Tag: Anecdotes

I’m glad I don’t have to grow up yet.

Posted on by Sierra

This is the kind of post that internet trolls say mean things after. Because this is a post about my blankee.

Yes. I am 23 and 1/2 years old, and I still have a blankee. I still love my blankee. I brought my blankee across the country to be with me in Chicago. Sadly, it doesn’t look very blankee-like anymore.

It used to be soft, pink, and have embroidered hearts on it. 

The embroidered layer has worn away and got tangled in every successive wash (I wash it once a week, with my whites)

Recently I’ve noticed that you can kind of tie it together and it will take on another shape, if you’re feeling more “stuffed animal” that night.

Here it is: my (other) constant companion, my pillow, my comfort object. It’s not like I carry it around with me wherever I go. I can go weeks without it. I’m not dependent on it; I just like it.

No one has really understood my Linus tendencies. My dad sold his blankee to his parents for a nickel when he was 6, and he keeps offering to do the same (to be fair, he’s teasing). And I’ve had too many ex-boyfriends really misunderstand the blankee–sometimes in a very mean way. And to be honest, I didn’t blame them. Most of the time they were harsh about my blankee, I thought, Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s time to get rid of it. 

Those of you who know Jeremy and I well know this story already, but allow me to give you some insight on the type of man that Jeremy is for those who don’t know him. One night during our courtship, Jeremy and I were returning from a late night thing, and I was floppy-useless-tired, so Jeremy tucked me in. Unfortunately, I had left my blanket exposed, so he tugged at it and asked what it was.

I grimaced, bracing myself for the ridicule that always comes at the exposure of my biggest vulnerability. But he didn’t mock or scorn or tease.

He said, “Tell me about it.”

So I did, and he just laughed in an ever-endearing way, and said, “If anything, this just makes me like you more. Sierra Robinson: Scourge of the dating world–Blanket Owner.”

First of all, how can you resist a man who calls you the scourge of the dating world, and second of all, how could you not immediately fall in love with someone who loves you for your most tender, most vulnerable secret? It was the 2nd time in our relationship that I knew I wanted to marry him. Maybe someday I will blog about times 1 and 3.

I promised I would put my blankee away when we got married. Jeremy never indulged in this idea.

Every night without fail, my Jeremy Man fluffs my pillow, straightens my sheets, says “Legs!” which means I have to snap my legs into place for optimum tuckage, and swaddles my sheets around me. Then, every night, he sends me off into dreamland by finding my blanket and tucking it gently in between my arms and underneath my chin. Right where I like it.

And even though we are living such a grown-up life–married, in a Chicago high-rise, with big-people jobs–I am glad that he didn’t make me grow up all the way.

I Don’t Hate This City.

Posted on by Sierra

So… carting around four ridiculously over-packed suitcases, a backpack laden with more reading material than a small library, and a purse that could fit Bambi in it across the Orange Line of the Chicago trains was awful…Or it would have been if it wasn’t so gosh darn exciting. 


But I think that was the low of this Chicago experience so far. Everything else has been wonderful–from attending church in an old Elementary school that looks like P.S. 118 from “Hey Arnold,” to a Starbucks and Chipotle on every other corner, to all the secondhand smoke (I secretly like the smell…), I have to say Chicago rocks. I am feeling very optimistic about my summer and just hope that Jeremy falls for this city as quickly as I have.

The best part about this city though–unequivocally the people. This is not Brusque Manhattan or Too Laid Back L.A. People have a healthy sense of “rush” here, but they can also spare a moment to help a brother out. My favorite instance of Chicago Niceness:

Our first night out on the city, Jeremy and I decided to hit up a Thai Restaurant on Rush Street, because, you know, we basically take Thai with our oxygen. We left with leftover souvenirs, which Jeremy carried in his right hand, holding my hand with his left. 

As we walked home, we crossed a jovial-looking old black man in a suit (there are black people here!), and as he passed he addressed Jeremy and said, “Son! Son! Where did you get that thing hanging off you there?” Jeremy and I exchanged confused looks and looked. 

