Lucy Hits the Slopes

A few weeks ago, Andrew woke up one morning, looked outside at the sunshine and blue sky and made an announcement.

"It is time for Lucy to start skiing."

"Lucy who?" I asked, thinking he couldn't possibly mean my infant daughter whom I continue to believe will remain my tiny baby always.

Andrew didn't even bother to answer my question.  He just gathered up all the ski paraphernalia needed for the four youngest children and loaded up the car.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I asked.

"You know she's only two, don't you?" I asked.  (Of course all the other kids skied for their first time at age 2, but they weren't my baby at the time.)

Andrew just laughed at my concerns and continued to load.  Finally, the car was packed and Isaac, Henry, Peter and yes, Lucy, all climbed into the car, excited for a ski day.

It turned out that Andrew was right.  It was time for Lucy to start skiing and that girl had the time of her life on the ski slopes.

Lucy has long believed that she is one of the big kids and this only furthered that notion in her mind.  She skied all day (with Andrew's help, of course) but never cried and never got tired.  She loved every single second of her first ski day and has asked repeatedly when she can ski again.

Peter and Lucy (and poor Lucy's goggles provide a wardrobe malfunction.)

Lucy is a lucky girl.  She has these three older brothers who adore her, protect her, and cheer her every accomplishment - at home or on the ski slopes.  And, as an added bonus, she also has the best ski instructor in the world.  Lucky Lucy.

Needless to say, now that Andrew can claim all five of his kids are skiers, he is the happiest man on earth.  As for me, I will just have to get used to the idea that my baby is growing up and really is  becoming one of the "big kids."

Ahhhhh, Heaven.

It all began fifteen years ago today.....

The summer after I graduated from BYU, I moved back home with my parents (and seven younger siblings) and got a job working as receptionist in a doctor's office.  It wasn't really what I had pictured for myself.  I had been living on my own for the past five years and it was a tough adjustment to move back home.  Plus, I had just earned an illustrious Art History Degree and I had always imagined it would take me more exciting places than a podiatrist's office.  (Feet -- yuck!)

BYU Graduation - April 1996

Going forth to serve - just not sure where yet.

Anyway, it was a pretty tough summer.  I felt so unsettled and restless in this new situation.  I spent several weeks praying, talking to people, praying some more and trying to figure out what I wanted to be doing with my life.  Finally, after weeks of praying and pondering, one morning, in the middle of August I woke up, and through what I believe was an answer to my prayers, finally knew what I wanted to do.

"I'm moving to Washington, DC," I announced to my family.

"Do you know anyone there?" they asked.

"No," I replied.

"Do you have a job back there?" they asked.

"No," I replied.

"Do you have a place to live?" they asked.

"No," I replied.

It sounded crazy, even to me, but I knew that this was what I was supposed to do and I couldn't wait to get going.  I called the airlines that very day and booked a one-way ticket to Washington, DC, leaving two weeks later.   It was a leap of faith for sure, but I knew that it would work out.

I was right.

I boarded a plane on September 1, 1996.  I had found a place to live with three other girls - one of whom, it turned out,  I actually knew through mutual friends.  And as for finding work, once I arrive in DC, after a series of crummy temp jobs, I finally found a job I loved - working at the Smithsonian.  (Yes!  Art History Degree totally legitimized!)

This was an amazing time in my life.  I was on my own, working hard and having fun. I barely made enough money to survive back there, but I loved every minute of it.  I had great roommates and made amazing friends.  But the best thing to come out of my decision to move across the country, was that just six weeks after moving there, I met my Andrew.

Of course, he wasn't MY Andrew at the time.  In fact, back then, he was  a high school friend of one of my roommates.  Lindsay had told me all about "Andrew" who was going to school at Duke - just four hours away.  She told me stories about him and how funny he was; that he had served a mission in Seattle, and that he and his friend Mike had just driven a U-Haul across the country with an octogenarian named Gladys and her pet bird.  "We should go visit him sometime, " she said.  "He is so fun! You would love him!" Yes, I had heard all about this Andrew character.

