We interrupt this regularly scheduled post about something controversial to discuss something not at all controversial.
So my birthday was a couple of weeks ago. I turned 30. Yeah, kind of a big birthday, huh? And yet, magically I don't feel old. If anything, I feel like Finally! I'm not a 20-something anymore! I have some credibility to my name now, right? (Don't answer that.)
In pondering what 30 years meant in my life I came across the realization that it meant my husband has now been IN my life as long as he was OUT of it! Isn't that awesome? I bet not many 30 year olds can say that they've known their spouse for half their life. Brent can't say it yet. ('Cause he's old!....33!) :) This is the time of year I always get nostalgic remembering the beginnings of my relationship with Brent.
I've decided this post is going to be dedicated to the most incredible man I know. (And I can do that, 'cause it is (was?...it still counts if it's within a month, right?) my birthday.)
Brent and I met at church when he suddenly thought I was cute enough to talk to. Then we flirted at church for a few weeks until he asked me out. I declined. And in utter shock he asked me why. My answer: I'm still 15.
This is when it all started. There was something there right from the beginning.
The next few months went by with me trying to see him at every possible opportunity. I'd drag my friend, K, along on walks every single night and we'd just *happen* to go around his block, like 30 times hoping he'd be outside of his house one of those times. I think he started to get the idea of what I was doing and so would just *happen* to be hanging out outside his house on more than a few evenings.
We had a few good nights of talking that way. Then he got his mission call. And I was absolutely bummed. No, not because he was leaving (although I knew I'd miss him, of course I WANTED him to go on his mission), but because of the date he was leaving. October 18, 1995. When was my 16th birthday? October 28, 1995. Lovely. See the dilemma that presented?
Over the next few weeks we started talking on the phone a bit, and I'd still go walking past his house as often as I could. Oh, and we always had church to flirt. We both would try to get to sacrament meeting early so we could make our families sit near each other. As time for his departure drew closer, I realized what I had to do. I HAD to spend as much time with this guy as possible before he left. Even if that meant we were awfully close to that "dating" line. (For those of you who may not know, I wasn't supposed to date before I was 16.)
So it went like this.....
Saturday October 14th. His mother's birthday. She just happened to be my Mia Maid advisor. So what else would a wonderful young woman do on her leader's birthday but take her a cake? Good excuse, right? And possibly racking up some points with the possible-future-in-laws. (Yes, I was already thinking along those lines.) And of course, like any good Young Women leader would, she invited me in to share a piece with her. And who would just happen to be home to help eat that cake? I think you can guess. (Plus I made chocolate cake, which I came to find out later, Brent can smell from miles away.)
Sunday the 15th. Brent's farewell. I secretly hoped he'd say something "in code" to me during his talk. He didn't. Back then they still had the get-togethers after the farewell where everybody in the neighborhood comes to the missionary's home to give congratulations and money. Lucky me, my parents were friends with his parents, so we HAD to go, right? And lucky me, my little brother was his little brother's best friend, so I was doing my duty as a sister to stay there the ENTIRE time while the 2 young boys went off to play together. SOMEBODY had to walk the kid home, right? (He was 12 at the time.)
So there I sat on his living room couch watching everybody come in and out and vying for his attention, which he gave me every spare second he could. Then when things were slowing down and people had stopped arriving, he took me downstairs and showed me the mission pictures he'd had taken. I, of course, told him I wanted a few. He let me have 2. They stayed in my wallet for the next 2 years.
We said goodnight on his front porch and gave each other a big hug. I think this was where my addiction to his hugs first started. It's like Cocaine-- one shot and you're hooked.
We made plans to go for a walk together the next night.
Monday the 16th. He picked me up sometime after dinner and we walked to the elementary school. He held my hand. Sigh. We talked and talked. I knew I'd never met another boy like him. I could automatically be myself and he liked me! Better yet, he didn't play games. He came out and told me he liked me. I knew I had a winner.
Now this is the part where anyone under the age of 18 needs to stop reading. What happens next is not something I condone for the youth of today. But please don't ask me if I have any regrets because I will tell you: ABSOLUTELY NOT!!!
When it was nearing time to get home, he asked me if he could kiss me. (Another check mark under "this guy's even better than I thought".) So we kissed for a bit and then he walked me home.
Tuesday the 17th. Brent came to the highschool (the seminary, actually, since that was my class right before lunch) and picked me up for a lunch "hang out" (still not calling it a date). We got some Wendy's and drove up to a park. I sluffed (remember that word? that's a funny word!) the rest of the day of school and spent that time with Brent. We talked and ate and kissed and talked. And all the while I was wishing that we'd met even sooner so that I could've had more time with him before he left. More than that I was wishing I'd been born a few months earlier, dang it! Then it would've all been "legal". After our non-date (wink, wink) Brent took me home and left to go finish his preparations for leaving on his mission the next day. We talked again on the phone that night and the next day he was gone.
Now for those of you thinking Brent was being "naughty" and could not be considered worthy to enter the MTC the day after kissing a girl, I'll have you know that he felt tremendous guilt about it. So much so that he had a conversation with his Branch President about it, wherein his BP proceeded to laugh at him and tell him to get back to his studying.....which he did.
The next 2 years were spent writing letters back and forth that took at least 2-3 weeks to get to each other. We sent a few audiotapes (which I listened to as I went to bed.....I STILL love that man's voice. Nothing else can give me goosebumps the way his voice can). Sent a few packages. Wrote my name "Ann Maiden-name Brent's-last-name" on all of my notebooks 50 million times. He baptized a bunch of people, I dated a bunch of guys. Some total losers (ask me about the guy who wore holey sweat pants on our date, had terrible halitosis, BO, no sense of personal space, and made me pay for everything), and some really great guys. The problem was, it always came down to the same issue. None of them were Brent.
2 years passed by, he came home and we picked up right where we left off. Only this time, I had to ask permission to kiss him for the first time since he was fresh off a mission and still freaking out about a girl even holding his hand, let alone kissing said girl.
I want to note one funny story since it should've been the first clue to Brent of what embarrassment being with me would bring him. My brother got married October 17,1997....exactly 2 years after our non-date (wink, wink). Brent came to the reception that night where I caught the bouquet (I think there might've been some hair pulling and toe stomping to get it), after which I immediately turned around to see if Brent had witnessed my fortunate ("fortune"-ate?) catch and to give him "the look". Of course everybody else also witnessed this entire display of "Yes, Brent, I will marry you." I think Brent turned about 10 shades of red. Silly man, he should've known it wouldn't be the first time I'd make him blush. And yet he still asked me to marry him just 4 months later. I'll tell you all about THAT story another time. Because it's also quite the story.
And somehow I've managed to hold onto him through 11 1/2 years of marriage and 5 kids and a whole lot of embarrassment. (Although he now claims he doesn't get embarrassed by me anymore. I don't know if that means I'm less embarrassing now or he's just gotten better at controlling his blushing. Most likely the latter.) And somehow he still loves me. That's enough right there to deserve some kind of trophy!
Thank you, Brent, for being the man of my dreams. You are my Prince Charming riding up on your white horse (or Nissan pick-up truck, Mercury Tracer, Saturn L200, Ford Focus, Honda Civic, Honda Accord, Acura TL, did I miss any?) to rescue me from a life of......well, from a life without you, which is something I never want to experience. Thank you for making HALF OF MY LIFE the most wonderful life I could ask for. I can't wait for the next 15 years!
I love you!








