The Difference a Year Can Make

Every year, Special Beginnings, the birth center where I delivered Axton, has a party where all the families who have delivered babies there are invited. They have blow-up bouncers, cake, face painting, and you can walk around and socialize with the midwives and other Birth Center Moms.

I remember this weekend last year, I got an email invite for this same party. It was totally discouraging because even though my due date had already come, Axton was still in me. Technically, I wasn't really invited because I hadn't had a baby there yet. And to add to that, technically I couldn't celebrate Mother's Day, either, because I hadn't met my baby yet. So I was just bumming that whole weekend, this time last year.

But tonight we went, and I felt like I was finally crossing it off my list. We had other plans, and we got there just as they were cutting the cake, but I felt accomplished just showing up. *Click* A little piece of my Birth Story Puzzle snapped into place, making me feel a little more whole, a little more complete.

 I found one of the midwives, Suzannah, that was there with me that night, almost a whole year ago. She had a six-month-old baby and I realized she must have been pregnant when Axton was born. She didn't remember us, and neither did Nurse Andrea (don't know who I'm talking about? You can read my birth story here). Not that I thought they would. I asked her if I could take a picture with her and Andrea and she said, "Of course." Then she walked over to Nurse Andrea and said, "Andrea, she wants to take a picture with us. We caught her baby."

My heart stopped for a second when I heard her say that: Caught. 

She was right - they did not deliver my baby. I did that. I pushed him out of me, I worked the hardest I ever had in my life, I cried and felt that pain and that burning and that tearing, it was my voice that pierced the night as he finally left my body -- All they did was simply catch him as he left me.

*Click* Another piece.

And while Suzannah and Andrea might not have remembered me, do you know who did remember me? Nurse Laurel. The nurse that sat on the bed with me and held my hand while Adam took a 30 minute break. The nurse that told me to "Blow it all away," who calmed my nerves and talked to me in a soothing voice. When I saw her I said, "You were my nurse the night I had my baby. You sat on my bed and held my hand. I'll never forget you."

Her eyes lit up and she said, "I DID get on the bed with you, didn't I? I got right on that bed and laid down next to you. I remember that! Dad needed food, so I sent him away, didn't I? ....I told him I wouldn't leave your side, that I would take care of you."

I just nodded, trying not to tear up. Yes, you did say all that, and you did all that.
"Thank you." I told her, finally saying the two words I had wanted to tell her earlier but had been too out of it to do so before she left.

*Click*

And then we went into the room where I delivered Axton. I stared at the wallpaper, its pink flowers suddenly so familiar. I've looked through what few, crummy photos we have of Axton's delivery countless times in the past year (usually with a sigh, wishing I had had a birth photographer there). For some reason, we have two photos of the wall - the nurse must have accidentally taken them.

I've looked at them and wondered why I kept them, uploaded them, click through them - and yet, still haven't deleted them. I guess it's because they tell a tiny part of my story and I can't get rid of even that little detail. But tonight, seeing them in person again, those walls are what brought it all back to me. So many emotions slammed into me like a wave, and I had to sit down. I suddenly began to feel anxiety, as all these memories flooded back to me. There was the rocking chair in the corner I sat on after I got out of the shower, where Adam brushed my hair and drops of water dripped down my back, causing me to shake violently. There was the toilet I had sat on backwards after the nurse suggested it, but I felt so balled up and clammed up that I didn't last long. The exercise ball I had sat on after they broke my water, and I swore I could feel his hard head slamming against my pelvic bone now that the sack of water wasn't there to cushion things. I had sat on that ball and rocked, my head on the bed. That was when we had heard a newborn cry next door, and Adam told me he felt the presence of angels in our room. The tub I sat in as the pressure moved its way down my body, so hard and so heavy I had to lift myself off the tub so I could float in the water. I felt and saw all these things again, and all I could sense in me then was fear and pain...and panic. I knew then I'd have to do it again, one day. That I'd be back - perhaps in a different room or a different state. With a different child and a different midwife - but the rest would be the same. I had to take a few deep breaths as I sat and thought about it all.

--- And then, suddenly, a midwife walked in. She said hi, told us how cute our baby was. Axton took a few steps towards her and my heart burst into a thousand tiny stars. She took our picture and as I heard the *Click* of the shutter -- another moment stopped in time, just as it had a year ago when they took our first family photo --- I knew I could do it. Again. I survived it once, and I'll continue to survive it. If only because I see the beauty and the joy and the love that comes from it.

