What was there before you?

Dear Pacman~

Right now you are stretched out at my feet, your rounded stomach rising and falling with each silent breath, your arms occasionally flailing purposelessly for a second until you bring your tiny perfect fist into your mouth and suck wetly until you fall back asleep. Your face is serene, your limbs splayed, your lips still suckling the air. You are perfect.

I remember wondering those 42 and a half weeks what you would be like, what it would be like to carry you in my arms instead of on my pelvis. I worried that I wouldn't know how to keep you safe and healthy, how to teach you all of the millions of things you will need to know to navigate this world we are living in. I worried that you might not understand how very much you are wanted, that we would make so many mistakes trying to figure out how to take care of a brand new person that you would grow to resent us. I worried that you would hate your name or that it wouldn't fit you somehow. I worried that you were unhappy inside the cocoon my body had built for you. It seemed I was always worrying, but I also learned to love you. Every time you kicked my rib cage, or rolled over onto my bladder, or pressed your tiny forming hands and feet up against my abdomen I was surprised anew--this is my baby--the one that will belong to me and his father and our Father. The responsibility was exhilarating and terrifying and strange.

I remember the first time I held you. We were both exhausted by the immense work of labor, trying to separate two people who had been tied together for months. Your weight on my chest, your fists angrily striking the air with indignant wails at the harsh treatment of birth. You were so much more substantial than I had expected, not the fluttering bubbly movements I had been noticing for so many weeks in a row but arms and feet and a nose and fingers--a solid moving being vociferously squawking your displeasure. I remember how you calmed down eventually and just looked at me. I don't even know if your milky newborn eyes could even see yet but I could feel your soul acknowledging mine, a reacquaintenship somehow bigger than both of us. You held my finger in your hand and formed an unbreakable link--I was instantly yours forever.

The first few weeks were no joke. I wondered if I would ever feel human again. In my zombie-esque state of constant half-sleep I watched in amazement as you slept, ate, fussed, kicked, and looked at me. I was amazed at every tiny movement, constantly reminded of your you-ness--that you were a person wholly your own. Eventually we fell into a rhythm and the purple circles under both our eyes began to fade. We learned together how to be a family. Dad, mom, and you. You were patient with us as we fumbled our way through diaper changes, night feedings, tummy time, and handling techniques but you had no tolerance for bath time. Your screaming wails left me confused--your distress, though both unnecessary and caused by me--left me hollow and anxious.

Today you are 3 months old; still tiny and helpless but also blossoming into unique you-ness. Your dad and I are still floundering our way through this fledgling parenthood lifestyle, but already we love you without reason or restraint. We live for your smiles, are captivated by your coos, and become unnerved yet again every time you wail in protest. You have a new laugh--a sea-lion style belly grunt always accompanied with your wet gummy grin. You now seem to enjoy bath-time and are surprised every time you splash in the water. You are a morning person and wake up kicking and cooing, smiling and sublime. You are teaching us the science of yourself and we are eager (if sometimes slow) pupils.

Still I worry sometimes. Being a parent is both more wondrous and more terrifying than I expected it to be, though somehow I knew to expect that it would be. Will we be able to teach you of God's immense love for you? Convince you of ours? Will we keep you healthy and strong and safe? Will we ostracize you with too many restriction or spoil you with too few? Will we be able to provide the educational, emotional, spiritual, physical, financial, mental, social support you will need to flourish? Still, my worrying is tempered by your sweet smile and trusting gaze that seem to assure me that no matter how many mistakes we make, you know we are trying our best and you are willing to try with us.

Your slumbering self is beginning to snuffle awake, so I will close with this truth: I love you, Pacman. I cannot believe you are here, that God has trusted us with you for a few precious years. Your tiny form has somehow filled our lives and we love it. Welcome home.

The Story of you and me

This is the story of us. How we came to be an us and why; why it worked, why it had to be you, why it took so long, and why all of those factors are kind of the same. This  story may not be exiting or even logical but it is true and worth the telling.

We meet in the singles ward. You were new and I had been there about a month. You were looking for a new start and I was starting my new job. You were quiet but approachable and I thought you could use a group of friends to hang with. I still remember thinking as I gave you my number, "I hope he doesn't read to deeply into this." And of course you didn't.

We had been friends for about six months before you asked me out. Somehow I still felt a little nervous. Dating a friend who shared your same social circle can be dangerous. Still we had a good time. Talking was easy and natural and somehow the 45 minute drive didn't seem all that long either way. We went on another date not too long afterwards and I started to feel hopeful. Maybe we could really try this thing and maybe it would work. Maybe.

Then you stopped asking me out. You missed a few Saturday church socials and I saw less and less of you. I admit to feeling a little petty and slighted by your absence, but when common friends told me you were exploring other options I felt both vindicated and satisfied. We had made some effort but your interest was simply elsewhere. I began other pursuits of my own and we remained congenial friends. After a few months however you asked me out again. Your timing was horrid. I was making labored headway with my newest romantic attempt and having felt ignored by you once already I was reticent to let you get too close again. I was blunt. Possibly to blunt and likely much too honest as I told you I wasn't into you like that anymore, that I had been at one time but I had painstakingly talked myself out of it and was no longer there. I told you I may likely get there again but there were other players involved now and I gave you no promises. I'm still not sure what you made of all that but the date offers slowed down a bit. You went out of town and I found to my frustration that not only did I miss you but I was relieved to see you when you returned. Being the mature adult that I am I greeted you with stoic friendly aloofness to punish you for inconvenienceing me. Still you asked me on one more date and I was excited almost inspite of myself. We had a lovely time and again it all felt natural and easy but you were so maddeningly polite. Not a touch, not a hand-brush, not even a "do you want to do this again" at the door. And I was confused and frustrated. (Much like I'm sure you had been feeling for quite awhile.)

