I have been a terrible blogger the last few years and I have plenty of excuses to show for it:
1. Last year was a total wash. If you did any kind of math after my miscarriage post you will realize that with only a few weeks between pregnancies I was essentially pregnant for A YEAR. You read that right. I had a half-an-elephant pregnancy. On top of that, I have pretty gnarly pregnancies and threw up nearly every day of that year with plenty of nausea and other awesome symptoms that I can't remember because I haven't slept since November of 2014.
2. We got a Hulu Plus subscription.
So, as you can see it is totally legitimate that I have been off my game. But now I'm back like Lebron to Cleveland AND I'M JUST AS SORRY.
Things that happened while I was MIA:
1. I had a baby.
2. I didn't cut my hair (That is real. I have forgotten to cut my hair since February of last year. Not even a trim! I just never even thought about it! Should I do it now?? Or has that ship sailed? Am I slowly becoming that hippie lady at the park with long, stringy, grey hair doing weird meditation who only got that way because she forgot to cut her hair for so long it seemed like there was no other choice???)
That seems like the main updates needed to get us back up to speed. Rather than go into details about my pregnancy, birth, etc. I have opted to instead make this handy video.
Before you watch:
1. Instead of taking weekly pictures Cj and I decided it would be more fun to film a little bit every week. There is not a lot of film from the first trimester because we had a few concerns with baby girl and I was scared I was going to miscarry again so I was afraid of documenting anything.
2. Baby girl was breech MANY times. At 35 weeks we found out she was breech, and she then flipped back and forth almost every week until she was born. Thus the weird exercises/positions in the later part of the video.
3. Some of this footage is embarrassing. This video is for posterity so I wanted to include all of it, regardless of how silly I look. (Pretty dang silly)
4. Some of this footage is emotional and (to me) sacred. I'm sharing because I am amazed by how beautiful birth and new life is and I think it is something worth sharing.
5. This video is super amateur. I make no excuses. I have a master's degree in poetry so I am basically unqualified to do anything right ever.
A friend of mine from grad school posted tonight about how there should be an English teacher hashtag for all the things we do when we are trying to avoid grading.
#shouldvebeengrading
And I realized that one of the only times I blog is when it is really late at night and I have so many papers to grade I will literally (not figuratively) do anything to avoid reading another paper.
So, here I am, with fifty papers between me and sleep, and I've decided to blog again.
Now, two things before I begin:
1. I appreciate all the love and support shown to me in relation to my last post. I had a lot of nerves and reservations about posting but I felt like it was the right time/it felt right in general. I connected with a lot of amazing people with similar experiences and stories over that post and connection is always good and beautiful and stuff.
2. I have big plans to write up June's birth story for the blog. I wrote a version for my journal with lots of details that should stay in my journal. Blog version pending.
For now, I just want to write a follow-up to a different story in my life. Does anyone remember this post from years ago? It was like the blog version of subtweeting. I never told anyone the story behind it, and I will take it to my grave.
But, you should all know that two months ago my mom got a check in the mail with my name on it. It turns out that he-who-must-not-be-named got sued by other people who were also scammed and then code-name-Voldemort had to cough up $53 for every person HE scammed.
BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE.
You'll notice in my last post that I was scammed out of $90! I feel like someone in the legal system is bad at maths.
$90
-$53
______
$37
And then the real problem is that I got scammed out of $25 on Saturday by a lady in the Costco Parking lot who kissed my cheek with red lipstick and explained the cloud patterns of Southern Nevada to me. This is another story I will take to my grave.
$37
+ $25
______
$62
All I'm sayin is, Karma owes me $62 so I can pay the Universe my bill for being naive.
Which is probably a billion dollar bill.
Good thing a Nigerian Prince just e-mailed me today with some good news...
**I'd like to begin this post with a disclaimer. A big reason I have been so afraid to post this is because I know how blessed I am to be pregnant again after a loss. I know many, many women and men who struggle with infertility or repeated miscarriages. I hope that you can feel the love I have for you and the reverence I have for your terrible struggle. I am amazed at the strength of my friends who deal with fertility issues every day. Please know that this post was only intended to help those who have experienced a miscarriage, not detract from other experiences.**
I have over ten different "drafts" sitting in my post section, written over the course of the last 10 months, all of which deal with the same subject:
At the end of January this year I had a miscarriage.
I have written sad posts, and angry posts, and posts where I try to laugh at myself. I have written posts about the things you should never say to someone after a miscarriage. I have written posts about all the kindness we received from close friends and family afterwards. I have written posts about how truly terrifying it is to be pregnant again after a loss, especially so soon. And I have published none of these. It has never felt quite like something I was ready to share so publicly. Even today, posting this is terrifying. I'm not sure why, other than the fact that miscarriage is such a personal experience.
In August we grieved and honored the due date of our sweet baby by eating delicious pie and driving to the mountains to be alone. Every night we pray and show gratitude for the baby that is currently growing inside of me, but on that night in August we slept in the back of a truck under the stars and just tried to feel close to our first baby. We miss that baby dearly.
