Sometimes I wonder how it is that I’m blessed enough to be married to Husband. He’s not perfect, and neither am I, but by golly, at the end of the day he is an amazing husband. The stories of our lives up until we met are not all sunshine and roses. We both went through relationships that didn’t work out and by the time we met each other, we were both just about sick of dating. But something clicked the night we met, and before long we both knew it was right. We were meant to be together.

Why didn’t those other relationships work out? Why did ours? I’m not going to pretend to be an expert (I say that a lot, don’t I?) as I’ve only been married just shy of 4 years. But I can say with certainty, one of the reasons our relationship has been successful thus far is because of The Hard Questions.

The Hard Questions. That needs a dramatic “dun dun dunnnnnn” behind it. The questions nobody wants to ask. The questions that make young couples caught up in the rosy bloom of new love squirm. The questions that all too often are answered with a mere “Oh, but we love each other, so it’ll work out…” But then it doesn’t work out. It becomes a huge, glaring problem and both parties are left staring at each other in disbelief wondering what the heck they’ve gotten themselves into.

I was blessed with parents who asked The Hard Questions. Every guy I dated, my mom would sit me down and ask The Hard Questions. It might have annoyed me at the time, but I am so glad she had the guts to do it. It saved me a lot of heartache.

So what are The Hard Questions? I’ll try to sum them up as best I can.

What are your dealbreakers?

We all have them. But do we stick to them? I know too many young people who have found themselves in a relationship with one big, glaring dealbreaker. But they brush it off – “I love him/her…it’s just that one thing…it’s not a big deal…” But down the road, it becomes a big deal. A huge deal. So figure out what your dealbreakers are. And stick to them.

Do you share the same beliefs/values?

I once found myself in a relationship with a guy who claimed to be a Christian, but had some very un-Christian beliefs about certain things. I had the wool pulled over my eyes for a couple of weeks before my mom asked me a version of the above question – “Can you picture getting up every Sunday morning and taking your kids to church without your husband?” I realized I hadn’t been thinking long term. What wasn’t a big deal at the moment was going to be a huge deal when I had kids. That wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. I’m glad she brought it up.

What’s the financial situation?

Finances are one of those things love alone cannot fix. It takes communication and practicality. There’s a lot of talk in today’s society about married couples keeping absolutely separate finances, basically being independent of each other. But like it or not, no matter how you’re going to manage your unique financial situation, what each person does financially affects their spouse. When looking at the road to marriage, it is imperative to be completely aware of your potential partner’s financial situation. Debt, savings, education, job, goals – all of it. And get on the same page – make decisions and goals together. Husband and I went through Dave Ramsey’s Financial Peace University when we’d been married a little less than 2 years, and we wish we had gone through it sooner. We highly recommend it.

What is his/her relationship with their family like?

Family dynamics can be complicated – they fall across the spectrum from good to terribly unhealthy. Even when the relationship is good, it can still cause conflict because the way your potential spouse relates to his/her family might be very different than the way you relate to your family, and it takes time to understand how it all works. Husband and I both come from very loving families, but the ways we each relate to our respective families are different and it has taken a lot of time for us to navigate these waters. This topic is something that bears serious discussion before marriage. Because guess what? Marriage only amplifies it. So start figuring it out before you walk down the aisle.

Those are the four basic questions I can think of right now. There are offshoots that go into more detail on each topic, of course. These are really just the tip of the iceberg. But they are something I’d encourage any young person thinking seriously about marriage to take into consideration. Not because I came up with them – I didn’t. I give all credit to my parents, who have been married for over thirty years. And to Husband’s parents, who have also been married for that amount of time and asked him those kind of questions about his relationships.

So none of this is really an original idea. These questions – The Hard Questions – are something parents should be asking their kids. Something pre-marital counselors should be asking the couples they meet with. Something trusted friends should be asking each other. Maybe – just maybe – we could lower the divorce rate in the church if more people were willing to ask The Hard Questions before marriage. And if more people were willing to listen to them. I’m not saying that’s the one-and-only answer to fixing all the marriages in the church. But it’s a step.