Here is simultaneously the best and worst photo ever taken of me. It was taken the night Axton was born - obviously I'm fat and swollen and exhausted and have broken blood vessels in my cheeks and eyes, but what really kills me is the damn chocolate in my teeth. Seriously? Someone could have told me. I never thought I would be brave enough to share it with anyone, but I guess that's the difference a year can make. You gain weight, you lose weight (you eat chocolate, you brush your teeth), your son grows up and you shed a tear but you rejoice in the year you had with him. You cherish the bond that's been strengthened with your husband, and you keep going forward.

I can't believe my son will be one in a week. I can't believe I'm celebrating Mother's Day this year as this boy's mother. That night, one year ago, was the hardest of my entire life. But I will forever be grateful to myself for going through it, to Adam for never leaving my side, to God for giving me my son. Happy Mother's Day to me!

An Ode to My Mother

102.5 is a scary number for a new parent. Especially when that number is followed by the word degrees and is flashing off of the thermometer attached to your child.

It was 2:30am.

I was not new to 2:30am. In fact, I'd venture to say that 2:30 and I were actually quite close. We were never friends - this wasn't a mutually beneficial relationship - but we'd been through a lot together and for some reason, it just kept poking its head in my business. Sometimes, 2:30 meant frustration, a loud sigh....it almost always meant exhaustion.

But this time, 2:30am didn't mean tired. It meant wide-awake, a little nervous...it meant action. My baby was burning up and, even though I didn't know what to do, I was willing and ready to do anything. All I could think of was his brains frying out. Then he started to get a little shakey, and I did the only thing I could think of in that moment:

I called my mom.

Three rings in, and she answered, not a tired crease in her voice. She, too, was ready for action. Cool washcloth, a lukewarm bath, more Tylenol, take his jammies off. She had answers, and I was surprised to find I calmly followed orders. His fever came down, and eventually he slept again.

This was not the first time I've woken my mom up in the middle of the night, a choke in my throat or a question on my mind. She's never once complained, and I know she never will. This phone call has become one of several "Stick Out" Memories I have of my mother. You know what I mean, those moments that you know will be the ones that stick out to you when you think back over the years. I want to share a few more of my Stick Out Memories of my mom.

- I was always baking when I was a kid. I'd try recipe after recipe, making everyone in my family sample them. I swear I ruined more batches of cookies than I saved, and rather than complaining that I was wasting eggs or flour, my mom encouraged me to pursue my hobby. I don't know why this sticks out to me, I just think of all the different responses she could have had to my many burnt batches of cookies, my melted-butter disasters, my salty-rock cakes - and yet she chose to find joy in my joy.


- Junior Mints after getting shots at the doctor's

- Lion King folders for my first day of kindergarten

- Working in her huge garden in the evenings after dinner, pulling weeds (or watching her pull weeds while I played in the yard), and watering the plants

- When I was about 10, I started developing really bad psoriasis (auto-immune deficiency skin disorder). It's itchy and ugly, and I was getting it everywhere. I had to go to dermatologist appointments several times a month, and because I had it, well, everywhere, I had to undress in front of the doctor. This made me so uncomfortable, and I would almost always start to tear up. My mom was always right there with me, holding my hand, and making me feel brave. Afterwards we would go to lunch at a buffet, and take a long walk in the park and just talk about anything.

- I remember meeting up with my Mom for lunch one day in high school, just days after I broke off a two-year relationship with a boy. I was absolutely cruuuushed. I could hardly go through the day without breaking down and sobbing every hour. I was barely making it through lunch with her and I just remember saying, "Mom, I don't know how I'm going to do this. I don't know how I'm going to get through it, how I'm going to just keep pushing forward." Her answer wasn't complicated or profound, but it was honest.
"It just takes time." She also introduced me to this song, and I will always think of her whenever I hear it.

- We used to go on day trips to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. We would crank JoDee Messina and Avril Lavigne and we'd hold hands and sing out loud, the windows down and the wind rushing through our hair.

- I got into two different fender benders in high school. My license was new and money was tight, so I cried when I told her I had backed into our neighbor's truck. My news was not met with a sigh or frustration, but with only one question: Are you okay? 
"Yes, Mom, I'm fine but it's going to cost money - "
"Money is money," she'd interrupt. "I don't care about that. I only care that you are okay. We will deal with the rest later."

I hope I can remember this example if/when any of my children come to me with a torn-off front bumper.

