My list I posted the other day has me all kinds of motivated to do stuff.
When I get motivated, it's REALLY hard to stop me.
Example?
Sewing.
I started teaching myself how to sew and it's been an adventure*
*by adventure I mean me cussing, throwing things, leaving pins on the floor, and kneeling in front of the sewing machine using the push button start and stop because one time I sneezed while sewing and hit the pedal which turbo boosted the machine and almost broke it. I also call my mom a lot.
I have a hard time starting a sewing project and putting it down before it's finished.
I get my momentum going and I. Just. Can't. STOP.
Apparently I also can't stop once I get on a ridiculous tangent.
That's basically this whole blog...one big off topic tangent.
Budget started in with "we need to save money."
Mom Guilt backed it up with "You could spend $30 getting summer clothes for the kids."
Whatevs had no real opinion because it's too tired to care.
Indecision went back and forth between what the list said to do and what Budget and Mom Guilt presented.
Independent Woman said "Mom Guilt that was a real nice declaration, we deserve a present, we got money from a book presentation! Would you like to shop with us or stay mellow doin' whatever the heck it is you doin' with green jello?"
#HamiltonParody
It was intense. For real.
Finally, Independent Woman Z Snapped and slapped those bad boys on the counter with a hair flip.
I love these shoes. They're amazingly comfortable and so versatile! I wore them for a full day of house hunting including tromping through snowy backyards and up and down treacherous 1920's staircases with no major problems. Their comfort and stylish cuteness make even the Mom Guilt nod in approval. No guilt here, yo.
Those staircases though. How did these women navigate those stairs in the dresses and shoes they wore? I mean really!
I made my list and now I'm making my first post to check something off said list.
Boom. Mic drop.
Pick the mic back up...
Back in 2nd grade we did a production of Sleeping Beauty. It went about as well as a bunch of 7 year olds could be expected to perform. I was the understudy for Sleeping Beauty who did indeed fall ill before the show so I got to fill in the star role.
So celebrity.
In 6th grade, we did Pirates of Penzance. It was super fun!!! My little 11 year old heart couldn't wait to sing and dance and wear a pretty dress (I was Mable). It didn't hurt that my crush was the main guy and my character's love interest.
No acting required.
In 7th grade, I moved to Texas and my school offered a theater arts class. Sign me up! We had a few little scenes and one act plays we did through the year. I auditioned and was accepted to the 8th grade theater arts class for the next year.
Guys. I was hooked. I loved it.
Auditions.
Studying lines.
Creating characters.
Costumes.
Watching the scenery and props come together.
Seeing everyone get off book and the show really becomes amazing.
Opening night
It's magical to be in a play. It really is!!!
In high school, the theater opportunities diminished to nearly zilch.
Graduating took me out of the direct line of theater, too.
Now here I was.
13 years since my last stage performance.
Feeling sad and bored and blah.
Enter the weird Facebook post that happened to pop up on my newsfeed.
Local theater group was having auditions for Robin Hood.
Shut.
Up.
It took a LOT of reassurance from multiple sources, but I tried out. I got the part of Maid Marian's handmaiden, Cassandra.
Not having any of your sass, Marian
If you've seen the Disney version, I was the chicken.
From the moment I auditioned, I felt amazing. I had REALLY missed this!
The majority of the cast were under the age of 16, yet I quickly made friends with the guy playing Robin Hood and the girl playing Maid Marian. We bonded over Hamilton, mostly, and general theater silliness.
"Rumor says, Sherwood Forest is where he was made an outlaw...so Sherwood Forest is where, RUMOR SAYS, an outlaw he shall be."
After a month and a half of rehearsals, opening night rolled around. We had 8 shows which went by way too quickly.
Before I knew it, we took our last bow and I hung up my costume.
The feeling of being on stage was renewed though. This is something more than a passing fancy.
I'm not running off to Broadway.
But I am looking into more show opportunities locally.
If you haven't done any kind of theater, but wanted to...
DO IT.
If you've done it in the past, but want to try again...
A list of things I want to do to make ME happy. Others can be made happy in the process, but the main person to be made happy is me.
That sounds incredibly selfish.
Oh well.
SO! My list:
1. Read a book
2. Work on a new talent
3. Get back into theater
4. Cook something new
5. Help someone in need
6. Go outside more
7. Exercise more
8. Buy an article of clothing or accessory that's not necessary* *don't feel bad about it
9. Meditate more often
10. Sing a song in front of people (church or karaoke)
11. Do something crazy before I turn 30
12. Have an awesome 30th birthday
13. Genuinely compliment someone every day
A few of these have already been done in the last month or so, and some are in the works right now. I'll post blogs about each one after they're completed so hopefully I'll be more likely to post frequently!
Thanks for getting rid of 2016, he was the WORSTinteresting
New Year's Resolutions are upon us and the number of Facebook and Instagram posts I see about them are inspiring.
Going vegan?
Cool!
Exercising more?
Werk!
Being more appreciative of the world around you?
Holler back!
But, Kate, what are YOUR resolutions?
Oh, you know, same old same old.
Be healthier
Be kinder
Be smarter
Be fabulous
BUT!
I added a new one today.
I'm having an awful day and it's only 10 am. Kill me.
Fighting kids, no energy, headache, exhausted, hungry but nothing sounds good, tired, kids are still fighting, etc.