Then one weekend, Lindsay told me that Andrew and a friend were driving up to DC for a ward temple trip and wondered if we wanted to get together with them.  I wasn't totally thrilled with the thought of having to spend my weekend with some young, immature, college boys, but I reluctantly agreed that I would hang out with them and Lindsay on Friday night. (I'm sure it was the only offer I had going for me that night.)

They were supposed to get to our apartment sometime in the late afternoon, but they were late.  The hours dragged on and on and on while we waited for them to get there so we could do something that night.  Finally, several hours later than expected, there was a knock on the door.  I opened it and there stood my Andrew.

I didn't hear angels sing,  I didn't feel my heart beat any faster, and I didn't feel some confirmation that this was the man I had been searching for all my life, but fifteen years ago today, when I opened that door and saw Andrew standing there, my life changed for the better, forever.  Andrew was everything Lindsay had said he was - and so, so much more.

I am grateful for prayers that were heard and answered so I could be in the very place I needed to be to meet Andrew.  I love you, Andrew.  I am so glad I opened the door that cold rainy night FIFTEEN(?!) years ago and that you walked into my life. I am so glad you are mine.

From back in the day....

Memorial Day

Anyone who thinks that Memorial Day is the unofficial kick-off to the summer season, doesn't live in Utah this year. This Memorial Day we woke up to rainy weather, freezing temperatures and a whole day of nothing to do.  (Let's just say, it scared me to death that summer break is only four days away.)  The kids and I spent much of the day curled up by the space heater watching movies. It was not my most exciting or memorable Memorial Day.

Andrew, on the other hand, spent his day doing what he loves most.  He got off work at 7:30am after working the night shift, came home, loaded up his car and drove up the canyon to Snowbird.  He spent the next several hours skiing on 10-inches of new powder  - on MAY 30th - and loving every single second of it.  (It defies the laws of nature, I tell you!)

And how was he rewarded for this un-summer-like activity?

He ended up getting a half-page picture of himself on the front of the "Local" section of the newspaper. We're still waiting on sponsorship offers from Scott skis.

Needless to say, it's been nearly impossible living with him now that he's famous and everything. Ever since becoming household name,  I'm afraid he's really let this whole "celebrity" thing go to his head.  I told him I now know what it feels like to be Nick Cannon.  

"Who's that?" Andrew asked.  

"He's married to Mariah Carey."

Oh well.  Maybe I'm just jealous that he had way more fun on Memorial Day than I did.  And just in case Andrew hasn't had his fill yet, Snowbird will be open until the 4th of July!   Hooray for Summer!

(Hey, it is a pretty great picture though, isn't it?)

A Van Gogh Christmas

WARNING: The following post contains images that may not be appropriate for the faint of heart - seriously.

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,

not a creature was stirring not even a mouse.

The children were nestled all snug in their bed,

When Andrew bent to kiss Abby and then banged his head.

(or his ear, to be more exact.)

Yes, on a night when minutes count, Andrew split his ear open on Abby and Isaac's bunk bed.  Luckily, Andrew was able to put his professional skills to good use and avoided a trip to the ER on Christmas Eve.  He glued that ear back together and except for some bruising and some steri-strips it looks almost as good as new.

As an upside, in an effort to protect his ear, Andrew wrapped an ace bandage around his head and spent the rest of Christmas Eve looking like Jacob Marley's ghost.  It seemed like a festive way to spend the night - and it made him look dead sexy.

Post script:  Here is Andrew's ear, just two weeks later.  Pretty excellent work, if you ask me.

David at 40

I was running some sort of car pool errand this afternoon when I got a text message from Paul that seemed to stop me in my tracks and take me somewhere else.  "David would be 40 today."

