Chapter One: 

...And They Lived Happily Ever After.

         I first met my husband, Tyrel Steven Jensen, at an LDS single's ward in Taylorsville, Utah. Classic Mormon love story set-up, isn't it? I was only there to try something different. I wasn't there to find my eternal companion, by any means. I was actually a bit anti-male at the time, after having gone through one of those typical break-ups where in the end you feel like every boy in the world is evil and very well ought to be slathered with barbecue sauce and tossed into a bear cave. I had even gone so far during this time to buy a $10 "engagement ring" from Amazon.com, which I wore to all of my college classes that semester. I was not available for the-courtin', no sir. Until I walked into that single's ward.
          This may be difficult to understand, but on the second Sunday of my being a part of that ward, I was overcome by the distinct feeling that I was supposed to marry someone from this ward. It came almost as an idea, but much more together and loud than the ideas that I come up with on my own. Of course, my head started corkscrewing all over the place, trying to figure out which man in this room I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. That sort of upshot makes a girl curious, see. I hadn't met Tyrel yet at this point. It was during this sacrament service that my name was read into the ward, and the first counselor accidentally misread me in as "Brother Bjork," instead of "Sister Bjork." I was asked to stand, and as I did I announced to the ward that in actuality I was, in fact, of the female persuasion. A few muffled giggles from the congregation later, and I was officially a member of the ward. As I sat down again, someone on the pew behind me tapped my shoulder. I turned, and had my breath taken away as I locked eyes with the most handsome man I'd ever seen. He smiled (GORGEOUS teeth...), and told me that I could call him "Sister Jensen," if I liked. I had a warm gooey feeling go all over my chest (and mental capabilities), and I knew that this man was the one. I, ladies and gentlemen, am a living, breathing example of the fact that there is indeed such a thing as Love at First Sight. Tyrel, on the other hand...he took some convincing.
          I spent the next several weeks going out of my mind, trying to subtly-yet-not-so-subtly inform this individual that I was the only, only girl in the world for him... I am not a subtle person. I was absolutely delighted to learn that Tyrel was not spoken for or claimed by anyone, and was therefore available for me to marry him within, say, a month. If I was so completely sure that we were getting married, how hard could it be to convince him of the same? I made every effort to be near him, to touch him, to talk to him, to do whatever I could to get and hold his attention. But I had enemies...*cue menacing music* As the "fresh meat" in the ward, so to speak, I was at nearly all times surrounded by two or more men from the ward, being asked for my number, being given theirs, asked on dates, la-dee-dah. To some this may sound appealing, but there are not enough words in the English language to describe how irritating it was, week after week, being given attention from all of these "wrong" boys. I can assure the reader that I am really not "all that," as it were, and I will never profess to be. I was simply something new to the ward, and I was aware of this fact. Which only made everything more frustrating... I would come home to my family (I had recently moved back in with my wonderful family after a short time away at another college), practically seething with frustration, and my sisters and mother would ask, "Did the 'right one' get your number yet?" To which I would growl "No..." "Then did you get his?" "No..." "Then what are those?", after which I would throw a handful of "wrong boys'" numbers down on the table, almost ready to cry. I knew he was available. He treated me nicely enough. Why wasn't he pursuing me like these other men were?? I KNEW we were getting married, darn it all!!
          One week's FHE activity was an ice skating outing, and I arrived early with the very outlandish hope that Tyrel and I could possibly carpool to the rink together. And there he was, wearing a green "extra life" mushroom beanie, a bright orange t-shirt and jacket, white basketball shorts, tennis shoes, and knee-high socks. He was so handsome, so confident... Looking back at that moment today, with the help of Tyrel's rational influence over me, I now realize that he was dressed like a goober. But at that time, he was the epitome of all things hot and attractive in this world. While I was still steeling myself up to ask if he wanted to carpool, HE came up to ME, asking if I cared to share a car with him!! I about had a heart attack, I was so happy. Trying to be rational, I mentally told myself, 'He probably just got dropped off, and simply asked the first person he saw if he could get a ride. I'm just a ride. Chill.' But then Tyrel said he needed to get something from his CAR. So he COULD have driven by himself! Still trying to get a grip on myself, I figured, 'Alrighty then, he's just being conscientious about the cost of gas.' A minute later, he said, "I'll pay for the gas to get there and back." More heart attacks. Somehow in the end Tyrel and I actually ended up carpooling in someone else's car, and Tyrel and I got to sit next to each other in the back. We talked and played "Jell-o" (a thoughtless game where you try to crush the living daylights out of the person/persons sitting next to you during any turn the car makes that gives you the gravitational advantage.) the entire time. When we got to the rink, I assumed that Tyrel would go off and hang out with some other friends. But no, he stayed by my side the entire activity. I may or may not have pretended to fall just as often if not more so as I actually fell, just so that Tyrel would help me back up. All in all, I thought that it had been a terrific bonding experience, filled with much laughter and flirting. But did he get my number then? NO-O-O-O. 
