The night before The King and I got married, we met a bunch of friends at The King’s apartment before heading out to a local bar. I use the term “friends” loosely as they were mostly The King’s friends. I had only lived in Seattle a few months and hadn’t made any local friends. Yet.

While sitting in his apartment, waiting for everyone to arrive, I looked at the window and saw a couple walking across the street and towards the building. Although I hadn’t met them before, I was pretty sure it was The King’s friends May and Mr. May. They weren’t walked together. In fact, Mr May was about three steps in front of May.

They both looked upset.*

May and her husband were the last to arrive, so once they got inside, we all packed up and stuffed into a few cars to head out. The rest of the night was spent sitting around a table, talking and laughing. Most of the people there knew each other from their time in the art program in college together.

That evening we all joked and laughed about how everyone was practically related to one another. The King had known May and Smelly since their freshman year. He’d known Smelly’s fiance since 5th grade, and had actually introduced them to each other. Heck, The King had even known Mr. May longer then May had known him. And there I sat, the lone person at the table. I didn’t know anyone except The King. And he wasn’t even really paying attention to me.

A few months after The King and I got married, Smelly had her wedding. The King and I took the day off work and attended their ceremony inside the Seattle LDS temple. Again, I didn’t seem to know anyone else that was there. Until I looked up and saw May sitting here. We exchanged pleasantries. It wasn’t until after the ceremony was over and everyone was outside taking pictures that May and I started to talk. She was cracking me up left and right. And I was digging it.

After that night The King and I made an effort to hang out more with May and her husband. Unfortunately, they lived out in the ‘burbs, so we didn’t see them as much as I would liked. Fortunately, May and I both had jobs that allowed us to e-mail each other during the day. Unfortunately, May and Mr. May decided they were moving away from Seattle.

Mr. May had become disillusioned with his job in Seattle, so they had decided to pack their bags and move to Reno, where Mr. May’s family lived. (Reno!) I begged and cried. And yet, they still left. The King told me not to be so sad. He promised, “they’ll move back.”

Again, May and I were able to e-mail throughout our days at work. It was during this time that we really were bonded. We would e-mail about what outfit we were wearing that day, or about what silly thing our husbands had done the night before. You know, the important things in life.

(All of us together, the night before they moved to Reno, the first time!)

Again Mr. May’s job situation in Reno didn’t pan out. They decided to move closer to May’s family in Orange County. I wasn’t sure if their move to the OC was one step closer to them moving back to Seattle. But I hoped it was.

The King and I flew down to visit them in the summer. We stayed with May’s mom and took advantage of all the sun and fun that California has to offer. We even spent the day at Disneyland with May and Mr. May. Nothing more fun then four childless adults enjoying what Mickey has to offer. It was a fabulous trip and just reminded me even more how much I loved and missed having May around all the time.

A few months later, May informed me that Mr. May had been offered his old job back in Seattle. He was considering accepting. I tried to not get too excited about them moving back, while also praying that they would.

At this point, The King and I were just getting ready to move into the first house we built. We were digging what was going to be our new neighborhood and things were looking up with the prospect of the May’s returning to Seattle.

And things just got better. Not only did Mr. May accept his old Seattle job. But they bought a house in our new neighborhood. On our same street. Mere houses away from our new house.

May was going to be closer enough to almost be my sister-wife. I had visions of eating dinner together every night, taking nightly walks together, getting pregnant the same time, having babies in the same week, our kids being best friends, only to have them grow up and marry each other.

I had it all figured out. And I was happy.

(Me, May, and Smelly during a Girls-Only-Weekend to Portland.)

May and I did do everything together. Okay, we didn’t have dinner together every night. And we missed a few nights of walking. And we had our kids about a year apart. (Although we were pregnant at the same time. But only for about a week. And um, I lost that baby.) But other then that, it was Heaven.

After living so closer to each other, we decided to sell out house and start work on the new house. Even though May and I now lived three miles apart, we still hung out all the damn time. Sure we couldn’t walk together every night, but May was good to drive downtown to hang out at my apartment and I was happy to take the bus down to May’s house.

(Celebrating May’s birthday, weeks after Babboo was born. You’ll notice the matching skirts May made for her and her daughter.)

May was there to help me transition into being a Mother. She was there to help take advantage of my maternity leave. She was there with me to take Babboo to the zoo for the first time.

She was just always there.

And what made it even better was that Lil’ May was there with May.

Spending time with the two of them always made the day better for Babboo and me. It always made me smile and thank the Lord for blessing me with such good friends.

