Vomit and Baby Kicks

As of October, A and I are officially growing a human! I have absolutely fallen in love with this long-legged skeleton baby living inside me, who kicks extra hard when I have to pee, eat cookie dough ice cream, or sit too long. Being pregnant is one of the biggest roller coasters I have ever embarked on...filled with sharp painful kicks to my ribs, moments of joyful euphoria setting up the baby room, and then projectile vomiting at the mere thought of coffee. I tried to "chunk" (pun very much intended) this post out for each season we've gone through thus far, all the while knowing the biggest, happiest, and scariest moments have yet to come.


The Test:
 
One of the weirdest things is waiting for that plastic stick to show a positive sign. That one, stupid little line will dictate the rest of your life, your fertility, and whether you should have spent all your 20's worrying about accidentally getting pregnant or not.  After the test, and VERY long minutes have slowly slinked by like lazy banana slugs, you see the glorious plus sign. You shake the test, look closer, hold it up to the light, then after an hour or so find yourself quite unsure of what to do with it, as it is a symbol of your new life, but of course is also covered in pee. It currently lives in my bedside table, after cleaning it of course, and amazingly still has a pretty solid plus sign even almost 8 months later. I felt like, after seeing so many movies, I should have been prepared for that piece of plastic to change my life. I mean, I have seen Katherine Heigl go through this, so shouldn't it feel less surreal? When I took it, A was at work, and the biggest reason I thought I might be pregnant was that I had been absolutely insane earlier that weekend. I was snappy, annoyed, quick to judge and very emotional, basically all the signs that I am either really hungry, we are state testing at school, or I am pregnant. To be honest, my excitement of that positive sign was two-fold, one--I am pregnant and going to start a family! Two--I am not actually this crazy, it was just me being pregnant! What a relief that was. Then, and for the next 9 months, I could actually say hey, I am really chill and awesome normally, but pregnancy made me cry at that cell phone commercial, weep when I couldn't figure out the bathtub drain so I just laid on the cold floor wrapped in a towel until A came upstairs, and why I basically have become incapable of staying out past 9:30 pm.

The hardest thing about the test, was that we had taken one before, that was also positive, but ended just a few short days later. So, the second time, it was hard for me to connect that a baby could actually have been in the works of creation, and even more so, that I would continue to stay pregnant. I worried, like millions of women before me, if my body was in fact capable of doing such profound things. I mean, my body has done some cool stuff, like rigorous hikes, surviving Dengue Fever, biking through rural Vietnam, but I also have broken my ankle tripping on a welcome mat...so there's that.  Growing an actual baby inside me just felt downright impossible.

The First Trimester:

The first three months, while filled with joy of being pregnant, are also filled with a lot of fear and even more vomit. For me, it was like having a continuous flu while being injected with sleep tranquilizers. I think A started to really worry that I may just be a green-tinged zombie for the rest of our marriage. Basically all food except citrus fruit, Honey Nut Cheerios, and crackers, made me need to lie down or hug the toilet. On Thanksgiving, we drove the whole ten minute drive to my sister's house, and the entire time I had to have the windows opened, no music, and was telling A to stop driving like a maniac. The speedometer was at a whopping 12mph, and people were flying past us, giving the stink eye. If I had more energy, I would have tried to aim my nausea at their passing car, but alas, it took all my energy to hold my head up in tandem with keeping my recent bowl of cereal safely stored inside my stomach. Needless to say, it was the least amount of food maybe any American has ever eaten at Thanksgiving dinner.

One of my shinier, more adorable memories, was hearing that lovely, swift little heartbeat. It was the perfect emotional storm of hormones, a doctor's office with the dreaded stirrups, posters of oversized female organs, and the sheer terror that something could have gone wrong. Until then, I felt very detached and couldn't understand that something was growing in me at all. That is, until we heard it. A's face was so amazing, his big ginger beard and giant green eyes gazing at me, then my belly, in amazement. We both realized then that this little thing was definitely worth me giving up my beloved Heffeweizen beer for.

One of the hardest parts, that I didn't feel warned about, was my changing emotions. In movies, books, and friendship circles, pregnant women are always portrayed as having extreme highs and lows, but never what I was feeling between weeks 6-10, which was an overwhelming heap of nothing. I was starting to not only turn grey from being sick, but my outlook was looking more and more foggy and overcast. I couldn't get excited about anything, even the Christmas countdown on Hallmark, where a blond type B actress inevitably gets a concussion and is rescued by a hot mountain doctor, couldn't make me get into the holiday spirit. I simply felt....blah. Luckily, some of my dearest friends who were also pregnant, relayed they too felt that way, and my sweet nurse said that was completely normal and would regulate in a few weeks. But even with that confirmation, I felt worried that that was my new normal, and that I would never be the Kristen who thought everything was magical. I know A feared that as well, and since I couldn't be lifted up by yummy food, he did his best to cuddle me on our couch as I curled up there, staring at the fireplace and lamenting the days when I used to enjoy a cup of coffee and have actual hobbies.

As much as those ten weeks at the beginning felt like they would never end, they did, and with two weeks until Christmas to spare. So, I did some rushed Amazon shopping, threw up some lights with fabric-tied holiday bows, and attempted to salvage Christmas.

The Second Trimester:

The second trimester was absolutely wonderful, and filled with a lot less nausea and uncertainty. It's like someone finally pumped some energy back in me and allowed me to eat normal food again. The only time I was caught with the dreaded nausea demon again was 1) when I tried to watch the first episode of the Santa Clarita Diet and Drew Barrymore projectile vomited green sludge, thus causing me to nearly fall off the treadmill in heaving convulsions....there really should have been a warning sign on that episode and 2) when I was enjoying a nice morning cup of joe and watching Revenge Body (yes, with Khloe Kardashian) on tv, when all of a sudden, I was the one projectile vomiting on our tan carpet. Then, I ran to the kitchen sink, continued puking, and ended up peeing my pants because I vomited so violently. I then called A in tears, admitting my new personal hygiene low in muffled gulps, while he told me not to worry because he would clean it up. Gross....and adorable. In that moment, I think I fell more in love with him than ever.....it was about my emotional equivalent of Ryan Gosling in the Notebook giving his famous speech in the rain, a soaked white shirt, thick muscles bulging.....only this was about puke.

To be honest, the hardest part of the second trimester was dealing with the fact that I was gaining weight....and rapidly. It is really hard to get used to the scale increasing SO MUCH and SO QUICKLY. The scale became this horrifying silver monster that I would sneak up to in the morning time and gently place each toe on its cold back gingerly, so as not to wake it. My clothes were not fitting anymore, and I was looking more and more like an all-too-satisfied-Chipotle-burrito-customer rather than a glowing pregnant woman. It is very odd to understand how your baby only weighs 1.5 pounds....when you have gained almost 20! I wish I could say that I had no body issues in the second trimester, and that I pranced around gloriously with a certain gentleness and peace of growing a delightful human in my belly....but it looked more like me just refusing to wear pants for many, many months, because my old ones didn't fit and I hated how everything else dug into my expanding mid-section.

One thing that really helped was having a ton of friends going through the exact same thing. It is very humbling to be faced with a rapidly changing body, and the guilt of loving being pregnant but not always loving how you LOOK while pregnant. I honestly thought I would have more grace, and that I would not view my weight gain from baby the same way I do one trip too many to Dairy Queen or Sonic, but alas, it all feels pretty similar when your thighs begin to chafe.

Something that has been so incredible though, throughout all of this, is how kind people are. I figured our family would be excited for us (though even that has been more special than I could have imagined), but how random people and even co-workers have made this pregnancy and baby feel loved on is something I could never have anticipated. I look forward to going to work, where teachers around me want to rub my belly and ask me how I am with a smile that is soft and delighted. I love seeing women that are older than me turn briefly whimsical, and I know their own memories have come back of when they were once pregnant, too. It seems in retrospect, all we remember are the beautiful parts, and not the oh-so--many bodily changes that are less than desirable.