          After four or more weeks of these frustrations, I finally resolved that after the next upcoming FHE activity, if Tyrel didn't finally get my number, I would finally cave and ask for his. Silly boy...didn't he know that we were supposed  to have been married by this point? The moment came: the activity was over, and Tyrel and I were alone in the middle of cultural hall at our church building. Lights were starting to be turned off; I was standing with the most handsome and charming man in the universe, and I was absolutely speechless. I haltingly began making small-talk with him. In Tyrel's version of this story, there was a five-second pause in our little pleasantries, and then I practically yelled at him for his number. In my version, there was an eternal pause, during which both of us were having a mental showdown over who would cave and ask for the other's number first. Apparently I lost. Still very much determined to subtly-yet-not-so-subtly marry this man, my very first text to him was, "You are SUCH a BABE." Take notes, ladies. This actually works out in the end...
          One of his first texts to me was an invitation to watch a Jazz game with him on the TV. Folks...my response was a lie. I told him I would love to watch it with him. That was all he knew. On my side of the cell phone, my heart had dropped as soon as I read the words he sent to me. I have been anti-game-watching for my ENTIRE life, and I can't TELL you how utterly disappointed I was that game-watching could be a part of my future. I slowly and sadly  showed the text to my mom, and this, honest-to-goodness, no exaggeration, was her response: "I'm so sorry, Melanie. I know you really liked him." She and I both knew that under any normal circumstances, this would be the end. But I shook my head, and said to her, "I'm gonna go." Her eyes bulged, and she said, "Wow...you REALLY must like this guy!" I nodded solemnly, and replied, "Yeah, mom...I really do." That was when my mother realized that this was really happening.
I got hit by a wave of nerves before leaving for 'the game' (this was the closest thing to a "date" that I had managed to squeeze out of this guy at this point), and accidentally put on WAY too much make-up. Tyrel told me months later that my lip-gloss smacking-sounds were memorably distracting. Hot, myself. Really hot. But despite my efforts of looking and smelling nice for this boy, he actually wanted to watch the game! I promise that I tried really, really hard to understand what was so interesting. I asked valid questions, like "How can you tell who's winning?" and "Which ones are the Jazz?", which Tyrel patiently (though somewhat surprisedly) answered, and then went back to watching the game. Somewhere in the middle of the first quarter, I made "a move." There was no way I was going to sit all through this game--that I was not even beginning to comprehend--without at least a hand-hold. In my mind, I'd already earned this boy with my rockin' patience, darn it all. But I skipped holding hands altogether, and instead practically sat on his lap, with one arm on his chest, one leg over his leg, and my head down on his shoulder. Yeah, man. Tyrel was a bit taken aback, I'm sure, but humored me by putting his arm around me. He told me later that while he enjoyed my attention, he had concluded at that point that I was a player. It was a valid assumption...I was still being surrounded by "wrong boys" every Sunday, and I had had at least three dates every week for the past month. But I swear to you, I accepted the dates to be courteous, and no other boy had gotten so much as a hand-hold or a kiss on the cheek out of me during or after any date.  In my mind, I already belonged to Tyrel. But it absolutely makes sense to me now that he couldn't have known that yet.  But it still frustrated the heck out of me that he still just didn't "get it" yet.
          He slowly got it though. After surviving one more Jazz game after that, Tyrel finally decided that I was worth the risk he assumed I was, and asked me out on an official "Date." Ironically, this date was set up and carried out on Valentine's Day, a fact that did NOT escape me. He told me over the phone to "dress up," and that he was going to take me somewhere nice. Cue visions of wedding dresses... I settled for a nice skirt and shirt with a dress jacket, and soon we arrived at the TGI Fridays at Valley Fair Mall.  I didn't know it, but Tyrel was watching me to see if I would be one of those "salad girls," who pretend not to have an appetite in order to avoid being watched while they eat. Contrary to my thin appearance and his expectations, I instead ordered a large platter of ribs, and ate them with such gusto that I somehow wound up with barbecue sauce in my eye. This, strangely, impressed him... What can I say, this was a match made in heaven. 
