favorite things

On Tuesday M and I are attending our 20wk ultrasound, so that’ll be worthy of it’s own post. Until then, I’ve been wanting to do a “favorite things” post for awhile now.  So here it is, a list of things for which I have a deep appreciation. This list could be huge, so I’ll break it into many posts over time.

1. origins makeup. This is a new discovery. I’ve wasted so much money on various types of makeup over the past few years. I have sensitive, acne-prone, combination skin. Most makeup makes my skin break out. I gave Bare Minerals a try, and have used it for the past six months or so. It does mean less breakouts, but I do have a few complaints.

a. I go through it too quickly. This is largely due to reason b.

b. It’s way too messy. I have a professional grade brush, and despite my best tap-swirl-buff efforts, more of the powder goes over my shirt, the sink, and the counter then remains on my face.

c. I don’t think the coverage is that great. Unless I CAKE it on, my face still looks uneven and splotchy. Because acne is my constant companion, light but thorough coverage is my friend.

THUS, I found myself at the origins counter at Macy’s recently, where I was transformed. I’m always hesitant at department store counters, because past experience has taught me that it’s far too easy to get talked into spending obscene amounts of money for products that are not, in the end, remarkable. Plus, I always feel not nearly glamorous or stylish enough to be frequenting these counters. The counter sales ladies always look me over from head to toe, unimpressed, uneager to make my shopping experience worthwhile. But Origins. . . was therapeutic. No sales pressure. I played with products unencumbered for half an hour. I sampled everything. The skin products, which I’ve long loved, are amazing -from performance to fragrance, the whole effect is luxurious. But the makeup was unventured territory. I kept wondering if I could get the same effects with Loreal and save a few bucks. For mascara, maybe. But the rest? No. The caked -on look is my greatest aesthetic fear and I’ve learned that a few more dollars does make a difference in this area.

I was so pleased with what I bought. The face powder is sheer, silky, and just right. My complexion actually looks even. The blush glides on and highlights without looking garish. The lip products don’t age me by twenty years. I could go on and on. Their products are amazing, natural, and smell awesome. It took a lot of self control to not drop $40 on the new ginger essence perfume. YUM. I’m hooked.

2. Mangoes. Yes, the fruit. In any form. I can’t get enough. The fruit is better than candy. And have you ever finished off an amazing Thai meal with a mango-sweet rice dessert? HEAVEN.

3. Tortilla Land uncooked flour tortillas, which are sold at Costco and I wish I knew where else. We live over an hour away from the nearest Costco, and so make it down about once a month. We always stock up on these – once you’ve had fresh cooked tortillas, you can never go back to the grocery store rubber variety. They change your perspective forever. I’ve tried a few times to make my own, experimenting with recipes I’ve seen on line, but the texture is never quite right. These store in the freezer or fridge, and take only a few seconds on each side before you have a bubbly, soft, warm tortilla that is almost as good as any tex-mex or road stand offering. I wish I could find someone selling them closer.

4. Also a Costco love: their mango peach salsa. Don’t know who makes it. I could live off this and chips alone.

5. Thymes Kimono Rose lotion. The scent is amazing -light, feminine, intoxicating. However, this lotion is a bit pricey. It’s definitely a rare splurge item for me.

6. my pedometer. I’ve been going walking every single day for the last several weeks, trying to get back into my old habit of being active every day. Especially with a desk job, and being 4.5 mos pregnant, I’ve found it increasingly uncomfortable to sit still for so long. I used to be so good about being active. Also, I’m worried about gaining too much weight with this pregnancy. I know it’s crucial for my baby’s wellbeing, so I don’t want to deprive myself. But I also don’t want to eat just to eat, or because it’s easy to hide behind the excuse of being pregnant. I want to stay active and healthy, and then be able to continue that pattern once our baby is born. If I can’t do it now, I sure as heck won’t be able to do it with a newborn. So walking it is. It’s good for my mental health too. My pedometer is my new best friend. My goal is 10,000 steps a day, which I rarely make sitting at a desk all day. But I’m working on it. It has an alarm and counts calories for me too, and it was 5 bucks and Big 5 sports. Yay for cheap motivation!

forming a birth plan, or – letting go of fear and negativity (17wks)

