Wonderfully mundane

Let me tell you a little bit about myself.

I am a strong, independent woman, who never thought she would have this life and be strong and independent at the same time. I have a bachelor's degree and two teaching jobs. On my 26th birthday I will have been married to my favorite person for 3 years, 2 months and 2 days. I have a beautiful, insane, happy dog. I love my jobs, my husband, my dog, my life.

And sometimes, I talk about that stuff. I tell stories about the kids I teach, I quote my husband when he says something funny. Sometimes I even blog about it, because that seems to be the thing people do these days. Everybody has a blog expressing how much money they save buying/not buying whatever, how much weight they lost eating/not eating whatever, how authentic and original they are because they have a necktie made of birch bark or their house is made of recycled rubber bands. Everybody talks about how much they love their life, their fair trade purse from Nepal, their vegan crock-pot dishes, blah blah blah.

And I do love... mine. My whatever. My blah blah blah. But I won't say it just for the sake of saying it. I never just come out and say, "I love my life!" because it's ridiculous, like I'm desperate for you to clearly understand how much I am in love with the way I live.

What I really want to tell you is about how wonderfully mundane my life is.

Because, let's be honest. I still ask my husband to do stuff for me, just because I'm lazy. (It's alright. He does it too. We're partners in laziness.) And there are moments when I wish I could just be a stay-at-home-mom and have THAT be my job, instead of... this whole two job shenanigan. I like the silence that occurs when I'm playing some stupid app on the Kindle Fire and my mind just wanders all over the place. I enjoy watching Netflix with my husband into the wee hours of the morning, because we both work nights and have a weird schedule. I love the new shower head we got for the bathroom, because it only cost $6, and the water pressure makes my headaches go away, and my love for this shower head is so boring and awesome I've considered blogging about it. Also, nothing makes me happier than a dog nap... and I would blog about that too. But it's not interesting enough for the blogosphere. Occasionally I do wish that my life was as fabulous as the other famous bloggers--cute children, fancy dinners, expensive vacations to fascinating cultures, engaging ministries, being pregnant or being engaged or being sassy.

But it's not what I want.

Everybody wants attention--my father used to tell me something about how negative attention is better than no attention at all, and is often sought after when positive attention can't be found, (I made that sound super smart and classy. Just like dad, of course) and that's why people say nasty things or self-deprecating things because at least then someone will notice them. But I don't want attention just because that's what drives our emotional economies. I don't want attention just because I'm the hippest married/teacher/artsy/nerdy/poor/Jesus-loving blogger on the Internet. I don't want attention because I cause controversy. I don't want attention because I go with the flow.

I actually don't want your attention at all.

What I want, is to be. 

I want to simply exist, and write in a blog when I feel like it, and not feel the pressure of the entire social network crushing my creative spirit because my writing isn't "edgy" enough or "ironic" enough or "authentic" enough. I am a person, with many characteristics and many loves and many flaws. But how the world sees me, or how they see my creative outlet (this little blog) does not define my personhood.

I promise you, I am edgy, and ironic, and authentic. I am poetic and creative and really sarcastic.

What I want, is this:

Not this:

Being seven.

This Saturday I took somebody else's shift at the tutoring center. Two hours with a delightful little girl who is full of spunk and has magic in her eyes.  She once told me her favorite books were, "This one about One Direction" and Charlotte's Web. We wasted five minutes talking about books before we got back to work. She has wealthy parents, she lacks nothing, and clearly still believes the world is a fantastical place.

And she is 7.

This Saturday when I showed up, she was right on time, as usual. But as she stumbled in the door, still in her polka-dot pajamas, her face was crumpled with almost-tears. The supervisor stood in the doorway talking with her mother, and then she came on through.

"She's not feeling well today," the supervisor told me. We both smiled and nodded, knowing it was probably caused by too much Valentine candy.

We worked for fifteen minutes. She read with tired enthusiasm, often stopping to yawn and rub her eyes and hide her face in the book. Nobody likes to come to tutoring on a Saturday morning, but she's usually not this obstinate. When the supervisor walks back through the room she asks if my little friend is still feeling badly, says that her mother has come back just in case, and in another moment she has gone home again, but now with a smile on her face.

I wonder if she faked it, because she was so happy to go. I get sort of irritated because this was an extra shift, and my student on Thursday cancelled as well. It seems like the little girl just doesn't want to be here today. But then I remember. She's seven.

And I remember being seven. I remember how simple and pleasant my life was--the thrill of checking out a pile of books from the library. Chasing the neighbor boy for a kiss, for no reason. Playing with dolls for hours. Collecting acorn tops at recess. Going to Alki Beach with my parents. Having a cake with rainbow chip frosting on my birthday. Seeing The Lion King in theaters.