And now, after all of the posts, and after distance, and time, and some healing (though, never complete) I feel like I know the post I really want to write. And it is this:
One of the hardest things for me after my miscarriage was how much pressure I felt to tell other people about it. The loss was so raw that we wanted some time to deal with it as a couple before sharing with others. So, instead of sharing, I spent hours scouring the internet for support. I felt guilty because I wanted all the comforts of hearing other's shared experiences, but I was not ready to share my own. What I didn't realize then, that I realize now, is that each person grieves and deals with miscarriage in a different way. This is okay. This makes sense when you think about it, as we all deal with every aspect of life in our own, personal way. Why should miscarriage be any different? I have friends who gain comfort from immediately telling everyone around them, hoping for a warm and supportive response. I have friends who feel little immediate emotion about the experience. I have friends who never want to tell anyone, or who simply don't want to talk about it.
Personally, we chose to only tell close family and friends for the first few months. It felt safer that way. With 1 in 5 known pregnancies ending in miscarriage I know there are many, many people in my life who have had to decide for themselves how to deal with it. I will never even know who most of these people are.
Now, we are sitting three weeks away from the due date of this second baby. Being pregnant again has not healed the pain of my miscarriage. In fact, in many ways it has complicated it. I told a friend the other day that even now, just weeks away, I still think about this baby as an "if." "If our baby comes..." This may be because I have never actually experienced giving birth to a healthy baby. The fact that this can actually happen is still an abstract to me, not a reality. Miscarriage has instilled fear in me. It has opened my eyes to the true miracle of childbirth.
"It is a miracle any of us even make it here," I think, on a daily basis.
Now, when I see children with their mothers I think "Wow! You survived! Your mom was actually able to conceive. You survived that first trimester when you were so small that anything could happen. You survived months and months of growing and each part of you grew in a way that you could breathe and live and exist." It seems like this shouldn't happen as often as it does. I am perpetually amazed.
Until now I haven't know what to do with all of these feelings and thoughts. Until now I haven't known what to do about the love and support and friendship I have received this year through all of this fear and worry.
Because now, what I want to do with these last few weeks where the fear is becoming so real again is this: I want to be a resource for anyone who is feeling those feelings so fresh and raw. I think that the best thing I can do now is share a compilation of resources and ideas I have found, in hopes that however someone else might choose to deal, or whatever phase they are in of their grieving, they might find some comfort.
So, here it is. As much of a list as I can gather for now. If anyone has anything to add, please send it my way and I will add it.
What to Say to Someone Who Has Experienced Pregnancy Loss:
Hereis an article on a woman who has designed a line of cards to send to someone who has experienced a miscarriage. It is tough to know what to say. Thesecards might help you get started.
This list is incredibly straightforward and helpful. I especially appreciate the list of what NOT to say. I truly believe that anything anyone says is meant to be supportive and helpful. People are so good and kind. However, sometimes words can be unintentionally hurtful.
Miscarriage and Pregnancy Loss Affects Men Too:
Many people don't consider how deeply the father might be affected by the loss. Hereis a beautiful article written by a father who experienced three miscarriages.
Thisarticle discusses the experiences of one Dad after a miscarriage, and also looks at a study done on how Dads are influenced by the loss of a pregnancy.
Shared Experiences:
**I have read many blog posts of friends who have experienced a miscarriage but I did not want to post them here without their permission. If you are willing to have your blog posted here, please contact me and I will gladly include the link. I know it was so helpful to me to read the stories of others.**
Mark Zuckerberg wrote a very honest and humbling account of the three miscarriages he and his wife experienced. You can read his post here.
Thisis a blog written by a Catholic woman who has experienced four miscarriages. She is now due to have her second child in November. She talks about being pregnant after a loss and feels a very personal connection to the four babies she lost.
I found this article interesting. It is a fairly graphic description of what happened to this woman's body when she miscarried. One of the more difficult aspects of miscarriage is how much you can feel like your body betrayed you or let you down. It was helpful to me to know that I wasn't alone in thinking this way.
Here are other blogs and personal stories I have found helpful:
LDS Resources:
**I am LDS and found these articles to be very helpful. In the weeks following our miscarriage we found a lot of comfort in our faith in loving Heavenly Parents who knew what we were experiencing. However, I think these articles can be helpful to anyone of any denomination (especially the first one).**
This article is SO beautiful, compassionate, and real. It discusses the difficult pain of miscarriage, the things people say that may be hurtful afterward, and how to deal with each of these things.
This article comes from the perspective of an LDS woman and discusses the (somewhat hazy) LDS doctrine of miscarriage. Through my discussions with friends I have come to realize that each person finds their own way to reconcile their beliefs with their miscarried baby. I believe that each person should decide which way of thinking brings them the most peace, especially with no official doctrine on the matter.
Suggestions for Coping/Healing:
**These are my suggestions. I would love to add to this list anything anyone else has found helpful.**
One thing I did that was very helpful to me in the week after my miscarriage was to paint a picture to help honor and remember our baby. It is pretty common to track the size of your baby in relation to a food (fruit usually, it seems). We had been checking every week for the update on the size of our baby, and so I decided to paint that fruit and hang it on our wall. I am no artists, but it is a precious reminder of our sweet, tiny baby and it makes me feel warm to look at. If you don't paint, you might consider just getting a print done of whatever week you were at.
