shallow girl meets hot boy...another story in our dating story

We had been dating for a few months.  He had held my hand, sparks had flown, I was head over heels attached to John.  Still amazed that he found me cool enough to be seen with me in public.  Still in awe of his incredible upper body build (wink, wink ;-))))

Anyway, it was Decemberish, right...so yes, we had been dating for about 8 months.  He had started wearing this new winter hat.  The kind some people I know call toboggans (which everyone else in the world knows that a toboggan is a sled).  He also had some new gloves to match, and I was very chic (not) in my pink Columbia jacket.  We were very, very young and attractive back then so I guess our winter wear didn't matter much.

John had begun doing this twitching thing with his eyes.  I had noticed him doing it for a few days.  Now, this story is going to make you realize how absolutely shallow I am, in case you didn't realize it before.  But that twitching was beginning to worry me.  I thought I might have to end our relationship.  Sorry, but I just can't date men with twitches. 

So on one of our dates, he started that twitching thing, and I just came out and said it as nicely as possible, "Is something wrong?"

"What?"
"Your eyes.  Is something in your eye...or something?" 
"No, it's this hat, it keeps coming down over my eyebrows."

So, it was the hat.  And he was raising his eyebrows to, um, push the hat up, or something?  I don't know.  Anyway, we always laugh when he wears his winter hat and uses his eyebrows to keep it in place.  What a freak.  ;-)

If Men Would be Men

The afternoon after our first date, John called me. It was about 1:00 pm, which was still morning in my college mind. What in the world was he calling me for already? I figured he must be really bored. It was Easter break, all his suite mates were probably home for the weekend, and he must be bored out of his mind to be calling me.

In fact, I thought, he probably has some secret scheme to take me over and throw me out like yesterday's trash.

These behaviors continued for months. John kept calling. I kept expecting him to take advantage of my weak, disabled emotional state. But he didn't take advantage and I slowly (very slowly) started to realize...

...um, maybe he likes me?

Or maybe he has really, super low self-esteem and just can't find any other girls to hang out with him?

Or maybe he likes me?

Honestly, his pursuit of me and his sweet, enduring patience with me never seemed real. It still doesn't seem real. On our wedding day, we stood on the beach holding hands. I looked out at the ocean as the pastor went over the covenant we were about to make and I thought,

"What am I doing here? How did this happen? Am I ready for this?"

And I looked down at those strong, patient and enduring hands that held on to mine and knew that yes, this was right.



Read another good story here: Power in the Echo

Memory Lane Part II

I left camp as a new person. Humbled, tan, makeup and maintenance free. I even learned to like cold showers. I'd been like a big sister/mom to ten or so children each week, tramping up pretty intense mountains (hills), rock climbing, swimming every single day, going showerless for days on end, and sleeping in a little tent by myself or out in the open air or in swinging beds.

And I fully intended on never speaking to 90% of the camp staff again. And I didn't for a long time.

Fast forward to March, 2003. I'd entered a NCAA Tournament bracket to distract myself from boys (one ignorant rat in particular) and possibly win some money. So I was watching basketball every night, which my roommate had no objection to, and was gripped by the Kansas Jayhawks. I'd randomly chosen them to win the tournament. It was consuming my thoughts and my time. On my AOL profile I had written GO JAYHAWKS!

One evening, MUCJOHNNIE instant messaged me asking, "So what brought you to cheer for the Jayhawks?" And we chatted here and there starting then. Nothing serious at all. Until his girlfriend broke up with him. And the Jayhawks lost in the final game. So we were both a little heartbroken, needing distraction, needing a rebound, not trusting a single human soul in the world.

So John asked if I would like to come to the Cleveland Zoo to meet up with some old camp friends (ha! Since I was so eager to see camp people again). We each got there right as the zoo opened and no one else came, except his brother and Debbie who both arrived around lunch time. So John and I had the morning to ourselves, where we talked about elephants and shoes (he'd worn very inappropriate shoes for the zoo) and whatever else. Then we went to his brother's apartment. I knew I should just call it a day after the zoo, and I knew I should only stay a little while at his brother's, and I knew it shouldn't be so hard to say goodbye to him at 9 or 10 pm, but it was.