Someone said something so ridiculously innocent online, but I feel like they caught me trying to poison their family. Like, not even a hint of malice behind it yet I'm marching myself to the gallows of our friendship.
It's a day.
It's not even Thursday.
I also can't focus, apparently...
New resolution!
I'm resolving to be me. To do things that I want to do. By myself. For myself. Everyone else be damned, because if you don't like Hamilton you're damned anyway.
JK, babe, JK
I need to sit down and really think and make a list of things I like to do, watch, read, eat, listen to, create. These are things I've pushed to the back of my mind for so long, I'm going to need that giant asteroid drill from Armageddon to dig them out.
And I don't wanna miss a thaaaang
Once I have my list completed to my satisfaction, I'll post it here. As I do things from the list, I'll post about it.
Hopefully over the course of the year it'll lift me out of Mom Funk as I begin to rediscover the things I like.
So 2017, let's start with a giant, confetti filled high five of determination!
I always downplay whatever the compliment is with a fault.
"Wow your hair looks super cute today!" Thanks, I need a trim badly.
"These little tarts are so yummy." They were supposed to have a sugar cookie crust, but I burned them.
"I love those shoes." Thanks! They're getting pretty scuzzy though...
The reason why I do it is because we're supposed to be humble. Humble people don't take compliments, right?
Well, there are two ways to take a compliment. Actually, three, but the above example isn't very good.
1. Accept it...and run with it.
"You did such a good job on that song!"
Right?! I worked really hard and knew it was going to be awesome. I can't believe how well I nailed it and the entire audience was enTHRALLED with....hey where are you going?
The complimenter has been slowly backing away from the blinding light reflecting off your self awarded gold star.
Think of a compliment as a pat on the back, not a party in your honor. Some recognition for a talent or hard work, not an Oscar.
But, Kate, I'm that guy...
Hey, it's ok. I've been that guy at one point or another. Especially when I'm REALLY excited about whatever I was complimented on. I word vomit every detail about the whole thing. If you feel yourself gushing, take it down a notch Old Faithful. We can definitely be excited and grateful for the compliment without boast or brag. Make it a conversation! Graciously accept the compliment and turn it back to them:
"Thanks, I worked really hard on it! What did you think of the accompaniment?"
Voila...compliment accepted.
2. Just...accept it and give love back.
"I really like your outfit today."
Thank you! I love your top. Where did you get it?
This is where I struggle. I feel like everything needs an explanation or a back story or an excuse as to why I don't deserve recognition. It's taken me a long time to realize this option is not the same as option #1. You CAN take a compliment without sounding like an arrogant jerk!
I promise!
I've done it!
I did it last night!
A friend of mine told me she likes my Facebook posts. That they're funny.
I'm not going to lie...I think I'm hilarious. Other people generally don't think so, but I do.
Still, it catches me off guard when I get compliments for ANYTHING. Husband always rolls his eyes when I negative out a compliment.
"Just take the dang compliment!"-husband "no."-me
So before I could write off her praise with something like "I just write down stuff that I think about" or "meh, they're ok", I simply said...wait for it... "Thanks!"
I'm starting a little challenge to try and compliment at least one person a day that's not in my family. If you like your waiter's tie, let him know!
That girl in line at Trader Joe's with the awesome haircut? Teeeellll her.
A little kid with a cool hat or t-shirt would love to hear someone say how cool it really is.
This will be hard because I'm always worried people will give me that weird side-eye, but hey, at least they know some random girl at the grocery store thought their dress was pretty. Even if she might be a little crazy.
My scales are usually faaaaaiiiiiiirly balanced between family time and personal time. Most of the time they lean more toward family time, but for a stay at home mom, that's to be expected.
I recently went back home to Washington for my kindofsortofmaybenotreally little sister's wedding. She's not really my little sister, but I like to think she is. It was a whirlwind weekend of hair, makeup, dresses, food, flowers, and very little sleep. I loved it though!
The only problem was it was a whole 3 1/2 days without kids after a month on my own. Husband was out of town last month and it was....an experience.
#notagoodsinglemom
It was my first break in a long time and I was too busy to enjoy it! I loved spending the time with everyone and staying up until sunrise talking with my mom, but I did NOT get to relax. Even the plane rides were stressful.
rough take off, turbulence, and rougher landings do not bode well for me
So here I am back at home. In the throes of summer vacation while Husband is studying for his next board exam. Basically still a single mom (kindsortofmaybenotreally).My break was not as much of a break as I had hoped. I'm still catching up on missed sleep and my skin is adjusting back to 10% humidity.
acne....acne everywhere.
My scales are tipped pretty far away from personal time. It's noticeable in everyday life, too. Husband will say PMS or too little sleep or I'm hungry.
There's a good chance one all of those are all true.¯\_(ツ)_/¯
But even with mother nature taking a break, a full night sleep, and a food baby on board, I'm grumpy. I'm restless. I'm extremely annoyed at everyone. All the time. About everything.
My patience does not exist.
With medical school not slowing down any time soon, I'm left with two choices:
1. Babysitters. Lots of them. Which is expensive and stressful to coordinate.
2. Do it myself when I can.
I've got option 2 on the brain and I'm thinking of ways I can get my personal time outside of nap time and bed time. If I use those for personal time, the house doesn't get cleaned, my book business gets neglected, and the laundry begins to come to life. I also don't go to bed until 1 am which perpetuates the no sleep cycle.
