Marshall Moments

Housekeeping

2010-02-15T01:00:00.000-08:00

Hey guys! Remember me? . . . . . . . (mumble, mumble) . . . . yeah, me neither.

So it's been a good length of time since I've visited and I'm sure your faith of me returning and actually writing something worthwhile has withered and died by now. I know mine did. Even now, after poking around for a bit, I feel like a stranger here. What am I doing? I don't really know, but what I do know is that some serious housekeeping needs to happen. I fantasized that I could just plow on, pick up where I left off, act as if the most tremendous life-changing year of my life hadn't just occurred . . . . . but then I logged on and realized it wouldn't be possible. The difference in me between twelve months ago and now, or maybe six, no, even three months ago and now is much too drastic for me to ignore.

Upon this realization, I considered being done with blogging altogether. Time and energy seem to be in short supply these days and both are needed for me to create worthwhile blog posts. Ending all blogging seemed the logical conclusion to that chapter of my life. But then it occurred to me that I had so much I wanted to share, to document, so much I didn't want to forget. That was my original purpose in starting a blog over two years ago: capturing the moments in our lives that we want to hold on to or the ones we don't, but should. This past year has provided plenty of both.

So I've decided that I will continue blogging and hopefully be able to express effectively the experiences I'd like to share, but I think it's going to take more than just some serious housekeeping. I think it's going to take a whole new house. I'm currently shopping for a new location and again, patience is key here. There are some items that, while I really dislike their placement, fall a couple steps ahead of writing for enjoyment on the priorities list. Like writing essays for school. Oh yeah, failed to mention I'm taking college courses didn't I? Ah well, there I go with yet another experience to share for yet another time.

I think I'm taking one step forward, two steps back.

Some Day . . . . .

2009-10-22T18:30:00.000-07:00

Some day, I promise, I will return to regular posting. I'm dealing with a lot right now and I haven't quite figured out how to divvy my creative juices between my schoolwork and my blog. Most of my writing has been going into my English essays and personal journal. But I do miss this little spot of mine. Hopefully as I pursue classes to expand my writing skills, I'll be able to come back here with much more to offer.

Taxing

2009-07-30T09:00:00.000-07:00

Sales tax was raised in the state of Nevada to 8.1% and it's all sorts of messing me up! I used to be able to tell a customer their grand total without having to punch digits into the Point of Sale. Now I'm dealing with weird amounts and numbers. A product priced at $19.99 has always been $21.54. THAT'S JUST THE WAY IT IS! But the computer keeps telling me that it's $21.61 and that combination of numbers seems so strange and foreign to me.

Everybody else is mad because more money is coming out of their pockets towards sales tax. Me, I'm upset because I want my dependable totals back!

Giddy

2009-07-21T18:15:00.000-07:00

Concentration is not my forte today. What's strange is the culprit isn't one of the usual suspects in the line up. I'm not tired, in pain, grouchy, sad, hungry, or stressed. No, no the bug I've caught is radically different indeed. My condition subtly began this morning and, as the day has worn on, intensified. I've developed Sudden Lack of Concentration Due to Acute Giddiness. GIDDINESS I TELL YOU! While helping a customer, another employee in fact, I attempted to explain a product and instead laughed. Well, it started more as a chuckle really and grew from there into full-blown belly laughs rendering me unable to form coherent sentences. What was so funny you ask? I DON'T KNOW! That's why I'm convinced that I must be suffering from some unseen condition. Normal, sane people don't laugh uncontrollably while telling a customer what size batteries they need for the universal remote they're purchasing. Something of a humorous nature should proceed such bouts of laughter. Things like a joke, an extra funny episode of The Office, someone clumsily tripping over their own feet and sending themselves sprawling all over the sidewalk. Oh come on guys, you know that crap is FUNNY, unless of course the individual receives the senior discount and may not recover so well from such a fall.

I had a spill of my own yesterday afternoon stepping down from a step ladder sideways. I tried to plant my left foot on the ground so my right foot could then follow suit, but somehow my left shoe developed an intense attraction to the grippy rubber of the step and the small suit-clad man in charge of my reflexes failed to get the memo to my right foot in time. Must've been the end of his shift. I'm going to have to call a productivity meeting with the management. Anyway, moving on. My right foot came down whilst the left was still engaged which then caused a complete loss of balance resulting in my body flying sideways off the step ladder and ending with my head wedged up against the wall, my left arm twisted awkwardly underneath my body and a bright red rug-burn gracing my left shin. I had so much momentum I ACTUALLY SLID across the carpet and into the wall WITH MY HEAD! Where's the scoring sheet?! 10 POINTS FOR BRITTANY! My mother had been facing the opposite direction and had only caught the tail-end of my grand performance. Being a mother, she rushed over alarmed asking what happened and if I was all right. All I could do was lay there battered and laughing. "Mom, I'm sorry you missed it. It was a good one." Yeah it hurt, but man, if I could've seen it! I'm certain I would've been on the floor laughing till my abs protested. Well I guess I was doing that anyway, but with the company of some sore body parts and the mental video of how the fall would've looked to the casual passerby not expecting such a gift to be dropped into their lap. We got to keep 'em young and if somebody has to biff it now and again so others can have a good laugh, then so be it, but I digress.

Where was I? Oh yes, the laughing and the giddiness and the absence of focus. Since the whole universal remote episode I've been smiling annoyingly big goofy grins and chuckling to myself for no reason. I'm having a hard time not busting up every time some unsuspecting soul walks through the door. Thankfully it hasn't been very busy today. I already have at least five people musing that I'm totally nutso, or at the very least unhinged. I'd like to keep that list relatively short. I'm not quite sure where this giddiness is coming from, but I hope it doesn't last too long because while I'm having a great time and all, it is interfering A LOT with my focus. I can't seem to stay on task or remember what I was saying. You don't think yesterday's fall and hitting my head has something to do with it do you?

Crowns Are Overrated Anyway

2009-07-18T12:30:00.000-07:00

Conversation with my boss's seven year old son, Rylin.

"Hey Brittany, TRY AND CATCH ME!" (bouncing side to side)

"But you know I can't catch you when you're wearing your lightning socks."

"That's true, but you could still try."

"I think I'll just sit on my stool instead."

"That's not your stool anymore, (quickly snatching the stool as he runs past) it's my THRONE!"

"Your throne? I'm the one who's been sitting on it all morning. When did you become the king?"

"I've always been the king and this is my throne now. Besides, you don't have a crown."

"Well, I don't always wear it, (quickly looking for something that could be a makeshift crown) but that doesn't mean I don't have one. What about you? Where's your crown?"

"I don't wear a crown. I WEAR AWESOMENESS!"

And We're Back . . . .

2009-07-04T00:50:00.000-07:00

. . . . But not quite as you expected. Are you wondering where the posts and pictures of paradise are? Yeah well, I don't have any you see, because I never got on that plane. I'm still residing in the blazing heat of the Nevada desert hundreds of miles away from the man I love. Why? That's a lengthy story made up of a whole bunch of shorter stories that I'm not going to get into because it's exhausting just thinking about it all. I'll sum it up by saying that a subpoena was involved (don't worry, I'm not the one in trouble), along with some medical junk, and those pesky complication elves sprinkling stress and confusion into various aspects of my life and well, complicating matters. But fear not, I AM FINE. No need for worry or alarm. I will still be moving to Dominica, but on a slightly revised timeline. My flight has been rescheduled to lift off on Thursday, August 20th. Some days it looms so far in the distance it's hard to see, but nearly three weeks have passed since my previously anticipated departure date. What's seven more? Of course it's not the most savory of circumstances, but like Mr. Oden always says in response to plans gone awry, "In a hundred years, it won't matter. Nobody will remember." You know, he's probably right. If I indeed live to be 124 I probably won't remember . . . or be able to see, hear, or even move for that matter.

A happy foot note is that I will be arriving Gary's last day of the semester in which he'll be granted a two week break before fall semester starts up. It's not much, but it should give him a chance to come up for air from the relentless class, exams, and studying. He claims that he's studied more in the last two months than he ever did during his undergrad. I believe it because he didn't have to study much for his undergrad classes. He retains well, but I'm sure with the massive amounts of information being thrown at him in medical school that the only way to stay above water is to study. A lot. My phone rang at 1:00 in the morning the other night. It was Gary walking home from campus. Keep in mind the time change. If it was 1:00 in the morning in Nevada, then it was 4:00 in the morning in Dominica. FOUR O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING AND HE'S WALKING HOME FROM STUDYING AND HE HAS TO BE IN CLASS BY 8:00. Amazing. I can't imagine that he's been eating much better than top ramen and mac n' cheese these past weeks either. Living with my parents I haven't had to cook much and I'm finding that I really miss cooking for my husband. Weird, right?

Ignoring the need for a transition, has anybody else noticed how beautiful the sky has been the past two weeks with all those amazing clouds?

I love clouds.

I love lamp.

Oh yeah, Happy 4th of July! I suppose I should have written something patriotic and thought-provoking. Eh, Happy 4th will have to do. I'm going to go eat some watermelon until I get a tummy ache now.

Growing Pains

2009-06-04T13:10:00.000-07:00

I know. I KNOW. I completely abandoned any and all blogs and I'm quickly gaining on four weeks which would be a perfectly acceptable amount if my life were filled with boring nothings and drivel. As it is I'm suffering from quite the opposite. SOOOOO much has been going on that the blog has been nothing more than a distant memory from a past life. It's a strange feeling to think back four months ago to what was once my life. FOUR months?! Is that all it's been? It feels like years. And yet parallel to that is the conflicting sense that only a mere two weeks have passed and here I am preparing to fly away to another country in a couple of weeks. I leave for Dominica on the 16th. Let me repeat that: I WILL BE LIVING IN ANOTHER COUNTRY IN TWO WEEKS. A moment of silence in honor of the awesomeness of it all. Ok not really, I was just trying to contain a potential freak out, but I digress.

Four months ago I flipped through Pottery Barn magazines dreaming of coffee tables and conversation pieces, thinking color, lighting, and mood. Four months ago I made the bed on a regular basis. Four months ago Gary and I played World of Warcraft together on Tuesday afternoons. Four months ago my husband and I lived in a small, but beautiful apartment we called home surrounded by things and people we love. We dreamed of the future and the possibilities it held. Then the future came sooner than expected and knocked us flat. Ross University was one possibility unaccounted for.

Now instead of Pottery Barn magazines I listen for the ding on my laptop announcing the newly posted gear sale on Steep and Cheap. My bed has been taken apart, packed neatly and been placed into storage. I've slept on a variety of beds and surfaces these past weeks. World of Warcraft hasn't even been installed on my new laptop yet. The days have been filled with last minute doctor appointments, Dominican visa applications, phone calls, and endless errands. I've been stock piling odds and ends so well that I could rival the most faithfully prepared Relief Society sisters. Clothing needs have been based less on fashion and eye appeal and more on comfort and breathability. I am now homeless. The apartment is empty and echoey with nothing left but dust bunnies in the corners. Our (too)MANY belongings have been shoved, stacked, and wedged precariously into a small storage room. And even though that process has been going on for the past month and I'm now eating and sleeping at my parent's house, I've been homeless for some time now. My home disappeared with the departure of my husband six weeks ago.

I thought I was prepared. I convinced myself that I could handle it.

How very silly of me.

I've learned a lot these past six weeks and let me tell ya, the growing pains have been acute and unpleasant. I don't believe many people can be prepared for their security and safety net to be ripped from under them. You inevitably fall. HARD. At least the first time anyway. The subsequent falls still hurt but hopefully not as bad because you're learning how to fall, how to catch yourself, how to get back up. I won't lie, some days I want to just stay on the ground beat and broken. I feel hopeless and empty. It requires digging a little deeper inside myself to fan the fire of determination. The determination to fight for what I really, truly want. What I need. A fight that is wholly worth it.

I want to be home again.

The Stress That Never Seems To End

2009-05-12T08:35:00.000-07:00

Guys, I am so sorry with how scarce I've been here. Ok, so I can't even call it scarce because that would imply that I've snuck around here in the shadows from time to time. Let's try COMPLETELY ABSENT FROM THIS PAGE IN THOUGHT, WORD, AND DEED. There have been busy times in my life in the past, but never like this. And I want to tell you all about everything that has happened (because holy guacamole there's a lot), but one thing I've found with blogging is that I can't force myself to write. If I don't feel creative I just can't do it and creative is the last thing I'm feeling these days. Writing is not something I want to join the list of necessary evils by sticking it on my to-do sheet next to dishes and scrubbing the tub. Once I get to the island and life settles into a routine I'm sure posts will grace this page on a more regular basis. Until that time, please be patient, I've still got five more weeks of The Stress That Never Seems To Ends Since Gary Was Accepted To Medical School.

After these messages...

2009-04-20T17:01:00.000-07:00

Your regularly scheduled programming will continue after these important mes...

Well, it will continue after I leave tomorrow for Dominica. For the moment, Brittany is pretty much freaking out 24/7 having lost her higher brain function and is currently running on survival mode. This is Gary in case you couldn't guess by now. I leave early Tuesday morning. So, give her a few days to reboot and you should have a nice, new, juicy post with something inappropriate that I don't approve of to read that is much more entertaining than this post.

For the moment though, if you see her walking the street looking disheveled with drool dripping out of the corner of her mouth, carrying a dirty sock and a box of cereal, kindly point her in the right direction to get home. Just watch any appendage that you value as she may bite...