I remember the things that upset me--my favorite winter boots not fitting after two years. Not being able to have any pets in our house. Scary attics. Scary basements. My big brothers teasing me. Not being allowed to stay up past my bedtime. Always wearing out the knees in my pants.

It seemed impossible, after remembering, for her to have faked it. Because when you're seven, you don't know how to manipulate people yet. You know what makes you happy, and what makes you sad, and maybe you know how to get what you want but you'r not that good at lying yet. Personally, I didn't start faking sick until middle school.

So I just smiled and wave goodbye to the little girl and her mother through the office door. She should enjoy seven while she can.

The Engine

Recently I read a post from the popular blog of Matt Walsh. The title immediately caught my eye--not only because it was provocative or engaging, but because I knew instinctively I would resonate with whatever he said about the topic. It was called "I wasn't ready for marriage." You can click that link. Read the blog. You might see what I mean.

But I'll tell you myself here: he's right. No one is ready for marriage. It isn't something you're supposed to ease into. You. Will. Never. Be. Ready. he says. You just won't. You are two apart until you are one together.

The reason this deserves so much of my attention is simple. We weren't ready either. I was not ready for marriage. My husband was not ready for marriage. We did not have enough money or wisdom or patience. Our marriage was formed with only love and faith, and trust in God--those are the only things really worth counting on, anyways. And we knew that we weren't ready, because I had often said, we couldn't ever truly BE ready. We got married because it was the right thing to do, because we loved each other, because we trusted God to nurture us and our marriage despite all our shortcomings.

But there were still people against us. In fact, there were people against us ever being together.

I remember at camp, a few weeks after Joey and I had started dating, I was standing on the docks with one other counselor and an LIT. (Leader in training.) The LIT was 4 years younger than me, still in high school, and wasn't really my friend. We didn't know each other. But for some reason he brought up "us"--me and Joey. There were campers around, so he shouldn't have been talking about it, and I will never know why he did, but this is the conversation that happened:

LIT: So, have you said you love each other yet?
Me: I don't really want to talk about this around the campers.
LIT: Oh, you've totally said it.
Me: Why do you care?
LIT: I just know you have, and it's too soon. It's just too soon. You guys are moving way too fast.

There were other people at camp who said similar things. A fellow counselor, who slept in the bunk above mine, had heard my story about the jerk who dated me my freshman year of college. She came to me with an air of patronizing concern, "Are you sure you're ready for this? I don't think you are. I'm worried you might be rushing into this too quickly." She wasn't the only one to play it off like she was worried about me.

Now, from an outsider's perspective, I can understand how it might appear that I was rushing blindly into a relationship with a stranger. Joey was just 17 at the time and I was 20, and we had only known each other for 3 weeks when we started dating. But those were 3 long weeks during which we talked for hours on end and got to know each other better than I knew any of the people I'd spent my first year of college with. We fell in love. It sounds silly, but it's true. That's how it happened. And as much as I might judge other people's relationships I would never take it upon myself to confront them about how quickly they're moving or if they should say "I love you" or not. I am a fairly confrontational person, but only with a purpose. I don't approach people that I barely know and condemn their relationship just because I know a little bit about their life.

Six months went by, and then we were engaged. By that time most of the "you're going too fast!" comments had stopped, so people cared less. Some part of me also hopes that many people had figured out by then that we were actually in love, and took each other seriously. If they didn't get it then, they were over it by the time we got married a year and a half later.

During our long engagement I occasionally talked, to myself and others, about how the mindset of marriage is something you can plan. You never are ready, of course--I knew I wouldn't wake up one day and be completely prepared to be a wife. But it was something I wanted to prepare my brain for.

I'm a fairly independent person. Always have been. Unless I'm being lazy. But in general I like to do my own thing, I'm a very balanced introvert, I prefer to analyze things and carry out decisions myself rather than work on a team and deal with other people's opinions. With those personality-issues in mind, I knew I would need to alter my behavior if I wanted to attach myself to another person, specifically Joey. We were 2000 miles apart for most of our relationship (another aspect similar to Matt Walsh's blog) but I began making myself care about not only him, but his reactions, his opinions, and his input. I asked him what he thought about financial things (non-wedding things, even!), about how I should spend my time or who I should spend it with. I valued him, and valued the things he valued, even from afar.

I did all that, and still... we weren't ready. Because you can't be. People think there must be a set of steps to take or some sort of easing into readiness. People think they can live together first, and that it will help. But, let me put it this way.