High school graduation

- My senior year of high school I was in a selfish and obsessive relationship in the way only high-schoolers can be. My boyfriend had invited me to spend Mother's Day weekend with his family at a cabin. I begged and begged and begged my mom to let me go, rationalizing that we could celebrate Mother's Day early or a day late, I would take her to lunch or to get a facial or something - anything! Please just let me go! My mom put up a valiant fight, she put her foot down more than once, she raised her voice, she threatened, but still I pestered. My boyfriend told me, "Well my mom would let me go if it were me because she cares more about my happiness than her own."

But that was not my Mom's point.

Eventually, I wore her down. I went away that weekend and it wasn't long after that I severely regretted it. We did go to lunch together, but I knew it wasn't the same. I had already broken her heart. My mom taught me something that I didn't realize then but I do now: she was teaching me the importance of Mother's Day.

Oh, and guess what else? She forgave me. She always does. That's another lesson I learned from her.

Seminary graduation

- Teaching me how to curl my hair

Junior Prom

- Waxing me instead of making me shave or pluck.

- My mom cut and dyed my hair all throughout high school for me. She put up with midnight requests and slaughtered box-dyes, a teenage girl's finicky "must-haves."

- Driving 6 hours to hear me give my Girl's State speech as governor two years in a row.

- Flying to Hawaii to drop me off at college, and then back again to see me graduate.

College graduation

3 Generations

Summer 2009

My wedding (duh?)

-Flying out the week Axton was due and taking me shopping for dresses and skirts to wear on my sore belly and body, rubbing my ginormous ankles with essential oils and wrapping them in ice packs. And then, when Axton did finally come....she saw me in all my bloody, sore glory, breastfeeding and icing my everywheres. Axton's entire first night at home was spent in Grandma's arms, unless I was nursing him.

My mother has been my mother for 23 years now. She's led and guided me through toddler years, awkward pre-teen years, heartbreaking high school years, on-my-own college years, newlywed years, and she hasn't left my side since I've become a mother myself. Now, she is something even more special than being my mom: She is the grandmother to my son.

 I think this is one of the most precious gifts she could have ever given me, in addition to all of the life lessons she's shared with me, through word and example. This woman has not had an easy life, and yet she is one of the most loving and sincere people you will ever meet. I love my mom and am so blessed to learn so much from her.

Birth photos are posted

Go here to see the whole collection.

On attending my first birth/ being a birth photographer

I approached an expecting mother in my ward a few months back about taking birth photos for her. It was something I'd been wanting to test out for awhile. I had even been toying with the idea of becoming a doula, and I thought that doing birth photos for someone would give me a good idea of what that would encompass. I was pleasantly surprised when the mother said she had been thinking the same thing, and she agreed to have me take photos.

Over the next few months, I mentioned my plan to do birth photography to a few people, and most of them were totally turned off by it. I had to explain over and over again, "No I'm not going to be all up in her hoo-ha. They will be tasteful and modest, from the waist up." Still, some people just did not get it. I asked one more sister in my ward, who was expecting twins, how she woud feel to have me there, and she said it well: "As long as there aren't any 'parts' showing, then I'm fine with it." I promised her I would be creative in my positioning to make sure no "parts" were showing.

Two nights ago, Momma #1 called me at 2am and told me her water had broke, she was at the hospital and dilated to a 1. It was 6 days before her due date, but I was ready. Immediately my stomach clenched and I felt adreneline tingling through my arms and down to my fingertips.

"That was [name]," I told Adam. "She's at the hospital." I jumped into the shower, dressed in my clothes, and even put my shoes on. I don't know what I was thinking - my brain knew that I still had hours before she would even be close (she still had 9 centimeters to go for pete's sake!) but my nerves would not let me do anything that didn't involve preparing. So, for the next 12 hours I kept myself busy by emptying all my memory cards, re-charging my already charged batteries, looking up the same birth photos on pinterest I'd already looked at several times before, calling back-up babysitters, taking Adam to work so I would have the car, packing a bag for Axton. I couldn't be stopped. I couldn't relax, even though I was running on only 2 hours of sleep.

Finally, at 2pm, she was dilated to a 6 and I felt it was time to go. When I showed up at the hospital, all the nervousness I had felt earlier got knocked over and engulfed with excitement and confidence.

"This is going to be awesome."

And, while I still had 6 hours of wait time, it really was awesome.
As I waited for the big moment, I chatted with the parents off and on, took detail shots of baby's warmer and hospital band, the nurse's names on the white board, the view out their window, Mom and Dad holding hands and kissing, Mom squeezing her eyes shut during a contraction, all the monitors hooked up to Mom. I also spent some time out in the hallway, trying to allow the parents some final alone time before baby came into their lives.