thoughts as of late:
photos. . . I am considering starting to take a few pictures of how my body is changing at this stage. I have to override my inherent self consciousness with the realization that I am loving the experience of pregnancy, loving what my body looks like right now, and no doubt ten years from now will look back at pictures of myself with a much more forgiving eye. I’m starting to feel more confident in my general health and wellbeing, more optimistic towards the outcome of this pregnancy. I’m no longer stalked by an inordinate fear of miscarriage. I know complications could still happen, things could go wrong, but I’m so healthy and everything so far looks absolutely perfect as far as the baby is concerned. The relief and intense gratitude I feel at this point is enormous. It allows me to relax and focus on the miraculous beauty that is occurring minute by minute.
preparing for delivery. . .It is an unalterable reality – women share their birth stories. The joy, the gore, the struggles, the miracles, the drama. Women speak, and younger women listen, eyes wide open, emotions emerging, thinking of how we are both simultaneously in awe of the sheer strength of the women in our lives and yet becoming more terrified by the minute. Is this in my future? Will it be like that for me? I don’t know if I want to experience that. . . I’ve been surrounded by these stories my entire life. When I was younger, the thought of laboring to bring forth a child pretty much struck terror into my heart. Now that the experience is in my near future, I’ve learned that I want to be educated and informed, and if possible, empowered. Yet as I’ve immersed myself in books, literature, and websites, the result has been less than ideal. There is enough information out there for an inexperienced gal like me to really stress herself out. And stress myself out I did. It wasn’t intentional, but I learned of everything that can possibly go wrong in labor and delivery. I learned that women who had negative experiences with less than compassionate doctors and nurses need healing, and thus are more vocal with their stories and complaints. Their search for catharsis is necessary, but it can also be toxic to someone in my situation who needs realistic information without ending up frightened to the very core. I just finished reading Naomi Wolf’s misconceptions and while there are things about that are so essential, so blatantly necessary, it’s also a very depressing book. Maybe that’s not negotiable – her purpose might not have been achieved with a more balanced tone. I’m glad I read it. I’m glad I am informed at how rapidly one’s best hopes for birth can be tossed aside for a myriad of reasons. But I’m also at the point, after way too much anxiety, where I need peace. Even if the birth ends up being a high-intervention medicalized drama, as long as the result is a healthy baby, I want peace. I spent so much time reading about everything wrong with medicalized births today, and I think many of the criticisms are valid and worth pro-actively fighting. But I have seen as recently as last week a friend give birth who did everything she could – prenatal yoga, months of hypnobirthing training, care from a midwife clinic dedicated to giving her a natural birth, and months of preparation to do her birth unmedicated. Her baby girl was born last week. After 24 hours of labor, maternal fatigue and fetal distress combined and an obstetrician had to intervene. She narrowly avoided a c-section, and ended up with an epidural, an episotomy and forceps, and a healthy baby. She is emotionally devastated as to the conclusion of the birth. The fact that everything went so differently despite her most exhausting and impressive efforts to do things the way she wanted to has resulted in her being so disappointed. And yet, she didn’t have a c-section, and her baby is gorgeous and completely healthy. I don’t have the context for her feelings, and am in no place to criticize or judge in anyway, but iI see her experience a lesson to me.

I want to do what I can to ensure the best outcome. I want to be physically strong, healthy, and literally trained as much as possible for birth. I want to use strengthening exercises and other activity to prepare my body for the endurance marathon that is labor. I want to be mentally prepared for pain,a nd also open to appropriate pain management so that my anxiety and stress doesn’t get in the way of my physical progress. I want to do everything I can to allow my baby to enter this world as naturally as possible. I want the doctors to know that I would rather let them let me tear slightly than just automatically cut me. I want to request that I be given periods where I’m not monitored so that I can move about the room to labor in positions that facilitate gravity. I want to be allowed to attempt breastfeeding in the first hour after birth to facilitate our best odds at successfully bonding and feeding naturally.

When it comes to giving birth, I want to be able to give it my very best chance. I want the doctors and staff to give me that chance.

However. If it should be the case that I’m going to tear graphically and severely, or if my baby enters fetal distress, or if my exhaustion becomes so severe that it threatens my baby’s safety by overly prolonging his/her birth, or if the cord wraps around his neck, or if I hemorrhage, or if a million other things go wrong that mean that my body’s powers are no longer sufficient – then I want to feel peace knowing that I am delivering in the most medically advanced country in the world, and that the decisions they make are not motivated by an evil agenda but by their desire to see my baby born healthy and to keep both of us alive. And when I leave the hospital, I want to feel grateful for the healthy outcome, and be able to shed toxic feelings of failure and inadequacy. I may be naive and overly hopeful here, but they say those postdelivery hormones are stressful enough. I really, really, really don’t want to view the delivery itself as so profoundly disappointing and traumatizing that it hinders my recovery.

This is as much of a birth plan as I can muster at this point. I may look back in a few months and laugh at my lack of nuance and understanding. I don’t care. I know one thing for sure.

I will not be successful if I enter feeling set up to fail, terrified, and in doubt of my abilities.

I am 24 years old, in perfect health, with nothing in the world to complain about.
I can do this.

showing. (15wks)

The last few weeks are a blur of work and sleep deprivation. I’ve been so busy. Work is getting more and more stressful. I keep telling myself I only have to make it five more months, and then office life is over. I can’t believe how much work replicates everything I see parodied in The Office. I know, we love The Office and Dilbert because they’re so dead on, but they’re also outrageous. Which means my office dynamic and coworkers are likewise outrageous. And mind numbing. And frustrating. Good people, usually. But it wears me out.

