In the last singles ward before I got married I was called to be the Family Home Evening Mom - this was of NO surprise to me as was my eternal calling. Every year I'd move and with every new ward i was the FHE Coordinator, FHE Mom, Actives Planner.. whatever you want to call it. I did not mind though, I really enjoyed it - way better than teaching - which is the only calling I would have to decline - I guess its a good thing they have never asked.
On my FHE committee was a boy who we'll call Doug. Doug was a nice boy - very awkward - but nice nonetheless. He took me out on a date once (actually the last person to take me out before I met Joe) and we went dancing at the Murray Arts Center, to dinner at the Training Table and then to the Nicklecade. He made it very clear to me that I was to wear my "Sunday best" which I did, to my dismay everyone else in our group were in jeans and t-shirts. It was just the kind of boy Doug was, proper and polite - a little more high strung than I'm used to.
One Thursday evening at a FHE planning meeting Doug asked me if I would be at the next FHE. Being the woman in charge I assured him that I would be there. We were heading down to Temple Square to see the lights, and I love Christmas Lights almost as much as I love fireworks - I was not about to miss this one. He is excited that I'll be there as he has a surprise for me. He said he knows I like it because i told him I did on our date. For the next four days my roommate and I go over my date, minute by minute trying to figure out what I told him I like. Chocolate? Flowers? Anything from Banana Republic? Diamonds? As much as I like all of those I seriously hoped I would not get them from him. I hoped we knew we were "just friends" after all.
I end up at FHE by myself that Monday - none of my good friends in the ward are coming. Being the dead of winter its of course snowing outside - I love the Christmas lights but hate the snow - I have a love/hate relationship with the month of December. Cars are beginning to fill the parking lot of the church, everyone staying in the comfort of their heated cars. I'm getting anxious and a little nervous for Doug to arrive - he is bringing me a surprise gift. What on earth could it be? How am I going to react?
I've got my head resting on the back of my seat (second best to laying in my bed), listening to Sarah McLaughlin (my favorite), with the heat on full blast (what a treat). All of the sudden i hear a tap tap tap at my window. Tall, awkward Doug is smiling in my window. I roll it down with a curious look on my face. He quickly hands over a fifteen pound frozen ham. "I got you this delicious Christmas Ham, you told me you liked ham" he says. I am in absolute shock - no one had ever given me a ham. How do you react to such a gesture? It seemed more like I was watching Napolean Dynomite than real life. "Thank you so much, I LOVE ham!" I say with enthusiasm. He smiles and turns and walks away- I was relieved to not have to respond any further. I sat in amazement over this odd gift. Looking back what else would I have expected as a gift from big awkward Doug? I don't remember telling him that I liked ham. To this day, no one has ever given me such a unique gift - but boy was it tasty!
Monday, September 22, 2008
Black Pegged Pants
I was painfully shy as a child. PAINFULLY. The sound of my name would send my dry eyes teary and my pale cheeks a rosy red. I was even too embarrassed to tell my mom to stop washing and drying my black pegged denim jeans with the towels so they would not have little lint balls all over them. I was too shy to tell my mom I HATED the material and the pattern of the outfit she made me one summer. I wore it to Lagoon, silently humiliated as my leg dripped with blood because a pin happened to get sewn into the hem of the shorts. I had a speech impediment… I could not say my s’s… and my name was Le”th”lie Wei”th”enburger. You’d think Weisenburger alone would be ridicule enough even being able to say your s’s. I was the family ‘peacemaker’ which now I realize was only because I did not dare to defend myself for anything. I could not tell anyone NO, so I was at my older sisters (only by 20 months) beckon call. She wanted water, I’d get her water. She wanted toast, I’d get her toast. She wanted to watch her TV show when I was in the middle of mine, I’d let her. I’d do anything for anyone as long as I was not brought to the center of attention.
When I was around 12 years old I went to my best friend Brittany’s birthday party at her cabin near Heber. There were six of us girls sleeping on two pull out couches. Brittney’s older brother Kurt and his friend came along too – they were going to take us river walking the next day. Of course I did not want to go in the river, I’d nearly drowned when I was 4 and was STILL terrified of the water. But there was no possibility of me staying at the cabin, because that would mean I would have to tell someone that I DID NOT WANT TO GO. The thought of telling someone that was more terrifying that the river, so I went. This may have been one of the all time WORSE decisions of my life.
