DOn't quIT

One year for Christmas, Porter received a gift from his grandma. It was a picture frame with the saying, "DOn't quIT" on it. It wasn't exactly what Porter was wishing for, but it would later have an impact on him that he would never forget.

Porter's dad was his basketball coach starting at a young age. He and his teammates would always talk about how they were going to win the state championship when they got older. As the years went on, Porter's dad continued to coach them well into high school.

Then during Porter's junior year of high school, a couple of his teammates felt like they should be playing more than they were. Others started to tell Porter that the only reason he got playing time was because he was the coach's son. Porter's dad eventually lost his job as the head coach of their basketball team. Porter was devastated and decided that he was going to make everyone happy and just quit playing ball.

After making the decision, Porter went home and laid on his bed in his bedroom. He started crying because he loved the game so much. Then he saw it. His grandma's Christmas gift was sitting there on the shelf. He looked at it and read the words again, "DOn't quIT."

Instead of giving in to what others wanted, Porter decided he wasn't going to quit the game he loved. His senior year, the Wayne Badgers were region champs and went to New York to be on the show, "Good Morning America." Turns out, not quitting was a pretty good move.

Hate Mail

I got my first piece of hate mail. I was so beyond excited. I really do love getting email and messages from people telling me they enjoy the blog, but there is this overwhelming excitement that I feel when someone writes me and hates my writing.

I almost get as excited as I did as a small child getting new church shoes. By the way, my facial expression below was what my face looked like when I read the complaint too.

Ok, so let's get to it! Here it is in all of its glory, complete with my commentary in parentheses:

"Hi Carly, (Actually, my name is spelled C-a-r-l-i-e, common mistake, it's cool)

I'm writing because I am upset by what you are writing on your blog. While some may consider it funny, I find it ofensive. (Well, your spelling is offending me, so now we are even) There are probably others out there that fell the same way I do. (Did you mean feel?)

Whenever I read won (one) of your posts, I cringe. I can't believe that a sweet young man like Porter would be ok with what you are writing. You are making fun of him for something he can't control. You are not a good writer or a good wife. Please take down your blog.

Sincerely,

***** ********

P.S. I'm sure there are lots of other people out there that would agree with me." (Yeah, thanks, you mentioned that already)

I loved it. I loved every word of it. This person is right. I'm a terrible wife. In fact, just last night I made Porter peel the potatoes that I was putting in the crock pot for dinner because I was making something else. Try doing it with a right-handed potato peeler too, it's not easy.

I also make him open doors for me even if he has stuff in his hand. I'm the worst, so there is no need to tell me I'm a bad wife. You can tell by my devious smile the day we got married that I so badly wanted to torture Porter for the rest of his life.

What my critic failed to realize is that my blog doesn't make fun of Porter. I joke about how other people treat Porter. However, based on this person's writing skills, I'm going to assume this individual can't read either. 

Until next time (because there will be a next time),

Carlie

*Disclaimer: I really hope I'm not offending people, honestly. When we started this, Porter and I mostly just wanted to make people laugh. Feel free to let us know by leaving a comment if you aren't cool with something (or if you like what we are doing). In return (if it's negative), I will publish your comment and dissect it for our readers:)

Discrimination y'all

Porter and I were just having a conversation the other day about discrimination. Not like a serious conversation about discrimination, but a very REAL conversation about the said topic. Let's be honest, the world hates on people like me and Porter every day, and they don't even realize it.

You see, we are survivors. We have struggles most people wouldn't even begin to understand. It's a daily struggle. Why are we discriminated you ask? Well, because we are left handed. I was born that way, I can't help it. And although Porter wasn't born that way, he doesn't have much of a choice now either.

You right handed people don't know what it's like to ruin a perfectly good white shirt because you didn't realize you had pencil marking all down the side of your hand from taking notes all day. You haven't experienced the frustration caused by something as simple as using scissors. There is nothing I hated more in elementary school than having to cut stuff out to make a meaningless craft. Lastly, and most important, the Wii automatically defaults to right handed people, so we have to change it before each game. Life is hard people.