          It was that night that Tyrel kissed me for the first time... Before that wonderful night, I had never had a real romantic kiss, let alone a romantic first kiss. My very first kiss involved the boy swinging his head down at me with such force and in-agility that his tooth cut my lip and left a scar that I still have today. But Tyrel...wow. We had gone back to his family's home, and were sitting on a couch in their front room. His mother had recently gotten out their family's photo albums, so of course I gravitated towards Tyrel's scrapbook. I can tell you right now (and of course was thinking right then), our kids are going to be adorable. I looked up at Tyrel at some point, and was hit by a wave of butterflies when I realized that he was giving me "the look." I suddenly realized that maybe I wasn't as ready as I thought I was, and quickly looked back down. Then I felt Tyrel's hand gently cup under my chin, as he tenderly lifted my face towards his. He looked into my eyes to make sure that I was ok with this, and then gently kissed my lips. First thought: kissing a beard is weird. Second thought: That...was my last first kiss.
          We became "official" that Sunday (to him, at least. To me, we were official the moment that he kissed me. The minute I got home from our date that night, I called up and canceled on two other men who had scheduled dates with me that week, telling them that I was in a relationship with Tyrel now and was no longer available.). It was after the three-hour block, at the mix-and-mingle activity in the cultural hall. I was standing with a girlfriend of mine, and was soon also surrounded by the usual entourage of boys. Tyrel was standing on the other side of the room with a friend of his, Mosiah. Mosiah was concerned for Tyrel, because he had heard something about Tyrel and I possibly being a couple--but there I was, surrounded by "wrong boys." Mosiah asked, "Hey man, is everything ok? I thought you and that girl...I don't know, were together or something." Tyrel was cool as a cucumber. He said, "No, I think we're ok. Let me check." He then yelled accross the entire crowded cultural hall, "HEY, MELANIE! ARE YOU OFFICIALLY MY GIRLFRIEND NOW? AND AM I YOUR BOYFRIEND?" To which I responded, equally as loud and also across the entire room,  "YYYYYEEEEEEESSSSSS!!!!!!!!!" I was so happy about officially officiating our official-ness, I didn't notice my entourage of boys immediately begin to slink away from me. Mission ACCOMPLISHED!!!
          I'm very close with my family, and I kept them informed through each step of development in this relationship.  Every time something new happened, I came bursting into my parents' room with my arms flailing above my head, shouting the latest news: *BANG* "I'VE GOT HIS NUMBBEERRR!!!!" *BANG* "HE HELD MY HAAAAAAAND!!!!" *BANG* "WE'VE GOT AN ACTUAL DAAAAAATE!!!" *BANG* "HE KISSED MMMEEEEEE!!!!!" *BANG* "WE'RE OFFICIALLY A COOUUPPLLEE!!!!!" And then...there was a long pause in announcements. Tyrel had yet to tell me that he loved me. I accidentally blurted out that I loved him on our second date. I truly meant it when I said it, I had loved him for some time at that point, but I knew better than to freak the poor man out with my feelings. To my outburst of love, Tyrel had awkwardly told me that he "cared about me very much," and I had since dropped the subject, hoping that he would reciprocate my feelings soon. But he didn't. Weeks went by, and at one point, after dropping him off at his home after one of our dates (he drove normally, but his car was being used at the time), while he was waving at me from his front steps and I was in the car on the street, I couldn't hold it in anymore. I was going to explode. So I opened my car door, took a deep breath, and shouted across the dark neighborhood, "DANG IT, TYREL!! I DON'T CARE IF YOU WON'T SAY IT--I LOVE YOU!!!!" Tyrel paused, looking embarrassed, and gave me another little wave.  I then quickly slammed my door shut and hit the gas, speeding away as quickly as I could, all the while thinking, "Oh man, oh man, I've ruined it, I freaked him out again, oh man, oh man..." Happily, Tyrel still spoke to me. And we were still a couple. But still, no "L-word" for quite some time...
          By the time he finally did say he loved me (it was so perfect...he had stopped by my house on his way home from work with a bouquet of tulips. He was greeted at the door by my mother, and ten other relief society sisters, who Tyrel was mortified to learn were there for book-club that evening. After several awkward minutes of the ladies ooh-ing and ahh-ing at how handsome and sweet Tyrel was, he and I escaped and went for a walk in the dark, during which he told me that he had finally accepted something: He was in love with me. And he knew it. He KNEW it. I had never cried from happiness until that moment...), it was over for both of us, and we knew it. I had known we were getting married from the moment I met him, and now he finally, FINALLY, knew it too. So where was the RING, man??? I kept pestering him about being engaged, telling him that I now hated the word "boyfriend," and would not be happy until I could call him my "fiance." Still no ring. Then Tyrel, who at the time was the tour director for the Utah Valley Youth Symphony Orchestra, left for a week to direct the tour. Still no ring. I was going out of my mind. On a date after he came home, my family and I were so sure that this night would be the night that he proposed, that I did something wild. I curled my hair. It's not that I'm a man or anything, but I HATE curling my hair, and have never in my life done so without burning myself. This act in and of itself should darn well have elicited a proposal out of him, but no, still no ring. Finally, just a few days after the hair-curling incident, I sat Tyrel down. I sat on his lap, put my arms around his neck, and said, "Tyrel, will you please do me a favor?" He said, "Anything." I said, with only a little frustration, "Will you PROPOSE to me tomorrow??" 