Dogs and Left Boobs

2009-03-27T15:00:00.000-07:00

There have been visits of no less than FOUR women clutching teacup dogs to their chests at work today and while I'd totally expect that every other minute if I worked in L.A., it feels awkward and out of place in the valley. Why are you here? And these women always come in wearing low-rider sweats and matching hoodies in bold colors of fuchsia or aqua. Their make-up is usually impeccable and overdone with bangle bracelets and HUGE rings adorning their digits, but their hair is oddly wild and unkempt as if no brushing took place, just a quick pony-tail high on top of their heads. And the dog. The poor, poor dog smooshed up against their left breast. A fixture. An accessory. An accessory constantly smothered with kisses, baby talk, and more smooshing into the boob and all the while this poor pooch gazes intensely at me with big eyes that scream HELP ME! PLEASE! I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE OF THIS BOOBAGE! And I stand there helpless and sad trying to communicate telepathically that there's really nothing I can do beyond ripping you from her arms and running, which isn't a viable option for me because she paid big bucks for you and I cannot afford to go to jail right now because I stole a $1000 pooch. Check back in a couple of months. She tries, but can't seem to find her checkbook in that loud over-sized bag of hers so she'll set her precious doggie down to use both hands to dig properly and while her head is buried inside her Mary Poppins bag my eyes are yelling loudly Run puppy while you have the chance! RUN! But the dog just stands there shaking and broken because he doesn't know how to be a dog anymore even if he did run.

Dogs are meant to run and bark and chase after balls, to chew on shoes and wrestle around, to be a faithful companion, to develop their own personality. But not this dog because he's never been allowed to be anything but the companion or maybe the occasional dress-up doll. He's never learned to play and it makes me sad because the owner is missing all the best parts about having a dog.

An Optimist With Experience

2009-03-20T17:45:00.000-07:00

Why is it that so many of life's experiences fall short of my expectations?

I hoped for my knight in shining armor to arrive home on a white horse ready to shoulder my burdens, but instead received a sun-burned husband covered with bug bites who was just as overwhelmed and exhausted as I was and not prepared to be as sensitive to my woes as expected. And the past week I've been all Whoa, what's your problem? What's up with this impatience thing? Do you not understand what I've been going through? Why are you not CATERING TO MY EVERY WHIM AND DESIRE? To which he responded with a blank stare and then You're on crazy old lady medication that's messing with your hormones and you think it's me?! That's amazing. YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR MIND! And all I can say is Yeah, so what?! All the more reason to CATER TO MY EVERY WHIM AND DESIRE. Not a very convincing argument on my part I realize after taking a step back. Those research doctor know-it-alls should have listed WILL IMPAIR YOUR RATIONAL THINKING DRAMATICALLY among the possible side effects of said crazy old lady medication.

But drugs or not, I've always had a tendency to set unrealistic expectations without meaning to. Well, they proved to be unrealistic each time they passed by unmet anyway. I weave ideal scenarios through my mind, then the contrary occurs leaving me dumbfounded and upset when it could have all gone so perfectly. You simply needed to read my mind and then CATERED TO MY EVERY WHIM AND DESIRE.

I'm sure it has everything to do with over-thinking a situation, not unlike hearing about a new movie in excess. "That was the best movie ever! You HAVE to see it!" "I seriously cried through the entire show it was so moving." "WHAT?! You haven't watched it yet? I was at the midnight showing and it was AWESOME!" Then you walk out of the movie theater two weeks after the film's release feeling unsatisfied, unimpressed and a little sad. Wasn't it supposed to be so much more? What went wrong? You determine all your friends and family must be delusional liars because it was decent, but it wasn't the GREATEST MOVIE OF ALL TIME when in truth you'd be among the ranks of the delusional liars if it had been you at the midnight showing two weeks earlier because you would've viewed the film with less biased eyes. Minimal expectation therefore more room for genuine liking, less for disappointment. Although, the Twilight movie did exceed my expectations of awfulness. I anticipated it to be bad, but not THAT bad.

It's a bit pessimistic, but dropping my expectations altogether I suppose would dodge some of the disappointments. If I assume things are going to fail miserably then I can't get too worked up when they do indeed fail, right? But that's where I struggle. Aren't we to hope for the best? To think good thoughts? Be optimistic? Grandpa Marshall says that a pessimist is simply an optimist with experience and some days I think WHAT A WISE, WISE MAN. Gary tells me to expect the unexpected so I won't get so upset when things don't pan out and I'm all but you're so PREDICTABLE sometimes! Unexpected, yeah right.

It's a tough balance to find and surely not one I've discovered, hence the above lamentations. For now I'm maintaining that my happiness lies in everybodys' ability to CATER TO MY EVERY WHIM AND DESIRE* thus setting myself up for further failure and another dose of disappointment. Unless of course you'd all like to prove me wrong? I could REALLY use $20,000 and a foot rub.

*was all caps subtle enough for a subliminal message or should I bold it as well?

Out of Sight, Out of Mind

2009-03-11T09:20:00.000-07:00

Help! I'm suffering from a silent and unseen illness that is chewing up my brain, sucking all the good juices and then spitting it back out again and it's really messing with my life. My brain has the capacity of a cave man, of an ostrich, of an amoeba. I'm not sure when the brain deterioration began, but I do know that at this rate I'm not going to survive much longer. You see, I can't seem to remember anything. ANYTHING. People suffer brain farts from time to time and that's normal, but my brain has diarrhea. It's a condition I refer to as OUT OF SIGHT, OUT OF MIND. Even though it's kind of self-explanatory, I'll expand on your definition to illustrate just how serious this is.

Gary and I live off of cereal, string cheese, and popcorn. I am not even joking. The amount of cereal we consume is embarrassing and I bet really unhealthy and it's not because of a lack of other food options, it's because the other food options aren't directly in front of my face when it's time to eat. I'll buy fresh fruit and veggies, stick 'em in the produce drawers in the refrigerator and then completely forget about them in a matter of minutes. The produce drawer is where fruit and veggies get sent to die in my home. They could have had a pleasant and meaningful existence elsewhere, but instead I bought 'em up to suffer a slow and painful death in the comfort of my 38 degrees fridge.

We moved last October to a place with minimal storage space which spawned an intense reevaluation of our stuff. We could only take our most treasured belongings and I mapped out a spot for each item. Kitchen appliances here, books there, the nine hundred and five computer cables Gary owns here. It was the late spring cleaning that resulted in two full truck loads to the dump, dozens of boxes to D.I., and the little that was left to their assigned seats in the new apartment. Naturally after all of that I should remember what we brought with us, right? Well, I've been feeling the need for a new pair of comfy pajamas, some that are a light weight, breathable, soft and silky. It's been warming up and my fleece pjs are too hot and heavy to lounge around in. So the other day I'm digging through a drawer (looking for a really cute beanie that has disappeared) and discover a pair of comfy pajamas, that are a light weight, breathable, soft and silky. A pair of pajamas that before we moved was my lounge wear of choice for the past 3 years. I HAD NO RECOLLECTION THAT I OWNED SUCH AN ITEM UNTIL THIS POINT. I'm serious guys, how does one forget their favorite pjs?

Now before you tell me that it's understandable because HELLO, YOU'RE MOVING TO DOMINICA, you need to know that this out of sight, out of mind business has been going on for some time, say like six months, way before I knew I was going anywhere. I don't even get the luxury of blaming it on the mommy brain.

I got a text from somebody wanting me to relieve them of one million dollars and because I didn't respond that second, instead slipped my phone into my pocket, POOF! It's like it never even happened. Like magic. I missed my window of financial opportunity. Ok not really, but it's what has been happening with so many of my other texts. So no worries if I don't respond to your call or text one day, I simply set my phone down and then FORGOT ALL ABOUT YOU.

This disease is not without its saving graces though because when I do suddenly remember or find an item, it's usually welcomed back (except the moldy green leaf lettuce, it gets trashed) with open arms and an exclamation along the lines of HOW COULD I EVER FORGET YOU!

So I think I have a husband named Gary who went to Guatemala on the 27th of February and the original plan was for him to return home on the 8th of March, but somehow he ended up staying for an additional week and so this has all been swallowed by the monster eating my gray matter. And Gary has very much been out of sight, out of mind this week and I'm at home adjusting to life as a single wife. Huh? Gary who? I can completely see myself this coming Sunday as Gary steps off the plane disheveled, eyes red and looking stoned due to lack of sleep being all HOW WILD! I totally have a husband who shares his food with me and warms up my side of the bed before I get in. WHAT A PLEASANT SURPRISE!

It's gonna be great.

My Finger Can't Hold The Dam

2009-03-06T10:55:00.000-08:00

Um . . . . yeah, I'm officially hitting a breaking point. I have been pretty stressed, but I've also been holding it together while Gary's been gone. My finger can't hold the dam anymore. Gary was accepted to Ross very VERY late in the game. Most people know of their acceptance by January at the latest. We found out the beginning of MARCH. The welcome packet outlining everything required to be completed before May 4th finally came yesterday. I thought we had a lot to do before. I HAD NO IDEA THE DEFINITION OF "A LOT TO DO" UNTIL TODAY. Of the bazillion things needing doing, visas for both of us need to completed, submitted, and then approved before we step foot on the island. And visas are doable, people go through the process all the time, but I don't think they typically do everything from start to finish in a two month period. The following list consists of the visa requirements for Dominica:

-1 copy of round-trip flight itinerary
-1 money order/cashier's check for $200 USD
-2 official (2x2) passport photos
-1 copy of passport
-2 original police reports/background checks/letters of good conduct (less than 6 months old)
-1 original Health Certificate form - Parts l, ll, & lll signed by physician
-1 copy of TB/PPD test not more than 1 year old
-1 copy of HIV test not more than 1 year old
-1 copy of Hepatitis A vaccination not more than 10 years old
-1 copy of Hepatitis B vaccination not more than 5 years old
-1 copy of imaging report from chest x-ray not more than 1 year old
-1 Immigration and Passport Ordinance Application form
-2 testimonials or character references
-1 letter of reference from spouse indicating that he/she will assume financial responsibility for debt incurred while attending medical school in Dominica
-1 letter of reference from a bank indicating banking history
-1 bank statement reflecting a minimum of $3000 USD for the spouse to live in Dominica
-1 photocopy of marriage certificate

Um hello, I've never had my Hepatitis vaccinations! My mother told me that Hepatitis vaccinations take a span of 4 to 6 months until they're complete. I'm sure Gary has his taken care due to his mission, but I afraid I'm going to get left behind. How could I not since I'm starting from square one? My finger can't hold the dam anymore.

Left Solo

2009-03-05T11:25:00.000-08:00

Remember how last Friday my hubby received the phone call that opened the door to the rest of our lives? Well the amount of work it's going to take to actually step through that door is daunting. Really, really daunting. And last Friday as we stared at each other stupidly we felt that weight settle in squarely on our shoulders. And then my husband jumped on a plane headed for Guatemala to translate for a whole bunch of physicians doing surgeries and treatments for the less fortunate and as he kissed me goodbye he asked me to start working on things to get the ball rolling. Commence meltdown. THANKS A LOT. Gary doesn't get back until Sunday night and with each passing day this weight gets heavier and more awkward. Filling out government loan applications, filing tax returns and paying deposits is not my forte, that kind of stuff is Gary's department. It's as if a dog chewed off my right arm for lunch and all I have to work with now is my left arm which technically functions, but it's slower, the fingers aren't as nimble or the muscles as strong. My right arm could do a much better job and BY GOLLY I WANT MY RIGHT ARM BACK.

I'm trying, really I am, to stay calm and focused, to get at least one or two things accomplished every day, to get us one step closer, but I get so far until I hit a wall and I think I could do so much more if I could at least COMMUNICATE with my right arm. Ya know discuss issues and make decisions. As it is phone rates to and from Guatemala are pricey and time is limited for him to stop in an Internet cafe so contact with my one and only has been nonexistent with one exception. Gary sent me an email yesterday that made me think Oh my gosh, is he going to get in trouble?! He's not allowed to do that! And then I remembered that he's not in the United States. The standards, rules, and regulations our country sets don't apply in Guatemala. Here's an excerpt from that email:

I just have a minute before they call me AGAIN. I just wanted to let you know that I am doing fine and have been very, VERY busy. Yeah, I am translating a little bit when they are short and I am not busy, but it is not my main job. I am in charge of the lab and when I say in charge I mean in CHARGE. I have probably drawn blood from the antecubital vein (it is the one on the other side of your elbow) at least 100 times so far, and will get even more in the next couple of days. I had never drawn blood before in my life, and the only instructions they gave me were and I quote:

"gloves
band
syringe
needle
alcohol"

That was it. I had to figure it out on my own (and I have only had to ask for help maybe 5 times so far). I also have to run all of the labs that we get (and I had to figure out how to do that too). Some of the nurse practitioner students here are asking ME to teach them how to draw blood.

P.S. I got to see part of an amputation.... yummy :)

Crazy, huh? I mean it's not like they asked him to do a heart transplant, but still to toss him into a situation like that with no former training and to have him handle it so well, that's why my husband is going to make an incredible doctor. And even though I'm sure it's been nerve-wrecking and unexpected, I know he's loving every minute of it. Medical school will probably be some of the hardest and most strenuous times Gary will endure, but I imagine that it will be some of the best as well because Gary will be doing what he loves most. Learning.

The Huge, Incredible Change Revealed

2009-02-28T19:00:00.000-08:00

Two Sundays ago on the 15th of February my husband Gary attended a seminar about a particular medical school called Ross University. He's been trying to get into medical school for two years now and even though he's applied to many, he's been unlucky in the acceptance department. I HATE THOSE ADMISSION COMMITTEES. But that's a story for a different post, moving on. Gary hadn't submitted his application to Ross yet because he had a lot of questions and concerns about the school and why waste another $100-$200 for them to tell us no too. Gary came home that Sunday night completely taken with this school, we're talking love at first sight. And I was all whoa, this is SERIOUS. Then Gary launched into selling mode and suddenly he was the one giving the seminar describing the school and outlining its many benefits. Red lights and sirens started going off in my head with some chick with a British accent calming saying WARNING, WARNING over and over again. About 20 minutes into his presentation I realized that this might not be an emotional high that would soon pass, he really wanted to do this. So I started bringing up ALL the things we would need to take care of and LEAVE BEHIND if we were to go through with it. Nothing phased him. And then I thought that it would be an appropriate time to bring out the big guns.

