Wedding Planning and other Young-Adult Memories of my Dad

Two more posts to go in my series about my dad for his 60^th birthday!  Thank you for the comments—I didn’t know if anyone would even be interested in reading these memories of my dad (and it’s fine if no one is), but it’s really cool to know that others are inspired by him and by his example of fatherhood.  Dads are so important!  And every dad is different and interacts differently with their children, but those that truly love and care for their families have an immeasurable impact.

Now on to my memories of my dad in my young adulthood…

--------------------------

The summer that my mom was dying, my dad helped me buy a brand new, reliable car to get to and from college and to use for the next 15 years.  Unfortunately, the very next summer, I crashed it.  I was working as the activities director at a camp in the mountains, and I hydroplaned during a rainstorm and went off the highway into a mountainside.  I rolled several times and landed upside down, hanging by my seatbelt.  Surprisingly, I was totally fine.  Not-surprisingly, the car was not.

I remember how strangely calm I was when the car started to hydroplane.  It was like time slowed down, and I had totally clear and coherent thoughts, including, “Oh, so this is what it feels like to hydroplane.  I am going to hit that mountainside.  I hope I don’t die; that would be really hard for Dad right after losing Mom.”  I’m glad that my first thought in that situation was of my dad.

While sitting in a police car as they finished the accident report, I called him at work to tell him about the accident.  I assured him that I was totally fine—miraculously, not a scratch on my body—and that he didn’t need to drive up to the mountains.  Who was I kidding?  Within an hour, he was at the scene of the accident.  I remember the surprise and relief that surged through me when I saw him approaching, wearing his suit of course.  I knew in that moment how much he loved me, that nothing would keep him away when I was in need.  Sure I wasn’t hurt physically, but I was shaken emotionally, and it was really nice to have him by my side.  I know my dad so I never worried that he would be angry that my new car was totaled—and sure enough, he never said a word about the car.  He was just glad I was okay.  I remember that he took me to dinner at the only restaurant nearby (a Burger King in a gas station!) and then he took me back to Camp and talked to the Director and Nurse to call him if I showed any signs of distress.  I was 20 years old, and my daddy was still looking out for me!

He made my 21^st birthday a special occasion by spoiling my friends and me.  I invited a few of my best girlfriends over, and we sat in the dining room while he served us as the waiter.  We had Olive Garden fettuccine alfredo (my special request) and then he made my mom’s famous strawberry pie for dessert.  Later that week, he took me out for a one-on-one birthday date to The Melting Pot (a fancy fondue restaurant) and I remember that we discussed relationships and marriage because Ryan and I were seriously considering getting engaged.  I was also about to leave for a semester in El Salvador, so Dad and I were soaking up our time together before I headed out of the country.

He drove me to the airport on the morning that I left for El Salvador, and I was so nervous.  We ate breakfast at a Mexican place at the airport, and I could hardly eat my burrito because of the nerves. When we said goodbye at security, I started crying (and I am not a crier), and I remember Dad standing back and watching me go through security with a look of concern on his face.  He knew that I would have the experience of a lifetime (which I did!), but he really felt for me in that moment—I could see it on his face when I looked back over my shoulder and waved my tearful goodbye.

Shortly after I got back from Central America, we spent a weekend in Bear Lake, Utah, with my family, my grandparents, and Ryan.  My sisters and I stayed at a small condo with my grandparents and my dad and Ryan shared a hotel room nearby.  My dad knew that Ryan wanted to ask him for permission to marry me, so he made plenty of opportunities for that conversation to happen.  Of course Ryan was way too shy and nervous, so the conversation didn’t happen until the very last day of the trip when they were in the car on the way to the condo. Hahaha—typical.

My dad didn’t just say “yes, you can marry my daughter,” he talked to Ryan about me and who I am.  He told Ryan how much he cherished me and how he hoped Ryan would always treat me. He told Ryan that I am a people person and that I would always have many dear friends and people that I wanted to take care of—that Ryan would never be the only person in my life, but he would always be the most important.  He said, “If you want to be happy with Rachel, you have to realize that she is going to spend a lot of time taking care of other people, and you have to be okay with that.”  I think this advice is spot-on for my personality and I love that my dad knew this about me.   I also love that Ryan has always taken that advice in our marriage: he has encouraged me to develop my friendships, to spend time outside of our home serving others, to travel to see friends that I love, and to spend one-on-one time with my sisters.  Truly, Ryan is very much like my dad in a lot of ways, and maybe that’s why I was so drawn to him.  I couldn’t have a better father or husband!