Today I took all three kids swimming. It was a little stressful because
3 kids + 1 parent + 2 swim vests= Someone is probably going to drown.
We did really well though and Older Girl Child decided she could swim! Despite my hate for the Phoenix Valley, I love sunshine and summer is amazing. Up here in Northern AZ, summers are even better. Hot, but not face melting hot. There's always a nice breeze. So while the kids got to splash and swim and cool off, I got to soak up some vitamin D and work on my tan. Yes, I was still watching kids. Yes, I was still getting annoyed.
But I wasn't dying for bed time.
When Smaller Girl Child came shivering to me saying, "Mama I want to a go hooooome", I was a little disappointed. The good news is, the weather is warm and the summer just started.
I'm also trying to prioritize my nap and bed time solitude. Usually nap time looks like:
1. close bedroom doors and sigh in relief
2. start dishwasher
3. make lunch
4. stop dishwasher to put lunch dishes in
5. sit on the couch watching Buffy The Vampire Slayer for the next two hours while I eat WAY too much candy
Don't hate on Buffy btw.
So I'm trying to throw some more laundry or sweeping in there in place of candy and an episode of Buffy (or Empire, or Supernatural, or Greys Anatomy, or New Girl). This frees up more time at night to relax which makes going to bed earlier so much easier. It's going ok so far. The balance is still tipped, but slightly less so. It's whatevs*.
*That's just for you Heather!
Side note: My regular bathroom scale is also tipped in an unfavorable direction, but that's another post for another day!
After Older Girl Child was born, I had your typical baby blues. They went away, but I was a little more tired and little less patient.
After Boy Child was born, same baby blues. Thanks, hormones. Things leveled out, but I was more tired and even less patient.
After Smaller Girl Child was born, the baby blues lasted a little longer than before and I couldn't seem to shake that last lingering bleh cloud. I was even more tired and even less patient, but hey, three kids under the age of 5 and a med school husband will do that to you.
The bleh cloud progressed into the meh cloud that followed me everywhere and seemed to cover the sky completely. I couldn't feel anything. I had small breaks where I was happy or sad, but nothing lasting and nothing overwhelming. The only emotion I was able to feel was anger.
I had the patience of something that doesn't have much patience. My kids were disciplined for things that are normal kid shenanigans...if they did something REALLY wrong? I never hit my kids, but I yelled. A lot. I had no desire to be their mom and every morning I would wake up and stay in bed as long as possible to avoid the coming hours of bickering, fighting, "LOOK AT THIS!", stories about nothing that take 15 minutes to tell, and the mess. Oh, the mess.
Husband was great and would always offer to take the kids so I could go have a break and do something fun. I didn't know what was fun to me. I knew what was fun to him, OGC, BC, and SGC. I knew their favorite songs, shows, foods, colors, clothes, and exactly what it took to get them into bed relatively easy each night. I usually defaulted to staring at a burger at Red Robin and then sitting in the car, staring at the parking lot.
With depression carrying such a stigma, I never thought to reach out. I never even thought something was wrong. I wasn't refusing to get out of bed and weeping uncontrollably. I didn't want to harm myself or others (mostly, those kids sometimes...). That was depression to me. I didn't have that.
After we moved up north, I lost the few friends I did have and became pretty secluded in our little house. The women I've met here are incredibly friendly, but I had no interest in developing friendships. I was too tired, the kids were too crazy, Husband was too busy. So I retreated back a little further into the only constant I had, anger.
I began to feel intense rage over the stupidest stuff and everyone suffered. After one particularly bad explosion, Husband came into our room, sat on the bed across from me and simply said,"What's wrong?"
What's wrong...clearly something was wrong, but I didn't know what. I couldn't tell him anything except I felt so so angry all the time. I was constantly tensed and screaming at people in my head. I had zero attachment to our kids and him. I started crying because I no idea what was wrong or if I could even be helped. I was afraid to go to the doctor and hear, "It's just stress. It's normal for a SAHM. You just need a break once in awhile."
Husband told me he was pretty sure I had depression, and needed to make an appointment to figure things out. I rolled my eyes because I wasn't a sad egg rolling around or a wind up toy that's slowing down, or a woman peeking sadly over her arms as a soothing voice mentions a laundry list of side effects.
I brushed his pseudo diagnosis aside and tried to soldier through. Then one day I was laying on the couch, cruising my phone while the kids watched TV and I thought, "Why not at least google..."
You know what one of the symptoms of depression is?
Intense anger and rage.
I started crying and Smaller Girl Child came over and said,"Mama sad? Mama so so cryin?" and she started whimpering herself. I stepped back and realized how much I affect these monsters. How much I had already affected them. I made a decision. I tried to get an appointment with a doctor up here, but the soonest I could be seen was in 2 months. I called my doctor an hour and a half away in our old town and when I asked for an appointment to discuss depression, the receptionist immediately changed her tone and asked how soon I wanted to be seen.
I got a sitter and drove down to see the PA. She asked the normal questions and typed away at the computer in front of her. Finally, she turned to me and said, "It honestly sounds like you have postpartum depression." I laughed because Smaller Girl Child was 2! She assured me that if left untreated, postpartum depression lingers and gets worse. I was told I probably had it after OGC was born which went untreated and compounded after Boy Child was born. That also went it's merry way and got even worse with SGC. Coupled with the normal life stresses, I got to this point.
