Back in 1999, I changed my name to Mrs. Olsen and started a new life with The Mister of the House. Like most college-aged newlyweds, we started out our life with a good many gifts, but lacked major assets that made our living nomadic and even sparse. I entered the arrangement, like most newlyweds, with the mission to buy things, make things, and acquire things to eventually fill up our house and home.

As it happens, Mrs. Olsen and The Mister of the House recently spent an entire childless, work-free, vacationing week in celebration of 10 years of marriage. We reveled in fall colors and American History on the East Coast. Our camera batteries died on day 4, but on day 2 we had a lovely Boo Radley moment. Come on in if you dare!

The Mister of the House has strong opinions about headstones. He despises the shiny, ostentatious, marble headstones of the present. He insisted that he wanted a simple thin headstone someday (to accompany his pine box) just like the ones throughout this cemetery.


Romantic huh? Here's some of the folks we paid our respects to:

Of course, we also talked about having a bench on a simple hillside to commemorate our final resting place. Benches also go well with pine boxes.

Just look at that John Hancock! Nothing like some male ego to tell the King of England to back off! There's a new alpha-male on the block called democracy.



Anyone who knows The Mister of the House, knows how nearly impossible and vexing it is to get him to pose for a camera. Prepare to be amazed at this next picture for which he happily obliged and posed:



If anyone is wondering, I love this photo. I love that my man wants to be buried in a pinebox on a country hillside with a bench!

It's almost inspiring to think of an entire life, and the legacy they left behind them, burning a trail to heaven with intermittent ash falling on the present. Cemeteries are good for that. It makes you think of the legacy you might leave behind, if any at all. Paul Revere, John Hancock, fought a dear fight for our liberties, and I was quietly reminded of that at this place.

And yet, the legacy that touched me most personally, although not to diminish the great cause of our First Patriots...was this:


Josiah Franklin and Abiah his wife, lie here interred. They lived lovingly together in wedlock fifty-five years; and without an estate or any careful employment; by constant labor and honest industry, maintained a large family comfortably, and brought up thirteen children and seven grandchildren respectably. From this instance, Reader, be encouraged to diligence in thy calling, and distrust not Providence. He was a pious and prudent man; she a virtuous woman. Their youngest son, in filial regard to their memory, places this stone. J. F. Born, 1655. Died, 1744. Aet. 89. A. F. Born, 1667. Died, 1752. Aet. 85


With all the living to inspire others, the American Dream, celebrities, do-gooders, and world-changers...sometimes it's tough to live "small". At least to be content while doing it. Motherhood seems to be one of those things the world considers small. And when my kid has diarrhea and I change 13 runnies in a day, I too wonder if it is worth it.

So thank you Josiah and Abiah, for living quietly without acquiring much worldly goods, for being content without a big estate, and for encouraging diligence in the great calling of family life. There is something so inspiring and beautiful about their lives. Eulogy penned by none other than their youngest son, Benjamin.

I was about Rainbow Girl's age when I went to Utah's home-fry amusement park Lagoon and beheld a teenage lovefest while waiting to ride the roller coaster. It was the blessed decade called "The 80's" and tight acid-washed jeans were everywhere. I saw a rubby-dubby couple around 16 or 17, and stared slackjawed in the roller coaster line surveying the first hickey I had ever witnessed in the flesh. It was the size of a golf ball. The mullet stud in front of me advertised it by unbuttoning his sleeveless shirt down past his single chest hair. And his ratty-hair-with-wings-lover clung to his neck like an infant.

So now it's nearly two decades later, married with kids. Hickeys are old news to me. But it's true that my recent jaunt to Utah's mini-Disneyland was a lovefest indeed.



Here I am feeling the love and wanting to be coy on camera. The Mister was having none of that. But it's not for lack of love mind you. Since he was five, he's always acted approximately two decades older than his real age. That means he's like a silver-haired fifty-ish old guy right now who worries about retirement, missionary funds, and keeping the lawn green. It works!



When we went on the swings, I hoped to catch some happy girls at play.

When Lagoon can melt a good 3 or 4 decades off The Mister of the House, I just get giddy inside.



Plus there's something about his sheer intelligence that makes me all warm & fuzzy inside. For The Mister of the House, he can observe, deduce, understand, and reenact. I watched his mind work while he observed all the whirly twirly roller coasters at Lagoon.