I never knew David, but I've always known David.  David is both a symbol and also a reality to me. David Giles Florence is my older brother who was born 40 years ago today, on October 7, 1970, several months premature, and died 2 days later.  From a young age he helped me understand a little bit about mortality and about eternity, about birth, life, death and resurrection.  We grew up visiting his tiny grave in Provo, reminding us, of his short time on earth, and that we would someday be reunited with him again.   I have thought about him throughout my life, sometimes more than others.  There were times when I was young when I assumed he was watching over me, and was aware of choices I was making and things I was saying.  Sometimes I still do.  He seemed to be an additional conscience at times--it never hurt.  I always pictured, and still do, that the rest of the siblings watched from above as he came into the world, a little too soon, to a barely 21 year old mother far from home, who would have given her own life to preserve his.  We must have mourned with mom and dad as they laid him to rest.  Yet we must have rejoiced in his purity and his expedited leap through the Lord's plan.  His mortal journey began and ended almost immediately.   When we are reunited with him in resurrection we will have so much more to answer for than he will.  He was a noble and great spirit who did not seem to have to prove himself or progress much at all.  He never had to act in faith, never had to repent, never had to struggle, or overcome.  His brief brush with earth gave him the body he would one day be resurrected in, and the rest was taken care of.   While I have inherited the same divine potential, it is more of a process.   I am thankful for the reminder he is of where I came from, and why I am here, and where I am going.  I look forward to someday claiming him, and am determined he will be eager to claim me.

Regarding mortality, today has been a day of some reflection.  I lost a patient last night.  He was 75 years old and came in by ambulance with his wife.   He was very unstable and appeared to have pneumonia - advancing to septic shock.  He was very pleasant and so was his wife.  He seemed to be responding to treatment, when he suddenly arrested.  His breathing stopped and he was pulseless.  Likely a bood clot to the lung.  After vigorous resuscitation it seemed that he may pull through, but quickly it became apparent that it was futile.  His wife was there throughout.  She could tell what was happening, but I still had to tell her.  In the end all I could do was hug her and tell her I was sorry.  For some reason I told her, "I don't know when exactly the spirit leaves the body, but you can hold his hand for awhile if you want to."  She did.  It is one thing to have an unresponsive patient brought in by ambulance, but it is a different story to have a patient be in the hospital talking to you and then die.  The former is quite common, while fortunately the latter is quite rare, and obviously much more personal.  It was then her job to gather their children and tell them.  I had to go out and finish my shift.

When I got home Elizabeth showed me a blog post of an amazingly strong person we know who has exhausted his medical and surgical options in his fight against end stage metastatic skin cancer.  I met him in my second grade class and we have crossed paths occasionally since then.  He is my age, has three young children and yesterday he shared these words:

"Although my mortal life has been shorter than I had hoped and anticipated, I have been greatly blessed. I have a truly remarkable wife; three bright, good children with great potential; faith in the Resurrection and eternal family relationships; six siblings who have loved, challenged and helped shape me; parents and in-laws who have loved, encouraged and cared deeply for me; great, faithful, loyal friends; wonderful business associates: and more than a few sacred times when I have known, by the Spirit, who I really am, the purposes of life, and the truths of eternity. I'll be just up the trail and around the bend..."


I have shed a few tears today and thought about things that are, and that might have been, and that will be.  David at 40.  I wonder what David would have been like as an older brother here, what he would have been like growing up, what he would have been like as a son, as a father, as a friend.  Someday I will know.  I am thankful today for my parents, for eternal families, and for my Savior.

We Made it a Date

A couple of months ago, on a beautiful summer evening, we were over at my parents house when unexpectedly, my Aunt Robyn and Uncle Steve stopped by, driving some cute little scooters.   As Andrew and I oohed and ahhed over their scooters, my aunt insisted that we borrow them sometime and take them out for a spin.   Andrew and I pictured ourselves, driving up the canyon on a beautiful summer day, feeling the sun on our face as the wind cooled us down.  It would make a perfect date for the two of us.

Well, despite this generous offer, it took until today before we finally made it happen.  Luckily, it was a beautiful day.  The first day of October - and nearly ninety degrees - the perfect day for a scooter ride. 

 Ready to ride. 

Initially, I was a little nervous about my scooter skills.

You see, when I was 13-years old, my friend, Laurel, and I took her scooter out for a ride - illegally, obviously.  I knew my parents would ground me for months if they knew I was doing it, but even with the thought of that threat, I begged Laurel to let me have a turn driving the scooter.  I started out great, but as I made my first turn onto a street, I realized that I was making the turn too wide.  Before I knew it, I had crashed into the curb and both Laurel and I were thrown from the scooter.  

