The heart of a giant

Several weeks ago, Chase came home to tell me about a field trip his grade at school was taking.  He explained that there were three possible field trips ​and each hall was assigned a different one.  He was pretty excited at the chance to escape classwork and tests for a day of play.  

Field trip option number one was the City Museum.  ​For those of you not fortunate enough to live in St. Louis, the City Museum is a paradise for kids (and adults if you're anyone other than me).  It's a 600,000 square-foot building that is essentially an urban recycled playground.  There are old airplanes and buses strapped to the roof that kids can climb in and play with.  There is a three-story indoor slide.  There are tunnels to explore and large structures to scale.  Everything is made from salvaged urban materials.  It's visually incredible, and physically exhausting.  There is not a child alive who would be sad to visit this place.

​Field trip option number two was an indoor recreation facility.  The kids would spend the day swimming, playing basketball, racquetball, and tennis.  The full facility would be at the students' disposal, including the indoor skating rink.  It would have been a blast for sure.

The last, and final, field trip option was a trip to the local nuclear waste dump.

Yes.  AND HOLY JUDAS, YES.​

​I have no idea how they pulled that one out of the hat, when the other two options are so clearly fun and, you know, not a day spent looking at garbage.  

Well.  As Murphy's Law would have it, Chase's hall drew the short end of the toxic nuclear stick.  They were assigned the field trip NO ONE would ever want to go on.​  Ever.   

I offered to let him stay home and, better yet, go visit the City Museum on our own.  But my sweet, lanky, broad-shouldered boy just shrugged and smiled.  He laughed and said that he didn't mind going on it, and that he might learn something new.  ​

And as he cheerfully walked out the door to study trash instead of to play, I marveled at the heart inside my boy.  He has a better attitude than most adults I know (definitely this one).  He truly sees the glass as half-full, and doesn't feel a sense of entitlement for anything in his life.​  He is grateful for what he has, and makes the most of every day he is given.

Even if that day includes a field trip to look at garbage.​

I love him something fierce.​

In which I disgust even myself

A week or two ago, I was driving with Hannah to the grocery store.  We were chatting it up, mama/daughter style.  She was telling me about all the weird boys at school, and I was listening, while also silently praying she would never fall in love with any of the weird boys at school, decide to marry them, and live a life of misery and regret.​

​Because, of course, you can totally tell in fifth grade what boys are going to turn out to be like.

We were stopped at a stoplight, and I smugly thought to myself how lucky I was, and how I was doing such a great job raising my kids, and ​how the universe had blessed me with such an amazing life.

Well.​  

Just at that moment, I felt an itch on my left elbow and reached down to scratch it.​

Let me tell you.  There are itches better left unscratched.​  There are things better left unknown.

It was as though the powers of the universe heard my contented sigh of peace and decided to mock me and make sure that pedestal I was standing on got crumbled into dust beneath my feet.  When I looked down at the source of the itch at my elbow, I was instantly repulsed and disgusted.  For there at my innocent (albeit slightly dry) elbow was growing a vile, sinister hair.  Probably the longest, nastiest black hair in the history of mankind.

There are witches who have had warts with shorter hairs growing out of them.

It was bizarre.  The natural color of the hair on top of my head is a chalky brown at best.  But this hair?  It was as black as Satan's dark soul.  And LONG.  Long enough that this hair could have its own Pinterest board with braids, styles, and prom up-dos galore.

I was horrified, embarrassed, and more than a little bit melodramatic about it.​

What the frick happens to these bodies of ours?  Why do the molecules of my stupid elbow cells decide to sprout long random hairs in places that hair has no business growing?  I'm not even 40 yet!  Is this what I'm doomed to suffer through until the grave provides me with some relief?  ​Is it going to be on my face next?  WHY??!!  Why does god hate me?  I have no reason to live!  Look away!  I'm hideous!

