Five Years Down. . .by Amy

So it's 5 AM.  It's supposed to be my anniversary celebration today.  My 5th anniversary.  A biggie.  It started out with a grand idea to go to Vegas.  Then we analyzed our financial situation, and my husband planned, instead, a surprise trip to Portland on frequent flier miles.  Then we had to buy a house, so we changed it to a romantic night over in SLC so as to not leave the children for another weekend.  Then we got deathly ill.  The two kids and I had a fun, joint doctor's appointment together yesterday.  I want to put myself into a self-induced coma until it goes away.  Josh is in Portland watching Cloverfield and eating CPK (and also doing work, but that's hard to focus on right now, isn't it?).  Did I also mention that it's my birthday?  And Valentine's Day?  Oh. . .and part of the "getaway" was shopping for birthday presents, so I guess we won't be doing that.  So instead of continuing to wallow in my pity, I thought I'd share, on the day we were to be celebrating our anniversary, the reason I married the best man I know.

Some of you already know the story (yes, you, single blog reader).  Josh and I met on our LDS missions in Rome, Italy.  And when I say "met," that's really what I mean. . .not like some of those couples who "meet" on their missions and then sit on the stand with each other at their Homecomings.  In our mission diaries, Josh describes me as "the tall sister with the video camera" (swoon.) and I speak of him as a "great guy!".  When we arrived home, we kept in touch through our mutual friend and fellow Anziano, Seth "Jeppie" Jeppesen,  whom we no longer see but hear sightings of like some sort of Loch Ness Monster.  Josh spent some time selling turkey legs in Florida, which turned out to be an extremely lucrative career move (note:  had to borrow money from parents for return ticket home) and I did a study-abroad in London where I sometimes think I left a part of my soul.  It was there that I decided that I might be interested in him (remember, Annie?).  He made me laugh. . .we wrote long e-mails and worked up huge phone bills (sorry, mom!).  So a couple of months later, I told him that.  And he said no thanks.

This is 1999.  My heart was broken. . .at least for a couple of days.  I remember going over to his house and making him "talk about it."  Not at all uncomfortable.  I liked seeing him squirm. Josh loves confrontation.  And then. . .as quickly as it came, it went away.  We were best friends for two years after that.  My mom still insists that I was in love with him this entire time, but I wasn't.  I distinctly remember, after traveling with him on one of our various vacations, that I had "dodged that bullet."  He was the best friend a girl could have.  When I decided to pick up and move to L.A., he was the one who made the drive with me and my parents and hauled my furniture up two flights of stairs.  He didn't judge me or think I was crazy or question some off-the-wall decisions I was making during those years  -- he supported me unconditionally, and still does.

After two years of traveling and partying with friends, I was driving my car to work (this was November 2001).  I was thinking about this rather cute fellow teacher that I worked with and whether I could get his attention somehow that day.  And then. . .bam!  The voice:  "You need to tell Josh that you need to start dating."  Um. . .what?  Been there, done that.  Wasn't that enjoyable the first time.  No thanks.  Unfortunately, I couldn't shake the feeling.  I decided that, when I went home for Thanksgiving, if I still had those same thoughts, I'd THINK about talking to him again, even though masochism is on my short list of things I like to avoid.  I was in trouble -- he was wearing these brown corduroys. . .and my heart flipped, which it hadn't even done in 1999.  

I put it off until my Christmas visit that year.  And then I told him what I'd been thinking, and I heard those words every woman has been dying to hear all of her life. . ."Um, sure. . .we could give it a try." (pitter, patter).  And the rest was history.  A really slow history, though, since we'd already been best friends for 4 years.  He moved out to L.A., we dated, we got engaged 10 months later, he set the wedding date for another year in the future, I cried, he moved it up, and we were married on February 8th, 2003.  Not without effort, wouldn't you say?  He was absolutely worth it, though.

I look at my two boys, overwhelmingly grateful that they'll be able to love their mom, but really emulate their dad.  I see in them the kind of traits I know they got straight from him:  their earnestness, loyalty, kindness, optimism, charisma, and endless capacity to love.  Their long torsos.  Their ability to, at 3 and 2 years old, polish off a large pizza.  The most beautiful, long-fingered, graceful hands.  Their comedic timing.  Their unbelievable imaginations.  

Here's to new adventures that await us, and hopefully a sixth anniversary that's better than this one.