          And he did.
          The proposal story goes as follows: Tyrel picked me up that morning smelling like bacon.  As one of my tactics in trying to make Tyrel love me, I had brought him breakfast in bed at least once a week since we had begun dating.  And here was Tyrel, who claimed to have a hard time cooking anything more complicated than an egg, making such a sweet effort to reciprocate. He took me back to his family's home, where he had laid out a beautiful table setting, complete with cloth napkins and extra forks. He had been working all morning on a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, orange juice, and toast. To me, it may as well have been caviar and salmon on lox. He made me feel like a princess. After breakfast, he and I drove up to Little Cottonwood canyon for a hike. I kept trying to hug him, 'secretly' checking whatever pockets I could reach for a small box-shape, but to no avail. As sweet as this was, and though I was fairly certain that he was going to propose today, I had to rationalize that I had thought that he was going to propose a few days earlier when I had curled my hair, and that hadn't happened. It didn't hurt to hope, though. We arrived at the mouth of a canyon trail, but soon Tyrel had pulled me off onto the side of the trail, and we began hiking through beautiful trees and shrubs off the beaten path. We soon came upon a small, stunted pine tree. Joking, as my silly efforts of 'stalking' Tyrel had become something of a joke between us, I said, "Look, honey! It's our 'love fern'!", referencing a movie with another overly-creepy heroin.  Tyrel winked at me, and said, "We ought to mark our 'love fern,' don't you think?" So we both knelt down next to the little tree, and began laying rocks around it in a circle. I took a smaller rock, and scratched "I love you, Tyrel" into a larger rock. Still looking down at my carving, I was surprised to hear what sounded like Tyrel crying. I was confused. My handwriting on the rock wasn't all THAT bad--why the crying? I looked up at Tyrel, and felt the wind suddenly get knocked out of me when I saw what he was holding. A beautiful, beautiful engagement ring. He choked out, "I love you, too." And then we were silent as we tried with much difficulty to get the ring on my finger. Both of us were shaking like mad, and I was already wearing a small quarter-machine ring on my left ring finger (Tyrel had bought it for me several weeks earlier, after I had pestered him about hurrying up and proposing. I had told him that I would be happy with a ring from a quarter-machine, and he bought one for me as a very sweet, yet somehow mean, joke.), which only complicated the task.  We finally got the ring on my finger, and I was so overcome with happiness that I stood up, took a deep breath, and went screaming, "WWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" up the mountain.  After a minute, I finally stopped, and sat underneath a big tree. I have a terrible sense of direction, and decided that it would be better to sit and have Tyrel come find me then it would be for me to become hopelessly lost on the day of our engagement. Were we engaged? I realized at that point that though I finally had a ring on my finger, I didn't know if I was engaged. Neither of us had actually said anything. Soon Tyrel came walking up towards me, smiling his usual slightly exasperated, "Oh, Melanie..." smile. He sat down next to me, and for once I waited for him to speak first. He said, "There's something I meant to ask you back there. Melanie...will you marry me?" I whispered, "Yes." "Will you be my eternal companion?" "Yes." "Will you be mine forever?" "Yes." "Can I be yours forever?" "Yes." He smiled, and pretended to count on his fingers. Then he said, "Well, I guess that about covers it, doesn't it?" And we were engaged.
          On our drive home from the mountain, in-between lots of shouting on my end out the window at passing strangers/rocks/whatever else was outside my window that we were finally engaged, Tyrel asked me when I would like to get married. Sheepishly, I pulled an envelope out of my purse, addressed to Tyrel, from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. It was instructions on where to meet, what to wear, and how many people to invite to our temple sealing, scheduled for 9am on August 7th, 2012, at the Timpanogos Temple. I had made the reservation a week and a half earlier.
          And it happened. All of this anxiety took place from the end of December, to the beginning of August. The anxiety was due to things going far too slowly on my end, and far, far too quickly on the end of my poor sweetheart. But it happened. I am deeply in love with my husband Tyrel, and I am very happy to inform the reader that he finally loves me right back, and treats me the way that every father wants his daughter to be treated. Like a princess. And we Lived Happily, Ever After.