Young. Fresh out of college. Naive. Green. Married.
It’s so funny how grown up and mature we think we are at 21 years old. I was in love with my college sweetheart, and marriage seemed like the logical next step.
We’re so very blessed, because for all the growing and maturing we’ve done over the past decade, we’ve grown and matured together. Still in love. Still a team. Still happy together.
But this past decade had brought so many changes–3 children, 3 moves (one overseas), 3 years abroad, changes in jobs and career paths. The list is endless. I can see why so many who marry young end up as divorce statistics.
We’ve been blessed. I’ll never take that, these rings, our promise, my Marcus, for granted.
This is my favorite Christmas decoration. It has been since I was a little girl. My Nanee’s house was always a holiday wonderland, and most of her decorations were handmade. This was a gift from several years ago, a recreation if the one I remember playing with at her house in childhood.
This is one of my 100 objects because of more than the decoration itself. It encompasses so many of my childhood memories. Going to Nanee’s house to decorate was an annual tradition. I think about it every year around this time. I remember unpacking her boxes. Putting the decorations on the dozens of shelves that I swear that she had Poppy put up just for the holidays. Decorating her tree.
This decoration is my childhood.
My Bible (a gift at my confirmation from Aunt Betsy), a statue of Mary and Jesus (a first communion gift) and “The Catechism of the Catholic Church.”
See if you can guess something about me, just from these three objects. I bet you can.
I may not be the best Catholic. I’m not in church every week. I haven’t read the Bible from cover to cover. I can’t recite scripture. But I am Catholic. I believe in one God, the Father. I believe in His Son, Jesus Christ. I believe in the Holy Spirit. I believe that Mary was conceived within original sin and that she was a virgin when she became pregnant with Jesus. I believe that Jesus rose from the dead. I believe he later ascended into heaven. I believe that the Pope and Bishops and Priests are here to help lead us on the path to righteousness. I believe that nothing I do will ever be “good enough” for God…but that He’ll always forgive me and love me, anyway.
These three objects are the most important to help and remind me along the way.
I love reading. Love it. For as long as I can remember, I have devoured books. A good book becomes real for me because of my (over)active imagination. I laugh out loud, cry, fall in love, hate, worry, and smile while reading. I’ve been known to ignore everything and everyone for a good story.
These books aren’t favorites, or representative of my favorite genre. In fact, they’re my latest “to read” pile, which continues to grow faster than I can put a dent in it.
And that, of course, is as me as it gets.
My iPhone ate the post I had done last week with #14, and I was too discouraged to do it again.
That, therefore, brings me to a completely different fourteenth object than I had originally intended to write about: my iPhone.
I’ve been planning to write about this one since I started the 100 objects project, but I wanted to wait until I got a good picture. And do you have any idea how hard it is to get a good picture of your iPhone with your iPhone? Now you now.
I consider myself fairly tech-saavy. But I was never into cell phones like my sisters were. In fact, I always just had the cheapest phone I could find, and rarely used it anyway. I had never sent a text message before 2008 (and even then there were only a few of them). I had never heard of an app. I didn’t know what a smartphone was.
When we returned home from living overseas, my husband bought me an iPhone. A love affair was born.
3 years later, and I still love my iPhone. I carry it everywhere. I do more on it now than I do on the computer, except for actual typing and writing. I might be a little obsessed…but I’m not planning to give it up anytime soon.
Practical Uses for my iPhone
We had dogs when I was growing up. Muffin and Chessie (a lhasa apdo and Chesapeake Bay retriever, respectively) were with my family from the time I was a little girl. However, they weren’t mine. Muffin was a family dog, and as happens in many households, the responsibility for her care fell upon my mother. I loved her (and miss her) but she was a family pet. Chessie was primarily my dad’s dog. An outside dog, whose bark was far worse than her bite and whose main job was to be a protector. She, too, has passed on now, and I miss pulling up to my old home and seeing her running around.
As an adult, I married a cat person. This appealed to me at the time. Tazz and Jinx are so self-sufficient. They do their own thing, don’t need walks or grooming, and come around when they want a cuddle. I love them…but no matter how much we’ve called them ours, they are Marcus’ cats. He’s their favorite.
I thought about Biscuit for about 6 months before we brought her home. I knew a puppy would change everything. And I knew Marcus wasn’t so keen on the idea. The girls were still young, a puppy’s a lot of work, and the responsibility for her would ultimately fall to me. I sort of wanted it that way.
We’ve had Biscuit for almost 6 months now. A puppy certainly is a big change and lots of work. But she’s my puppy. I love her. I don’t mind taking her out. I clean poop with gusto. I like buying her toys and treats. I enjoy her company and companionship. She’s worth it.
The minivan. I was so sad the day I had to purchase her. I hated letting go of my Highlander, which I’d loved since 2001. We tried to fit 3 carseats safely in the back, but the results weren’t what we were hoping for. We needed more storage. We needed more seats. We needed more room to breathe. We needed the minivan.
After almost two years, I’ll admit to being a convert. I love the automatic doors, the room for eight, and the comfort. I have fallen for the ease.
I have turned to the dark side, in a way. And I have no plans to return.
Knitting. I could have posted pictures of my favorite needles, favorite finished object, my entire yarn stash, knitting bags, project bags, or dozens (hundreds) of other objects. But I decided to stick with old faithful.
Malabrigo Worsted, Blue Surf, Amanda Hat
This is my very first skein of Malabrigo yarn. This picture is from February 2008. Though I’d been knitting for almost a year at this point, I’d knit in acrylic blends picked up in town, and stuck primarily to scarves. It was not the finest year of my knitting career. I was a knitter, but not Knitter.
This one skein of yarn, the purchase of which also coincided with the founding of the Harrogate Nutty Knitters, paved the way for me to become the Knitter I am today. I realized what good yarn is, and how incredible it is to knit with. I learned to break free from my knitting box and to challenge myself as a knitter. I started to love knitting. Knitting became a lifestyle for me, more than just a hobby.
So it’s only fitting that this object should be that first skein of Malabrigo yarn, and the first project I ever knit with it. It made an addict out of me–both to the yarn, and to the process.
Though I only became an addict in 2010 after my third child was born, I drank the occasional cup when we lived overseas. I adored the smell of coffee, even as a little girl. I can remember waking up after spending the night at my Nanee and Poppy’s house and smelling the coffee downstairs. I loved it, though the occasional sip, even with sugar and milk, was too bitter for me.
I guzzled soda in college while my friends drank coffee to help them survive all nighters. Now it’s a cup of coffee that I need at least once (often twice) a day to help me survive. Frothy milk is a favorite indulgence, but not required, as you can see below.
Everybody should believe in something. I believe I’ll have another coffee. ~Author Unknown
I wasn’t into Lego as a kid like my own kids are today. I didn’t have the patience for complicated construction plans, or the necessary creativity and commitment to build something from start to finish without them, either.
But these guys are right up my alley.
They were a gift from Anne and Phil, some of our best friends in the world (literally, as they’re from England).
One is me, one is Marcus, and one is a wrestler equipped to help us handle the girls when they’re unruly.
They sit on the kitchen windowsill, and bring a smile to my face every time I do dishes. With three kids, that’s pretty often.