Be still my heart! Since The Mister is such a smartie pants, I figured I would carry on a family tradition started by my mother on family vacations....spellchecking! Look at me Mister! Look at my brain catch bad pronunciation!




It may be possible that Rainbow Girl got her heartstrings tugged as well.



As long as puberty isn't a factor, we're enjoying this innocent little tryst.

It might as well be February with all the pondering and celebrations of love recently. We finally married off little brother video buff of The Mister of the House. When the happy couple finally emerged from the stony temple that looks like a castle on a hill...well, it was like paparazzi scrambling to get a shot of Brangelina. Check it out.



Since both my Grandpas passed away before I was married, I got to adopt The Misters Grandpa and Grandma.  Grandpa married the happy couple (like he did for The Mister & Mrs. Olsen nearly ten years ago). Among the many words of wisdom he shared was this: 

Your love is strong right now, but it is not perfect.

He then pointed to the parents and grandparents, and talked about how love becomes more beautiful with age.

 


What a lovely, happy, and as far as I can tell, perfectly loving couple.

Now let's get down to bid-ness.


Come on, let us have it...

Yippee.  Another picture for my kissing wall.  Is passion love? Are kisses more passionate when love ages?  

Of course, first comes love, then comes marriage.  Nothing like a picture with all the nieces and nephews to prep you for what's to come.

Run now while you have a chance. Take a long, quiet, diaper-free honeymoon immediately before it's too late!

Who's talking?

That was uncalled for. Heck, there's nothing like children to bring you closer together.

Right? Right? Okay, that was formerly a crook for my offspring.  Take a joke why dontchya?  

btw, there's my long and apparently invisible layers of my first ever haircut in 5 years.  We're calling that phase 1 (of 2) in my hair makeover.  Besides we've got to keep it long enough to have the quintessential romantic hairdo of the century.

Modeled by the latest Mrs. Olsen, formerly known as Jen Adair.  Simple, classy, and gorgeous. What a perty bride.

Speaking of love manifest through hair, check out my daddio.

Poor guy's been without his bride for the past 3 weeks.  So here's love in action.  My folks can't seem to survive being apart from each other.  In order to prove his total dependence on my mom, my dad decided to grow a beard, be a hermit, and live on Cheetos the entire time she's been gone.  Sorry to break it to ya dad, but you failed the Louis L'Amour Cowboy Course: your beard really stinks.  But I think you made up for it with your sweet hairy eyebrows.  Thanks for riding your horse down my way to pay me a visit.

Maybe romantic love gets stronger the second generation down.  

When you start out young, bright-eyed and in love, do you really see this coming down the road?

Grandpa Love sure seems to be running strong around here.  Before he even pulled his loveboat of a car out of my driveway, Rainbow Girl turned to me all sad and said: "I miss him already".

I miss him too!  Of course, there's one thing me and my dad will always share: a crooked back.  Which is why I have been basking in this phase of my love life because I seriously got a 2 hour shoulder rub, back massage last night from The Mister of the House.   He insisted I watch Star Trek: Wrath of Khan so I could be properly prepared to see the new Star Trek movie in the theatre.  But it's more than just a nerdy sci-fi movie people that's motivating us here people!  Only true love could keep that shoulder burn going the entire time....

Aaaahhh..

is anyone still reading this?

Until the Olsen wedding next month, I'm clean out of kissing pictures to showcase. Well, clean out after this next one of Wade and Marilyn, Idaho natives and former dwellers of Apache Avenue. Also known as the big people who taught me how to ride a bike, how to laugh, and how to set the table. Check out how cute they are:



Here they are just appeasing my requests for a kissing picture. My dad, lover of Louis L'Amour novels who thinks shovels and hard work speak louder than words, has never been one for much public displays of affection. He also will perform a disappearing act anytime somebody starts talking about bras, maxi pads, or pregnancies.

I don't think that picture is making it onto my kissing wall. I have a better one in mind.


That's more like it, don't you think? I edited the picture to have full glow, because they are taking a bath in love and light. That kiss looks more real, and my mom is smiling in her eyes.

