Acceptance letters are exciting

Andrew and I were excited when we got into BYU.

We were excited when he got accepted at AUC.

We were excited when he got into BYU (again).

We were excited to be here at Duke.

But this morning FedEx rang our doorbell and delivered what is, perhaps, the most exciting letter of all—a job offer! We'll be heading back to BYU (because we just can't get enough of that place) for a one-year assistant professorship. We have no idea what we'll be doing beyond this one year, but at least we have a one-year plan in place.

We've been sitting around biting our nails for quite some time, and although we still have quite a few ducks yet to get in line, at least we know what direction to prod those unruly ducks.


Living in limbo while trying to plan for the future is horrible, perhaps especially when there's a new baby on the line (and schools for the kids and housing and insurance and so many other factors that have been making my head spin). For the past few months we've been like, "Okay, if we get the job and move out to Utah, then our plan will be x, y, z. If we don't get the job but still move out to Utah, our plan will be q, r, s. If we end up staying here, our plan is to e, f, g."

Now that our plans are public and I won't risk tainting my husband's reputation, I will share the following story about him, which I've been holding inside for far too long.

He's been going to BYU fairly regularly this semester (at least, it's felt like it) for various rounds of interviews and a conference and a job talk of sorts. He was there in May, in April, and in February.

When he went in April he was scheduled to meet with a General Authority for an ecclesiastical interview, as well as meeting with the former academic vice president, and some other high-up officials. He had me help him pick out matching shirts and ties and packed everything carefully in his suitcase.

His flight was super early in the morning so he just sneaked out of the house and got on the shuttle and was gone.

I got up in the morning and walked into our bathroom, which also contains our closet, and his suit nearly jumped off the hanger to strangle me! Okay, not really. Really it just sat there on its hanger, but it felt so obvious in the closet. I mean, he only has one suit, and there it was when where it should have been was snuggly inside his suitcase.

"You didn't pack your suit?!!?!" I texted to Andrew.

"Wait...what?!" he texted back (hours later).

"It's in the closet," I informed him.

"No way," he said.

But it was.

He assured me he'd be fine without his suit. He still had dress slacks, shirts and ties. He was still plenty professional; and professors aren't required to wear suits. It would be fine, he said.

I sent him a link to Mr. Mac. And Perfectly Suited by Garth. And a million other suit stores.

He was heading to Provo, after all, which is saturated with suit stores, thanks to all the young missionaries getting ready to head out into the mission field.

"Get a new suit," I ordered. "Or borrow one from your dad. I don't care which, but do something. You can't meet a GA without a suit."

He still wasn't convinced until some of the other professors told him that he would definitely need a suit for his GA interview. So, he went out and bought a suit and the interview went well (I guess—because he got the job).

When he came home I was slightly horrified to find that he'd used safety pins to "hem" his pants (he didn't have time to have them tailored to his needs).

"It's all I could find at the grocery store," he said. "I didn't want to staple my pants!"

"Surely you could have found a needle and thread!" I said. "That would have taken just as long as pinning..."

"I didn't even think of that," he said, then added, "And that's why I have you."

So now he has a new suit and a new job and life is good.

I had my own embarrassing, can't-handle-life moment around that time, too. We've been renting our house from Karen, but she decided she wanted to sell our house and was in negotiation with our home teacher, who was interested in buying it from her.

He called to ask if he could come look at the house one afternoon and I just about died (and asked if he could schedule an appointment at a later time). He's been in our house several times—sometimes when it's been messy and sometimes when it's been clean(ish), but I was not prepared to have him come tour our home.

I was pregnant. I was super sick (with a respiratory ailment, in addition to simply feeling pregnant). We'd just gotten home from camping and hadn't put everything away because we pulled in late Saturday night, spent all Sunday doing church stuff, and then Andrew left for Utah. So Andrew was out of town. It was intercession so all the kids were home making messes. And I just couldn't.

There were so many layers to the mess in our house; the thought of anyone coming over for any reason was mortifying.

But we set an appointment for him to stop by another time and got our house in order and everything worked out.

We're so good at adulting over here.