This week’s winner: Camille Rigby

The inevitable has occurred.


So, Sarah got the heat for stealing my favorite t-shirt. Well, that pales in comparison to this rant. As the dutiful best friend, Camille took lots of pictures and even video at our wedding reception (which was three years ago this fall) AND WE HAVE NEVER SEEN ANY OF IT. Camille, I love you, but I want my wedding video. Sarah came clean just at the mention of it. Camille, I happen to know, won’t be so easy. So, here’s the deal. You have one month – an entire month – to compile anything you’ve got and give it to us. It doesn’t have to be all pretty and edited. It doesn’t have to be in any particular order. But if you still have ANYTHING from our wedding, I’m desperate to have it. I’ve got my 10-year reunion in a year, after all. I need some proof that it actually happened. (And one baby later, I’d like proof that my waist used to be smaller than my hips, not the other way around like it currently is.)

If you fail to comply with this demand, in one month there will be a VERY revealing post on here. I consider the information contained below VERY TAME compared to all the dirt I have on you. So, one month. Ready, set, go.

In the meantime, here’s the PG-rated profile on Camille.

Camille (Croft) Rigby and I absolutely hated each other when we first met in 1996, but for totally different reasons. She hated me because I was best friends with Matt Sweat, the hottest guy on the planet and the love of her 14-year-old life. I hated her because on the first day of school she wore the very sweater that I had planned as my third day of school outfit. With such beginnings it’s a miracle we were ever civil, much less best friends a year later. That, of course, happened out of desperation. Just before my junior (her sophomore) year of high school, we were on our way back from a student council retreat in Island Park. Lori Martineau pulled out one of those games where you have to list your future dog’s name and how many kids and stuff like that. For the “best friend” section, Camille looked around, and seeing that I was the only other person on the bus awake she reported that she and I were best friends. From that moment on, we were.

We grew up together in Student Council. One memorable night we were decorating for the commencement formal dance. We were the only two in the building … or so we thought. We were taking a breather outside when suddenly we heard the television in the Commons turn on – you know, on the all-static-all-the-time channel. We tiptoed inside and, seeing no one, we turned the TV off. Then, a few minutes later, it came back on. No one was there. So we unplugged the TV. And a few minutes later … OK, I don’t think it turned on again after that. But holy cow, did it freak us out.

Camille and I have dated the same guys – I always dated them first, though almost none of them liked me “that way.” Camille, however, they were head-over-heels in love with. For total embarrassment (to the guys more than anything), I thought it would be fun to list some of the guys Camille dated AFTER me: Matt Sweat (we were an item off and on from second to fourth grade, she sent him off on his mission), Bryce Duncan (the first guy to hold my hand, her first kiss), Clint Leonard (we used to watch “Dark Wing Duck” together, they did more romantic things together), and Jay Rigby (he took me out a few times not knowing I was about to become engaged to Ben, but Camille ended up marrying him so I think that one worked out just fine). Cam, did I leave anyone out?


Before I left on my mission, Camille was the last person I went to see. (Yes, that’s her in the bunny suit. And don’t ask because I don’t know why.) During my mission Cam wrote to me faithfully. Every month she sent me a package. For St. Patrick’s Day I got a broken jar of pickles … ick. When I returned from my mission I practically lived at Camille’s house. At least a few nights a week I wound up spending the night at her place. After several months of sleeping on the floor, Camille thought to ask, “Why don’t you just sleep on the other bed?” See, her bed was a trundle bed. I did not know that.

Another favorite memory was going to Lagoon with Camille and her boyfriend at the time, Handsome Rob. Man, do I miss Handsome Rob. He was so cool. Not cool, however, was when we were staying the night with friends of his in Utah. His ol’ gang from high school all showed up – all married with kids. They were sitting around talking about diapers and mortgages and grown-up people stuff … and Rob and Camille disappeared, leaving me completely along for TWO HOURS with these people I didn’t know. I’m not going to say what they were off doing (unless she doesn’t comply to my demands in one month.) I will say that once I send a link of this posting to her husband, Camille and I will OFFICIALLY be even.

That part sucked, but the next day when Camille drank a Rock Star for the first (and last) time right before riding the white roller coaster and then spent the rest of the day puking bright yellow goo … well, that also helped make up for the night before.