Okay.  So maybe I exaggerate.  Sometimes.​

Luckily, my daughter is a bit more practical than her mama.  For when we pulled up to the grocery store, and I stopped hyperventilating long enough to grab my grocery list, she remarked, with all the seriousness of an honest, sincere, and glorious fifth grader, "Make sure you add some hair clippers to your list, Mom.  I think you're going to need them."

And so I will, baby girl.  Yikes.​

40 days and 40 nights...

​If you follow me on Instagram (which, hello?  Why are you not?  All kinds of awesome photos of my feet, the food I'm eating, and my darling children.  My handle is @clhalverson.  Get following, nerds!)  

Anyway.  As I was saying, if you follow me on Insta (as those of us cool kids call it), you know that we closed on our home in Dallas two days ago.​

I was so happy about this, that I forced the Husband to buy an air mattress, a few pillows, lots of diet coke, and to sleep on the floor in our new house with me.  Sadly, that night spent in an empty, unfurnished home was probably the best night's sleep I have had since mid-December.​

We built this home, which is a first for us.  Learned a lot about how crazy fun it is to pick out every nook and cranny of your new home. ​ I think the Husband wanted to die about 30 minutes into the five-hour design meeting.  Too much talk of crown moldings, lighting, and colors for his taste.  But I'm just giddy.

Nobody else's yucky hair will be clogged in our drains.  Nobody's nasty food has sat in the pantry.  There is no massive wish list of things I want to change.  It's only my yucky hair that will clog the drains!  My nasty food in the pantry!  ​

I can't wait.​

Unfortunately, I have to.  Forty days and 40 nights more in the apartment in the ghetto before I get to enjoy the loveliness of my own choosing.​

It feels symbolic to me, these 40 days.  I imagine it's much like how Noah felt on that first day aboard the ark.  He was probably really hoping his time aboard that ark would be of short duration, that he could handle the cramped quarters, and that his wife would not complain too loudly.​

These last 40 days are my ark.  Slogging it out in cramped quarters, wishing the days would go faster, and hoping and praying life will be good on the other side of this journey.  I bet Noah's animals didn't smell of Axe, B.O., and the Abercrombie store - all at once.​  And at least he got to go to the beach at the end of his forty days.  

Internets, enjoy the sneak peek at my new home.  ​Any with diet coke in hand are welcome to come visit.  (Obviously, we will be putting knobs on all the cabinet doors and we'll fill it with furniture.  But you get the general idea.)

I'm a believer

In mid-December, as the post-Halloween candy gorging had morphed into the post-Thanksgiving-I-give-up-until-New-Years eating marathon, I was feeling pretty unhappy with myself physically.​

Instead of taking the logical route of upping the exercise and downsizing the eating, I opted for a more cosmetic approach to my self-esteem.  I figured if I was going to be fat, at least I could have good eyelashes.  I made an appointment with my local dermatologist and decided to try out the Latisse.​  I spent about $160 for a 10-week supply.

I was skeptical, but hopeful.  I followed Jeanelle's instructions to the letter of the law.​  I threw away the disposable brushes that came with the Latisse.  Seriously.  Do not use them.  They soak up so much of this precious liquid that you run out twice as fast.  I bought this brush from Sephora.

Every night, I would put a drop on the Sephora brush and run it across my eyelid, right where it meets my lashes.  Then I offered a sacrifice to the god of beauty and prayed like he$$ that it worked.

​Six weeks came and went.  I started to see a little growth and got very excited.

I am now three months in, and am giddy with my new eyelashes.​

Internet, I give you the unedited, unequivocal results:

(Top photo is taken without any mascara on, the day I started the Latisse.  The bottom photo was taken about a week ago, again, no mascara on.  Clearly, there has been significant growth.)

​Seriously, right?  This stuff works like MAGIC.  Here is a photo of me with mascara on.  Crazy, awesome long eyelashes.  There has been absolutely NO side effects.  No discoloration, no eye color change, NADA.  My doctor also said that none of his patients have ever had any of those problems.  Only side effect?  Incredibly long eyelashes.  BEST. DRUG. EVER.