A romantic relationship is like a car. The car has all the right pieces--the engine, the body, the seats with ugly upholstery--but you have to actually drive the car to know if it will work. Marriage is the engine of the vehicle, because it makes all the parts work together and then the car can go places. (You might say love is gasoline, but I'm getting ahead of myself.) People who live together before they get married might as well get into a car to test it out, but never put the key in the ignition and start the car. They sit in the seats and put travel mugs of coffee in the cup holders. They might put the key in to turn the radio on, they can even turn the lights on and off, but you can't know if the car runs well or not unless you actually make it run. 

You don't get a car ready to turn on. You just do it. Put the key in, turn it, and listen to the engine come to life. You plan a wedding, you go to the church, you say I do. You do it. You make a vow. You were two, now you are one. And you might have problems. There might be leaks or broken gears or cracked windshields. You might lose your job or have babies quicker than expected, or you might fight about who does the dishes. But that's true with every single car and every single marriage.

I admit there are problems with my analogy... the engine might be better explained. But I think you get the picture. You can never be ready. And that's okay. It's worth the risk.

Highlights from Christmas 2013

The last time I wrote, we were in the middle of a snow storm. I doubt anyone thought the storm overtook us, but just in case you were wondering, I AM still alive. We have several feet of snow and I missed a whole week of work because of extremely low temperatures but I am definitely still alive.

As promised, here are some highlights from the trip home for Christmas last December. 

1.Joey had never been on a plane before, and I hadn't been on a plane WITH another person in many, many years. It was lovely to have someone to cuddle with. We also got to watch the moon rise over the clouds. The photo isn't that great, but you can understand how it would look awesome in real life.

 2. Trying on my wedding dress and veil. (Reunited and it feels so good.....) I had been away from it for 2 1/2 years, and it still fit perfectly. Actually, it might have fit even better. :)

3. You already saw this highlight. Oh well. Visiting the spot where Joey proposed 4 years ago.

4. Visiting Joey's family and friends. Top: the fam. Left: with cousin Jaidyn. She's so freakin' cute! Right: w/ Joey's mentor Randy.

5. Playing Scrabble with my parents whilst drinking coffee from my old favorite Christmas mug. 

6. Making cinnamon rolls with my family on Christmas Eve. (Short side story: This photo won Joey and I $1000 from a "home for Christmas" contest by apartments.com!!!!)

7. Giving Joey (Uncle Phil's old) guitar for Christmas. He was ecstatic. 

8. Christmas with my family. When you see it, you'll understand why I love them. Or why my smile says "heeeelp meeeeee." 

9. My boys.

10. A breathtaking view of Mt. Rainier as we flew back to Illinois.

11. Photos with our dearest friend (and fabulous photographer) Sarah. See her work here at Sarah Kaitlin Photography!

It certainly is easier for you to see the whole trip with photos, rather than typing out the whole ten days. We drank gallons of coffee and drove hundreds of miles trying to see as many people as possible. It was worth the effort, and the impending exhaustion when we returned home, and we are so thankful to all the people who helped us get there. Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year.

And now, I promise, I will try to get back on track with blogging. I have a great post coming up in a few days. Come back soon!

Hercules

That's the name they've given the winter storm I'm currently experiencing. I don't know, when I think of Hercules, I immediately get visions of the golden character from the Disney version, his skin so orange it blends in with his bronzed armor. A winter storm like this... they should call it Skadi, which is the name of the Norse goddess of winter, and the hunt. This name is appropriate because it doesn't make me think of golden cartoons AND I had bacon for breakfast today. (And if you're wondering if we hunted that bacon.. absolutely! We hunted it at Aldi.) Anyways. Right now it's -14°F, but "feels like" -33°F. But let me tell you a secret: those two temperatures feel the same. So Storm Skadi (see, it even sounds better than Storm Hercules) should just take a chill pill. (haha...) It doesn't matter what it feels like anyhow, because I am not going outside.

In other news, I haven't blogged since last year. You don't have to laugh at that, it's not that funny.

And I intended to do it sooner, but I've been sick. (Blizzards will do that to you.) So sick, I couldn't even sleep. And I love sleep. I was also incredibly delirious the night before last, and every time I closed my eyes I saw myself as a secret spy, thwarting danger and shooting bad guys and impressing my other spy friends with my super cool ninja moves. To be honest, it was pretty terrifying, and made me even more frustrated with the whole lack of sleep thing. I even punched a wall, whilst half-asleep and half-dreaming about my other life as a spy.

Anyways.

