Tag Archives: marriage

Stop Crying and Run


There are exactly seven days between me and the Family Nurse Practitioner board exam and I can honestly say I have never been more nervous about a test in my life. It’s been a gradual onset of anxiety. Call it insidious if you like. I’ve taken a fair few standardized tests in my day without wanting to throw up. I do pretty well on tests. I even sort of like studying. This one has been different. Studying for this one has made me want to puke on an at least daily basis for two weeks now. I think it has something to do with the fact that our cross-country move hinges on my ability to answer 150 clinical questions. 150 giant questions that stand on a hill mocking me, like some computerized Goliath. Today, instead of just feeling a little sick, I kicked it up a notch and broke down crying. That’s right. A nauseated, ugly cry fest on the back porch. I stopped snuffling just long enough to call my husband at work because he loves when I call him at work for him to fix my problems.

Roger: “Hey babe, how you doing?”Me: [bravely] “Well, actually…not that great. [un-bravely] I just failed a practice exam and I’m afraaaaaaid and I’m paaaanicking and I’m cryyyyyyyying and this is the woooooorst feeeeeling ever. Ever. EVER.”
Roger: [kindly] “Let me pray for you….[awesome prayer]….”
Me: Snuffle snuffle snuuuuuuuufffle
Roger: Stop crying and go running. NOW.
Me: Snuuff-
Roger: NOW.

At which point I decided my husband didn’t know what I was dealing with and a run wouldn’t make me know everything and solve all my problems. But whatever. I’ll go because the alternative is to break things or crawl in bed and cry till my eyes swell shut. So I ran. And ran. And didn’t stop until my legs felt like they’d fall off. It only took about a mile to realize my husband is BRILLIANT. And about two miles to remember how good my God is and how much he loves me. Around three miles I wanted to lay down on the sidewalk but then remembered how I am supposed to be strong and courageous. I remembered that God did not give me a spirit of fear or timidity. He has given me power and peace and joy. He has not brought me this far to leave me puking and crying on the back porch.

I ran for an hour and returned home ready to kick some giant exam butt. Our future absolutely does not hinge on my ability to answer 150 questions. It hinges on a God who is big and good and has an awesome calling on my life. If I truly believe that, then I can fight this Goliath with my bare hands and a sling shot. My God has come through in every other fight I’ve been in. If he helped me slay those lions and bears then he’s got this one covered too. If you’re crying on the back porch today, stop it. Go do whatever you gotta do to get your head on straight and remember who the heck you are.

And go kick some Goliath butt.

 

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Adventure


Back in August of 2010 I began the three year adventure to Nurse Practitionerhood. I am extremely pleased to report to you that this morning, with a swift click of the ‘send’ button, I have completed my program. On time. Two weddings and a funeral did not halt the march toward this goal and I think Mom would be proud. Sure I cried, kicked, and screamed at times but for the most part my way was paved pretty wide and easy. My National Health Corps scholarship enabled me to decline some hefty loans and be a full time student and my husband has paid our way through the last year. Thank you, sir.  I got to volunteer, study in a rural clinic across the country, and take on extra clinical hours. And now I am so ready to report for work.

After I pass the board exam, get licensed, and move to FLORIDA.

A smidge to the east of here.

That’s right. We are adventuring back to the motherland. Well, my motherland anyway. It’s time to repay Uncle Sam with two years of service in a medically under served area. Although Hawaii is sorely under served, God in his sovereignty shut some doors here and flung open the doors in Florida. It took some attitude adjustment on my part to even begin the interview process but after visiting Florida with Roger and receiving a few job offers, we fell head over heels for the idea. I will be working in a fantastic community health center in Brevard County (AKA, the Space Coast, previous home of the space shuttle and me!). I was thrilled with their orientation program for new graduates and the team they have serving the Brevard area. We have extended family all over Florida and Roger has been day dreaming of boats, fishing, wildlife, and about ten different jobs that he is perfectly suited for. We couldn’t be more excited about this new adventure.