I have a lovely little belly. Am definitely showing. It’s expensive to buy a new wardrobe. I’m making do with what I can as long as I can. Mark and I are very excited to prepare for the baby. I worry that the next five months will drag on indefinitely. I have been having nightmares of something happening to the baby – of it not surviving. I have this weird anxiety that takes place until I can get back to the OB’s office and make sure that the heartbeat is still there. I am going to be a worrier parent. Need to work on this.

a birthday of birthdays. (11wks)

Wednesday was my 24th birthday. It was a birthday to never be forgotten. It was a really neat day with my family – well I had to work most of the day, which wasn’t the most fun, but that’s life. But then Mark and I had a life changing experience. My first intake appointment with the OB was scheduled for that afternoon, so we left work early and headed to the appointment. We met with the genetic counselor and I had some blood drawn. I asked the nurse if I had to wait for my next appointment in two weeks to hear the heartbeat, which is what I was waiting for in order to tell my family our news. At only 11 wks, it’s a bit early, but she said You can definitely hear the fetal heart tones today. I was thrilled. We went into an exam room, and she spread the cold gel along my belly, and placed the Doppler microphone-looking tool on my belly, and we waited. She checked position after position, moving the device over and around and back and forth, and all that came through was a slow steady normal adult heartbeat. Mine.
She said Are you positive on your dates? I said I chart religiously. I am dead positive when conception occurred, when my last period started, etc. I have no doubt in my mind. And inwardly, my heart was sinking. My greatest fear ever since the positive pregnancy test on Valentine’s Day morning was that the symptoms would vanish, that we’d end up devastated after our hopes had soared. I actually appreciated the two+ months of almost daily vomiting, because I knew it meant the pregnancy wasn’t in my head. And then at week 10, the nausea stopped. Even though it was a relief to feel better, I couldn’t shake the fear in my heart that maybe something was wrong. I felt like until I heard that heartbeat, I’d have no peace. So when the nurse couldn’t find it, I thought the worst, but at least I would have some certainty. The nurse said there could be a few reasons why we weren’t hearing it, and that if I wanted to, we could do an ultrasound that day. It would require haggling a bit with the insurance to get them to cover an extra ultrasound, but she said that it was possible and that if I wasn’t going to have peace of mind between now and the next appt, then it was certainly acceptable to do the ultrasound. I thought about it, and how it would be more pragmatic to just wait, but considering how anxious I’d already been, how could I handle another two weeks wondering if the absence of the heart tones was a permanent end? So we scheduled the appointment for later that afternoon.
The hours in between were stressful. It was so hard to think that this would be yet another disappointment. It’s so easy in a situation to expect the worst. Mark and I went and sat in a park while we waited and talked about faith and about learning to accept God’s plan for our family no matter how things go . . . and trust. It was a good talk and it really helped me be calm and go into the ultrasound knowing that no matter the outcome, it would be okay. And so we got in there, and then the minute the pictures showed up on the screen, I saw our little guy and right away was just overwhelmed with happiness. I just had tears going down my cheeks – at just three months gestation, this little baby was the most beautiful little human being doing full on water aerobics – arms reaching, leg kicks, back arching, turning over, sticking it’s little bum out and in, out and in, and that little heart pounding away at exactly 167 bpm. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and the nurse said this baby is thriving and vibrant and exactly the right size and. . . Mark and I have been on such a high ever since. It was the most wonderful birthday present in the world. The little pictures we have are darling and so precious to me.

We told my parents last night, after we went over there for a birthday dinner and I opened a few presents and then told them that for my birthday we wanted to announce another birthday this fall (Oct 18). And then whipped out the ultrasound pictures. Oh it was classic to see the look on my dad’s face. It was priceless. And so much fun. Of course my mom suspected, and I knew she did. You can’t fool the Mom radar. Never works. But everyone is so excited, and I’m just relieved to be able to not try to hide that my pants don’t fit and that I’ve been throwing up for three months:) I definitely have a little bump already which Mark adores.

There’s still a part of me that’s fearful, and I’m trying to silence those thoughts and remember that every single day the chance of miscarriage drops so much but I think I’ll breathe a huge sigh of relief when we hit the point several months down the road when I know that baby’s gonna make it for sure. I just want to hold on to the happiness I have right now and savor it forever.