Sometimes, when I am alone now, I feel Baby H kick and I have the most delicious feeling knowing that it is not just me anymore. I constantly have a sidekick, a precious little dude/dudette hanging out with me every second of every day. And, even though right now it is kicking the crap out of me, it is truly the most sacred and miraculous thing I have ever felt in my entire life.

The Third Trimester:

I am only three weeks into my third trimester, and already the baby seems to know it is closing in on THE DAY. Baby H is so excited, in fact, that he/she is parading around my insides in tap shoes at all hours of the night.  The newest thing that Baby H is doing, with either a foot, hand, or some kind of appendage, is scraping my insides.....LOW. It is a very displeasing feeling which usually results in my whimpering and crossing my legs. The sweetest, and most bizarre way of withstanding these kicking riots happens to by from A's lovely hand. It has now become our nightly ritual, when Baby H is really jazzed about life (or I have had a lot of Blue Bell) for A to put his big, strong hand on my belly. Every time he does, the frenzied kicks lessen and soften, calming under his warmth, and I can find relief in my rib cage while simultaneously getting to watch my handsome hubby feel, merely an inch beneath his own skin and mine, our sweet baby.

31 weeks into this, it is becoming more and more difficult to imagine life without Baby H living in me. I have moments lately where I get really sad that soon, my stomach will be empty. It is hard to imagine me not getting to feel baby movements, hiccups, and the physical weight of carrying him or her safely around. It is a very scary world out there, and as much as I am dying to meet Baby H, I am terrified about everything that exists outside my stomach.

Since I am so early in the third trimester, and thus far have had only one stranger bold enough to look at me and declare I am pregnant (with a boy, apparently), I do not yet have enough time in the trenches to give a fair report (though sleep deprivation has definitely begun in full force, and results in me googling epidurals vs nitrous oxide at 2:12am). We have, however, made small final steps, like taking all the junk out of Baby H's room and buying a mobile with dangling mountains. Perhaps that is why I like the third trimester best of all, so far. Things are starting to get real. We have taken a birth class, I am REALLY showing, I get winded after one flight of stairs, and we are now talking about a matter of weeks until the birth. And, even with all the pain I know is inevitable, I can't get over how ready I am already to meet this thing, and to find out what the heck IT is! Since I have no maternal instinct about the sex, I know it will be the most delicious surprise either way, and one that will change our lives forever.


I will leave you with one of my favorite pregnancy quotes:

 “Everything grows rounder and wider and weirder, and I sit here in the middle of it all and wonder who in the world you will turn out to be.”
-Carrie Fisher

All the Adulting

As I write this, I am sitting in my parents' basement, at my grandfather's big antique desk and my dog snoring audibly in the background. You read that right, I live in my parents' basement.
Though this may seem an unlikely setting for me to write anything about adulting, I am in fact going to dive right in.

Adulting Point One: Marriage

A and I recently got married in February, or perhaps not that recently, as we somehow are coming up on our 6 month anniversary! It was an unusually warm day, reaching 80 degrees, and sweet A was soaked clear through his tweed suit which he looked so dapper and drop-dead handsome in. I had flowers woven into my hair, and it was cliche in all the best ways a joyful event should be. We stood there, in front of 250 of our dearest people, and said our vows. We promised all the things you should and all the things you hope you will do upon sharing forever with someone. It was, indeed, the best day of my life, and something I will always want to rewind back to.

I have never experienced so much love and support than on the night of our rehearsal dinner, and day of our wedding. And, even after everyone left, and our house was a big mess of gift bags, towels, leftover food, and a closet full of Trader Joe's liquor, we could still feel all the words, hugs, and silent blessings that people had woven into us that weekend. Words that will forever strengthen who we are as a couple, and that have taught us how to love others as best as we possibly can.

Adulting Point Two: Being MARRIED

The weirdest question we get a lot is, "How is married life?" A always looks befuddled by this question, as do I, because we are never sure what answer we are supposed to supply. "The same?" "Awful?" "Interesting?" "Hilarious?" Because the truth is, married life rocks. Being married to A has truly been the best season of life for me. And, while day to day things are similar, like him lighting a match in the bathroom for a courtesy smell-neutralizer, I will admit that there is a level of safety and trust that is palpable. For me, it was hard to trust anyone one hundred percent, and truly believe things would work out, until our wedding day. Something shifted on that day, and more than just our car from being weighted down with bunt cakes. We became a family that day, and it still delights me to hear him say, "Our family," when talks about us, and I of course look at him and respond, "Me?!" He just smiles, because for him, he trusts with every fiber in his 6'4" skeletal system, and he is that perfect kind of patient that is now enjoying me finally catching up.

Another great thing about being married is that people all of a sudden take you seriously. My best example is Home Depot. Usually when I go in, four to seven workers flock to me like I'm a little chick with wet feathers, and ask me if I need help. While it's true that usually I do need help in Home Depot (if I'm there for anything other than the gardening section), it always feels a tinge humiliating with a dollop of misogyny. As a single woman, apparently, I had no business being there unescorted, much like a Victiorian ball in a Jane Austen novel, I should not have been somewhere I clearly did not belong. After all, my tool kit is, embarrassingly, pink. But, now that I am married, with my sparkly little Sapphire, they think I am capable of looking at paint swatches without calling in the National Guard. While the single girl still simmering in my veins is angry and wants to try and prove myself by saying, "Hey! I am great at hammering nails into the wall!" I just walk quietly over to the paint samples, and look for Sea Salt among the five thousand shades of blue.

Adulting Point Three: Pack your bags!

A mere three months after getting married, A and I decided to pack up our little house on 38th Street, sweep up the hundreds of cockroach carcasses, say goodbye to a life we loved, and load the truck for Colorado. A very disgruntled Amelia, and Aaron's lovely parents, helped us get to Denver in a day and a half. We then loaded our UHaul into a storage unit and closed the door, knowing that the next time we opened it, would be our last move for what we hope will be a very long time. So far, my favorite part of the mountains is the weather. In Austin, it is absolutely insufferable and unyielding in the summer. The temperature never cools off, and you are in a perpetual state of wiping your sweaty forehead, binge watching Netflix in your house with the AC cranked, and wondering how people possibly go for 3pm runs in 103 degree (plus humidity) weather. Today, the temperature is 71.....at 2:13 in the afternoon. While this is not a normal Denver summer-type-day, it is indeed something that is POSSIBLE, which is all I need.

It is different moving this time. My big move eight years ago to Austin, I was 22, had no job, and packed everything into my 2004 Blue Mazda. I didn't know anyone, and had only been to Austin once. This time, my family lives here, I went to college here, and I have at least three whole friends that know me. That being said, starting over is hard, especially moving from somewhere like Austin. I am trying not to look at things in Denver and say, "That is so Austin," but instead take them in as isolated outdoor patios with white lights...that happen to be similar to Easy Tiger. We gave up so many people we loved and sacred restaurants that made our bellies swell, that it will take time to love this new place as much. A and I are excited for the outdoors, perhaps the number two reason for moving here (after my family). We cant' wait to camp, see the leaves change, climb a 14er, check out new breweries, and see Amelia frolic in the snow. We know that this new life will be a different one, with lots of new changes, and more of a quiet life. I suppose that is part of adulting though, having one beer at a brewery instead of five at a noisy concert.