A little known fact is that Camille never would have met her husband if it weren’t for me. That may be a stretch, but I’m sure she wouldn’t have looked for jobs in Moscow if I hadn’t lived her. But she came to visit me in the spring of 2005 and, seeing how gorgeous the Palouse is (and also noticing the cute guys), she decided this was the place for her. So she landed a perfect job and moved up here. We lived together for the several months leading up to my wedding. Then, after I got a new, permanent roommate and best friend, Camille decided to get one, too. Last June she married Jay Vance Rigby. I missed the wedding, being 300 pounds and 8 months pregnant, but I’ve been blessed to enjoy the marriage. Jay and Camille go to the same ward as us. They watch Tonnelle all the time. And while no one could ever replace the Yearsleys, they have volunteered to be our new Wackee Six partners.

Most recently, Jay, Ben and I taught Camille how to play Slayer on Halo 2. The rule was that Jay and Ben could only use short-range weapons, while Camille and I got rocket launchers and sniper rifles. We still lost horribly, but the few shots we got to take at each other were therapeutic. After 12 years as practically sisters, sometimes it’s nice to have an outlet for that sibling rivalry.

As for the future, I can’t picture it without Camille. They’re out of here in about a year, but I’m sure they’ll never stray far from home. Since her folks live about 5 miles from my folks, and his folks live 30 miles from Ben’s folks, there’s pretty much no way we could ever be too far out of touch.

When you’re the best of friends

Tonnelle has lots of good friends. She’s spoiled to live in an area where we have so many others in our same situation – young families and lots of kids ages 0-4. (You should see the nursery in our ward – unreal.) Recently she’s especially had fun with her buddy Zander.


They like to play together in the duct-tape covered box that Ben created. We call it Tonnelle’s castle. Z calls it “House … house.” Tonnelle doesn’t call it anything because she’s too busy trying to climb out the window all the time.


We spent all of Memorial Day with Z and Jessi (who, while Tonnelle likes just fine, counts more as MY buddy). It was a perfect day. We hit the UI Arboretum for a picnic lunch, then went to the park across the street from our apartment for some kite-flying excitement.

My Guy

When we stayed at the Coeur d’Alene Resort a few weeks ago, they turned down our bed and left us a card with the next day’s weather and some chocolates. Not to be outdone, Ben surprised me the other night when I came home late from a meeting. Not only had he put Tonnelle down for the night and cleaned the apartment, he had also turned down the sheets and left a “weather report” and treat on the bed for me. The card read: “Rain or shine, there is a 100 percent chance of me loving you tomorrow and always.”

Ahhhhhh.

Cheater, cheater

Ordinarily a title like that would indicate that Camille Rigby had won the weekly drawing. This week, however, the cheater is actually me. See, I left the list of people who had commented in my office at work, and since we currently don’t have an Internet connection in our apartment I couldn’t recreate it. So I decided to take the opportunity to blog about Doug and Kathryn Yearsley, our dear friends who are moving today.


What’s that? That’s against the rules, you say? Sorry, folks. The government of this blog puts Cuba to shame.

I’ve known Doug since he was my antisocial neighbor at Ghetto Hills in 2005. We did our best to rope him into the high society (aka make him play some Halo with us), but he just wouldn’t do it. He spent all his time studying and, we later discovered, pining over the love of his life, Kathryn Ross, who was going to school in Rexburg.

I got the chance to meet Kathryn when she stayed at my apartment during a weekend visit to see Doug. First reaction? Good thing she’s not single, because she would be MAD competition for the boys. Second reaction? She’s fun. Third reaction? Actually, I didn’t take the time for a third reaction because that was the semester I was falling madly in love with Ben – I was a little self-involved at the moment.

It was providence itself that ensured that wasn’t my only encounter with Kathryn, who became Mrs. Yearsley shortly after that. After Ben and I were married we found ourselves in the same LDS congregation (aka ward) as them. Later we became neighbors when they moved into the same apartment complex we currently live in. We grew closer and started to really enjoy one another, and then it happened – they introduced Wackee Six to us. It was all over from there. We were in love.