I landed hard on my shoulder and then slid across the sidewalk on my stomach.  When I stood up, the first thing I felt was relief that I was alive, then I felt a pain radiating from my shoulder area, and then I felt fear. What would my parents do if they found out I had driven the scooter and then crashed?   I knew this could be the end of my teenage social career.

I learned a couple of valuable lessons that day:

1. I am not a coordinated scooter driver.

2. It is impossible to conceal a broken collar bone from your parents for more than 45 minutes. 

3. The fear of punishment is not so scary when medical attention is required.

4.  Making a 7th grade girl wear a collarbone brace that pushes her shoulders back and her blossoming chest out, is worse punishment than anything a parent could do.

In any case, ever since that fateful day - oh so many years ago - I have been somewhat leery of scooters.  I was a little nervous today when we went to pick up the scooters.  It took several trips around the neighborhood before I felt comfortable enough to venture on to real streets - and even then, I kept wanting to buckle a seatbelt that wasn't there.  It definitely took a minute for me to relax.

Andrew and I decided to drive up Millcreek Canyon and once we got into the canyon, I calmed down and loved every second of our drive.  It was such a gorgeous day.  The sky was the deepest blue and the leaves were brilliant shades of red and yellow and orange.  Even though it was October, instead of the middle of summer - like we had pictured - we still got to feel the warm sun on our faces and the breeze cooling us down as we drove.  It was nothing short of spectacular.

Is there anything more beautiful than aspen trees in the sunlight?

It was an amazing afternoon.  We came home relaxed and rejuvenated, and I feel like I may have conquered the demons still haunting the 13-year old girl inside me.  

After today, I am once again a lover of scooters.  Thanks Steve and Robbie.

Lucky

Twelve years ago today I married this handsome gentleman:

When Andrew and I got married, we had known each other for almost two years.  We had been friends before we dated and I thought I knew him pretty well.  Now, as I look at this picture and realize that I really didn't know him at all.  I had no idea all the things he was capable of and I certainly didn't realize how lucky I was to be marrying this guy.

Since that day, Andrew has been:

-a Y2K Committee intern

- a long-term care gentleman

-a medical student

-a medical intern

-a resident

-a board certified ER doctor

-a life-saver (literally and figuratively)

-an electrician

-a plumber

-a painter

-a barber

-a chauffeur

-a house cleaner

-a furniture mover/packer/unpacker

-an exterminator

-an OB (he delivered all five of our children)

-a surgical patient x 3

-a landscape architect

-a gardener

-a biker

-a skier

-a surfer

-a sea-kayaker

-a sky diver

-a grill master

-a photographer

-a videographer

-a part-time blogger

-a pack mule

-a coach

- a care giver

-a foot massager

-a back scratcher

-a blessing giver

-a friend

-a confidant

-a sounding board

-a motivator

-a peace maker

-a reader

-a teacher

-a comedian

-a skiing instructor

-a dancer 

When I was growing up, I always dreamed about the man I would marry - and Andrew has exceeded every hope I ever had for myself.  At work, it is Andrew's job to save lives, but at home, he does so much to make all our lives better. I am so lucky that twelve years ago today, this handsome man, in this good looking tuxedo made me his wife.  I am a better person because of it.

Happy Anniversary Andrew.

I love you.

April Madness

Yes, March madness, or the NCAA tournament is the most exciting and most compelling sporting event there is.  But when your team wins enough to play in April, that is another story.  Its been a month now since Duke won the 2010 National Championship on April 5, but hopefully that is enough time to forget that the team they beat was Butler, the story book underdogs that defied the odds every step of the way, making it to the finals.   If you didn't cheer for Butler, you don't believe in the human spirit.  If you didn't want Butler to win it all, you just don't have a soul.  If you wouldn't have loved to see them knock out Duke, of all teams, then I guess . . .  you are a Duke fan.   I loved Butler,  I wanted to really love them.  I cheered for them early in the tournament, and late in the tournament.  I wanted to cheer for them when it really counted.  But sorry, I was watching the Blue Devils win a National Championship with the five cutest fans in the world.  I'd say six, but Elizabeth has a heart and believes in the human spirit and was having a hard time with the moral dilemma of cheering against Butler.