All that stands between me and earning my keep is one more (huge) exam. I like to think of this whole process like American Gladiator. I’ve done the pyramid, I did the hang tough stuff. I got through the snapback and the joust. Now it’s time for the gauntlet…it’s time to break through and conquer baby. Final season, final event. Just wish I had the awesome leotard because I think it would really help on exam day.

I might need this soundtrack for studying.

I hope you are living your own adventure today. God is good and he has exciting plans. If you need a leotard or a soundtrack to remind you, go get it.

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The Rebel’s Guide to a Good Day


It took me most of the week to make yesterday a good day. That’s right. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday were pretty much swing and miss days. Thankfully I think I got a piece of Wednesday so I wasn’t a complete strike-out and had another chance. Thursday was no Babe Ruth home run but it got me on base.

On Monday I began the first sermon in a series by Mark Driscoll called The Rebel’s Guide to Joy. There’s ten or twelve of them and I figured I would do well by learning about joy this week. I was very brave and kind to people on the bus and to people at Crossfit and to my classmates. And then Roger and I went home and made dinner, joyful and kind. And then I started a fight and joy did not matter. And kindness did not matter. And logic certainly did not matter. This was war and I was going to win. Wars aren’t joyful! Wars are serious. So I pulled him into battle and regretted every second of it the next day. Swing and miss.

On Tuesday I stayed home and studied and worked on the Great Nurse Practitioner Job Hunt. I also decided that one sermon hadn’t done the job and apparently I needed more so I listened to The Rebel’s Guide to Joy in Poverty and the Rebel’s Guide to Joy in Humility. Now I don’t think I am impoverished but I could still relate. The humility part just kicked me in the pants. In fact, I was so inspired that I cooked a beautiful dinner and set a romantic table to make amends for Monday’s miss. It was a decent day but since we were still licking our wounds and doing a careful war dance around one another, I can’t call it a win.

Wednesday hobbled along with the help of The Rebel’s Guide to Joy in Suffering and in Death. There’s a one-two combo for you. But I have to hand it to Mr. Driscoll, he pulled it off. Once again, I was grateful in a crazy and weird way for the suffering I experienced through Mom’s cancer and death. I’m not grateful for the actual suffering and death. I’m thankful for the way I found joy in Jesus when there was no joy to be found anywhere else. These sermons reminded me to look back and then look forward with joy and bravery. Which I did until I decided that I missed my Mom an awful lot and decided that being grouchy and sensitive and overreacting to minor events would distract me from this. In all humility, let me tell you, this is a false idea. Another miss.

Thursday dawned with the regret of the irrational wife. But the Rebel’s Guide to Anxiety was on the playlist and I decided it couldn’t hurt. But it did hurt a bit. It crushed my pride, convicted me in a major way, and opened my eyes to a lie I have believed for a long time. Anxiety is not a condition to be managed. It is a sin to be repented of. Now, Pastor Mark admitted, and as a healthcare provider, I wholeheartedly agree, that there are chemical imbalances and true disorders that are conditions. But your average, run-of-the-mill anxiety that leads to your(my) above average, burn-down-the-mill freak-outs is a sin. Jesus tells us to let our gentleness and reasonableness be evident to all as we refuse to be anxious about anything but instead lift our requests, give thanks, and rejoice. When I am anxious, it takes a tiny event to send me into freak-out mode and if I am there, I can say and do what I want because I am ANXIOUS. You want me to be reasonable?! Gentle?! Are you kidding me?! Just wait right there, I am going to freak out and then I can be reasonable. But this is so wrong. And I want to change.

So I meditated on this over the course of the day. I shelved anxiety and chose joy on purpose. That evening Roger and I had a long beach walk and a long talk over picnic dinner about the future and God’s goodness to us. We both did some repenting and some changing. We both had a win. We even saw five satellites. Those are better than shooting stars, right? And we made a plan for the weekend to choose joy and to create change. We don’t want the run-of-the-mill. We want the extraordinary.
Crazy little rebels.