May and I started the tradition of Girls-Night-Out with our small group of friends. May and I were always the ones to organize the outings and May always choose her favorite restaurant to go to. Those evenings spent in the corner of the restaurant was one of the reasons I survived that first year of Motherhood so effortlessly.

(Vesper and May, enjoying one of many Girls-Night-Out.)

And then it happened. Mr. May decided he wanted to go back to school. Apparently his two degrees weren’t enough. He wanted to try out a whole new line of work. And crap, schools in Seattle are way too much money and darned it, it costs too much to live here.

They were selling their house and moving back to Reno.

(Oh Reno, how I loath you.)
Last year, for May’s birthday, I bought her a crate full of flowers to plant in her yard. I thought that, maybe, if her yard was extra pretty she wouldn’t want to move. What it probably did was give her house more curb-appeal and help it sell fast.

So, they sold their house. Made arrangements for Mr. May to start college in Reno. During this May discovered she was knocked up. They both quit their Seattle jobs.

And my heart broke more and more as their move out day approached. Instead of actually dealing with it, I just tried to ignore it was every going to happen. I (secretly) hoped that Mr. May would decided that maybe college wasn’t for him. I prayed that his job would offer him more money. I tried desperately to get him a job with my company. I begged and pleaded with my boss to just give the guy a chance. Alas, he wasn’t hired. During all this, May just kept packing boxes after boxes and making plans to desert me move to Reno.

I spent their last few days in Seattle helping May pack up her house (and by “help” I mean that I stood there talking to her while her sister in law did the actual packing.) I think I tried to contain my emotions and never pleaded for her to “never leave me”, but I may have said those words. I’m not proud.

(Look at May’s cute barley-pregnant belly!)

The King was out of town on business, but he flew home early to say good bye the friends that he loves just as much as I do. We spent the rest of the night laughing and eating McDonald’s and prolonging the inevitable. (While May’s sister in law just kept packing and working hard. Seriously, she was an awesome help to May. Much more so then I was.)

(I love how May and her family are all dressed in bright colors and The King family is dressed in all black. That’s how we roll.)

Eventually, I could no longer deny the time. My poor kid was up later then he’d ever been. It was time to say our farewells and go home to put Babboo in bed.

May and I hugged each other and I got in my car to leave. I was sobbing before we hit the freeway. Months of pent up emotions came pouring out. I was having a hard time breathing and I wasn’t sure if it was from my tears or from the sudden realization that I was without my best friend.

Of course May and I have cell phone with cheap long distance this time around. We still have e-mail and now I have this blog. So really, we’re still connected. And yes, there’s still a part of me that is dreaded this summer, without May by my side at the pool or at the park.

Plus, there’s that little baby she had back in December that I’ve yet to snuggle.

It’s a good thing May and her entire family are coming out to Seattle to visit us (ME!) in a few weeks. I’m seriously giddy with anticipation.

Happy Birthday May! Thanks for always being a good example to me. And extra thanks for doing it with just enough irreverence to make it fun!

*I found out, years later, that they were upset. Apparently May had asked Mr. May to help trim her hair. It did not go so well. Lesson learned, don’t let your husband give you a hair cut.

When she was a senior in high school, my mom started taking classes at the local community college to become a stylist beautician. As soon as my mom graduated from hair design school beauty school , she left her small town and moved to an even smaller town and set up shop at the local salon beauty parlor. My mom enjoyed doing hair and really loved her new career.

What she didn’t like is that she ended doing “sets” for all the older ladies in town.

My mom quickly moved to a big city and got a job at a nicer parlor. And then she met my dad, got married, got pregnant, quit her job and stayed at home with her kids. While my mom is still a licensed beautician, she hasn’t worked in a salon in over 35 years. But she has continued to do hair.

No family vacation was ever taken without my mom bringing along the little blue velvet bag she made that housed all of her hair supplies. She needed these supplies so she could cut the hair of all my aunts, uncles, cousins, and so she could set my grandma’s hair. (My mom is coming out to visit next week, and I can promise you she’ll bring her scissors with her.)

My mom gave me my first hair cut right after my third birthday. She clipped my hair up with the same clips she uses today. I sat on the kitchen table and tried not to cry as she cut off my long hair. I would wear that same “Dorothy Hamil Wedge” cut until middle school. (And by the looks of this picture, so did my older brother!)

The summer before 5th grade, my mom gave me my first (and only) perm. She only permed my bangs and I loved it. She also gave my older brother a perm, after months of him begging for curls in his hair. I was about twelve year old when my mom first showed me how to henna my hair. My mom’s the one that cut 6 inches off my (way too) long hair, just in time for the Preference Dance my junior year. My best friend Marci stood by her side and offered her support. (Love the bow in your hair, Marci!)