The river was about a half mile walk from the cabin, not to bad of a walk for my portly figure – except my stomach was feeling a little queasy. I knew we’d be back soon enough so I’d be just fine. Right? Well, maybe not. We get to the river and in the cold, murky water we go and our journey begins. Kurt is telling us about the cool things he’s done in the river in the past and my mind can hardly concentrate. My stomach is a bit more than queasy now and I’m feeling like I am going to have some major gas. Oh no, what to do? Logically I think to myself “can I hold it in until we get back?” “or should I just let that fart out? After all, we are underwater, no one will be able to smell it.” The second option seemed like it would work so I work my way to the side of the river and let everyone pass me so I’m in the rear of the group. As everyone passes, gas bubbles start popping on the water.
I feel much better now, so we keep walking. Then all of the sudden my stomach begins to growl at me. Loud and furious. Uh oh. What am I going to do? I have to go to the bathroom IMEDIETLY!! The internal battle begins, “If I tell someone I have to go to the bathroom I’ll be absolutely humiliated and embarrassed – but if I don’t tell someone then I am more than likely going to poop my pants in the river.” Looking back, I’m not sure why I sided with option two, but I did.
I POOPED in the river. In my black pegged jeans. Water up to my waist at the back of the line hoping that no one would notice. “Ill be fine, no one would know” I keep reassuring myself. “I’ll change when I get back to the cabin.” As I’m thinking this in my head I hear Kurt all the way at the front of the pack yelling… “Ew… what is that smell? Sick! Did someone poop their pants??” I froze. My face beat red, my eyes watering. Looking around at the other girls – just as they were doing, trying to figure out where that awful smell was coming from. “Not me”, I piped up in unison with some of the other girls – inside felling more humiliated by the second!
Then, unknowingly to Brittany she came to my rescue. “I’m heading back to the cabin to get some sun block” – I’ll quickly take my chance to get out of the water. “I’ll go with you I say”. We both get out of the water and start to walk away. In the back ground I hear Kurt yelling – It must have been one of you who pooped your pants – it does not smell over her anymore! I keep walking without turning my head to look.
We get to the cabin. I immediately grab my overnight bag and head to the bathroom to clean up. I get my shoes off and then comes the hard part. Taking off wet jeans that are pegged at the ankle is hard enough… but its MUCH MUCH harder knowing that that are filled with diariaha. But I have to try, I’ve got to get them off before Brittany finds her sun block. Before I know it she is knocking at the door. “Hurry, I’m ready to go” she says. I try to explain to her than I’m trying to get my wet jeans off so I can change because I don’t want to go back in the river. She says to let her in and she will just help me! NO – panic sets in. “I’m almost done – I’ll be fine, I can do it.” . “Well hurry, everyone is waiting”.
Finally, I get my disgusting pants off and change into clean clothes. I find a black garbage bag under the sink and put my dirty jeans inside. I’m looking at my very soiled underwear wondering what to do – most logically thinking 12 year olds would put them in the bag with the jeans, but not me. I proceed to flush my panties down the toilet the runs off a septic tank. I turn off the light and shut the door behind me as. I follow Brittany back to the group, relieved that I’ve survived this awful ordeal. We have lunch by the river and head back to the cabin all together. Brittany’s mom is there to pick us up. She asks if anyone knows why the toilet is clogged. Once again I chime in with the other girls - “I’m not sure, nope, I did not use that bathroom”.
We clean up and head home. I choose to sit in the very back of the Ford Explorer on the way home with my hefty garbage bag of poopy pants by my side – what a long ride home. They drop me off and I run into the house humiliated. I hand my mom the garbage bag and being to cry “I pooped my pants” – being the amazing mom that she is she says ‘its okay, I’ll wash them. Everyone poops their pants sometimes”. I believed her. My favorite pair of black jeans were washed and ready for me to wear to school on Monday – lint balls and all.