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Dawn Driving and Staying Brave


The Aussie and I share one car. We drive approximately four thousand miles a week but it’s ok. We figure that one car keeps our minds sharp. Like doing a crossword puzzle every day.

“I need to go from point A to point B through K today.”
“Ok, I will drop you at A and you walk to points B to C. Then I can meet you at D and catch the bus to points E through F.”
“Perfect, then I’ll drive the car to point G and we can go to H through J together before I go to K.”

We will never get Alzheimers.

If I want the car for the day, I wake up at 5 am and drive an hour west to take Roger to work. Actually he drives and I finish waking up by talking a lot. He must miss me when I don’t go with him. Poor guy. However, if you know anything about Honolulu traffic, the LAST thing you want to do is drive east between 6 and 8 am on a week day. So, instead of wasting hours of my life and an excessive amount of gas idling in traffic, I don’t go home immediately. Instead, I go to Starbucks. There are some interesting folks at a coffee shop just before 6 in the morning. But I probably fit right in since I am usually still wearing my pajamas. I read my Bible and my textbooks. And sometimes I write blogs. And I have realized that these early morning hours are FAR more productive than the late night hours. So, for now, I am pretty happy with this situation.

This morning I have been contemplating yesterday’s sermon at The Mission. Pastor Tripp encouraged us to consider the places that Jesus would go and the people he would engage with. No place is too scary, too dark. No person is too unlovable, too sinful, too lost. I consider myself a pretty friendly person but I can also be fearful. I try to be brave. But all too often my excuse for not going somewhere or doing something that Jesus would do is that I am just plain scared. I don’t want to be this way. Jesus stood in a really scary place a couple thousand years ago and told his disciples that his church would be built in these kinds of places. But he assured them and us that the gates of hell will not prevail against his church. Gates don’t march at us, we march at gates. And those gates won’t stand up to us. I think that loving purposefully and sincerely is a form of bravery.

So, today I determine once again to be brave. I will be brave at Starbucks and at Crossfit. I will be brave in classes and in the clinic. I will be brave at church and at home. And those gates won’t prevail.
Have a brave day.

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Protecting the Peace


I often have very clear dreams about my mom. They are usually happy and I wake up glad and go about my day per the usual. But other times I think I must dream about her without remembering because I will have a lingering nostalgic sense of her in my day. Last week I had one of these days and thought of calling her to tell her some news. Twice. Not the usual “I wish I could tell mom about this” but two times during my day I actually thought “I should call mom and tell her this”. Don’t worry, I’m not crazy and I don’t believe in communication with the dead so put your theology back in your holster. I think that must just happen. Something great comes along and you automatically want to tell the person you have always told. Even if they’ve been gone for over a year. So, I usually pray through the sadness until God restores my peace. And then call Dad and chat his ear off.

What has happened that is so great, you may ask? Roger has started his first American job. That’s right, before you know it I’ll have this guy pledging allegiance to the U.S. of A.

Last week we came home from Kona after a gorgeous Thanksgiving and immediately stopped giving thanks and started asking questions. Should we move? Should Roger apply somewhere we haven’t thought of? Is that even possible? So, unbeknownst to me, the Aussie set aside a morning to pray some serious, down to business prayers. And that very day, he got a call for the best job we could have chosen for him. And we started Thanksgiving all over again. It has been four days and I think my husband is the happiest I have seen him since we moved to Oahu. He bounces out of bed and comes home dog-tired but I have a new found understanding of what work means for the male gender. He is operating on all cylinders now and deliriously happy to be doing it. And trust me, four months, even four years later, he will have the same grin because this guy truly does “do all his work as unto the Lord” and I LOVE it.