Doug’s grandfather is the creator of Wackee Six (a game similar to Nerts if you’re familiar with it), as well as Hockie Golf and Hockie Football. When I near the end of my life, I think among my favorite memories will be gathering with several other couples in the Yearsleys’ apartment, eating Dorese’s Monster Cookies and watching Chuck knock over a pregnant (with twins) Bev in an attempt to put down the Blue 9 before Doug.

My favorite memory of Doug happened when we were single. I went rock climbing with Ben and our friend Rippy, and Doug was there with a friend and a roommate. I was terrified to climb the big wall in the center, but somehow found my way scaling higher and higher. About 20 or 30 feet up (or more or less – I’m lousy with distances) I went completely numb – partially from the MS, but I have to admit that the fear may have been a factor as well. Doug happened to be on the wall at the same time. Rather than scaling past me like Spider-Man or giving me a neener-neener (which I may have deserved because there may have been some trash talk earlier in the evening), Doug stopped and helped me. He climbed right up beside me and guided me up a few feet higher, sometimes actually placing my feet in the holds. It was a very big brotherly experience, and one I’ll never forget.

As for Kathryn, I can’t/refuse to pick a favorite memory. Every Sunday for the last 10 months she has sat beside me in church and helped me care for Tonnelle. So many times I would have thrown my hands in the air and quit going to church on my own (Ben serves in a singles’ ward, and I serve in the married student ward, so we haven’t been able to attend together since before Tonnelle was born). But I never had the excuse to give up because Kathryn was always there. And during the week, I could always count on Kathryn to stop by, either to drop something off or borrow a movie or something. Each time she would end up staying for sometimes hours, just chatting away. And each time she’d end with, “I told Doug I’d be back in just a minute, so I have to go.”


Doug and Kathryn both graduated from UI this month, and now they’re on to their next big adventure. Doug has a job as an engineer in Shoshone, Idaho, and Kathryn is preparing for her next degree – one in nursing.

It’s so weird to think that they’re moving today. I know in the grand scheme of things we haven’t been close for that long. But they have been in our lives longer than our own daughter.

Life won’t be the same without the Yearsleys. No offense to the rest of our friends, but it just might suck for a while, actually. They are giving us their dishwasher, which I’ll admit numbs the pain a bit. We’ll just have to remain hopeful that they transfer back up to northern Idaho while we’re still in the area ourselves. And we’ll comfort ourselves with clean dishes and round after round of Wackee Six.

Adventures in Middle Earth

I had a Lord of the Rings experience today.

Remember that scene when the Fellowship is in the mines and Pippin messes with the dead dwarf’s body, accidentally knocking it down the well and making a big ol’ ruckus? (Yeah, OK, I’m a loser. But admit it, you have the movies memorized, too.)

Well, today while Tonnelle was sleeping I was doing the dishes and trying to do some general straightening in the kitchen. Somehow I knocked over the broom, which slammed into the garbage can, which jostled this big metal thing we have, which spilled its loud, clangy contents all over the floor. Naturally this all happened in slow motion and greatly amplified.

I didn’t wake up any cave trolls, orks or goblins. I woke up this:



I think I’m going to worry less about being quiet.

A birthday request

It’s true, Tonnelle turns 1 just two short months from today. We think it’s gone way too fast, too.

Instead of gifts for her birthday, we have something that may be a bit strange we’d like from our closest friends. We’re inviting you to read the Book of Mormon every day between now and her birthday, and then for her birthday send her a card, letter or e-mail that tells her how the experience (daily scripture reading) impacted your life. We’ll save them in a book to give to her later in life, when the testimonies of those who have loved her since she was born will hopefully be something useful and meaningful to her.

You don’t have to read the entire Book of Mormon between now and July 21. If you only get a chapter or even a verse in each day, that’s great. And don’t feel like you need to quit if you miss a day. Just do the best you can.

Some of you may not have a copy of the Book of Mormon. We have some “friends” who would love to bring over a copy and share a brief message with you. ;-) Or you can access the Book of Mormon online.

If after accepting this request you still feel the need to spend large amounts of money on sparkling baby bling or lucrative stocks options, who are we to prevent you from expressing your love for our daughter? But please know that this small gesture would be enough.