Duke had been down this road before.  But even though everyone tried to paint them as Goliath, against little David, we had wondered if their glory days were a thing of the past.  Duke's last National Championship was in 2001, two months before Abby was born.  Elizabeth was uncomfortably pregnant (but cheered much more enthusiastically that year as we watched it on the big screen at the Arlington Cinema Drafthouse Theater).  Duke had never really done much in my kids lifetime, until now.  This was fun.  Hearing these kids cheer on Duke is hilarious because really they are just cheering for me. They know I love Duke, and they love me. Period.

Eighteen years ago Christian Laettner hit "the shot" to beat Kentucky on the way to a second consecutive  Duke National Championship.  I remember that tournament and watching that him play, but I wasn't even a Duke fan.  I was still on the waiting list, and found out I was accepted about a month later.  No fancy fat envelope in the mail, just a somewhat anticlimactic  phone call saying they had an extra space for me.  Little did I know that a year later I would be taking my little brother Paul on a campus tour pointing out both Grant Hill and Bobby Hurley, then culminating as we walked into a silent, empty, dimly lit Cameron Indoor Stadium.  For me there are few places that are cooler on the planet.  There is something about seeing it in its extremes, the chaos of a Carolina game, to the calm of an off season pilgrimage.

I remember Elizabeth truly appreciated it when she visited it for her first time, which is why I had to get her into the Duke/Carolina game my senior year before we got married, even though it required her borrowing an ID and camping out the last night to make the required three out of five personal tent checks in the last 48hours, after the rest of us had been attending "random tent checks" for the past seven weeks.

     

 (courtside with Coack K '96)               (Paul's campus tour '93)           (front row seat, watching Hurley '92)

Duke went to 4 final fours in a row, winning two championships leading up to when I got there my freshman year.  I figured I could expect more of the same.   My first big game was in December, it was a rematch of the previous National Championship against the "fab five" of Michigan.  I was hooked immediately and have been ever since.  It didn't hurt that Coach K came out to our tent city, now coined "Krzysewskiville", the night before that game with pizza for everyone in line.  Then ton top of that, he wrote back to me went I sent him a letter from my mission.

I missed their next trip to the final four because I was on my mission. To my disappointment, they wouldn't return until the year after I graduated.  We had our share of amazing games, and campus bonfires and bench burnings after big victories, and pep talks from Coach K, and campouts and of course, near misses. 

Paul and me, post game '98

 My senior year was particularly painful as Duke lost to Kentucky, who would then go on to beat Utah in the finals. Elizabeth and I drove down from DC that next year to watch the national championship game broadcast in Cameron Indoor Stadium, only to see them lose in the end to UConn.  I am completely comfortable with the fact that I allowed myself get so attached to these teams and players and seasons that most of them ended with at least a few tears.  The expectations were unreasonably high, but never quite met during my tenure.  Maybe that is why 2001 felt so good.  I was removed at least by distance, and medical school and on the brink of fatherhood, but it all came rushing back as we watched them finally win it all, for my first time.

 (our reunion tour of campus just before Paul got married, 2005)

More removed now, but still a fan, it was fun to surround myself with my little, loyal fan club - even better than in Cameron - and let it all come back to me and see them finally win it all, again. 

Ski School

A couple of Saturdays ago, Andrew took the four kids and went up skiing for the day.  I was so excited to have a day to myself with just Lucy.  As I contemplated my day, I thought of all the things I could do... lunch with my mom and sisters, shopping, napping, reading or just staring off into space.  Really, the possibilities were endless.

My fantasies of a wide-open day didn't last long.  Andrew called me and said, "It's amazing up here.  You've got to get up here and watch the kids ski!"