So, as the Christmas season traipses along, we are settling into a new routine and I am working to protect my peace. We haven’t landed ourselves solidly in a church community yet as we alternate between our North Shore church and our Kailua church. I have written before about my college friend Todd who preaches up a storm at Kailua Baptist and his wife Natalie. There is something so down right comforting about being around folks who have known you for over ten years . These two have been an encouragement to us. They remind me of college and long conversations over coffee about Jesus and the church, about which plate lunch place made the right color chicken katsu and how to put just the right spin on the ping pong ball.

For the record, that’s the right color.

It was during this time that I memorized the verse Isaiah 26:3 You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in You. I was reminded of this verse again this morning as I listened to my dad’s sermon online (Yep, I’m gettin’ sermons from all over the place!). He challenged us to protect our peace during this season by avoiding robbers of peace and trusting in God’s pardon, protection, and provision.

So, no matter what is going on – happy news, nostalgic moments, stressful days – keep your mind stayed on Him. He WILL come through. He WILL give the victory. He WILL bring encouragement. And He WILL keep us in perfect peace this Christmas.

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Hopes Raised


Well, we are still married. Just in case you were wondering. I mean, I think my grandmother still wonders sometimes. During those few minutes when Roger and I were dating, I would get a Grandmomie Voicemail once a week. “Hi Erin, just calling to say hi and I love you. So, are you still dating that Australian? Just checking. Love, Grandmomie.” You always wait for the sign off because she always signs off and that’s how you know it’s authentic. So I try to keep her updated regularly now that we are indeed still married. And since my blog has gone woefully silent, I thought I should just let you all know too.

The past month has been a rough one in some ways. Jobless, car-less, and bordering on hopeless on the worst days. I kept trying to think of ways to put a cute spin on it but would inevitably circle back to the fact that we still had no jobs, our car was smashed on the curb with threatening neighbor notes attached, and sometimes entire days were used just trying to remedy those things. But after stressful days of studying, job-hunting, and car shopping, we have still been having fun. We walk the beach, we play with the dog, we cook, and lately, we have been enjoying our new favorite show, Raising Hope.

My childhood friend, Kelly Metcalf Wilkes, recommended it to us and it couldn’t have come in a better season. The Chance family, struggling to make ends meet, dealing with their collective idiosyncrasies, and loving each other fiercely, has us belly-laughing every time no matter how many lemons we test drove that day. When Burt Chance struggles with understanding politics, I sneak glances at my Aussie husband. And for some reason when the demented MawMaw dances around the house with her clothes on backwards, Roger sneaks his glances. Which is weird. Because I don’t do that often. The thing we love most about the show is how much Burt and Virginia Chance love each other. Through it all.

So we’ve been trying our best to love each other fiercely but sometimes we just remember the fiercely part. These little life hiccups of not having a car or a job kept leading to arguments. Our arguments have been pretty spectacular as most newly wed spats probably are. My parents did their best to train me out of my temper but sometimes I take the attorney part of my father and the spitfire side of my mother and take arguing to legendary levels.  Thankfully Roger hasn’t learned too many arguing strategies beyond keeping his cool and ending them reasonably (amateur) and I wear myself out pretty quick and learn valuable lessons. Monday was a great example.

We had just pulled our borrowed car into its rightful garage to return it to our friends after a month long loan.

Roger: [Turning hose on inside of garage] Let’s give it a quick spray.

Me: [With frantic look] No, no, no! Don’t wash it in the garage!

Roger: [In a slightly more irritable voice than I deemed necessary] Ok, move the car then and hurry up.

Me: [With a haughty silence that we both know I can never keep up for long] You can wash the car yourself! Something unreasonable! And rude!

Roger: [Manly silence that we both know he can keep up for as long as it takes]

Me: [While dumping soapy sponges down his back in a more Angry Housewife way than Desperate Housewife way] And wash this! I’m going to study at Starbucks.

Roger: [After washing and drying the car by himself and coming to find me and buying me my favorite Green Tea lemonade]: Reasonableness. Unnecessary apologies. Good husband stuff.