“This?” Jeremy asked, holding up the bag of Thai food. 

“No,” persisted the man, twinkling. “That other thing. Where can I get one?” 

We hunted for a string hanging off Jeremy’s coat, but we were thoroughly confused. Finally, I noticed the old man, amused by our confusion nod slightly at me. 

“Oh!” I said. I couldn’t help it. I squealed. “You mean me?!” I twinkled back.

 He nodded and said, “You make a lovely couple, I gotta get me one of those.” said the old man to Jeremy, moving on with a grin. 

Friends, it was just delightful to start this journey out with an unsolicited compliment from a stranger, and I promise there was nothing creepy about our new, never-to-be-seen-again friend. But it got me feeling the glow of this windy city. I think we will be just fine here. 
PHOTO DUMP PART:
This is our little apartment. We’re used to “little” with our apartments, so we actually like it a lot.  

This is the beautiful view from our apartment. Which car is your favorite? 

Our generously-sized closet. When you only pack 1/6 of your wardrobe, you’d be surprised how much mess you don’t make.
This is us at the airport. For all you Instagrammers, you may have already seen these pictures. Mostly, I just need to know what you think of my “Chicago Hair,” because sometimes I worry that Ombre is too wild for me.  

I’m just mostly thrilled by the prospect of a $9 sundae. No really, these were magnificent. 

If you can see the chocolate in this picture, you win! Actually, if you can taste the chocolate in this picture, you win. Which means, I win. 

I’m a chocolate fan like the rest of them, but my hot chocolate was so rich (Literally steamed milk with four squares of Ghiradelli’s chocolate mixed in), I had to throw in the towel. Luckily my sweet-toothed sweetheart was up for the task. 

Mandatory Skyline Picture.

Because none of the other pictures really proved I am in Chicago. 
PS: I am feeling uncomfortable about having 69 followers. Will someone please be my 70th?

SOL: Life Lessons

Posted on by Sierra
I learned a valuable lesson today. 

For the last two months, the ladies at church have been asking us to volunteer to help one of the older ladies in our ward unpack her new house. Considering they have been asking for two months, I was surprised that there was still work that needed to be done. Still, sensing some availability in my schedule, I decided two months later that I should probably do my part and lend a helping hand.

This morning, I came in with an attitude ready to work. 
“Alright Sister, where can we start?” Me and another girl worked like lemmings, moving boxes and attempting to unpack as much as possible. I didn’t feel the need to get out of there, exactly… I just wanted the time I spent there to be as efficient as possible. There was so much work to be done, I was a little surprised that so little had been accomplished in the last two months. We moved boxes of beautiful possessions, lovely antiques, genuinely vintage stationary, delicate china. It was such a privilege to peak into the boxes. 
“Ok,” I asked, not impatiently, just in the attitude of doing, “Should I wash this china and put them in your cabinets?”
“Oh… I dunno,” the old lady said slowly. “Maybe you can move this box into the living room and go through it with me. There’s so many things I need to sort through, throw away.”
I tracked down some garbage bags and got ready to toss. The first thing on the top of the box was a beautiful, old Bible. She picked it up tenderly, and held it for a moment before telling me all about her Daddy reading this Bible to her when she was a little girl, how she’d jump up on his knee whenever he pulled it out. Then she gingerly held up her late husband’s set of scriptures. She told us what a wonderful man was, how he had helped her pack up all these things right before she moved, when he was diagnosed with terminal cancer and three months left to live. 
“He never even felt sick,” she remembered to herself. 
Each item in the box had a memory, even little newspaper clippings and old greeting cards from friends and neighbors from 1973, an exercise book by Richard Simmons back in his glory days. She had little photos that gave us little clues to this woman’s rich life. It took a long time to sift through just the one box. 

We threw away very little.
As we were sorting through anecdotes and objects, I realized why so little progress was being made in the house: This women didn’t need someone to speed her life up. She needed someone to slow down with her. 
Slow down, my friends. Slow down.