That night I called you. You didn't seem surprised or disappointed. We had the obligatory and slightly awkward DTR we decided to give it a go officially. Things went well. I was still a bit reluctant to commit and often threw in quips like"if we don't break up we should... " or "if we are still together then..." But somehow you put up with me.

And slowly, almost against my will I fell for you. Irredeemably. We dated for 6 months when I knew I had to decide if I wanted to keep you or let you go for forever. I was always more afraid of the permanence of being married than I was of you but that have you little comfort. I asked my grandpa for advice and a blessing and he taught me that I had been praying for the wrong thing. Instead of wanting to know if this was going to fail he said I should be asking if it was going to succeed. That changed everything for me. Very soon I knew you were exactly what I wanted and my hint dropping probably became obnoxious. A few weeks after that you asked me for forever and I gave you my future. Now we are an "us" for time and all eternity.

I can't promise you perfection. I can't even promise you magic. But I can promise you that I love you. That you are the best thing that has ever happened to me after being born into a gospel-centered family, and that I will do everything I can to give you back the amazing life you have given me. Let's go conquer the world together.

Engaged

I was two when I met my sister--the first family besides my parents I had ever known. She wasn't much to look at then and she wasn't all that exciting, at least not at first; but there was something magic about her. Something that made the whole world love her just for existing. Something that made me want to keep her part of my life forever. As our numbers swelled from 2 to 6 I learned that family was my destiny--all I was, and all I hoped to someday be.

I was fifteen when I finalized my plan for the rest of my life.  I would be married somewhere among my three breezy years through college then magic and babies sliding down rainbows of bliss and stability, eight perfectly behaved children in two perfect rows rejoicing at their luck to come to such an ideal home--one naturally without tears, disagreement, or dust. I would be a perfect cook, a brilliant piano teacher, and I would never lose my girlish figure or charm. It was really a good plan.

I was twenty two when I woke up one day in Korea in an experience that changed forever not only who I was but how I saw everyone else. I learned that love is messy, perfection is overrated (and unattainable), sometimes you call magic a miracle, and that there is sometimes more charm in spontaneity than precision. 

I was twenty three when I earned my bachelors degree and went into a field that I love. I was accepted into my top two choices for graduate school and began the journey that would carry me to start me on the path of fulfilling all of my professional dreams. I was twenty six when I earned my doctorate degree and left school forever. I was twenty six and one day when I began to despair of forming my very own family.

I was twenty seven when I started dating someone new--someone who felt different somehow than anyone I had ever dated before. I was very nearly scared off several times because this one carried a sticking sensation that I wasn't sure I was ready for, but that same stickiness kept me there somehow. And we fell in love, almost like magic.

I was twenty eight when one of my very favorite people on the planet asked me to be his wife. Delight, anxiety, anticipation, and a dash of untinted terror. He is sticky. Not in the jam-hands sort of way that makes me feel like I need to wash him off but in the re-usable stickers way--the way I find him attached to my thoughts and plans, the way I see him when I shouldn't be able to. The way he has become so much a part of who I am it is hard to imagine when he was not a part of me. He cut away the sluff I had hastily tied to cover my despair and filled in the space with shiny new hope. What he lacks in spontaneity he more than makes up for in delightfully dimpled charm. I gave up long ago on destiny and perfection, but I have finally found my own kind of sticky magic. And I think I'm going to hold onto it forever.

Single on the Clearance Rack

Today I had a bit of time to kill between jobs and went to a factory clearance store. As I browsed the clearance rack of the clearance outlet not really looking for anything I found myself waxing nostalgic (shocker, I know). Call me pathetic but somehow I found it absurdly unfair that these articles had been passed over again and again only to lie strewn sadly over a rack  vultured over by everyone from old ladies with canes and paisley handbags to young girls with too much shiny pink lip-gloss. Clearly their creators had meant them to be so much more--to see them unwanted and passed over this way felt vaguely wrong and unjust.

I have been single for what sometimes feels like a long time. I have watched friends, sisters, roommates, classmates, and coworkers pass into that mysterious married state as I stay stagnant and stoic. Feeling, I imagine, a little like the brand new clothes--tried on but never selected. Picked over but never cherished. Laughed at a little, brushed once or twice by the casual shopper, and maybe even in someone's "maybe" pile for a few breathless moments of hope but never actually a keeper for anyone.

Not to sound all doom and gloom--it has been a fantastic life that I am grateful for and that I have loved. I cannot regret the road that has led me here because I like where and who I am. Still, there is always that lingering nagging thought. Even now, when I am in a fantastic relationship with a fantastic man, the acrid idea berates my brain--what is it about you that makes you leave-able? They say people are single for a reason, and I feel like that's true. Why, then, are you still here?

