The Light Side of Darkness

At our last appointment, our doctor asked if we wanted to hear the heartbeat again.  She immediately found it.  It was strong and loud.  All of a sudden, we could hear static.  "The baby just turned it's back to us.  It doesn't seem to like doctors," she stated.  She tried again.  The baby had flipped back over and was facing us.  BOOM!  BOOM!  BOOM!  "Ok! That's enough of that!" The doctor said, and she put away the instrument.  "What was that sound?"  I asked.  "Your baby started kicking at the machine.  It is very stubborn.  I wonder where the baby gets it from?"  She looked at me and then at Joe.  We all started laughing.  That was definitely a toss up.  Today was a good day, but not every day was like this.  I guess to fully appreciate the light, we must first understand the darkness that it emerged from...

First Things First

[Begin Rant] You don't have to have a biological child to be a parent.  Those blogs that state (and I read one yesterday) that it is a woman's duty to have her own children...give me a break.  I feel that I am a parent (or a fun, young aunt) to my students and will continue to be.  Aren't adoptive parents, step-parents, and foster parents still parents?  Of course!  I just had to get that off my chest because I feel that their struggles are so real and so selfless, and their journeys are so emotionally taxing, that we can learn a lot from them. [End Rant]

"Are you expecting some new life?"

Starting the beginning of August, I was sick.  I chalked it up to a new school year and my nerves in anticipation of the start of school.  I was really tired, hot, queasy, didn't feel 100%, and couldn't recall the last time I did.  On the first day of school, when I gave the assembly in front of 800-900 incoming students and student leaders, something didn't feel right.  I told my fellow advisors, and we all agreed it was probably nerves.  I gave the assembly.  I felt it was one of my best.  Still though, something was off.

Fast forward a week later to Labor Day.  I had the grand idea to go to Hobby Lobby and redecorate our living room.  Joe came with me.  I was feeling terrible, so we made our stop short.  On the way home, I told Joe that I can't go on being sick, and that I should probably go to the doctor.  We came up with plan that I would go in a day or two if things didn't get back to normal.  "If nothing else, I think we should stop and get a pregnancy test," I finally said.  "Something doesn't feel right."  "I think we can wait,"  Joe said.  "Nope. Not happening. There's something wrong.  I need you to take me to get one."  And so he did.

We went to an undisclosed location because I get so embarrassed with things of this nature.  At the check-out, the man yelled, "ARE YOU EXPECTING SOME NEW LIFE?"  What the heck does that mean?  I naturally bolted for the door and sat in the car.  On the way home, I told Joe, "Won't it be so typical if I'm pregnant and that cracked-out cashier is the first person I remember from this whole experience?  That's just my life."  We laughed.

I took the test as soon as I got home, and per Joe's request, I left it on the counter for him to check.  After all, I had a living room to redecorate.  A few minutes later, I heard Joe say, "Oh my God," so I went to see what the fuss was.  "I've been reading it wrong...I thought you weren't, but you are...this is the dominant line.  Look!  See the lines?"  Now it was time for me to say, "Oh my God."  Then I said, "I better take another test."  And then, "What do I tell my CE students?"  We both started pacing throughout the house.  On one of my laps, I asked,  "What do I do now? I know nothing!  I don't even have a doctor!  I eat too much crap!  I don't exercise! What do we do?  WHAT DO WE DO?"  Joe said, "Well, I'm going to the grocery store, you should continue redecorating the living room."  So that was that.  This certainly brings a whole new meaning to Labor Day.

I can't do this

Like clockwork, the next morning I was sick.  And by sick, I mean siiick.  I was sick all day at school, making random runs to the bathroom, hoping no one would see me.  As soon as school was over, I made a beeline for home and went straight to bed.  Joe got home around 5:30 that night and came in to see pathetic me with a blanket covering my head, sobbing uncontrollably.  "What's wrong?"  Joe asked.  Between sobs, I replied, "I just wanted to inform you that I can't do this.  I'm not strong enough.  It wasn't supposed to be this way.  I'm not leaving this bed for nine months. And I'm serious...there is nothing you can say to talk me out of it."  That night began the next two weeks of my life.  I did get out of bed (reluctantly), went to school, made a beeline home, and Joe would make food deliveries to my bed every night.  During my protest, I began researching doctors.  There were 368 doctors in my area to consider.  And yes, Joe and I researched all 368 of them.  We narrowed it down to a top ten list and Joe started calling.  Several were now retired (geez Altius, update your list), and some just weren't nice on the phone.  I told Joe that we were missing something, so I began my search again.  I literally googled "First-Time Mom needs a doctor in Salt Lake City" and this amazing clinic came up with funny pictures of the staff on the homepage.  The doctor won "Best Bedside Manner" award for 2014 and "Patients' Preferred Doctor," just to name a few.  Joe made the call.  We got in for the following week.