You may be wondering what got me thinking about this topic. It was two things: a recent blog post by Suburban Turmoil, and a little book called Glaen by Fred R. Lybrand. I have not quoted either of these works in this blog post, though they did greatly inspire me.

I’m not going to pretend to be some kind of parenting expert. Heck, I only have one kid. And he can’t even talk or walk yet. So in the grand scheme of things, I actually have it pretty easy at the moment. I’m still getting this “mom” thing down, but there are a few things I’ve learned I feel I should write down so I can remember them. Some are profound. Some are practical. Some are silly. But hey, that’s life.

Being a mom is not an excuse to not be a wife. My husband lets me know every single day that he still sees me as his wife. He very deliberately kisses me first when he walks in the door after work before he gives the baby attention. After the baby was born, I had to figure out how to do the “wife” thing all over again. It was hard, but I had to do it, because I love my husband too much to put our relationship on the back burner. I could not bear the idea of being responsible for that. So I figured it out. I figured out how to get a shower in during the day and fix my hair so I look fresh for him when he gets home from work. I figured out how to plan our meals so I can cook for him most nights. I figured out how to make him a priority after the baby goes to bed or goes down for a nap. I submitted to his desire to get a babysitter and go spend time alone even though those maternal instincts were beating me over the head. Some days, I still have to figure it out. But gosh darn it, I’m gonna make my best effort. He means that much to me.

Methods and theories are all well and good, but in the end, you gotta go with what works. We started out life with our baby with some fundamental foundational things. Along the way, we’ve had to make adjustments and do some things differently. And that’s okay. Our little guy is thriving and happy and healthy, and that’s what matters to us. There are things we’ll do differently with our next baby. There are a lot of things we’ll do the same. And there will probably be new things we’ll have to incorporate to account for that baby’s temperament. We’ll start with a basic foundation, and then roll with the punches when we have to.

We should be health nuts with our kids. I firmly believe this. I want my baby and my future kids to have a diet full of good, basic, whole foods. That’s not to say he never gets treats. He does (I fed him dark chocolate gelato today!). But his day-to-day food is very important to me. The American diet is way, way, WAY too processed. The food I feed my child on a regular basis should not have an ingredient list a mile long full of things I can’t pronounce. It should not have unnecessary added sugar. It should not be so processed that they have to add artificial nutrients back into it. We do our very best to keep his food as basic as possible. That’s why I make a good deal of it myself. It’s that important to me to respect the well-engineered machines our bodies are.

Blenders are a beautiful thing. Seriously. I use that thing so much. I make baby food in it. We make smoothies in it. I even make my own instant oatmeal for the baby’s breakfast. I just dump in a big package of whole rolled oats and take ‘em for a whirl. Dish out what you need, pour a little hot water over it, let it sit for a minute, and voila! Breakfast. I love our blender. It gets the most use out of any appliance in our kitchen. A good blender should be high on any new parent’s priority list. They should have a spot for them on baby registries. And I’m not talking about that crazy expensive “Beaba Babycook” thingamabob. A good, sturdy, all-purpose blender is all you need. We’re into multi-taskers in our kitchen.

It can be washed. That became my motto in the first few months of my baby’s life. See, he was a champion spit-upper. We went through sometimes as many as half-a-dozen or more outfits per day at the peak of it. For a while I wouldn’t dress him in his cutest clothes because I didn’t want them to get spit-up on. After a while, though, I stopped caring. My motto became “It can be washed.” When I’d hand the baby to Husband while he was home on his lunch break and Husband said “What if he spits up on my work clothes?” I’d reply “And? It can be washed.”

Being The Crazy Lady is fun. I sing. I dance. I make goofy noises. I talk in a funny voice. I’m that crazy lady in the supermarket dancing to whatever music is playing to make her baby smile. I’m the one a few tables over at the restaurant singing “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” with the hand motions and everything because my baby asked me to. I’ve lost all shame. And I don’t care. Life’s too short not to dance in the pasta aisle at Wal-Mart.

