Sarah: HIMMH

In case you don't watch How I Met Your Mother (HIMYM), I'll tell you up front that this post title (which stands for How I Met My Husband) pays homage to that show. 'Cause I love it.

Even though Frank and I don't really celebrate valentine's day, I thought I'd share the story how we met.

I was a college freshman filled with dreams and the hope of possibilities. I had the foreseeable future planned out for myself: Go to college, meet cool people, get a degree, join the peace corps (or some other organization like that), travel the world, meet more cool people, have life changing experiences, maybe in my late 20s meet a nice guy, get married, have kids a couple years later.

Spoiler Alert: That's not how things turned out.

When I had just entered college, I had never really had a "serious" boyfriend or relationship so I wasn't necessarily looking for one. I told myself to build good friendships with people and focus on school. I had a passion for people, cultures, and service--so I went to school for missions. I had seen the Invisible Children video for the first time in high school and I felt so drawn to Africa. As I discussed my interests and passions with my older sister (who was a senior at the same university), she told me that I should talk to a guy named Francis because he's from Uganda.

Speed things up to the first couple weeks of school. I had joined the university choir, which provided a good way of interacting with various people who didn't share my classes or major. I had noticed this guy who sat behind me, a tenor. One day in the cafeteria, after choir, that same guy and I were next to each other in the dinner line. I asked him his name and he replied Francis. I made the connection that he must be the same Francis my sister told me about (after all, how many Francis' do you know?). So I made the leap and asked him where he was from. Uganda. Suspicions confirmed.

And this my friends is how, in our first interaction, my future husband shot down my dreams:

Me: I'd like to live in Uganda one day.
Frank: Why?
Me: I'd like to be a missionary.
Frank: Uganda doesn't need anymore missionaries.

And he proceeded to walk away while I, reaching for an apple, stood dumbfounded. After that conversation he kind of intimidated me.

Fast forward to February when a select group from the choir went on tour to Florida. Francis and I were both in that group. We spent a lot of time together over those 4 days. It was then that intimidation of our first conversation started to melt away And it was also when I first felt the flutter of butterflies when we talked to each other. At one point over those four days a friend asked me, "Do you like Francis?!" And I replied that I did.

In Florida together

Once back in good 'ole Elgin and out of the rays of Florida sunshine, Francis and I began to hang out more than usual. A few weeks after that, on February 29th, he asked me out.

While we were dating

Since then we've had our ups and downs. I broke up with him once and we were apart for four months. Then I realized the error of my ways, we talked about it, processed through some stuff, and started dating again. Two years after that, before I even graduated college, I was a married woman.

 

Sealing the deal

Sarah: Papi

In Elgin, Frank and I took our cars to the same mechanic every time we needed something fixed, checked, filled up, or had any questions/comments that were car related.

And you should know...our mechanic was freaking awesome. He is a man from Mexican decent (and I suspect he was born in the motherland) and his name is Papi. Well, I doubt that's his real name, but that's what we call him. Maybe that sounds mean or stereotypical, but he calls all men (and I mean all men) Papi and all women Mommy. Seriously. When we would arrive at his shop and he realized that he knows us, he would yell out enthusiastically (and I mean he yells out), "PAPI!!! MOMMY!!!", as though we're long lost friends and he's so happy to see us.

Sometimes it was hard to communicate with Papi. When we talked, we would all try to stick with few word sentences because it was just easier that way. There was one time, when I went to Papi's for an oil change (I know, I know, I should be able to change my own oil. But I don't. So don't judge me.). And I explained rather plainly that I needed my oil changed, and he proceeded to get down on the ground to empty the old oil out. Then he came over to me, mumbled something unintelligible, and left. He just left his shop. I stood there. All I heard was "Ok? Be back." So I knew he was coming back, but I had no idea why he left, how long his errand would take, or when he was coming back. I texted Francis, "Papi just left. Don't know why..." It turned out his shop didn't the kind of oil my car needed, so he left to go to Auto Zone to get some for me. But for about 15 minutes, I was real confused as to what happened...

