seen anything like it before. Of course, we discussed the topic of engagement.
Slice and I had been dating for a little over a month, which at BYU means that our apt. whiteboard had displayed my roommates’ guesses for wedding dates for at least three weeks. (They thought I didn’t know what those were, punks.) But we hadn’t talked about Marriage yet…hadn’t even mentioned it once. This provided my brothers with constant entertainment.
Brother calls: “So, how are things going? Have you talked about the M word yet?”
Me: “No. Thanks for asking.”
B: “Why not?”
Me: “I AM NOT GOING TO BRING IT UP.”
Repeat every day for two weeks. They never even called me before I was dating someone, sheesh.

Anyway, we sat talking about engagement and rings and such, and I related a funny story about how some Union high-schoolers had thought Slice would be proposing to me soon. I dismissed the possibility because – as I reminded them – we had not talked about Marriage yet.
Roommate: "I thought you wanted it to be a surprise when you got engaged.”
Me: “Well, yeah, I have always said that I didn’t want to pick out my ring or really talk about marriage beforehand….but, uh, now I’m starting to think that was dumb. Especially the talking about marriage part.”
Roommate: unusually quiet

The next day, Sunday, I had a similar conversation with my mother before getting out of bed for the day.
“Mom, I don’t know what to do. I need to make plans for this summer and fall [MY LIFE], and we haven’t talked about marriage, I’m not going to bring up, but I don’t know what’s going on!”
Mom: “Hon, what if he did propose to you, soon? Do you want to marry him?” (She was not the first to ask me this question.)
Me: “I don’t know, mom…..I just don’t know.”
Mom: “Well, that’s probably something you should figure out soon, isn’t it?”
Me: “Yeah. Probably.”