For us, it helped to plan ahead for the big dates we knew would be difficult. By planning ahead I think we felt more emotionally prepared for what those days brought. This article was helpful in knowing ahead of time which days might feel difficult. I was totally blindside by Mother's Day this year and decided after that to be more emotionally prepared for days I knew might be difficult. I would add to this list the day in this current pregnancy where I was as far along as I was when we lost our first baby. We both took the day off to relax, watch movies, and work through the fear we felt.
In the weeks and months after our miscarriage I felt a really intense need to honor or commemorate the loss of our baby, but didn't know how. This company sets up services across the US and the UK for anyone wishing to commemorate the loss of their child. It seems like most of them are on the east coast right now, but I thought I would post it for anyone nearby. The idea is beautiful and I think that even creating your own event or date to commemorate your loss would be very healing. (The website also offers some great resources and support in general.)
Sending love and healing your direction, whoever you are and whatever kind of loss you are dealing with.
I spend a good chunk of my life worrying that I'm not keeping in good enough touch with all the people I love. The problem is, there are so many truly lovable and awesome people in my life.
I 100% agree with Mindy Kaling here.
I have my best friends from elementary school, high school, undergrad, grad school, summer internship, that one apartment I lived in, my best friend from that road trip we went on where we almost got arrested for jumping into the Bellagio fountains, study-abroad best friends, my best friends from church, my best friends from work, my best sibling-friends (all of them), my best in-law-friends, the-wives-of-my-husbands-cousins best friends... The list can really get out of hand.
Then, I have my grandparent-best-friends, my aunt-and-uncle-best-friends, and of course all of my cousins are my best friends too.
Obviously I have a few best friends who trump all the other best friends at being best friends.
They know who they are, I'm sure.
But, then I worry...do they?? Have I called them enough times this week? Should I come up with more secrets to share with them so they know how much I trust them? Are they asking themselves right this very second if they make this list?? Is this blog post some kind of power-play to get them to visit me more??????
Honestly, I even plan on gathering a few more best friends in the future as we travel, and move, and have kids who will adore me all the time.
The point is, I don't want to take these relationships lightly. Relationships are important to me and the people in my life mean so much to me that I spend lots of time hoping that they know that. I make schedules in my brain of how long it has been since I've called so-and-so, so I don't go too long and become a statistic in that study I read that says if you don't call your friends every 7 days then a scary girl will come out of your TV and.....
....I might be getting my horror movies mixed up here. Was I talking about horror movies? I'm not sure. I was distracted by all the stress of who I am supposed to call next.
I'll just end with this adorable Charlie Brown quotation:
Seriously people, I need more hellos.
CALL ME IF YOU WANT TO STAY ON THE BEST FRIEND TIER.
I CAN'T DO ALL THE WORK MYSELF.
The stress is killing me.
Just ask the real best friend who has never abandoned me because he can't because he is MARRIED TO ME SUCKERS:
The other night I finally fell asleep and I woke up what seemed like minutes later to a bright light shining in through the slats in our blinds. Seeing as how it was the middle of the night and we live in a poorly-lit corner of our complex this was unusual.
So, naturally, I freaked.
I started screaming "CJ! Someone is outside of our house! THEY ARE SHINING A SPOTLIGHT ON OUR HOUSE!!!"
I knew there was a murderer on our patio and he (or she, I'm not murderer-sexist) was about to come in and murder us good and dead. I knew that the policemen searching for him/her/aren't more men serial killers than women? were shining a giant searchlight on our door which WAS OPEN TO LET THE BREEZE IN and I was panicking.
I continued to yell for a minute before Cj woke up enough to realize what was going on.
"KATIE, " he yelled, "CALM DOWN. THAT IS NOT A SPOTLIGHT THAT IS THE SUN."
Turns out it was just daytime and I had slept through the whole night. Whoops.
Who needs an alarm clock when they have my overactive imagination?
The guy at the register said they had just let go of their seasonal employees and had gotten rid of a few too many.
To me, it just looked like 900,000 people were trying to buy mini-tamales at the same time.
It was probably a mix of both.
Either way, the trip was stressful, the checkout lines were all the way back to the clothes sections, and we accidentally threw our receipt away between checking out and reaching the door so we were waiting in Costco Jail while the door-lady went and re-printed our receipt.
While we were waiting a cute woman carrying a five-month old baby in a carseat walked through the doors. Another Door-Nazi lady stopped her and asked for her membership card. She said that her mom had ordered the pizza for her 9-year-old sister's birthday party and had just sent her to pick it up.
Door-lady #2 was not budging. No card=No pizza.
After a while of discussing it the woman with the baby seemed so desperate and sad that I stepped in and asked if I could just use my membership card to help her get the pizza.
By this time Door-lady #1 was back with our receipt that said we had bought all the food we said we did (winners!) and quickly piped in "YOU CAN ONLY DO THAT IF YOU ARE RELATED OR REALLY SUPER GOOD FRIENDS. ARE YOU??????"