I guess the happy ending for most clothes and people is they find a home. Be it alone or with someone, purchased or donated, bought or stolen everyone eventually meets their tomorrow. I am excited and a little nervous about what mine will be, but at least today I couldn't look at discount clothes quite the same way. They made me think of people, and I couldn't quite think of those "weird" people in my singles ward quite the same way either. It's no fun to be passed over and heckled at. This I know. God doesn't heckle. I need to love better. To make sure that everyone has a place--right beside me. In the Kingdom of God and here in this planet there is room for everyone even if they feel too flashy or worn or if they seem a little old fashioned or out of fashion or even have an odd tear or stain here or there. God loves us all just the same. It's time I did a little more loving and a little less passing over.

Seeking the Baby Jesus

Merry Christmas. Merry means full of mirth and cheer--how perfect an emotion to sum up the season. I am lucky enough to be home for Christmas--everyone's secret wish. The flight over was kind of a pain but it was worth it to hang out with my favorite people on the planet. My nephew is just old enough to have a lot of fun with Christmas, though he still didn't understand why it was fun to cover up his toys with wrapping paper instead of just let his mom give them to him. It was also fantastic to be at home--to be here where I can be just me unabridged and unfettered. It is both refreshing and a little frightening, but being surrounded by my siblings and parents is a beautiful and happy thing.

This Christmas I have thought a lot about the wise men who sought the baby Jesus. They had spent a lifetime studying and learning about the prophesied Messiah. They devoted time, means, and countless energy to learn about and find him. What a glorious emotional moment that must have been all those years ago when their efforts were rewarded with the star--the beacon of hope that was physical proof that their energies had not been in vain. I can only imagine the joy and faith such a site must have inspired. It always impressed me that after a lifetime of research, searching, prayer, and faith they presented their gifts--perhaps all they had to offer--at the feet of their king and they returned to their everyday lives somehow never to be the same. Maybe the fact that I feel like I long for a better relationship with my Savior, or perhaps the fact that I do not always know how exactly to present an acceptable offering, or maybe simply that I seek for some indication that I am on the correct path to find my Savior, but no matter what it is the story of the wise men from the East has taught me a lot this year. Perhaps in 2014 I will better be able to find my Savior, and by so doing find myself.

Thanksgiving-ness

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! This year sent me somewhere completely new but there was still be turkey, pie, sweet potatoes, and of course my Grandma's pretzel jello salad of joy. Regardless of where I ate the big meal though, I have loads to be grateful for. So in no particular order, here are the first things that come to mind.

1-  The gospel of Jesus Christ. This message is the base of all the good things in my life.
2-  The Atonement of Jesus Christ that gives me hope for forever.
3-  An amazing family. Seriously, the 7 people I hope to spend eternity with are among the most amazing people I have ever met.
4-  My degree and all the help, friendship, guidance, and ice-cream-fueled-cry-myself-to-sleep-cause-I-can't-take-anymore nights that went into making it a reality.
5-  Two jobs that I love--making my life a fantastically busy mess of greatness
6-  A great boyfriend. I am not very good at this dating thing but he is both patient and kind which makes it fun.
7-  Three funtastic roommates.
8-  The Book of Mormon and the peace it brings
9- Agency--I love the power to make and learn from my own mistakes.
10- My testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ
11- My mission and the things I learned from it.
12- Playing the piano.
13- Beets-my new Hyndai. I wasn't sure about having a boy car, but it ends up he is great!
14- Pajama pants and sweatshirts cause they are so cuddly.
15- The Indianapolis Colts. Who is feeling Lucky!!!
16- The temple.
17- Texas--the state of greatness.
18- Texas--the family dog worthy of his illustrious name.
19- Good running shoes that make it so I can run without wanting to cut off my feet.
20- Good running weather
21- Playing the guitar
22- Mascara so I don't look like a man.
23-  Raisins. They belong in EVERYTHING. End of story.
24-  Open-faced chunky peanut butter and honey sandwiches on cinnamon raisin bread.
25- A living prophet to lead and guide the way
26- brownies
27- Dark chocolate covered raisins
28- sunlight--especially in November
29- Gullybuster rainstorms.
30- A rich family heritage and legacy--lots to aspire to
31- Learning how to crochet. My mom only tried to teach me 17 times before it stuck.
32- Nertz. One of my 3 talents.
33-An inspiring heritage
34- Christmas music (now I can listen to it--it's after Thanksgiving)
35- Happy music
36- Dryer sheets
37- My body--I love love love the human body--most amazing machine in the history of all history.
38- Learning--especially about the human body!
39- hot showers
40- indoor plumbing
41-When my favorite song comes on the radio and I am alone and can sing at the top of my lungs without shame
42- When my favorite song comes on the radio and I am with friends and we can sing at the top of our lungs together
43- Towels fresh from the drier
44- Chocolate chip oatmeal cookies with raisins (of course) fresh from the oven
45- The New Testament
46- The Old Testament (even though I can't always understand it)
47- A living prophet--a Moses in my day
48- General Conference
49- The internet--what did we do before we could get anything we wanted online?
50- Disney movies
51- Star gazing
52- Goodnight kisses after star gazing ; )
53- Warm summer rainstorms
54- Curling up with a blanket and a book during cold winter rainstorms
55- Personal revalation
56- Prayer
57- Taking the sacrament
58- Laughing until my stomach hurts
59- Smiling until my face hurts
60- Modern medication for when I really hurt
61- Watching football with my Daddy
62- Memories of playing games with my family
63- Memories of doing dishes with my family
64- Cell phones that let me call my family when I can't play games and do dishes with them
65- My adorable new nephew
66- Captain America--my beta fish.
67- Clean drinking water
68- Dreams
69- Goals
70- Standing in the sand on the beach while the tide is going out
71- The smell of fresh cut grass
72- The smell of eggs cooking in the morning
73- curly hair--it's crazy and ridiculous and fun and easy to fix
74- Sitting criss-cross-applesauce
75- Children laughing
76- Getting hugs from my PT kids
77- My testimony of the plan of salvation and the direction it gives my life
78- Hymns--especially "More Holiness Give Me"
79- My parents' marriage that shows me that marriage can be a fantastic thing
80- Homemade bread with honey butter
81- Tulips-- the most dignified bulb there is
82- Daisies-- the friendly flower
83- Live music
84- Air Conditioning
85- Sunsets
86- Making someone smile
87- Airplanes--especially the ones that take me home
88- Cute clothes that make me feel confident
89- Forgiveness
90- Burt Bees chapstick. Mmmmm tingly
91- Sweet potato fries
92- coconut shrimp
93- cooking with my mom
94- Japanese Cherry Blossom flavored lotion from Bath and Body Works
95- Christmas lights
96- The temple and the promises I make with Heavenly Father there
97- Things that don't work out... cause then sometimes, something else does work out... sometimes something better
98-  Our bishopric--My calling would be just about impossible without their support
99- Korea--the smells (mostly garlic), the sounds, the tastes (mostly garlic again) and best of all the amazing people
100-The army of friends, family, and mentors that have made my life a fantastic place