Since my mom wasn’t around, my dad planned my wedding, and I must admit, he smashed it out of the park.  If he ever decides to give up being a lawyer, I think he could definitely be a wedding planner.  He had all these various spreadsheets with the guest list, the different options for venues and menus, and different possibilities for bands.  It was quite hilarious and endearing.

After the wedding ceremony in the temple—we call it a “sealing” because a husband and wife are sealed together not just for this life but also for eternity—family and friends come up to the bride and groom in a line and hug them.  When my dad hugged me, I couldn’t hold back the tears.  I whispered how much I loved him and how I wished my mom could be there.  He said, “She’s here, Rachel.  I know she is.”  I responded through tears, “But I want her here—I want to hug her too!” and then I broke down into sobs.  My dad just squeezed me tighter and said, “Me too, Girl.  Me too.”  I can’t imagine what that must have been like for my dad to celebrate those milestone events in his daughters’ lives without his beloved wife by his side.

That night at the reception, he gave the most amazing toast.  He started it off by praising Ryan and all of the qualities that made him proud to have him as a son-in-law—and then he threw in a little of his signature humor when he added, “And on top of all of that, my daughters tell me that Ryan is ‘hot.’  I cannot be the judge of such matters; so all you ladies in the house, if you think Ryan is ‘hot,’ put your hands together!”  Everyone was laughing, hooting, and cheering.  It was a perfect moment.

He followed that up with an incredible tribute to me that I will never forget, and then we had our daddy-daughter dance to “Have I Told You Lately That I Love You?” which I know is meant to be a romantic song but the lyrics are perfect for my relationship with my dad: “You fill my heart with gladness, take away all my sadness, ease my troubles that’s what you do.” Truer words couldn’t be spoken about my dad.

Shortly after our wedding, Ryan and I moved to Buffalo, New York for Ry to complete dental school.  During those years far away from family, I talked to my dad several times a week, usually during my commutes home from my job as a teacher. I kept him updated on my students, my service work at church, and just my daily life.

He would sometimes call me for advice as well, such as when single ladies from our church started bringing him casseroles and he didn’t know what to do about it.  Hahaha!  I love it!  I never thought I’d see the day that I would be giving my dad advice on how to politely tell someone that he wasn’t interested in dating. ;)

I remember calling him when I was in the midst of fertility treatments, bawling into the phone about how I’d always wanted a bunch of kids and now I wasn’t sure if I would even get one.  He was so patient and supportive during those years, always offering wise words of encouragement and sometimes even sending flowers when I was especially down.

One summer, he took me on a trip to Jerusalem with him.  He has taken each of his daughters on one big international trip so he wouldn’t have to travel alone.  That was the trip of a lifetime, and I love that I got to experience the Holy Land with my dad.  There were serious moments of contemplation about the life of the Savior, such as our visit to the Garden Tomb, and funny moments of laughter, such as the time that Dad was forced to wear a “man sarong” on the Temple Mount to cover his bare legs.  (We didn’t realize you’re not supposed to wear shorts?)

I remember swimming with him in the Sea of Galilee, and we talked about if he would ever get remarried.  He has never dated since my mom passed away, but I don’t want him to be alone forever and I know my mom didn’t either.  While we were floating in the water, he told me that he just couldn’t imagine going on a date with anyone other than my mom.  He also worried how it might affect the dynamics within our family and extended family if he remarried.  He said maybe someday he will find a nice widow to settle down with, but for the time being, he was content.  It was a great, open conversation, and I love that we can have those sorts of talks.

