I believe there is a right time and a right place. Which means there is also a wrong time and a wrong place. Maybe everyone I met before May of 2008 was just wrong time. Or maybe everyone I met while living in Nebraska was just wrong place. But I know May 2008, in Anniston Alabama, was right time and right place, because nothing else before that worked.

My husband and I met while both working at a summer camp position that involved traveling across the country. If there’s anything less like real life than a job which required a different hotel every week for us to meet in, I’m not sure what it would be. Either way with no real cleaning, laundry or cooking to speak of we were in a bit of a fantasy land, however we somehow make real life work too. Those hotels, airplanes, rental cars, and beautiful scenery, was all the right places.

But before that time, we had a wrong time. We met at a competition where I was an athlete and he was a judge (that’s what we get for having an age difference.) I was standing in this long line to challenge the outcome of my match. Holding my scorecard I was waiting to get to the front of the line and learn if I could edge out a few more points and possible earn myself a spot on the podium. Since the line was so long, someone in charge told J to go down the line and see if he thought the people would get their extra points or not. Making quick work, he got to me and told me no, I should not in fact be wasting my time in line because I wasn’t going to get the extra points.

Although I’m normally pretty quiet and respectful I told him I wasn’t going to get out of line, and probably something about how I had every right to stand there (since I was, like, 15 and very genius at this time). Nothing else was said, and J left me to continue down the line, but all I was thinking was he was such an asshole.

I don’t randomly find many reminders of Nebraska, so when I do, they make me cry.

I found this box in our attic when we moved. Now it’s full of Christmas decorations, but I can just imagine this box used to sit in my moms closet above the stairs, back in the top rack where Nathan and I couldn’t reach or see. Even as an adult who doesn’t live there anymore I still feel strange going into that area of the closet because I know it’s where presents are stored, and if you saw presents before Christmas there was no surprise. Neither Nathan or I ever hunted for presents around the house. We didn’t try and find where they were stashed or carefully unwrap them to see what we were getting before Christmas morning. We knew exactly where they were. We didn’t look because we wanted opening them on Christmas morning to be special.

My mom probably filled this box throughout the year. Finding toys that she thought we would like and hiding them until she felt like treating us. Seeing this box just reminds me of what a loving mother I have, who spoiled both of us rotten.