Flashback Friday: The glorious day of my birth

This week I turned 29 years old. I have no idea how this happened. I'm fully convinced that someone is playing a trick on me and that I am actually still 24, since that's the age for some reason I always go to say if I have to answer a question about how old I am and I don't think about it first.

In honor of the extraordinary day I entered the world, my mom sent me some pictures to commemorate the occasion.

With my flowing locks of hair, I'm rocking the mic during baby karaoke

Fresh out of the oven

Several months later, I'm equally alarmed at having to wear 35 pounds of clothing
and my dad's striking resemblance to a 1970's version of Abraham Lincoln

Like a Fine Wine, or a Really Stinky Cheese*

Today, Zach turns the big 3-0. He is my better half, our family chef, our master carpenter, my biggest cheerleader, a great comedian, a surprisingly good decorator, an excellent shopping companion, a terrible loser at board games, a fabulous road trip buddy, a beer connoisseur, the hardest worker I know and my best friend.



Happy birthday, Z!

*Thanks to Courtney for the headline inspiration. I have a feeling Zach will appreciate being compared to a smelly cheese much more than he would an expensive wine. That's just how he is. Sigh.

Blogging Friend Birthday: Jill!

It was the end of summer 1992 and an unfortunately skinny girl who, after a long stretch of possessing a sparse wardrobe of white button-up shirts and navy blue plaid, was walking in her knock-off Girbauds, all alone, to the first class of her first day of public school. A class where she knew no one.

All of her friends who had also transferred to Mont Harmon Junior High from the local Catholic school, in a cruel joke by the pubescent social gods, got to live through their first class of the day together. They would make the transition going from a class of 13-20 students they had been with all their lives to a school of hundreds of strangers together.

The skinny girl with a grown-out perm and a mouthful of braces had to go all by herself. And across the parking lot to an overflow classroom (read: trailer), no less.

Opening the door to the trailer and feeling the gaze of dozens of strangers' eyes--many of which were covered in layers of early 1990's eyeshadow--she glances around, nervously trying to figure out where to sit. Her palms begin to sweat. She looks down at the cheaply carpeted floor.

But just then, halleluja!, the angels started to sing and the heavens put forth light on an adorable blond girl. The blond girl smiled and said the greatest phrase ever known to self-conscious 13-years-olds: "You can sit by me."

The skinny, awkward girl felt a surge of gratitude and quickly sat on the uncomfortable plastic chair. The most wonderful chair in the world!

The junior high angel's name was Jill and the skinny, awkward girl with bad hair was me.

I met Jill that fateful first day of junior high. She was kind and welcoming and was to me, that day, like a huge piece of chocolate cake after months of being on a drab, low-calorie diet. Sweet and just what I needed to instantly feel better.

We became the best of friends and were inseparable throughout junior high and high school. She attended many of my crazy family parties, served as my wardrobe consultant for our frequent social outings, was a good sport always pretending to be shocked at her annual "surprise" birthday parties and I even brought her along on dates when my high school boyfriend was visiting from college. I admit, that one is weird. When Zach and I became engaged, my dad said something like, "And for all these years, I thought you were going to marry Jill."

Her birthday was this weekend and about 15 years later I am still delighted to call her my friend. She has a hilarious sense of humor, is a great mom, incredibly smart and a wonderful friend.

Happy birthday, Jilly Bean!

Enjoy this sampling of photos, most of which are taken during the infamous junior high days.

Blogging Friend Birthday: Marcae

[Editor's note: Due to a perfect storm of scanner, internet and computer problems, this post is a day late.]

Marcae and I have been friends for --gulp!-- almost 10 years. We realized this last week. Back in 1997 we were next-door neighbors at Stonebrook Apartments in Cedar City where Marcae lived with Jamie. We were all fascinated by Marc since she had the greatest hair, cutest name, always wore high heels (amid a sea of clunky Doc Martens), drove a cute Pontiac Sunfire and was from Roperville, also known as Fillmore. (Since her last name was Roper and her family owned multiple businesses there, our friends thought our name was better.)

For the next couple years we lived together and I quickly learned to love Marc's stellar sense of humor, genuine personality and ability to coordinate her famous "all nighters" where we would all stay up the entire night watching movies and eating junk food while Marcae, wrapped in her favorite blanket and still wearing her shoes, would fall asleep at the late hour of, oh, 9:30.

Over the last decade we've stayed great friends and have, for the most part, kept up with our almost-monthly dinners where we pass the hours laughing and having the kinds of conversations one gets to enjoy with a friend they've had since they were a teenager.

Marcae still has the fun-loving personality that made me want to be her friend when we were just 18, and her naturally giving, thoughtful nature has never changed. She is an unbelievable mother who can rattle off her latest baby hair styling tips one minute and discuss enough medical terminology and procedures to make even a skilled surgeon jealous the next. Marcae is the personification of patience, generosity and friendship.

Happy birthday, Marc! Sure love ya.