And that’s the kind of guy I am dealing with here! I know, so hard. He makes me better every day. But our difficult times have made it really hard for me to translate into cute blogs. I’ve been discouraged that my prayers for an extraordinary life that changed other lives had been reduced to “let us get through the month” prayers.

But this week we have had our Hopes Raised. We found a fantastic deal on a beautiful little 2003 Jetta and we bought it on Saturday. Which is the reason we returned the car and then after our Car Wash Explosion, Roger was called in for a job interview. He starts next week. God answered our prayers. And this morning I had a conversation with someone very important to me about God’s plan for her life. We talked about Jesus’ fantastic love for us. And she lifted my eyes to see the goodness of our Savior in the good and the difficult.

So here’s my encouragement to you, whether you are newly married, oldly married, or single: Take Hope. It’s not always about looking extraordinary to the onlookers, it’s about never losing hope that the extraordinary will happen. Despite of tempers like mine.

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It Was a Good Day


As promised, an embarrassment of photos. You have my permission to scroll quickly. It’s just another wedding blog. But it was MY wedding. How crazy is that.

Mom’s dress from June thirty-one years ago. Perfect fit.

Last minute choices from a dainty array of heirlooms.

My something blue from Grandmomie Carol…little sapphire earrings.

I won’t devote the rest of my blogs to wedding reminiscing but I will say that I unashamedly reveled in the best day of my life.

We had a wonderful little cottage on the ranch to use for the ready and waiting spot.

One of my favorites with my favorite sisters.

Joining the marrieds.

They were the best bridesmaids I could have asked for. A twin sister, a little sister, a hair-dresser best friend that gave me any sense of style I may have today, a best friend from 1st grade, a pen-pal from middle school that turned into a real life best friend, and a missionary roommate that prayed me through nursing school.

I tried to enjoy every moment but at this point I was close to sprinting down the aisle.

One of my photographers had this fun idea. I think she’s good at what she does, what do you think? http://www.rebeccaarthursblog.com

The boys had some fun getting ready too. Please note the Aussie pose. Without fail.

had no idea how deliriously happy and exhilarated I would feel. It felt like a combination of winning a contest, taking a bow at the end of a Broadway musical, and having a surprise party thrown by all your best friends in your honor.

Papa Paul – the best man. Rog comes from a long line of handsome and good natured.

Sam and the final brother-in-law.

Australian-American Lesson #59: Boutonnieres are put on upside down. Both ways looks pretty good. Also, for the record, Mama Leanne is a former model and is positively stunning.

The Maid of Honor definitely found those yellow ties the day before the wedding. Lindsey saved the day about 500 times in one month. That’s like 16.6 times a day.

Saying yes to this guy was a breeze.

It was perfect. Sunny and misty.

We used one of Mom’s songs for the processional and Sara and Ryan sang some beautiful hymns during communion.

Sister Sara’s daughters were my flowergirls. Sometimes I stare at this photo and wonder how it is possible for kids to be this stinking cute.

Merry Married Mitsudas.

I know I should have expected my wedding to be great but I was surprised by the level of greatness. Seriously. Heaven celebrated with us. I’m not making that up.

Roger’s crates that we feminized. Also, can you believe those flowers? Those are thanks to Maid Of Honor’s Mama Linda.

Photographer Eric captured many of these images including this promise over our celebration. http://www.efrankevisuals.com

Worth. Every. Penny.

And this guy was the one who got me here. Had me, raised me, prayed me through the wait, paid me through the wedding, and remains the best dad I could ask for.

And this is the one I get to spend the rest of my days with. Happily Ever After.

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Hello From a Brave New World


And I’m back. In an abundance of words, thoughts, and happenings, I froze. But the blogging hiatus is over.

The Perfect Day (the next blog will have an embarrassing amount of photos so get ready.)