It's hard to argue with Andrew's enthusiasm for anything, but when he's talking about our kids, it's impossible to make excuses for not doing exactly what he suggests.  So, I loaded Lucy in the car and we drove up to Solitude to enjoy a day in the mountains watching Andrew and the kids ski.

I remember the first time I ever saw Andrew ski.  I had only known him a few a months and we were both home in Utah over Christmas break. We went up to Alta with some friends for a day of skiing.   I remember standing at the bottom of a hill and watching Andrew as he skied down.  It was something to behold.  He was amazing - actually beyond amazing.  In my memory, he is skiing down the hill in slow motion, but I don't think that's how it really was.  In any case, his form was perfect and his turns precise. He was confident and incredible. The powdery snow flew up around him as he flew down the mountain.  It was breathtaking and it made my heart pound.  And although we weren't even dating at the time, I think it was at that moment that I first started to fall in love with Andrew.  It was beautiful.

(not the form I fell in love with)

I thought about that day as I drove up to Solitude a few weeks ago.  I remembered the form, the grace, the style and the confidence and the way I felt a little weak in the knees as I watched it.

Well, I got to Solitude just in time to see Isaac come flying down the hill as cool and confident as his dad had been so many years before.  Isaac was followed shortly by Abby - who came cruising down the hill wearing her pink helmet and a grin from ear to ear.

(that's jam on his top lip - not blood.)

We stood there at the bottom of the hill for a minute waiting for Andrew and finally I asked Abby and Isaac where Dad was.  They said he was behind them skiing down the mountain with Peter and Henry.  We waited awhile longer until finally I looked up on the mountain and recognized Andrew making his way down.

It was certainly a different picture than the one I'd had in my mind on the way up there.  Gone were the graceful turns and perfect form.  Instead, Andrew was bent over, his skis making a giant snowplow.  He was carrying and supporting Peter as he skied slowly down the hill.  In Andrew's hands was the harness he was using to help guide Henry down the slope.  It looked exhausting and fairly painful - but totally hilarious.  I wondered how his legs were possibly strong enough to last like that for very long.

In that moment, watching Andrew come down the slopes, I fell in love with him all over again. Not because he looked like the best skier on the hill (although he is) but because he looked like the best dad on the hill (and he is.)  My kids are so lucky to have a dad who spends his Saturdays teaching them to them to ski - even when it would be easier and less painful to put them in ski school.  And I am so lucky to be married to the guy I fell in love with on the slopes over fourteen years ago.

(Andrew collapsing after a tough run.)

On the Mend...

There is nothing - but nothing - worse than having a sick baby,

and my little Lucy has been one sick baby lately.

After a whole week with a high fever, and body aches and chills...

After feeling grouchy, uncomfortable and irritable,

and being misdiagnosed by a pediatrician, (it wasn't "just a virus")

After a looking so pale and sad and going a whole week without a smile or a coo...

After stressing me out and making me worry that we were missing something really serious....

Andrew came to the rescue and finally figured out what was making our girl so miserable.*

Now, after a couple of doses of IV antibiotics, Lucy is finally starting to feel like herself again.

Thanks Andrew for being our knight in shining armor.

No matter what it is, dads just have a way of taking care of their little girls.

WE LOVE YOU!

*After a chest x-ray, blood work and a urinalysis Andrew figured out it was an UTI that had spread to her kidneys and had made her one really sick baby.

Thank heaven for Andrew and for antibiotics.
(only twelve more days to go,)

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes...

The summer after my freshman year at BYU, I moved back home to Salt Lake but was desperate for a change of scenery.  So, when my friend, Marie, called and asked if I was interested in going with her to North Carolina to nanny for the summer, I jumped at the opportunity.  I had never been to North Carolina before - and was only vaguely aware that there was a city there called Durham, but I was ready for anything.

I flew to North Carolina a few days before Memorial Day Weekend.  It was hot and humid - but so green and beautiful.  I loved the southern way of life - the accents, the food and the hospitality.  A few days after my arrival, the family I was living with had plans, so they gave me the car and told me to go explore Durham.