I was prescribed medication and texted my mom saying, "It's official! I'm crazy!"
That's not ok. I'm not crazy. I'm not delicate. I'm not some inferior person who wasn't strong enough to man up and grow a pair.
I'm someone who battled through every day, trying to make it to bed time without any collateral damage. I'm someone who yelled at a woman at Walmart because she said something that pissed me off. Like, legit yelled at her. I'm someone who has an incredible family to support me and help and listen to me when I'm having a bad day.
I'm someone who wasn't strong enough to man up and "quit being so weird", but I'm someone who WAS strong enough to finally reach out and recognize that this was not normal.
I hope this post helps remove some of the hush hush and shame of mental illness. I hope it helps someone, somewhere (I'm looking at you random readers from Sweden) recognize their own struggles and be strong enough to say this isn't normal and get help.
I still struggle. I have to get medication adjusted because my stupid body won't let them work properly. I still yell, though not as much. I still scream at people in my head, but it's staying there instead of boiling over into the real world. But, I'm trying and that's better than nothing.
I'm sitting on the living room floor surrounded by laundry begging to be folded. Your brother and sister are asking for lunch despite being in time out for fighting...again.
As I pull jeans, pajamas, shirts, and dresses out of the baskets, I start setting aside the ones I know are too small. I also start putting your older sister's clothes in your piles because I know she's growing out of them and you're growing in. It won't be long before you've caught up to her.
The basket empties a little more and the pile of clothes for Goodwill and yard sale is getting bigger. Almost as big as the pile of clothes to be put in your dresser. I stop for a moment to soak that in. The purple snowman jammies that I watched your sister run around in were passed on to you. You crawled, rolled over, walked, ran, and climbed in them too. Now they're in the other pile. The pile that's being put away for good. Even if you had a little sister of your own, you two were so rough on those snowman jammies, there's no way they would last through another round.
You're pushing a little wooden chair around the living room and I cringe at the noise of it scooting across the tile floor. The scooting is covering up you singing "For The First Time In Forever" for the millionth ti me in forever. You stop and look at me, confused why I stopped "doin a lawn-ree".
When you ask "mama all done foldin a close?" I point to the basket and shake my head. You ask what I'm doin' and I say writing. You run and throw your arms around my neck and wipe your allergy induced snot all over my shoulder while exclaiming "MAMA WRITING?! Oh I LOVE IT!"
I'm pretty sure you don't know what writing is, but thanks for the support. I'm definitely grossed out by your nose and the wispy blonde hair stuck in the never ending snot, but this hug is too good to care.
For all I know, soon I'll be putting big snotty hugs, enthusiasm for something you know nothing about, and gibberish off key songs in the pile with those snowman jammies.
And now you're standing on the counter trying to sneak gummy worms.
I had to go back to my 3GS and everyone made fun of my Cretaceous phone.
Even the guy at the AT&T store laughed when I went in to have it reactivated.
So embarrassing
But now I have a new phone and I'm back for your uplifting and hilarity needs! I've really missed this blog. It's a nice place for me to be somewhat creative with little effort. Plus, the things I post about are a nice release of my emotions. Plus, you guys read it and make me feel famous
So hold on to your butts, because Britney Kate is back!
I posted a little while ago about my insanely juvenile adoration of dinosaurs.
Tonight, I finally got to see Jurassic World.
The only reason I didn't see the midnight premiere was Husband. He wanted to be there to witness the glorious sight known as me geeking out about dinosaurs.
I had read reviews and blog posts and Facebook statuses dealing from "THAT WAS AWESOME!" to "WHAT A WASTE OF TIME AND MONEY!"
Well, I'm here now to give you the penultimate review of Jurassic World:
I can die happy.
The one and only* thing I would change is lowering the bass on the T Rex roar so you can hear that iconic symphony resonate in your heart and take you back to a time when neckerchiefs were cool and they "spared no expense".
*i would also add in a little topless Chris Pratt, but that's just extra.
No...not...not that.
Don't look at me like that, just take off your shirt.
This movie had all the Dino DNA I could have ever asked for in a film. The nods to the original movie throughout were an awesome touch and it contained juuuust the right amount of raptor glory.
Raptors are my favorite. I love the sound they make, the way they move, the intelligence, and how frickin AWESOME they are!
I've decided that all I want before I die is for a raptor to look at me with the same respect it gave Chris Pratt.
Husband even tried to take pictures of me sitting on the edge of my chair, leaning forward, and grinning like its Christmas.
Thankfully the theatre was too dark, so you'll just have to use your imagination.
I will address the one thing most reviewers had issue with. The main girl, Claire, wearing heels through the whole movie.
"It's sexist!"
"It's cliche!"
"It's unrealistic!"
Are you aware that Chris Pratt is riding a motorcycle with a pack of raptors as they hunt down a GMO dinosaur even Monsanto wouldn't touch?
I don't think realistic was their intention...
Personally, I love that she wore those pumps and sprinted from a T Rex while flawlessly wielding a lit flare. Sexist that a businesswoman wore heels? Give me a break.
I'm not lining up for the first boat to Isla Nublar, but I am pre ordering the BluRay.
Fun fact: I hate Coldplay. I do love this lyric from their song Yellow.
I've been absent due to medical school stuff, board exam study time, and finding a new house at our rotation site. All of those things are done now, so I'm back.
Our current location is very.....desert. If you love cacti, rocks, and scrub brush then this is the place for you.