Adulting Point Four: Goodbye My Darling

Being apart blows. I honestly have no idea how military women are strong enough to handle it, but if possible, I am even more in awe of them. A and I are living apart for three months as he finishes his last coding class in Austin. You really start to miss the nighttime giggles, when you are sleep-deprived and poking each other's faces, and the morning yawns where you reach across the bed and find comfort that your partner is there next to you, even with a thundrous snore erupting from his nasal passageway. And yet, you also remember that you can get by alone. I mean geez, I did things on my own more or less for 29 years....but sometimes marriage lets you get lazy, and you find yourself saying, "I would change the oil, but you are SO good at it!" then BAM, just like that, you cripple that independent, sassy women inside of you who is perpetually wearing a really cool bomber leather jacket that you can't pull off in real life. Then, you drive to Jiffy Lube, pull out a book, and remember that you can take care of yourself, damnit!

We are currently on week three.....of twelve....so we have a long way to go. I have to remind myself that there is so much strength to be gained by this time, so much to remind me about what I have and what to not take for granted. But, at night in the basement, when Amelia's back leg is kicking into my ribs in the queen bed, I miss him a lot. A lot a lot.

Adulting Point Five: The Name Change

Yesterday, I officially became Kristen Maretta Hines. I have no formal card or ID yet, but I do have a print out from social security with my new name on it. I know that as a woman, changing our name has become something that a lot of people have varying viewpoints about. I am of the mindset of doing what makes you feel most true to yourself. I absolutely understand that your name is such a big chunk of your identity. As a matter of fact, as a teacher, I am only known as 'Adams' to my co-workers and 'Ms. Adams' to my students. My first name is down-right superfluous. So changing my last name feels almost as much of a shift as me changing my first name to, I don't know, Barbera. I still remember the first time A tried to broach the subject of changing my name to his. I could tell he was nervous, because I am one of those feminists, who could either stand her ground until death or go into the kitchen and bake cookies.....a very precarious mix for a man. I knew that he was worried I wouldn't change my name, but he also made sure to add that he understood if I didn't want to. I loved him so much for that. For letting my CHOOSE to change MY name, instead of feeling like something was being taken from me. I feel like it has been an honor to know A, to marry him, love him, live with him, and now have the same common name. Yesterday, when I told him, the first thing he said was thank you, followed by how grateful he was that I had gone through that long, very arduous and archaic process.

The last bit of adulting that we just recently jumped into, I will leave untold, as it is not our time to share quite yet, but we are very excited.

I suppose after 29 years of loving every second being a kid, I now am starting to crossover a little. I see my friends growing up, getting better jobs, buying houses, having children and multiple bank accounts, and at times feeling like it is all just too much. I mean, I am currently living in my parent's basement, not working (well, because it's summer and I'm a teacher), with my mom still wanting to feed me like when I was a child. A is also at his parents' house, enjoying a full belly that only mothers can provide. So, I suppose we may not be "winning" this adulting game, but we definitely are starting to enter in to it. The stress of bills, society, work, having to learn how to do your hair, or God forbid, makeup.

I wonder, though, if perhaps we sometimes need to just separate ourselves from all the things, and try and give ourselves as many moments as possible without phones, computers, buildings, and let the kids buried deep beneath our skin poke out for but a moment.

So, for anyone reading who things adulting is just too much, remember these wise and wistful words:

"In every real man a child is hidden that wants to play."  ~Friedrich Nietzsche

Burlap & BBQ: A Tale of Wedding Planning and Awkward Photos

As much as I've always tried to picture it, it's still kind of wild to think that I am getting married in 3 1/2 months. I should be better at picturing it. I mean, I've binge-watched "Say Yes the the Dress" and seen "Married at First Sight" which naturally are the major stepping stones for marital bliss.  And yet, as it gets closer upon us, it feels more and more surreal that I could get to be there, with A, under a whimsical arch, with every person in the world that we cherish right there with us. That this magical barn will light up for us beneath a smeared pink and yellow sky, and we will have to -gasp- dance in front of hundreds of people. It all seems like something six-year old Kristen read about it in one of her books, with unruly ringlets behind my back, thinking about wearing the softest, most beautiful white dress. It doesn't quite match up to the Kristen I am now, who is messy, drinks too much coffee and has dog hair in crevices of her old couch that should never be explored.

There are a lot of things I thought would be different. Things you can't really be prepared for until it is happening. Here are some of the things that have surprised me:

1) The Photos

Now, let me first admit that it is cool having 94 photos of you in fancy clothing with a guy like A, who makes you look small and is so charming with his ginger beard. That being said, the number of times I had to grab A's face/chin during photos, and him mine, was downright foreign. We stared into each others' eyes so much, I practically smacked his forehead by the end out of sheer dizziness from his green irises. We also did a lot of cheesy stances we never would do in real life, and I actually wore a little make-up, so we were definitely playing "dress-up".  It basically was like taking prom photos, except for these were artsy versions where you pretend there is a bird in the background you're staring at. Really, we were sweating profusely in the heat of an Austin October and I wanted to ask A if he brought scissors so I could cut my pants off of me and let my legs just breathe.

When we got the photos though, it was amazingly awesome. WAY more exciting than I had expected. We had beautiful light silhouetting us, tons of options for me to pick which picture I looked skinniest in, and only about half the photos had one or both of us making special faces. It was for sure a "win" in the wedding list column for photos. Now, what in the world we DO with these photos, that I don't know. At least later on we can look at them in a photo book or something and think, wow, we wore a lot of flannel......

2) The Budget

Let me just say, the wedding world is an INDUSTRY. I still can't believe people have the audacity to charge so much for things. Florists charging $100/foot for a decorated arch! It is unreal. This is especially wild when your entire adult life you have had scant more than that in your savings at any given time. Something that helped was A's friend's comment, while on speakerphone. He said, "People want to come celebrate you, and it is selfish not to give them a party and meal to honor you." It reminded us that, though having a wedding is exorbitant, and we could educate a lot of poor children for the amount of it (something that is my go-to conversion for guilt), we can keep it simple while still accepting that we have to feed over two hundred people, and I can wear a pretty dress, and we can have delicious craft beer without being the most selfish people in the entire world. It has also been fun to think of ways to dodge a lot of money traps, like flowers. We are going to order through Trader Joe's and keep it very simple with their mixed bouquets. Luckily, having your wedding in a barn pretty makes anything fancy seem ridiculous, so it's much easier to not get pulled into having fancy table cloths or real china on the tables. Plastic is so hip, right? We will just compost the rest of our life to make-up for the landfill residue....

3) The Decisions

My kind of decision is what to watch on my Roku on a weeknight, while eating dinner in bed snuggled comfortably in my ginormous sweatpants. Really painting a picture for you, huh? Literally the only TV shows I regularly watch are The Office and Gilmore Girls....just those....over and over....since 2001. So, decisions might not be my thing. I especially struggle with disappointing people. I want these decisions to make everyone happy, and I have had to learn to accept that they just can't. People are going to disagree with how A and I want to do things, and what our values are, but we have to just smile, accept their criticism, and hold firm to what we believe is right for us.

A has actually been great at helping me make decisions. When I got caught up in a Hobby Lobby frenzy and panicked about wanting to buy miniature cowbells as "gifts" for the guests, he gently guided me off the trinket ledge and encouraged me to stop. I have had to decide on colors, vacations, decorations, themes, and had to consider things I never have thought about before....like what kind of bride am I? (I still don't know the answer to this one.) How will I have cupcakes while still shoving cake into A's face? Do we allow children at the wedding, or not? It can be exhausting.....but then again, I guess these problems are about as annoying as when a skinny person says it's hard having a metabolism that's so fast she has to eat every two hours or she'll faint.....So I just smile, make the decision, and remember how adorable A will look in his old-fashioned suit, watching me come out of barn doors....That is at least the one decision I know I will want to make over and over-saying yes to that man and walking toward him on our wedding day as one, and walking back as two.