Get her juice!  But keep going!

I was nervous beyond repair for our first doctor's appointment.  I had to make a good first impression, and I would withhold telling her that I'm afraid of doctors, needles, blood, heck, any type of bodily functions, and that I certainly wasn't wanting her to look you-know-where upon first visit.  The clinic was nice, with no frills.  I didn't need a water feature on the wall anyway.  They took us into the back room and told me to change.  "You're going to need a full exam," the nurse stated.  "Um," I replied.  "Please just tell me everything you are going to do today, so I can plan ahead."  She gave me a list!  NOTHING on the list I would ever make my worst enemy endure.  I looked at Joe.  He told me I was brave, and I headed in for battle.  First stop, full exam.  The doctor came in, examined me immediately, and I grabbed Joe's hand.  Finally, she stood up.  "I probably should have introduced myself before you showed me your privates,"  she stated.  "I'm Dr. _______ and I'm very pleased to meet you."  I knew at that moment that we would get along just fine.  She then asked how I was doing and my reply was simple.  "I just wanted to come in to see if I was pregnant."  She laughed, so I laughed nervously.  "Oh, you're pregnant alright.  Congratulations!  Take a look!."  We saw a tiny heartbeat on the computer screen.  "Heartbeats are hard to see at seven weeks.  Your baby's heart is very strong."  "HOLY SHIT, THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING."  I screamed to the doctor and to Joe.  Joe was beaming from ear to ear.

The next stop for this fabulous appointment was a blood draw.  The nurse wheeled in a cart and started talking to me about being a first-time mom, and what I think about all of this (she is pregnant with her third).  I knew what she was doing...it wasn't working.  I was very much aware that there were SIX tubes, THREE LARGE and THREE SMALL that she was going to fill with my blood.  And so it began.  We started chatting, but I was only half listening.  When will this appointment ever end?  Another nurse came in to ask me about her son in high school and if I had any suggestions.  Words were coming out of my mouth, but I'm not sure what they were. I heard Joe say, "She's not looking too great.  Should we do something?"  I'm not sure what their reply was.  I looked at Joe and said, "I think I'm going to be si---."  The next thing I remember, Joe was screaming, "Get her juice!  She needs juice!"  Three people were over me at this point.  The nurse said that she had a few vials left to fill.  "Get them all today!"  Joe screamed.  "She can't go through this again!   She's too little!"  I started being fed cookies and juice.  "I don't feel well.  Can I lay down?"  I asked.  "Please, eat what we are giving you.  You will be ok," the nurse replied.  I'm not sure how long I was in there, but everyone was very nice and very concerned.  "I'm so sorry," I whispered to a now, crowded room of people.  "I wanted to make a good first impression.  I promise I will be better next time."  So much for being brave.

The Darkest Hours

Weeks 8, 9, and 10, were still difficult, but not nearly as bad as the first three.  I told my mom at the end of Week 7 because she is my best friend and my best mom.  I cried through most of it just because when I look at her I see the perfect mom, and when I look at me, I see a mess of a person who still hasn't quite wrapped my head around any of this.

My Week 11 appointment was going to be blood-draw free, so I felt good about it.  The first thing they did at this appointment was take my blood pressure.  When it was over, the nurse looked very concerned.  "We have a problem," she stated.  She left the room and got another nurse.  The other nurse came in and retested me.  Same result.  It was too high.  A multitude of things ran through my head.  Am I hurting the baby?  Will the doctor tell me I can't be her patient anymore?  The doctor came in shortly and said we were going to do another ultrasound.  It had a completely different vibe from the previous appointment.  They wanted to see if my blood pressure was hurting the baby.  This can't be happening.  It just can't be happening.

The baby was fine.  It had a strong heartbeat and we even saw it kick!  "Your baby is so active and strong," the doctor said.  Now we needed to talk about my blood pressure.  In short, my mother had issues with her blood pressure during her pregnancy and it looked like the same thing was happening with mine.  It is called chronic hypertension and must get under control before the third trimester when a woman's blood pressure naturally increases.  Right now, my pregnancy was officially considered high risk. The baby was not being impacted at this point, which I was grateful for beyond measure.  Although some of it was hereditary, I could still cut down on certain foods and replace them with healthier alternatives, but more importantly, I needed to rest more throughout the day both physically and mentally.  The worst case scenario is preeclampsia and hurting both the baby and myself.  I was asked to get a blood pressure monitor asap and monitor myself three times a day and take a nap every day when I got done with school.  But that's not all...