I have so very much to be thankful for. God is so very good to me.  I could go on and on, but I have 2 jobs (both of which I am thankful for) to get to tomorrow.

Falling for Autmn

There is something magic about fall. Spokane sprinkled the streets and sidewalk in a crinkly cascade of red and orange fire leaves. I use to shuffle my feet and stray into the gutters to prolong the subdue cacophony beneath my feet. Now, far from Spokane, leaves, and even trees I find that even in Arizona there is still something bewitching about fall.

I love the mornings--crisp and sharp like a perfectly ripe apple. Sometimes I go running and get to watch the sunrise. The air around me is not exactly cold but somehow has a keenly sharp edge to it--fresh and new and untasted. I love the way it stings my lungs the tiniest bit, congratulating my determination for trying to wake up early and helping me finish the job.

I love how pumpkin finds its way into everything. Cookies, smoothies, decorations, fires, cakes, breads, puddings, donuts, casserole, and I even saw a pumpkin lasagna once.

I get excited about a brand new wardrobe--sweaters, hoodies (my personal favorite), jeans (wait no, maybe this is my personal favorite), scarves, hats, and fleece pajama bottoms. The colors and fabrics are exciting because they are familiar while still being fresh. I just finished winterizing my closet and while I have a lot to learn about putting outfits together I enjoy the challenge of trying.

Fall has the best smells--cinnamon, peppermint, mashed potatoes, apple pie, pine, vanilla, camp fires, and... of course... pumpkin spice.

Best of all though, I love the togetherness of everything. Neighbors, families, churches, classmates, friends, and people in general tend to merge and cooperate in a way that just doesn't seem to happen after February. People were made to love each other--that is our ultimate purpose and design. I love how the season brings out the who that we should be in just about everyone.

Happy fall everyone.

Saplings

I have recently discovered that I love things that grow. The magic never dulls to put a small hapless seed into the ground, adding sunlight and water, and watching it become something green and vivid, growing and changing. Each sapling, you know, is unique. I planted pansies in my window box and nine sprouted. Even as saplings they each look different, they grow and change at different rates. And some of them don't grow at all. Even with the risk of failure though, I love to try. I love to watch them twist and change each day. Do plants have personalities? Do they think and feel? Do they have growing pains like we do? Do they crave water and light the same way I crave chocolate and affection? It is a thrill to watch them.

I like things that grow slow. Plants, dreams and aspirations, families, testimonies, dinner rolls, and emotions.

And relationships.

It often takes me a few beats to get use to change--even if it's good. It seems slow growing things all require warmth and nourishment, time and care in order to grow strong and healthy. They grow at their own pace, each one unique. They twist around themselves and change, they surprise me and seem to often catch me off guard.

I have no idea what this one will turn into, how it will look, or if it will ever bear fruit. I suppose that is part of the magic though--the very uncertainty that makes slow growth a risk is what makes it worth trying for, because if you don't even try it will certainly die. Slowly. I don't love uncertainty, I don't love growing pains, and I certainly don't relish the very real possibility that all this could end in a heap of shallow roots and dried up twigs.

But I do love the thrill of slow growth.

The sweet of faded mirrors

I work at a nursing home, and there I am blessed to see what true, unselfish, charitable love looks like. Today I worked with a lady whose husband was so full of unselfish, undimmed love I felt like there was no possible way it could be unrequited, no matter how buried his beautiful bride seemed to be in the progression  of her tragic disease. This is what I imagine she might be thinking even if she can't recognize him.

There is something right in his his eyes--

the way the horn-rims nestle on the bridge of his nose
framing faded gray mirrors and bridge
the sea of reflection into 1001 stories and nights

but Scheherazade forgot, and now I'm tired.

I wake to a grumble like rainy gravel
that smells of Downy, denture cream, and sunrise.
"Are you tired sweetheart? I thought
I heard you whisper" his Polligrip in my ear...

Bing Crosby confuses me, I turn at the wall.

The paisley walls stare back loudly and it hurt my wrists
Crosby (or was it Scheherazade?) pats them into quiet.
My wrists and my eyes want to be still, but
the rivets in his leather extract something from somewhere.

