Part 2 for real

Before Emma was born, I began the story of how we started a family... how Clinton and I met. Here is the continuing saga. It's long, so feel free to skip.

January 9th we went on our first date: a movie. Clinton worked until 7:00 or some late hour that necessitated late dates, and therefore no dinner; though he did buy me a cookie and a drink. We watched Master and Commander. We talked the whole way home from Trolley Square about British Naval History, adventure, film, literature, missions, world travel, and that sort of thing.

The following Saturday morning as I was putting my laundry into the dryer, Clinton called again, invited me to go ice skating that afternoon. I calmly accepted, hung up the phone, and gave a "Oh What a Feeling: Toyota" jump and scream. Being in the basement, I rammed into the heater ducts making enough racket to bring my roommates running to see who was dying. I was the second girl he had called, and I'm eternally grateful to that silly what's-her-name who turned him down. At the Murray ice rink, we hit a major and significant milestone... the entire time we talked of lots of things and not missions once. It was possible to have a normal conversation and a normal relationship. Yay. We're neither of us professional skaters and did a bit of falling. Afterward, Clinton suggested we go get a bite to eat or something, and the rest of the group all declined, had things to do and were done with this activity. So as we were driving away, I invited Clinton to hang out and get some hot cocoa at my place at the very least. We were getting along fabulously; but Clinton was beginning to be in some discomfort and didn't tell me about it. Ice skating had dislodged a kidney stone.

My roommate, Karolee, and I launched into an elaborate scheme: game night at our place, wherein we would invite the ideal mix of people so as to spend an enjoyable time with the fellows we were after. When Clinton couldn't make it because he was in the hospital after surgery, and Karolee's "friend" had to work, we had an abysmally boring game night. Lame lame lame.

But I was possessed of the knowledge that Clinton was due to return from hospital tomorrow, so I did what any bold hussie would do. I got him a big bunch of flowers to cheer him up so he would get well.

The controversy continues to this day: the heart. Sam's Club sells big bunches of flowers; but they don't put messages in them... it's just flowers. Rachel had a spare vase and gladly donated it, and I made her ride in the car with me so I'd go through with the delivery; but I don't suspect her of meddling. Had it been Karolee, maybe. Or it could have been Shannon, who was living at Clinton's house while they were building one; but Shannon wanted him to marry a lawyer's daughter, so probably not her either. One of the kids? Don't know. The heart on a long stick was one of those that flower shops stick into bouquets with messages written on them. This one said "I love you" and I did not know of its existence.

Followed a few quiet weeks. Clinton's surgery had to do with that silly kidney stone; and the doctor created some complications that extended the recovery beyond customary outpatient procedures. He enjoyed Percoset and Lortab while I went to the first 15 minutes of a few ward family home evening activities and other church activities.

When Clinton showed up to church again, I asked him whether he'd be along to tomorrow's FHE, and when he said he would, I suggested carpooling. I know, I'm subtle.

Then came the milestone: a third date. In all my life I had never been out a third time with anybody. Hanging out at his sister's with Brian, Cameron, Aleigh, and Susan... we had planned to watch some sci-fi TV show that somebody had found on DVD, and it wasn't as clean and pure as memory had it, so we just hang out until the wee hours of an early Sunday morning.

That Sunday, a counselor in the bishopric asked Clinton about his plans for career, and Clinton explained his ambition to work as a foreign service officer for the State Department, stationed in various countries for the rest of his career. The counselor then turned to me and asked Clinton whether that plan was acceptable to me. You could have fried an egg on my face; I was so embarrassed. To this point, we had spent time and talked and such; but there was no understanding and no true indicator of commitment; just three dates. Still, after church the gang from the previous night... Susan, Aleigh, Cameron, Clinton, and I, sat talking in the foyer, and when 6:30 rolled around we realized we'd been talking for something like 3 hours... yeah, go home. Nah, we went to ward prayer. "So," I say, "Will you be at Family Home Evening tomorrow?" He had a voice recital and wasn't sure if he'd make it to the FHE activity. Would I like to come to his recital and hear him? Yes, I sure would.

I arrived just in time to meet his parents and sit down before the singing began. Now it was Clinton's turn to be bold. At the conclusion of his number (You Raise Me Up, made popular by Josh Groban) Clinton seated himself between his mother and me, took my hand, and held it until the end of the recital.

There were a few more dates. He took me to dinner a couple times. I remember noticing that I couldn't eat a full meal at a restaurant... three bites out of a burger is uncharacteristic for me. Nothing has ever affected my appetite excepting the flu, and my sisters and I have the capacity to pack away a good meal.

There was the movie night. We had initially planned to watch a movie at his house as his mother was babysitting for his sister; but there was a disagreement with Shannon, so we went over to Shawnya's and enjoyed the Italian Job with his mom, nieces and nephew. Then they went to bed and we watched the Count of Monte Cristo with some nice snuggling on the couch. As we left Shawnya's and were headed for the car, a crisp spring star-studded night awaited us. Do you wish on stars? He asked what I wished for, and I totally chickened out. I did not respond, though I was trying to push myself into boldness. No matter, 15 minutes later he walked me to the door and kissed me, granting my wish on a star. First kiss for both of us, and not a really terrific one; but we practiced and got lots better.

A turning point for Clinton was the Mayan, and I'd have to say it was big for me too. I don't remember what I ate. Don't know whether it was good. We went in and there were birds cawing, families talking, waiters carrying flaming desserts, divers doing their diving routine off of the cliffs into the pool, forks and knives clinking, rocks talking. We never noticed the transition, but our waiter came and apologized for interrupting; but the busboy wanted to go home as they had closed an hour earlier, and would we mind if he came and cleaned up our table? We left.

My family has Sunday dinner together the second Sunday of each month, and I invited Clinton to join me in March. My sister thought that was pretty bold and asked the prying questions. Did I love him, and could I see myself with him, and would I marry him... ? He agreed to come to dinner and meet the family. My brothers were into invading personal space at the time; David was a bum pincher and there was retaliation going around. Clinton had his personal space invaded pretty thoroughly and repeatedly. He also got the uncomfortable questions from my uncle, all the looks and, well, anything you can imagine a big loud family to do. Think "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" if you don't have a big family of your own.

After that scrutiny, I guess, he was ready to publicly hold my hand right there in front of the whole nosy ward at Family Home Evening, an excursion to the Museum of Church History. To this point, only the observant in the ward were aware of our mutual interest. Really, we'd been dating for six weeks at the outside and we hadn't defined our relationship. Were we exclusively dating? I was, but we hadn't discussed it and I was keen to know that we were on the same page. I wanted him to commit to dating me and nobody else for a bit. It was Monday, March 15.