We also learned that my blood type (- -) requires shots starting at 28 weeks because my immune system will start fighting off the foreign body (baby) without.  But that's not all...

The doctor also told us that I will need to deliver a baby within 6 lbs. or there may be other complications like a crushed pelvis.  So pretty much, my due date is May 5, but if this baby gets to be 6 lbs. and fully developed a few weeks prior, that's when we will deliver.

Needless to say, I was devastated at the end of the appointment.  I don't recall a moment in my life where I was this upset.  I bawled the entire time to Joe's parents (we were telling them tonight).  It was one thing if I was sick, but to be hurting the baby was just too much.  Joe was beyond excited to tell his parents.  I tried to be happy but I kept thinking of all of the issues.  I knew I had to fix it.  I just had to make it better.

The next day, I replaced much of the current food I was eating with lower sodium options.  While this was just a small percentage of chronic hypertension, it was a percentage nonetheless.  I also bought a monitor and began taking my blood pressure and recording it three times a day and taking a minimum of an hour nap to get us both on track again.

I followed the same plan for the next two weeks.  It's hard to say what I was feeling other than I couldn't see the light.  One in ten women suffer from depression during pregnancy, and I think I would fall under that category.  I became like a machine.  I just went through the motions, day in and day out.  I would rest, eat dinner, and then go to bed.  I cancelled several plans we had made.  I didn't return phone calls.  I just couldn't see the light.

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

Two weeks later, I produced the results to my doctor.  She was beyond impressed. My blood pressure had lowered twenty points, and although it was still high enough to be considered hypertensive, at this point I celebrated the small successes.  The doctor saw that all of my readings were regular at home, so she thinks that a lot of it has to do with the nervousness I feel at the doctors.  Needless to say, I was to continue with my testing, diet, and resting at home, but my pregnancy was now considered normal and I wouldn't have to go on medication.  The doctor then began asking a little more about my stress level and anxiety.  "It just really upsets me when people tell me not to worry, as if I can just shut it off like a light switch."  The doctors solution, which I think is pure genius, is when someone wants to tell me not to worry or not to get stressed out, as a replacement they should say, "I'm sorry you feel that way."  This then validates my feelings without putting a band aid on a problem that can't be fixed immediately.  Joe is becoming the master at this.  He will start with, "You need to stop..." and I will immediately correct him and say, "I'm sorry?" and he will (sometimes reluctantly) respond, "...you feel this way."  Therapy and pregnancy all in one.

Let there be light
So that pretty much sums all nineteen weeks up.  Pregnancy is officially the hardest thing I've ever had to do because of one thing: Control. I can't control when and where I'll be sick (slight incident in the car last week) or if today is going to be a good or a bad day physically and/or emotionally.  But by God, I'm trying, and I will do everything in my power to make sure this baby is as healthy as can be.  Today, I believe in light.

FAQ's

Why did you wait until you were eighteen weeks to tell people you were pregnant?  Joe and I chose to wait for several reasons.  First, we have so many cool baby girls in our life right now: Sadie, Abigail, Cambria, Carlie, and two of my best friends are pregnant as well.  Everyone deserves their time.  Second, due to first-time jitters and health risks, we thought it would be better to focus on our health instead of planning the outfits.  Third, we love Christmas cards and thought that a Christmas/Baby announcement would be a cool way to tell people.

Why aren't you finding out if it's a girl or a boy?  Life seems to have few too surprises left.  We love surprises and feel that this would be the ultimate surprise.

Are you still going to work?  What's funny about this question is only people who I don't work with ask it.  Those that I work with know that I will still be teaching full-time because they did it.  I can't think of better role models to prove you can be a wonderful mother while working full-time than I have at school.

How many children do you plan on having?  Are you kidding me?  This has been the longest four months of my life.  I am taking one day at a time.

How long are you taking off of work?  I'm taking off officially starting April 4 (Spring Break is the week prior).  It is a month before my due date, but Joe and I want me to be at home resting to ensure that my blood pressure is where it needs to be.  I will return for graduation day and then be off for the summer.

What's the best piece of advice you've been given?  I love my doctor.  I appreciate her realness and sarcasm.  She said at our first doctors appointment that since we are older and educated that pregnancy will be harder for us mentally.  "Really?"  I asked.  "Why?"  She said, "You are well-read.  You have seen people around you raise children.  You know their story, the good and the bad. You naturally compare yourselves. When you are younger, you don't know any better, so you just deal with it.  Ignorance really is bliss in this case."  Preach sister, preach!

What's the worst piece of advice you've been given?  Since people haven't known for that long, I'm taking one that I heard from one of my friends.  "When people tell you, 'You think it's hard now?  Just wait until _______,' that's the worst."