Now my wrists want to pull away. I don't like doctors.

He stands. I want him to sit but my eyes still want still

I want to swim in his horn-rims, to taste his grumble again.
I want his leather on my wrist. There is something,

Something somewhere in the somewhere of nights...

Somewhere sweet in my heart about a creamy sunrise...

Something right in faded gray mirrors.

At an Arm's Distance

I am a simple girl with a simple personal philosophy: I LOVE being happy and avoid anything that interferes with attaining said state. Besides happy, I'm not very good with other emotions because they tend to complicate things. Using logic and carefully calculated goals and sequences I have planned and structured each aspect of my life meticulously to be something that I love that makes me happy--and I am happy.

Tonight however in addition to being happy I am overwhelmed. I am excited and glad and tired and worried and frustrated and anxious and pleased and grumpy, and in every way outmatched by this complicated disaster of tangled emotions all trying to express themselves, each demanding I use my underdeveloped ability to express it at the same time as each of the others. What a mess. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not, I can't decide if its something I like or not, and the jury's definitely out on whether or not it's something I can deal with.

I have created a lifestyle around being able to control and predict everything and race from responsibility to responsibility barely taking time out for eating let alone complicated thought. This new state of disquietude and uncertainty is both exciting and threatening, and I can't figure out quite how to take my hands off the steering wheel and lose control of the wild tempo I have set my life to long enough to try something new, and even if I could figure out how to do, so the wisdom of such an act is questionable.

I have a bad habit of holding the things I want but can't control just far enough away that I can admire them without letting them get close enough to hurt me should they be taken away, keeping myself safe at an arm's length distance. I am better at being lonely than at being vulnerable.

But I think I like this boy. It is true that I am nervous and unsure and trying to figure this all out as I go. It is true that maybe I am in over my head and that I feel vulnerable and anxious and not at all in control of the situation. It is possible that this will hurt at sometime, but it is also possible that I really do like him and I would hate for it to fail just because I'm no good with emotions. Maybe I will have to learn to bend my elbow just a little bit.

When Things Wash Away

On Friday night me and 2 of my roommates drew a sidewalk chalk mural on our driveway in preparation for the return of our third roommie. It wasn't exactly a masterpiece (at least not my contribution sections) but it was kind of a fantastic explosion of colorful (if poorly proportioned) representations of many of the things we love. We were probably out there for about an hour drawing fish, stars, song lyrics, and all sorts of nonsense. It was fun to imagine her excitement as she came home to find the driveway covered in our love and affection.

Then the rain washed it away about an hour and a half after we finished.

Arizona obviously does not have very many big rainstorms so this one, while being unfortunate in its timing, was something fun and different. As I walked barefoot in the warm runoff and let the rain-pellets hit me over and over again I couldn't help but laugh at the irony of the situation. I love the rain. I do. I love the feel of it, the smell of it, the taste and sound of it all. And I love the way it makes everything fresh and clean and fantastic. In Texas (and yes, I know people hate when I start sentences this way, but oh well) the rain comes down in buckets to drench everything in fantastic great big Texas style. I miss that. This is my sister when we were dancing in a classic Texas rainstorm.

Still, it was hilariously tragic that the rain washed all of our efforts away.

I feel like this is my life, though. As a single adult building myself and my life and my future I travel from place to place and group to group, spend months and months building fantastic friendships and relationships that I treasure only to move away or stay while others move away or marry and move on until yet again I am left with a blank driveway slate to fill yet again with colorful people and experiences. Maybe this is how everyone feels, married or not, but for me, I feel like my life is in a constant state of construction (kind of like the highways in Utah) with building up and taking out and re-positioning all over the place.

Taken in the abstract, this process is exhausting. Truly it is. To start over again and again and again is not easy, it is usually lonely, and sometimes it's not even fun. Still, constant recreation has its virtues too. I have met dozens of amazing people from all over the country who I love. In interacting with so many people and forcing myself outside of my comfort zone I have learned valuable things about myself that I am both grateful and averse to acknowledge. Being able to paint my life again and again allows me to slowly but steadily do what I can to build myself into the person I want to be instead of just the person I am, even if I end up smudged and misshapen along the way.

Plus, there is something to be said for the experience of painting a mural, even if the rain leaves us with little to show for it. Maybe my returning roommate did not see our work of art but we did. I learned how to draw eyebrows with sidewalk chalk. That is something. We laughed and smiled and squatted and played. That is absolutely something. Loving people, even if they aren't people I can't keep, has a cleansing affect even more powerful than the rain for me. I leave each place, or perhaps more accurately I leave each person less blemished than I was before I came. So even if I end up alone or blank or even a little bit bewildered and lost at the end of each adventure it's alright because I also end up more somehow. I end up someone who can draw an eyebrow. I end up someone who can smile a little easier than I could before. I end up someone with stronger quads from squatting in the driveway.

So let the mural begin again. I will conquer this new fresh slate because I have a Heavenly Father who knows how to paint perfectly, and while my scribbles probably inspire much more amusement than awe, if I allow Him He can paint me into a masterpiece. And yes it will be a little lonely, and of course I will make many mistakes, and certainly sometimes I will look at the chalky mess and wonder what in the world I have done and how could I have possibly messed everything up so thoroughly. But that's alright, because for times like that I can say, thank goodness for a good Texas-style rainstorm!