"What about your TV? Are you seriously thinking of leaving your baby behind? In STORAGE?! Every last lovable 52" of it? We can't abandon our child. He NEEDS us."

"But babe, they have FOUR patient simulators! Not ONE like most schools, BUT FOUR! Do you know how cool that is? Those things cost upwards of $250,000. EACH!"

WHAT!? That's crazy talk! The TV card didn't work. My husband was farther gone than I expected. So we talked further and I threw out more reasons, concerns, and questions about how and why it wouldn't work and bygum, Gary had an answer for EVERYTHING. There were no loopholes for me to snake through or scriptures to back me up and I was left without a qualifying argument. I came to the realization that I really was OK with attending this school and knew it was the right thing to do, but this girl's got issues with change and that's why I was fighting to keep my world as comfortable as possible, which is silly really. Every change I've gone through I've fought, but once I'm on the other side of it I think man I should have done that FOREVER ago. I'm not sure why I'm such a wimp when it comes to change, but I am getting better, trying to view it as an opportunity for something great to happen because really that's what it is, an opportunity.

Gary started working on his application the very next day and had it completed and submitted by Tuesday afternoon. Thursday morning he received a call from a super nice lady named Melanie asking him in for an interview. Oh and she usually interviews in Denver, but happened to still be in Vegas from the seminar Sunday night. Her plane left in a few hours, "But do you think you could be here in a hour and a half?" Those of you who are familiar with applying to medical school will know that stuff like this never happens. Primary applications are followed by secondary applications which are followed by an interview and then a rejection or acceptance letter (typically rejection) usually over a span of 6-8 months. The speed with which Gary shaved, showered, dressed, and ran out the door would have won him an Olympic gold medal if such an event existed. Who needs Micheal Phelps when you can watch a transformation from drab to fab in 8 minutes flat?

Yesterday Gary received a call from Melanie (note just ONE week after his interview) to inform him that the admissions board of Ross University had arrived at a decision and that they would be pleased to have Gary join their student body this coming semester. I don't know how to describe the feelings that followed that news. Overwhelmed. Relief. Thankful. Scared. I'm gonna pass out now. Any one of the prior adjectives would work. Gary came to visit me at work and we hugged, said "wow" a lot, and stared at each other in dumb disbelief. Then it sunk in a bit more and we realized dude we have A LOT of work to do.

Yes, my hard-working hubby HAS FINALLY BEEN ACCEPTED TO MEDICAL SCHOOL. He will be attending Ross University of Medicine located (here comes the big change part) on the small ISLAND OF DOMINICA in the Caribbean. Oh and guess what? Class starts the beginning of MAY. Like May of 2009. Like May in two months. Like we need to pack up every aspect of our lives, stick 'em in a box, put 'em in storage and hop on a plane in two months May. Yeah, like that. Hence my head exploding.

Now upon learning the location of this school, you may have questions of its credibility and will Gary be able to practice medicine in the U.S. and do they teach advanced curriculum? Believe me, I've already been over this extensively with Gary and he with the Dean of Admissions at the seminar, but to ease your worries a bit I will tell you that this university is fully accredited. They have ties and agreements with hundreds of hospitals in the U.S. and place a high percentage of students in rotations and residencies. In addition one of the top doctors at UMC in Vegas attended Ross University. Because there is the stigma that international schools aren't as good or sophisticated, Ross has gone above and beyond what most U.S. schools provide to prove themselves. Most of their students pass the USMLE and have access to valuable resources while in school. Remember the FOUR patient simulators? I'm not concerned about the quality of Gary's forthcoming education.

What was that? How long are we going to be sipping pina coladas on the beach? Well never for Gary 'cause he'll be in class, but I'll be there for 16 months and then they'll send us back to the states for rotations. I'm very grateful that I won't be stuck on an island for four years. I'm a desert rat, lived in Nevada my entire life and after spending a vacation in Hawaii I was so happy to get back to straight 75 mph freeways and dry air. Hawaii was beautiful and amazing, it just wasn't home. Then again, home includes ridiculous summer temperatures and dead brown scenery. I may not want to come back after 16 months in tropical paradise.

If you want to know more about Dominica, google it. That's what I've been doing and I've discovered that the island is 290 square miles, has 365 rivers and dons the name of "The Nature Isle" due to its unspoiled natural beauty. I've also discovered that Dominica is a "developing country" which is just a euphemism to say that there's not much there. Dominica doesn't support large scale tourism like the other islands of the Caribbean, but is instead for the outdoorsy adventurer or the hundreds of medical students being shipped in every year. Oh and Pirates of the Caribbean 2 & 3 were filmed in Dominica so just about every motel or restaurant has a picture with a cast member and a caption that says "JOHNNY DEPP WAS HERE!"

But what about HURRICANES?! Um . . . yeah, we're not going to talk about that. Besides I'm too busy making lists of all the loose ends we're going to have to tie up to worry about hurricanes. That and I keep having random thoughts like what if they don't have the tampons I use? Janae went to Eucador on her mission and she said they didn't really sell tampons. Am I going to need to pack a 16 month supply of Playtex Gentle Glide? I know, more information than you needed, but I am so worried about them not having popcorn that I'm gonna end up arriving in Dominica with suitcases filled with popcorn and tampons, but forget the basics like my underwear. Gary decided he would head down there a couple weeks early to secure housing and to do some recon to let me know what I would be LIVING WITHOUT for over a year.

In a word . . . . . never mind, there is no one word to effectively describe everything I'm feeling or facing. But I am excited and scared and my mind is completely blown. Everything is happening so fast and I the thought came to my brain that it's all happening so quickly for a reason, being which if I had an extended amount of time to mull this move over in my mind, I probably would never go through with it. Best not to give me the time to agonize over the decision in the first place. The important things in all of this is that Gary is going to realize his dream of being a doctor, we both know that this is the right move for us, and I GET TO EAT FRESH PINEAPPLE EVERYDAY. Excuse me while I jump up and down.

And Then My Head Exploded

2009-02-27T10:30:00.000-08:00

The HUGE, incredible change is happening! IT'S REALLY HAPPENING!!!

Tight throat and stomach somersaults multiplied by 347 plus light-headedness thrown into the mix to make things interesting.

More details to follow.

"Winds of Change"

2009-02-25T10:50:00.000-08:00

My throat is tight, my stomach is doing somersaults and the amount of information running through my brain is unreal and if it continues on this path I'm sure it will result in nothing short of a mental break leaving me passive and drooling. A change is coming. A HUGE, INCREDIBLE CHANGE. It's left my head swimming. Life lately has been a lot like my husband sneaking up and scaring the crap out of me only without the relief of realizing that it's just Gary. And I suppose the only one to blame is myself because it seems that I've asked for these situations I've been handed. Not specifically mind you, but generalized and without fully knowing what they would entail. I think Somebody took my words a little too seriously. And my goodness, some things have been incredibly difficult, but I wouldn't trade what I've learned for a do-over, a get-out-of-jail-free card. I'm hoping this coming change will be much the same in that the knowledge, love, adventure and experiences I gain will far outweigh my anxiety of stepping out of my comfort zone. Wait, scratch that, try ROCKET LAUNCHING OUT OF MY COMFORT ZONE TO AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT ORBIT. There's no "stepping out" with this change. Stepping out is more appropriate when talking to a stranger or trying a new dish. This isn't like that. I suppose I do have a good measure of relief in realizing that I have Gary launching with me. The comfort that brings is remarkable.

Now that you're all sufficiently curious, no I can't tell you, at least not yet. You see I'm 90% sure that it's going to happen, but there's still that 10% left that will jinx me if I tell. I'm not gonna mess with 10%, especially with that bone in his nose and his voodoo spells. I'll assuage your interest by saying this: when I know, you'll know.

I'm intensely excited but equally, if not more, TERRIFIED. I'm worried that I may need that get-out-of-jail-free card.

Aware of My Derriere

2009-02-17T08:00:00.000-08:00

OW! Another injection in my right butt cheek has left me in some discomfort. Yes, there are worse things in life, but by golly it hurts! Sitting is torture and rather ridiculous actually. I transfer my weight to the left cheek and this alleviates the throbbing, but it also looks like I'm opening up the airways to let one go. I've never been so aware of my derriere and how many things I bump into with it or rather things that bump into me. My peaceful slumber last night was interrupted by a shot of pain. A routine kneeing from my darling husband brought me into full consciousness with the strong urge to punch said husband full-on in the face. I grabbed hold of all rational thought possible at 3:00 in the morning and instead of punching I turned over and took my tender behind as far away as I could. Yes, he'd probably knee me again before the night was over, but my motto last night was BETTER MY GUT THAN MY BUTT.

"Golden Slumbers"

2009-02-09T11:45:00.000-08:00

Waking up was extremely hard for me this morning. I try to be strong, to not care, to be grateful for what I do have and accept what I don't, to keep the lonely feelings at bay and I do a decent job of it most of the time, but resolve doesn't always reach one's dreams.

Waking up was extremely hard for me this morning. I can smile at kids and play with them. I can baby-sit and help feed and care for them, but in the end they go back to their real parents. In the end all they really want is their mom to play, their mom to cheer them up after a tumble, their mom to snuggle and hold them close. All they really want is their mom and the nice lady from earlier is forgotten. They don't need me. And in the end all I really want is for somebody to need and want me that much, for us to belong to each other.

Waking up was extremely hard for me this morning. There was a world, a world in which I was pregnant and round and happy, a glimpse into a life that knew what it felt like to wait, but didn't have to anymore. Surroundings were abstract, but I wasn't, Gary wasn't, and . . . . . . my baby wasn't. My baby. I gave birth, my belly was gone, the pain was gone, and in my arms was my perfect baby with fingers and toes, the biggest blue eyes and wisps of light hair. An overwhelming feeling flooded through me. I didn't have to give this child back to anyone because he was ours, was mine. It was so vivid, so real that I can still see his beautiful face and remember his weight in my arms.

Waking up was extremely hard for me this morning because I was finally a mother . . . . . . . and then I wasn't. I cried. Moments like these make me realize that I want a child much more than I let on, even to myself.

Pineapple

2009-02-02T12:00:00.000-08:00

Excerpt of a phone conversation with my favorite nurse whom we'll call G.

ME: Yeah I just wanted to make sure that I received the right dosage. The nurses at the other clinic got me all mixed up.

G: Don't worry, you did and I'll call your pharmacy to put in an order for your next dose.

ME: Oh one more question. I know that side effects will be different for each person and what affects one may not apply to another, but I was wondering when I should start noticing a difference?

The latest treatment my doctor prescribed had me really anxious in the weeks leading up to the first injection and I'm not talking can't wait anxious, I mean nervous wreck anxious. I've been a mess not because of the actual treatment, but because of the POSSIBLE side effects. The horror stories I've heard from friends who were on this drug made me certain that I was doomed to 6 months of headaches, hot flashes, bone density loss, extreme moodiness, and . . . . . . um . . . . ahem . . . loss of appetite. I could deal with most everything, but I was really concerned about the extreme moodiness. My PMS weeks are no prancing through meadows catching butterflies experiences. I get very irrational and though I know I'm PMSing, it's really hard to control the flashes of anger and the unexplained sobbing. Each time I go through this it shaves a year off of my husband's life, so you can imagine my apprehension with a drug that could potentially have me PMSing for 6 MONTHS STRAIGHT. Gary would be dead before he turned 50, that is, if our marriage survived! Gary convinced me that he would be understanding and patient if I went physco on him and we even came up with a code word that he could use to bring me back down to the rational world of thought. So I finally went through with my first injection on January 14th and thus far I haven't noticed any major changes in my moods or temperature. Still uneasy and having a couple of questions about my injection anyway, I called my nurse G.

ME: Yeah I just wanted to make sure that I received the right dosage. The nurses at the other clinic got me all mixed up.

G: Don't worry, you did and I'll call your pharmacy to put in an order for your next dose.

ME: Oh one more question. I know that side effects will be different for each person and what affects one may not apply to another, but I was wondering when I should start noticing a difference?

G: Let's see, you received your shot on the 14th? Yeah it's been two and a half weeks, you would have already been experiencing side effects by now.

I hung up the phone. No moodiness or hot flashes! YAAAAAY! Then I started to cry. Oooook, so maybe I'm not out of the woods yet. I have a hard believing that with what they're doing to my hormones that I'm not going to suffer some sort of repercussions in the next 6 months, but I'm going to be grateful for every day that passes by without the above torture. Just know that if you smile at me and I burst into tears or I start yelling at you for standing to close to me that you can always say "pineapple" and that might cause my brain to function rationally long enough for me to apologize.

"Delectable, As Was The First!"

2009-01-26T11:00:00.000-08:00

My mother told me that when she started giving me solid food as a baby I would mmmm, mmm, mmmmmm the entire time food was in my mouth, letting everyone know exactly how much I was enjoying myself. I'm sure potatoes and carrots had to be a huge upgrade from the monotony of breast milk. A couple of decades later, I still love good food and the various atmospheres that accompany it. The traditional home-cooked family meals filled with noise, laughter and great company mean the most and create lasting memories because Dad's roast is dependably delicious and Mom's baking is top-notch. While family meals are dear to me, I am also fond of exploring new restaurants and the interesting food choices they have to offer. I'm much more adventurous than my husband, but he's come a long way from his steak, potatoes, and ketchup family. One of the perks we've discovered with not having children is Gary and I have had much more time and funds to travel and try new restaurants. Some places have proved disappointing, others have rated fair or average, while others have provided some of the best meals we've encountered. I've decided to share some of our favorites with you so if you're ever in the area and looking for great quality, you'll have a starting point.*

CLOSE TO HOME:
Promenade Cafe at the J.W. Marriott Resort & Casino
-Gary and I spent the first two days of our marriage at this resort and ended up eating at this little cafe 3 times because they served the best breakfast we'd had in a while. We're talking fresh berries, whipped cream, spectacular omelets, and crisp hash browns. No soggy frozen fruit and runny eggs here and the best part is that it's open 24 hours a day, so when you're craving breakfast at midnight you don't have to settle for Denny's.