last week

march 7 2008. I’ve pretty much wrapped up my first month at my new job. I was really worried for awhile that things weren’t going to work out and I’d have to quit just as I was starting, since I found out three days in that I am pregnant. But now I’m 8 wks pregnant and a month into work, and things look like they’re going to be okay. I’ve definitely had a roller coaster month as far as symptoms and emotions. The morning sickness kicked in about week six, which meant I had to tell my supervisor I was pregnant. Way too early to be telling anyone, but I was so sick and it affected my work. I called in sick one day, but I don’t exactly have sick days racked up at this point. You have to have worked a bit longer for that. They were really nice about it though, luckily. I have worked every day since then, but I have had days where I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. The worst times have been when I was eating lunch with Mark near our car in the parking lot at work, and I just started throwing up right there in the bushes. Sorry landscapers. I tried to cover it up a little though. Then there was a day last week when I was so nauseous all day and just sure I was going to lose it at any point. I kept going down to the bathroom and locking myself in a stall for 20 minutes, just waiting to throw up, but I never did. Then as Mark and I were driving home I lost it right there in the car. Luckily I keep a plastic trash bag in the car. Not fun though, to be throwing up as you’re hurtling down the freeway. Thankfully thankfully thankfully the throwing up episodes have been an exception so far. I really hope that stays true. I have a lot of days where I feel off all day, but I can function and work. That is such a huge blessing. I was terrified that I would be like my friend Anna who just threw up all day long for pretty much nine months, and had picc lines and IVs galore. Really, that scares me a lot more than childbirth. So far, so good. Only four weeks until we’re out of this first trimester. I am really looking forward to the second trimester. Everyone says it’s more comfortable, and you’re showing but not so big yet that it’s uncomfortable. It’s weird to know that I’m pregnant and not be showing yet. People at work know, but we haven’t told our families and friends yet. I really want to wait until we hit twelve weeks to do that, but it’s been really hard to keep it from my family. We have dinner at my parents house everynight, and I’ve had to hide it when I’m nauseous. Just act like nothing’s wrong = not always easy to do. I am more tired and my Mom has noticed but luckily she is (I think) chalking it up to me being in a new job and working full time. I’ve always griped when I’m working full time – I love part time much better. So needless to say I’ll be thrilled when we’re at twelve weeks and I can tell family. Also, I’m really excited to hit the point where we can get an ultrasound. I want to see what this baby looks like. I am going to devour those little fuzzy images. I want to hear the heartbeat. And I really really really want to know if it’s a boy or a girl. I can’t wait to find that out. I know some people have been able to tell at twelve weeks or so. We’ll have to see, but the sooner the better. I think if it’s a girl we’re going to name her Shayla. I really like that name, but I don’t want people to shorten it to Shay. I always hear people say they’re naming their kids something and refuse to shorten it, but what happens when kids get to high school? It gets shorted. So much of the time. It happened with my brother Joe. My friend Jennifer who’s little boy was born last year named him Joseph but was worried people would shorten it to Joe. This is even though her dad’s name is Joseph and guess what he goes by? Joe. Yep. It’s inevitable. She’ll never call him that, but he’ll be a 50yr old Joe someday. So do I dare pick a name people might shorten? Actually I don’t mind nicknames. I don’t mind Joe. But I have never liked Shay. I just think Shayla is so pretty though. I like Shyla too but Mark doesn’t like that one. And he wants the middle name to be Lynne, but I’d rather have it be Anne. Shayla Anne. Or something. If it’s a boy, I don’t know what we’ll name him. We both like the name Christian. And there were some others but I can’t remember them. Mark likes these really old scriptural names like Ezekiel and Isaiah and Abraham. Over my dead body. So who knows.

on family

it is hard to be trying to conceive when you’re at a time in life where you’re surrounded by peers and friends who are constantly pregnant. It feels like everyone I know is pregnant or already has a baby. It’s only a slight exaggeration, the numbers really are huge in comparison to my friends who aren’t. And they make it look so easy – I can’t believe how many people I know who were pregnant only a few months post wedding. Whatever you may think of the sanity of that move, it’s obvious they didn’t have to “try”. I went off birth control in March and I’m still seeing blood each month, blood I’m starting to resent. What’s worst of all is that I struggle to be happy for my friends and family – I put on a congratulatory face, and cry inwardly. I don’t want to be one of those people who is jealous and petty when others have blessings come to them. I want to feel genuinely happy and unselfish. I obviously have a long way to go.

I realized tonight how fiercely possessive I am of my family. I love them. I worry about them. I adore them. I bristle if anyone acts in a manner towards them that I deem unseemly. I wonder if I’ll be able to temper my attachment proclivities towards my own children; I’d hate to be the stifling, overbearing type.

I married a wonderful man. He is truly tailor-made to my needs; I am in awe often as to how wonderful he is. The joys of our life together mitigate the sorrows that inevitably come. I hope I treat him with the kindness and sincerity he deserves.

nope.

not pregnant.

‘k so, I’m one week away from knowing if I’m pregnant. This whole trying, and then waiting for 18 days to know feels like it takes a year. I’m just not patient enough.

A few weeks ago, Mark and I had a wonderful evening together, one which culminated in his providing a priesthood blessing for me. I had given much thought to my physical vulnerability in preparing to become pregnant, and requested the blessing a few days earlier, for the sake of peace of mind. The way I see it, I have three choices:
1. become absolutely paranoid a la Organic Pregnancy (although I do love this book). Never eat anything that I didn’t grow/harvest/prepare myself. Live in a sealed bubble, or at least the country, far away from environmental and industrial toxins. Clean my entire house with baking soda and toothbrushes. Abandon my beloved makeup, shampoo,and lotions. Wear clothes made with organic cotton.
2. Plead with the God of the heavens to bless my body with strength and vitality, to help me to be the best medium of growth and development I can be; realize genetic disorder is largely beyond my control, and that the only being who has that control, is my Father.
3. A combination of the two. Or sort of. I want to be healthy. I want to do what I can to make sure detrimental elements don’t enter my body while it’s trying to sustain a child. But I can’t do everything, and I also need to trust the resiliency of my body, my immune system, my innate phsyiology which does its thing regardless of my will or desires. This is a gift of God, and I believe that he will aid me in my desire to nourish and sustain healthy children. Also, I want to acknowledge that physical ailments aren’t necessarily a punishment or a curse; should I ever have a child with dystrophy, cerebral palsy, hydroencephaly, autism, or any other “anomaly,” this isn’t necessarily something to be feared, and the child with said “anomaly” is no less worthy or deserving of my love, awe, care, and energy. So. I will do what I can, and leave the rest to God and nature. (being the same, to me.)
Anyway. Back to the blessing. The experience was transcendent in our relationship. I’ve received blessings from Mark before, and we’ve had spiritual experiences before, but this really was above and beyond. Mark stood over me, and placed his hands on my head, and the Spirit spoke through him. He blessed me to understand the powerful nature of the role that awaited me. He spoke of the many children who will be borne to me, and emphasized over and over again that I would not be alone in this sacred endeavor; God would be with me every step of the way. He told me that my body would be strong and resilient and that I would be able to embrace my role. I can’t remember the rest of the words, although the blessing was quite long. What I really remember was the absolute power of the moment – the supreme authority and grace with which the blessing was delivered, and the way Mark’s personality and normal style of voice were altered. The Spirit spoke through him, and I knew it. I felt very overwhelmed by God’s love and very grateful that God spoke to my fears and brought comfort.