And the best part?  Since I am using the Sephora brush, I am still not even half way done with my original bottle.  You know, the one that was slated to only last me 10 weeks?  Yeah, I'm at week 13 or 14, and still not even half way finished.  ​

This stuff is worth it, my friends.  Get yourselves a bottle today!  ​

Also?  I accept thank yous in the form of chocolate, diet coke, or beach houses in Hawaii.​  Pretty much anything will do.

Happy 19

Dear Husband,

Nineteen years.  Wow.  When I say it out loud like that, it hardly seems possible.  It amazes me because I feel like the time with you has just flown by.  Weren’t we just two young newlyweds living in a cinderblock apartment and driving a VW Fox?

When I think back to the girl you proposed to, I laugh a little bit inside.  She was completely naïve and clueless about life.   She was insecure, lonely, and had very big hair.  She had never experienced life outside of her small bubble and did not expect great things from herself.  She did not even know that she SHOULD expect great things from herself.

I feel that I hardly resemble that girl anymore, and I literally owe that all to you.  You saw something in me that I did not even know was there.  You believed in me, loved me, pushed me to grow, and gave me the experiences in life necessary to come out of that shell and know happiness.  You took me to new cities and forced me outside of my comfort zone.  You enabled me to learn how to make new friends. 

Your career choice forced an independence on me that I would never have thought possible – and for which, I am extremely grateful.  It is this independence that I prize above all talents I possess.  I love that.  I feel such a sense of ownership and pride that I can support you and manage the home front without (most days) dissolving into a puddle of tears.  That I can navigate parenthood, home repairs, school, church, and three busy kids' schedules all on my own.  It is probably one of the greatest gifts you could have given me.  And one that I would never have attained without you.

I am so proud that our boys have someone to look to with such a strong work ethic.  They see how you love me and treat me, and they are learning.   They will be excellent husbands because of you.  I love that our Hannah can see firsthand what a good husband should look like.  She will have high standards and be choosy because she has seen what the best is.  And I can’t imagine her settling for anything less.

Thank you for always being the guy that says yes.  Yes, when I want to pursue my dreams.  Yes, when I want to get away to New York.  Yes, when I want to drag our family through Europe, even though a hotel is the last place you want to be.  Yes, when I take one ski lesson and think I’m Peekaboo Street.  Yes, when I need a shoulder to cry on or an ear to vent in to.  You are quite possibly the most selfless husband there is.  You give and give, and ask little in return.  

Through all the craziness, the moves, the traveling, the long hours, and the awesome ghetto apartment, know this:  You have made all my dreams come true.  You have given me the freedom to live my life and be happy.  You have never questioned how I spend my time at home, while I know yours is spent working incredibly hard.  For me.  So that I can stay home and choose how to spend my time.

My day-to-day life is such a gift.  And I don’t think that it’s the financial security you have provided (though it certainly doesn’t hurt).  But what I think has been the root of my security and happiness is the support I have always felt from you.  You value what I do in the home.  You value my contribution, and trust it implicitly.  You gave me these three beautiful babies, and trusted me to lead them daily toward happiness.  It is that trust and sense of secure confidence that makes me strive to be better.  To be worthy of your sacrifice.  To teach our children the biggest lesson that you taught me, and that is – that they CAN do great things.  That they WILL do great things.  That they SHOULD do great things.

JDH, I love you more than these feeble words can possibly say.  My heart was yours the moment I laid eyes on you in that little house in West Jordan.  Something inside me whispered, “Hello, old friend.  It’s you...”  And there is nothing that I would trade for the happiness we have together.  You were meant for me.  I needed you and what you could give me in order to find happiness.