4) The Partnership

I feel like A and I are in business together. We write up contracts, send emails constantly about dates, times, numbers, and we write checks so much I literally had to order more. I sometimes feel like after this, we should have some kind of brochure or something that advertises and showcases the empire we've erected. Each day we go through this process, I am so, so grateful for his partnership. He has done almost all the contacting, contracts and finalizing of all the big things, while I putter away on my Pinterest board and develop insidious late-night Etsy habits buying monogrammed wooden signs. I have seen many people go through this process of wedding planning, and I'm so grateful that I have a true partner to do this with, who equally dreams about our wedding day, wants to document it, enjoy it, and cherish it. Even if the desire is not equal, he graciously pretends it is, which is basically the same thing. One afternoon, while sorting through addresses and Etsy boxes (which now have become ominous entities squished into my hallway closet) A told me, "I don't know how some women do this alone. It is so sad that men don't care about this stuff, or how important of a day it is."

If possible, I loved him more in that moment than even before.

5) The Perfection of it All

This may have been the craziest three months of my life, but I have fallen more in love with A than I ever could have imagined, and I have felt so blessed to have all the people we love in the world celebrate and encourage our union. It is truly a humbling time, while also being invigorating. And even though A was told he wouldn't have time to eat the BBQ sliders at our wedding (and his mild breakdown afterward), I will find a way to slip him a plate, for all the times he has slipped strength and comfort to me over these past months of crazyiness.


Sometimes we catch ourselves fast forwarding, as all humans do, to the future. A will stare longingly at houses online and moan. We want so badly to be settled and to spend Saturdays fixing up our home. We want to fast forward to the week of our wedding, surrounded by family and friends. We want to fast forward to living together and sharing in that unique level of trust and comfort that comes with that.

But, we have only a few more months to enjoy the 'right now'. The last days I will, God willing, ever live without A, and be able to come home, talk to no one, and have delicious evenings where I am curled up with Amelia,  eating in bed, listening to her weird dog snores in the quiet peace of my own room.

As I think about all that is yet to come, while the rain finally falls from the sky outside and I sip my peppermint tea, I realize that I do want to stay here, in this moment, for a while longer and stare out at the great expanse of joy sprawled out before me these next months. For this is a beautiful, incandescent space to be in. In fact, it is quite what I have waited for all my life.

I will leave you with this quote:

"Appreciate life as it happens. Moments will soon pass and you will wish you had treasured them more."

National Parks and Poop Water

I had you at poop water, didn't I?

Let me start at the beginning. The morning after my "Nerdy 30" party I pulled a very rookie move and thought A and I should start our three week road trip, through six states, early in the morning. Our 7am departure hazily turned into an 11am one, which was executed only after we cleaned up the house, I was given a coffee IV, we hoisted our camping gear into my CRV, and accepted the delightful muffins and Gatorades A's parents gave us and we promptly devoured. Our destinations were chosen based on park awesomness and geographical nearness, a very meticulous decision process, as you can imagine. In the end we chose (in order):        The Grand Canyon-Zion-Bryce Canyon-Capitol Reef-Arches-Grand Tetons.

We drove over 5,000 miles and discovered a LOT about each other.

That first morning, we made an enormous bet. Not a glamorous Vegas bet, with red velvet tables, but the kind of bet where if you lose, you want to curl into a ball in the corner. We not only bet on good weather, open campsites etc, but we bet on each other. He was betting that I did not all of a sudden have a personality change and reveal that I actually HATE the outdoors, and my favorite hobbies suddenly twisted into nagging him excessively, complaining about a lack of technology, and perhaps revealing my dream of being a pop star and serenading him with endless melodic failures while he is forced to smile and tell me I'm talented. I was betting that he would not unfold, like a beautiful origami bird being doused in water, from the man I loved into one who was grumpy, yelled profanities at female drivers, and would comment negatively on the amount of plaid and pigtails that I planned for the duration.

It is wild to think that many married people will have never spent the length of time together that A and I did, which was 24 hours a day, for three weeks. Not only is this a significant chunk of time, it became clear that being in a relationship with your best friend is a crucial component for not wanting to light your partner on fire with a bun-son burner. It's hard to really paint the picture of the level of intimacy, but it helps if you know that A is 6'4" and we stayed in an alleged "two person" backpacking tent suitable only for Tolkien characters. A's feet and head literally touched the tent's interior edges, constantly threatening to pluck open the seams, and we could not both lay on our backs simultaneously. You have to really love someone to commit to that kind of confinement with them, and that's even before I've told you the added elements of sweat, dirt and craft-beer-desperation that was also brewing in the tiny REI-produced cave. Even so, we managed to laugh, smile, and enjoy the beauty of joining nature's slow way of sprawling out the days. Each morning, we felt the sun rise, and listened sleepily as the wind slowly swirled into our tent. At night, we relaxed to the sweet silence of nothing, the dropping temperatures that cause you to deliciously curl into your sleeping bag, and of course, the debilitating fear from the cacophony of snapping snicks outside (which A was convinced must be a bear wanting to lick off his beard oil as a night cap).

Now that I've painted a picture of us, sweating, smiling, sun burned and finally realizing we have an REI addiction problem, I can segway into the poop water story.

Day One: Five hours and a trivial amount of minutes in.

We stopped at yet another nondescript gas station in New Mexico. It had been hours of staring at cement and concrete as we drive, the sun beating down relentlessly. We decided to stop since I apparently pee every one-two hours. As we went in, I grabbed my canteen, since I, of course, care deeply about the environment and would be appalled to buy anything with-GULP-plastic! As I went into the bathroom, I did a quick scan....multiple stalls, only a mild urine saturation smell, medium-high level grossness of the sink.....somehow this all added up to me thinking it was a fabulous idea to fill up my canteen. Well, as I exited, I felt really good about myself, in a way that middle-class people do when they do basically anything mildly helpful for the planet. As I walked pass the chip assortment I saw A BUYING WATER! I walked up to him, scowling, my eye brows almost touching in judgement, and remarked, "Why are you buying water when you can get it for free?"

He responds, "I don't want dirty gas station water, plus this is cold. It's only one dollar...you can have some, too."

Naturally, I respond very maturely, "I'm not going to drink your bougie water!"    

I feel as though I did something like a strut as I walked out and got back in the passenger side door. As A paid, I listened to the sweet squeak of my canteen lid turning as I took it off, and went for a nice swig of water, when an abhorrent smell violated my nostrils. I pinched my nose in horror. Right then, A opened the driver door and started the car as I examined my canteen further.

I turned to A and asked him, "Does this smell funny?"almost exactly like the clip from "Shit White Girls Say".

A took a sniff, while dutifully watching the road, and his eyes got wide as he responded, "That smells like shit!"

A then gave me the good advice (in theory) of throwing the contents out the window. So, the rest of this story, I can definitely blame on him and society for not teaching me how one properly dispels liquid from a moving vehicle.

Event One: I panicked and rolled down the window, my eyes nearly shut in horror at what I nearly put in my mouth.

Event Two: The window was down half way, my head positioned in the middle, ready to deploy the liquid immediately.

Event Three: I pour all the contents of the canteen out and watch them fly out the window.

Event Four: I watch, mouth gaping in horror, as they fly right back at me, soaking my face and shirt.

Event Five: I turn to look at A, who is now crying.

Four minutes later: A is still dying of laughter, basically convulsing as he grips the steering wheel. I'm not sure if he has been stabbed in the rib or is just mocking me mercilessly and preparing for the years of joy he will get from this event...it was the latter.

Six minutes later: I am now dried off, yet still humiliated and not making eye contact with A, who is clearly turned into Brutus.

Eight minutes later: My arms are tightly folded over my chest, and I'm nearly huffing as I mumble, "Can I please have some of your water."