I paused. And then I looked at the poor girl with the baby and the sister and the pizza-party and I decided that I felt pretty friendly towards her, so I said, "Yeah, we are just good ol' friends. Suuuuuuuper good friends." The baby-mama smirked and nodded in agreement.
Door-lady #1 and Door-lady #2 did not seem convinced.
Then, both of them gave me a long spiel about how a Costco card is like a driver's license (meaning they both make me look kind of bald in their pictures) and if I choose to use MY card for HER pizza then the responsibility is on my head and I will have to accept the consequences and be good to that pizza and try and do right by it, even when times get tough, for richer or poor, etc., etc.
Eventually my new friend and I were on our way to the pizza line where we chatted and became real friends and I met her darling baby and NOBODY EVEN ASKED TO SEE MY COSTCO CARD WHEN WE PICKED UP THE PIZZA. Not a single soul even cared to see my card or my awful picture on it.
I can't believe I told a half-lie to the scary Costco lady for nothing. Also I bet they hate babysitting awful customers like me.
Not just died in the sense that it wouldn't start. More in the sense that it will never start again.
We called her the Prizm Riot, but really she was just a 2001 Chevy Prizm, which is really just a Toyota Corolla with a Chevy logo stamped onto it.
She was the first major purchase Cj and I ever made. We were engaged and I remember driving her off the lot and realizing for the very first time that my life was drastically changing.
Something about cars makes me sentimental. Not new cars. New cars are nice, and they work almost all of the time, and they are fancy and pretty and so incredibly boring.
I like a car with character.
I love that our Prizm's door won't open from the inside because once we got it washed in zero degree weather and then the water froze our door shut, ripping the handle off when we tried to open it.
I love that because the door wouldn't open from the inside I would have to roll down the window every time I parked in order to open it from the outside. And sometimes there would be someone parked next to me and they would start to roll down their window too because they thought I had something to say to them, so I would start to roll mine back up because I felt awkward, and then they would do the same, and sometimes that happened a few times before we were on the same page and I could open my door and walk quickly away before I had to talk to them.
I loved that there is white paint spilled all over the floors in the back seat from some previous owner in some previous location. I like to imagine the scene when they opened their door to find their paint had poured out of its container, paint they had just purchased for a new house, or an old house that needed a new look. I pretend that they said a lot of swears and then their spouse or their mother or their boss yelled at them for being such an idiot, and I don't blame them because there was a LOT of paint. But still, I like that I know a little something about someone else's history. Also I like that I'm not the only idiot who spills everything.
I love that every time the Prizm broke down Cj would call me and we would panic because we had no clue how we were going to pay for this next repair, and it would remind me of the time an old friend of mine said "I think it will be cool one day to be a poor newlywed with nothing to live on but love" and I got so upset with him because that is cheesy and because he had always been wealthy and obviously knew nothing about poor or debt or money or love, I thought. But now I have learned that in some ways he was right because every time our car breaks down I remember that I never love Cj more than when we lay in bed and laugh about the madness of trying to be an adult on a college-student budget and about how we have been sleeping on the floor for four months now because we don't want to buy a bedframe and about how we blew all of our money flying across the country to go on an adventure and about how we don't even regret any part of anything. Not one bit.
I'm sure we will come here again, to this broken, carless situation. I'm sure that at the end of our next car, and probably the next, Cj will still be spending hours frantically scouring the internet for the best next option while I write a nostalgic blog post or essay or journal entry on the whole matter before we move on, traces of our life brushing past the next owner, like the white paint on the floor of our favorite and only Prizm Riot.
It was 11:00 and we were hungry so I said Let's go to Denny's!
and then we were really proud of ourselves for not being boring, old, married people because we could still do things like order two lumberjack slams at midnight on a Wednesday
and then I told Cj that the last time I was at Denny's at midnight on a Wednesday Devin Willie dared me to chug my entire syrup cup and then we saw how many straw wrappers we could throw into someone's cup when they weren't looking
and I told Cj that when I used to come to Denny's we would take up five tables and we would push them all together and stay for hours on refills while some people left and others came and there was a waitress named Cindy who knew us all by name and never told us we had to be quieter even though we were obnoxiously loud and came in three nights a week
and I told Cj that all of this was before smartphones so nobody was skimming twitter while we talked and this was before Instagram so nobody was desperate for the perfect picture to make sure everyone knew that we did things like go to Denny's and everyone was just genuinely happy to be there
and I told Cj that Denny's kind of felt homey to me because of all the late summer nights I had spent there with close friends and he said that was kind of gross and I said more like kind of awesome
and then Cj and I ordered and while we were waiting for our food we wrote out our monthly budget on a napkin and talked about if I had heard from my grandmother recently
I have four blog posts just sitting in my drafts pile and I wasn't planning on publishing any of them tonight.
Nor was I planning on publishing this one.
However, tonight, at 12:52 a.m., which is really 11:52 p.m. because, you know, daylight savings and stuff (leaving me kind of between-days here) I feel compelled to share my testimony.
Which is weird because that is not what this blog is.
There are blogs meant to share people's personal religious feelings and there are blogs meant to share the embarrassing story about the time you walked across the entire BYU campus with the back of your dress accidentally tucked up behind your backpack and everyone saw your undies.