The Worst Delightful Camping Trip

This entry is an attempted copy of my sister’s style. I am not nearly as creative, talented, or artistic with Microsoft paint as she clearly is but I will do my best. This story really needs illustrations as it is too unbelievably craptastic to be believed any other way. Here we go.

I love camping. We use to do it a lot when I was younger before my dad was called to be so involved in the scouts program that he got tired of camping. Still, as a child I learned to love waking up to the sounds of birds, eating breakfast with the smell of charcoal, looking at skies bursting with stars, and even putting up the tent and sleeping on the ground. So I decided that we needed to go camping with a group of friends. So, on a rather ordinary Friday night we took off, cars packed with gear, arrangements made, for a great fun camping trip in the mountains of Flagstaff.

This is what it was supposed to look like. If only this was my only illustration.

Our first misadvanture happened on the highway. While listening to Hakuna Matata from Disney’s The Lion King soundtrac a terrible thumping noise. We pulled to the side of the road to find that our back driver’s side tire was totally destroyed. Luckily we had a chivalrous boy in our car who took changing the tire on while we did obnoxious dance moves to try and ward the 90-mph careening semis into the other lane to prevent his imminient death while crouched precariously on the shoulder of the road over the devastated remains of the tire. After a sucessful change we continued our journey at a much slower donut-friendly pace. Somewhere along the remaining half-hour or so driving to our campsite destination the other car called to inform us that there were no available camping spots but that they would keep looking. We made it to the parking lot of Discount Tire in Flagstaff and spent the next hour or so fielding calls from the other car who were not finding anything anywhere while we slept in the car. Finally, around midnight we decided we were done and decided to check into the hotel across the way.

The sign advertised these amenities:
1- free wi fi (this one was true)
2- newly remodeled (this one was DEFINITELY not)
3- comfortable beds (debatable)
4- color TV (this part of the sign was the biggest and brightest haha)

While I have stayed at less reputable places this certainly was no welcoming wilderness canopy. Granted, most of us were so tired we just collapsed where we landed (boys on one side and girls on the other, obviously) too tired to really even consider the propriety of our sleeping arrangements. The last thing I remember before slipping into a long-awaited (if oft-interrupted) slumber was the sound of sirens blowing past our hotel and someone saying something about how well that sound fit into our current sleeping arrangements.

After a slightly awkward scene of taking turns in the dinky bathroom morning and a bit of puttering around and getting lost again we found a park to cook breakfast at. While there I decided to grab the business end of a hot pan, burning all of my fingers on my right hand. The friend handing me the pan burned his hand too in a valiant but futile effort to prevent my stupidity. He handled his pain well, but this event left me grumpy and snappish all day and I found that the best way to stave off the throbbing was to wave my hand up in the air.

After breakfast, we went hiking. This picture really is just cause I wanted to use crayons in the computer paint program which is both amazing and ridiculous.

The hike was beautiful and fun, even if the top did look like something from Mordor in the Lord of the Rings. Still, it was a beautiful, cool, fantastic way to spend our day. We kind of broke into 2 groups that flexed and flowed a little. The tire-changing champion was in a hurry to get to an activity back in Phoenix so one group raced down the mountain while the other went at a reasonable pace. Fun story attached to this—when the fast group got to the bottom they found out the keys, phone, and wallet for Mr. Tire Changer were locked in the other car. Luckily he still had a ride back but he had to make it to his appointment without any of his stuff.

Coming down we realized that one member of our party was not with either of the two descending groups. We called his name and looked for him but neither group found him as we descended. Luckily he did make it down the mountain. I was sleeping on a rock when he came down before the second group made it. Unfortunately both of our phones were dead so we just let everyone else worry while we drank the rest of our water supply.

Luckily we all made it back to Phoenix without further incident but this will have to go down as my worst camping trip EVER. Quite possibly THE worst camping trip ever as we didn’t even go camping.  Why I am still smiling as I write about it is beyond me. I guess even utter disaster can be fun and delightful.

God DID Bless America!

Today was my first Independence Day as a real live physical therapist. At work we don't really get holidays off. As one of my co-workers stated, sickness and disease don't really take a vacation, so I suppose it makes sense that we don't either. So today while my family was out on the lake in Oklahoma, my friends were sprinkled from Boston to California, and my roommates were going to visit our injured comrade in Utah I spent the day battling disability and lice at my rehab facility.

There was something exciting and gratifying, though, about serving those who have built the nation I call home. We have several veterans, a few teachers, a smattering of house-wives, accountants, scientists, librarians, a garbage collector, and dozens of parents and grandparents who brought up girls and boys just like me and my siblings. Call me corny, but for just a moment today our crowded gym of the elderly in varying stages of rehabilitation were transformed into a veritable army of fantastically ordinary people who carried the load of America for the fifty-some-odd years before I was ready to pick up my portion of the work.

The Founding Fathers gave their genius, efforts, and in some cases their very lives so that I can live in the best nation on the planet, but so did my grandparents, and their grandparents, and countless generations of unremarkably obscure individuals who built the world I live in just by going about doing their labor, being who they were, living out their dreams and sorrows, and generally doing the very best they could with what they had.

How inspiring.

I think that is truly what makes America the greatest nation. The government, the constitution, the thousands of miles of beautiful land and resources, the parallel oceans that protect us, and the inspiring history of courage and bravery really serve as scaffolding for the wonder that is the anonymity of living the best way you can just because that's what you should do.