Okay, so maybe not ALL of my nervousness was gone, because I couldn't force myself to go down three floors to the cafe to get some food. My illogical brain kept telling me that I would miss the baby if I took 15 minutes to eat food, so all I did was eat crummy crackers and a fakey cinnamon roll all day long. Baaaaad idea. Lesson learned: Bring food! Eat! (Just not in front of Mom...)

Unfortunately, the hospital had a policy that I could not take photos during the delivery, until after baby was placed on Mom's chest. Anything that the doctor was involved in could not be photographed. So, since I wouldn't get that glorious first shot of baby's first breath as he emerges from Mom, I readily agreed to help when the nurse asked if I wanted to.

Suddenly, I was no longer just their photographer - and, looking back, I'm absolutely honored.
This meant that Dad was holding one leg, and I was holding the other. Dad counted the 3 sets of 10 for Mom to push during a contraction, and I encouraged her - "Come on, girl, give it everything you got. You're doing so good, keep him down, keep him down, don't let him come back up. One more, I know you're tired, you can do this. You're doing it!" Thinking about it now brings tears to my eyes, but I am proud to say that I kept it together while I was there. Anyone who knows me, knows that I'm an emotional wreck, but I had prepared myself for this and told myself I could NOT get emotional. The hardest times to swallow my quivery voice were when I was encouraging her, telling her she was really doing it, because it was just so incredible, but I was thankfully able to swallow it down and get control of myself.

Then baby was getting close, and the doctor and the rest of the nurses came in. "Everybody's here, sweetie. We are all ready for him to come, it's up to you to bring him here, okay? You can do this. Come on, you're so close. I can see his head, sweetie, don't stop, don't stop!" Once he had crowned a bit, I told Mom to reach down and feel his head, and she gave a small smile at that.

"Proof that he's there!" the nurse said.

Watching her push, and then seeing his head slowly make its way down, was an absolutely surreal experience. I watched her, such a tired mama, give her entire being into each and every push. Pushing against the pain, pushing against the fear, the pressure, the burning and the stretching, pushing like she was ready to meet her son. She was literally on the edge of her strength, she was holding nothing back - how often do humans really give an absolute 100% of their power to something? I say not often, but when they do, it is a beautiful and awe-inspiring - dare I say sacred and quite God-like, sight to behold. I think watching her push, seeing her do something no one ever thinks they can do, was the most powerful moment of the night for me. Yes, a brand new spirit coming into the earth was incredible, yes of course. But seeing someone work so hard to become a mother? That struck something deep within me, and I will never forget it. Not only was I completely struck by watching her work so hard, but then I had another revelation:

That was ME.

I did that.


......I did THAT. I was that woman, not 11 months ago.

Women. Are. So. Amazing.

Nothing on earth can compare. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

And then....and then her work paid off. He was out and she was still pushing, eyes still squeezed shut,  unaware that he was out and screaming. "[Name], [Name,] look! Look, he's here! Open your eyes! You did it." Finally she opened her eyes and her shoulders began to shake in sobs as he was placed in her arms.

The moment broke, and I was taking pictures like a madwoman.
I took the usual shots: Mom's first look, Dad's first finger-grasp, footprints, weighing in, swaddled and handed to Dad to hold while Mom got some extra care. And then, for the second time that night, I had to switch gears: Right then Mom didn't need me to take anymore pictures; I had gotten enough for now. Right then, Mom needed me to hold her hand while Dad held baby and she had some more work done. I turned my camera off and went to reach for her hand and -- BAM! Her hand grasped mine so tight, so grateful, so desperate. To be needed in that way? Words cannot describe. I held her hand and squeezed back when she squeezed mine, brushed the hair out of her face and told her it was going to be okay, the hard part was over. I told her that Dad had baby, and man, was he gorgeous. "Dad's singing to baby, can you hear him? He's so happy, just watching his Daddy." Her eyes were closed, but her smile told me she heard me.


Not only was I proud of myself for not spilling any tears, but I was also proud to learn that I was not in the least bit grossed out by a single thing that happened that night. Not a single drop of blood or piece of flesh bothered me, and I watched, well, everything, happen with fascination.