I am still daunted by the prospects that lie ahead, but I’m not so anxious anymore. I’m humbled, and I’m greatful to have a husband who is in tune with God’s will and voice. After the blessing, we were both just overwhelmed and lay still for several minutes. Mark was teary and turned to me and said, God loves you so much. That message was for you.

And it was.

i still have a crush on obama

I just took this poll that purports to help you figure out who you should vote for in ‘08, based on your responses to various questions about how you prioritize what issues . . . and it rocked! I was curious to see where I came out, because I feel fairly educated about the issues and most of the high-profile candidates. I know others thought they did pretty well when they scored 80% compatibility with their candidate of choice.
Well, I was a 100% match with Barack Obama!

Yes, I have a crush . . . and thank goodness vajoe.com can validate that for me. Really, though, I’m amazed that I could score that high compatibility with his positions. I hear people griping all the time about how there’s no candidate that truly speaks to them; for once, I’m comfortable supporting a candidate 100%. I don’t know that he’ll win with Clinton in the game, but if he doesn’t, watch out down the road because he’ll be formidable. We will have an Obama presidency yet.

Here’s how I matched up with everyone else:
Senator Barack Obama (D) – 100%

Former Alaska Senator Mike Gravel (D) – 91.67%
New Mexico Governor Bill Richardson (D) – 84.72%
Ohio Representative Dennis Kucinich (D) – 83.33%

Delaware Senator Joseph Biden (D) – 80.56%
New York Senator Hillary Clinton (D) – 80.56%
Former North Carolina Senator John Edwards (D) – 80.56%
Connecticut Senator Christopher Dodd (D) – 69.44%
Businessman John Cox (R) – 52.78%
Former New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani (R) – 52.78%
Former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee (R) – 45.83%
Arizona Senator John McCain (R) – 38.89%
Texas Representative Ron Paul (R) – 34.72%
Former Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney (R) – 33.33%

Kansas Senator Sam Brownback (R) – 30.56%
Former Tennessee Senator Fred Thompson (R) – 27.78%
Colorado Representative Tom Tancredo (R) – 23.61%
California Representative Duncan Hunter (R) – 16.67%

confession

ok so my brothers are over to celebrate one brother’s birthday. said brother is bringing many friends. can I just say that having lots of people around me stresses me out. I didn’t used to be this anxious in social situations – I don’t know what’s going on. I’m getting more and more antisocial and anxiety prone. I’d just like to be in family gatherings with no outsiders. Lots of strangers + loud noise = very stressful for me.

Also am discovering that “trying to conceive” kind of kills my sex drive at times. I think it’s because I’m really really nervous to be pregnant. Considering I should be ovulating within the next few days, it’s crunch time. As it were. Making love perfunctorally is HARD. hubby of course can get going, but I might as well be watching my laundry dry.

I thought my new motto, courtesy of GC, was going to be living via faith, not fear. HAH.

mmmmmm

TCOYF is incredible. I was already fairly literate in the material, and I learned so much. I hope it works – we’re approaching the moment of truth pretty quickly . . .

I’m terrified. But that’s alright.

I’m grateful for all the blessings in my life.
I’m glad we’re moving next month.
I’m glad my husband is open-minded.

looking forward

I purchased Taking Charge Of Your Fertility today. Mark and I are ready for this. I’m nervous that things will take longer than we’d like – why is that the worst-case-scenarios always surface in your mind when really things are probably normal?

Every time I see a woman who is pregnant, or see a mother with her infant, I get insanely jealous.

I am having dreams about a baby girl. I’ve dreamt about her and her birth several times. In my dreams she is just under 7 pounds and 19 inches long at birth and has dark hair.

I really hope we don’t have to wait too long . . .

loves

cinnamon oat wheat waffles with fresh cream and peaches for breakfast

diet coke

autumn walks in the canyon

working part time rather than full

talking about having a baby with my husband

trying for said baby

hanging out with my huge, hilarious family

sunday renewal

learning new things – web developing, working at a bank, and crochet, this year

prescription allergy medication

fresh-from-the garden zucchini

thymes kimono rose lotion

Worry.

