Yes, I Fell Love - Part II

Thanks to the amazing authors and bloggers Stephanie Nielson and Ree Drummond who have beautiful romances, I feel inspired to write my own love story.

If you want to read Falling in Love - Part I, click here.

Maybe my standards were too high.  Should I be alright dating men who were dragging themselves through life?  Men who didn’t know there was even a standard, let alone a higher standard?  Men who I couldn’t understand?

I wasn’t used to men who didn’t know how to be in charge of their own life, who didn’t try their best to be successful, who didn’t put family first.  

My parents gave me and my 8 siblings a lot of freedom.  

I never had a curfew.  I was able to make most of my choices off my own ideas and my parents were very accepting of others.  We had an open door policy and anyone was welcome. 

I grew up in a huge home in Utah with 8 bedrooms and a downstairs apartment.  Outside was an orchard of cherry and apple trees.  We had a sustainable garden with raspberries, carrots, corns, beets and more.  We had more cats then I can remember and not many mice.  My dad, a pshycologist and my stay-at-home writer mom, didn’t want for much of things.  They didn’t place emphasis on materialism.  We had what we needed and shared the rest with others.  My parents were Christian-loving hippies who believed in prayer and having lots of babies. 

When I was seven, my parents fostered a Native American girl, welcoming her into our home so she could attend public school.   She was a year old then me and lived with us for two years before going back to the reservation. 

Between the ages of 7 and 11, I had nine foster sisters, all of which I loved dearly. 

When I was 10, my parents sponsored two families from war-ridden Laos with 16 children between the two of them.  I remember listening over and over again in their broken English as they shared how they barely escape death from an evil army of soldiers.  The downstairs apartment had a spicy aroma, filled with food smells from a far away land. 

We moved to Virginia when I was 11.  The adjustment wasn’t too bad because I was always with my family.  I was the second oldest and loved my siblings and took on the role as their caregiver.  At 14, my parents moved to Mesa and once again, the move just meant a new place I could be with my family.  My parents purchased another large home with 7 bedrooms.  We held family councils and us, the children included in discussions about things going on in our home.  My humble parents didn’t sit still, they were always helping and I grew up loving the fulfillment of a busy life.

So, back to dating:  maybe my standards were too high for men and for life in general.  Because I was so excepting of others, I never wanted to hurt anyone and I always wanted to give me best. 

I not only wanted to help others around me, I wanted someone who wanted the same things as me including having lots of children.  I wanted someone to build a life with, someone who loved me enough to support my dreams, to put up with my inadequacies and who loved my family as much as I did.

January 5, 1998, the day the counselor and I met, was the day everything changed, it just took me a while to recognize what was happening.
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