So today I honestly don't mind working. I don't mind a grinding 9 hour day of lice and maggots and an achy back and watching the miracle of the human body healing itself. I don't mind because this is what I can do. This is how I can contribute the the greatness of America. It may be small, it is certainly inadequate, but all the same, I will throw in my Mite into the effort and myself into this crazy fray they call life.

Theodore Roosevelt once said, “Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.” So, Teddy, I will. Happy Independence Day!

Occam's Razor

 
There is a fantastic phenomenon known as Occam's razor-- the idea that the most simple, straightforward answer is the correct one. This idea delights me because I am simple and un-embellished and hate complicated far-fetched answers and things. There is something brilliantly exciting about pure, unadulterated genuine-ity. So, with a simply brilliant non-flourish I re-introduce Occam's razor into the universe.

For example: if someone has been hospitalized for several weeks and is now unable to stand up without help chances are good this is a result of weakness and being sick and NOT because they have suddenly developed a rare bacterial disease or because they have somehow lost their motor planning skills or their desire to participate in activities and the likelihood that they suddenly have developed some sort of spongy bone or late-onset of a deadly auto-immune disorder. Rather, someone who is sick and weak is mostly just that--someone who is sick and weak.

If I step on the scale and find myself a few pounds heavier it is not likely to be due to a thyroid problem, being over-hydrated, or not sleeping enough leading to issues in my pituitary or hypothalamus going into crazy weight-gain mode. The scale's reading is much more likely a direct result of my unfortunate habit of eating too much and exercising not enough.

If a cute boy does NOT ask me out it is not likely that he is intimidated, confused, playing hard to get, or waiting for the perfect moment--he is most likely simply not that into me.

So lets simplify our lives, shall we? Take that razor and cut through the excuses, shave off the crap, and to divide cleanly the stuff that matters and the stuff that is real from the stuff that doesn't and the stuff that isn't. I find that as I try and do that--find the stuff that matters and ignore the rest I find that really truly most of the stupid stuff that makes me crazy doesn't matter, which means that hopefully, I can cut some of the stupid crazy out of my life.

And really, who couldn't use a little less stupid crazy in their lives?

Warm Fuzzies

I tend to wax philosophical when I run without music which, considering how overboard my musings tend to go, is probably why it's a good reason I don't do it very often. A few days ago I was running and I decided that this planet really all in all is a pretty fantastic place. Sometimes I feel like we spend so much time talking about how hard life is, how we have challenges to overcome and how the world is going to hell in a hand basket, how the country is all messed up, how you have to just push through the hard times no matter what. I'm not saying that there isn't trouble or pain or challenges that we have to go through--there absolutely is. We learn in the scriptures that these challenges and pains and the changes they cause us to make in ourselves are in a large way the purpose of our existence. Even with that, sometimes I think we focus on that so much that we miss the evidence of God's love and support that surround us.

I have a few deeply seeded beliefs--ones that I refuse to let go, ones that I am not likely to be talked out of no matter how convincing the argument. Beliefs that absolutely ring with truth. That people, when you give them the chance, really are good. That the universe IS on our side. That there really are few problems that we face that time and prayer can't diminish even if they won't cure them totally. That smiling makes everything feel better. That it really is what's on the inside that counts. That just being myself is enough. That no matter how many times I make dumb mistakes and mess up I will be able to somehow make it right with the help and support of my Savior. That each sunrise is like a promise of a brand new start.

The truth is that I feel like often we spend so much time looking inward and backward and forward that we miss on the spectacular view from outwards that is this fantastic thing called life. So as I ran down the street dripping sweat like a faucet I determined yet again that this world is a fantastic place to be and that I am going to live better in it, doing my best to keep my chin up, my face to the sun, and my heart open to the happiness all around me. Happy today everyone!

Homesick

It's calling my mom three times in two days,
talking about nothing, a river of words
hoping that she'll tell me it's going to be alright"
just one more time.

It's aching to be held while pushing their arms away,
mine tight against my chest so nothing falls out
wishing for someone to love me "as is"
no reasons needed.

It's smiling because I have to, no tears allowed
nodding in the right places, agreeable bobble-head
holding back my own "...self"
cause no one wants to hear it.

It's tired and lonely, a bittersweet tang
of goodness and warm summer camping trips
the who I was and who I am
in an uneasy alliance

Hats

I was recently called as the relief society president in my ward. This has been an adventure--a frightening and overwhelming and clarifying one that shows me my flaws and weaknesses in brilliant blinding clarity. Needless to say, it is not a role I am very good at just yet. Maybe after seventeen years (a term I am not willing or able to fill) I would figure it out a little, but as for now I am just going to have to let the Lord carry the brunt of everything. A friend suggested that I might do better if I had a "relief society president" hat. A personality I could put on to fulfill my relief society duties--one that is always happy and willing and accepting and righteous. In physical therapy school I had a professor who suggested the same thing as we became physical therapists--that we put on a hat that was confident, accepting, patient, wise, and never let anything or anyone get to them. I've had the same advice with regards to dating. Put on a hat--make it a cute one--one that is adorable and lovable and not too capable cause guys don't like that, but one that is still smart and perpetually cheerful, and unquestionably a good cook.

Here's the thing tho--I really don't have a hat head. I put one on and my frizzy hair flies everywhere and betrays me for exactly who I am--me.