A few years later when I was in the midst of my struggle with eating and body image, I mentioned to the family something about my “self-loathing” due to weight gain.  I tried to brush past it like it was no big deal, but my dad saw through it.  He approached me the next day while I was alone working on the computer, and he sat down next to me.  He said, “It broke my heart when you said you feel ‘self-loathing’ about your body.  You are an amazing person, and I never ever want you to ‘loathe’ yourself.”  I remember feeling so uncomfortable with this conversation that I couldn’t look at him and I just wanted to run away.  I am a very open person, but my eating disorder issues were a hidden shame that I never talked about.  Yet my dad was willing to have this tough conversation with me because he could tell how much I was struggling.  He said, “If there is ever anything I can do to help, like if you ever want to do any nutritional or emotional counseling and you and Ryan can’t afford it, please ask me.”  A few months later, I timidly approached him and told him about a counseling center that I had found to help me, and he willingly paid for my treatment.  Ryan and I never would’ve been able to get the help I needed at that time in our lives if my dad hadn’t helped us.  I realize how incredibly blessed I am to have this kind of support, and I want to “pay it forward” throughout my life.

My dad has been there cheering me on through all of the ups and downs of my life.  As I sit down to write these memories, I am amazed by how more and more just keep coming into my mind.  I set out to record sixty in honor of his 60^th birthday, but I think I am going to have more than that by the end of the series.  He is truly a remarkable father and has become an amazing grandfather as well…more about that in my next and final post!

(Part five here.)

Happy Anniversary To Us!

Yesterday was Ryan's and my seventh wedding anniversary.  I love using milestones as an opportunity to look back and remember (I am a very sentimental sap), so during Noah's nap, I spent the hour thinking about our marriage and reminiscing.

I really wanted to write something meaningful about Ryan and our last several years together.  On our fourth anniversary, I wrote this essay, which has remained one of my favorites.  I thought perhaps I could just add to it--use the same format but add a portion about facing infertility/adoption disappointments together and add a portion about being new parents together. But the words wouldn't come.  I think that essay needs to stay just the way it is.

I have found with my writing that I have to be in just the right mood--I can't force it.  Sometimes I will think about an essay that I'd like to write for weeks, but I can't figure out quite how to word it, and every time I sit down to try, I feel stuck.  And then all of the sudden one day--Boom!--I will sit down and out it pours.

So since I wasn't feeling the writing vibe, I started going through old journals.  Seven years ago, I wrote a letter to everyone who attended our rehearsal dinner thanking them for the influence that they'd had in my life, and I have copies of all of those letters in a binder, along with copies of the toasts that my dad and Laura gave during the wedding reception.  So I sat on my bed and read through some of those letters and felt very grateful for all of the good people in my life.  Then I read my dad's toast, and I think it is just perfect because it is so him (humor and sentimentality perfectly woven together).  Maybe I will post his toast on this blog sometime.

Then Noah woke up, and that was that.  But it was still good to have a little quiet time to think.

Noah and I headed off to my friend Cami's house, so she could curl my hair and make me look pretty for my anniversary date.  (I have no skills in the beauty department, and sometimes I get tired of looking like a frump all the time, so I have to recruit help.)  Ryan came home to a foxy wife with curled hair (I even hummed the "Foxy Lady" song from Wayne's World and danced a little when I debuted my new look), and we went to see Les Miserables and then to dessert at Maggianos.

The movie gave us lots to talk about.  We talked about sacrifice and consecration--how seeing so many people in poverty always reminds us that we are not doing nearly enough to help with the suffering in the world.  It's so easy to get comfortable and forget that most of the world's population doesn't get the luxury of going out to a restaurant on their anniversary--or ever.  I want to do so much more to use my resources, talents, and skills to help others who weren't born with the blessings that I was, but it's so difficult to know where to start.  We talked about some ideas, and it felt great to discuss the stuff of life with Ryan.  I'm going to be honest and admit that, after seven years of marriage, sometimes we don't have a lot to talk about when we go out to eat.  Sometimes we sit in contented silence. :)

I am grateful for Ryan.  I am grateful that he is my husband, my closest confidant, and my best friend.  Marriage isn't always easy and blissful.  I've heard people say that the first year of marriage is the hardest, as you are adjusting to life together, but that wasn't the case with me and Ryan at all.  Our first year (in fact our first five years) were super fun with almost no conflicts.  For me, this past year has been the most difficult, as he was so busy and so stressed with his residency, and I was tired from chasing Noah around and managing most of the housework by myself.  Sometimes I resented him for the way our roles had changed, and sometimes he was grumpy because he was so stressed, and sometimes we got annoyed with each other...but we kept pushing forward day by day and rarely lost our tempers with each other, and that's just the way that marriage works, isn't it?