A erupts in laughter yet again as I reach over to grab his beautiful, crinkly plastic bottle and gulp down what must be the best water I've ever had in my entire life.

Epilogue: I smell for the rest of day, and do not feel bad, as that is what A deserves for giving me such poor advice and then taking such joy in my suffering.

Now you know what happens when you try and save the planet. So think about that, when you cut the six pack holder-thingy to save a dolphin, use less electricity, or bring a reusable bag to the grocery story: It might end with the possibility of you getting dysentery (thankfully I didn't) and a type of humiliation that will be pressed into your relationship for the rest of your days.

But seriously-if you can find a way to load the car, escape the city, and bask in nature with the people you love, go do it. There isn't a day gone by since my return that I haven't wished we were back there, waking up at 4:26 AM to watch the bright, bountiful red and orange hues rise up the spine of the Grand Canyon, or just missing the way that our hammocks rocked when tied to the great pillared pine trees. I am grateful to have done it all with someone who not only can laugh at me (when appropriate, like above anecdote) but who I can also laugh with, through trips and through life.

Let me leave you with one of my favorite nature enthusiast's quotes, who truly knew the sacred  space of nature, and never stopped being an adventurer in it.

"Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul." 

-John Muir

29 is Mighty Fine

Well folks, I am about to be 30.

The age when I probably should be pregnant, at Home Depot, doing a lot of things that romantic comedies tell me are next. I should have my own house (not a rental, as it is currently) and certainly should not have a possum in my hallway wall waking me in the early morning hours and driving my dog to lunacy as she licks the wall in a whimpering frenzy.

Yet, here I am, in Austin, TX, May 22nd, 2016, writing by the light of DOY light strands with fabric bows on a table constructed by a dear friend.

It is hard to believe how much has happened in this little life of mine. How many people I've met, loved, lost and seen blowing in afternoon breezes even years later. I have known for most of my life that I would not do things quickly, or earlier. Much like the Dixie Chicks singing "Taking the Long Way Around" I too, have taken a long, beautiful, muddy path, but oh how how I have loved the joy of my feet getting dirty!

Let me take you back a little....since the last time I wrote you.....I was in love for the second time in my life. It was bright, fiery, and in the end, one that hurt and burned every outer layer of skin I had. It rocked me, the way you've heard Gotye's melancholy voice vibrate through your bones, and I could not eat (I know...shocking), could not sleep, basically all my favorite things. I literally dropped to my knees, asking God why he made me meet that man, made me go through such suffering, why he had to say the things he did about us, about our future.


Then, in the most miraculous way, I got up. Not like a Phoenix or anything mythical, more like a wet cat that has emerged from a rusty drain pipe. I started running again, blasting Taylor Swift, and really thinking about all the things that could have never worked. All the ways he had worn me down in our relationship, taken taken taken from me, and realized that people can be very, very cruel to each other. That, I am blessed to admit, was a first for me. No one I have ever loved, or who has loved me, had ever been so completely, and utterly, cold. Most amazingly though, was finally finding peace that what happened was exactly as it was meant to be. That I was spared from something that never would have been enough, and would have been the slow kind of suffering that is hardest to slip away from.

Turns out, Taylor Swift knows her shit about break-ups....who knew?

So in the fall, I said YES to everything. YES to craft beer, festivals, ACL, trivia, running, wine nights, cuddling with Amelia, football games, flirting with new guys and realizing that life  being single was just as juicy as I remembered in my early 20's, since truthfully, it had been a while since I'd been back in the game.

Except, this time, it was juicier.

Now I really know who I am, and the parts that still do befuddle me, I have grown to love, and encourage all their mischievous ways.

The hardest question for me wasn't, "Will I find love again?" believe it or not. The hardest question was, and remains, "Why do some people have to get their heart broken SO MUCH, when others find their first love when they're young?"

This is a tough one. I will never know the answer. However, I will say this, I have learned, and been humbled by the fact, that everyone has their challenges, no matter what it appears on the outside.

Why did I have to go through TWO major break-ups in one year, while others I knew honeymooned, moved in together, had babies? Perhaps I will never know.

BUT-

I have never felt stronger in my entire life. Women who meet their first love in high school, college, etc. can't know what it feels to take on the world BY YOURSELF after a terrible break-up, one that takes a melon-baller to your insides, scoop by scoop, until you have to fill all those parts of you again.

So, where am I at, in late May, as my 30th birthday looms just a mere three weeks away?

I will say this. I have never, ever felt more terrified, excited and ready for everything life has lying ahead for me. I am more astounded now, than ever,  by the beauty in people, though they can hurt you, and more ready than ever to let the good ones in and trust that God has made me tough enough, and given me enough Beyonce albums, to get through anything in this world.

I have also realized that with family, friends, one pound pup, and running, that one can stare up at all the stars and know that one day, she might just get one, but even if she doesn't, the grass blanket beneath her will always be enough.

I will leave you with one of my favorite poems I wrote when I was 20, on the crumbling cobblestones in Prague, as the apple trees exploded with blooms in April. I like to think that then, I was building strength, for times like this past fall, when I need to be reminded what gumption felt like....and it is sweet to remember the times when I would have given anything in the world to actually know what love feels like.

I have known it three times, and for that I should be grateful. And, hopefully this new one, is the one that I can drape over my shoulders and cradle, for the rest of my days.

Wriding

I have wild horses
panting and pounding
all the angles of me

They are beautifully unhinged
no kind
of saddle to sit upon
I don't wish
to reign them in

The rope leaves marks
 on small hands 
like these
so I watch the dust lift up
like volcanic murmurs
from their gallant rush West
it swirls down my capillaries
until it coats my bones

And I keep
my palms flat, perpetually open
in case my horses grow hungry

They are my lovely fractures
dark and violent riders
only moved by
bloody sunsets
and a hope 
balancing on that tilted axis
leading to the moon:

As it wanes, I cry;
waxes, I implode

My horses follow
the glow
until they have galloped every acre
of Me

I never would dream
of taming
ever maiming
the wild part of me.

When did those flowers bloom? When did the sky become so inky and lovely?

Well readers, things have changed quite drastically since my last post in January, where I brutally admitted that life had nearly thwarted me, but I was going to stay in the wild blender of it all just to see what it whipped up.

*Let me note that it is easy to feel positive and gooey like this (or the tone of the rest of the post) in retrospect...like "Oh that suffering was so worth it for what I am blessed to have now...." like after the worst hike of your life, where you cussed the whole time but after are like "What a great hike!" after you chugged Gatorade and can gorge on pizza...but PLEASE believe when I was entrenched in that sticky sadness I was not adorable or grateful. I was secretly glaring at wedding invitations, foaming at the mouth really, and throwing very intense metaphorical darts at adorable couples holding hands and having Friday date-nights in flannel shirts and skinny jeans that fit appropriately. I did have brief moments where I would rise above, throw on a sports bra and hike, feeling wildly independent for about seventy-four minutes, wherein I would promptly plop back down onto the couch, light a cinnamon candle, and mock the douches on Million-dollar Matchmaker once again, while ignoring my phone and the outside world (there would usually be a bag of Munchies or chocolate milk involved in this scenario...depending on depression levels).

I remember my mom just holding me in December, like I was a Koala, whose bones might break if you squeezed it too tightly, thinking to herself, "This little wild little soul....will she make it or should I be concerned she likes Sylvia Plath so much?"

Now, I am happy to say, I am feeling like I am one of the luckiest young ladies alive. Sure, I don't have the riches of a Hilton sister (or, thankfully, any inappropriate adult films), or the writing success of mid-drift-disaster favorite Lena Dunham, but I have found myself in quite a joyous state just being all the little corners and edges of disheveled little me, who has decided she could be five pounds thinner if she stopped eating beer and Mexican food.....but what kind of life is that?