Things I still fret over:

At our wedding breakfast, my father and my great-grandmother chose to stand up and opine on how my educational opportunites are now finis. Marriage and graduate school are apparently incompatible.

Even more terrifying, despite the fact I have acceptances* into graduate programs from last year, I did not pursue them, my grades have since dropped and I have pretty much no one who I can approach for letters of rec the next time I do the application go-around.
*(I was accepted for fall 06, which is when I got married instead. Not only is Mark not yet graduated, but I also didn’t graduate in April 06 which was of course a criteria for those programs).

I absolutely want to apply again for grad school next year. To different programs. I know I can pursue these goals. How do I deal with a less stellar record?
I’d hate for the sentiments expressed at my wedding to become true. I’d HATE it.

In other news, I have pretty much landed a job that will suit all my needs. Never mind the fact that it’s in data entry and I have a degree in neuroscience. Just never mind that.

We went to the temple Monday morning. I keep praying that the next time I go, it will be a positive experience. I leave so emotionally devastated that it’s hard for me to remain optimistic. But. I know that it’s the right place to be. I do, and I am banking on that. I feel like it’s a big trial of faith, and I refuse to fall victim to adversarial bouts. It will take more than that, anyway. Blessings come after the trials of faith. They do, and they are, and they have.

In ward conference a few weeks ago, President Daly asked us if we had “pierced our hearts to Jesus’ cross.” What a graphic image. Today at stake conference the counsel was that we all need to spend some time walking through Gethsemane. I wholeheartedly believe that both these sentiments are growth-producing. I never imagined that my walks through Gethsemane would occur while in the porcelain-laden walls of the Holy Temples.

For now anyway, I’m still walking.

Also. Planning to become pregnant. Sometime around August or September. This is terrifying, but also exciting. Among other things I will be incorporating an aggressive yoga and cardio program into the next six months. Countdown Pregnancy. Hilarious. But I’m serious about it. I have six months to get myself into the best shape I can. Why? Because I’ve heard that it can make labor easier, and anything that promises this is damn well going onto my agenda.

Week end. Contentment. Homecoming.

Friday evening. Alone. Waiting for Mark. Eager. Peaceful (rare).

This week has been fruitful. Spending it in Colorado was a beautiful experience. I missed Mark constantly, but yet missing him reminded me of all the reasons I love him. God forbid I ever become complacent in my relationship with him. So I was grateful for the reminder. I loved being with my siblings. I kept the tone simple, non-authoritative. They’re all older now, and don’t need me hovering over their every move. I felt as though I strengthened bonds with every one of them. I had individual talks with each that I now treasure. Rebecca is developing her sense of self. She is confident and coming into her beauty with grace. She is becoming more beautiful with time. In many ways, she is as I was at her age. She likes to tease me about where I am in life ( i.e. “old” and married.) I think she admires me though. Margaret is learning to laugh, to cultivate a sense of humor. To take joy in expanding her mind. She needs to learn to manage stress though, to not take everything so seriously. I was probably like her in that way. I wonder what kind of adult she’ll be. She’s different . . . Nathan is also seeming more mellow, a welcome change. His tone is easier, his laugh quicker, his posture more relaxed. He’s been accepted into a few universities. He’s eager for his future to begin already. He always was too intellectually mature for his emotional self. Maybe the two versions are now reconciling. Bruce was . . . delightful. I tucked him in each night, watch him say his prayers. He’d wrap his arms around my neck for hugs. A few times he had small temper tantrums, and they always ended so quickly, leaving him totally remorseful and contrite. He seems so small, and yet he’s growing so fast. Each one of my siblings are an odd blend of wisdom, immaturity, and curiosity. None of them quite at home in their skins. Much how I felt, until recently.

Greg came home Tuesday night. We went to the airport to meet him and my parents. Two years in England have obviously served him well in many ways, perhaps receiving as much as he gave. He’s filled out some, though not an ounce of body fat on him anywhere. His eyes are older. He views me a bit with suspicion, not yet ready to accept that I am Married. As they arrived in the main terminal, everyone was smiling. Hugs all around. Crowds watched curiously, noting the young man in business suit and nametag greeted as though he’d been long lost, but now found. We were such an oddity in that airport. Afterwards, at the Italian restaurant, I once again felt the keen obviousness of our Mormon-ness. His nametag, our large family. Obviously not as They Are, filing past the tables filled with two or three. Always the restaurant must quickly shove together a few small tables to accommodate us, and the requisite waiter approaching cautiously, as though our numbers mean we cannot also be civil and easy to please. And Joe not even with us. I didn’t get much of a chance to talk with Greg in the less than 24 hours I was home at the same time with him. But I can see he has changed, for the better. I am proud of him and what he has accomplished, proud that he devoted two years to serve Christ. I am proud of my entire family. I’m glad Greg is home again.