This blog is the latter.
I am very grateful for the former kind of blog. I am grateful that people have space to share and answer questions and share beliefs and hope and messages of Christ. Personally, I choose to share my religion in a different way than this blog.
I also don't ever (ever) want this blog to turn into the type of blog where I portray my life as anything but messy and ridiculous. To be clear: my life IS messy and ridiculous. I have some serious beef with any blogger (or person) who pretends their life is otherwise.
Alls I'm sayin is this:
I have a testimony of my Savior Jesus Christ.
And when I use the word testimony, which can mean so many different things for so many different people, I mean that I believe He is a real person who came to this earth and died for each of us.
I mean that I know that He is my literal brother.
I mean that I believe that Jesus Christ is my Savior in the sense that because of Him I can grow and change and one day live with my Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother again.
I mean that I know if I try my hardest to be the best person I can, He will make up the rest.
And trust me, with me there is going to be a lot to make up for.
The best part is, I believe that because of Jesus Christ I can live with my family forever, including my best friend Cj (who also happens to be my husband. BONUS.)
If you have questions about why I believe this, just ask. You can also go here: lds.org
Because of the community I live in, I assume the majority of my readers (though not all) are, like me, LDS.
I do not assume that the majority of my readers think or feel or believe the same way that I do. I love discussing belief. I'd love to hear about yours. I am very open to the ideas and beliefs of others. I find them interesting and extremely personal and close to the heart in the best way. I like to get close to people's hearts because that is how we love each other best.
I hope this post comes across as nothing but my desire to share a part of myself with you. You are more than welcome to share back.
I just wanted to put this out there so you know who you are dealing with.
...because Cj and I had time to kill between dinner (Wingers) and our movie (The Way Way Back).
We had already finished doing what we always do at Target, which is decide to buy everything in the store, and we were making one last stop in the dressing rooms to make sure we definitely wanted to buy everything in the store. (We did.)
There I was, trying on a cat-print dress in the stall next to a mother and her 8 yr. old daughter, who I knew was named Stella due to the 3,000 times I heard her mother say it.
Stella: "Pants, Pants, Pants. Why do I have to try on so many pants????" (She would have appreciated those pants if she had been through the pantspocalypse that I just experienced.)
Mom: "Because you have to wear pants. Everyone has to wear pants."
Stella: (I hear her begin to play the drums on the wall) "I could wear dresses."
Mom: "Stella, stop hitting on the wall. You can't wear dresses. You show everyone your underwear when you wear dresses. Put these pants on."
Stella: (Begins drumming on the ground) "But those are normal pants. I only like sparkly pants."
Mom: "Stop hitting the ground Stella. We're not buying sparkly pants. We're buying normal pants."
Stella: (Begins kicking the door) "Can I get a sparkly dress?"
Mom: "STELLA, STOP KICKING THE DOOR. WHY CAN'T YOU JUST ACT NORMAL??"
And then Stella began to whimper.
And then Stella began to cry.
And then Stella yelled from the depths of her sparkly, little soul:
"I'M TRYYYYIIINNNGGG TO ACT NORMAL. IT'S HAAAAARRRDDDD."
And all I could think was: I hear ya Stella. I really, freaking hear ya.
There has been a lot of pants stuff going on in the last few years.
First, there was the whole pants-at-church thing:
Then there was the time the one-and-only Lohanforgot to wear pants. (Props to her for representing us pale-skinned women.)
And we can never forget the classic VeggieTales song "Pants" that includes such hilarious lines as "They're pants if you're short and shorts if you're tall" or "It's a verb for a dog and a noun for a kid."
(Admit it: You loved VeggieTales.)
However, no pants story is so great as
THE TALE OF THE URBAN OUTFITTERS FIASCO PANTS.
Day #1: It was 2 a.m. and I (being the insomniac I am) was online, checking on a pair of pants that I had been looking at alllllll summer. They were the perfect pair of high-waisted, black skinniesand, to my surprise, they had gone on sale that day. HOORAY. I clicked the button to place my order. The screen froze. And then 1 minute later a screen came up that said the pants had been shipped.
Weird. I didn't click the submit button. But great, I skipped a few steps.
Katie, Katie, Katie. By "skipped a few steps" I think you meant "added hours of endless torture and frustration."
Day #2: I check the confirmation e-mail only to realize that when the website "skipped a few steps" it sent the pants to my pre-set address which was MY OLD ADDRESS!!!!!
I e-mailed Urban but to no avail. "Your pants have already been shipped," they said. "Try dunking your head repeatedly in a large tub of water until you are too dizzy to realize you will never receive your favorite pair of pants you never had."
Day #3: Realizing that I don't have a single family member in Provo at the moment to try and track the pants down, I call on my favorite friends Spencer and Michelleto help me out.
Day #4-#26: Spencer goes to our old apartment. They are not home. He goes again. They are not home. He finally contacts them and tells them to contact him when the pants come. He goes back. They are not home. My sister gets back to Provo and goes to check. They are not home. (Do these people actually even LIVE there?) The pants come in the mail. For unknown reasons the people take them upstairs to where they thought my brother and sister are living. They are not living there. I call the landlord. They have the package. They look for it. They lost the package. I cry. I call Urban. They say they can't do anything for me. I cry some more.