What has been the best part?  Keeping the secret has been pretty sweet.  So was making the Christmas cards. I really enjoy getting to share this time with two of my best friends at school.  That is something I will always cherish and remember...even if I've been the grumpiest out of the three. But the ultimate best part was seeing both ultra-sounds and hearing the heartbeat.  It gives me great piece of mind knowing that everything is ok.

What has been the worst part?  Aside from the terrible appointment and blacking out for a month, the worst part was telling my Seniors that I won't be there to teach them their last term of high school.  I couldn't even look at them.  I am devastated.  I am looking forward to returning on their graduation day, and I hope they understand that I am their teacher today, tomorrow, five years from now, and always.

What are you most excited for?  Aside from a healthy baby, three words: Themed Birthday Parties.

What are you most nervous about?  I'm terrified about everything...especially getting the baby from Point A to Point B if you catch my drift.  I'm also nervous about putting groceries in my car and then forgetting the baby is in the shopping cart and driving away.

Do you have any advice or suggestions for someone who is pregnant? Everyone has different experiences, just worry about you and the baby.  And when all else fails, watch What to Expect When You're Expecting.  It made me feel normal.  I was screaming at the television, "I want to be Cameron Diaz!"  but unfortunately, I am Elizabeth Banks. 

My Eggs...My Business

There is a difference between being blunt and being rude.  Trust me, I know.  I am a blunt person;  I tell the truth.  I value honesty, but I cherish tact.  Without the use of tact, you may be considered rude.  If you are considered rude, you are going to lose friends.  If you lose friends, you are going to feel lonely.  If you feel lonely, the person who you were originally rude to won't feel bad if you are now friendless because you should have used tact in the first place.  Get it?

The problem: "When are you going to have kids?"
The solution: Don't ask this question...ever!  It is rude and insulting and there is no retract now, apologize later.  These are my eggs.

If you are offended by me referring to "my eggs," as well, "my eggs," imagine how I feel when you ask if my eggs are fertilized, lack thereof, or when said eggs will become fertilized, if ever. 

When I am asked this question, I'm never quite sure how to respond because my blood is too busy rushing to my brain and only terrible thoughts are running through my head that usually end with the Carrie Prom scene, you know, the one where those fools dared pour blood on her?  Big mistake.

So instead of me just lecturing you on why you should never ask the "kid" question, let me just enlighten you.  I would like to call this segment, "Have You Considered?"

Have you considered when asking a person when they are going to have kids that they may be...

Choosing not to have children?
Having fertility issues?
Mourning one or more miscarriages?
Dealing with health problems?
Having financial difficulties?
Wanting to adopt or foster?
Waiting for a purpose?
Focusing on work?
Living happily until you interrupted?

Many years ago, I was told to never ask someone how they are feeling unless you are prepared to receive an answer other than, "fine" or "ok" back.  If you dare ask the above question, please realize that you may get more than what you bargained for, and before you know it, Carrie.  Prom.  Blood.

I think it's about time we keep our questions...and our eggs to ourselves.

Thanks. A lot.

On this Thanksgiving Eve's Eve, I am privileged to be able to take the time and really reflect on what I am thankful for.

1. I am thankful that the average household size in Utah is the largest in the nation at 3.08.  Without this, I may not have students to teach, or even worse, my class sizes would drop to the national average of 15.7 (gasp).

2. I am thankful for the colder temperatures so my neighbors can delay their 365-day garage sale of their childrens school clothes while they chain smoke all day, every day.  In other news, the brand new mattresses that appear on their lawn bi-weekly are selling nicely.

3.  I am thankful for the "Hide," "Unfollow," and "Block" buttons on Facebook so I don't have to read ignorant "logic" or look at photoshopped pictures of the President from the following "reliable" pages: The Conservative, Right Wing, Patriot Nation, Tea Party Nation, and Fox News.

4. I am thankful for IHC misdiagnosing Joe so much, I now have a cabinet full of unused medicine. The next time a homeless person is run over and lands in my front yard (yes, that's happened), I am saving him/her a trip to the E.R. and can start treatment immediately.

5. I am thankful that many of Shakespeare's plays have a classroom-friendly audio version.  This allows my students to hear the words "Peace, ho!" and not think that a skank is leaving and/or a schizophrenic farmer is talking to his garden tool.

6. I am thankful for McDonalds employees on particularly rough, early mornings that can hear me merely grumble my order and know that I would like a large Coke for $1.08, please.

7. I am thankful for my lunch crew at school who spend countless hours providing free therapy and listening to my latest Real Housewives news and potential taglines if I was ever cast.

8. I am thankful for my car trunk because when it's been a rough week, a Hobby Lobby trip is needed and so is concealment of said trip from Joe.

