Saddle Sore and other Stories

Stories make my heart happy.

I like listening to stories; I think I'm an okay storyteller, but mostly I like listening to other people tell stories. When I was little (and not so little), Mom would tell me stories, true stories, about me. She would tell me what I was like as a little kid, as a baby. It helped me form my identity, and although she would tell the same stories over and over again, sometimes a new detail would come out and I never got tired of it.

Mr. Graff likes stories, too. He's creative and invents fun stories in his head. He likes lots of genres--horror, science fiction, manga, and lots of nerd. When we dated, I would ask him to, "tell me a story". He would usually ask for a subject and then tell me a story, sometimes about him. Those are my favorite.

Last night, during pillow talk, I said to Mr. Graff, "tell me a story". He didn't respond, so I told his story for him:

"Once there was a man named Mr. Graff. He was very tired. He went to sleep. The end."

"Lucky guy," he said.

"But his wife kept yakking and wouldn't let him sleep," I added.

"True story." Mr. Graff's mustache curled up into a smile.

I got to go to Gold's Gym twice this week to do a spinning class with a friend. The room is painted black with stars and planets. We listened to cool upbeat music, and drenched our shirts in sweat.

"Ladies," shouted our instructor, "I should feel the breeze from your legs moving fast!"

"There's no breeze here," said my friend, "But FLAMES are shooting out my thighs!!!"

Truer words were never spoken.

While my legs have felt like jello for a couple of days, I've been really proud of my running this week. It seems like spinning helped me pick up running speed. I sailed down 197, wind in my hair, baby squealing. It was a great feeling.


On the other hand, sitting down is a problem. I'm not sure that that part of my anatomy should be calloused, but I'm sure working on it...

Rae's been teething this week. I can see four little white bumps under his gums. His nose has been a faucet for several days now, and he's been a little grumpy. Not that it slows him down any. In fact, Captain Explorer crawled out from my dressing room today and got intercepted by a sales clerk. Whoops!

He's intrepid--as long as he knows right where Mom and Dad are, crawling under pews at church, getting behind furniture, standing up on lamps. He's also trying to share things. Today, he gave me his bottle to drink. Precious.

These are the stories that make me smile. Here's my week in a nutshell: a little saddle sore, a lot of change and progress... and Kleenex. Lots and lots of Kleenex.

Keep going!

"Keep going! Keep going!"

I'm sweaty, panting and my legs are burning.

"How much time do I have left?"

"Keep going! You can do it!" Mr. Graff encourages from behind. He's doing double duty: pushing the baby stroller and being my personal cheerleading squad.

"How much TIME do I have LEFT!??"

"You're doing great," he says.

"TELL ME NOW!!!"

"Okay, you're done."

"When was I actually done?"

"Twenty seconds ago."

Being married to someone who thinks you are better than you are is a mixed blessing. Take running for instance. I am not a runner--though I want to be. Mr. Graff pines for warmer days so he can continue his barefoot running. He encourages me in my goals and tries to push me a little harder. It's good, even if exasperating at the time.

I guess that is the whole point about marriage: it's a challenge. It's also probably why we prepare for marriage by receiving our endowment in the temple. Endowment: a gift of knowledge and power from on High.

In the first few months of our marriage, we made a "Rich and Famous" list. A list of things that we would get around to getting when we were rich and famous. An umbrella, a new mattress, a colander, and a blender. Mr. Graff inherited a blender from one of his apartments ages ago with the inscription, "Mindy" on the bottom. Poor Mindy, we have her decrepit hunk of something formerly known as a blender.

A few days ago, I asked Mr. Graff to bring home some baby food for Studly--who is starting to refuse bottles a couple times a day in favor of food. He brought home baby food alright, and a new blender. It's sitting in pristine glory on our kitchen table.

Yup, we're rich and famous.

Small things make us happy. Mr. Graff's been busy making bread today. Not just bread, but massive quantities of wonderfully glutenous bread. He broke out the big Sam's Club frosting bucket and ground up cups and cups of wheat. I think he would enjoy owning a little bakery. Our apartment smells like baking bread.

It's happy. It's home. I'm glad to be here.