What is it, do you say, that has made me so incandescently happy? Well, it is perhaps hard to point at just one thing, but instead it is a myriad of things piled like a beautiful Lego tower above me that has made life oh-so-juicy.

First:

I got my new pup Amelia. Now, if you haven't owned a dog, my advice to you is WAIT AS LONG AS YOU CAN! That doesn't mean I don't love my sweet rescue girl, but goodness is it expensive and stressful to have this creature with big sad brown eyes biting her squeaky stuffed squirrel in a frenzy every time you get dressed. You know she's screaming inside DON'T LEAVE ME DON'T LEAVE ME! I mean, she is needy....in a way I'm sure some supermodels are, though Amelia eats twice a day....so more often than the models. All this being said, she is an absolute joy and I have decided she is my life partner so I will just have to mold my life accordingly. She spoons with me, greets me like I've been gone for a thousand years, and I can truly say I am her FAVORITE person in the WHOLE world. I don't think I can say that definitively about anyone else's feelings about me. It is still weird to me that when we're in public, she follows me like we have magnetic noses. One time, she even chewed through her leash and chose to stay by my side sweetly waiting for my slightly tipsy self to notice she was loose. So, as much as my bangs have shriveled from the stress of her, and her hairballs float around my house like tumbleweeds, she is one beautiful thing jumped out of my autumn of sadness last year right into my now-fur-coated lap. (Hey...at least we are both blonde so that hair matches?)

Second:

I moved into an adorable old house which is most definitely housing hundreds of rats beneath it, has a precarious deck that certainly is not up to code and may or not collapse like in Beethoven 2, and has no central heating or a/c, but oh it is just so adorable. After work, when the weather is nice, I sit out there after a long day and play fetch with Amelia, watch the sunset, and just think of how lovely it is to have a yard and space to call your own (even if it's rented). I have spent nearly all of my savings at Target buying accent items and rugs, but I do believe my house with E has become a central spot for gatherings, and with the famously trite outdoor lights and mint green furniture, I think we will have many beers there over the next year and probably more than one account of vomit under the deck, which will be found days later in a waft of stench from being baked in the afternoon Texas sun.
 
Third:

I finished grad school! After schlepping through nearly two years of perhaps the WORST graduate program in existence, where I learned basically nothing and accrued thousands of dollars in debt, I finally finished and hopefully did so while somewhat maintaining a kind demeanor...though it was hard not to turn to my cohort and not have my eyes roll back into my head. If we had one more teacher who said, "Wow, I feel like your cohort knows more about literacy than I do....." I was going to literally throw my textbook across our dank classroom just so it got some actual use. All I can say is, I hope no one really expects me to be any smarter or competent concerning the literacy needs of children after this program....because the only real thing I learned is that a Freebirds burrito was necessary for me to survive four hours of hell on a Tuesday night without losing my shit.

Four:

I got my head out of my arse and got on a plane. Then another plane, and another. I wiped my savings away and traveled my little heart out. I bought a Target journal, wrote about the smells, sights and terrible capri pants that men wear in Europe, and remembered just how blessed I am to have summers off, a job I love, stamps in my passport, and most of all friends and family whom I love and cherish. I got to feel small again, but not in a curled-up-in-the-fetal-position-red-eyes-small....but the hiking the Norwegian fjords as they eclipse you in beauty height and color and remind you are important but also just another story in a very, very long leather-bound book that may or may not every be read.

OK....what else am I forgetting? Oh yes....one very important thing that has knocked my socks right off, across the hardwood floor, and into the corner of the living room. We will talk of that another time.....

Enough sappiness...let me end with these two quotes by the oh-so-fabulous and raw Anne Lammot, whom I adore:

"Your problem is how you are going to spend this one and precious life you have been issued. Whether you're going to spend it trying to look good and creating the illusion that you have power over circumstances, or whether you are going to taste it, enjoy it and find out the truth about who you are."

"Joy is the best makeup."

A Knew Year

If you know me well, you know I enjoy puns. In fact, I was practically raised on puns, the way some kids are fed excessive amounts of corn and Lunchables, I was spooned little slimy puns that stuck on my tongue until I swallowed them. So, why not start the new year with one.....

Let me start by saying NYE is the most egregious, annoying holiday of the year to me. At least Valentine's has hoards of angry women clubbing it's red and pink hearts like forlorn baseballs, but NYE most people are IN to it. Girls look at me like I'm crazy for not owning a gold sequined dress, and they cluck that I don't have a painted glitter accent nail. Guys, who I would hope would be on my side, genuinely love chanting numbers in general, even if they are counting down time to a kiss, much like a death march, if you are single. Not to mention the night is overpriced, usually atrocious weather, and may end with you kissing someone whose beard scratches your face or someone who is at least an inch shorter than you....even in flats.

Of course, I loved this holiday when I was in a couple. That kiss at midnight was spun in magic and warm familiarity. Even getting an oil change was like a damned haiku of car parts when someone is holding your hand.

Last year, J and I went out to his ranch and the two of us had a downright incandescent time under the trees with his golden retriever's fur flying around us like puffy fireflies. We talked about the future and my little 27 year old self was one smitten blond kitten (albeit in a camouflage beanie).

This year, however, I was just not in the mood.

I first made a list of things to stop doing:

1) Stop being a bitch (if only in your head..)
2) Stop watching Indie movies where people fall in love traveling through Ireland with twelve dollars, a guitar, and a slim pant leg
3) Stop looking at FB and assuming everyone's lives are "perfect" because of a series of selfies
4) Do NOT go on Pinterest and look at the wedding section......
5) Stop secretly wishing all your friends were single, too, so we could laugh at really bad online dating experiences, instead of you listening to mine while your husband makes you pasta and rubs your feet

Oh...and of course.....lose __________ pounds, get my book published, graduate grad school...blah blah blah.


This year, this list is getting crumpled, gnarled by my incisors, and spat on before it goes into the trash. The truth is, I don't want to make a list. I feel like the Big Guy has gone out of his way to batter me this year, and not the good kind that makes potatoes into french fries, more like the scene from A Perfect Storm.

This year, I am going to turn 2015 into the "Knew Year", which is basically a euphemism for me realizing that I have no control over my life and I finally realize that I have to let God do what he wants with me.

I feel like, at 28, all I can do is look for little signs for when I'm supposed to say YES. For example, when the season premier of GIRLS is happening and H happens to have organized an event, then I get to say YES. When the process of my book becomes as arduous as getting a PhD in astrophysics, I just have to deal with it and say YES it's going to take longer than an elephant's gestation period to get this done. And, when B wants to travel through Ireland with me, looking for organic farms, I am going to kiss the leathery face of my passport and say YES.

What I'm going to try and not do, is control things.

The affliction for our generation is that we control everything. I can literally swipe men right or left and control who I "like" online. With a credit card, I can control both real and fake money at the touch of a fingertip. We tell teens to "Support Austism" by eating a hot chili pepper and posting it to Instagram (WHAT?!). We want to pretend like we control everything around us, when really, our lives can be changed instantaneously, with a slick road and overused tires, with a crushing blow to your family, or with an overwhelming opportunity to go somewhere and do something you never thought possible.

So, let this not be the year where I obsess about who I am, my age, where to live, what to write, how to teach, or the future. Let this just be the year where I KNEW (see the pun, now?) that I had no idea how my life would go, and I just had a DAMN good time sitting back with my peppermint tea, appreciating every moment, and laughing.

Happy New Year :)

Torrents of August

Let me start with a quote from one of my favorite writers, who freely admits she has no clue what is going on:

"My coming to faith did not start with a leap but rather a series of staggers from what seemed like one safe place to another. Like lily pads, round and green, these places summoned and then held me up while I grew. Each prepared me for the next leaf on which I would land, and in this way I moved across the swamp of doubt and fear."