Cheesecake Factory in Boca Park
-This is a new favorite of ours. If you're looking for a little more luxury, amazing food, but don't want to break the bank, Cheesecake Factory is great. We were utterly taken aback at the wide selection of menu items they offered, both familiar and unique. There is truly something for everyone here and averaging $15-$20 a plate the food was perfect! Oh yeah, don't forget dessert, you'll regret it if you do.

Claim Jumper in Town Square
-It's been much too long since Gary & I savored a meal here. Claim Jumper can be a little pricey, but believe me, you get your money's worth. YOU WILL HAVE MORE INCREDIBLE FOOD THAN YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH. This place is all about comfort food, steaks, mashed potatoes, chicken pot pies, turkey dinners, triple layer chocolate cake, man I'm salivating just thinking about it! And like any good comfort food should, it comes in super-sized portions. If you can't make it home for mom's cooking, try this place, you might find that they make it better. KIDDING! Blasphemous I know, nothing is better than mom's home cooking. Oh, just make sure that you hit this joint up in Vegas and not St. George or any of the Utah locations. Completely different chain, all they share is the name.

Katherine's at the Casablanca in Mesquite
- A high-end steakhouse serving more familiar food, but very classy, surprising for Mesquite. Before your meal you'll receive a warm, moist towel scented with almond to wash your hands. Very romantic, very good, and very expensive.

Marrakech near the Strip
-If you're feeling adventurous and want to try something exotic this small, intimate restaurant is it! Imagine sitting on red, velvet cushions surrounding low teak tables, richly colored fabrics draped on the walls & ceiling, and belly dancers. That's right, BELLY DANCERS. This Moroccan restaurant was unlike anything I've ever tried. Oh and if you're wondering what you'd pick from the menu, don't worry about it, they serve a fixed 6 course meal. Come hungry and pace yourself because you'll want to have room to try all 6 courses. Eating with your hands is encouraged, but you can request silverware if you want (it's not as fun though). At $39.99 a person it seems a little steep, but I promise it's well worth it! You're really getting dinner and a show so be prepared to spend most of your evening enjoying the food and dancing. Gary and I were there for over 2 hours by the time the last course was served. It was a fantastic night!

Pier 49 Sourdough Pizza on Bluff in St. George
-Yes you're going to pay a little more than Domino's, but it is so worth it! Domino's doesn't give you a fluffy sourdough crust or alfredo as a sauce option. Pier 49 was fresh with plenty of toppings and cheese minus the grease. I ate 3 slices in one sitting it was so good. Yes . . . . I'm a pig.

The Painted Pony in Ancestor Square, St. George
- Wow, this place was excellent. My mother and I actually shared a meal here for our birthdays. The menu changes often because of their dedication to freshness. Nearly all of the produce is organic and grown locally so they create flavorful dishes with ingredients that are in season. In addition to the food, it's in a beautiful location. Save this joint for special occasions because it will break the bank.

NOT SO CLOSE:
Christy Hill on Lake Tahoe
- There's just something incredibly romantic about dining outdoors, but even more so when it's on the beach of beautiful Lake Tahoe as the sun is setting. Absolutely gorgeous! Wood deck, crisp table linens, hanging lanterns and don't forget the gentle breeze. It was a little scary picking an entree when all the titles were in french, but I believe we picked well. Like the Painted Pony, Christy Hill serves a seasonal menu as well to ensure you're getting the freshest ingredients. This was a pivotal meal for both me and Gary because I discovered that I actually do like seafood if it's fresh and prepared well and Gary realized that it's ok to guess sometimes (Gary doesn't guess, Gary knows).

Rene at Tlaquepaque in Sedona, AZ
- Tucked away in the tile-mosaic village of Tlaquepaque, Rene served us a wonderful lunch while on our honeymoon that we now recreate at home. A fair amount of deli sliced turkey and ham, steamed broccoli and melted pepper-jack cheese all in between a large sliced croissant. Grapes make an incredible side. A light and breezy atmosphere with a touch of elegance.

Boudin Bakery San Francisco Sourdough
- My hubby and I were never fans of sourdough bread until we had real sourdough. Now we can't get enough. This bakery is actually a rather large factory located on Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco and, oh my, the smell wafting out of that building was enough to have me sleeping on their front steps. Freshly baked bread, ALL THE TIME! I swear Gary and I kept them in business that day with all the loaves of bread we bought. Ok that might be a gross exaggeration, but with orders put in by both our families, we probably walked out of there with 10 round loaves of sourdough. We didn't have the pleasure of eating there, but they do have a cafe at the bakery as well. I can only imagine soups, salads, and sandwiches paired with that amazing bread!

NOT EVEN REMOTELY CLOSE:
Keoki's Paradise in Poipu Beach on Kauai, HI
- Most definitely a piece of paradise. If you don't feel like you're in Hawaii yet, you will when you walk through Keoki's doors. Right in the middle of the restaurant is a beautiful lagoon surrounded by lush plants and exotic flowers. A truly tropical setting that wouldn't be complete without the flaming tiki torches. The fish was of course fresh, but my husband's entree proved to be especially delicious (ok, read the last 2 words again, but this time say them like Nacho would), Coconut Crusted Chicken Breast with Asian Mango Sauce, aw don't you wish you were in Hawaii right now? The only downside to my evening in paradise was that the mosquitos thought I was delectable. The rest of my family escaped unscathed, but I sported 23 red, itchy welts for the next 2 days. Oh well, good food comes at a price, it's just usually monetary.

Hard Rock Cafe in Times Square, NYC
- The sheer enormity of this place was astounding with seating available for 708 people. SEVEN HUNDRED AND EIGHT! Even with that much seating, there was still a 25 minute wait for Gary and I. The wait wasn't so bad due to the fact that there was so much music memorabilia to take in and we're talking the real deal. This isn't Applebee's with the same set of decor littering the walls of each restaurant. The Hard Rock chain has been collecting rock memorabilia since the 1970's and has over 70,000 items scattered across the globe displayed (behind glass of course) in their hotels, casinos, and cafes. A low-light, groovy atmosphere rich in rock history. Be prepared for loud music and the associated music videos playing on flat-screen TVs throughout the restaurant. Gary and I especially enjoyed looking at the Beatles treasures. Oh yeah, the food was great. They served familiars with flair. I ordered huge spiral macaroni and cheese with grilled chicken and sweet red peppers, a delicious twist! I'm sure a similar experience can be had at the Hard Rock Cafe located in Vegas.

Rue 57 60 W 57th Street NYC
-How to describe this place? Ah, I know. Gary wants to jump on a plane and fly all the way back to New York City just to eat at Rue 57 again. He's more conservative then I am when it comes to food and doesn't always understand why I want to spend more on a meal once in a while. He understood at Rue 57. This restaurant has trumped all others thus far. Food is an art form here, so not only did our food taste INCREDIBLE, it looked incredible too. It was so yummy that when Gary discovered mushrooms in his dish (he has an irrational fear of mushrooms and anything they've touched) that HE PICKED THEM OUT AND CONTINUED EATING. That's a big deal. I on the other hand never realized that shrimp could taste that good. Candlelight, bunches of fresh flowers, and crisp white linens set against rich, dark woods and dark brown leather created an atmosphere I wasn't too keen on leaving. I insisted on dessert because I wasn't about to whisk out of there any sooner than necessary, and oh boy was I glad I didn't. WARM CHOCOLATE VALRHONA CAKE WITH WHITE CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM. You know those chocolate cakes with the melted fudge in the center? Well the one at Rue 57 is king. Gary and I were tempted to lick the plate, but restrained because that wouldn't have been proper dining etiquette.

*Disclaimer: I will not be responsible for any charges you may incur at these restaurants or any others. Some of these places are pretty expensive, so please, check prices & your budget before eating otherwise you might be washing dishes.

And Then I'll Wake Up & It'll Be Tomorrow

2009-01-23T10:30:00.000-08:00

I'm not a huge fan of the desert. Living in Nevada my entire life hasn't made me any fonder. Everything is brown, dusty, and dead most of the time and frankly, the color green makes me really happy. My hubby and I were playing World of Warcraft the other day and Gary asked me where I wanted to take our characters next to quest. The choice was between Desolace, a dead, stagnant water, and yes, desolate land or Stranglethorn, being more of a jungle type-"STOP! say no more, I wanna go to Stranglethorn," I declared. Now if he would have presented me with a choice between two different rain forest areas, that decision process would have taken much longer. If I'm going to stare at a screen, you better believe I'm going to stare at something more visually interesting than what I see every day, even if it is computer animated.

Aside from the blah qualities the desert has to offer, it does hold one of the very best features of this earth. The smell of rain in the desert. It rains all over the world, but nowhere else delivers that amazing scent. It's fresh, it's clean. Beyond the smell, the rain makes everything beautiful. A blanket of clouds cover up the intense blue of the sky and allow the colors on the ground to shine. Everything seems more vibrant and alive. The greens are more green, the reds more red. Oooooh, it just makes me all warm and fuzzy inside, not unlike Christmas. Isn't today gorgeous?!

Go jump in a puddle, you know you want to.

Suffering

2009-01-18T01:30:00.000-08:00

I apologize in advance for any feelings this post might hurt. Please know that it is not my intention to upset or make anyone feel bad, but I need to vent. This isn't about any one person and mostly it's directed to random strangers and acquaintances who feel the need to tell me I'm doing it all wrong. End of apology. Begin rant.

Day one of marriage: "So when are you going to have a baby?" Uh, hi and you are? Certainly not anybody who needs to be concerned about when my body balloons. It seems like as soon as Gary and I got married, no wait, even before we tied the knot people were asking us about our baby-making plans. That part wasn't too bad, but all I knew at the time is that I wasn't ready and when I told them as much that's when I got the "Oh, well we want to see some babies. Have a baby. You don't want to wait too long. The Lord put you on the earth to make babies, He'll take care of everything." Blah, blah, blah. You know, I do believe that women have a divine calling to be mothers and that if you put your trust in the Lord, all aspects of you life will be made easier, but I also believe that we were blessed with the ability to choose. I do not feel that when Heavenly Father commanded Adam and Eve to multiply and replenish the earth that it meant all of us girls should get married when we're 18 and then pop out 6 children by the age of 25. Congratulations to any woman who did that and kept her sanity. I wasn't anywhere near being ready for children when I got hitched.

Fast forward to now. Hey guess what? I'm ready. Actually I've been ready for some time now, but my body hasn't been cooperating, for like two years. Enter a bunch of people who don't think before they talk. "So when are you finally going to have a baby?" Um, dude, made that decision years ago. Hasn't worked out yet, but you didn't pause long enough to think about that possibility before you decided to razz us. "Oh you know what I did? I started this special diet to remove all the toxins from my body and got pregnant 2 months later. You should do that." Hmm, pretty sure it's not because I have an army of "toxins" laying siege on my body. "Just relax, you're stressing about it too much." I haven't seen or talked to you in months! How would you know what I have and haven't been stressing about?! Yeah so basically through various chats, advice given and jokes made I have adopted a new rule, one that would serve many people well.

Note to self: Never jest with anyone about having a baby. Wait, scratch that, never say anything baby related. Chances are pretty high that you really don't have a clue what that couple might be going through no matter how good of friends you are, if you're even really friends. Maybe she desperately wants a baby, but her hubby is totally freaked out by the idea. They argue enough about it already without you adding a log to the fire. Or perhaps he's misfiring and they're having to deal with the thought of a sperm donor. The poor girl could have already had three miscarriages and you're there to pour salt in her wound. A professional may have declared the couple infertile with no chance of children. What if *gasp* both of their bodies function normally and they're just not ready for that huge, monumental step in their lives? Is it really any of your business? I know you all have your personal opinions about when the best time to have children is or the sure-fire way to become pregnant, but that's what they are, opinions, and unless otherwise asked, you should keep them to yourself. Is it really worth causing another person possible pain simply to satisfy your curiosity or ego? To give your two cents?

I debated whether or not I would share the details of my situation here and thought about a particular lady who has bombarded me with guidance since she discovered my non-prego problem. Being a bit of an health nut, she always tells me I need to simply exercise and drink water to get pregnant. Don't misunderstand, exercise and proper hydration does play a part and should be present in our lives anyway, but come on, it's not that cut n' dry and I've told her as much. The last time I spoke with the health nut, counsel came spilling out again, but this time I came back with what my doctor had told me and guess what? She didn't have so much to say anymore. If sharing means I can avoid more uninformed advice, then it's worth it for me. If sharing means you'll think more about the possibilities next time rather than drawing your own conclusions, then I'm game. I decided to dive in head first, but then I spoke with my husband.

GARY: That kind of stuff is private, reserved for family and close friends. The whole world doesn't need to know.

ME: I'm tired of all the comments and questions though, maybe this will alleviate some of it.

GARY: Maybe, and I can understand that, but why does the world deserve to know? Why do they need to be filled in on something so personal that we are strong enough to handle?

ME: When people ask, I don't know what to say and I feel compelled to tell the truth, otherwise they keep saying things that hurt without even knowing.

GARY: Well you can do what you want, but if they don't back off, I give you permission to tell them that it's none of their business, because it truly isn't.

So I thought about what my husband said and realized that he was right. He and I are strong enough to deal with the trials that come our way without sharing the specifics, but it doesn't mean that it's not hard. It doesn't mean that I don't get tired, that I don't hurt. So while I choose not to share the details at this time, I do want you to know this: I HAVE A DIAGNOSED MEDICAL CONDITION THAT IS WREAKING HAVOC ON MY REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS. Gary and I are pursuing our options to fix the problem, but realize that there is the possibility that I may never carry a child of my own. On that note, we are very optimistic that the treatments will work, it's just going to require more patience on our part (and our parents') as we travel this road.

