I recently waged a battle with the various remote controls for the new HDTV in our bedroom. Jamie and I had watched a movie the night prior and for the life of me, I could not switch the input back to TV. My life depended on it (or at least a shower while Bode watched Elmo). But much to my frustration, I could not get it to work.
It reminded of my first meltdown the day after I moved to Colorado. I had given up everything: friends, a career and city I loved, a cool house across from Sugar House park and my independence. All for a guy I had met on the Internet.
Internet Guy had gone to work and I was left alone in the condo we would share together after our wedding. I half-heartedly unpacked some boxes but feeling overwhelmed, I grabbed the remote to watch some television. I had never even heard of Dish Network, let alone taken the requisite Ph.D. course to navigate it.
For an hour, I battled that remote and lost. And so I did what any sane person would do who had just left her entire life behind:
I freaked out.
I called Jamie, sobbing about how I could not get the remote to work. Of course, the remote was just the straw for this camel. He wisely came right home, consoled his train-wreck-of-a-fiancee, set me up on the television with reruns of The Newlywed Game, and still chose to marry me. Even after full disclosure.
It has been five and a half years since that day. With a new home, two kids and great life together, we have come a long way.
Well, except that I still cannot work the stupid remote.
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 