9. I am thankful for smutty shows like Vanderpump Rules on Bravo.  Watching thirty-somethings drink their life away, fight, work part-time, drink, wear slutty clothes, and drink some more make me feel so much better about myself.

10.  I am thankful for sweatpants or any garment with an elastic waste or drawstring.  I am convinced that a man invented zippers, metal buttons, and low-rise girl jeans just to see our constant discomfort at taking them on, off, and suffering all day like a sausage inside its casing.  It was probably the same idiot that invented corn nuts. 

11.  I am thankful for non-educators calling the Common Core the Communist Core and thinking that they know how to teach better than I do without ever taking a course or stepping inside a classroom.  Because of these "Pioneers in Education," showing us the right way, I have learned that school should consist of the following: a workbook (purchased online), several copies of an opt out form to remove my child from all things educational--I mean communist--and a device for holding my materials...perhaps a Mia Love binder. 

12. I am thankful for the DVR and the Man Den.  Let's face it, Joe and I would probably be divorced without both.

13.  I am thankful that my students understand my sarcasm for the mere fact that I am proving my professors and their theory of "Sarcasm is never acceptable in the classroom," wrong. 

14. I am thankful for Ulta Beauty and their semi-annual sale of wrinkle cream so I will continue to stay "youthful and energized or your money back."

15. I am thankful for my neighbor Thahn and her allowance to let me call her dog, Lilly, my name of Minnie, and randomly go play with her (Minnie, not Thahn) and feed her doggie treats.  Now if Reid would just replace his board for, oh I don't know, GLASS for his front window, and the Chicken Lady would keep her chickens and bunnies out of our yards, our neighborhood might be somewhat picturesque (at night of course, when all the homeless people have left, and it's not garbage night).

Happy Thanksgiving, yo!

Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?

In Baz Luhrmann's inspirational "Sunscreen" speech, he mentions to "live in New York once, but leave before it makes you hard.  Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft."  Mr. Luhrmann, I would like to add a line, "Visit New Orleans once to remind you what your purpose is."  And I'm sorry, it's not to wear sunscreen.  It's to be nice.

As the song title by Louis Armstrong suggests (and title of this post), I know what it means to miss New Orleans. 

Today I miss New Orleans.

Lessons Learned:

Be the minority.  I encourage everyone to go somewhere where you are the minority.  Whether it is race, religion, sexual orientation, politics, etc.  What is the purpose?  To consider other viewpoints.  Have you heard birds of a feather flock together?  We stay with "our kind" sort of speak because it's comfortable, but we can learn more from those that are different.  It may strengthen our values, but hopefully, it makes us more open-minded and considerate of everyone.  More times than not, Joe and I were two of maybe four Caucasians in any given area.  I had never been in the minority in terms of skin color.  As I mentioned this to Joe, he said, "Look around here, no one cares or notices....except for you."  Hmmm, maybe it's not the minority or majority of anything after all.  Life was just easy in New Orleans.  People are just people.

Always use your manners.  I like to think that I have manners, but not as consistent as the people in New Orleans. The phrases: Please, Thank You, Excuse Me, Yes Mam, Yes Sir, were ever-present.  Simple manners made me feel respected and important.  After a few short days, Joe and I were using our manners consistently, even to some grouchy Chicagoans who didn't reciprocate.  Hopefully, the manner train will be headed to Utah and stick around for a while.  (I bet the folks of New Orleans send out Thank You notes, haha). 

Be proud of where you came from.  Since the people of New Orleans were beyond friendly, I used this opportunity to ask people about the city and their life.  Every single person we talked to were so proud to tell us that they either moved to New Orleans or that they are from New Orleans.  They love their city and their city loves them.  Some of them even got emotional over their investment in this great town, especially when Hurricane Katrina came up (and it came up a lot).  Many of the citizens felt that the rest of the world turned their back on them, but they were there for each other.  Remarkable.

Never Forget.  Hurricane Katrina Memorial.

Get back to basics.  Cell phones were never an issue...I just didn't see them in New Orleans.  Cars were used sparingly...people just walked.  The time out whether it was at the French Market or dinner was quality time.  You appreciated the company you were with and the activity that was taking place.  There was no rush to go on to the next thing or talk to someone that wasn't there.  I loved the face-to-face interaction and the small town values. 