So if being a parent has done nothing else for me, it has turned me into The Crazy Lady. And it’s a title I wear with pride.

February 12th, 2011. A day that will live in infamy.

Well, for me at least!

I put on my cute boots, gathered up my books, and headed up to Denver to meet…The Pioneer Woman!!!

Our good friend Annjeri, a fellow Pioneer Woman fanatic, made the drive with us.

We dropped the baby off at Grandma and Grandpa’s house for the afternoon and arrived in downtown Denver around 1:30. The book signing was on the 2nd floor of the bookstore. We were informed that the event room was already at capacity for the speaking part, and we were to take a number and wait for our group of numbers to be called for the book signing. Ree’s speech and Q&A would be broadcast over a speaker system so we’d be able to hear her out in the bookstore. Okay, cool, no problem.

Step one: get your number.

Step two: enter complete denial about how long this is going to take.

Because the numbers? Started at 1.

My patient-as-a-saint husband was with us to act as our personal paparazzi. The three of us went downstairs to the little cafe for a snack. As we waited for them to warm up his burrito, she walked in the front door. The Pioneer Woman herself. In the flesh. Surrounded by her entourage. Okay, “entourage” may be a bit fancy. It was her two daughters, her mother-in-law, her sister-in-law, and her niece. I elbowed my husband and whispered that he should take a picture. He didn’t. The pull of the burrito was too strong. And I wasn’t quick enough to yank his camera away. Oh well.

We went back upstairs and claimed our square footage of floor.

Surrounded by other Pioneer Woman fans, we waited. We people-watched. We chuckled at the group of young girls reading Black Heels to Tractor Wheels aloud to each other. We listened as Ree greeted her fans, thanked everyone for coming, and took a few questions.

And then we waited a little more.

And a little more.

We did go out and spend about an hour wandering around the 16th Street Mall. But it was windy and chilly and my boots ain’t made for walkin’, so back to the bookstore we went.

The actual book signing started at about 2:40 PM. I counted down as each batch of numbers was called. It started going faster as they got higher – people had given up and left.

But nope, not us crazy die-hards!

Finally, at about 5:30, our group was called. Annjeri and I bolted off the floor (well, okay, we creaked and groaned our stiff legs and numb rear ends off the floor) and got in line.

I couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off my face. I started fidgeting with nervous energy – reapplying lip gloss, messing with my hair to make sure my bangs fell just right across my forehead, shifting the books around in my hands.

I pretty much had the mental capacity of a twelve-year-old girl waiting to go into an N’Sync concert at the height of their popularity. At which point I was twelve years old.

I gave up a long time ago on the idea of being cool and collected when I finally got my moment with The Pioneer Woman. Even trying would increase my nervous excitement to the point that I’d come across as shaky. So I decided to just go with whatever happened and not try to plan what I’d say or do. If I ended up being a complete dork, at least I’d be being myself.

And then, I was right next to her. She greeted me cheerfully with her sweet Oklahoma accent – “Hi! How are you?”

I paused for a second, and then said with great confidence “Blank minded!”

She laughed and the rest of the encounter went swimmingly. My husband mentioned that her cookbook was making me a legend in our families. We talked about the cinnamon rolls – “Those are low-fat, y’know!” she joked – and I thanked her for writing her cookbook because of the aforementioned legend thing.

And she was nothing but sweet and gracious and cute and funny.

You can tell how much she genuinely enjoys these things. She’s truly grateful for her readers and she shows it. I’m sure she was tired, I’m sure she had writer’s cramp from all the autographs, but she never stopped smiling.

And neither did we.

Today, as we all know by now, is Valentine’s Day.

Ah, Valentine’s Day. Is there a day more polarizing? People either love it or hate it. There are those who claim to be indifferent or not care, but I’ve observed that their indifference typically comes from a place of hatred. So I classify it under “hate”. Sorry folks. Just callin’ it like I see it.