So what makes their love unique? Um, where do I start? They married while in college, my dad was a wiry b-ball player and my mom was a pageant queen with a 25-inch waist. Their first date was at the A&W, and my dad ordered french fries. My mom ordered a salad. She ate half his fries (or so he said) and we all heard about it every time we ate a Happy Meal. She would giggle and remind us that she didn't kiss him until the 13th date (or so she said) while he smirked. It took the family approximately 40 years to get the story straight, and I still don't remember the true story because I've heard the legends for so long.

Amazingly, they have been married 47 years this summer. That is really weird for me. And in that 47 years they left the farm, started a new life as teachers, wanted kids but couldn't have any...and then starting in 1969 {an anxious seven years after their marital vows} their prayers were answered and they had my brother Derek. Over the next eight years they cranked out 4 more kids and bought a spud farm on the side. And when I was two, they lost their shirts, pants, and underwear on that spud farm, which produced a lifetime crop of cautious, conservative, hard-working teachers instead of farmers.

She never pumps her own gas, and he lives off Cheetos and fruit spritzers if she's ever out of town. He was an athlete who grew up in the era when only flambuoyant men worked in Department stores, and yet he happily (and privately) delved into the (effeminate?) role of doting, singing, lullabying, floor wrestling, and making-up-songs Dad and Grandpa. She adored that about him, and provided 5 kids to practice on. Oh and he also chucked shoes at us if we got out of bed (there's that athlete part coming through). As long as his shoe hit the wall instead of our head (which it always did for some reason) she swooned at his superior athletic skills.

Mom and Dad...I love you!

Advice to the masses: Don't for one minute think that you marry a person as a separate entity from their family. The mafia, the Mormons, and your grandmother are right: You marry the family. And I couldn't be happier to have married into the family of The Mister of the House. I hereby present, on this Lovely Monday, the lip attachment of his DNA contributors, otherwise known as my kids Grandparents, and The Mister's parents.



Although I asked them to pose for this shot, it couldn't have turned out more authentic. She's just breathing him in and he's pulling her in close, cherishing her at the same time. I think I can safely say that they're sharing an inside joke that might go something like this:

These young kids don't know much about love, but it's sure cute to see them try. Remember when our "Mister of the House" was a teenager who couldn't even bear to go on family vacations with us? Let's just cross our fingers that all these grandkids will see all the sights and know all the love we have for them, and that their parents (our kids) will make it through wiser, happier, and more in love.

So I can't help define "their love" and how it's unique without keeping it in context of The Mister of the House, he being the oldest of seven children (you heard me, seven!) and a very lost and lonely soul from about 14 to 20-something.

Well, he made friends and enjoyed his hobbies, it's not like his entire life was a void of course, but a part of him was searching for spiritual peace during that time (and he looked for it in a lot of stupid places). He and his parents seemed to go through their own evolution together...and yet I think it was the love of these people with unique names, this Herm and this Norma, that eventually brought my husband back to his true self. His self as a son of a Heavenly Father who desperately desperately loved him.

Throughout those years his parents were always happy, truly happy to see him and hear how he was doing. While there was disappointment in the path their son was leading, they laid off the "How dare you!" or "You were raised better than that!" speeches (He was well into his teenage years by then, so I can still give those speeches to my very impressionable young kids thank you very much).

But anyway...

Apart from being an anchor to a wayward son, what makes their love unique?


He absolutely spoils her every Christmas even though she's not your diva-mom that would expect that type of thing. She puts on a major spread on the dinner table for most of her family every Sunday, all the while being shadowed by her man cleaning her trail in the kitchen (there's just something about a man who can clean a kitchen that will always win a place in my heart). He is an overworked attorney, and yet never seems to bring the stress of his job back home, and is quick to squeeze his Norma even after a crazy day at the office. She works hard to install lots of crazy and memorable traditions for her family throughout the year, and with all her careful planning is happy to sit back and let her man preside over the family with love and wisdom. There's something so daring about that in our modern day society. And they make it work because they adore, love, and respect each other. And their kids.

The Week of Love proved inadequate in showcasing my family, their locked lips, and tales from the crypt. So I thought I would throw in a few Lovely Mondays to make up the difference. Having just returned from a weekend at my sister's house, I thought I would share the image of sissy with her husband of sixteen years.