Flying into SLC, I felt a familiar sense of dislike viewing the Utah terrain coming into focus below me. If Mark weren’t there, and family, I would find an excuse to leave quickly. But coming down into the airport and seeing the way Mark’s face absolutely lit up when he saw me, watching the way he kept glancing at me all night, unable to keep from grinning, and feeling his arms wrapping so securely around me . . . I am glad to be home. Wherever he is, I can find no room to complain. He had roses to surprise me, the first time he’s ever done so. Very beautiful. He’d cleaned the apartment. He works so hard to ensure my happiness. It humbles me. I love him.

The February Ensign focused on temples; a timely topic for me given my frustrations and weaknesses. But I’m coming out of my disillusionment. I’d like to think it a sign of new maturity, a new spiritual phase of growth that allows me to view the temple as it should be viewed, coming into a place that the temple’s depth selects out so many from being. That is my goal, to be sure. I would never like to say that my doubts won out, but rather that I prevailed. And so I had a freshly inquisitive state of mind as I read the articles in the magazine. The following quote jumped out:

Did Joseph Smith reinvent the temple by putting all the fragments – Jewish, Orthodox, Masonic, Gnostic, Hindu, Egyptian, and so forth – together again? No, that is not how it is done. Very few of the fragments were available in his day, and the job of putting them together was begun, as we have seen, only in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Even when they are available, those poor fragments do not come together of themselves to make a whole; to this day the scholars who collect them do not know what to make of them. The temple is not to be derived from them, but the other way around . . . That anything of such fulness, consistency, and perfection could have been brought forth at a single time and place – overnight, as it were – is quite adequate proof of a special dispensation.”
- Hugh Nibley, “What Is a Temple,” in Volume 4 – Mormonism and Early Christianity

The more I read Hugh Nibley, the more impressed I am . . .

Anyway, I love that quote. It explains one of the reasons why I love Mormonism. It pulls together the best of ancient religions and the best of modern. In other words, the truths that have resonated in a million forms throughout all the history of the earth find their resonance in the ordinances and doctrines of the LDS church. Plain and precious indeed. And hence it is – not the only true church, – but the only true and living church. An important distinction.

Miscellany I.

So I wasn’t sure if I’d use this blog for personal thoughts or not, but I miss having that outlet. So I will. I can reconcile that with my literary ambitions by promising myself that I will do writing experiments as well. If there’s anything I was really looking forward to the holidays for, it was so that I could pursue whatever random (read:time-wasting) intellectual avenues I wanted to. If I want to read three novels, fine. If I want to browse all my favorite sites ad nauseum without feeling guilty for neglecting my homework, so be it. The weather has beautifully facilitated this fantasy by providing two massive snowstorms within the span of seven days. I LOVE it. I’ve drawn within the empty corridors of my mind, and it’s a happy respite. (Although Mark probably isn’t pleased when I draw within like that. Don’t worry, it’s only temporary!)

Miscellany thoughts from the last several days on vacation:

On honesty – a very likely non-coincidental juxtaposition of RS lessons with the current theme at hand. On Christmas Eve we didn’t talk about Christmas, we talked about why one shouldn’t steal towels or newspapers, or otherwise compromise one’s integrity. Of course, that’s related to Christmas, but I was left to make the cognitive leap. I would have applauded had it been done for me. Anyway . . . the moral dilemma I face as of late concerns my education. One class left to pass. Several failed attempts now in my resume. I can’t believe I’m so close to having completed a degree, and yet I haven’t. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt such frustration. I can’t seem to muster the energy or desire to inform my father that I actually am not eligible for graduation as of right now, because of my failed class. With every intention of taking it right away and passing this time, I just can’t bring myself to go through the public grief of telling my parents. This however is not a decision without consequences. Mark felt compromised since I asked him not to tell them. When the subject comes up he ends up having to awkwardly dance around it. As do I. Not a kind thing to do to one’s new husband.
I would rather not lie to them. Lying is not something I relish or endorse. Yet for some reason I’m so weary of the burden of failed expectations that dealing with the guilt of lying seems the easier path. A rationalization, to be sure. But one that is extremely persuasive right now. Actually, as I’ve had some days to mull it over, I see ways to mitigate the PR damage and tell the truth. That would be the best solution. I’m going to see what I can do to enact it. It’s given me a good chance to re-evaluate anyway. Integrity does matter to me. Which would of course dictate that I act accordingly.

On fertility: This is kind of a funny topic for the holidays. But it’s been on my mind since September. One’s own marriage suddenly puts one’s fertility into front and center. Which is at times exciting and other times just plain awkward. Jennifer is 6.5 mo’s along. Anna is 3 mo’s along. Just a year ago none of the three of us were married. I feel genuine excitement for them. I don’t feel like I have to force it. I think motherhood is exciting and part of me can’t wait to be at that point myself.
OTOH, I wonder a little bit about the pressure to conceive instantly. I agree with the church counsel about making it priority, not waiting for selfish reasons. . . I just wonder with some of the things I see. Not disagree, per se. Just wonder. And is the expectation really there that each woman should have as many children as is physically possible for her? How does one decide that? Inspiration of course – so then really none of us can judge another. In the LDS world it seems women who don’t have enough are judged. Out of it, it seems LDS women who have “too many” are judged. Ah the competing standards of the world.
My little sister Margaret has cramps today. I feel badly for her- she is so young. Why does her body have to suffer right now, just so she can be pregnant no less than ten years from now? The average age of commencing menstruation is decreasing through the years – how does that fit into the DSOT (divine scheme of things?) Why do women need to become fertile before the age of approximately 16? I don’t get it. I’m going to ask the Authorities someday. Along with my many other questions.