It's tough dealing with the fact that I can't have children at this time, but the thoughtless comments definitely make it harder. Talking to a couple of other friends who have infertility issues, we agreed that we don't want people to necessarily ignore our conditions, all we really want is somebody to say, "Wow, that really SUCKS. I can't say that I understand how you're feeling, but I am so sorry." Don't talk about your cousin who had a hard time getting pregnant, or tell me to adopt, or "comfort" me by saying Heavenly Father has a plan for me. When people do that it's because they feel uncomfortable with the situation and instead of dealing with it, they paint this pretty picture where everybody eventually ends up happy to make themselves feel better. There is a lot of happiness in my life, but there's also a big hole where I desperately want a child to be. When you tack on all the other stories and suggestions and fluff, even though you mean well, all it really says to me is that I'm not allowed to hurt, I'm not allowed to feel bad, I shouldn't hug my knees and cry when I'm alone because hey, so and so "got pregnant after years of trying and so could you." That's great for so and so, it really is, but the fact remains that I'm not so and so and it's naive to think that just because it happened to her, it's gonna happen to me. Sure, I hope and pray that I do get pregnant, but if it happens it's not going to be because of your friend or co-worker. I'm an individual with specific details that make up my life and who I am, don't lump me together with somebody I don't even know and tell me we're the same. Don't feed me empty words and advice because, unless I ask, that's not what I'm looking for. When you say "I'm sorry, that sucks" that's what validates me, it validates my feelings, it lets me know that you're willing to acknowledge and accept my problem rather than ignore it. All I need is a sincere "I'm so sorry. If you need me, I'm here" to let me know you care and I believe that's what most suffering people need.

Automatic

2009-01-08T08:30:00.000-08:00

Being the germaphobic I can be at times, I love the whole automatic movement. Motion-sensor faucets, paper towels, and toilets keep my public bathroom visits low-stress. So when I discovered a clean, automatic bathroom in the restaurant my husband and I had enjoyed dinner at the other night, I was appreciative. "I won't be long," I told Gary as I handed him my scarf and coat. I went inside, picked the tidiest stall, and did my deed. Well, not before I had put down 3 seat liners of course. Reaching for the toilet paper I shifted my weight ever so slightly and WHOOOOOSH! Oh yes, it did. THAT OVER-ZEALOUS PIECE OF PORCELAIN DID. I hadn't even had time to grab any paper before that toilet sucked away any evidence of a need for paper and in doing so sent cool air swirling beneath me and water spray all over my rear. Did I mention that I loathe the sensation of a toilet flushing while I'm still mounted on it? So I cleaned myself up and dried my bowl-watered bottom. The task at hand was almost complete when I shifted again and WHOOOOOSH! Holy guacamole, YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! Once is bad enough, but TWICE in one sitting! I decided that this automatic bowl and I were no longer friends. Clean-up resumed very carefully so as not to alert the ever watchful motion police. When I was finally dry enough to pull up my pants without them sticking to my tush, I leaped off the seat thinking I was escaping another water spraying flush, but was only met with silence. Ok so let me get this straight john. The slightest shift of weight sends you into a flushing frenzy, but the amount of movement required to throw my body away does nothing for you?! I proceeded to brush the seat liners into the water to join the now soggy toilet paper hoping the sensor would pick up my movement and take the paper away. Nothing. I waved my hands in front of the black box with the red light. Nothing. I squatted, hovering just above the seat, then stood back up a moment later. Nothing. This was no automatic toilet, this was a taunting, selective toilet who was having a good laugh at my expense. I really wanted to abandon the stall, but I couldn't bring myself to join the ranks of ill-mannered public bathroom users, so I . . . um . . . pushed the manual flush button on the supposedly automatic toilet. And then the toilet laughed an evil laugh and demanded he* be named the victor.

Demoralized at having been beat by a toilet, I stepped up to the large sink which had a long, tall faucet in the shape of a candy cane extending out to the middle of the sink. Since this was also automatic, I stuck my hands under the faucet and waited for the water. Nothing. I tried again. Nothing. I moved my hands closer to the sensor at the base of the faucet. Water shot out, but when I moved my hands back towards the stream it immediately shut off again leaving my hands just as dry as when I started. Ooooook. I'll just have to be quicker. And boy was I, but not quick enough. Hands forward. Water on. Hands back. Water off. Hands forward. Water on. Hands back super fast. Water still off. Yeah, this sink and I argued for a good minute. Thank goodness the public restroom wasn't very public during my stay. Pretty soon I'm waving one hand in front of the sensor and wetting the other and I have to switch off like this for the remainder of the hand washing. Hands dripping wet and a little frazzled, I eyed the automatic paper towel dispenser. NOT WORTH IT. So I wiped my hands on my jeans and walked out.

GARY: What took you so long?

ME: I don't want to talk about it.

*Yes the toilet is a he because, while that may sound inappropriate following the thought that we expose ourselves to toilets everyday, I prefer to think of a man swallowing all our crap rather than a woman.

"Oh, How Awful!"

2008-12-24T15:00:00.000-08:00

It's a tradition in Gary's family to decorate gingerbread houses each year. His mother bakes and assembles 15 to 20 houses and hands them out to family, friends and various children to decorate. My mother-in-law amazes me with the amount of food and goodies her kitchen produces, there is always enough to feed a small army. This year was no different and Gary and I spent an evening making a hugenormous* mess with candy, pretzels and frosting. Since I'm my mother's daughter, I spent time agonizing over the perfection and traditional design of my house. My dear husband on the other hand, while very detail-oriented, is anything but traditional. Needless to say, the gingerbread house Gary created received this kind of reaction from his sister Shyla.

GARY (showing the back of his house): Do you like my gingerbread house Shyla?

SHYLA: Oh how cute!

GARY (flipping the house around): What about the front?

SHYLA (with horror): Oh, how awful!

Since Shyla liked it so much, I thought I would share Gary's "awful" creation, one of his sources of inspiration and I'll even throw my house into the mix for extra holiday cheer. Enjoy!

I adore Calvin & Hobbes and hope you enjoy these wintery strips. Notice the similarities of these comics and Gary's house. You might as well paste Gary's face over Calvin's.

Merry Christmas!

Gary would like to thank his wife and mother, but most of all Mr. Jim Oden for their ideas and support of his 2008 gingerbread house.

P.S. My husband really is a mentally stable individual, he's just been playing too many video games and working at the hospital for too long.

*an original Gary word, or a hybrid of huge & enormous.

What Are The Odds?

2008-12-17T08:25:00.000-08:00

Excerpt of a conversation that took place back in July.

ME: So I finally picked a OB/GYN and scheduled an appointment.

MOM: Oh good, it's about time. Who's your doctor?

ME: His name is Jenks, Dr. Jenks.*

MOM: Oh really, I know that name. I wonder if this Dr. Jenks is his son?

ME: Uh? What are you talking about?

MOM: I used to know an OB/GYN named Dr. Jenks so I'm thinking that maybe this Dr. Jenks you're going to is his son.

ME: Um, I don't think so his name is Joseph Jenks and he's pretty old.

MOM: Joseph Jenks!? Are you serious? Brittany, I used to see Dr. Jenks for a short time when I was having babies and he was no spring chicken then!

ME: . . . . . . . .

MOM: He used to sing funny songs.

ME: Wow . . . . ok, that's just creepy.

*Name changed because a girl's gotta retain something.

Give Me Reality. I'll Deal.

2008-12-15T10:40:00.000-08:00

Wow, it's been awhile. Anybody else wondering what in the heck happened to November?! I truly don't remember it coming or going. I woke up the other morning, looked at the calendar and saw DECEMBER staring back at me. <insert stress overload here> Yeah, I'm feeling it baby.

So how 'bout that long awaited Quirk #3? I know you've all been sleeping next to your computers and it's starting to get uncomfortable, but I can explain. In my book, November never even happened, remember? So that much time hasn't really passed. And second, I wasn't completely aware of Quirk #3 until the other week so the point of writing Quirk #3 weeks ago is mute. So there. Ok, ok so secretly November did happen, but it was spent trying to unravel the mystery that is my body. Doctor appointments, tests, more doctor appointments, more tests. There wasn't much time to ponder on the passing month or focus on much else besides work (which got incredibly crazy) and feeling like a lab rat.

When Gary and I started seeing a doctor 6 months ago, I thought I was prepared for this process (and believe me it is a process). I had a lot of time before-hand in the many failed months to think about the possibilities and what I could deal with. I thought I was ready and willing to accept whatever master plan my Heavenly Father had put in place for me. My first doctor visit was a success and left me feeling understood and more confident than I had felt in some time. The following appointments . . . . . . not so much . . . on the confidence part that is. Now before you hit comment and tell me all about the personable doctor you know that can simply mumble some gibberish and a baby appears, let me tell you that I've been an emotional mess through no fault of my doctor. And yes, he is a man and can't offer me that I-know-what-you're-going-through connection that all your woman doctors can, but he can offer me 40 years of experience and a kooky sense of humor, both of which is infinitely more important to my husband and I than Oh, you have a vagina? So do I! Let's band together! And yes, you read right 40 YEARS. In addition, my doctor has not once made me feel unimportant or diminished my problems in any way, nor has he tried to tell me what to do or force anything on us. I'm always presented with a handful of options and Gary and I can then decide what is best for us. So yes, I like my doctor and we don't want to switch, but I've still been having an emotional melt-down every time we leave his office. I thought I could handle this! Why am I even crying? All we did was blood-work today and I'M CRYING! Needless to say, my husband has been a little confused with all the water works after every single appointment. Frankly, so have I.

After months peppered with appointments and numerous tests that have proved useful, but still haven't given us concrete answers, we finally moved onto a lapraoscopy surgery that took place the beginning of Thanksgiving week. So yeah, anybody who thought I was looking like I had some serious weight gain going on, that wasn't the second helping of turkey and stuffing or the 3 pieces of pie, that was the air the doctors pumped into my body to make MOVING MY INTERNAL ORGANS AROUND easier. Gross, huh? Needless to say, all that extra air really looked & felt like extra pounds which was pretty depressing. More painful than the two incisions and bruising was that AIR getting up into my chest and shoulders so even the tiniest breath would send pain screaming through my torso. IF THEY CAN PUMP THE AIR IN, THEY SHOULD BE ABLE TO PUMP IT OUT!

Two weeks after the surgery, Gary and I showed up for the post-op appointment. This was the appointment that we would discuss what the doctor had found during the surgery. I'd spent two weeks not knowing and I was a little nervous about the outcome. What if there is something seriously wrong? Amazingly, my doctor came right in and spoke with us for a bit, but didn't give us specifics of my surgery because the hospital hadn't sent over my op-report yet and he didn't want to give us misinformation based solely on his memory. What? Are you telling me that I might leave here today still NOT KNOWING WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON?! So we waited. Gary sat relaxed in the chair while I fidgeted on the table cursing the stupid hospital. They'd only had TWO WEEKS. After another 45 minutes my post-op report was finally retrieved and my doctor sat down to share all the juicy details. The information delivered was indeed serious, but laced with lots of options and hope. I sat gripping the edge of the table, leaned forward and just ate it up. This was the good stuff. We talked options and the steps we wanted to take. Then we left and I felt good. No I felt great, relieved. I was talkative, laughing and in good spirits. Gary was just waiting for the floodgates to open.

ME: Wait, we just found out about the most serious stuff we've had to deal with since we've been married and I'm not crying. Aren't I supposed to be crying? I cry after every other appointment. I may never carry a child! Why am I not crying?

GARY: . . . . . . um, maybe because you actually know what's going on now and you don't have to guess about why you're not getting pregnant. All the previous appointments were just leg-work that never gave us any real answers. Now you know.

ME: Oh . . . . . you're so smart!

GARY: I know.

Thus Quirk #3 presents itself. I cry myself into a sniveling heap when there may not be anything wrong and I feel relief when given bad news. Doesn't that seem backwards to anyone else? I believe my husband had it right though. It takes patience, strength and endurance to battle through trials. I guess I just need to know what I'm battling. Exactly how much patience, strength and endurance am I gonna need?

Give me reality. I'll deal.

Yeah, I think that's my new motto.

Quirk # 2: The Nose Knows

2008-10-31T13:10:00.000-07:00

I've always found reading among the plethora of things I thoroughly enjoy. My mother used to catch me still awake under the blankets with a flashlight at 4:00 in the morning, my nose stuck in a book and by golly, IT WAS A SCHOOL NIGHT. When it came to books, I wasn't a casual reader, I was completely and hopelessly addicted. I'd plunge headfirst into a book & the only way to get me to come back up for air was to physically shake me. Yeah, my parents learned real quick that grounding me or sending me to my room wasn't punishment. They finally changed tactics and simply took away the book I was IN THE MIDDLE of reading. That's just cruel.

I don't devour books like I used to and mind you, not for lack of interest. I simply made a commitment to a full-time job, husband and a whole host of additional responsibilities, but I'll tell you what, that commitment weakens when a book steps into the picture. The love affair that ensues is hot, steamy, and completely absorbing.* Books become the other woman in a weird, twisted, backwards sort of way. Once an addict, always an addict I guess. So when I say that at some point I will have a beautiful library full of the books I've come to love, my husband is a little worried. It's like your unfaithful spouse asking for all his/her lovers to move in. That's just awkward.