We love it around here! Not that we make a huge deal of it. We haven’t, really, since our first Valentine’s Day together. We don’t go out anywhere fancy – who wants to contend with the crowds? We don’t do extravagant gifts – we just had Christmas recently, after all. I don’t expect flowers – the price is so inflated it’s ridiculous.

No, we prefer to stay home with takeout or go to someplace casual for dinner. Even our first Valentine’s together was takeout. We were engaged at the time – it was my first Valentine’s ever with an official significant other. That was enough for me. We had dinner at his apartment – Thai takeout followed by chocolate dipped strawberries and turtle cheesecake – and watched a movie.

But we do observe Valentine’s Day. Yes, we both hated it as singles. But I believe everything is what you make of it, and if you hate Valentine’s Day, well, it’s your own darn fault. You’re the only person making you miserable. It’s your choice. I finally made the choice as a single woman that I was going to enjoy myself on Valentine’s Day just as much as I enjoyed myself every other day of the year. And now that I’m married, it’s still not a huge big deal. It’s just fun! Any excuse not to cook for dinner and eat copious amounts of chocolate is a good excuse in my mind.

Ahem. I shall now step down off of my soapbox.

So, how did the Franks spend Valentine’s Day?

Husband brought me a box of chocolates:

They FINALLY opened a See’s in our fair city! Can I get an AMEN! We received a See’s gift card from someone quite a while ago and have been hanging on to it. During his lunch break today, Husband went and redeemed it.

He’s a good man.

We ended up at my favorite barbecue joint for dinner:

Pardon the poor picture quality. Both of us spaced on bringing a camera so Husband’s phone was what we had to work with. But gosh DANGIT my baby is cute!!!!!! He also developed an affinity for baked beans. He didn’t want any of his own dinner – oh no, only baked beans from Mommy or Daddy’s plate would do!

When we got home we exchanged cards. Here’s the one he gave me:

He always picks great cards for me. I’m not that into really mushy cards – I like ‘em simple and sweet. He’s got that down.

In true “nothing is predictable with you have a 14 month old” fashion, a bath was deemed necessary shortly after we got home:

Kiddo does NOT like having his hair washed.

He DOES, however, like it when Daddy pretends to eat the towel while we get him dried off and dressed:

And then we gave him some milk and tucked him into bed with his favorite blanky. He’s sound asleep now.

And us? We’re both catching up on stuff. In a few minutes we’re going to make some tea, put on a movie, and just sit on the couch in our pajamas enjoying each others company.

So Valentine’s Day for us is a day much like any other day. Except we don’t cook. And we get cards. But really, every day of the year is a love-fest for us. I like when he brings me flowers and chocolates, but he doesn’t need to do those things to show me he loves me. He shows me that every day.

That’s what marriage is all about.

Although the excuse to scarf chocolate doesn’t hurt.

Which I’m going to go do now. Because calories don’t count today. Excuse me. I need a moment alone with the See’s box.

When I say how excited I am to (finally!) see my baby crawl, don’t tell me I’ll soon be wishing he hadn’t started.

When I say how happy I am to see his teeth coming in, don’t tell me I won’t be when he bites me.

When I say how thrilled I am that he’s (finally!) pulling himself up to a somewhat standing position, don’t tell me I’m “in for it”.

When I say how much fun it is to watch my baby grow and develop more every day, don’t tell me how much I’m going to miss him being a baby instead of celebrating his milestones with me.

I’ve made the decision that I am going to enjoy each and every phase of his development and growth to the fullest and find joy in everything. I’m not going to spend his entire childhood looking backwards lamenting about how I wish he was still a baby. I will treasure the memories of his babyhood forever, but I will not let anything prevent me from enjoying the present and looking forward to the future.

He is a complete and utter delight exactly the way he is right now.

And he will continue to be.

So when a new mom gushes about a new development milestone her baby has just reached, don’t rain on her parade. We really don’t like that. Yes, we smile and giggle, but inside it feels like somebody just took a safety pin to our big balloon of happiness. So please don’t be the one holding the safety pin.

Thank you.