Anne Lamott

There are some days that it should be raining, all day, in torrents and blustering swirls around your outside world so you can curl up with a fuzzy blanket and a piping mug of tea. These days are for writing at great lengths, journaling your little heart out, or letting yourself dip into sadness. I've been wanting the latter. But, alas, it is 100 degrees and Sunday. Blast.

Things in my life, and several people I hold most dear, are falling apart. I use this cliche because it is one of the few ways to describe the truth of the feeling: that little pieces of you are coming off of you in chunks and you may just be walking around the block when your right arm snaps off, and you must pick it up like a piece of litter and carry the stump home. There is too much heartbreak around. One dear friend of mine is having her heart broken by a man she loves but can't reach, two have tried for babies and felt that all-encompassing loss of unborn babies who never got a chance at life. All of this suffering, while different and specific, is also all the same lopsided, dank fruit of the same gnarled branch.

I always wonder: Why must we suffer? There are a myriad of answers people tell you, many of which make me want to stick my fist in my mouth or bite the edge of my desk until my gums bleed. The most common is: Something better is going to come of this. Unfortunately, this is about the worst thing you can say to someone when they are still in their darkest pits. It is, ironically, exactly what I SAY TO MY FRIENDS! When it's turned around on you, either with relationships: "You're going to meet someone who really desrves you!" to which my brain barks "Ummm....I thought HE deserved me and I don't even WANT to think about some friggin new dude that I'm going to HATE cause he's not MY guy!" While instead I nod, and try to smile, cause my friends are working so hard with their big hugs and their lopsided smiles and my face looks so damned pathetic I should try to not frighten them to putting me on 24 hour watch. Or, with miscarriage, the ineptitude of everyone to convey their sorrow, so all we say is "I have this friend who.............." and you can imagine how annoying that one is.

And then comes the food....and the wine.....that lovely people bring to you because they think you might not eat, might not smile, laugh, want to go to a bar, ever again.

How does one cope with all of this loss? How do you live your life so inextricably with another human and then wake up to an empty bed? How do you hold something so tight within you, while trying to be a normal person who should clean out their CAR on a Sunday afternoon? Who should go to the doctor, make dinner, go to the gym? Well, I have a very good answer: SLEEP. Yes. Don't eat your sorrows away, don't over-exercise, or take diet/energy pills like Jessie from Saved by the Bell (please, we all remember this episode). All you have to do, is slip some melatonin into your nightly routine, and BAM, you can black out for at least 10 hours + a day, maybe more if you have my type of lifelong training under your belt. These blissful hours mean you can't look at painful photos on your IPhone, you can't think about painful scenarios where he was spooning you and the dog, and worst of all, you can't think about the day that may never happen, where you both make it work (which usually involves dramatic weather where you have to scream your feelings over a storm).

Naturally, I'm always going to ask what God (or the universe, if that's the higher dude you believe is jostling us like rag dolls) has in store for us. One of the people suffering most, who is dearest to me, had something happen this week just like me. While talking on the phone we wondered, are we supposed to be doing something? Is she supposed to move to Austin with me? Am I supposed to move there, to her? Or, are we supposed to farm in New Zealand while locals laugh at my inability to grow corn? It's hard to say. All I know is, that right now I can't see it. Right now, is when you have to grab onto the long swan-like neck of faith and ring it's neck, but don't worry, faith rarely dies, and when it does you have to do a lot more then that. Even if you're trying to strangle faith with questions, at least you're holding it, in your hands, and a part of it is passing onto you.

Because the lows creep up on you, sneak up like a sunrise, and the colors smash you until you can not see anymore. Some people can stop them, wait for them and pounce on their cruel little legs, but I am not so stealth. I let them grab me, tumble me, break me, and then I crawl away with broken ribs and hope that things will grow again, one day.

The Good, the Bad, and the Heinously Ugly (of relationships)

I have decided to share some cruelly intimate details about being in a relationship. I have had
a lot of dating experience, enough to make a girl cry, really, but now that I've been with the same guy for almost a year, I am finding dating was a cakewalk in comparison. I've split up the writing into the Good, the Bad, and the Heinously Ugly, in hopes that you can excavate any truths that apply to you. Oh, and I want you to smile, and maybe grimace, but mostly smile after reading.

 Let's start with the Good....so as not to frighten anyone.

The GOOD:

The best part of relationships are nights like last night, when I had the worst cramps imaginable, similar to elephants playing hopscotch on my ovaries, and my boyfriend was willing to rest his warm hand on my hip as we lay together, to act as a human heating pad....I mean, I know this wouldn't make it in a RomCom or anything, but dang, that is love in the best way. Another good thing about being in love is knowing that your boyfriend has agreed to fly 1,000 miles to meet your family, go to a wedding with you, all to let you know he cherishes you. In one week Joey will fly to Denver to meet not only my parents, but my sister, her husband and two kids, as well as my grandma and uncle. Did I mention that almost all these people are living in the same house for the summer, that Joey and I will also stay in? I'm not going to lie to you, if the situation was reversed, I'd be downright terrified. I know that my family is wonderful, but they are also loud, in your face, and so sarcastic that my mom has nearly made a couple of my friends cry when she was very obviously (in my daughter opinion) joking. Another lovely thing about relationships is knowing that someone is so connected with your life. Often, while we are watching TV, I'll start rambling about work or friends and "Oh my GOSH!" statements, and he just politely pauses and turns, to listen to whatever ridiculous nonsense I care to sputter, with a smile on his face. I mean, it's enough to make me feel almost borderline interesting. Though, I know, he is more or less bound to listen to me as long as we're together and at this point, he knows everyone so he is ready to give his feedback, sometimes with an ever-growing finger wag that makes him border on sassy (clearly a sign of me hanging out with teens too much and him hanging out with me too much).

The BAD:

 Well I'll just come right out and say it: vacations suck now. I really can't go on a vacation now without thinking, wow, Joey would really like it here.....or, HEY there's a brewery over there he'd ADORE! It's pathetic, and embarrassing, really, because I used to travel all over the world alone. I got on a plane, alone, to Prague, Peru and Ireland. While everyone else I studied abroad with went together on trips for spring break, I was dreaming of Irish countrysides and juicy evenings curled up with a book all by myself. Me, with a backpack and a plane ticket was all I needed in the world to survive (and avocados, I always need those to survive). And you know what? I am also a LOT needier now. I used to hear these girls talk about how they have to see their boyfriends ALL the time and in my head I was really thinking, that's sort of sad for you...to be so needy....little Ms. Independent would NEVER need to see a man so much...and yet here I am, needing to see him so much that I might as well be renting my room out to earn extra cash. The scariness of love is also bad. That fear that someone really knows you, really sees you, and that one day they may decide to stop loving you. Or, that something could happen to them, and you'd have to actually learn something about cars instead of relying on them to do all of the maintenance. Of course, most of the bad here is good....because hey, it really isn't that bad, at the end of the day, to love and be loved. But still, my cool independent lady points, which once were a reasonable amount, are slowly flopping out of my piggy bank onto the floor.

The HEINOUSLY UGLY:

Alright, here's when it gets real. I think most of you can relate to this, and if you can't than I'm going to be forced to think you're either lying or have struck upon a grace that I really hope to find one day. Let me start with this little gem of a story: I am trimming Joey's hair, already terrified of the device and possibility of slicing him Sweeney Todd style, when I trim to high above his ear and give him a straight up bald spot. Suddenly my handsome boyfriend looks more like a mauled hick. He actually screeches when he looks at his own reflection. And then, what do I do? Well, I'll tell you what I didn't do, which is apologize and rub his back, gently telling him he still looks like a character from a Harlequem Romance novel. No, I ran to the bed (his, mind you), jumped under the covers, cried and refused to let him coax me out of my shameful cocoon. Did this last for a few minutes, you ask? Oh no, we're talking about an hour, at least. I haven't actually run and hid from someone since the days my sister would chase me, screaming, up that stairs while my grandma babysit us as kids.