Day #27: I get a phone call from the old landlord. His wife has found the pants!!
"Great," I say, "I will send my sister over to get them today."
"Oh." he says, "My wife just told me that she just took them to the post office and sent them back because she didn't want to deal with them." (What?)
I swear to never wear pants, or call people or like my life ever again. But then...
Day #30: ...Urban e-mails me and says that my pants have been re-shipped to my house. It's a pants miracle!
I honestly don't think this should have been as dramatic as it was. But the sheer frustration of having to track down an expensive pair of pants (that I got for half-price) every day for over a month was too much. I hated that I had to rely on multiple people to go out of their way for me, including the people in my old apartment who turned out to be super nice and just as concerned about my pants as I was. I think everyone realized what a serious issue pants are. I'm really proud of our generation for noting that.
Day #36: My pants FINALLY came in the mail. They are great and I kind of resent them for everything they put me through but we are working through our issues.
I think the real moral of the story is this: Online shopping at 2 a.m. is always a bad idea. But it might lead you to a really funny VeggieTales song.
(Shout-out to Spencer and my sister Rachel for caring enough to repeatedly and awkwardly knock on someone's door for me. That is true friendship right there.)
For the first time in my life I can feel myself changing significantly character-wise and it is really freaking me out.
Up until about a year ago I could fairly easily define myself by three main characteristics:
#1. I was generally happy, bubbly and social.
#2. I hated change with a burning passion.
#3. I thought I was going to die a thousand deaths when anyone was mad at me.
(Based on #2 and #3 maybe I should add #4: I was incredibly over-dramatic. But never fear, dear reader, that has not and never will change about me.)
FOR THE LIFE OF ME I can't seem to figure out what has happened, but I have recently found myself in nearly the opposite position as a year ago.
#1. Lately, I am possibly the least social person on this earth. I spend long days in a dark room grading papers and making lesson plans. I imagine I developed these habits in my last awful months of graduate school when I found myself essentially begging the universe for a zombie apocalypse so I could have some pals to commiserate with (the zombies, obviously.) The problem is, it has carried over to my St. George life and living in a non-apartment setting has only made it worse.
I knew things were bad when I posted this picture as my profile picture and received 56 "likes" in a matter of hours:
"This is it." I thought. "This is who you are now."
"You are the girl who gets 56 likes on a picture that was previously saved as 'ugly face' on your desktop."
But it is fine, really. I have accepted my fate. In fact, whenever I see children outside our front window I try and ruffle the curtains a little and let my shadow move past the opening. I'm hoping that soon the legend of "ugly face" will spread until it incites terror in the hearts of the local children and I will know that my transformation is complete.
#2. I like change. That is all there really is to it. Where before I wanted to live in one place for my entire life with my 20 closest family and friends surrounding me at all times, eating tacos for every meal....I now want to live in a new place every month with thousands of new friends and family members, eating tacos for every meal. (Don't underestimate my love for some good guacamole.)
I have become obsessed with any travel or job website and I spend hours searching for places to live and things to do. If I don't have 100 college degrees before I die then I will probably just delete this blog post so nobody remembers that this was my goal. But I will also be really disappointed in myself. Also I will be dead.
#3.I don't care who hates me anymore.
Let me explain. Cj and I recently started coaching a 7th grade volleyball team. You might wonder what this has to do with people being mad at me but then you would remember parents. PARENTS.
I just catholic-crossed myself that I will never be the kind of insane-sports parent that keeps coaches up at night. The only thing is...it DOESN'T keep me up at night. It is really some kind of miracle. It used to be that if anyone in this world was mad at me, life-as-I-knew-it would literally cease to function.
EXAMPLES:
- I once fasted every Sunday for nearly six months because I heard that a girl on my soccer team was mad at me.
-I once bought two dozen Pepsi's and left them on a friend's porch every night for a week because I thought he was mad at me.
-I once drove from Provo to St. George and back in a day and a half because I thought the boy I had just broken up with was mad at me. (Of course he was mad at me. I just broke up with him. I want my $60 in gas money back, dumber version of Katie.)
The thing is: Last week, when like five moms were ragging on me on the bench behind me for not playing their kid...nothing. I couldn't even remember what they had said by the time I left the gym. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME??
Ugly face, you've got some definite perks to being you. Now get off my porch, ya meddling kids.
I went today to get my DSU parking sticker. The booth is outside in the awful St. George heat. "What is your license plate number?" the lady asked. I told her the six-digit code ending in I-L-Y. "Y-L-Y?" she said? "No," I said, "I as in...eyeball." (It was REALLY hot outside.) "So.......E?" "No....I.....oh I get it....I as in....eyesore....oh wait.....ice cream...." She got it. Feeling like an idiot I walked back to my car in the blistering heat, looked down at my license plate and realized it ended in 1-L-Y instead of I-L-Y. I turned around and walked back. "Excuse me," I said, "When I said it ended in I-L-Y I meant 1-L-Y." "One?" she asked. "Yes," I said, "One as in...wonderful." "Soooo.......W?" Sigh. In other news, I hated today.