We really don't.
We're both from the Pacific Northwest and our blood runs green.
We're not Vulcans, I promise
Husband loves the great outdoors and all that's included. Hiking, camping, kayaking, and geocaching while I enjoy it slightly less.
However, down here in the great Phoenix Valley, it's all pretty much the same.
Our new location is up north. They have trees, y'all. Pine trees. And mountains. And hills. And, and, and...NAAAAATURE!
In this nature I've discovered something.
This world is beautiful. Even the cactus and rocks have a sort of minimalist charm.
You know what else is beautiful?
It's for us to enjoy.
This universe was created for us.
"Look at the stars, look how they shine for you"
They do. They shine for each of us.
When I've felt disconnected from Heavenly Father, the quickest way to rekindle that relationship for me has been to step outside on a clear night at look at the stars. Even the biggest cities will have at least one visible star.
That star is shining for you.
The flowers are blooming for you.
The waves are crashing for you.
The wind is blowing for you.
This world was made for you by a loving father so you could learn and grow and live in beauty.
Even when your life isn't beautiful. If you don't feel beautiful.
Step outside.
There will always be beauty to remind you that you are loved.
Actually, comfort food is responsible along with my inability to understand portion control.
(Two cookies?! I eat 'em by the sleeve!)
Even though these aren't the healthiest foods, they possess mystical qualities to make me happy. I pass them along to you, blog readers, in hopes that you can enjoy them too.
SNACK
My favorite snack is popcorn. I love it. I don't love it getting stuck in my teeth, but it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make for buttery, fluffy goodness. I was eating like a bag of microwave popcorn everyday when I decided that wasn't the best idea. I fiddled with the thought of an air popper, but couldn't find one with good enough reviews. So I turned to the Internet for a recipe and found this gem:
I used a wok with 3 Tbsp vegetable oil and foil on top. I have a flat top stove and if you do too, I'm so sorry. I turned the heat up to medium high and it popped much faster than my first attempt in a bowl on medium heat. It's a little more work than microwave, but it's cheaper and healthier. Plus you can flavor it however you want!
Entree
I got this recipe from an issue of Bon Appetite and have since shared it with my mom and sister. It's referred to as "the soup" or "magic soup" or just "soup". We all know what soup it's referring to.
I use kale instead of mustard greens but both are good. I also omit the peppercorns to make it less spicy for kids. The broth alone will heal your bones and PMS.
Dessert
Whoever invented this mug cake is my hero. It's started a revolution among my friends and has addictive qualities. It's also started a hashtag of #momswhomugcake.
The original recipe is huge. I make it in a bowl rather than a mug. I recommend halving the recipe first and using a regular 8 oz mug. I cook it for about 45 seconds for the half recipe and 1 minute 20 seconds for a full. It must be enjoyed with vanilla ice cream.
Those are my three favorite recipes for comfort food right now. They're powerful though and like Uncle Ben foretold, with great power comes great responsibility.
Only to have it be discontinued a couple weeks into your newfound bliss?
This seems to happen to me on the regular. Ben and Jerry's fossil fuel ice cream. Gone. Coach Poppy perfume. Currently being phased out of stores.
I get this horrific thought when these things happen, "but I like it! Why would they get rid of it?!"
Like the entire company revolves around my interest in a product. Ben and Jerry sitting up in Vermont wearing tie dye organic cotton t shirts and Birkenstocks spitballing the new line of flavors like
"Should we get rid of fossil fuel?"
"Is that the one with the little fudge dinosaurs?"
"Yeah the sales aren't doing too well, I guess people don't appreciate prehistoric shaped chocolate."
"No let's keep it. Because Kate appreciates it."
That didn't happen because this delightful treat is no longer in existence.
The same thing happens when I DONT like things anymore. I stopped watching Glee long before Finn died (spoilers sorry), and it weirds me out that people still watch it.
HELLO! Your queen has spoken!
(Im awful)
A nasty byproduct of this mentality (which I am working on bt-dubs) is that I neglect to think about other people's happiness around me.
I'm happy with my kids and our daily interactions so they must be happy too, right?
I'm happy with my marriage and the relationship Husband and I are cultivating so he's in wedded blissville too, right?
The thing is, I have no idea. I mean, I'm not being served divorce papers and my kids aren't screaming that I'm the worst mom ever, but that doesn't mean that they're as content as I am.
I'm reading a book where the main character doesn't know if her husband has left her for good, or if he's just taking a trip to visit his family. I keep thinking how does someone get to that point?! You don't KNOW if your husband has left you? That seems like a fairly important point of discussion! However, if someone is so caught up in their own preferences, opinions, and universe, would they even know the discussion is being had until it's too late?
I'm working on a thing to help expand my little field of vision to include not only my nuclear family, but the whole world around me. It's almost finished, and I'm excited to share the results with you guys*.
*meaning my mom and possibly Husband
In the words of one of my favorite hymns "then wake up and do something more, than dream of your mansions above"
Even if I was being chased by zombies, I would give it a try and then succumb with a justification that being eaten alive can't possibly be any worse than the cramp in my side and the burning in my lungs.
I've got a set of P90X DVDs sitting on a shelf, gathering dust. Who has an hour and a half to do yoga? Who wants to do cardio or pull ups with a guy who reminds me of a buff Michael Scott?
Long story short, I'm not an exercise person.