The truth is, when you're in a relationship, all your worst qualities are reflected back at you. How jealous you can be, how vein, how pouty, how stubborn, how unbelievably naggy you can be while all the while, as a single gal, you go around thinking how crazy these girls in relationships are and that you certainly would NEVER be like them. Well, folks, now I'm in the club. I have said things like, "It would be great if you could stop doing that," and also things like, "Could you maybe wear this instead?" I bitch at him about all these things and somehow he still wants to spend time with me and hold me during the whole movie. It amazes me. When we are at the bar and a guy looks at me or talks to me, he is relatively unfazed. Meanwhile, one time a female bartender in booty shorts and cutoff shirt smiled at him and said, "Hey Joey, how's it going?" there was honestly a dark forest that grew inside me, wishing that she would maybe fart while stacking glasses or something so that I wouldn't be continuously blown over and irritated by her overall hotness.

 Luckily, I have a guy who doesn't let me storm out of the room or house when all I want to do is not face the problem and just run and hide. He gently reaches for my arms, guides me to the couch and makes me look at him and talk through it. I think Webster's Dictionary would define this as: maturity. I thought I was mature, I mean, all day I keep kids on task and cluck at them to follow school rules. I pay my bills. I cook from scratch (sometimes) and know how to properly set the dinner table. I have an AMAZON account, for goodness sake, how much more mature can it get? It turns out, I have an emotional age of about thirteen. It's like the opposite of dog years. I don't know how some people are so mature in relationships, but I'm grateful they are, because even though I'm getting better at not shutting down and crawling into holes only Batman would find interesting, I still am a child when it comes being in love.

I suppose that is the fun, though. Learning each others most obnoxious qualities and then figuring out how to maneuver around them, almost like the Matrix and bullets. Joey has learned to tickle my feet, in moments of tension, and I have learned to poke his face when he is looking glum or is being particularly irritating. I guess it is the fighting within yourself, that realizes that it's nice to have something worth fighting for. And, better yet, it's nice to have someone in the ring with you, after many years of you against the world, even if at times you want to jab the other person :)

How it Brings May Flowers

I look around at the wildflowers here, in this normally desolate and thirsty display of nature, and I nearly want to weep at the depth of petals and the vivacity of color around me. The bluebonnets, Indian Paintbrush, and countless other flora around me that I can not name. I sigh and think, this is what the song says about May. But, all of my past experiences with a Texas May have shown me humidity, 90 degrees and rising, and everything turned to a burnt, scorching yellow. As I sit on my porch in a sweater, this early risen Sunday morning, I am so grateful for the perfect stretch of Spring that continues on.

I find myself in a place in my life where I am thinking about things never once thought upon (at least not in a real way) before. Usually, I was either experiencing online-dating travesties worthy of some type of rambling memoir, traveling aimlessly with some illness, or fumbling in a career where you never will feel finished or that you've done enough. It is strange, then, to find myself with the same, wonderful man for 8 months now. To go to work and have at least a few moments where I see improvement in myself, and then to go home knowing I have finally, after five years of inconsistent bursts of labor, closed in upon the end stage of my book.

I guess 26 (nearing 27) is a strange but beautiful place in your life.  Sex and the City tells me I am hopelessly young and need to experience more, while small-towns and archaic literature and films tell me I am old and may die alone. I watch marriages flourish and fail, careers die and others go back to school again, and I know that I am in a part of life that is constantly changing. At this age, you are somewhere between missing getting crazy downtown, to finding dive bars closer by, and realizing that it's Saturday night and you just want to cuddle with your boyfriend and his dog on the couch with a glass (ahem...or two) of wine.

The other night I told my dearest friend, H, that I felt so lame for leaving downtown early with some of my single friends in order to go snuggle with my boyfriend in Pflugerville of all places. How could I want to leave music, the bright white lights and energy of a city to go sixteen miles north to a sort of ghetto suburbia? Well, I guess that's what love is. H just sort of laughed and said, "Welcome to my life," in that way she does that is somewhere between a delightful laugh and sigh of relief that we are almost on the same page. She is used to me being the single gal who loves scouting for guys at pubs and who somehow has texts at 2a.m. from guys I swear I never gave my number to.....these days though, I am cooking salmon burgers and rice in the kitchen of Joey's house, listening to the copious amounts of oil he put in the pan pop and wondering how Monday nights got to be so lovely.

I hear my 8th grade students mumblings sometimes, their precious fears of "What comes next?" They are filled with that same fear that I have felt of late, that things are changing, that the time of selfishness has perhaps been slowly waving goodbye to you for some time now. I watched my lovely co-worker K's belly rise, like a wonderful baked good, and then yesterday, I met that perfect pink baby Q. I can not convey the light that shined in her cheeks, that glow of motherhood that wraps itself around that soul of a person, and I can nearly feel my ovaries bursting within me.

Naturally, I have always wanted babies. I mean, come on, I grew up in a daycare, and then worked at that same daycare through my teens. A baby on the hip has always fit on me better than expensive leather purses. And yet, I am also incredibly selfish. I adore being alone, writing, eating mac n cheese alone in my bed in the most delicious evening of cheesy gluttony imaginable. I also can not save money....well, I suppose I am good at saving for plane tickets, and trips, but when it comes to actually saving just to save I am impossibly stubborn. Though I feel like it is cliche to watch your friends start to have babies and want it yourself, I fear that is where my heart is wandering. Now, I certainly need three plus years to settle down a bit (ahem....get a ring...) and learn to make casseroles, I suppose, as all moms somehow intrinsically are able. It is just amazing that I am even near to this point. Somehow, the 78 middle-school children are not a deterrent in this want for children....can you believe? Even their sassy wagging of tongues does not faze me, as I am sure I will have very nerdy, quiet children that will read Saturday mornings (after we all sleep in) in my magical outdoor garden while sipping tea.....and then I will make homemade jam and pies while still maintaining a fabulously slim figure....all of this is reasonable, right?

As I approach the time of year when the long stretch of summer will lie before me, I find myself trying to improve. To take classes in baking, fitness and hopefully language as well. I am also going to soak up the sleep and leisure because I have, for some reason, decided to go back to school and get my master's degree in Advanced Literacy. Why would a teacher, who gets paid a mere $500 more a year for such credentials, decided to go through two years of extended education and slaving after work? Well, I suppose it is because I love to learn. Teachers love to see learning in others, but I like to think I am learning new things about myself every day...for example, how I managed to not scream profanities at the most apathetic and irritating student on the planet....I will tell you, nothing is harder in this world than keeping your cool with a sassy teen. Every day a middle school teacher does not get fired for cussing and/or swatting a child is a total victory.

I suppose what the general ramble of this entire blog is about is that I am growing up? Now, I assure you I am still endlessly infantile, and will admit that I am a very graceless fighter who pouts and storms off in relationships the way five-year-olds do, but I'm trying. I am starting to think about what is next in this life of mine, and realizing that perhaps there will be a time when I want to decorate a home, weed a garden, and swaddle a little baby more than seeing the temples of SouthEast Asia.

This, for me, is a strange swirl of growing up. I suppose I can thank my parents, for departing the edifice of my youth and forcing me to say goodbye. For now, Austin is my home. I will spend year 3 in my little Ewok Village and perfect miniature room with my balcony.....wondering if it will be the last I will spend there.

I will leave you with these words to ponder.....

"I think I'm finally growing up - and about time."



-Elizabeth Taylor