It sounds cliché, but you have truly made me who I am today.  Thank you for loving me, supporting me, and always making me feel beautiful.  Even those times when I am not.  ​

I love you.​

Stie

My obituary

I have a morbid fascination with reading the obituaries in the paper.  I read them every day online from the paper in the town that I grew up in.  Most of the time, I don't know the people in them.  Once in a great while, I do. ​

I think what I like about them is the story told of someone's life.  My favorites are the long, sassy ones.  The ones where the person really lived, and sucked the marrow from life.  ​Made the most of what they were given.

​So, I decided to write one of my own.  My obituary as I'd like it to read upon my death.  In about 50 years or so (I hope).  And definitely as ridiculous as I can make it.

1973 - 2065

Christie Halverson, 92, passed away peacefully in her sleep, coincidentally, at the exact same moment as her husband, Josh.  They were spending time at their beach home on Oahu, enjoyed a day of snorkeling and shaved ice, watched the sunset in each other's arms, then went to bed.  Eternally.  ​

They are survived by their three children:  McKay, 67; Chase, 65; and Hannah, 63.  They are the proud grandparents of 15 grandchildren, and 8 great-grand children.

Christie was born in November 1973 in Salt Lake City, Utah.  She married the love of her life in 1994, and they had three beautiful children together.  Their oldest, McKay, graduated high school with honors, went to BYU, and then Harvard Medical School, where he is currently teaching.  He pioneered technology that led to the cure of cancer.  He was awarded the Nobel Prize in 2035.

Their son, Chase, attended BYU, then West Point, and pursued a career in the military.  He was an Army Ranger and part of the elite team that took down the communists in North Korea and China.  He was also awarded the Medal of Honor for brokering a lasting peace in the Middle East.  ​He is currently running for president, and is favored to win the election.

Their youngest, Hannah, went to BYU and then Cornell University, where she got a PhD in literature and eventually became a best-selling author and talk show host.  She single-handedly changed the way women are viewed in the workplace, and as a result, equality is now the standard.   Her books have become world-wide bestsellers, and she won an Academy Award for the screenplay adaptation of her mother's biography.

Christie loved to travel.  She visited every continent in her lifetime, and had homes in Paris, New York City, Hawaii, and the mountains of Utah.  She ​loved broadway musicals. So much so, that she had season tickets for the last 50 years of her life.  She never missed a show.  She was awarded an honorary Tony by the grateful broadway community for her support through the years.

She was active until the very end.  She biked, skied, hiked, swam, and snorkeled, right up until her passing.  She had seemingly boundless energy and made time every day for a nap and a good book.

She had very few health problems throughout her life and a surprisingly low cholesterol number.  In fact, she was the first American to suddenly have her DNA transform into a new, rare mutation that allowed her to eat whatever she wanted and never gain weight.  This phenomenon became known as the "Christie Syndrome" and millions around the world have been blessed by her contribution to science.  The "Christie Pill" was developed shortly after this discovery, and women worldwide have adopted this as the new standard in pharmaceuticals.  Fortunately, her husband had the wisdom to invest early on in the new drug, and they were able to profit considerably from it.  Forbes named them the "Richest People Alive" in 2023.

Christie was a pioneer of fashion, as well.  She dressed stylishly up until the moment of her death.  Designers and paparazzi alike hounded the simple girl, and took cues for fashion trends from her looks.  She was a svelte size 4 for most of her life.​​  And had great skin.

Christie gave millions each year to charity, and served others tirelessly until her death.  She was beloved by all who knew her.  Her humor was her best quality, and friends say they will miss her laughter most of all.  She smiled every day.  She sucked the marrow from life and made others happy just by being around her.  She spent time with her family as often as she could.  They were her favorite people on the planet.  She will be greatly missed.​

Christie's last request was that she be cremated and scattered over her favorite beach at her home in Hawaii.  To remember her properly, her family will raise a McDonald's diet coke in her honor, and wash it down with a big, pink frosted sugar cookie.

_______

Sounds pretty good, eh?  I think so.​  Now where's that "Christie Syndrome" when I need it?  Should be hitting me anytime now...