Papi is almost always covered in some kind of black car juice and he always has a smile on his face. I wish I had a picture of him to share with you, because he's such an adorable man, but alas, I do not. So if you're looking for a good, honest, hard-working mechanic in Elgin, check him out--'cause he's ballin'.

We miss Papi.

Memories of a Grandmother. by Sar

My grandmother is one of the most inspirational people I have ever known. I never had to say "grandma Irene" or "Grandma Mulder" because she was my only grandparent I was ever close with. I never knew either of my grandfathers, and within the past few years I've begun to know my dad's mom. But in terms of my childhood and memories, she is my only grandma.

One year ago today, she died. Because her death was so close to my wedding, (a week and a half prior) sometimes I worry that I didn't grieve in the way I might have needed to. Sometimes I still cry (not in a bad way) when I think about her (like right now). To celebrate my gram, I want to share some stories and memories I have of her.

When I was little, maybe like 3 or 4, my gram had a poodle named Pierre. It sounds cute, but he was the devil. I was petrified of Pierre. I can distinctly remember that Pierre the poodle came up to my waist (so I must have been really young). One time when I was over at my grandma's house, she gave a piece of bologna to snack on. Since Pierre was the perfect height, he snatched my bologna right out of my little hand. I was heartbroken (and petrified). My gram went to the fridge, got another piece of bologna, took me over the couch, and let me eat my new piece of bologna in her lap.

This next story takes place, again, when I was little. As long as I can remember my grandma has had dentures. To this day, I have no idea why. Did her real teeth fall out? Did she hate the way they looked? I don't know...anyways. My gram used to entertain me by taking her dentures out. The idea that someone could remove their teeth was outrageous to me. I thought my grandma was magic.

Once, gram and I were driving in her car and we stopped at a 4-way stop. I wasn't paying much attention, but I started to get really annoyed when she didn't go through the stop sign. We sat there for a good 30 seconds before I asked what we were doing. She said (in her super thick Southern accent), "I think there's money in the road. Get out and see." So I got out of the car and walked to the middle of the intersection. a $20 bill was just laying there. She let me keep it.

My grandma loved to fish. But she didn't like to go alone. In the summers during high school, I would take her up to Lake Erie, we'd get some bait, and then we'd sit on the pier and fish for hours. We didn't really talk--she wasn't much of a talker--we just sat together and hoped for a bite.

In college, my grandma would randomly call me. There was no rhyme or reason for the call. And they would never last for more than two minutes. She would just call me to say hi. She would (unknowingly) always end the call with, "Alright, well I love you baby."

The summer she died, I took her grocery shopping a couple of times. However, we couldn't go to the super Walmart in Norwalk. She didn't like the people who greet the customers at the door. She said they were snobs. So I would drive her up to Sandusky (a town 15 miles away) to go to the Meijer. She liked the people better there. She would go around on one of those buggie things and I would get the groceries out the freezer and off the shelves for her.

During big thunderstorms, she would ask my mom and I to go over to her house and keep her company. She hated bad weather. She also kept a cool, damp washcloth with her dab her face if she got too hot.

We made plans for me to go over to her house and have a baked potato.

Irene Mulder was a loud, kind, honest, loving, modest, strong woman. My grandma was a loud woman. She was not afraid to raise her voice to tell you what she thought. For most of my life, she swore like a sailor. Seriously. I'm not lying. My grandma cared for people. She cared for her family, neighbors, and complete strangers. She wasn't afraid to tell you what she thought. But then once she voiced her opinion, she would let people go on with their lives. She didn't pester...much. She loved. She loved anyone and everyone and Jesus. When my sister talked with her about her faith, my grandma said, "I believe in Jesus. I've tried to live a good life. If I had a biscuit and my neighbor didn't, well, I'd share mine." Her faith and love was simple, but strong. Gram didn't have a lot. She grew up in the hollers of West Virginia and when she was really young, her mama died in a car crash. She and her siblings basically raised themselves and relied on each other for everything. Her life was not easy. She went through and overcame so many obstacles in life. She was strong.

Gram (on the right) with her older sister Betty Jane

You want to know something? I have my grandmother's eyes. The exact. same. eyes. And that makes me feel special. Like, a visible part of her is with/in me. I hope one of my kids get her eyes, too.