During the summer months my mom would line up my dad, brothers and all my guy friends and cut their hair under our carport. In the winter, this ritual would take place in our kitchen. I don’t think any of the neighborhood boys ever had to pay to get their hair cut, as long as they were friends with me.

I was about 21 when I went to a salon and had my first professional hair cut. By that age I demanded more of a styled cut, which was something my mom wasn’t confident doing. I forked over my $20 for the hair cut and never looked back. From time to time, in a pinch, my mom’s trimmed my hair, or helped me with a color. She still cuts my dad and uncle’s hair, and my grandma loves it when my mom does her set. Over the years my mom’s saved us all a lot of money with her at-home cuts. She’s also given me a lot of fun memories.

It makes me a little sad that my mom wasn’t here last weekend to give Babboo his very first “big boy haircut”. I would have rather seen her arms in this picture then the barber’s hairy arms.

Babboo will have plenty more hair cuts in his lifetime, and more chances for my mom to continue on with the tradition of at-home family hair cuts.

But until then, well, The King and I are still trying to get used to this new little guy with the Owen Wilson inspired do. But we’re the only ones, since Babboo’s loving his new hair cut.

So tell me, do you remember who cut your hair when you were a little kid?

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And if you haven’t yet, you have until FRIDAY to enter to win my gDiaper give-away. Even if you aren’t in the need for flushable diapers, Gdiapers make great gifts. So enter today. And tell your friends to enter!

Did this week’s “Biggest Loser” blow your mind? I know I was shocked. Head over to WeHeartTV to read what I have to say about this week’s episode and next week’s season finale.

One of my (pregnant) BFF’s birthday is just around the corner.

Tonight I’m going to a baby shower for a lady from church.

Check out what’s inside the packages after the jump.

View the rest of this entry…

A few months ago, while having dinner with some friends, they informed us of the latest trend for Mormon mothers, “they’re called blogs and all the Mormon mom’s have them!” I responded, trying to sound both confused and interested; “oh, this is the first I’ve heard of this. I must get me one of those blogs.”

A few days later these same friends sent us an e-mail with a link to their very own blog. Their blog was full of pictures of their kids and funny antidotes and stories about play dates, meal planning, and funny things that happened at church.

A few weeks ago I got a call from my dad. He wanted to discuss the plans for his trip to visit in a few weeks. We talked about maybe taking Babboo to the zoo, we talked about my parents helping to get the new house ready to move into. And then he threw in; “and while we’re there I’d like you to help me set up my own blog. I want you to show me everything you know about blogging so that I can run my own.”

My dad wants a blog where he can showcase his 4-wheelin’ trips with my mom. Pretty much it will be full of pictures like this:

(Why does this pictures crack me up so much? Is it the fact that my mom’s helmet is so huge, or is it my brother lounging across the entire 4-wheeler that makes me lose my shiz?)

Last week, with the help of Heidikins, I figured out better methods of Facebook stalking. While perusing Facebook, with my new methods, I found the younger sister of an old boyfriend. Her married name was very unusual, and also very googleable. And so I googled. Lo and behold, she had a blog. With a link to her older sister’s, who was in my grade, blog. Looking over her link’s lead me to even more blogs of people I knew in high school.

Becky and I spent most of yesterday morning reading all of these awesomely horrible blogs and e-mailing back and forth with our own bitter and jaded comments about all of these ladies from high school. Becky pointed out that “reading these blogs is like running your tongue over a canker sore over and over; it’s painful, but you just have to keep doing it.”

This last Saturday I got a text message from one of my bestest friends from my hometown. She was very excited about the fact that she just started her very own blog(!) and wanted to share the URL with the entire universe.

Seeing how many new blogs out there made me think. I thought back to what my friend told me months ago about the latest Mormon mommy trend of blogging. I thought about how my dad wants to start his own blog. I thought about all the e-mails from friends I’m getting that say “hey, check out my new blog!”

And this is when I realized that maybe, just maybe, blogging had jumped the shark.

Crap.

Is blogging no longer for the few of us that get it? I mean, really get it? Can the blogging community support all of the new blogs out there? Does the world actually need more blogs documenting our kid’s pooping habits and our 4-wheeling excursions?

Do we, as blog writers and blog readers, embrace this ever growing trend?

Or do we just secretly lurk on the blogs of all the girls from high school, and thank our lucky stars that they have blogs for us to read and remind ourselves that we’re glad we’re not in high school anymore?

