Overdrive

We put my Beetle up for sale a couple months before Lyla was born, just to see if we got any nibbles. It wasn't practical to keep the Bug around, and I knew it—I'd watched my poor friend try to strap her baby's car seat in the back seat and, while she found a way, it looked awful. I bought that car to take with me to my first internship, I'd saved for years to buy it, and it was all mine. Letting go of it felt like letting go of a part of me.

I know. I'm pathetic.

Months went by, and not a single bite. Our car had made it all the way to page 6 on KSL Classifieds before we got a call. The next morning, we said goodbye to my cute little Beetle car.

After we made the sale, Ryan asked how I was feeling. "OK," I said. "Letting go of that car was hard. But I'll be even more sad when we get rid of the Honda."

We drove (ahem, lost) Ryan's black Honda Accord on our first date. Once we found it I sat in that car for literally minutes waiting for him to ask for my number. He never did. (Really, never. To this day, Ryan has never asked for my number.)

We ran to the warmth of the Honda after Ryan proposed in the freezing wind of a Rexburg winter, and I sat in it and cried because I was so happy. We drove the Honda to the temple for our sealing and home from our wedding reception. A couple months ago, we brought Lyla home from the hospital in that car. It has history.

Then, just last Friday (not even a week after we sold the Beetle), Ryan suggested we go "look around" Ken Garff Honda in Orem. We'd met my brothers for lunch and Lyla was still in her pajamas. We thought it would be a quick trip, but three hours, a test drive and some paperwork later, we'd traded the Accord for a 2006 Honda Pilot.

I tend to attach a lot of value to things. Cleaning out my closet is hard because I have memories of wearing the clothes. Getting rid of cell phones is difficult because I don't want to lose text messages. So you can only imagine the trauma I was anticipating as I let go of the car with so many memories attached.

But the night before we went to pick up the Pilot, I couldn't sleep. I was so excited to drive it again. So excited to take it to Texas. Excited for Lyla to graduate from a rear-facing carseat to a booster to a seat belt in that car. Excited to bring home more children from the hospital in a bigger, safer car.

The Accord was a good car. So was the Bug. And we're so, so excited for the Pilot.

Empty Closets and Big Dreams

Two nights before we got married, I distinctly remember laying in my bed and staring at my empty closet. I had moved everything into our apartment already, and my room felt eerily empty, devoid of everything I needed to live there long-term.

I'd moved out before, but never like this. Three years prior, I packed up everything I thought I would need for the year and drove my little Geo a mile down the road to college. I later moved to Provo for a semester and even spent a month in New York. But this was different. The room was really empty.

I was really moving, and I had no Plan B. I was putting all my eggs in the Ryan basket. And though I had absolutely no reason to fret, I began to worry that Ryan just might change his mind. The thought of it terrified me more than I'd ever been terrified in my life.

But at the same time I knew that once we were good and married, my closet wouldn't be empty anymore. My closet would be next to Ryan's, and it would be nice and full.

Every once in a while, I get that empty-closet feeling. The feeling that big things are happening—so big that you can't just come home and have everything back to normal if something doesn't go just right. I'm starting to get that feeling with this sweet little baby who makes the cutest little jabs at my ribs a few times a day. I already love this little person so much, and I find myself once again putting all my eggs in one basket.

It's like being engaged again. Most of the time, the whole situation makes me nothing but deliriously happy. But sometimes, I get a little bit nervous. I don't know how to be a mom. I don't know what it will be like to have three people to take care of instead of two. I don't know how it will affect our finances.

But I know the same thing about this little person inside me that I knew about Ryan two years ago—I love it. I love it enough to take big chances, to have big dreams. I love it enough to make big changes. And that kind of love makes those empty closets a lot less scary.


P.S. Are you tired of us referring to the baby as "it"? Us too. But don't fret —we find out on Wednesday if we're having a pretty little girl or handsome little boy! Make your prediction on the poll to the left if you'd like. Or just wait and see. I'm pretty sure it's already decided anyway. :)

Birth-day? Ha! Birth-WEEK

Two nights ago, I dreamed that everyone forgot my birthday. It was horrible.

Last night, I dreamed that Ryan and our two teenage children forgot my birthday. That was bizarre.

I started to think I had some sort of unresolved issue about my birthday, but I honestly think it's going to be a pretty good day. Ryan thinks he doesn't have anything for my birthday. But this weekend I'm getting:

1. A trip to Utah
2. A Saturday without going to work
3. A new apartment
4. Possibly some new storage bins
5. A trip to Spanish Fork to see this cute girl get baptized:

6. The beginning of a new adventure in Provo with my best friend.

Sounds like a pretty good birthday if you ask me.

Who knew?

... that I could get so much joy out of decorating an entertainment center?
That my nieces and nephews could love their new uncle as much as they love their favorite aunt?
That married wards could be so fun?
That making surprise cookies for dessert could give me such a rush?
That couches could be the funnest purchase of the year?
That it would ever bug me when my bed wasn't made?
That someone would ever love me enough to blow dry my hair for me?
That I wouldn't mind doing someone else's laundry?
That you really can have a best friend forever?
That two families would be better than one?

Who knew that life could be this wonderful?