As a result, I'm in horrible shape. That zombie scenario? I would last maybe ten seconds at a full sprint. That's factoring in adrenaline and the fight or flight mentality.
I've since gotten tired of being tired and flabby and unable to survive the first fifteen seconds of a zombie apocalypse. I've decided to force myself to be fit.
I signed up to run a 5K.
I'm stupid and smart.
Stupid because I signed up for a 5K and smart because it cost money to register so I HAVE to actually do it. Since then, I've started running. It's not pretty.
It's really not, but I keep going when I can. I've run a full mile without stopping and I've run for 13 minutes straight without stopping. That's not impressive but it's a start.
I get body envy of all the super fit moms I see on Facebook and pinterest. The ones that have multiple kids and multiple abs and cute little butts. It makes me sad to see my love handles and saddle bags and pooch. It kills me when another pair of jeans has been relegated to the "not gonna happen" pile.
So what do you do when you want something? You make it happen. I've cut out pop (as of yesterday because I got a Dr. Pepper as a treat for surviving Walmart) and I'm trying to go running every day. It's hard when I have two kids at home during the day and only a single stroller. I've tried putting Boy child on his tricycle and Smaller girl child in the stroller, but boy couldn't keep up and kept trying to ride in the street.
So I started running at night when husband was home. We don't live in the ghetto, but it's not Pleasantville either. Each night run was accompanied by paranoia and anticipation of kidnap/murder/rape with each car that drove past. I'm still trying to find a happy medium, but the best I can come up with is running early in the morning while everyone is still sleeping.
I'm even less of a morning person than I am a runner.
Plus husband sometimes bikes to school so he leaves super early meaning I have to get up even EARLIER on those days.
But I am trying. And that's what matters, right?
Like the zombies will be all "guys, let's give her a break. I mean look how hard she's working! It can't be easy to run from a murderous horde of the undead, right? You go, human! You keep on shuffling awkwardly!"
I took a four hour nap today after church, so it's now 10:15 and I'm wide awake.
I finished watching Friends on Netflix last night (I still cry when Rachel gets off the plane) so I'm laying in bed going through my funny stuff board on Pinterest.
Husband has a test tomorrow for some doctor thing that I think is about STDs. All I know is he was trying to show me some NASTY pictures earlier from his lecture slides. Anyway, he has a test so I'm laying here trying not to wake him up. Which leads that the laughter where you plug your nose and air comes out of your tear ducts and you're going to have some rockin abs the next day.
Would you care to laugh with me?
I have a weird sense of humor, but some of these are universally hilarious.
I really love the floating dog leash
Lord of the Rings humor is the best
I sent this to a friend who is 37 weeks pregnant. She laughed too.
I actually did this today (Monday).
Remember when I said I love whale humor? Yeah, this one makes me almost pee myself.
This one is dedicated to Sarah Tobler. Because we both hate Samuel L. Jackson
Oh Dumbledore, you're so wise. Funny story: yesterday (Sunday) my ten year old Sunday school boys and I got into a small argument about the difference between hippogriffs and Griffins. There has never been a time I had wished so hard I had the Harry Potter books on my Kindle than that moment. I'm also appalled that one kid actually said "I don't read the books. We watch the movies. So much better." WHAT?! He almost got sent to the hall.
So, once again, you get a glimpse of how weird I am. I may look relatively normal on the surface, but I can assure you, I am really REALLY weird sometimes*
I don't even know if that's how you spell "loo" in that phrase. It could possibly be "Lou" like a name for someone...
Like a silly Sally
Or a Debbie downer
Or hungry Henderson
That last one isn't too mainstream.
I digress in my first paragraph. It's that kind of day.
So I was on facebook talking about the new Jurassic Park movie and if you know anything about me, know this:
I
Love
Dinosaurs
Not even in a science way. In a five year old boy with plastic Dino toys going "RAAAAAAAH!!!!" kind of way. So the Jurassic park movies are a big deal to me.
I was watching the Super Bowl (this is the only time I will speak of that game) when suddenly, this happens:
I stopped dead. I couldn't take my eyes off the screen. I may have yelled at our party guests to "SHUT UP THERES A DINOSAUR". My breathing became rapid and shallow and my pupils probably dilated to anime status.
Raaaaaptoooors!!!!!
When it was over I looked at husband in shock and awe and squeaked out "there's a new one?"
He then informed me HE KNEW. HE KNEW AND HE DIDNT TELL ME.
I almost left him*.
*not really
I've spent the last twenty minutes watching the trailer over and over again on YouTube and reading the comments and getting psyched all over again.
Why?
Dinosaurs are incredible. Especially the fantasy kind that can be trained to run next to you while you speed through the jungle on a motorcycle to hunt down a genetically engineered dinomonster that is threatening a dinosaur theme park. #ilovechrispratt
So here's your glimpse into my weird interest. Enjoy your lookie loo...Lou...lu?
Some things in this world are too comfy for their own good. Things that make you go "aaaaaaaaaahhhhh" and relax in a melted puddle of bones and contentment. Everyone has their own favorite comfies. Their routines. Their safe zones.
But what about the whole wide world outside the coziness?
For Valentines Day I wanted to try something different for our date and my gift to husband. Usually we go out for dinner at a restaurant and maybe a movie and then exchange gifts. My gifts to him are usually returned or exchanged because I never know what to get him.