I want to start this post out by stating how very hard it was for me to not only write this, but to hit the “publish” button. You’re about to see me pretty close to the most vulnerable and honest I get. I’m not looking for pity, and I’m not looking for solutions. I’m just following the prompting I have to write this, and hoping people hear my heart.

Sometimes the world still feels an awful lot like junior high. I fight against that feeling almost every day. Not because of anything anyone is doing to me – but because of my own human emotions. That’s all.

I struggle a lot with the feeling of wanting to feel included. As a kid, I wasn’t included much. I was an easy target for cliques. I was told I wasn’t good enough to be in their company for whatever reason. My outfit, my hair, the fact that I hadn’t read a certain book or watched a certain TV show. Or sometimes there was really no reason at all. I was just told no, I wasn’t going to be included. These things didn’t end with childhood. Some of my most painful memories of not being included are from adulthood as well. Those are the ones I shall not go into detail about. It hurts too much.

And I’d either go somewhere quiet and cry, or pretend it didn’t bother me even though every breath I took felt like I was being punched in the stomach because my feelings were so hurt.

Today, as an adult, I still get that feeling if my perception starts to tell me I’m not being included. It starts to grow in my heart and gradually takes over my entire being with literal physical symptoms that sometimes render me incapable of sleeping at night. It happens way less often than it used to, and logically I know nobody out there is out to make me feel not included. It’s just an age-old struggle I still fight within myself due to deep-rooted memories and experiences. So I’ll lay in bed in the dark of night locked in a battle between my heart and my mind – my mind telling me “You know nobody is trying to make you feel that way and you have control over this” and my heart palpitating and telling me “Nothing has changed since you were a kid! It’s like you’re invisible and nobody cares if you’re there!”

Ugh. It sucks.

I keep pretty quiet about it because I don’t want to worry that people will treat me differently out of mere pity. I rarely even tell my husband if I’m having that struggle. I’m a very private person and don’t like being grilled about my feelings or offered platitudes on how to fix myself. There is no instant fix. It is a long road I’ve been on since childhood and I can honestly say my life in this area is much better than it was even a few years ago. There has been progress.

That doesn’t mean I’m at the end of my journey yet. I still fight the battle. The time between battles gradually gets longer, and the battles themselves gradually get shorter. When I’m between battles, I’m sometimes disgusted at myself for succumbing to feelings I consider to be so “junior high”. But in the midst of a battle, I’m consumed and paralyzed by those same feelings and they’re not “junior high” – they’re extremely real and deep and painful. They’re not to be dismissed tritely. There are scars on my psyche – deep, jagged scars – that are still healing, and I cannot deny their existence.

So I work on it. Slowly but surely, bit by bit, day by day, sometimes breath by breath when I’m in the throes of the fight.

But I am fighting. It just takes time. And work. And prayer. So that’s what I do. I keep on truckin’.

…can’t I avoid getting sick after my baby is sick?

…is the weather in Colorado so crazy?

…can’t I keep up with the dirty dishes in the kitchen?

…does bacon sound sooooo good to me right now?

…don’t I have the motivation to cook said bacon?

…is it snowing and freezing cold on a day I actually have the stroller and thus could take the baby on a walk?

…did the drugstore only have licorice flavored medicine on the shelf?

…in the name of everything good and holy do they not WARN me on the label that it is licorice flavored? Because when you’re not feeling well, and you hate the flavor of black licorice, the worst thing in the world is popping back a shot of generic Nyquil and making the rude discovery that it is licorice flavored.

…don’t they make grown-up medicines in fun flavors like kids medicines? The pediatric sore-throat medicine tastes like tropical fruit bubblegum. I like that. But nooooooo, grown-up medicine has to taste like licorice.

Blech.

And guess where I’m taking it?

To the Tattered Cover in Denver. On Saturday.

To meet the author.

Commence freakout.

Eeeeeeek!!!!

…we had one of my all-time favorite soups, tom kha gai. This is the stuff I want when I’m under the weather. Chicken noodle? Bah. Tom kah gai.

…I’m working on a little treat for the Superbowl tomorrow.

Oh yes. That is BACON.