I went home for Christmas. It was as lovely and as horrible as I expected. Yes, I expected horrible--that's what happens when families get together. But it was also wonderful and leaving was so bittersweet. On another day I will highlight everything about the trip worth mentioning--not that it really matters, because my mother will read this blog, and she already knows about the whole trip. Love you, mom. For now, I just have one thing I want to share.

I wanted to share it on Saturday, but, again, I was sick.

Four years (and 2 days) ago, Joey stood at this exact spot and asked me to marry him. I said yes. Obviously. Actually, I said, "Yeeeah." I'm pretty happy we got to visit that spot again while we were home. I'm also pretty happy that it wasn't raining this time. It has been a crazy four years, 2.5 of them being married. Makes me feel all mushy and nostalgic. Just wait until June... then it will have been 5 years since we met! That's just insane. Seriously insane.

So I will sit here in the apartment, alone and feeling mushy, and hope that Joey makes it home safe through Storm Hercules. Or Storm Hades. Or Skadi. Or Storm Freeze-Your-Face-Off or whatever.

Hey, guess what...

It's a little after midnight, and needed to share this.
Usually I post pictures of me holding a coffee cup.
Or a paint brush.
Or a "something artsy and totally me TADA!"

But this time I only have one picture, and it's not any of those things.

One picture, and one statement.

I am going home today.

A search for words more exciting than "exciting."

It was less than a whole day ago I sat in this same spot with my journal open atop a big fluffy pillow, pen in hand, scribbling out impassioned realizations and epiphanies because I hadn't journalled in 10 days. And it is in this spot I have cried--about broken coffee cups, broken relationships, even broken plans. I have laughed at my dog and with my husband (or with my dog and at my husband). I have pondered here and screamed in rage here and dreamt of things beyond reality. I have prayed here, with more fervor and angst than many prayers made in my dubious teenaged years. 

Tonight I sit here typing on my computer, my regular old computer, which is not plugged in and does not have an ethernet cable tethering it to any sockets. I'm sitting at the computer. On the internet. In bed.

Behold, I can even take a webcam photo of myself and the awesome tapestry above my bed and I can just BAM put it on the Internet. I will pretend that doesn't sound awkward and just keep writing.

This is insignificant, on the whole, except that my compy spent the last 4 days at "the doctor." He (his name is Cornelius, fyi) got sick and wouldn't wake up starting on Sunday. So I took him to the IT department at TIU. After 24 hours of grueling tests (picture x-rays, MRIs, and blood analysis except for a computer) it was determined there was a fatal flaw in the hard drive. Everything was still there, all the data intact, but it couldn't be accessed. (Like a person in a coma!) The only way to possibly fix the problem (before buying a new compy or getting a new hard drive, two things which I don't have medical metaphors for because people aren't replaceable and neither are their brains) was to reformat the beast and re-install everything (another thing for which I have no people/medical metaphors)

So I went back to IT today and picked up Cornelius. We don't know how long he has to live. Maybe two weeks, maybe two years. The hard drive has some serious problems but at least now I have time to look for a new machine. (Kind of like those crazy dying women on hospital dramas who search for new wives for the husbands they'll leave behind.) Anyways. I am extremely grateful to have my compy back, and to have all of my data.

The other reason it's significant that I'm in bed (ha... ha... ) is because for a WHOLE YEAR Cornelius has been unable to access any sort of wifi. We had to plug him in with an ethernet cable. The only solution, which was also given to me by the awesome IT guy at TIU, was to reformat the hard drive and re-install everything. Well... we just did that. So now I have wifi. And I am taking advantage of it by sitting in bed using the internet to blog.

In other news, I am going home in 11 days. We have someone to take us to/from the aiport, someone to watch the dog (granted, we're talking about the same person for all these situations), I have created all the Christmas cards and soon will have created 80% of the presents (some have to be baked next week. Woohoo!) and after that comes packing. Yay. Packing.

The feelings I experience when I speak aloud: "Eleven days." Well, if I as a less exciting person, I would say excitement. But when teaching 6th graders I often said exciting was a boring word, because it is. Like happy/sad, good/bad, it does not belong in my excessive lexicon. I am thrilled. I am exuberant. When I think about how soon we're leaving, a strange and wonderful energy fills my body and I stop breathing and then Joey takes me to the hospital and all the nurses look at me like I'm nuts because...

Yep. Just kidding. But I do get sort of breathless if I think about it too long. Maybe that's because I have to get on a plane for the first time since 2011 and security check-ins during Christmas time are INSANE.

Needless to say, it's been a busy week, and this blog post is way longer than I was anticipating. I will now attempt to sleep.