I like to do a lot of things that many people consider to be "man things."
A few of these things might include: playing sports (any sport, always), eating until I want to barf, climbing things, wrestling with my brother, wanting to play football every night ever, watching Sports Center, building things, punching people, talking about sports for hours, not showering, eating things off the floor, watching bloody war movies, watching bloody zombie movies, hitting things really hard, not being scared of bugs (except cockroaches, I'm still human), setting things on fire...the list goes on.
I like this stuff.
Maybe this is because I grew up around mostly boys, maybe this is because my mother is like this in a lot of ways, maybe this is because I'm Katie freaking Wade-Neser and this is just the way I am.
This isn't to say I don't like certain things that are considered to be "feminine" as well. Namely: Pinterest and mustard yellow.
It's just that little things lately have gotten me thinking about the idea of gender roles and why they often bother me. Now I'm not talking about the whole "man works, woman stays at home" idea. That might be a conversation for another day. I'm looking more at interests. Like...the things we do when we aren't at school or work (which, for me, is never), or the things we talk about in casual conversation.
I saw a few things on social media today that got me thinking about all of this. The first was something I saw on my twitter feed:
For some (or obvious) reasons this really irked me, and I spent a few minutes wondering why. I knew it wasn't just the fact that this person was claiming that something as simple as having a commentator of the opposite gender could RUIN something they previously viewed as "awesome." It also wasn't just the fact that I am a woman, and a statement like this is obviously demeaning. I eventually realized that the root of the anger or slight pain I felt from this statement was this:
When this person said something was wrong with a woman talking about sports, it felt like they were inadvertently saying that something was wrong with ME.
Why can't it be normal for a woman to talk about sports? That announcer probably really likes sports. She probably really likes talking about sports. In fact, she has probably worked countless hours and long nights trying to find a legitimate job in a field that is generally seen as a boys club.
Things like this make me sad, which will probably be seen as a feminine reaction.
In reality, I think it is more of a human reaction.
Does it ever feel good to have someone tell you that the way you are is wrong?
I don't think it is bad to have certain things that allow you to bond with your gender. I often have really positive experiences empathizing with other women over the difficulties and joys of womanhood. Men and women are different and that is just fine by me. I'm just thinking...what if we worked on making a little more room for social exception? A woman being interested in sports has very little to do with eternal roles and a lot more to do with social ideas and constraints.
I know I am not the only person who feels this way. There have to be other girls who don't like pink, or glitter, or who have never seen the movie "The Notebook" all the way through. There have to be other girls who know so little about celebrities that they still get Tyra Banks and Beyonce mixed up (I know, I know, not even close to the same person...and yet it always happens.) There have to be other girls who wrote "punch someone in the face" on their bucket list they made sophomore year.**
And so, because I know you are out there (and I know there are boys out there as well who don't like the stereotypical "male" things), I'm going to say this:
Think about the things you are saying. I know I'm going to try harder to do so. If something you are going to say might make another person feel like the way they are or the things they like are wrong...don't say that thing. Easy to write, not easy in principle. But I know we can do it.
Just now, as I am writing this, a teenage kid with crazy hair, a t-shirt to his knees and huge headphones just walked past our house and accidentally knocked over our trash can on the curb. Instead of walking away, he stooped down and slowly picked up each piece of trash and then righted the can. I'm sure he thought nobody was watching him as he walked away.
People surprise me every day.
I want to be more open to the surprises people have to offer.
Katie
P.s.- If you want to see a phenomenal movie that gives a much better perspective on the way we should treat people, you should check out this movie:
**I don't see all the examples in this post as strictly "feminine" or "masculine," I just recognize that large portions of society do.
Cj and I text all day long. This is the first time in our relationship that we haven't had the same schedule. So, to make up for not seeing each other like...ever....we talk all day. Here was today's conversation:
Katie: At the store. Any requests, yo?
Cj: All the things!!
Katie: Got it! But whoops, I spent all of our monies. I'm really good at that. Sorry!
(I DID spend a ridiculous amount on groceries today.)
Cj: ...All of them? :/
Katie: Yeah, its all gone. We'll have to try and implement some kind of bartering system now to survive.
Cj: Just like that TV show!
Katie: What TV show?
Cj: I watched some TV show once about bartering, on the History Channel.
Katie: Ahhh, I see. Oddly enough I never saw that one. I propose that we start with your trucker hats and bro-shorts as collateral. Someone out there is bound to want those.
Cj: ....Lay off me. I can bro if I want to.
And there we have it, ladies and gentlemen. He can bro if he wants to.
Which reminded me of a song. So I looked that song up:
And it was the strangest music video I have ever seen.
Don't get me wrong, I am a girl who can take a joke.
BUT, this one has gotten a little out of hand:
Two days ago I posted this status update on Facebook:
Just to clarify: I have not posted anything on Craigslist since the nanny-job fiasco of 2012. I was clearly pranked. This was funny to me. Like...status update funny. I love a good prank as much as the next girl.
BUT THEN...
....today happened.
It started around 12:10 p.m. when I received a text from an unknown number that began "Hi, I'm Becky, I saw your ad on Craigslist, I don't sleep much either" and ended with a short haiku that she hoped I would "consider."
