Archives for "Family Rules"

Family Rule #6: No matter what, we will never, ever name any of our babies “Raptor.” Not even as a middle name. Not even as a “secret middle name.”

This shouldn’t even have to be a family rule. Common sense should completely disqualify “Raptor” as a potential baby name. But someone in this family needs to have everything spelled out.

(However, I would be willing to make an exception to this family rule if we can get BYU to agree that this baby will be appointed head football coach in the tradition of LaVell and Bronco.)

Family Rule #5: No eating other members of the family.

I’ll spare you the my-body-is-falling-apart gory details, but I may or may not be turning into a zombie. Therefore, this already important rule has become crucial to keeping our little family together. Ryan, being the great guy he is, says he’ll still love me even if I do become a zombie. However, zombie or not, family rules are still family rules, and he promises to be strict in the application of this rule.

As he should be.

Family Rule #4: In conjunction with family rules 1–3, no other activities/experiences are allowed that would ever be considered for a Hallmark made-for-TV movie.

Yes, this is totally a catch-all rule. There can be no loopholes in the family rules! (Don’t like it? Too bad, my rules!)

Growing up, my biggest fears were falling and failing. I am still abnormally terrified of heights—my hands get clammy from walking too close to the railing on the second story as my mind thinks of several creative ways I could trip/get pushed/slip under that protection. Don’t even get me started on what I feel while hiking on a mountain ledge.

Dealing with the fear of failure is a subject for a-whole-nother post.

However, those fears pale in comparison to my newly married #1 fear:  the fear of my life becoming a Hallmark made-for-TV movie. Right now Ryan have so much ahead of us, and I’m terrified of not being able to experience everything I want to—having babies, making memories and growing old together. I do not want to battle cancer while my husband has an affair and my children die in car crashes. Nor do I want to be left an unexpected windfall only to find that my family tears itself apart arguing over the wealth while I die penniless and alone. Nor do I want a “learning experience” as my husband slowly dies of diabetes while I express my emotions through overeating and my children express theirs through acting out or bad acting.

It’s not that I want to sidestep pain or sadness. I know that those are part of a normal life and that I wouldn’t be complete without them. I just want all the joys, frustrations, and sorrows inherent in a normal life.

Family Rule #3: No serious, life-threatening illnesses. Or injuries involving internal organs, deformities, and/or large spurts of blood.

This is based more on my fears of the unknown than on anything I’ve actually experienced. Needless to say, I’ve been pretty lucky—while I’ve been alive, my parents and siblings have had only a few minor medical procedures. That’s not to say we haven’t had some scares. Before I was born, my dad neglected his seatbelt and went through his windshield. My mom has also been in a few car accidents. Both my dad and brother had some cancer scares that turned out to be benign. Again, I’m pretty lucky.

That said, from about the age of 12 to about 22, I was convinced I was going to contract some sort of horrible illness and die slowly in 30s. Mostly, I think this was a product of an overactive imagination, a dash of hypochondria, and a tendency to project my feelings into others’ family tragedies.

In grade school, our neighbor died of cancer. In middle school, a close neighborhood friend of mine was diagnosed with cancer, and she passed away while in high school. In college, another close friend of mine lost her father to cancer. My coworker not only struggled with cancer herself, but is married to a man who has a rare form of cancer. My friends are ending up with babies in the NICU. My grandma’s on permanent oxygen and even still her body is suffocating itself.

I know that sickness and even death are just part of being alive—part of the plan, if you will. I just don’t want them to be part of my plan. I’ve witnessed the life-changing learning, the strengthened love, and the intense growth that can come from dealing with an illness. Like anything else, profound blessings can be found in the company of profound trials. However, I have also seen the everyday tension, the gnawing uncertainty, and the loss of simple dignities that also can accompany major illnesses and injuries.

Therefore, if my family is able to obey family rules #1–3, I will count my stars among the luckiest and most blessed.

Family Rule #2: Nobody goes to prison.

Mostly, this rule is in place to protect Ryan from himself. He has a fabulous mind that naturally sees the most effective, logical way to do something—from cleaning our house to arranging a schedule to robbing a bank. If he were a criminal, he would be a criminal mastermind. But he’s not a criminal, and I would like very much to keep him that way. Therefore: family rule #2.

Did you know that 1% of American adults are in jail? With any luck, however, none of them will be related to me. I know it’s pretty basic, but I figure if I can get married and raise a family where nobody dies young or gets sentenced to jail, I’ll have gone a good way towards getting what I want out of life.

When Ryan and I first started dating, we quickly established some basic ground rules for our relationship (including alternating days to be right and proper usage of the phrase “be nice”). This rule-making tendency continued after we were engaged, resulting in our current list of family rules. All of these rules were established as a result of a conversation—be it silly or serious—and all of them express a need or attempt to fix a problem. (Note: I do realize that several of these things are outside of my control; however, having a rule for it makes me feel better and allows me to stop worrying about it for the time being. Our family, our rules. So there.)

Family Rule #1: Nobody dies before the age of 84. Also, I get to die first, followed an instant or two later by Ryan.

Ryan’s granny has been a widow for decades—she’s spent more of her life without her husband than she did with him. She’s in her 90s right now and will, from time to time, make comments like, “I wonder why he hasn’t called me back yet. Doesn’t he miss me? Maybe he doesn’t want me anymore.” It breaks my heart. Being without a spouse for so long seems so difficult—I get teary just thinking about it. Ryan has brought so much happiness and laughter into my life, I can’t picture living it without him. We chat all day every day—email, text, and even, once in a while, in person—and a life without him seems oppressively silent. I don’t want to deal with that loss. Luckily, Ryan feels the same way about losing me; therefore, we created this family rule—giving us a long and full life together without any real knowledge of being parted.

(Note: This rule will also apply to our children, once we have them, since I strongly suspect that losing one of them would be just as heartbreaking. By being born into this family, they will be expected to follow this and all the other family rules. But this one in particular.)

So you can expect to be reading our obituaries sometime between April 25 and May 3, 2067. (Since that’s within our nine-day window of both being 84.) I’m hoping we’ll go by carbon monoxide poisoning in our sleep; however, other instantaneous, painless ways would be acceptable.

Why 84, you ask? Because 100 is too old—my back’s already breaking down and I’m only in my 20s! I can’t even imagine what’ll be sore in my 30s, let alone my 80s. However, 80 isn’t quite old enough—I’d like to stick around long enough to watch my grandkids become grand-adults. So really, living to 84 sounds just about right.

(Of course, when we get closer, we always have the option of evaluating the age and pushing our schedule back a couple of years. We’ll see how things go down the road.)