Thieves, all of us

The prodigal shirt just may return after all. Dear Sarah (whom I love ever so dearly – I hope that point was evident amid the t-shirt murmurings) still has my beloved shirt and is going to send it to me. Thanks, Sarah! Of course, when it shows up and is nowhere close to fitting, I’ll be doing some lamenting. But in the meantime, to celebrate I thought it would be appropriate to inventory my own belongings and list those things that are currently in my possession but don’t necessarily belong to me.

So here it is, the list of things that I have that are not mine:

• Lots of VHS labeled “Klingler” or “Croft” … wonder where those came from;
• My kitchen stool, which bears the name “Melynda Ogden” on its underbelly;
• Gabe Zimmerman’s WSU gymnastics team hoodie;
• A slew of plates that once were laden with goodies but are now covered in dust and spider webs;
• Books that belong to Cambria Squires (which others actually borrowed and gave to me to give to Cambria … which I have yet to do);
• A VHS copy of “Cipher in the Snow” that may actually belong to Ricks College/BYU-Idaho;
• Justin Gibbons’ Portuguese missionary discussions;
• Stacey Rippy’s beautiful lacey dress;
• Kristi Johnson’s Mary Jane heels and several outfits (more than she even knows I borrowed, I’m sure);
• Baby outfits that belong to Kathryn Yearsley;
• LOTS of baby clothes that belong to Elizabeth Keys;
• Library books that belong to Hamilton and Bonneville high schools (not really my fault since my parents checked them out long before I was born and instead of returning them they passed them on to me).

The treachery is not limited to me. Ben unveiled a wooden Russian toy that apparently belongs to Elder Kuen (whose first name he swears is actually Elder) and Xbox games that actually belong to Jon Heywood. Diving through Tonnelle’s toy bag I found various items that actually belong to Evalie Rippy, Blake Van Tassell, and Ivan and Greg Weatherspoon.

A family of stealers we are. When my favorite shirt finds its way home I may be inspired to return all of these items to their rightful owners. But probably not.

Still cute

She's just so proud of herself.


You'd think they were Sour Patch Kids instead of peaches.

The Dove

I have a print of Picasso’s “Dove of Peace” hanging over my desk in my office. It’s long been my favorite. If the pictures of Tonnelle on my desk don’t stop people in their tracks, often this poster does. Somehow this simple sketch speaks serenity. I’ve never been the artistic type, but since I first saw this piece while in Washington, D.C., as a youth, I have been enamored.

Ben hates it.

He agrees that it’s a beautiful picture. He agrees it looks great in my office, and previously looked great in our apartment. He even agrees that it conveys a surprising amount of emotion. But the fact that it’s just a simple outline of a bird and some scribbles that is worth millions of dollars drives him absolutely batty.

I challenged him to scribble anything half as good. He gave some sad excuse along the lines of being unable to produce a non-smudged scribble because he’s left-handed. (If any of you can send me something saying Picasso was left-handed, I’ll give you my 15th born child.)

A corn chip with the likeness of Abraham Lincoln is crap to me. And a great deal of modern art just won’t cut it, either. But dissing the Dove? Don’t go there.

And the winner is ...

As promised, I put all the names of individuals who left comments (or who cheated and e-mailed comments to me – I counted those against you, Cam) in a jar and drew one lucky winner to be featured in a posting. Benjamin, may I have the envelope please. And the winner is …

Sarah Bingham!


I was planning on writing something sweet and nostalgic, something along the lines of meeting Sarah (then Sarah Tate) when she was just a wee lass starting college. But then I remembered one crucial piece of information about Sarah, one giant pockmark in our otherwise flawless relationship. I remembered that years ago I left my favorite t-shirt at Sarah’s home in Utah … and she never returned it.

That’s right, Sarah, you STOLE my favorite shirt. OK, so I’m the one who left it behind. And I’m the one who never came back to Utah to get it. And I’m the one who probably intentionally stole 12 or 13 of your shirts. But that’s not what this is about. This is about my favorite shirt in the whole universe, which I have had to live without for the last seven years all because of YOU.

Here’s the shirt I’m talking about.