After a storybook wedding, a honeymoon in paradise, and three months of Mr. and Mrs., I am now writing to you from the tropical land of Married People. It’s a pretty great place to live but here’s the thing, I kept waiting for the Super House Wife phase to set in so that I could make my blog look really good. You know the kind: Polaroids of aprons and cookies. Homemade decorations. Lunches packed in eco-friendly ways as my husband traipses off to his perfect job. I could even change the name of the blog. Something like “EbdoesPerfect”. But it’s been three months now and I’ve made one batch of failed cookies, my decorations are barely out of storage, and we are still waiting on Roger’s Green Card so he usually packs my lunches for school.  We are hilariously happy and stupid in love but, I have had the epiphany that most of you Married People have all had: Marriage is the ultimate test of bravery. Yes, it is.

I started this blog as a way to stay brave as described here. I am naturally fearful but I don’t like being afraid. God has led me through some scary times including quitting a good job, starting a career I never knew I wanted, taking care of my mom for a five year fight against a truly terrible cancer, figuring out how to live without her, and watching friends marry off and reproduce as I tried to hold it together. All of these things took a brand of courage one only gets supernaturally and, although I have a fantastic family and incredible friends that were in it with me, I was still alone. Now, I am finding that joining my life to another human being is wonderful, comforting, exciting, and essentially, pretty terrifying. No, really. He would agree. It’s straight up scary.

Here is the scary truth: we moved to Oahu with no jobs, one car that’s been giving Herby-esque farewell hints, and definitely no idea where we were going to live. For two weeks we established home-base in a friend’s guest bedroom where I would be alternately reading every single post on Craigslist or breathing into a paper bag as landlord after landlord asked us pesky questions like “How will you pay rent?” Details. It was in these hyperventilated moments that my husband came through, because he is a champ, and prayed me back into shape. We were in it together. I had the responsibility of encouraging him and respecting his decisions and he had the responsibility of lovingly scraping me off the floor every time I melted down. All I wanted was to pack him a lunch but we didn’t have a kitchen and he didn’t have anywhere to go. So I had to be a different kind of awesome. A brave kind of awesome.

Today, we live in a delightful house on a Kaneohe hillside with super neighbors and a landlord that loves to give Roger construction projects. The place is so cute these days that I may have to take some polaroids soon and show you. Our car has even been starting regularly and Roger has some job leads that look very promising. As for me, school continues to truck along and I am in a pediatric clinical rotation that I love. So, the scary truths aren’t SO scary. I still have the brave responsibility of encouraging and trusting Roger with my well-being and he has the courageous duty of loving me through my fear and pulling me back into orbit when I start to whirl away.

We are figuring it out a day at a time and almost every morning I wake up and realize that there is a human being who will always be there. ALWAYS. This is both weird and wonderful.

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Vanquish the Normal


A brief word on when to be normal and when to not.

In nursing school and now in nurse practitioner school, it is emphasized to us, the eager and teachable students, that we must know the normal to identify the abnormal. We need to know what a normal sinus rhythm sounds like in a typical heart to identify the murmurs, the irregular beat, the extra sounds. I need to know the ranges of electrolytes to know that a potassium level of 1.0 is probably a pretty bad thing and I should look at a whole bunch of healthy ears so that a bulging membrane looks different from all the rest. We gotta know the norms to know the abnorms otherwise we could catch ourselves looking at a very sick patient with crazy blood tests, nodding and saying “Mmm hmm…looks good.”

In marriage, I have decided that I need to know the norms so that I can be anything but normal. Roger and I have received a veritable plethora of wise wedding words, kind counsel, and sometimes simply been on the confused receiving end of a knowing married nod in our direction. The last one is a move that seems to say either “Get ready, this is awesome” or “You think this is going to be awesome? I know better.” We haven’t quite figured out which one so we just nod back in engaged bliss. Amid all the suggestions and comments, we most appreciate the words that include a knowledge of God’s sovereignty and the uniqueness of each couple.

We know that there are struggles that all men and all women deal with but we are also determined to meet these struggles with our unique gifts and personalities. We are determined not to agree with the statement that “Women are just like that” and “Boys will be boys” when it is applied to a weakness that we want to improve. If it is referring to the way that women cry at inopportune times such as every day last week or the way that men enjoy shooting small to large rodents in the Kona area, then we agree.  Otherwise, we are determined to be abnormal.

