The Rink

The small town MisterKidd and I grew up in had one form of entertainment, one venue that brought the kids of the community together and kept them off the streets. You know, Main Street gets busy around 5.

The last remaining sentiment from the 80's was a mediocre skating rink near the edge of town. It was run by the same person who opened it when it was "all the rage" in the decades before, Mr. Carl.

Oh, how the butterflies would swarm as my mom and dad dropped me off at the door of the orange-and-yellow-striped building with $5 for entry, skates, and a coke. The excitement of seeing my friends away from school, the way my flare leg jeans draped over my roller skates, and the thrill of zooming across the black-lit floor as Britney Spears played overhead was almost too much for a 10 year old on a Friday night. The only things that could cap that feeling were winning a slap bracelet in "musical skates" and holding hands with that bushy haired boy during the couples skate.

Cloud Nine. That's the only way to describe the feeling of my sweaty hand in his, maneuvering around the rink to Savage Garden on one of the last skates of the night. This beautiful boy in the KISS t-shirt was sweeping me off my feet as we dodged and weaved. There were other couples, but we were alone on the floor as we rounded each corner, hoping the song would play forever.

But alas, Mr. Carl would break our euphoria over the loudspeaker with these words: "All Skate, Everybody Skate, All Skate." With this, those who hadn't been blessed with a deep and lasting middle school romance were allowed to join us. After a few more loops, the lights were turned on, the music was turned off. We handed in our skates and were ushered into the night.

The Swing

MisterKidd and I have been together for a long time, by the world's standard. Although we've been married for less than 5 years, our journey started long before that, long before most people even know.

In the year two thousand, a bushy haired boy who was at least six inches shorter than me began walking with me on the way back from Gifted and Talented in the afternoons. I'm sure he was attracted by my ice green eyeshadow and the 12 butterfly clips I used to keep my bob in a ponytail. Who could resist?

I won't pretend to remember what we talked about. Probably Power Rangers and AR books and the like. He was the cool kid and the class clown, and he was largely considered to be the most eligible bachelor in the 4th grade (yes, you can be all of those things in a class of 40 kids). I was quiet and bookish with plenty of friends, but none of the male variety. Any boy who wasn't Leonardo DiCaprio was lame, that is until I was flashed a crooked smile by him. I was smitten.

After several of these walks, this boy began spending quite a bit of time with me on the playground. He invented a swing technique on my behalf called "the underdog." He stood in the back of the swings, pushing my friend and me back and forth, higher and higher until we were high enough that he could give one of us a good shove, running through the push and underneath us as we soared. It was pure bliss.

It was during one of these recess rituals that I received the greatest compliment to date. After performing several underdogs, this boy loudly and boldly proclaimed that I was much lighter than my friend, therefore easier to push. These words were music; never had I heard such sweet talk from a member of the opposite gender.

With this slightly backward comment, he had stolen my heart. His chivalrous manner of escorting me from GT and his commitment to me on the playground was enough for me to dedicate all of 5th grade to his happiness.

The Blog-iversary

This time last year, my plate was full. Not just "a small helping of each dish" full, but "a third trip to the buffet" full. We had a 19 month old and a newborn, and we were settling into our house after a crazy home buying experience. My brain needed a drain, an outlet for all of those thoughts, so I opened a Blogger account.

I wrote about 5 posts before I finally got the courage to publish them. Letting friends, family, acquaintances, and strangers into the mind of an introvert causes said introvert to, well, invert a little. After proofing each draft a million few times, sharing them with MisterKidd, and then proofing them once more, I finally clicked "publish" and sent some pieces of my heart onto the 'net.

On September 1st, I started this blogging experience. It's been a pretty fun way to get some things off my chest, share some things I'm learning about life (like this and this), and basically type out all of the things I tell my mom everyday on her drive home from work.

I recently read "Black Heels to Tractor Wheels," the love story of my culinary hero, The Pioneer Woman, and her husband. As I read, I was reminded of when MisterKidd and I began dating almost a decade ago when I could not even drive yet. All of those butterflies and first moments and band t-shirts that smelled like baseball practice came back as I read her story, and I thought, "how nice that she can go back and read this anytime he does any number of unspeakable things that husbands often do."

After reading this book, I've been tossing around the idea of typing up some of our adventures from the last nine years together. I jotted down some possible ideas and ended up with 53 type worthy anecdotes, give or take 10 more that I may remember along the way. I thought maybe, just maybe, our kids would be interested in why they have life and breath and existence someday, and we may not be around to tell them when that time comes.

So, as a service to our children, and so I can recall the feeling of riding down the backroads in a white Ford Ranger next to a scrawny jock listening to Switchfoot, and in celebration of my Blog-iversary, I will begin to chronicle the story of falling in love (and then out of love, then in again) with my main squeeze.

I hope to share one story each week, maybe more or less, depending on how many lemons I'm making into lemonade at the time. So get ready for a year (or more) of mundane teenage happenings, huge mistakes, moments of pure bliss, and the beginning of a life together.

Thank you to everyone who's been following along for the last year. I'm honored that you let me into your mind, even if it's only to pass the time waiting for the microwave to beep.