I had a hard time deciding which picture to post because I had about 8,000 pictures in this shirt. It was, after all, my FAVORITE. I got this shirt when I was 14. I was the only girl who attended the America Legion baseball camp in Idaho Falls that summer. For an entire week I went through agonizing torture, being tormented by crude, rude teenage boys. In the end I walked away with two things: way too much new information about male locker room banter and this t-shirt.

Enough about the shirt. The truth is, even though she committed such a heinous crime, Sarah has long been one of my favorite people. We met when I was a sophomore and editor of the Ricks College Scroll. She was the fresh new talent in the advertising department. We got along swimmingly from the start. She was just so … unexpected. She looks so very innocent and sweet. She is sweet. But don’t let that angelic appearance fool you – she’s as impish as an elf and always looking for trouble.


One of my favorite memories of Sarah was one summer (must have been 2001) when I went down to Farmington to see her perform in an outdoor performance of “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.” Sarah is an incredible performer, and it was a great trip (except it’s when I lost my shirt … I don’t want to think about that anymore). During that trip we hit some sort of town celebration – Pioneer Day, or Founders Day or something. And we hit up the local Dairy Queen.

Sarah ran away to China for a semester, and while there met Cory. I seem to recall it was a big scandal, because there was some sort of rule saying that people in the group couldn’t date each other. Cheaters, cheaters. I’m so happy they did, because Cory makes Sarah so happy. They’ve been married for three or four years now and they’re living it up in upstate New York where he’s getting a masters, a doctorate and probably a Nobel Prize all at the same time. Quite the overachieving family.


I love my Sarah and I’m so glad I can keep tabs on her via her blog. (Though if I ever post a picture wearing my favorite shirt, I’m going to hunt you down and kill you.)

Hopefully this didn’t scare people (including Sarah) from future comments. Until I alienate all our friends, we’ll make this a regular Friday feature.

Tagged

Camille tagged me. She didn’t have the guts to comment on my blog, though, to let me know that she tagged me. She did send me an e-mail saying she would never comment on my blog again because she knows I have too much dirt on her. How true that is. Well, her cowardice is in vain. Camille, your name is going in the jar.

The instructions, according to Camille’s blog:
A. The rules of the game are posted at the beginning.
B. Each player answers the questions about themselves.
C. At the end of the post, the player then tags 5 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog.

5 THINGS I WAS DOING 10 YEARS AGO:
1. I was a junior in high school. (Check your math, Cam. You were a sophomore in 1998.)
2. I was not being asked to Commencement by Tyson Parker for the umpteenth year in a row.
3. I played on the varsity softball team with the coolest girls in the universe. (I think that may have been the year I broke our coach’s jaw during a bat-a-thon. I told him not to stand to the right if he was going to pitch it outside.)
4. Jim Steele and I were co-editors of The Buzz, our high school newspaper. We were put in as co-editors our sophomore year and remained in that position until graduation. We made a pretty good team, I think.
5. Making fun of the way Jill danced, a tradition I carry on today. Sometimes I’ll bust a move and say, “Who am I, who am I?” and my husband (who only met Jill once a million years later) will say, “Jill!” We’re working on teaching Tonnelle to do the Jill dance. It’s a classic.

5 THINGS ON MY TO-DO LIST TODAY:
1. Straighten up the Relief Society closet at the church.
2. Tuesday night laundry (not to be confused with Thursday night laundry).
3. Buy all the fixings for some fine Russian cuisine Ben is making for a Russian friend later this week.
4. Get caught up on bills (which will be hard to do unless I can …)
5. Find my checkbook.

5 SNACKS I ENJOY:
1. Good Humor Toasted Almond Ice Cream Bars
2. Safeway Peach Sorbet
3. Nilla Wafers
4. Microwave popcorn with LOTS of popcorn salt
5. Raw elbow macaroni noodles

5 THINGS I WOULD DO IF I WERE A BILLIONAIRE:
1. Buy Maaike a new car. (Kylie could have one, too, if she wanted one.)
2. Take a month-long trip to Russia to visit Ben’s mission and a month-long trip to New Jersey to visit my mission.
3. Buy up every available Wii in the universe so everyone in the world who doesn’t already have one would have to suck up to us in order to get one.
4. Pay someone to find my checkbook (since it would actually have some worth then).
5. Print hard copies of Stellmon Quarterly on glossy paper and sell them on newsstands.