When I was around 12 years old I went to my best friend Brittany’s birthday party at her cabin near Heber. There were six of us girls sleeping on two pull out couches. Brittney’s older brother Kurt and his friend came along too – they were going to take us river walking the next day. Of course I did not want to go in the river, I’d nearly drowned when I was 4 and was STILL terrified of the water. But there was no possibility of me staying at the cabin, because that would mean I would have to tell someone that I DID NOT WANT TO GO. The thought of telling someone that was more terrifying that the river, so I went. This may have been one of the all time WORSE decisions of my life.
The river was about a half mile walk from the cabin, not to bad of a walk for my portly figure – except my stomach was feeling a little queasy. I knew we’d be back soon enough so I’d be just fine. Right? Well, maybe not. We get to the river and in the cold, murky water we go and our journey begins. Kurt is telling us about the cool things he’s done in the river in the past and my mind can hardly concentrate. My stomach is a bit more than queasy now and I’m feeling like I am going to have some major gas. Oh no, what to do? Logically I think to myself “can I hold it in until we get back?” “or should I just let that fart out? After all, we are underwater, no one will be able to smell it.” The second option seemed like it would work so I work my way to the side of the river and let everyone pass me so I’m in the rear of the group. As everyone passes, gas bubbles start popping on the water.
I feel much better now, so we keep walking. Then all of the sudden my stomach begins to growl at me. Loud and furious. Uh oh. What am I going to do? I have to go to the bathroom IMEDIETLY!! The internal battle begins, “If I tell someone I have to go to the bathroom I’ll be absolutely humiliated and embarrassed – but if I don’t tell someone then I am more than likely going to poop my pants in the river.” Looking back, I’m not sure why I sided with option two, but I did.
I POOPED in the river. In my black pegged jeans. Water up to my waist at the back of the line hoping that no one would notice. “Ill be fine, no one would know” I keep reassuring myself. “I’ll change when I get back to the cabin.” As I’m thinking this in my head I hear Kurt all the way at the front of the pack yelling… “Ew… what is that smell? Sick! Did someone poop their pants??” I froze. My face beat red, my eyes watering. Looking around at the other girls – just as they were doing, trying to figure out where that awful smell was coming from. “Not me”, I piped up in unison with some of the other girls – inside felling more humiliated by the second!
Then, unknowingly to Brittany she came to my rescue. “I’m heading back to the cabin to get some sun block” – I’ll quickly take my chance to get out of the water. “I’ll go with you I say”. We both get out of the water and start to walk away. In the back ground I hear Kurt yelling – It must have been one of you who pooped your pants – it does not smell over her anymore! I keep walking without turning my head to look.
We get to the cabin. I immediately grab my overnight bag and head to the bathroom to clean up. I get my shoes off and then comes the hard part. Taking off wet jeans that are pegged at the ankle is hard enough… but its MUCH MUCH harder knowing that that are filled with diariaha. But I have to try, I’ve got to get them off before Brittany finds her sun block. Before I know it she is knocking at the door. “Hurry, I’m ready to go” she says. I try to explain to her than I’m trying to get my wet jeans off so I can change because I don’t want to go back in the river. She says to let her in and she will just help me! NO – panic sets in. “I’m almost done – I’ll be fine, I can do it.” . “Well hurry, everyone is waiting”.
Finally, I get my disgusting pants off and change into clean clothes. I find a black garbage bag under the sink and put my dirty jeans inside. I’m looking at my very soiled underwear wondering what to do – most logically thinking 12 year olds would put them in the bag with the jeans, but not me. I proceed to flush my panties down the toilet the runs off a septic tank. I turn off the light and shut the door behind me as. I follow Brittany back to the group, relieved that I’ve survived this awful ordeal. We have lunch by the river and head back to the cabin all together. Brittany’s mom is there to pick us up. She asks if anyone knows why the toilet is clogged. Once again I chime in with the other girls - “I’m not sure, nope, I did not use that bathroom”.
We clean up and head home. I choose to sit in the very back of the Ford Explorer on the way home with my hefty garbage bag of poopy pants by my side – what a long ride home. They drop me off and I run into the house humiliated. I hand my mom the garbage bag and being to cry “I pooped my pants” – being the amazing mom that she is she says ‘its okay, I’ll wash them. Everyone poops their pants sometimes”. I believed her. My favorite pair of black jeans were washed and ready for me to wear to school on Monday – lint balls and all.
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