Monday, February 27, 2017

How I Met Your Father


            Here is an open letter to my future kids (even if they are just the sour patch kind for a while).

            In just a couple days D and I will be celebrating our four-year anniversary. 3-1-13. I want to take this time not to leave a mushy public love post (not my style) but to tell the completely average and uneventful tale of how we came to be, starting in August, 2011. *Cue Calvin Harris, Summer*

         I never had the intention of getting married young. Well, I did compared to real-world standards of thirty-to-never but not in Mormon-world standards of eighteen to twenty-three. The Mormon world is funny. Don't date till sixteen, but please, by all means, get married at eighteen. Despite what I believed at the time, I suppose it was inevitable considering I initially attended a LDS college. My life plan was to go to this little school for two years, get amazing grades, transfer to BYU, graduate in something utterly useless, and then marry some business school grad student with high earning potential. We would then move to a palace in Alpine, raise huskies, drive a Rover, and I could teach yoga or something for fun.

           Spoiler alert: Directly following my borderline child-bride marriage, I (happily) ended up in West Virginia, with a geriatric Chihuahua, in a one-bedroom apartment, driving a 1993 gold Buick, working at Buffalo Wild Wings. So how did I get there?  

           It all started my first week at college. I didn't picture this small, LDS liberal arts school having an acceptable dating pool, especially after an open house I visited, so the possibility of meeting someone didn't even occur to me. I wasn't looking for anyone anyway. There were seven-hundred students. Half were female so that left me with three-hundred and fifty guys. The freshman and sophomores were "pre-mission" and I was not about to sit around for two years. So, we are down to around one-hundred and twenty-five guys. Subtract thirty-five because few actually make it to Junior or Senior year. Now we have ninety guys. Fifty are totally acceptable but taken. At least ten are on the honor council or student government, so I immediately rule them out (like I said before, picture Randall the snitch from Recess). If we stay out past midnight, will he report me? No thanks. We now have forty. I figure ten are out of my league and the other thirty are under. Just kidding, let's say ten are under. Twenty left. I am taller than maybe five when I wear heels. Fifteen remaining. Five probably don't have standards I consider acceptable. Six probably consider my standards unacceptable. I mean, I do skip relief society occasionally and pretend the Sabbath doesn't exist while on vacation. Now we have four left. One doesn't swing my way. That's okay. The other wears a tail and carries a wooden sword. He was also a suspect in a bomb threat. Not okay. We are now down to the final two. Both of which are highly acceptable choices; handsome, smart, tall, kind, athletic, etc. However, one wears a tall-tee and the other doesn't speak. I was not about to pursue either. I would have hundreds more choices in Utah anyway.

          Of course, I didn't know these two existed until some sophomore girls on my cheer team took it upon themselves to act as a personal matchmaking service. Looking back, they actually did a pretty good job narrowing down all the possibilities. When they informed me of the final two, I had a decision to make. Physically they were both just fine to me so it came down to the most important aspect: money.... I mean, personality.
"One is a lot more shy than the other."
"Okay, then I pick the less shy one. Now what?"
"He is kind of seeing someone right now."
"....."            < also my face

          I decided my matchmakers were unqualified and I continued on with my life plan: Do well in school then transfer. Out of curiosity, I still decided to keep an eye on the less-shy one. By "keep an eye on" I mean learn his entire schedule, learn his walking route home, look frequently at any non-private photos on Facebook, search for his duff, look at the baseball roster/stats, and figure out which ward he attended. In a few short days I knew where he was at all times. At 2:30 on Wednesdays I would be outside the theater painting stage sets right when he walked by to go home. "Sure Professor Georgenson, I would love to go outside and paint again today at 2:30!"At football games I would purposely do a bunch of backflips right in front of him (never looked). On Tuesday and Thursday at 10:45 I could watch him walk past my classroom door. How exciting.

           About a week later at practice, my matchmakers excitedly informed me that the less-shy one was no longer seeing anyone. At this point in my stalking journey, it was all about the thrill of the chase. I asked for advice on what to do next. "Just talk to him," they said. I couldn't believe it. Talk to him? Seriously? I don't "talk" to anyone. (Explanation: I will talk. I may even talk non-stop, especially if I have a sip of caffeine, but I rarely initiate conversation. It is due to extreme nervousness in social situations and not me being mean or rude. I would even go so far as to call it social anxiety. If you don't believe me, just look at my hands shake next time we talk- if you initiate of course).  Needless to say, I decided to stick to my plan and just keep doing well in school.

         On September 10th, 2011 I received a romantic Facebook message, "What's your number?"

         On September 11th, 2011 I received a scandalous text, "Are you going to the church activity tonight?" Of course I wasn't. I don't go to extra church for fun. Plus, I already washed my face and put on my sweats. "Yeah Totally! Are you?" I reluctantly and nervously (typical me) got dressed up, again, and headed down to the church. As I walked the halls hoping I would not see him out of sheer fright, I found myself heading directly towards him in a long empty hallway. We stopped. I started a conversation and I was magically outgoing for the first time in my life. I also made him laugh for the first time in my life. We went inside the chapel and we sat together. We clicked instantly. I then had a ferocious coughing/gagging attack and sat in the hall for the rest of the meeting. I stayed though. After the activity we went to my dorm building and played ping-pong. I hate ping-pong but I was really good for the first time in my life. It was late and cold so I offered to drive him home. We got in my truck and it wouldn't start. That gave us plenty of time to sit and get to know each other better. I am sure you can guess what happened next...
 I told him to walk home.

       We texted and hung-out every day that following week. I started staying up past nine pm. We went on our first date to Taco Bell. At that point I knew it was meant to be. After seven days I held hands with him for the first time in my life. Sweaty hands but hands none the less. By the end of the month he asked me to be his girlfriend through this romantic text, "Do you want to be my girlfriend?" It turns out the less-shy one was actually incredibly shy. I had a boyfriend for the first time in my life. Fast-forward about nine months and we were engaged. "That's way too fast!"-Non Mormon family, friends, and strangers who like to throw in their two cents. "What took you so long?"-Mormons, minus my mom. Nine more months later we were married. People often asked, "How's married life?" I responded, "Its going great!" They always replied, "Well lets give it a few years and see if you're still saying that."

      After the less-shy one ("D," as I now call him) graduated, we moved to West Virginia. Not Utah. As far as the people out there are concerned, West Virginia doesn't even exist (trust me I have heard it before). We had an old truck and an old Buick, not a Rover, but they worked (most of the time). We had a senior Chihuahua and no huskies (who needs a designer dog anyway?). We lived in a cute little apartment, not a palace. We went to school all day and I waited tables at night. We watched Netflix and ate popcorn any time we could. It was the absolute best.    

      Okay, I have given it four years. Can I say, "It's going great," with some credibility now? No? Okay.

2011: Fist picture ever taken of us. It's tiny because I really don't actually want you to see it.
Phase 1: Charmander 

2013: Who are they?

2014: His hair getting longer, beard emerging. My hair getting lighter.
Phase 2: Charmeleon   

2016: Law grad & one step closer to teaching yoga "for fun"
Phase 3: Charizard

2017: I wonder what 2020 will look like based on this pattern.


  1. I could read your blog all day and never get bored!

  2. Amy, you are an INCREDIBLE writer! I was reading this and literally laughing out loud at you narrowing down the guys at school. Your story is so sweet and real, it gave me goosebumps. Happy anniversary!

    1. Thank you so much Hailey! btw, your blog and pictures are beautiful :) thank you thank you!!