5 OF MY BAD HABITS:
1. Talking, talking, talking (especially when I first get home from work).
2. Pretending I don’t hear the baby in the morning so Ben has to get up and grab her.
3. Never answering the phone. (I’m never avoiding anyone in particular. I just don’t ever answer. I don’t know why.)
4. Blaming that strange odor on Tonnelle (or Ben).
5. Picking the lint out of Ben’s bellybutton. (He REALLY hates that.)

5 THINGS I WILL NEVER WEAR AGAIN:
1. A giant bee costume (not by choice --- I just doubt I’ll have the opportunity again).
2. A nursing bra. Just not for me.
3. My blue maternity dress. As much as I love it, that comment about looking like a giant blueberry will forever haunt me.
4. Hair extensions. Just too creepy.
5. Contacts. I just can’t live without my fun glasses.

5 PLACES I HAVE LIVED:
1. Idaho Falls/Iona area
2. Rexburg, Idaho
3. Moscow, Idaho
4. Elizabeth, New Jersey
5. Irvington, New Jersey

5 JOBS I'VE HAD:
1. Little League umpire when I was 15.
2. Children’s department sales associate at Sears in high school.
3. Freelance copy editor in college.
4. Obit writer for Moscow Pullman Daily News in college. (I also was a reporter and copy editor there, but the obits gig was the best.)
5. IT Help Desk for Gritman Medical Center after college.

5 THINGS PEOPLE PROBABLY DON'T KNOW ABOUT ME:
1. My husband is three years younger than me.
2. I’m a really picky eater. I don’t like half the foods on the planet, and I’m not allowed to eat about a third of the foods on the planet (unfortunately there is no overlap there). But I still really like when other people feed me.
3. I write cutesy little folk songs on my guitar. When I grow up I want to be Sheryl Crow.
4. I did not make my goal of going on dates with 100 different guys before getting married … but I did get close.
5. When I was in third grade I was on the cover of Potato Grower Magazine. (Hey, it’s an international publication. It was a big deal.)

5 PEOPLE I TAG:
1. Your mom (because I doubt she reads this blog).
2. My mom (because I know she doesn’t read this blog).
3. David Jack’s mom (because she really should read this blog).
4. Tonnelle’s mom (because she writes this blog).
5. Mother Earth (because it would be nice to hear from her every once in a while, rather than just hearing from her mouthpiece Al Gore).

That's a real nice feature

Some people mistakenly believe I am clever. Not so. I'm actually just very good at stealing different ideas from different people and putting them together in a seemingly original way.

Take, for example, my latest. As I have been blog surfing, I have seen two kinds of posts that I plan to rip off. The first is the post pleading for more comments. I call them the "please validate my cyber existence" posts. And not mockingly – empathetically. The second type is the profile of a friend/family member post. This could be on an individual’s birthday or anniversary, after a funeral or just because. I call these … OK, I can’t think of something clever to call them. See? Not clever.

So here’s what I’m planning to do. Each week, I plan to take all the names of individuals who have commented on this blog and put them in a jar (and yes, “Your Mom” will be in there, too). I will draw a name, and then I will write a lovely (or perhaps scathing) feature about that person, how I know him/her, and any embarrassing tidbits I can share. If you want to know what kind of dirt I have on you, comment and comment often and you just may find out.

Comments on past posts count, too, so if you’re new to the Stellmon blog, by all means get caught up on the life and times of our little family. We’re really funny people. Really.

Back from paradise

We have discovered the ingredients to a perfect honeymoon. First, go somewhere nearby so you don’t spend half your time (and money) traveling. Second, win the trip at a work party or in a contest so you don’t have to worry one bit about the cost. Third, wait to go until you’ve been married a few years. That’s when you really need the relaxation and deserve the time together. Finally, be sure to tell everyone it’s your honeymoon. You won’t believe the free stuff you get out of it.

We had the best time during our short trip to Coeur d’Alene. We probably spent half our time telling each other how much fun we were having. It was perfect. Rather than writing the longest post ever with all the details, here's the longest post every with a few pictures of the highlights.

The day started with Tonnelle sleeping in. Excellent surprise.



We dropped Tonnelle off with Camille and off we went.