Now I wouldn't place reading in the category of quirks, maybe of obsessions, but not quirks. That which I place in the category of quirks is the process by which I purchase the books that will one day reside in my beautiful library. So I suppose the above two paragraphs really don't mention Quirk #2 at all, but are simply background info to understanding Quirk #2 more fully. I don't have many requirements to read a book beyond being filled with words and the pages in numerical order, but to actually buy the book, well now, that's a different story (no pun intended). Often times, the same novel is published in a handful of different ways. Hardback, paperback, large, small, abridged, unabridged, various cover art . . . um . . ya get it. When in the market for a new book, I explore all my options. I consider the weight and sturdiness of the book, the texture of the paper and after much deliberation I employ the tried and true method of book selection. I smell it. Yes you read right, I SMELL IT. I open 'em up and take a whiff RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STORE. Needless to say my husband always makes himself scarce at these times. Do you think he's jealous? Maybe he just can't handle seeing me that way with another . . . . .um, novel. The whole sniffing thing seems strange I know, but I LOVE smelling books. I find myself smelling everything I read and have discovered that there are a lot of different scents that accompany their hosts and, to be honest, some are downright terrible. Others have a certain musk that lays hold on my nostrils and all I can think about is how much I want to get that book alone and dive between the sheets of paper. I have been known to buy random books based on scent alone. I told you I was quirky. So if you catch me in a Barnes & Noble with a book plastered to my face, you'll know why. Not only will my beautiful library be full of the books I love, but it's gonna smell AWESOME.
What can I say, I'm head-over-heels for having my nose stuck in a book (ok, ok pun totally intended).

*To clarify in case anybody misunderstood, no, I do not read literary pornography, unless you count The Twilight Series in that class, then I'm totally guilty. So when I talk about my love affair with books, it has nothing to with the content of them.

Quirk Nombre Uno

2008-10-22T13:35:00.000-07:00

My friend Esther tagged me with 6 Quirky Things About Me. While I typically don't participate in the whole tagging thing, I decided to give this one a shot, but in my own way. I won't be tagging anybody else (mostly because there is no one left to tag) and I'll deliver one quirk per post. I can't seem to handle doing all six at once, which is due to another quirk of mine that I won't get into now. So I guess if you care just how screwed up I am, you'll have to check back another FIVE TIMES to get the rest.

Quirk #1
My husband works nights and is often gone for work or school. I've become accustomed to being alone and even revel in it because I can watch, read, or do whatever I want without disturbing or being disturbed (mostly I just blare my music and dance around our small space like a gypsy). While I enjoy the freedom of being a single wife, it does have it's downfalls, one of which being that every now and then my imagination punches into overdrive and I effectively freak myself out for NO REASON. My most common mind-induced freak-out occurs when I come home after dark and try to unlock my front door. Having not been home, there are never any lights on. You'd think I'd learn to leave an outside light on before leaving, but I just can't bring myself to willingly turn on a porch light in the middle of the day. I'd worry that my mom would pass by and see how irresponsible and wasteful I was being. Then she'd feel like a failure as a mother. Not wanting to be responsible for doing that to her, I walk alone in the dark to my door. It's about this time that my imagination kicks in and my perfectly safe yard in my perfectly safe neighborhood turns into a dark alley in the city with rapists and murderers lurking in the shadows, waiting for me. Subsequently I walk a little faster and breath a little harder. My mind fills with horrible images of scary men as I fumble with my keys, trying to unlock my stupid door! CURSES! Why did I lock the door? I locked it to keep the scary men out while I was away and now they're gonna get me anyway because I'M SHAKING SO BAD THAT I CAN'T GET MY KEY IN THE LOCK! It takes about another, oh . . . um, 0.5 seconds for my freak-out level to jump off the charts and all I can think is MUST. GET. INSIDE. My rational at that moment is all I need to do is close the door behind me and I'll be safe. It never occurs to me that if there really was a rapist outside my house he'd probably wait until I was inside anyway before inviting himself in and having his way with me. The key finally slips in the lock, I turn the handle and burst inside. I slam the door back shut, turn the dead bolt, flip on every light in the house and then try to compose myself. Everything is ok now. You're inside, the lights are on, the door is locked and you're really just suffering from an over-active imagination. Turn on some tunes, eat some ice cream and calm down. So I take my advice.

Then I go and retrieve my keys from the outside lock.

I Miss . . . .

2008-10-09T09:10:00.000-07:00

There are times when I'm suddenly struck with an odd feeling of emptiness. The absence of something or someone that once was is keenly felt and though the space has been vacant for some time, only now do I realize the loss. Only now do I feel appreciation for what was and miss that which can no longer be.

I miss being a kid.

There are certain things that just come with the territory of being a kid. Extravagant forts, playing in the mud, sleep-overs on the trampoline, laying in the grass & finding shapes in the clouds. Things you did because school, chores, and homework were finished. Because Mom turned off the TV. Because you had a big imagination. And by you I mean me. Random ideas would pop into our heads and my siblings and I would say, "That sounds fun!" then promptly run off and put our plan into action. We didn't wait to think every detail through before starting. We didn't look at a calendar to see when we could afford to squeeze the fun in later that week. We simply acted, right then. I miss that. I miss being so impulsive. I miss sleeping on the trampoline. I miss getting dirty and not thinking twice about it. I miss taking the time to enjoy life. There are many reasons that form my desire for children. Having a good excuse to play is one of them. When my kids are going crazy with a hose, I want to be there. When their bodies are plastered with mud and smiles, I hope mine is too. When I find them awake after bedtime laughing and having a pillow fight, I hope I join them. And when their dad builds them a tree-house, it better be big enough for me.

Make-believe, one of my favorite past-times as a little girl. I was different than a lot of other kids in that I tried to create the most tangible world I could. While other children playing cowboys and Indians were satisfied with a feather in their hair and a toy gun, I played outside with separate camps at either end of the yard. The Indians would have tepees of sheets wrapped around trees, stuffed animals scattered around, gathered sticks and string for bows and arrows, faces would be painted. The cowboys would wear button up shirts, hats and had forts built out of various scrap wood we found. Out of my many make-believe worlds, the one I visited most often was pretending to be a grown-up, doing grown-up things. My mom's checkbook was fascinating and it was magic when she would sign her name and hand it to the clerk of the grocery store. My cousin Lora had a playhouse her dad built for her with two rooms, a shingled roof, and curtains in the windows. I was so envious of Lora. Having a house of my own was my strongest childhood desire (it's transformed into an adult desire now). I never did get one, but that didn't stop me from pretending I was a mommy paying the bills or changing a diaper. I sent my brother Bryce to work while I cleaned the house. A plastic hot dog and mashed potatoes would be waiting for him when he returned. As a child I couldn't wait to be a big girl with big girl responsibilities and now that it's happened and I'm there . . . . well, let's just say that pretending to be an adult is much more glamorous than actually being one.

I LOVE vacations. I think most people do. Of the many reasons to love them, I believe the one that tops my list is that a vacation is the closest I come to carefree adventure. Notice I say close to carefree. I don't feel that any responsible adult can be truly carefree, especially poor starving college students trying to eck out a living. Sure we can relax and leave worries at home, but there is still a level of awareness of funds, gas, food, lodging, etc. Unlike a child, who's mind never ventures to those areas. There is always enough money, always enough gas, always enough food, always a place to sleep and when there's not, a child doesn't feel the loss, at least not at that time. Maybe when they're older and the world as it really is comes into focus. Childhood is filled with make-believe, learning, games, discovery, but not worries. A child doesn't ponder on tomorrow, unless it's Christmas or the first day of school. A child doesn't notice the passing of time. Childhood is truly carefree. I miss that.

My parents used to know EVERYTHING and while now they're still extremely knowledgeable, they don't have all the answers. My woes, worries, and wonderings aren't wiped away as cleanly as they used to be, if they're wiped away at all. I'm sure that has something to do with the fact that my trials and challenges have entered an entirely different sphere than that of a 8 year old. The biggest issues my parents had to deal with then were Why are there ugly cockroaches? (I still wonder about that) When will Christmas be here? Bryce is bugging me again! Mom and Dad could handle those. They're much more uncertain on what investments Gary and I should make or why I'm not pregnant. The easy answers are gone, the comfort and security incomplete. It's part of being an adult, I know, never having an absolute knowledge of the why, how, and when. Even though my mom and dad have never actually wielded an all-knowing mind, I miss feeling like they did. I miss saying, "My dad is smarter than your dad."

I miss being a kid.

What do you miss?

Cure: A Bullet to the Brain

2008-09-26T00:50:00.000-07:00

I thought I was getting an early jump on allergies this year with all the dust being stirred up from deep cleaning. Sneezing and watery eyes have been a companion of mine for the last couple of weeks now and so on Wednesday, when my nose started to get stuffy and my throat a little sore, I believed I was heading into full-blown allergy territory. After an extremely fitful night's rest, I awoke on Thursday morning and determined I was past full-blown allergies and into more of a miserable cold. I could deal. By Thursday afternoon it was clear to me that I had gone way past a cold and had ventured into the land of KILL-ME-NOW-BECAUSE-WHATEVER-I-HAVE-IS-GOING-TO-WIPE-OUT-A-SMALL-CITY-AND-EVEN-IF-IT-DOESN'T,-KILL-ME-ANYWAY-'CAUSE-I-DON'T-WANT-TO-FEEL-LIKE-THIS-FOR-ONE-MORE-MINUTE.

I'll spare you the icky details and just say that the bug I have is kinda like the super spiders off of Spiderman and includes such things as allergies, cold, fever, and flu. NOT. FUN. AT. ALL. I didn't know the body could produce so much mucus and in such varied colors. Usually when I'm sick or don't feel good I employ my defense mechanism and simply go to sleep. Sleeping makes it so I don't have to be conscious for the suffering and the passing time. Good plan, huh? Um, yeah, hasn't worked out so well. I've been soooooooooo congested that no amount of air as been allowed to pass through my nostrils for 2 days now. I've filled up a trash can with snotty Puffs Plus Lotion tissues and you'd think after blowing that much mucus out of your head that your wish of breathing through your nose would be granted. No such luck for me, hence I haven't been able to sleep much. I keep waking up every 45 minutes because my head is about to explode bright yellow snot all over the walls. I diffuse the bomb and add another handful of used tissues to the trash. Then I get to lay awake for the next 30 minutes, acutely aware of the time and how miserable I am, and try to sleep again. Play. Repeat. All night long.

On top of it all, I still have to work (the employee who covers for me is out of town) and any medicine I've taken hasn't provided much relief. Oh hey, Relief Society anyone? I could use a casserole, but please, no dairy products 'cause then you'd have to pick up the pieces of my brain from the resulting pressure explosion.

Just shoot me. Please?

Just Like Raiders of the Lost Ark

2008-09-18T10:00:00.000-07:00

Hasn't the weather been freakin' awesome as of late?

True, summer hasn't quite let go of the days, but oh, the nights with their cool breezes. The other night I flipped the AC switch to OFF, opened every window and slept blissfully to the sounds of crickets and distant dogs barking. The air that circulated through my home was perfect. I absolutely love autumn and it's coming fast. I'M BEYOND EXCITED. Summer brings a lot of fun activities like swimming and camping, but my face melting off every time I walk outside is getting really old.

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

2008-09-08T11:30:00.000-07:00

You wanna know something strange? I'm sitting here hoping with all I have that I start my period TODAY. Yeah. WEIRD. Oh, and you should all hope right along with me because . . . . . . . because I said so. WEIRDER. That is all.

Ok, ok, let me explain. As if I could ask you all to will my female cycle to begin without a good reason, especially when last you heard I'm trying to get a loaf in the oven. Basically I need this test done. And this test can only be administered on days 7-10 of my cycle. So about a month ago I attempted to get this test taken care of, but the attempt was in vain and has only lead me to believe that the people at Southwest Medical Radiology are some of the most INCONSIDERATE SERVANTS OF LUCIFER I'VE EVER HAD TO DEAL WITH. Yes I know that is harsh, but I'm PMSing and emotional so I'm allowed a certain level of irrational thinking and I'm not the one who treated them like ABSOLUTE CRAP! Let's just say I haven't had a day that bad in over a year and those (insert expletive) people helped make in possible. After spending a day on the phone with various doctor offices and insurance companies all I had to show for it was a gallon of tears and a five pound bag of anger. To be honest, I FELT A LITTLE JIPPED! Oh and to clarify, Southwest Medical is not who my doctor is with. I know you're all thinking What the caboose is she thinking for choosing to go there in the first place? I'm not that irrational folks. And the only reason I'm going through them at all is that they are the ONLY flippin' people that can provide the test I need under the wing of my $10 co-pay insurance. The alternative is forking out $1000+.

So here we are, a month later, a month wasted. I had my husband call the children of Satan this time because I don't think I could have made it through without hot tears spilling all over my cheeks. This test is all about timing (remember days 7-10?). Last month I was told to call on the first day of my cycle and an appointment would be scheduled. Last month my clock began chiming on a SATURDAY. Last month Southwest Medical Radiology WASN'T OPEN on a Saturday and because I didn't call EXACTLY on the first day of my cycle, they were booked through the 20th which was at least a week after my four day window. Makes a lot of sense huh? HENCE MY ANGER WITH THEM. Well that and the whole treating me like crap thing. Like I wasn't an individual woman who hasn't been able to get pregnant for over a year and just wants to KNOW what the heck is going on with her body, but can't get anything figured out until she gets this test done and YOU'RE BASICALLY TELLING HER YOU DON'T GIVE A @$&%. Yeah, like that. On top of everything they REFUSE to schedule the test UNTIL you have actually started your period. A heap of good it does me since a typical female cycle lasts four weeks which puts me right back to starting on a Saturday. AGAIN. So, to prevent a repeat of last month, my husband came up with the ingenious idea to lie about my start date. "We'll just call them up Friday morning and fib." Um . . . . . . I'm ok with that. We called, told our little lie, and BARELY got an appointment for Monday the 15th (which would be the 10th day if I really did start on Friday). So things are perfect right? I've got the stupid test scheduled, it'll be within the four days, and I made it out minus the tears. SERIOUS PLUS. There is one teensy-weensy, small, minor problem though. IT'S MONDAY MORNING AND THE BLOOD'S NOT FLOWIN' YET! Curse my uterus for choosing this month of all months to be behind. I need to start TODAY or tomorrow at the absolute latest to make my Monday appointment work. If I don't, I'm gonna have to call 'em up and spin a new story about why I can't go through with it. Either that or tell them the truth and we all know that's just not a viable option if I'm going to have any luck rescheduling next month.

Wo unto the liar . . . . .