This year I talked with my mom and sister and got the idea to paint him a picture. Soooo I did.
(Not exactly Van Gogh)
I'm not a painter, obviously, and this project took a lot of reassurance from a lot of people for me to even try. This was 110% out of my comfort zone. Even so, I finished and concocted scenarios in my head to be prepared for any reaction.
My favorite was presenting the picture to him and he stares at it, gaping in amazement before proclaiming, "YOU made this? It's AMAZING!!"
More realistic scenario being me sheepishly handing him the canvas where he studies it while stuttering, "you must have worked hard on this....it's...........interesting."
The reaction I got was somewhere in between. I mean he didn't slam it down in the closet of forgotten junk, but he didn't book me wall space at the Louvre either.
The other part of our date was a picnic at the park with a playlist of romantic songs, martinellis, and candles. Well, I forgot the bottle opener so we had to pry the bottle open with a fork. I also forgot a lighter soooo we just had unlit candles in the center of our picnic. I felt kind of stupid for not just going to Red Robin or PF Changs where everything would be perfect.
I also planned to go rock climbing.
FUN FACT: I'm terrified of heights. We went on a skyride thing at the zoo once and I almost passed out.
Rock climbing was ridiculously out of my comfort zone, but I knew it was something husband enjoyed and he would be surprised I had planned something so out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, I forgot he hurt his shoulder so we ended up at the mall shopping instead.
FUN FACT: shopping is 9000% inside my comfort zone and 9000% outside of husband's.
Even with a wrench thrown in our plans, we had a great Valentine's Day date. We both wiggled a pinky toe outside our comfort zones and it was more memorable than just another restaurant and movie date. The rock climbing groupons are good until May...so there's still an opportunity to step out of my comfort zone for a memorable date. Hopefully my harness doesn't fail as I'm climbing up and my hand slips off the grip and I hurtle downward toward ultimate doom while horrified patrons look on helplessly.
I recently read the Mindy Kaling book "Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?" and she had one part where she was talking about a guy she knew that made marriage seem terrible.
Just awful.
The people who are all "marriage is WORK."
Yeah. I get it. Marriage isn't just snuggles and his & hers towel sets and lovingly feeding each other bites at a restaurant in the candle light.
Excuse me while I barf from that previous paragraph.
That's better.
Now I'm gonna get all philosophical. Kind of.
I don't think marriage should be WORK. I think marriage should be natural.
I don't view marriage as work. I think of work as something unpleasant, yet necessary.
Like your first job in a dark basement, opening and sorting mail for an insurance company that pays slightly more than minimum wage.
Now, I know what you're thinking. I'm not saying marriage is without trials. Sure, there are moments when you've asked for a chore to be done and it goes unheeded for days on end. There are disagreements about how to fold towels and the amount of hair on the shower wall.
I need this pillow for obvious reasons
Is marriage hard? Sometimes. Is it maddening? Often. Is it worth it?
In the words of Severus Snape,
"Always."
Because even when the arguments and annoyances arise, and they will, you're still facing off against someone who is ultimately on your side. Someone who vowed to weather the storms of life or PMS or cooking your first thanksgiving.
Those are the things I try to remember when I'm on some tirade about being the only person "who even gives a crap if dinner gets put away and how many times do I have to sweep this frickin floor today?!"
That's when it's hard. When I feel unappreciated and that my hard work goes unnoticed. I get a little selfish and play butwhataboutme.
A charming game where I think of all the things Husband does, and then think butwhataboutme?
"Sure he goes to school and studies a bunch of stuff I have no clue about and sits in uncomfortable chairs listening to boring lectures...but I'm at home with kids all day and cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping and laundry."
It makes it so easy to belittle what he actually does. I just see him getting out of the house without worrying about the number of wipes left in the diaper bag and galavanting off to higher education and intellectual conversations with adults. REAL adults! I overlook the fact that he's exhausted from staying up until one am studying, only to wake back up at four to study some more. I glaze over the Tupperware of leftovers eaten cold from his lunchbox and that the adult conversation is really sitting at a laptop texting classmates about exam material.
I also forget to mention the two (sometimes THREE) hours of nap time that I get almost every day to do whatever I want. Sure he thinks this nap time is probably spent prepping dinner menus and folding clothes and cleaning counters.
It's not.
Most of the time I'm parked on the couch with a pile of snacks and either my kindle or Netflix.
Moral of the story is: you can't compare your contributions. They're separate, but equal. I scoff at the notion of him being "mom" and he chortles imagining me learning about Dopaminergic pathways from the ventral tegmental area to the nucleus accumbens and
prefrontal cortex.
I even had him type that out for me.
Don't compare his apples to your oranges. That's not innuendo either. Even though it made me giggle.
Marriage is difficult, but so are a lot of recipes. However, if you pay attention, make sure you have all the right ingredients, and keep trying even when you mess up, you'll end up with something wonderful and fulfilling.
Like cheesecake. But sexy.
Even though we piss each other off. .......................Frequently.........................
Monday, December 8, 2014
I felt prompted to write this post and I have no idea why.
It's deeply personal. More personal than asking if you can stick your tongue in my nose.
I would say no, by the way.
I'm also not posting this one on facebook. Not yet at least.
Maybe it's something to get off my chest in an effort to fully restore my soul, or maybe to help someone with a similar weight.
Whatever the purpose, it's going to be uncomfortable for all of us. If you want to stop reading after the next sentence, I completely understand.