I am so grateful for opportunities to get away together and reconnect, like our date last night.  And I am grateful for the way that I have carefully chronicled our life together, so I can look back at my old journals or an old love letter from him and fall in love all over again.

Sometimes I tell Noah, "You are the second best thing that ever happened to me.  The first best thing is your daddy." And it's so true.

Happy Anniversary, Ry Guy!  What will the next seven years bring??  xoxo

Don't worry--we didn't eat it all!  But man was it delicious!

The Jig

Last week, I got a birthday card from my friend Natalie.  The front of the card showed a bunch of cartoonish animals wearing party hats in a conga line.  The inside of the card said, "This calls for a happy dance!  Happy Birthday!  Cha-cha-cha!"

She wrote a personalized message which included this final line: "Maybe, if you're lucky, Ryan will do a little birthday cha-cha-cha or jig for you, just to show he cares!"

I laughed out loud when I read that final line.  Natalie was making reference to an infamous family story that a few of you out there probably already know.  It's the story of The Jig, and it's worth sharing here.

One night, many years ago, Ryan and I met on the front porch of my apartment to discuss our wedding plans.  It was late, and Ryan was tired, but I was brimming with excitement about all the latest developments for our big day.  He listened good naturedly as I blabbed about the band, the bridesmaid dresses, and most of all, the reception venue.

"Can you believe we are going to have our reception at the Trail Dust Steakhouse?"  I gushed.  "We are going to be partying it up in a giant barn!  All of the guests will have to do country jigs with the band!  Yee haw!" I shouted and did a little jig in front of him.  "Come on, Ryan!  Get up and do a jig with me!"

Ryan was smiling at my exuberance, but he declined my invitation.  "I can't do a jig right now, Rachel.  I am exhausted.  But you better believe I will jig with you on the night of our wedding."

"Come on!  Come do a jig with me!"  I insisted.

He was laughing as he shook his head in refusal, but suddenly I was not laughing.  In fact, I was no longer in such a good mood.  "Ryan, don't be such a party pooper.  Get up and do a jig with me!" I commanded, irrational panic and anger suddenly flooding over me.

Sensing my change in mood, and not wanting to be ordered around like a show pony, Ryan said, "Rachel, I'm not going to do a jig right now."

I was beside myself.  What did this mean?  Why wouldn't he do this little favor for me?  Was he going to be a good husband after all?  "Just do the stupid jig!!!!" I begged.

Ryan was now completely bewildered.  He looked at me with wide, stunned eyes and said, "I think we both need to go to bed."

At that, I started sobbing.  "If you won't do this little thing for me, how do I know you'll do all the big things in our marriage?"

Can we say Bridezilla???  I must've been stressed to the max!  Talk about overreaction!

I don't remember how the conversation ended.  I do remember walking upstairs with a red and puffy face, and all of my roommates flooding around me in concern.  "What happened??" they asked, probably thinking that my engagement was off.

"Ryan wouldn't do a jig for me," I said and told them the story through my tears.

At the end of my truly sad tale, they looked at each other and smiled in relief (phew--this was not cause to call off a wedding), and then they told me to go to bed because things would be better in the morning.

In the years since, a few of those friends have called me in a tizzy when they were planning their own weddings, wondering if they were indeed doing the right thing, wondering if some tiny "flaw" in their fiance was a deal breaker, and stressing over small wedding details that do not matter in the slightest in the long run.

I'll tell them, "Take a deep breath--everything is going to be okay.  Remember when I freaked out because Ryan wouldn't do a 'jig'?"  This always prompts a good laugh.

Six and a half years in, I am very glad to say that Ryan does indeed do "all the big things" for me in our marriage--and he'll even do a jig for me once in a while when he's in the right mood.

Doing a jig at our wedding

Strive for Five (and many more)

Yesterday, Ryan and I celebrated five years of marriage.  It has been wonderful.  Really.  I love this man so much, and I could go on and on about how cute and delightful he is, but I've already done that in many a blog post, and I'm a little tired, so I'll let these photos do the talking for me.  This is why I love Ryan so much:

Always willing to flash a funny face for the camera...