UPDATE: I'm not pregnant, but I was expecting that anyways. I did start my period late Monday night/Tuesday morning. I've never been so relieved to start a week of cramping, bloated misery.

A Full Helping Of Insanity

2008-08-25T08:10:00.000-07:00

My Mom's side of the family is a little crazy.

And by crazy I mean running through stores singing "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me!" crazy. Loud and obnoxious crazy. Tears streaming and gut split open because you're laughing so hard crazy. Yeah. I know.

My mother is one of 6 sisters. Each sister is married making 12 aunts and uncles. 35 cousins. 20 children from 13 of those 35 cousins. If you were to gather those 67 people to one place for, say a family reunion? Imagine the above CRAZINESS MANIFESTED IN 67 PEOPLE. Ok, ok. So maybe not every single person possesses the same level of crazy because I was including the implants* in my count of 67. You figure though that the implants must have a screw or two loose to join the family in the first place. It's not like they didn't know what they were getting themselves into. Sure my mom's side of the family put on a show! Just not a fake one. We joke about that being the ultimate test for implants. SURVIVING THE FAMILY. I know my husband thought twice about the whole marriage thing after a family get-together. They're hugging me! Why are they hugging me?! I've never met these people in my life! Wait . . . did she just grab my butt?! Ok, ok. None of my aunts or cousins ever actually grabbed Gary's butt. But I wouldn't put it past them! It may yet still happen!

To transition into what I was originally trying to tell you all, that's where I was this past weekend. THE QUICK FAMILY ROUND-UP OF 2008. Or in plain English, the bi-annual family reunion for the crazies. And boy did it deliver! A full helping of insanity all around! Seconds anyone? There's leftovers! My super creative cousin Lora planned and organized the entire event. It's all about the details for her and she left nothing untouched by her imaginative genius (we played a lot of make-believe as kids). Lora launched a full-scale pirate themed weekend complete with an Under the Sea Dining restaurant, Scallywag Cinema, and of course an intense, battle-to-the-death treasure hunt! Well, actually, I think we had a couple of those. The bodies kept piling up . . . . ahem. Anyhoo, moving on. Popcorn, an outdoor theater, fog machines, pirate coins, a treasure chest cake, "Arrrrgh mateys!", the most amazing snow cones . . . . . . . should I keep going? Because I totally can.

Lora had treasure hunts and water games planned to keep the kids entertained. She also threw in a couple for the adults. I don't think Lora anticipated the adults being WAY more competitive than the children. Sticking the bandanna-clad adults behind the wheels of three 15 seater vans for a video scavenger hunt might not have been the safest idea. Curbs were ran over, traffic laws were broken, and some of the general public were a little freaked out I'm sure. Then again, we were in Utah. They were probably thinking, "Those (insert expletive here) Mormons! Why can't they just get drunk like normal people!" ADRENALINE. The Latter-Day Saint's drug.** Instead of needles we use crazy timed scavenger hunts to procure a hit. We had 30 tasks with only one hour to complete them all. You'd have adrenaline surging through your veins too if you thought you were going to loose to the Brown Team! I cringe at the thought!

For five days my aunt Terrie's house was packed with bodies. Her yard sported four RVs and a scattering of tents. Races to the food, lines for the bathroom, and kids, kids, kids! EVERYWHERE. It was loud. Overwhelmingly loud. Everybody is loud in that family. Even the implants. Well except for Karen and Gary, and Amy always fills both of their noise quotas. Talking, crying, whining, yelling, sneezing, singing, cackling and laughing filled the house, or property rather. Mostly laughing though. My abs were seriously protesting. But it was seriously fun (oxymoron anyone?). And I decided that I seriously love having a loud, obnoxious, unscrupulous family. I'm serious about this. And if you're really good, I might tell you about the HANDS-DOWN, WITHOUT QUESTION, MOST SIDE-SPLITTING GAME I'VE EVER PLAYED. But only if you're good. Seriously.

*Those individuals who have married into the family. Yeah, I'm not sure what they were thinking either.
**Do you think I'll get struck down?

Immortal

2008-07-31T13:18:00.000-07:00

I really dislike having blood work done because, in order to do blood work, they must first draw blood. With a needle. In your underarm. Frankly, it gives me the creeps.

I don't believe that the core issue for me is needles though. I can handle needles in my upper arm just fine. I did allergy shots twice a week for three years. Yeah, it was uncomfortable and my arm was sore most of the time, but I didn't turn into an anxious, freak-out mess before each one. Anxious, freak-out mess is what happens before drawing blood or putting in an IV. Those needles have to stay in your skin longer and THAT freaks me out. Those needles are also stuck in your tender underarm and THAT FREAKS ME OUT even more. I do not like my arms pulled away from my body and I feel naked, exposed, and extremely vulnerable when my underarms are turned towards the sky by someone other than me. Every experience I've had with blood work and IVs has been traumatizing and very painful. EVERY ONE. So when my new doctor asked for blood work on day 22, I was a little less then ecstatic.

Thankfully they called me right back when we arrived. The less time I had to sit and devise how I was going to snatch the needle and turn it on the evil nurse, the better. After sitting down in the devil's chair, I turned my head to the left as the nurse had her way with my right arm. Looking at anything she was doing would have launched my anxiety into overdrive. She tied off my arm (a little too tight I might add), kneaded the inside of my elbow with her fingertips, and had me make a fist. After fiddling around for a minute I felt the cold, alcohol-soaked swab on my arm. I waited for needle to puncture my skin and the pain it would bring. Please just get it right the first time. I did not want to be poked more then once. There was a quick pinch of pain and then . . . . . nothing. Just great. She didn't hit a vein and now she's gonna have to do it again. Still nothing, but I didn't dare look.

"Well, we didn't make you wait, but there's no blood. I've got it in the vein and everything."

What? The needle is still in my arm?! NO WAY! Reacting to her words, I turned to look. Sure enough, there was the needle lodged securely in my vein. But I can't feel it! I was so surprised to find it stuck in my arm (because I wasn't in agony) that it took me a moment to register what the nurse had said. There's no blood? Huh? The little tube hanging from the needle remained a pale yellow. That's weird. The needle had been in my arm for a good 15 seconds.

"Did you bake in the car on your way here?"
"It was an hour and a half drive and I haven't had a lot to drink today."
"Yeah you're dehydrated and your veins are shriveled up."

Finally pale yellow turned to crimson. Blood flowed for a couple of seconds then she pulled out the needle and taped some gauze to my arm. After verifying my birth date she sent me on my way.

Gary opened my car door and asked, "How'd it go?"
"Um it went really well actually. It barely hurt! Compared to previous episodes it was great." Oh yeah, and by the way, I was immortal for 15 seconds.

Hey you, come to my party & spend all your money so I can get free stuff!

2008-07-22T14:00:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone, I'm having a Lia Sophia open house Wednesday the 23rd from 12:00-3:00. So yeah, that's like tomorrow. And I know, I know, I'm not typically the type to do these sorts of things. I just feel stupid inviting people. Hey you, come to my party and spend all your money so I can get free stuff! It just doesn't seem right does it? The only problem is that my husband said I can't spend any more money on all this fabulous jewelry I want. The only way I can get it is if I have a party and I did promise a friend I would.

The sale will only last until the end of this week so if you want to take adavntage of it at all, now would be the time. It's buy one at full price and get two other items for half price. The best part is that your first item doesn't have to be the most expensive. You can choose to pay full price for your $15 earrings and get a $50 item half off. The jewelry is good quality too. But my favorite thing about Lia Sophia is their Lifetime Guarantee. If at any time you decide you don't like that piece you got or you're ready for some new bling, or you even snap your necklace in half, you can exchange it for whatever you want. Let's say though that you bought a $50 bracelet at half price (so $25) and you decide you're not in love. Lia Sophia will give you a full $50 credit, even though you only paid half of that. So basically you can start with one set of jewelry and just keep upgrading every year as the fashions change. Also the new catalog is coming out in August. That means that a lot of things are being discontinued. Last chance to get those things. I've definitely got my eye on some discontinued items, but my master plan is to buy a whole bunch of stuff at the sale prices and then trade it all in for glam from the new catalog. I'm in love, love, LOVE with the new line they've rolled out.

Ok, ok. I'm done. If you are interested you can check out both the old & the new catalogs online at www.liasophia.com. If you have any questions or actually want to place an order you can call me at 702-371-2028. I'll be keeping the party open for the rest of the week. And finally, if you actually want to stop by and see the oodles of jewelry we'll have on display, please do. It'll be at my house. For those of you who don't know where that is, call me. I might tell you.

"He's Old."

2008-07-21T09:00:00.000-07:00

I wasn't nervous.

That is, I wasn't nervous until I was sitting on a patient table, draped in a hospital gown, my backside exposed, crinkling on the sanitary paper, my cold feet dangling. And waiting. Waiting for eternity. Each minute that ticked by was accompanied with mixed feelings. Why couldn't they just hurry up?! I'd been sitting there feeling cold and vulnerable for 40 minutes. Let's just get this done and over with! At the same time, the longer he took, the longer I had before he brought with him the judgement I was freaking out about. Once that door opens, I'm going to shrivel up and die. I just know it. So I'm cool with waiting for the next couple of days. My husband shot me a smile. "You're nervous aren't you?" he said, amused. Nothing gets past that guy I tell ya. "There's nothing to be nervous about you know? It's no big deal." Yeah, easy-peasy for you to say. You're not the one sitting here naked waiting for some guy to come and STICK HIS HAND UP YOUR VAGINA! Instead, "I know, I know. Logically there's nothing to be scared of." But we all know that emotions are rarely logical.

When the door opened, the doctor I'd never met before walked in with a newbie medical student on his heels. I had a small heart attack. For the past hour I'd been preparing myself to meet this ONE doctor. I'd thought about the questions to ask. I'd rehearsed my medical history. And now, without warning, there was a second person who I would be exposing myself to. The thing that kept me from locking my legs together is that the eager learner was a woman. I could deal.

The doctor proceeded to ask questions about my cycle, birth control, and our family timetable. My cycle's regular & fairly normal. There's hiccups every now and again. I was on birth control for 6 months, been off for two years. We didn't prevent pregnancy for 6 months, we've been actively trying for the past year. Etc. Now came the part that I was most fearful of. The emotional beat-down. You're asked exactly what you've been doing to get that egg and sperm hitched, you fill them in, and then, "Did you try x+y=z?" You stare at your feet and mumble a no. "Well it's no wonder you're not pregnant!" I experience this quite often. Mostly from well-intentioned friends. They're just trying to help, but my feelings always take a hit. Even more so when x+y=z is tried and fails. At times I feel that I've worked every equation possible, then another is slapped up on the whiteboard. So I put on my thicker skin and tried my best to mask my face for the list of Well it's no wonder!s from my doctor.

"When dealing with this there are four areas we cover," he explained. "We'll start with the first, which is making sure you're ovulating and I suspect you are based on what you've told me. The second is anatomy. Some exams and procedures will be done that will tell us if everything is where and how it should be. We'll deal with the third and fourth areas if the first two check out." He then told us to get busy on such & such dates. He also wanted to see me again the first of the month and do a small test. And then . . . . . he moved on. What? THAT'S IT? What happened to all the questions about the inner workings of our sex life? Whether or not I've been overdosing on prenatal vitamins? Do I stand on my head afterwards? Really? NOTHING ELSE?

The remainder of the appointment was relaxed and informative. He examined me and took a little bit longer doing so because he was too busy pointing and discussing things with the med student. This here is the vagina. That's the hole the baby comes out of in case you missed that nugget in class. I didn't care. They could have invited the rest of the clinic in for a seminar on a woman's downstairs. What mattered to me is that the doctor didn't automatically assume I was doing something wrong. He didn't poke fun or make me feel incompetent. I didn't walk out of there with a bunch of lotions and potions and a list of old wives techniques and remedies. It was . . . . . relieving. Liberating. Simply put, my doctor was the first person who made me feel that it wasn't my fault we hadn't achieved pregnancy. Logically I know it couldn't possibly be my fault. But we all know that emotions are rarely logical.

"So how do you feel about this new doctor Gary?"

"He's old."

I'm gone, gone, gone . . .

2008-07-07T05:31:00.000-07:00

On vacation in NYC. LOVIN' LIFE!

My Concern (Because Obsession is Such a Strong Word)

2008-06-23T14:15:00.000-07:00

I don't know about the rest of you guys, but I have issues with public places. Not your typical anxiety or claustrophobia being surrounded by crowds of people, but more the things that those crowds touch. Railings, carts, counters, doors, bathrooms . . . . . . . the list goes on. I simply do not feel comfortable touching all those things too. I don't steady myself on banisters going up stairs. I avoid leaning on counters and tables in stores. There's a special love between me and automatic doors. And, above all, I never touch anything in public restrooms. Do not misunderstand, I mean ANYTHING. Forget going out with a bang, I come in with one. BANG! That bathroom door never saw it coming. Yet another perfectly executed kung fu, germ-avoidance kick. I just cross my fingers and hope nobody is behind the door. Once inside, the odor and filth are so assaulting, I feel as if I'll contract a disease simply by inhaling. Squatting in a bush is so much better than public restrooms. After surveying the available toilets I choose the least offensive one, close the door with my foot, then proceed to pile the porcelain with layers of toilet paper (since they're always out of the convenient seat liners). Once business is taken care of, the only way anything gets flushed down is if my hand is mummified. It's also the only way I end up out of the stall. It all feels so 'What About Bob?'ish (OK, I'm not that OCD . . . . . . I swear). Washing my hands is strange because even though I'm about to scrub the skin off 'em, I still hesitate to touch the faucet & soap dispenser. The paper towels is even harder. I just eradicated the germs from my hands, why would I want to risk contamination again? My elbow usually bails me out. And Mr. Paper Towel who dries my digits, yeah he's real sweet. He always hold my hand, opens doors for me (kung fu, germ-avoidance kicks aren't as effective the opposite way), pushes my cart while I shop. The relationships never seem to last though. I just can't commit for longer than one Target trip. It's not you, it's me.