Love the skin you're in.  Something that Utahns do that is different from the rest of the world is the whole pajama thing.  We wear our pajamas outside of our house and in public places. In New Orleans and the rest of the world, that is a no-no, and honestly, for good reason.  I was thankful Joe listened to me our first morning and did not go to breakfast in the hotel in his pajamas...everyone was dressed for the day, far nicer than I ever thought of being in the 90+ temperature and humidity.  But I digress; there were all shapes and sizes in New Orleans but no one was pointed out, treated poorly, or judged for looking a certain way.  What I loved the most is that everyone swam in our hotel pool regardless of body type!  Soooo many people at home talk about how they "don't have a swimsuit body."  Forget that!  If you want to swim...swim!  Feel confident and love who you are, inside and out.



You're never too cool or too old to pose in ridiculous costumes.

Make each day count.  The day we were headed to Chicago, it was a down pour in New Orleans.  We stayed in our room for as long as we could, but then we needed to head out; we didn't have a car, and we were quite reluctant on how to spend our day outside.  As we were passing the hotel lobby, the kind valet said, "Isn't the rain just glorious!  You two will surely enjoy your last day here!"  I looked at Joe and from that point forward, we enjoyed our day...our attitudes were lousy, not the weather.  Rain is rain, but New Orleans waits for no one.  We shopped, ate lunch, and even went and stuck our feet (my flip flop) in the Mississippi.  Every day is important.

Just ask.  I use this phrase often in my classroom, as I first read it in the book, The Last Lecture.  If you ask, there is a 50% chance that it will occur and a 50% that it won't.  But if you never ask, you have a 100% chance that it will never occur.  Man, this should be the motto of New Orleans.  Ask and you shall receive!  I asked the policemen on horses at Bourbon Street if I could take a picture with them (I didn't know the horses would lick my hair).  "Of course!" they said.  We asked if we could sit on the roof at an Italian restaurant.  Poof!  Our wish was granted.  In line at Cafe Du Monde (the line has a typical hour wait), a couple came up to us, mentioned that they were standing in the wrong line, and if they could get in front of us.  We paid it forward, and let them in line.  Sometimes all you have to do is ask.

Ask and you may receive a lot more than you bargained for :)

Be nice.  If you have seen any of our New Orleans pictures, many of them have both Joe and I in the photo.  We didn't ask anyone for this.  People simply saw two people, one camera, and they all just walked up to us, took our camera, and started taking pictures at random locations.  This is where we met the best people of our trip who all taught us to be nice and pass it on.


"But trust me, on the sunscreen [be nice]."

This is a Strong House

This is a strong house.

It has been almost a year since Joe and I were married.  It certainly hasn't been all lollipops, unicorns, and glitter like a Kesha music video.  It's been more like a television commercial for a new medication in which you see a jolly man paddling in circles while a voice-over lists all of the side effects, of course, always ending in death.  Now I'm not saying marriage is a death sentence, but I would have appreciated an alphabetized list of side effects, a self-help book, something to prepare me for what is to come.  I see all these parenting books entitled What to Expect When You're Expecting, When You're One, When You're Two, yada, yada, yada. What about the books titled What to Expect in Your First Year of Marriage?  If a couple can't succeed together, then why bring a baby into the mix?  It sounds like we are getting ahead of ourselves with all of these baby books.  It's that chicken and egg debate all over again.

If I ever get overly ambitious maybe I will write a book entitled What To Expect in Your First Year of Marriage.  But who am I kidding?  I find myself far more clever and truthful to knock off someone else's title.  I will make it my own, and I will call it: The First Year of Marriage Sucks, Let's Be Honest.  I would pilot the following chapters:

Chapter 1: High Expectations

What sucks about the first year of marriage is not the person you're married to (at least in my case).  What sucks are the high expectations that you and your partner place on yourself and each other because you think that you are the only couple that isn't 100% madly in love all the time. You spend more time dwelling on the fact that you are failing (which you're not), when in reality every couple is just trying to figure out their way, even if they've been married thirty years.  It's not a competition, and it's not about winning or failing.

This high expectation thing has taken me a whole year to figure out.

Chapter 2: Deserted Island

We've all been asked this question.  If you were trapped on a deserted island what one thing would you take with you?  The nerdy side of me said book.  The responsible side of me said fire starter.  Now what if I changed the question and tell you that the only thing that you can take with you is your new spouse?  "How unfair!  I demand new rules!" you might say.  This is how I've felt at times.  We had family and friends come from all over to our wedding and reception.  Then poof!  Everyone is gone.  Now what? 

Chapter 3: Relentless Questioning

I've been asked two annoying questions throughout the past year that don't help whatsoever.  Annoying Question #1: How is married life?  That's a loaded question if there ever was one.  Depending on the day, I may have responded with, "Joe is sooo great.  He picked up his dirty clothes off the floor without me nagging him." Or, if it was one of those days, I may have said, "Well, he didn't come to dinner on time, so I threw his spaghetti out the door."  Yes, that really happened, and no further commentary is needed.