The first place I drove (in a very round-about and lost sort of way) was Duke University.  I parked the car and went to explore the campus - and let me tell you, Duke had me at hello.  I was smitten by that campus.  The towering chapel, the gothic architecture, the lush gardens and the majestic trees sunk deep into my heart.  I was in love.

As I walked around the campus feeling so inspired and overwhelmed by it all, I tried to figure out a way I could be part of it.  I was going to be a sophomore at BYU so transferring didn't seem like an option (oh yeah, and I probably didn't have the grades or test scores to actually get in.)  I was still trying to figure out what I wanted to major in as an undergrad, so grad school seemed like a pipe dream.  So, as I walked around soaking it all in, I said to myself, "I want to marry someone who goes to this school."  From my lips to God's ears; I guess it was at that moment that my fate was sealed.

It was just over five years later that I met Andrew while I was living in Washington, DC.  I had pretty much forgotten about that wish I had made as a naïve nineteen-year old girl, but it didn't take long for me recognize something special in Andrew.

This picture was taken pretty early on in our dating, but it's always been one of my favorites.  It shows so many of the things I love about Andrew.  Look at his confidence and his energy.  Look at that smile - and the sense of humor that goes with it.  Look at the way I fit perfectly under his arm - feeling loved and protected.  Look at how hot he is!  And would you check out that t-shirt!

Yep, I fell pretty hard and fast for Andrew.  He was funny and smart and righteous and thoughtful and kind.  He had killer legs and he went to Duke!  He was the total package.  He was everything I had been looking for my whole life.

When we got married, I was totally, head-over-heals in love with Andrew.  But last week we celebrated our 11th anniversary, and I can tell you, I love him more deeply and more sweetly than I even knew was possible on the day I married him.  

This love has come through eleven years of working together, celebrating together, crying together, arguing and reconciling together and trying everyday to remember why we fell in love in the first place.  We spent most of our anniversary getting ready for a family party we were hosting on Saturday - but that evening we went to dinner together.  As we ate, we talked about some of the things we've accomplished together over the past eleven years - and talked about where we'll be eleven years from now.  We laughed,  and I cried as I always do when I feel like life is going by way too quickly.  

Because here's the thing - eleven years from now, Abby will be nineteen.  She'll be the same age I was when I walked across Duke's campus and promised myself I would marry someone who had gone to that school.  At the time, I didn't really know what I was wishing for, but I hope that eleven years from now, Abby's nineteen-year old dreams will make her as happy as mine have made me.

I love you Andrew.  Happy Anniversary!

Andrew's Birthday Celebration!

Last week was Andrew's birthday and he celebrated it in typical Andrew fashion.

First of all, he accompanied Abby's school class on their field trip to Thanksgiving Point's Dinosaur Museum.  He had planned on just driving his own car and meeting Abby's class there. However, the day before the field trip, Abby came home from school and with all the enthusiasm of a seven-year-old girl announced, "Dad, I told my teacher that tomorrow is your birthday and asked if it would be okay for you to ride the school bus - AND SHE SAID YOU COULD!!"  

Andrew responded with a half-hearted, "Hooray."

Abby then went to Andrew's closet and picked out which shirt he should wear on the field trip, his turquoise blue polo, and said, "It's YOUR birthday Dad.  You can do whatever you want!"

So, for his birthday he rode the school bus with Abby and all the other second-graders from her school, wearing his turquoise blue shirt.  He accompanied a group of 7 and 8-year-old girls through the dinosaur museum and ate lunch out of brown paper bag.  It was a birthday memory Abby will never forget.

After the field trip, Andrew celebrated further by going on a bike ride up to Neff's Canyon. 

Only, he didn't go by himself.  He took three kids with him - on a bicycle built for four.

In this picture there are actually four children, but Peter was only in the trailer for the photo-op.  

(Don't think an ER doctor would ever let his kids go for a ride without a helmet.)

After his birthday bike ride, Andrew went to Isaac's t-ball game and cheered him on.  He then took Abby and Isaac and went to his own softball game where he hit a home-run for his two adoring fans by hitting the ball over not one, but two fences.  Small price to pay just to make sure he's still got it.