This is the only picture that actually has no kiss--and yet I think it still qualifies for the kissing wall. Tell me if you think I'm right.

I love the false sense of defeat in the sissy's arms. She is obviously being solicited, and isn't quite reconciling the affection, but isn't fighting it either. I can just imagine the dialogue surrounding this captured moment:

Troy: Weeeell, I'm just about to go kill myself a 20-point buck. Can I have a snuggle before I go?

Monica: No.

Troy: Before the hunt, I need to defrost my high-octane nitrous exploder snowmobile from my pa's shop. How 'bout I take one of the kids with me? Would that help?

Monica: Um, you mean like the last time you nearly missed an avalanche and my nine-year old watched some guy get unsuccessfully resusitated and then put in an ambulance? Sounds great sweetie! [insert sarcasm here]

Troy: Ooooh.....you. Come here! I need a snuggle.

Monica: No. I'm mad at you. No pancakes for breakfast for 2 days.

Troy: [gasp] Come on! You know I get the jitters if I have to eat cereal.

Monica: Please stay home today.

Troy: You've already vacuumed three-thousand-square-feet of carpet, fixed kabobs for the kids lunch, knitted 12 hats for orphans, cleaned the bathrooms, and mastered Debussey on the piano. What else have you got going on today?

[begins to invade personal space and places arms around Monica's waist].

Monica: Not much I guess. Just fix dinner for the widow across the street, do three loads of laundry, and then fix 200 servings of berry-topped brownies for the church ladies tonight.

Troy: [leans in closer and begins flirting with his eyebrows].

Monica: Ooooooh-kay. You had me at 20-point buck.

Monica and Troy. What makes their love unique? He works hard and plays hard. Soon after their marriage, my family was trying to understand the psychology behind an Idaho ruffian during hunting season.

{For instance: What makes one purchase a crappy truck, overpriced, with too many miles, and without telling your spouse? That's easy! An Idaho Hunter on the last day of the hunt who has been driving a sedan for the past year.}

But seriously folks, he's forgiven. Why? First of all, he learned his stupid lesson with the truck. Secondly, he can cook a mean Sunday roast, does dishes, plays with the kids, and always...always...is ready to give a snuggle to my amazing sister. And his success as a small-business owner comes from a beautiful tango between with his insurmountable work ethic along with the wizardly-number-crunching skills of Monica. She was working her way up the corporate ladder as a CPA, and leaving co-workers speechless at the speed in which she could perform, audits, tax returns, or memorize complete rolodexes. But she left that life and trudged through 5 difficult pregnancies, and began devoting her business smarts into Troy's electrician business. She stands her ground with her own hobbies to keep her active and smart: like the 2 tennis matches she won over the weekend. The same tennis matches which made for exciting cheerleading and applauding by her number one fan: Troy.

Mrs. Olsen finally gets a kiss...

Since I've been shoving kissing pictures down your throat for a week, ooohing and aaahing about the over-and-over show of love...I finally talked The Mister of the House into kissing me on camera. No matter how much I faded, cropped, or softened, I couldn't completely erase the disturbing quality of this image.

But in the end it was a fitting tribute to our first kiss.

Young and Single Mrs. Olsen overhears a radio report about how people that kiss with their eyes open have a hard time trusting.

A week later The Mister of the House finally gets the courage to kiss me. It's a sweet, semi-passionate kiss that would require closed eyes for full impact. But I had to know...does he really, I mean really trust me? Is he going to open his eyes?

So I waited. And watched.

Only to have The Mister peek through his sloshed lids to find me peering wide-eyed. I think I kindof freaked him out, and then I thought:

Wait a second....I've been tricked! Stupid radio.

But he persisted that guy, and now almost ten years of marriage later, he'll give me a creepy eyeball during our goodbye kiss for old time's sake.

Here's some more kissing pics of the offspring. With love, from my house to yours!

This kid had velvet silk skin. I'm not kidding. I beg for kisses all the day long, to the point he just shoves the fingers in the mouth to deal with it.

But once in a while, I talk him into coming in for a wet one. Check out the cute little curved feet balancing him while he leans into momma.

Vanilla Wafer got a multiple-attack last week, and had this to show for it:

Who knows how much longer I can get kisses from this little guy?

Over and out!