Annoying Question #2: So when are you finally going to have a baby?  Really?  I've been married a hot second and you're thinking of me reproducing?  Do you realize how long it takes the typical bride to feel glamorous about herself for wedding day photos and then you bring up the idea of stretch marks, acne, and weight gain?  Get out of town.  This is never an ok question to ask any couple...ever.

Chapter 4: Battle Scars

In reaching months nine and ten, I felt that Joe and I had gone the rounds far more than necessary and we both had the battle scars (not literally) to prove it.  Was the spaghetti throwing incident really needed?  No (although it still makes me smile).  Did Joe really need to call me crazy in front of the whole neighborhood?  No again, although embarrassing, I'm sure it made our neighbors feel
 more at home.  That phrase "pick your battles" really rings true.  Some things just aren't really worth arguing about and I think it takes the first year of marriage to truly test the waters and see what buttons to avoid at all costs.  When I look back at the issues I've had over the past year ,the amusing thing is is that Joe and I always arrive at the same conclusion, it's just getting there that we are so different on that sends the noodles flying.

Chapter 5: White Flag

When you're ready to surrender and coexist peacefully, I would highly suggest a mantra, a saying, something that you and your partner can agree on to make it through each day.  Ours was created by Joe when he got sick of me giving up, sort of speak.  It started very early in our relationship when I would have a bad day and say, "I'm so tired.  I just don't want to go tomorrow."  His response was simple, "This is a strong house."  What is he talking about?  I don't live in a house, and I'm certainly not strong.  But then I realized: Mind over matter.  When times get tough, when I feel like giving up, when I want to send noodles through the door, I calmly remind myself that, "This is a strong house," and I'm over it.  Sure, the house itself is strong.  But it's the people that are in it that matter most.  WE are strong.  WE are united.  WE can do anything no matter how little or big.  We can go to work even when we are sick.  We can pay for a wedding all by ourselves.  We can make sacrifices and go on a fabulous vacation.  We can do anything, together, and have a good attitude about it.  This is a strong house, and we can make it through anything (as long as we don't have to redo our first year of marriage again).



This is who made it that way.

A Week From _______________

SLC dispatch and I are now great friends.  It's been the week that just keeps on giving.  We will begin with Monday night...

Joe and I were sitting in the dining room eating tacos for dinner.  All of a sudden, we heard a terrible crash right outside our door.  We both run for the window, and see two cars and several individuals standing around looking at this horrific scene.  As I begin searching for my phone and shoes, Joe had already swung open our front door, hopped the fence, and was running to the scene: One of the cars had started smoking.  Joe carried the female driver from the car safely to the grass.

At this time, a young boy emerged from the other car holding his head.  Blood was everywhere.  "Get towels!" Joe yelled.  So I did.  I ran to the scene to see the boy, still breathing, but blood coming out faster than ever.  Our neighbor, ironically enough certified just yesterday in CNA, was helping the boy while Joe reassured him he was going to make it.  The driver of this car yelled, "I don't see how he is soooo hurt," and sat back in her car.  I was now talking to dispatch, and the driver was not happy about the "big deal" we seemed to be making.  Let's see, a woman lying in shock from a burning car and a young boy bleeding out of his head.  No big deal?

I walked back to our house to continue the conversation with dispatch in which I told her that the woman driver seemed incredibly hostile.  Why didn't she care about the kid in the car?  Or the woman she hit?  By this time, two separate ambulances had taken the two with injuries, and several cops were on the scene.  Joe asked the cops if he could go and watch the hockey game, he had nothing more to say or do.  That's just Joe. 

Two days later...

Joe comes inside from the man den and calmly calls out, "Something really bad just happened.  I need you to call dispatch."  I come running upstairs, and Joe reveals that he had caught a teen boy inside his car!  "Where is he now?"  I asked Joe.  "He just walked away," Joe replied.  On to dispatch again...

The dispatch operator was far nicer than the cop that showed up.  The cop gave us third degree as to why one of Joe's car windows was rolled down--it had been sprayed by a skunk a day earlier, and we were airing it out.  Then he asked why we let the boy go.  "He is a minor," I told the cop.  "If we put our hands on him, we would have gone to jail, correct?"  The cop did nothing but remind me of "just how many break-in's there are in our neighborhood."  I reminded him that maybe more tax dollars should go to pay for more cops in "my neighborhood." 

Thankfully, nothing was taken or broken, but it spooked me enough that I turned every light on in the house before bed, and we are now getting an electric gate put in front of our driveway.  Joe said the kid was equally as spooked when Joe asked him why he was in his car, so hopefully, he is scared straight and will never do this to anyone again.

And for the grand finale...