I was sexually abused as a child.
Thinking about typing those words has caused serious heart palpitations. Typing them is borderline panic attack. I have to keep going though. Whether for myself, or someone else, I still don't know. I'm writing this as fast as my fingers can type on an iPhone.
Did you know I blog 100% from my phone? True story.
Anyway, twice when I was nine years old and once when I was ten, my step dad molested me, for lack of a more eloquent term. I've always hated the word molest. I don't know if it's the stigma attached to its meaning, but the word itself just feels like a travesty to humanity.
I never told anyone until I was 14 and a friend confided in me that she had been abused as well. For years after that, I shoved it so far back into my subconscious that I had no adverse affects in my life. I shoveled so much dirt and buried it so deep.
I was a survivor, but that really wasn't THAT difficult to accomplish.
My mom found out and brought up the idea of pressing charges. At this point I was 19 and wanted nothing more than forget that human had ever existed. Another few shovels of dirt to make sure it stayed down this time.
Then one night, after being married for just a few weeks, it all came back.
Like the walking dead of emotional trauma.
I laid in bed crying. Praying to forget it all again. Begging for it all to just disappear. I clawed at my chest in the dark, trying to feel something, ANYTHING, except the growing pain, fear, and disgust that was overwhelming me.
Poor husband had no idea what was happening. I had never told him because that meant it had to be real. Too many years had been spent pushing and shoving and stomping that notion down.
Now here it was. In my bed. With my husband. And I was paralyzed. He asked me what was wrong and I just couldn't say it. All he wanted to do was help, but even his loving embraces triggered flashbacks and another tidal wave of turmoil. Helpless, he suggested giving me a blessing.
In my church, worthy men are given power from God through the Priesthood. That power can be used to give blessings of healing, comfort, strength, and peace.
Having faith in this power, I agreed and my husband began the blessing. He blessed me to know my Father in heaven loves me and knows me and knows my struggles and my pain. He blessed me to feel that love and to have the peace it carries with it. When the blessing was finished, I finally fell asleep.
The next day, I told husband what was wrong. I expected the head tilt, knitted brow, whimper of sympathy that I detest more than anything. Instead he stared at me for a moment and then asked to give me another blessing. It followed much the same as the one the night before, but it had one key part that shook me.
"I bless you with the ability to forgive."
It's been almost 20 years since that first terrible night, and I have yet to bring that blessing to fruition. I don't know if I ever will, especially since having daughters and seeing their frail innocence and remembering and thinking, "how could you even THINK of it, let alone commit such heinous crimes?!"
I am not perfect, and I'm still a little not ok. But having reached the end of my post, my heart isn't beating wildly in protest and my stomach isn't churning at the thought of revealing such a raw part of my life. So I guess that's a step in the right direction.
Just please, please, please don't pity me. Don't put your hand to your heart and say "oh you poor thing". Don't treat me any differently. This is part of who I am and part of who I've always been. I'm a fighter. I'm strong. And I will do more than survive.
I used to be one of those "e readers are for noobs" kind of people. I love the feel and smell and weight of a book in my hand.
Then I discovered something that would forever change my literary world.
There is an app that lets you check out e books from the library. You don't even have to physically GO to the library. You don't have to drag three children through two aisles of adult fiction before the growing crescendo of "I WANT TO PLAY WITH THE PUZZLESSSS!!!!" begins to cause a weary eye to turn your direction.
You sit in your home or the local McDonald's with free wifi, peruse the titles gingerly, make a selection, and BAM!
There's a book in your hand. An unbridled universe of fact, fiction, paragraph and prose at your fingertips.
The best part?
After two weeks, it automagically returns the books FOR YOU! No suddenly remembering it's due that day and frantically rushing to the library in your jim jams in hopes of avoiding the incurred late charge of .20 a day (or $2.00 if its a movie).
This discovery was life altering for me because I, dear reader, am a reader.
I get grumpy without a book. I get emotionally involved with nearly every story. I got my Kindle on November 8th. Tomorrow will be one month and I have read...aaaah...let me check my list. Because I kept a list.
I have read 11.5 books. Not all of them have been profound works of literary art. I will admit I enjoy the written word of rom coms.
I'm currently reading The Walk series by Richard Paul Evans (which is not a romantic comedy). And I love it.
I've always loved reading, but what really cemented books into my life was my dad. You see, when we first moved to Texas to live with him, he took us to get library cards. I didn't ever have one and knew nothing of its mystical powers. Then I got grounded for the first time.
No phone.
No tv.
No playing outside or at friends houses.
You go to the library and you get some books.
"You mean my punishment is to sit in my room. Alone. And read? For hours on end?"
Guess what, dad? That was zero punishment. That was bliss. I began to read faster and devour books. I remember coming home from church one day and opening the door to find the fifth Harry Potter book on our doorstep. Fresh from Amazon. Before anyone else could realize it was there, I had snatched it up a la Book Thief (minus the Nazis, sorta), ran into my room and hungrily poured over the pages. It was finished in about 8 and a half hours. And yes. I cried. Siriusly.
Too soon?
Older girl child is five and a half and she loves reading as well. I really hope that seeing how much reading means to me will kindle a similar love and devotion to the glossy words contained in each miniature universe, bound in imagination and endless adventure.
If there's one thing I want my children to inherit from me, it's an absolute adoration for books and reading.