I wanted to surprise Ben by looking amazing, so my friend Kristi dressed me up like a doll and taught me how to do my hair and makeup. That’s right, makeup. Well, just eyeliner and lip gloss. But that’s more than I wore on my wedding day, so that’s a big deal. Nice work, Kristi.



After a session at the LDS Temple in Spokane (which was wonderful) we headed to the Coeur d’Alene Resort.



When we checked in, Ben was sure to mention it was our long-awaited honymoon. … and we were upgraded to a premium suite in the tower. He got a big kiss for that one, especially when we saw our room.







I loved the view.



Ben loved the TV screen.



The highlight of the evening was getting fancied up for dinner. We were WAY too dressy for the Olive Garden, but that was part of the fun.




When we returned to the resort, we discovered our bed had been turned down and there were chocolates – not Hershey Kisses, but real chocolates – on our pillows, along with a card telling us tomorrow’s expected weather. Soooooo nice.



In the morning we had a sleep-in contest. Ben won.



We ended our vacation with our trip to the spa. I have never felt more pampered in my life.

We managed to do a million things during our one-day honeymoon, but mainly we just relaxed and enjoyed being together with no place we had to go or anyone we had to meet. It was perfect, perfect, perfect.



When we returned to Moscow we had about 30 messages each and a million things to do – so it goes. But we also got to be together as a family for the rest of the day. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

They don't make 'em cuter than this

Honeymoon time

Two-and-a-half years and one baby later, we’re finally going on our honeymoon. I haven’t been this excited for anything since, well, the Good Humor Toasted Almond Bars. And if it’s possible, I’m even more excited about this.

Friday we’re headed north to exotic Coeur d’Alene. OK, so Ben is from the Coeur d’Alene area. But Athol is a far cry from the Coeur d’Alene Resort, where we’ll be staying.

We’ll dump Tonnelle off on Camille Friday morning and return to the scene of the crime, the LDS temple in Spokane where we were married. We’ll also recreate our first meal as a married couple – wonderfully greasy food from Jack-in-the-Box drive-thru. (This time, however, I won’t be in the backseat trying to wrestle my way out of that huge poof of a wedding dress as Ben up front places our order.)

After all that nostalgic bliss, it’s on to the Resort, where we plan to tell EVERYONE it’s our honeymoon (hoping to get some free stuff out of it). We haven’t decided if we’ll wander around acting as though we don’t speak English or if we’ll spend our time acting like we’re super rich and the place isn’t nice enough for us. Likely we’ll abort both plans and go with our true identities of super poor people who obviously don’t belong in such a place. (Ben won a night’s stay and spa package at a work party – we honestly couldn’t go any other way.)

We’re going to get dressed up for dinner (another trip to Jack-in-the-Box, maybe?) and wander around downtown. We may even find our way onto one of the cruise ships for a lake tour – who knows. Saturday morning we plan to sleep in for the first time in AGES, and then spoil ourselves rotten with side-by-side Swedish massages and aroma therapy at the spa. After that we’ll check out, grab a Jamba Juice, and make the 90-mile drive back to Moscow to retrieve our baby girl.

In all, a 30-hour honeymoon. Does it sound like heaven or what?

P.S. Can you tell I'm newly addicted to links? It's a disease.

The phone call every wife dreads

I got a call from Ben this morning while I was at work. His voice was thin.

“I did something stupid,” he said.

He proceeded to tell me that he was trying to cut his hair, but something went wrong …

I immediately thought he’d cut off his ear. Or maybe a finger. Or maybe Tonnelle’s finger. Something just tragic and awful that resulted in loss of blood and a stain on my favorite rug. I was ready to jump in the car or call the ambulance.

But then Ben finished his story. “I did the best I could, but it looks pretty stupid.”

And that was it. He gave himself a bad haircut. The end. No tragedy.

Then again, I haven’t see just how bad it is yet …

New game

Apparently we don't challenge Tonnelle enough. Lately her new game is swinging the door shut, then crawling as quickly as she can to squeeze through before it shuts.


My favorite is when she doesn't quite make it, but rather than accepting defeat she keeps ramming her head into the door. It either pops back open and she wins the game, or it stubbornly clasps shut ... so she punishes it with her head butting.