On Sunday afternoon, Joe was at the grocery store, and I was finishing planting my flowers.  A teeny, tiny boy without any shoes ran right past me and was ready to cross the busy street, you know, the one with the accident.  I head out to the street to look for anyone that he could be with.  No one was around.  I call out to him and ask him if he would please get away from the busy street.  He shook his head yes and slowly inched toward me.  "Do you want to help me find your mom or dad?"  He shook his head yes.  We spent the next fifteen minutes walking down the street where he came from.  "Is this your house?"  I would point.  He would shake his head no.  "Is this your house?"  This happened over and over again, each time, with an affirmative, "no."

I finally asked him if he would like to go back to my house so that I can call his mom and dad.  He said yes.  I get my pal dispatch lady again, and I tell her that there is a little boy in my yard without a mom or dad or anyone that appears to be looking for him.  He was with me by this time for about twenty minutes.  Did anyone call and file a missing toddler?  Dispatch had said no.  So sad.

Joe pulled in the driveway and began offering the little boy juice and crackers and all sorts of things.  "Do you want to come inside?" he asked the boy.  I screamed, "No!"  I don't need someone thinking that we tried to kidnap the boy, and I sure as heck didn't know if he had any allergies!  So the boy sat down right next to me on the porch as I'm talking to dispatch. 

As the phone call continued, a bullet bike drove down the street and was at the Stop sign.  The little boy stood up, pointed, and started screaming.  "Do you know him?"  I asked.  The boy kept screaming.  I darted out, the little boy behind me, and all of a sudden, the man recognized his stepson.  He parked his bullet bike in our driveway and his friend, in the jeep behind him, took the little boy home, since he had scraped his feet up.  Joe and I convinced the step dad to stay and talk to the cops so they wouldn't think that I was prank calling them since I was on my third conversation with dispatch for the week!  The dad started acting funny asking us if he was going to get arrested.  We told him no, and the police officer was incredibly nice upon arrival.

After we answered all of the cops questions, the cop hung around to try and tell us something, but the step dad remained as well, so the officer wished us a nice evening and left.  Joe said that he thought that maybe this guy was someone that the officers had been looking for, so he was thankful that we found him.  I'm just glad the little boy is ok.

After that, I took a three-hour nap.  My nerves were officially shot.  I hope to never call dispatch again!

In other news, since my deactivation of Facebook, I find myself less annoyed by people...probably because I can't read any of their nonsense.  Joe says life is too short to get immersed in negativity.  Let's just hope that our neighborhood takes a cue...

Farewell for now, Facebook

 

I haven’t been a member of Facebook since its origination, and I don’t have many “friends.”  At times, I was greatly amused by posting random conversations and jokes and getting equally amusing feedback.  I have used Facebook to post my wedding—from fruition to honeymoon to those that couldn’t attend or wanted to see more.  I’ve been able to connect with past students, high school and college friends, work colleagues, and family members. 

  

But all good things must come to an end.  At least for now.

Joe has never been a supporter of Facebook.  When suggested by his work to create a Facebook account to connect with those out of state and overseas, he decided to “test-drive” mine for a bit, and he was shocked as to what he found.   Between Joe’s, “I can’t believe _________ would say something so terrible,” to a “Why did __________ post that?”  I quickly realized I had become desensitized to what I was reading and viewing multiple times a day.

The truth is this: Everyone has a right to post what they want, that is the beauty of free speech.  Probably one of the most appealing things about social media is we get immediate attention and in most cases, validation to anything and everything we post.  But the question that remains is this: Is our Facebook account truly a reflection of our character?  And if so, would you be “friends” with you?

Over the past few months, the number of “friends” I have blocked far outnumber those that I actually see.  Maybe this was a coping mechanism—what I can’t see, can’t hurt me, right?  But in some cases, it is too late. It hurts to see close friends and family tagged in a location that you weren’t invited to, much less acknowledged.  It hurts to have innocent comments blasted and no one comes to your defense.  We can block or delete our friends, but the pain we feel isn’t as easily remedied.   But I am not just a victim; I’m sure I have said things in the past that have been incredibly hurtful, and for that, I apologize.

It’s incredibly weak to say that in essence, Facebook has won, but it has.  I apparently took it too seriously.  Facebook wasn’t entertainment for me, it was a way to connect with those I enjoy, but in some cases, the people that I knew in the flesh were different once behind a computer screen. Quite honestly, I didn’t like what I saw.

So what is the lesson learned?  Facebook probably isn’t for me.  At least not right now.  I need to acquire thicker skin, or possibly big girl panties to venture online again.  What is the lesson for you?  Be kind to others, be gentle with feelings, and be YOU, both on and offline.