On snow- Yesterday at the grocery store people were stockpiling en masse for the incoming storm. We ran into a sister from the ward. My Mom socially asked, “Are you ready for another storm?” The sister laughed and said “I guess so. . . I don’t know if I’m happy about it though.” This response is said as a matter of course. Casual conversation. But it always makes me think. Why is this weather seen as so unsavory, especially for this sister, a homemaker? Why are beautiful snowstorms seen as nasty? And gray cloudy rainy days as yucky? Now if we were living two hundred years ago, without inside plumbing and constant climate control and heated cars and snowplows, then I could understand. But all we do is stay inside anyway. We can’t handle a little snow in between the house and the car and the store? We can’t have a few drops sprinkling down as we drive through the drive through? We want it Sunny! And when it’s sunny, what do we do? Sit inside and watch TV! Hooray! It’s so nice out! Now I can be happy as I crank my A/C through the roof and burn up all non-renewable energy.

OK, rant over.

Anyway. I’ve really been happy being at home for Christmas. Not because I’m not happy in Orem, because I am, but because I’ve been able to put aside some of those mental burdens for awhile. I’m rather dreading going back to them, but one can’t and shouldn’t always be trying to escape the drudgery of life. I’ve really loved playing with the kids, even though they’re getting older. I’ve loved feeling the Christmas spirit. I’ve loved not having to show up at work or go grocery shopping or think endlessly how much my tub needs scrubbing and how I’m probably not giving Mark enough attention because I’m so distracted. (These are horrible run-on sentences btw.) I’ve really loved getting lots of sleep and not feeling guilty, of reading to my heart’s content and not feeling guilty, etc. Forgetting about bills a little bit, even though I know they’re waiting just around the corner.
I’ve loved being able to spend guiltfree time with Mark. We’ve really been deprived of that ever since our marriage. We just jumped right into a very emotionally demanding several months, and we’ve had to keep on rolling as things were thrown are way. I think we were successful for the most part, but I look forward to making the next several months even better. I think if I could change one thing, it would be to have been better at managing my own stress. I think that makes me a kinder and better wife and friend.

On a positive note, since this is a miscellany post after all, my faith is experiencing a resurgence. For this, I am extremely grateful.

More coherent thoughts to follow sometime in the future.

beginnings

I’m not so presumptuous as to think that I’m already writing at a caliber that may be deemed literary. If anything, I simply spew vocabulary words and pray for coherence. But, I have dreams. And the passion to follow them. So why not? I’m only 22. I have a solid start to a phenomenal education, and a supportive husband who urges me to pursue the paths that call me. Never has my life felt so tangible; never have I felt so empowered by the choices before me. If only all were so lucky.

My journey into the literary is far from complete. I fully expect it will take my entire lifetime. But it commenced when I was 2 years old and began voraciously reading everything in sight. Okay, yes, since I was 2, almost everything went over my head. But I was reading! The letters were grouped in ways that had meaning. I knew the difference between words and random jumbles of symbols, or that a sentence was a unit of discovery unto itself. And ever since I’ve been enthralled with language. What a thrilling challenge – how to arrange words and phrases in the most evocative way? To create vivid realism, to achieve a true telekinesis (stephen king’s apt description) between reader and writer – I find few tasks as daunting and rewarding as this one.

I began to keep a journal regularly at the age of 13. The first entry corresponded with the date of my first ever menstrual period. Having anticipated the day since I was 10, I was foolishly overjoyed at this new experience of blood so uncomfortably making its presence known. I knew, though, that that blood meant a new version of me, different than who I’d been a month before. Suddenly, I had the potential to create.

The realization was empowering.

And so I opened a blank book, and wrote those cliche but exciting words, “Today, I am a woman . . .” And thus began my transition. No longer content to simply consume words en masse, I wanted to play with their dynamics and possibilities. To turn phrases and elicit emotion, to evoke descriptions and capture that elusive “quidditas”. The ancient ‘whatness’. The essence of my experiences, and what they have in common with every other human’s experience. Who hasn’t stared at a glossy slick image in National Geographic in sheer awe and wonder, gazing at the face of someone who lives so many miles away in a clime so foreign that it might as well be across the galaxy? To see surroundings so foreign, clothes and food unknown, but the eyes!! The eyes in the face, the expression, the taut pull at the forehead of a stressed mother, or the gentle creases as the boy tries to hide his smirk . . . the familiarity is uncanny. Our worlds are different, yet the same. It is our words, and our pictures, -our stories!- that are the common thread. To this, I am drawn.

It is why I studied neuroscience. It is why I studied philosophy. It is why I study religion. It is why I am spellbound by literature. And, it is why I write.

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