Always willing to be a guinea pig for his wife...

A new hairstyle?

The trial run for a mask project at the orphanage

Always willing to wear a dress for the ninos' amusement....

Paula (this is actually at an Easter Seals camp in Colorado)

The Babushka telling a Russian story to the kids in El Salvador

Friendly to all living creatures...

Kids love him...

"Can Mr. Ryan play?"

They couldn't understand his Spanish as he tried to read this story; but they loved it anyway.

Mattias and his buddy "Bryan."  

I love him too...

Happy Anniversary, Ry Guy!  

Mi Amor

At the risk of sounding like a total cheeseball, I have to write a tribute to this guy today:

After all, it is his 28th birthday.  That only happens once in a lifetime.

At our wedding reception, my dad gave a toast for me and Ryan.  He said how happy he was to have Ryan as a son-in-law and listed off some of Ry's good qualities.  Then he said, "In addition to all of that, my daughters tell me that Ryan is 'hot.'  I am not a judge of such matters.  So, all you ladies in the house, if you think Ryan is hot, please make some noise!"  Of course the place went wild with hooting and clapping, and poor shy Ry was quite red-faced.  To that my dad said, "It appears by the color of his cheeks that he is indeed hot."

The moment:

I don't know why my wedding is on the brain these past few days (I must be in a foreign country dreaming of my hubby), but I just wanted to say on this his 28th birthday that Ryan is indeed hot.  And on top of that, he is wonderful in every way.

Two recent experiences to illustrate that fact:

When we are in the grocery store together, Ryan always does the check-out so that I can read the celebrity tabloids.  Yes, I will admit it, I like to peruse US Weekly in the grocery store; I refuse to purchase such trashy journalism, but who can resist skimming a good celebrity headline?  Anyway, when Ryan is done with the check-out, I sometimes don't realize it because I am so sucked in to my intellectual reading.  After a minute or two, I will look up and see him standing by the door with the cart full of bags, waiting patiently for me to finish.  I will slam the magazine shut and run over to help him.  Luckily for me, he is never mad, and it makes me want to kiss him right then and there.  (And sometimes I do.)

I have been thinking a lot about adoption these past few weeks, and one day, while lying next to Ryan in bed, I verbalized one of my irrational concerns: "What if the baby that we adopt grows up and doesn't have social skills?"  Ryan smiled and said, "We will love him or her, no matter what."  I continued, "Will you be okay with it if the baby has a disability?"  He didn't even hesitate.  "Of course.  Our biological baby could have a disability too, and all kids deserve to be loved."  That is exactly how I have always felt.

With Ryan by my side, the inevitable future challenges of life (whether or not they have anything to do with our children) seem less daunting.  He is steady and wise and good to the core.

And cute to boot:

Happy Birthday, Ryan.  When you pick me up from the airport tomorrow, you better be prepared to get a birthday squeeze.

If there is one thing that I love about El Salvador, it's the rain.

There is nothing like sitting on my bed at night, writing in my journal to the sound of the rain pouring down outside.  It goes on for hours--so after I finish writing in my journal, I get to fall asleep to it.

So peaceful.

When Ry and I got married, I sang "Come Away with Me" to him at our wedding reception.  We were planning to spend the first three months of our marriage in El Salvador at the orphanage, so I thought the song was particularly appropriate:

"I want to wake up with the rain falling on a tin roof,
while I'm safe there in your arms,
so all I ask is for you,
to come away with me in the night..."

Que romantico.

That was a great day.

Speaking of great days, I had one today.

I spent the morning chillin' with Inecita and Chusita.  We sat under an outdoor pavilion and colored while listening to the radio.  I sang a nonsensical Spanish song to them.  My vocabulary is quite limited, so this is what I came up with:

"Inecita es bonita, bonita, bonita.
Chusita es bonita tambien!"

Yeah, I know...I'm almost as talented as Norah Jones.

This afternoon, I hung out with Roberto.  Don't tell the other ninos, but he is my favorite.  I mean, come on, check out those shades and mustachio:

And this evening, while a bunch of us watched a movie together, I got to snuggle with Maritza and Xiomarita.  Okay, they're my favorites too.  Okay, so maybe I can't pick a favorite.

Hasta manana.