There are a few things that I know how to do well. Very few. As in the list pretty much goes like this:

• make toast
• make babies
• make pizza
• crochet baby hats

After this last foray into this whole let’s crochet a baby hat for Mrs. Squirrel’s new baby, I may have to cross the last one of the list.

Yep, pretty sure that one has to be taken off the list.

I love reconnecting with friends from my past. I realize that not everyone would agree with me, but I think it’s quite pleasant. I like hearing what old friends have been up to in the years since we’ve last spoke. I like hearing about where they work, who their married to, any pets or kids they might have, and where they’ve been for the last while.

While it’s fun to see what old friends are up to, it’s especially fun to reminiscent about the good ole days. Marci, my best friend from high school, and I love to get together and talk about the silly things we did in junior high and high school. We admit that some of the things we did were embarrassing, but to us, we only remember that we had a good time. I really do have good memories of my school days.

Marci and I broke-up briefly our senior year and because of this I started to run around more with KT and her group of friends. They were a year older then I was, and so much wiser. There is a big difference between people in high school and people who have graduated. They were only a year older, but it felt like light years.

KT and I have kept in touch over the years. This has been mainly yearly update e-mails and forwards of scanned pictures. KT knew I was married and living in Seattle and I knew she was living with a “friend” in the Midwest and working as an artist. I followed KT’s art career via her website and was impressed with the life she had made for herself.

I had also assumed KT was a lesbian for the last ten years. While none of our mutual friend had ever confirmed this, I was never naive enough to think that her “friend” wasn’t really her “partner”. When I read a few week’s ago on KT’s website that she and her “friend” were trying to adopt a baby I was confident that now was the time to bridge the “are you, or aren’t you?” gap. I sent KT a quick congratulatory e-mail on the pending adoption and told her how happy I was for her and her “partner” on this next step in their lives.

And then I waited to hear back from KT. I waited and I waited and I waited. She didn’t respond to my e-mail and I was nervous.

Hoping I hadn’t offended KT or pressured her into telling me aspects of her life that she wasn’t comfortable sharing, I solicited the advice of my good friend Liza. Liza shared with me her thoughts on the situation and told me to give KT a few more days to respond before I wrote her a “holy crap, I’m sorry I assumed you were gay” e-mail apology.

KT responded to me on Monday. Apparently she had been sick and hadn’t been able to respond to my e-mail. She told me how happy she had been to hear from me. We e-mailed back and forth for most of the day. We talked about the adoption process and her art. She updated me on her family and I told her about mine. Then I told her that I assumed her and her “friend” were actually a couple and how happy I was that she was in a committed relationship with someone she loved. I told her I was truly happy that she was happy. I also told her I hadn’t been surprised to hear that she was a lesbian.

KT wrote me right back and was surprised that I wasn’t surprised. Which, of course, surprised me. In the culture that KT and I were raised in, it’s very uncommon for someone her age to not be married with a million kids. And the fact that she lived with her long-time “friend” was a pretty big give-away. Plus, you know, whatever.

Yesterday afternoon I sneaked into an empty conference room and called KT. And let me tell you, hearing her voice on the other end of the phone transported me back to 1993 instantly. I loved it. We giggled and laughed. We shared stories and swapped memories. We updated each other on friends from the past and promised to e-mail more pictures. We talked, at length, about my gay brother. She tried to shed some light on the situation, but honestly, I don’t think anyone (but him) can. KT asked about Babboo and The King. She told me about her partner and how happy they are together. And we giggled and laughed some more.

(KT and me on my high school graduation day.)

I assured KT I wasn’t the person she had known over ten years ago. I assured her I was more mature and nicer and not such an idiot. KT just laughed and told me that we were all idiots back in our formidable years. She told me she had nothing but fabulous memories of our times together. She told me that I held a special place in her heart.

I’m always so ashamed about what I was like back before I grew up. Not that I did anything bad or was a mean person. I was just a silly teenager. I’m always wanting to go and assure people from my past that I’m much better now. I hadn’t ever really thought that maybe we are all a little ashamed at the kind of person we were during those formidable years. I never really thought that we all had formidable years. I just thought it was me.

Before KT and I hung up the phone we promised to stay in better touch. We swapped home phone numbers with the assurance that we’d call each other more. And you know what, I hope we do. Because, to me, talking on the phone with KT felt just like when we used to sit up in her bedroom and giggle over boys we’d kissed and talk about places we’d like to travel. It made my heart feel good. And that’s a feeling I want to keep.

So tell me, what are your thoughts on reconnecting with old friends? Are you for it or against it?