We live in a right-handed world. Even something as simple as shaking hands is dominated by that blasted, less-dominant hand of ours. Now, I only bring up shaking hands because I have noticed that with Porter it is literally the most awkward encounter of all time. ALWAYS.

When you go to shake, you automatically stick out your right hand. That is, if you have one. So, when people first meet Porter and they extend their right hand, only to be met with Porter's left hand, magic happens. Literally.

I have been around Porter long enough to categorize people into groups based on how they shake his hand and this is what I have come up with:

The Polite/Humble Folk: This group of people, upon noticing Porter is missing an arm, will kindly switch over and use their left hand to shake his.

The Prideful and RIGHTeous: this group of people will continue to keep their right hand extended even after they realize Porter only has his left hand to spare. They are sticklers about it for some reason.

The Feminist: This is typically found in women. They do this side hand squeeze thing. It's ridiculous.

The Homie Handshake: This is for people who aren't friends with Porter, but pretend to be. When they realize that he only has the left hand, they frantically come up with a handshake like they have been bros all along.

The Hopeless Hugger: These are my fav. This group of people is full of kindred spirits. They typically panic during the handshake process, and instead of playing it cool, just hug him instead. Priceless.

If you have ever had the pleasure of shaking hands with this fine lad, feel free to classify yourself. If you haven't, well now you know how to handle the situation. You're welcome.

Until next time,

Carlie

24

Today is Porter's 24th birthday...I know, I know, he's super old. Like really old. He was alive back when they used VHS, dial-up internet, and floppy disks. I guess I was too, but 21 sounds A LOT younger than 24, so I can call him Grandpa Porter from now on.

To commemorate his 24 years of life, here is a list of 24 things I bet you didn't know you could do with one arm.

1. Drive a stick shift
2. Zip up a jacket
3. Butter toast
4. Swim...in a straight line

5. Shoot a shot gun accurately
6. Push ups
7. Change pipe
8. Bat over .400

9. Cut meat
10. Tie your shoes
11. Type fast on a computer
12. Make killer YouTube vids

13. Pick up more hay bails all at once than the two-armed wife
14. Play golf
15. Open a jar
16. Ride on the tube without falling off

17. Go across monkey bars
18. Drive a motorcycle
19. Tease a sassy sister-in-law

20. Throw sheep. I literally watched him pick one up and throw it back into the corral. And it wasn't a small one.
21. Reel in a fish
22. Play ball

 

23. Inspire lots of people

24. ....oh, and he can even ride a bike.

Happy Birthday, PJ. I hope you like rockin' your all black J's today at work!

Loa-isms

I have been a big time slacker lately. But for a good reason…like for this reason….

...and this reason (yes, all three of us girls contributed to the 35 we caught)....

 

...and definitely for this reason.

I love going home and kickin' it with these lovely people. However, I have found it more and more difficult to come back to Provo after each trip. I wonder if I could convince my parents to let me live in their new lake front home and mooch off of them forever. A girl can dream, right?

Anyways, this post is going to be a little different than those in the past. This isn't going to be about some awkward one arm encounter, rather my inability to "redneckonize" what Porter means when he says weird stuff.

This is what happens when a California girl marries a small town farm boy from southern Utah. We have trouble communicating sometimes. It's not a problem, but I knew it would happen on occasion ever since the time I went to Porter's home ward and a man had this whole long conversation with me where I literally had no idea what he was talking about. I just smiled and nodded. He kept using all of these unfamiliar sayings that I have now deemed Loa-isms (Loa is where Porter is from). I seriously love Loa with all my heart, but sometimes there is a little bit of a language barrier for a California girl like myself.

Like when someone says, "It's colder than a witch's titty caught in a snow drift!"

I have come to learn that this particular phrase means that is a bit chilly outside.

Or, when a young man is trying to compliment you and he says this, "Your eyes look like two sheep turds floating in a bucket of milk."

So. Darn. Romantic.

There are also the ones like, "I'm sweating like a frog crapping golf balls!"