Adam and Eve and their official punishments, along with males and females throughout history show us that there are similarities in men across the board and there are shared tendencies in women in general. But the rest of Scripture also points to our unique standing before God and the consistent call that we have to rise up, go forward, conquer, overcome. We are called to bravely do what is difficult. We are called to vanquish the normal.

So, know your norms…and then attack them. Push through them. We are called to abnormalcy and it is possible. And I see that nod. And I am nodding back in engaged bliss.

 

 

 

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Register…as what?


When Roger and I became engaged, we were very happy. I think we were happy for the same basic reasons: we had found the spouse of our dreams. We were going to start a life together. We were going to live together. Things like that. But I believe we also had some secondary reasons for bliss that were unique to each of us. I think Roger’s secondary reasons included visions of me in fishing waders reeling in a catch just like he taught me.

Glorious.

Or other similar camping scenarios. I’m cool with that. But the fourth or fifth thought that I had after engagement was, “We get to REGISTER.”

Now, I am not an extremely materialistic person and, believe it or not, I’m not a shopaholic either. I freeze up with too many choices (remember? Click here.) But for the past two years I have had a growing urge to set up house. I have set up a couple apartments but have always resisted making them TOO homey because I didn’t want to collect too much stuff. As it is, I have a storage unit half full of stuff that I found at garage sales and on the side of the road. Hey, they still work with a coat of paint. I used to tell my friends that I was going to register for grown-up household goods for my 30th birthday. I’m not sure if I was joking so I am SO glad I don’t have to follow through with that. Roger’s response to the whole registry business was classic.

“We have to register? As what?”

After explaining that we did not have to go on an American Master List of Engaged Couples, I asked if the registry was a thing in Australia. Apparently it is. And that is when I realized that there will be things that I assume “aren’t Australian traditions” when in actuality, it’s just not a Roger tradition. It will be fun through the years to see how this unfolds. This reminds me of the famous Entree Conversation.

Entree

Roger: Girl that I’ve only dated a week and want to impress, Brent wants to have us over to eat some fish he caught.
Erin: Okay, man that I am so nervous around that I can’t quite look in the face yet, is there enough fish for four?
Roger: Well, we can eat the fish as an entree and something else for the main dish.
Erin: Now I can look you in the face because you said something very silly. Entrees ARE main dishes.
Roger: No, girl that I am still trying to impress, you are being silly. “Entree” means “to enter”, it is the starter.
Erin: In my family, we settle this kind of thing with a dictionary.
Roger: Yikes.
Erin: “Entree: Definition #1 Main course to a meal.” Something smug.
Roger: Ok, is there a definition #2?
Erin: Oh. Yes. “In a fancy meal, entree is an appetizer or starter.”
Roger: (Smiles devastatingly handsome smirk)
Erin: But it was definition number TWO.
Roger: Yes, in the American Heritage Dictionary.
(Dispute settled.)

Now that we have been engaged for three weeks, we are older and wiser and don’t have knowy-pants disputes like that anymore. No, really.

So last night we walked the aisles of Target with a Powerful Ray Gun.  And Roger decided he does like registering. He only had a few brief Boy Moments in which he used outer-space voices and aimed the gun at several unpurchasable humans but I chalked that up to male nerves and reassured myself with the fact that at least he wasn’t running in circles bonking his head and yelling like younger versions of his gender do when confronted with something completely new and slightly overwhelming. Like linens. Plus, he’s fun and I started the Ray Gun game anyway.

We are having a small wedding in Waimea. The registry is not the most important thing. The important thing is that I am marrying the best human I have ever met and if he knew everything about dinner settings and thread counts, I would be worried. Thank you Jesus for a man with patience and an excellent sense of humor. He’ll need it with a knowy-pants like me.

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