I don't know exactly when my paranoia set in, but I'm pretty sure it got a big push by me having a job that deals with the public every day. Working at Radioshack for the past 5 years has made me acutely aware of how unbelievably disgusting a person can be. I'm sorry, but when I help a customer who always wears the same set of clothes with the same food dribbles, hair matted, stench unbearable, greasy build-up of who knows what on his skin, teeth rotted out of his head because the last time he brushed them was 20 years ago, yeah you can't convince me not to be a germaphobic. You're telling me there are people like that out there TOUCHING things and you aren't worried? And don't tell me that that guy is some homeless bum. Because he's not. He has a house. And money. He just chooses to let his body and every sort of bacteria get together for dinner and, while they're at it, create the disease that will WIPE OUT THE ENTIRE HUMAN RACE.

You'd be surprised about how many of those types of people I come in contact with through work. They all stink and they all want to standthisclosetoyou. I've almost tossed my cookies on more than one occasion. THE SMELL IS THAT BAD. I don't know what I'm going to do when I'm finally pregnant and am blessed with a supernose and queasy stomach. I'm sorry sir, but I'm pregnant and you smell really, really bad. Flesh-eating acid up the nostrils is way more appealing than inhaling your body odor ever again. Please go home and soak yourself in bleach. Thank you. Have a nice day.

You may feel I'm over-reacting, but just stop and think about it. A man goes to the bathroom, fails to wash his hands, then touches a door handle. A little kid sticks her hands in her diaper & wipes some on a chair. An old lady sneezes mucus and saliva (and whatever cold virus she has) all over a cart handle. The aforementioned greasy guy who hasn't showered in months leans on a store counter. Then you come along and get comfortable with all those germs. You open that door. You sit on that chair. You push that cart. You lean on that counter. You then proceed to wipe something from your eye, put a piece of gum in your mouth, and generally touch your face everywhere WITH YOUR BARE HANDS THAT JUST TOUCHED ALL THOSE EXTREMELY PUBLIC PLACES. Sheesh, get a room already! What's that? You haven't gotten sick and died a horrible death yet? Well neither have I, but I guarantee you if you would've seen that lady sneeze all over that cart, you would've picked a different one. That's the issue, we just assume, because we didn't see the offense happen, that things are clean. They're not. For me, if I touch a counter in a store, I see that greasy man wiping his body grime everywhere. He's laying on the counter making grease angels. Yeah, it's time for hand sanitizer. NOW.

Yeah, I know, I have issues. I told you so. But this concern (obsession is such a strong word) doesn't stop me from living life and doing things that make me happy. I still love to shop, eat out, go to shows, etc. I just keep my hands to myself when I do.

Do you mind if I sing it to you?

2008-05-09T12:15:00.000-07:00

I went to Relief Society for the first time in two years a couple of weeks back.

No, I haven't been inactive, I've simply been in Primary since the day I was married. I've bounced from this ward to that one, that nursery to this one, Valiant 10 and sharing time. I've survived short attention spans, questions that the kids know answers to better than me, and unnaturally high-pitched squeals of excitement. I have all the answers to life's great questions in the form of a song. What's that sir? You're curious about what happened before you were born? Well I've got you covered, but . . . . do you mind if I sing it to you?
There were times when strangulation almost occurred, but then I remembered they had parents who would miss them, and in truth, so would I. I have grown to love and respect children. They're smart little boogers! I don't remember being that knowledgeable as a snot-nosed kid. Hopefully my future children will inherit the genius genes from my husband.

I went to Relief Society for the first time in two years a couple of weeks back because I was released as a primary teacher. Wow, was I uncomfortable! I didn't know what to say or do, how to act, where to sit. Well, I take that last part back. I knew exactly where to sit. Left side, third row back, in the middle (about the 4th chair). Yep, that was my spot, or at least it was during sharing time. Chair ownership is transferable, right?

Although Relief Society that first week was unfamiliar, I've faithfully gone for three weeks now and I've found that things aren't that different from Primary. I still encounter short attention spans, questions I don't know the answers to, and unnaturally high-pitched squeals of excitement. Albeit in smaller quantities, but still.

Overall I think I'm adjusting quite nicely. I do miss all the singing though. Sometimes, when the kids sing really loud, I'll hear them during Relief Society and my attention shifts to the songs. I mean, come on, I've got to be prepared for those tough questions.

Um, sir, that question is a bit harder. You might need to wait until I have children in Primary. I haven't learned the song for that one yet.

Oh Deer

2008-04-09T10:10:00.000-07:00

We blame Casey & Colby for not being there to make dinner, I mean, it was supposed to be their turn. Then again it might have been my fault for not buckling down & cooking dinner myself. Or we could venture to say it was RJ and Gary's fault for staying out so late fishing that, by the time they got back, it was just too late to want to cook. Whoever's fault it was caused us to load up in Gary's Honda Civic (better gas mileage than RJ's truck) to drive the 20 miles to Pioche for a bite to eat during our camping trip in Eagle Valley.

We headed up the road chatting, hoping something would be open, playing with Lane. We'd gone about 3 miles when off to the left side the headlights illuminated a large doe beginning to cross the road. The deer paused, Gary pushed the pedal & veered right to get past, but then the animal went for it.

GARY: "Oh dear!"

SMASH!!! The deer had hunched down to jump when the bulk of it's body connected with our front left panel & headlight. It flew up and came back down with muddy hooves on the hood. Rumbling noise pounded our ears. End over end the doe tumbled as our car plowed forward. It felt like we were hitting it forever. When Gary finally got the car to a complete stop the deer rolled away from us dazed, struggling and clearly in a lot of pain.

TERESA: Oh no, we have to kill it so it doesn't suffer!
RJ: Just keep going. Gary keep going.
BRITTANY: We don't have anything to kill it with though!
TERESA: We can't just watch it slowly die!
RJ: Just drive past the deer.
GARY: But . . . my car.

Everyone stops at Gary's strangled words. Who cares about the stupid deer, he's thinking, that stupid deer just munched my car! Gary throws open his door & jumps out to survey the damage, RJ follows. The deer struggles up and over the bank and, thankfully, out of sight. Gurgling sounds coming from under the hood don't sound good. The thick, plastic cover that was the headlight is now in pieces, the bulb dark. The hood is dented and pushed to the right, muddy hoof prints scattered across the silver paint. The front left panel is crushed beyond recognition. It's now sitting in a crumpled heap on the wheel. The guys prop open the hood to find a broken container and the liquid the container held spewed all over the engine. I've joined the men by this point. Teresa remained in the car with Lane. After the guys did, ya know, guy stuff they mused it was probably the power steering fluid that was everywhere. Not so bad, right? Vehicles were driven for years before power steering came about. We'd live.

We decided to head back to camp to the sound of metal scraping against the wheel. Once there we laughed & joked about the ordeal, if for nothing but to lighten the mood.

TERESA: Yeah your husband's line of emotion is always straight. I had no idea there was even a deer coming until we were on top of it. If it was me behind that wheel I would've been yelling, "DEER! DEER! DEER!"
BRITTANY: It is difficult to tell when he's joking and when he's serious because he sounds the same.
RJ: Ha ha, Gary said 'oh dear.' Get it? That's funny. You couldn't come up with anything more creative?
GARY: Well, I'm just not a swearing man I guess.

Why did we even go anyway? Whose idea was it? We came up with silly, but plausible, reasons as to who was to blame. Casey & Colby were finally deemed responsible. They weren't there to defend themselves. It was easy to blame them. That is until Teresa fessed up.

TERESA: Guys, when the whole thing happened I didn't have Lane buckled in. I don't always buckle him in because he hates it & throws a fit. So while the rest of you were looking at the car I was silently freaking out. I mean accidents are called accidents for a reason because we don't mean for them to happen. What if Lane had gotten hurt? I'm such a bad mom! I'm buckling him in from now on.
RJ: Oh so it's your fault!
BRITTANY: Yeah, Heavenly Father was trying to teach you a lesson.
GARY: He's scaring you into buckling Lane in.
TERESA: Well it worked!

So the accident is officially Teresa's fault. Something was amiss in her life & Heavenly Father was trying to reach her.

Too bad He decided to teach her a lesson in Gary's car.

New Year's Resolutions . . . In March

2008-03-28T08:07:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I know, I haven't posted in a long while. Needless to say some friends have gotten after me.

The past three months have been taxing. I am soooooo ready for sleep-in mornings and lazy days (a.k.a. a vacation). I'm not by any means unhappy, things have been really good, I'm just really tired. Work has occupied a lot of time. My two right-hand men have abandoned me, well . . . not entirely. Steven went off to serve a mission in Washington DC and Austin decided to start school this semester which translates into him only being able to work 3 days a week, hence I have two extremely green employees. I forgot what it was like to train someone and how long the process actually takes before they're up to speed. It's exhausting!

A hold has been placed on so many things in my life and to avoid making that hold permanent I've decided to make some resolutions. Yeah I know, I'm about three months late, but better late than never, right? The idea is by actually getting my goals typed out it'll spawn action rather than passing thoughts like I'm going to get in shape! Sweets, who needs them? . . . Is that chocolate cake? Yeah unfortunately that pretty much sums up my resolve as of late. Encouraging isn't it?

But spring has sprung, the sun is shining and I can't help but get excited about being productive! There's something about beautiful weather that never fails to turn me into a crazy, cleaning, OCD freak. I'm not sure if my husband loves or hates it. Probably both. So without further ado I present my goals, in no particular order, for the year 2008, which now apparently begins in March. :)

1. Drink more water
2. Develop an addiction for running
3. Early to bed, early to rise
4. Scrapbook, scrapbook, scrapbook!
5. Throw away junk! If I haven't used it in the last year I really don't need it.
6. Deep clean & organize my entire home, room by room
7. Read my scriptures & attend the temple more
8. Eat healthier
9. Save more for important things, spend less on silly things
10. Have fun, laugh, travel, stress less

Traitor

2008-01-28T11:10:00.000-08:00

An interesting thing happened the other night that further supports my idea that I've got a serious problem.

My friend Teresa called me Friday afternoon to tell me that the hair products I ordered had come in. She then handed the phone to her husband who invited me to come play Xbox 360 at the Red Hills Cinema in Mesquite. They let customers use the theater for $5 a hour to play video games on the big screen (pretty neat idea if you ask me). I inquired about the time & who was going.

Britt: So is everyone gonna play?
RJ: Well actually no, all the girls are going to a movie.
Britt: Oh, ok (puzzled)
RJ: I just figured you'd rather play Halo then go see some chick flick.

I wasn't sure whether I should be offended or flattered. I mean after all I am a girl. Who's to say I don't enjoy the occasional chick flick? I fix my hair, wear make-up, & love romance so this should be an easy choice, right? Well the ironic thing is it wasn't. I mean I was really torn. A sweet, poignant love story with the girls (the movie had the word love in the title) or a shoot 'em up, blow 'em up, get-as-many-kills-as-you-can-before-the-time-runs-out video game with the guys?
I used to think that maybe I played video games because I liked guys & where a video game was, there a guy would be also. When I got married I thought I played because my husband enjoyed them & because I loved & wanted to make him happy. Though as of late I'm beginning to question my motives. My husband & I now own just about every gaming system possible. (Nintendo 64, Xbox, Xbox 360, PS3, Wii . . . .) I play all of them while Gary's at school & work. I keep telling myself it's to provide Gary with more of a challenge when we play together. We're subscribed to Game Informer magazine which I look at more than I care to admit. And now I feel too informed. One evening playing card games with friends, the subject of gaming came up.

Blake: I'm not really good at that game
RJ: Yeah it's alright. Oh you know what game looks way awesome!?
Britt: Assasion's Creed!?
RJ: Yeah that's exactly the game I was thinking! (stunned look)
Britt: Oh I know! I can't wait for it to get released!

Now that's just scary, right? Being a woman I shouldn't have known that game title. I shouldn't have been involved in the conversation in the first place. Of course all the wives at the table shot me disapproving glances. This was part of the boring, irresponsible, fry-your-brain behavior they've been trying to discourage in their husbands & there I was giving the males hope that they might yet be able to convince their wives gaming is a worthwhile activity. I was crossing the line & becoming a traitor to the female gender. I've had to come to grips with the fact that I might actually love video games. That I might play them because I want to & not to please somebody else. So when RJ invited me to play Halo it was a difficult decision because the real conflict was, did I really want to alienate myself further from the women of the group? I wrestled with it, but in the end . . . . .

RJ figured right. I chose Halo.

Yeah, I know, I'm a traitor.

News Hasn't Changed Much

2007-10-26T12:31:00.000-07:00

Well I still haven't done much with our blog, but I figured I might as well post something while I was thinking about it. News about us hasn't changed much. I'm still working at Radioshack & Gary is still working at UMC & attending school at Nevada State College. He'll graduate with his bachelor's at the end of this coming spring. Gary is working like crazy to get all his secondary applications for medical school completed and submitted. We're crossing our fingers that everything will go well & he'll get accepted no problem.

Oh, my brother Bryce got home from his mission in Cebu about a month ago & he brought with him some . . . . . interesting habits. It's amazing how much living in a third world country for 2 years can change a person. I think Bryce is finally starting to adjust a little better, but this past month has been rough on him. I hope he's happy to be home.

Well, I'm excited for Halloween this year & I'm not sure why. We don't have any special plans or anything, but I guess all the spooky decorations, goodies, & carving pumpkins is just downright fun for me & I don't even have kids yet! I'll have to post the Halloween pictures of our pumpkins we're gonna carve & our decorations. They always turn out so cool!

1st Attempts

2007-09-26T11:04:00.000-07:00

Well I'm finally attempting to set up a blog. I'm not sure how much I like it so far, so I'm sure I'll be switching things around quite a bit for the first while. The problem is there is just too many choices to create the problem of not enough choices. I guess I get a little picky. So bear with me as I try to enter the world of blogging.