I haven't been able to translate that one yet.

Then, when you ask someone an obvious question you get something like this, "Does a one-legged duck swim in a circle?"

A simple "yes" would suffice, but a response like that is simply too comical to pass up.

And my personal favorite that my mother-in-law shared with me is, "If we get divorced, are we still cousins?"

Money. You can translate that one on your own. I think that is my favorite one yet.

Back to my point. Yesterday, I forgot to take the chicken out to thaw for dinner. I text Porter after I had gone to work and asked him if he would take it out for me in between work and classes. He said he would and I totally forgot about it. 

He started texting me later on that day (in my defense, it was like five hours later) about some medication that I am taking to get rid of an infection in my leg. I told him I didn't like the way the medicine was making me feel, to which he replied via text message with, "That is really strange, at least we know it is doing something. The chicken is out."

Boom, I thought I had ran into another Loa-ism. The chicken is out, what does that mean? I sat and pondered it for a second, even Googled it (FYI-don't ever Google that), but I could not figure out what it meant. Was the chicken supposed to be my infection and was on its way out of my leg? I was so lost. Darn California education didn't prepare me with the language translation skills I would need to succeed!

Finally I had to text him back and ask what "the chicken is out" meant. I was ashamed of my lack of redneck knowledge. I was even more humiliated when he text me back.

Porter's response: "It's not a Loa phrase...I took the chicken out to thaw. I was just letting you know."

Just when I thought I was getting a hang of these sayings, I had mistaken a perfect sentence for a Loa-ism. I promise to get better. I will be doubling my dosage of Duck Dynasty so that I can one day be fluent in redneck, because "froggin'" just isn't cutting it.

Until next time,

Carlie

#OneArmProbs

In honor of Facebook finally allowing hash tags, I figured I would share a couple of our favorites. Porter and I, for some reason, think it is hilarious to verbalize hash tags in awkward situations. When something funny happens to Porter, it is generally #onearmprobs and for me it is #onearmwifeprobs. Here are a couple of our favorite #'s.

Wedding Dance:

Instead of doing a traditional (or in my eyes boring) first dance at our wedding reception, Porter and I decided to spice it up a bit. It started out with Brad Paisley's song "Then," but was quickly remixed into something magical. When we were trying to figure out what songs to include in our remix, we tried to pick songs that had funny dances associated with them, for example: the chicken dance, crank that, etc. My sister was helping us with it, and she made a suggestion.

Ry: "How about the Macarena."
Me: "Oh yeah, great idea."
Porter: sitting quietly.
Me: "What about the Macarena, Port?"
Porter: "Yeah we can do that, I just will only be able to do half of the dance."
*Awkward silence as Rylee and I realize that the Macarana is a dance that straight up takes two arms.*
Ry: "Well then, Car can do the right arm and you do the left!"
Brilliant. But it still warrants #onearmprobs.

The Pit of DOOM:

If you haven't ever seen Porter in a tank top, then it may be difficult to visualize this. Porter has part of his shoulder, but then it is a clean cut from there. He still has an arm pit, just no arm to cover it. Unfortunately for me, I'm a little vertically challenged so my face is level with that uncovered arm pit.

At his swim meet this past weekend, Porter was either shirtless from having just got out of the pool, or sporting a tank top to cover up until his next race, which means that sweaty arm pit was constantly exposed. I was trying to show Porter something, when he stepped in close to me.

Then it happened.

That nasty pit came straight for my face at the exact moment I was trying to tell him something. Yes, pit sweat dripped right into my mouth. We decided the moment was worthy of this: #onearmwifeprobs.

On a little more serious note, Porter competed in a Paralympic swim meet this past weekend at the Olympic Training Center down in Colorado Springs. It was honestly one of the coolest things I have ever witnessed. There were people there who were blind. Several more (if not the majority) were in wheel chairs. There were even a couple of athletes that didn't have ANY limbs at all. I don't know about you, but I would never even get near a pool if I didn't have arms or legs to help me swim.