I only know how to be me.Sure I am usually cheerful and happy but sometimes I have a bad day too--one where I can't smile at everybody. Sometimes I am tired, sometimes I am grumpy, sometimes I don't know what to say or how to say it, sometimes there are things I just don't want to do even if I end up doing them, sometimes I don't know how to help people the way I need to. Sometimes... more like always... I am awkward around guys--especially if they are guys I kind of like. Hat or no hat, I am just plain me. I don't know how to be anyone else and trying to change my personalities at the drop of a hat (bwahaha for cheesy puns) is not something I am comfortable with nor is it something I feel like I have the ability to do.

I think that I would rather improve my personality than my hat collection anyway.

Why I Hate the Dating Game

So here comes- another estrogen-driven rant on dating, so please consider yourself warned.

So I hate dating. I hate that there are rules and guidelines that everyone is just suppose to magically know and even though these rules seem to change every few years everyone is just suppose to secretly keep up with said adjustments and clandestinely figure out the appropriate way to sell ourselves to the opposite gender in a way that is both memorable and adorable while still being, at least on some level, genuine (as one who constantly has a hard time keeping up with the secret dating rules, I cannot tell you what level of genuine is considered appropriate, but my guess would be somewhere around 72% from what I have seen). All this is just to even begin dating, never mind the procedural processes and ending etiquette.

I hate stupid sayings like "be yourself, but make sure it's your best self" like I have a closet of selves that I can pull my Sunday best out of instead of just being me all the time. "You marry who you date" is another one--I don't date very much, and I don't marry anyone. Or, "beauty is only skin deep" paired with "you are beautiful inside and out". Granted, having gone through a cadaver lab I definitely see the beauty in muscle and sinew and organs but I somehow don't think that is what people are talking about here. The real question is, then, why all the anatomy analogies?

I hate trying to guess what I should do next, who I should smile at and when I should not smile, when it's alright to giggle and when someone is being completely sappily serious and giggling not only hurts feelings but burns bridges as well. Come to that, I hate being sappy and serious anyway, and I'm not crazy about bridges or fire either. I hate not knowing if someone likes me or not. I know that is stupid and juvenile and middle school, but there you go. More than the perpetual singledom it's the uncertainty that really drives me crazy. What if he doesn't like me, or even more scary, what if he does? And if he stinking does, why doesn't he ask me out?

I like my rules--they may not be right, but they are simple and easy to understand.
IF he likes you, he will ask you out for at least 2 dates--otherwise don't waste time what-if-ing about anything.
IF dating someone feels hard and awkward and you don't really feel like you can talk to them after said 2-3 dates, it's probably not worth it. Don't waste each others' time.
IF you are in the same ward, think twice--peeing in your own pool makes everything more complicated.
IF you are friends first, things tend to work better.
And most importantly: IF you are unhappy being single, you will probably be unhappy in a relationship. Just be happy and date other happy people. That is all.

Great rules right? Why can't I make the rules? I need to have a serious discussion with the secret dating rules creation committee and submit some very reasonable revisions to their complicated mess. My sayings would be things like- "if you don't ask me out I'll never know if you like me" or "the friend-zone is actually a fun place full of... friends!" or "a smile and a hello is not the same thing as 'I think you are the one' " or my personal favorite, "just say what you stinking mean, dang it."

My Irrational Fears, aka This may be ridiculous but...

Cause sometimes it just feels better to release irrational fears into the universe:


I will never ever pay off my loans. Like the widow of Zarephath whose oil never ran out no matter how much she burned, my debt will build and build no matter how much extra I pay off each month.

Toy Story is based on some level of truth and my dolls and toys all feel  abandoned and misused because I never wrote my name on permanent marker on any of them.

I will be single until I'm at least sixty seven, and then if I try and have kids at that point they will come out all shriveled and wrinkled, and I will be dead before the kid graduates college.

I will be sick forever. I won't ever ever get over this cold. I will be coughing up pink and purple phlegm until I die.

A spider will come and lay eggs in my ear while I sleep while I'm camping. I believe this one so thoroughly that I often sleep with my covers over my head whenever I camp.

I am going to make a stupid mistake at work someday and be sued and never be able to practice PT again.

The Arizona water is so bad that I might get a parasite someday from drinking it.

My parents only tell me they are proud of me because they know about my fragile self-esteem and that I need their approval.

I will never learn how to cook and my kids will have to grow up on coconut covered red-wine vinager and raspberry jam baby carrots.

I am actually exceptionally stinky and ugly and everyone knows it except for me. Maybe that's why I will be single until I'm 67...

My personal 10 commandments of health

What I have learned from my recent health issues (whether I can follow them or not, these are my new goals):

1. Eat more- because eating is heavenly, and your body doesn't do so well without food
2. Stress less- because there are things I can change, and things I can't and stressing doesn't change either type
3. Live in the moment- because the next moment will come whether you enjoy this one or not
4. Smile- it really does make you and those around you feel better.
5. Eat dark chocolate- because it's delicious, and everyone needs a little bit of sweet darkness in their lives
6. Learn to accept the help of others- because sometimes it's too hard to do everything on your own
7. Sleep at night- because if you don't you will find yourself sleeping other times, and that can cause problems
8. Read your scriptures first- cause otherwise you might not make time, and it's a great way to wake up
9. If you're body is doing something because you're too stressed out, don't stress about your body doing it cause that just makes whatever it's doing that much worse. I'm sad to say a doctor had to tell me that one.
10. It's alright to take a sick day! Sometimes your body needs you more than everyone else.
11. And one to grow on- sometimes "me time" is some of the most important time of your week. Take it!