Something about him was magnetic. I couldn't tell if he liked me. Surely he didn't! I knew for a fact that nearly all his friends had hated me. But he called me the next day. Like first thing in the morning (which was like 1 pm back then)! And he called me every day (honestly, it was kind of annoying). And I kept going to his house, and he kept coming to mine, and we kept going out on dates. We didn't have long, long talks about anything serious. I just enjoyed him so much. And every time I drove the 45 minutes to his house, I wondered, "Why am I doing this?" I wondered if he really even liked me at all. He hadn't tried to kiss me. He hadn't even tried to hold my hand!

Until date number ten. I got my answer. He finally held my hand. Yay! Sparks flew. And months and months and months later, he finally kissed me. And months and months and months later, he finally said "I love you." And this girl, who once couldn't trust a single human soul in the world, had fallen in love.

My husband played his cards exactly right, and whether it was out of fear or chivalry I don't know (he would say it was all in his secret plan to sweep me off my feet), but it was all perfect and wonderful.

7 years ago yesterday was our first date at the zoo. Happy Anniversary, John! Thank you for being just perfect for me.

Memory Lane

In the summer of 2002, I signed on for a summer as a camp counselor. I had seriously high expectations for camp. One: I was going to make lifelong, fantastically amazing friends. Two: I was probably going to meet the love of my life, my future husband. He would be fun, adventurous, outdoorsy, an awesome Christian and of course he would be very, very sexy.

After a week of counselor training, I could see that none of these things were going to come true (I did make some friends. I'm not a total loser :). On one of the last days of training, we were assigned to build a huge porch on the back of one of the main buildings. This would be a great team-building exercise. I tried to only do the painting, weeding, and clean up, but eventually I was expected to help pound in some nails.

Sigh.

All around me, these huge buff girls were pounding in nails, being all tough and athletic and beautiful. One girl in particular especially hated me (yes, she actually told me to my face that she hated me) and she was there, being perfect and doing more work than most guys could do.

I was doing my best pounding in nails, but they kept going crooked. This relates to my right-side syndrome which I can tell you about later.

After trying to fix one very, very crooked nail, the director's son--who was loved by ALL, and pretty much perfect in every single way according to everyone--came and took the hammer from me with no intention of giving it back.

I walked away, defeated. Defeated, I tell you.

And so began a long summer of camp where the kids loved me and I loved them, but pretty much half of the staff hated my guts for reasons unbeknownst to me. And I had the great pleasure of watching the oh-so-perfect director's son put on a big show of diving in the pool at the Water Olympics Opening Ceremony (whoop-dee-doo) every single week because apparently, he was some amazing swimmer who also, apparently, must have talked to everyone else (because everyone loved him) except me. Little, worthless me.

Who knew that eight years later, I would be sitting next to him right now. And you know what? He is pretty amazing. Because he's my husband, and he loves me so much and I love him more than anyone in this world.

Thanks for taking the hammer from me those years ago, John!

Wedding

Wedding.

That word. Wedding.

When I was little, it was a word only meant for dreams. I would close my eyes and try to picture him but all I would get was a prince from a Disney movie or one of my kindergarten "boyfriends".

Back then, that word "wedding" meant lacy curtains over my face, a bouquet of roses, a big poofy dress and children singing "Here comes the bride, fair, fat and wide!" It meant special wedding vows and saying exactly the right thing. It meant the perfect ring, the perfect dress, the perfect flowers.

In high school, that word "wedding" meant freedom from the pressures of trying to impress, trying to live up to male standards, having the right things to say on each and every date... It meant freedom from wondering, "who, who, who?!" It meant no more break ups, a lot less heartbreak.

As I lay in bed this morning, staring at the word "wedding" on one of many of our packages from online wedding stores, I thought of what it means to me now.

What does "wedding" mean to me now? Does it mean lists of things we have yet to do? "Find a DJ and a photographer," I keep telling myself day in and day out. "How much?" I wonder to myself about almost everything. "Will our guests like this?" "Will our guests like that?"

"Don't get lost in the shuffle!" Any brides' magazine will tell you. "Remember what you're doing. Remember who you're marrying. Remember what you want. Remember what he wants. Remember, remember, remember."

It occurred to me then, after all that thinking, that I was no longer sure what the word "wedding" meant to me. What does it mean to me, really?