(The ribbon is red, but the medal is for taking first in his classification)

At one point, I was trying to film Porter's race from behind the starting blocks, so I was standing on the pool deck. It had been an awesome, but exhausting weekend. I was tired, and it was Porter's last race, so I figured I could suck it up for a little bit longer. I then saw a little girl there who could not use her arms talking to another girl in a wheelchair. They were congratulating one another for their performances in their race when the girl in the wheelchair said, "We are so lucky to get to swim here! How awesome is this?"

I'm not an emotional person, like at all, but I almost started to tear up. Here I was feeling a little "tired" from watching a swim meet and these two girls who had severe physical limitations were dawning smiles and expressing their appreciation for being able to compete.

You would think after being married to someone who has had to overcome physical obstacles that I would appreciate having a healthy body, but I realized this weekend that I could do better.

These athletes didn't make excuses, which is why I think even they deserve a hash tag in honor of their stellar attitudes: #justdoit

Until next time,

Carlie

Wedding Ring Fiasco

So Porter lost his wedding ring this weekend. We spent like two hours trying to find it on the baseball field where he left it behind. It was just awesome. It isn't a huge deal because let's be honest, I didn't spend that much on it. It was just a simple black wedding band. However, finding the wedding band that would work for our "circumstances" was rather difficult.

A couple months after we got engaged, I figured I should probably start looking for a ring. I went to different jewelry stores by myself, which was a mistake because I know nothing about jewelry. Regardless, I set out on my own to find one.

After hitting up one or two stores in the mall, I found myself at a shop with a tender old man. I told him I was looking for a black wedding ring (and it had to be black because, according to Porter, everything else was too girly).

(Good bye all black wedding band)

The man brought out several different types of rings, ranging from $60-$,500. Naturally, he started to show me the expensive ones. I kept telling him I wasn't going to spend that much because I knew Porter would eventually lose it. Unfortunately, I was right about that one.

I then told the little, old man that I wanted something that would break easily. He looked at me puzzled and then said:

Old man: "Why on earth would you want one that breaks?"

Me: "Well, I just worry about his hand getting caught in something and I would like it to shatter."

Old man: (chuckling) "Well even if he does get it caught, he has another hand to spare."

Awkward silence while I ponder said statement.

Me: (finally breaking the silence): "Well, we actually don't have that luxury."

Old man: "What on earth do you mean?"

Me: "My fiance only has one arm, so I would like something that breaks. We have to protect the five fingers we have."

Old man: "Oh, well we don't discriminate based on sexual orientation or disability!"

What the heck? That's random. Of course you don't because that would mean less mula for you.

Old man (cont.): "We have our selection of rings for men with one arm over here!"

Me: "You have a selection specifically for one arm men? What's the difference between the rings for two arm men and one arm men?"

Old man: "Well we have a selection for those with circumstances like yours. We sell rings that are custom made to fit on one hand."

You don't say? You mean you actually sell rings that are designated for just one hand? That is the most ingenius thing I have ever heard!

Me: "I'm just curious as to what the difference is between the two arm people rings and the one arm people rings."

Old man: "Well, uhhh, I'm getting up there so I don't quite remember. Let me go ask my associate."

The old man waddles to the back room and emerges with a young asian girl....who wasn't exactly fluent in English. I'm not being racist, this is just how the conversation actually went down. I asked her again, what the difference is between the rings and she replied:

Girl: "Oh, no difference. You buy ring and make man soooooo happy!"

No, sorry lady. I no buy ring because you people no tell truth.

I started to walk out of the store when the old man came running out again.

Old man: "Wait, I remember the difference!"

Me: "Oh yeah, what is it?"

Old man: "They fit on the finger form of one arm people differently. You see, people with one arm have skinnier fingers!"

No, no they don't. Porter's fingers are like mini sausages. Needless to say, I bought the ring at a different store with the help of my mom.

Moral of the story: Keep tabs on your husband's wedding ring because now I'm going to have to go through that whole process all over again. Awesome.

Until next time,

Carlie