So that was Andrew's birthday.  Not a lot of time to himself.  Not a lot of pampering or spoiling. Just a pretty fun day spent with his kids.  He's an amazing dad and an wonderful husband. We love him and I don't know what any of us would do without Andrew.

Happy Birthday Sweetie!  We love you!

a bonus...

One bonus of being an ER doctor....

is that you can give yourself stitches

in your nose, in the mirror after a basketball injury.

Seven years of medical training.... priceless.

Just Another Game: Its a small world after all.

Now that the Olympics are over I can start getting some sleep. The other night Elizabeth (the best late night viewing/cheering partner in the world) and I got hooked on the cold war revisited when the US/Russia men's volleyball game went down to the wire. We forgot briefly about sleeping kids as we erupted in cheers with the final match point.

Saturday night we were exhausted and should have gone to bed but we started the Gold Medal basketball game. I assured Elizabeth that if it turned into a blow out we could just go to sleep and watch the highlights later.

The blow out never came. As we watched what was supposed to be another easy 39 point win against Spain I despised Pau Gasol of the Lakers and actually found myself for the first time in my life cheering for his Laker teammate, Kobe Bryant. In some ways I was glad it was a close game because it was fun to see a sense of urgency and almost desperation on the faces of these perennial all-stars. How was Spain's 17 year old point guard not star struck?

The game stayed close the whole time. Just as the US was starting to go on an expected run, a young Spaniard dunked emphatically over Dwight Howard, this year's slam dunk contest winner, and instantly guaranteed himself an NBA contract by tomorrow.

Kobe then drained a long three and was fouled for a four-point play. He put his finger to his lips in a gesture as if to SSHHH the raucus crowd. It was the first time I have ever wanted Kobe to get cocky. (I will regret those feelings next time the Jazz play the Lakers.)

The US was up by 4 points with only 3 minutes left in the game... My cell phone rang...

Who's calling at this inappropriate hour when we should all be asleep?

"It's probably Paul," Elizabeth said.

"Are you watching this game live?" Paul asked as I answered the phone. The emphasis was on the word live, he knew I'd be watching. "It's way to close!" We both agreed. "Come on Coach K, Please don't let them just start shooting three-pointers. Play some Defense. Then take it inside." We've echoed this sentiment countless times late in games with Coach Mike Krzyzewski but he has always been coaching Duke.

This time its Coach K and the USA Olympic "Redeem Team". There is a moment of doubt, will they redeem?

And this time its not Duke taking on North Carolina on a Saturday afternoon in Cameron Indoor Stadium on ESPN (often with Paul giving me play by play over the phone when I didn't have cable or if I was not by a TV.)

This time its 2 AM Sunday morning for me. Paul is in Beijing, China on his cell phone sitting court side at the 2008 Olympics accompanying Jaque Rogge, President of the IOC, giving me commentary as I watch it a full world away.

The next drive is by Dwayne Wade for a decisive dunk, resulting in him slipping and falling on the wet floor in the key. Paul and I both react simultaneously from our respective continents. I guess it really was live.

I already knew he'd been having yet another opportunity of a lifetime at his fourth consecutive Olympic Games--escorting Rogge to state dinners seeing Bush and Putin, riding in the limo caravan, with red-carpet rolled out (isn't all carpet red in China, big deal), visiting every venue including a trip to Hong Kong for horseback riding, then watching the Gold Medal woman's soccer game against Brazil sitting 2 rows behind spectators Kobe and Pele (I don't know Pele's last name.)

We didn't talk about any of that though. We were just watching the game. In the last 8 years we've probably watched 3-4 games together on the same TV, dozens have been watched together this way. The fact that it was even possible for this one, seems like it should be shocking and miraculous. But in the end it was just another game. Kind of hard to watch at times, but great result. They pulled it off. Talk to you later, thanks for calling.

Paul had to leave quickly with his man Rogge, back home we stayed up to watch the Medals Ceremony. The world's problems weren't solved but at least something felt right. Good night.

By the way, a Deseret News Article about Paul at the Olympics:

http://www.deseretnews.com/article/1,5143,700253377,00.html