To some people it means that, after the wedding, the bride and groom won't like each other anymore. After a few years, they'll nearly despise each other and, if they're lucky, it will be a love/hate relationship with perhaps a little more love than hate.

I'm amazed. Will I ever not like John? Is that possible?

To some people it means that, after the wedding, the bride and groom won't look forward to seeing each other after a long day.

Which is strange to me because when I see John after 4 hours of being apart, I want nothing more than to be close to him. To hear everything about his day. To tell him everything about mine.

Well, anyway, the story goes on. So what does "wedding" mean to me now?

To me it means...

That on October 29th, I will walk down the aisle (in the sand), and after almost an entire day of not seeing John, I will have to wait more than 20 minutes to be in his arms. And honestly, if I am afraid of anything, I am afraid that I won't be able to wait for those words "you may kiss the bride."

So if you're at the ceremony, I'm just warning you, I may make a fool of myself.

:)

Cloud Nine :)

WELL if John didn't know it before, he knows it now--I am the planning queen. The queen of planning. I set a date, picked a place, and tomorrow pick a dress. I have scheduled appointments with where I want the wedding and reception and rehearsal dinner. I NEED to meet with my bridesmaids and maid of honor (I need to put that on my URGENT list), and schedule a time to get engagement pictures taken (John, you better smile!). I have no idea how we're going to pay for it, but right now I just don't care--I've been waiting my whole life for this and we ARE cutting a LOT of corners. I think we'll be saving beaucoup on flowers and alcohol--who knows about my dress, because everyone knows that when I find a dress that looks good, I don't care about the price tag......

And I picked out invitations and practically have them ordered...I just need to make sure we get the place we want. We have our guest list mostly complete and sorta kinda know where we're going to register. We have our bridesmaids and almost our groomsmen lined up and in order, outfits pretty much figured out. At this rate, all will be done by February.

So I am of course, floating on cloud nine, and it's sad that I'm in Ohio and John is in Florida, but it's probably in his best interests. :) He doesn't like it so much when I ask a lot of questions and he says "I don't care" and I bug him, you know, just to make sure he really doesn't care. I'd pick what I want anyway.

October 23rd will be the wedding, the very small wedding, at 12:30 on a Sunday afternoon. The reception will follow...one in FL and one here in Ohio for all those who were unable to attend. The Ohio reception will be around my Christmas break, so keep that in mind. It IS only a year away!

John: You HAVE to pick the honeymoon spot! NO SNOW!!!! :)

This is BIG

In more ways than one! Guess who proposed?

John did! Not just any John, my boyfriend John.

My fiance, John.

Yay!

Helo tis is Amada Haritin! (That's the way Sara spells my name).
My hair has been rather frizzy lately.
The Subway guy gave me THREE stickers for ONE six-inch sub!!!
I tried my FOURTH sub at subway: The cold-cut trio, and I had a bite of a meatball sub. Mediocre, if I do say so myself, compared to Spicy Italian.
I got sunburnt at the country club.
I have next Friday and Saturday night and all Sunday off so if anyone (Muskies, I'm talking to you!) wants to get together, let know!
Okay! BYE!

Hi! The trip to Columbus was grrrreat! We ended up going to the Turkish restaurant, which is called "Cafe Istanbul." I highly recommend it! I got the regular shish kabob, which is lamb. I've never had lamb, but I liked it a lot. And it wasn't on a stick. That was kind of disappointing. John got a chicken kabob, and I must say, it was better than mine. However, if you haven't ever tried lamb, you definitely should. The bread was really good, too. The service was excellent. They were sooo nice! And I think they really were all Turkish. At least they were definitely something other than American, but it coulda been Indian for all I know. I really don't know how to tell what nationality a person is. The people at the table behind us were all speaking some other language that definitely was not french. That's the only language I can tell from English, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't Spanish or German or Italian, either. I wonder if it was Turkish. I don't think that's a language. We also went to Vineyard, which is a church...a huge church...in Columbus, to their college service on Sunday nights. Way awesome, it was. I highly recommend that, too. I also recommend the massage chair at Sharper Image, which is a store at Easton. And I don't recommend the teriyaki chicken sandwich at Subway, because although it is good, it's NOT as good as the spicy italian! So there!

I'm sad right now because I ate a cookie and now I feel sick. I hate my stomach. I can't EAT ANYTHING!!!! Grrr!