When 4 more texts from 4 separate numbers followed quickly after I knew we had a problem. After some serious digging and, at one point, deceiving a poor woman into thinking I was some kind of poetry editor, I found my way to this: (please note that this was posted in the MANHATTAN craigslist)
It is now 12:08 a.m.
If Craigslist posts could go viral, then this post was Gangnam Style.
In less than 12 hours I received 62 texts and 11 voicemails from numbers across the country, every single one accompanied by some form of dramatic, emotional or overall horrendous poetry.
Part of me feels tickled. This has got to be the best prank ever.
However, part of me has felt horrible all day long. See, there is a big problem with all of this. A problem I don't think the prankers foresaw.
Currently, there are 73 people in this world who have given me a part of themselves, no matter how ridiculous and awful that part was (BAD. SO BAD). And these 73 people will spend the next few weeks waiting anxiously for a response.
I know this because this is what I do every day. I spend hours poring over poems and then sending them out to literary journals and workshop groups and peers and I spend a good chunk of my time wondering what they will think and how they will respond and if I am good enough. All day I have felt the weight of knowing that a response will never come for these people.
And then I remember that there are 73 people in the world who are using Craigslist to find their big break. And that they responded to an ad that asked them to text a poem.
And I also remember that one of them sent me his poem one line per text until I had 22 texts from him, and that the last line of his poem was "the soft melody of the dusk of a smile."
And then I don't feel that bad.
The point is: FESS UP PRANKER. YOU GOT ME. YOU GOT ME GOOD.
And by that I mean it was 9:38 and the sun was shining in my eyes. Annoying.
I blindly smacked my hand on the other side of the bed a couple of times before I realized my husband must have left for work already.
I felt lazy and awful that I was still in bed and he was out working hard (spouse's guilt is the worst, sometimes I wish Cj would be more lazy). I know! I thought, I'll go running.What an idea.
I lay in bed for another 20 minutes thinking about it. I decided my best route would be to run right past Cj's work so that he could look out the window and think to himself "who is the hottie out running?" And then he could think "whaaaaaaaat? my wife??" And then I would throw him a peace sign and an air-five and keep running like it was no big deal until I got around the corner and collapsed from simultaneously trying to suck-in and jog at the same time.
It all seemed a lot cooler in my head.
Either way I got up, got dressed and ready to go, practiced my air-fives, got on my computer to check the weather...and realized it was only 7 degrees outside.
In despair I did the only thing I could think of. I poured a bowl of cereal, grabbed a blanket and started reading blogs on the couch.
But it gets worse. Because through the course of my blog reading, I somehow stumbled onto a blog written by a young, LDS girl whose husband died this year. So sad. The problem: her husband's name is Cj.
MY husband's name is Cj.
The end of the story: It is now 10:25 a.m. In less than 50 minutes I have been through the entire spectrum of emotions, beginning with annoyed and ending with me quietly crying on the couch because someone who has the same name as my husband died over 11 months ago.
It is a really good thing my husband's name isn't a more common name, like John.
I may actually consider making him go by his middle name, which is Ballou. (That is real.)
It is 1:44 a.m. California time and I am contemplating starting to blog again.
I am here with my second family (the Nesers) watching the second (I mean sixth?) Star Wars, finishing up a long Sunday that began when we all woke up this morning on the floor of a crowded living room, realized that a pipe in the laundromat of the apartment complex had broken destroying any chance we had at hot water for the morning, and collectively decided that this was grounds enough to stay home from church.
No hot water = No shower = We're not amused, Sunday.
SO, instead of being righteous we slept in until 12:30 and then watched this talk to ease our consciences.
It happens to be the perfect talk to listen to on the last day of the year so I thought I would recommend it to all of you.
Part of it talks about how we should get off the computer and spend more face to face time with the people we love so it is at least a little bit ironic that I am blogging about it. Jokes on you though. You're also on the internet reading this post.
We both have some things to work on.
And speaking of face to face time, there is one person who I will be getting a whole lot less of that with .
Her name is Aly and this is me crying all my tears because she is moving to Iowa and because we said goodbye yesterday and also because I wear that shirt every third day and that is really starting to become apparent to anyone who follows me on any form of social media:
She has been there for every bit of my college highs and lows (mostly lows, if we're talking dating, mostly highs if we're talking how many times I set the record for consistently eating chicken sandwiches as my main form of sustenance).
I could possibly write the longest and cheesiest post ever written about how Aly is the kindest, best, sweetest, wittiest, funniest person on this earth but Vader has just threatened to carbon-freeze Han Solo so I really should get back to the movie.
That and I might cry more.
I love her.
If you meet her, you should do your best to be her best friend. You will really like it.
I sure did.
Love, Katie
P.s.- I like her husband (I guess) and her baby too. I will miss you guys!
#1. Why do things that look like scams, and seem like scams, and smell like scams, (and your husband tells you they are scams,) have to actually BE scams? Can't my naïve faith in humanity actually be well placed for once?
#2. Can I have my $90 back?
If anyone knows the answers to these questions, by all means, please speak up.
.JPG)
.JPG)