I did, however, make one more mistake. Keep in mind that by this point, I was STARVING, and I knew Mom must be, too.  So, once things calmed down, I offered to get food for everyone; but I did it just a tad too soon - before baby was handed back to Mom. I missed a lot of sweet moments by doing this, I regret it terribly. When I came back with food, Mom was already nursing and requested I not photograph this, so I decided it was time to allow the family to be alone together. That being said, I still got lots of great shots, but I won't make the same mistake in the future.

I learned SO much - and not just about birth photography. It was so eye-opening to see birth from the outside, having only previously experienced it when it was happening to me. I learned a TON about the difference between hospital births and birth center births, medicated and non-medicated births, doctors and midwives. I learned a ton about what it would be like to be a doula, and I think I've decided that being the photographer is a nice, happy medium. I'm not sure I have the stamina to coach a woman through unmedicated contractions for 12+ hours, but I loved playing a small role in it all.

I came home that night, after not sleeping for 22 hours and eating crappy food, and said, "That was amazing, but I'm not sure I need to do it again. It's exhausting and on-call life is a bit stressful with a baby." Then, not even 12 hours later, I get a text from Dad #2 that says Mommy with Twins is in labor - and everything I just thought goes out the window and is once again replaced with excitement and anticipation. Now that I've had a few days to rest and recover, I think I would really enjoy having a birth client once every 2-3 months. I don't know if that will actually be the case, but I know I probably won't turn down the opportunity to in the future if I'm able to be there.


I'm now anxiously awaiting my next call for my twins! It should be in the next 24-48hours (they had her on medication to slow labor down since she is only 33 weeks. ).

Williamsburg, Virginia

I'm a nerd. I'm a nerd about a lot of different things - I'm a Harry Potter nerd, a camera nerd, a word nerd.....I'm also a history nerd. I credit this to two people in my life: First, my dad. He's always reading a nonfiction book about some war, and he took us on a lot of historical destination vacations growing up. And second, my high school history teacher who was also a psychology teacher. In the words of my friend Jeanna, "That's a good combination." And it really was - he brought the human side to facts and dates and names, and made history real to me.

Everybody likes to travel - but a large part of why I like to travel is because I love seeing history come alive. I love seeing a 500-year-old painting of Da Vinci so close I can see the cracks in the canvas, and the faded gold paint that I can only imagine was once bright and vibrant. I love walking streets I know so many others have walked before me so long ago. I like to imagine some spirits still linger - or at least occasionally visit. Or that the air smells a little musty because the dust has settled, and I'm the first to scatter it again in hundreds of years. That's why I loved my Europe travels so much.
And that's also why I asked to go to Williamsburg, Virginia for my birthday.

It's hard to describe Williamsburg without making it sound like the lamest place on Earth.
"It's a historical town where the people dress up like they did in the 1700's and walk around and act like they are still in Colonial times."
I told that to my sister-in-law and she laughed, "Are you and Adam going to dress up, too?"
Everyone always asks that.
And no, we did not. (But we saw other people - non-actor people - who did. Hey, at least they were enjoying themselves!)

...It's actually super cool. There are shops and homes that have been standing for over 300 years, it's some of the oldest parts of American history. You can walk around the shops and watch them make silver jewelry just like they did way back then.

Or you can go into their coffeeshop and sip old-fashioned hot chocolate while they gossip about Loyalists and Rebels.

You can ask the lady at the Apothecary what to take for an upset stomach (ginger crystals) or what to do about a toothache (pull it out).

You can tour the Capitol building, where our Founding Fathers debated over and eventually signed the Constitution. You can listen to "Martha Washington" lament over her slave being freed - and hear her slave's excitement for a new life.

Where we started: The Visitor Center. There's maps, video presentations to watch, brochures about the restaurants and shops, and the shuttle that takes you to the city (though you can also walk there from the VC).


What we did: We toured the Apothecary, Blacksmith shop, Cabinetmaker, Silversmith, Bruton Parish Church, Capitol, Governor's Palace, George Wyth house, Cooper, Magazine, Public Gaol, Public Hospital, and the Art Museum. There were lots more we wanted to see, but they were either closed that day or for the winter season. We spent two whole days there and probably could have spent another whole day there if it was the summer season with more tours and shops open.

On the third day, we went to Historic Jamestowne, the first permanent colony in North America. It is believed that the 1608 church on this site is where Pocahontas married John Rolfe! Four hundred years ago!!! So cool.


Where we stayed: Homewood Suites by Hilton. It was just a few miles and an easy drive to the Visitor Center, where you could park your car for free and take a shuttle into the city. Because my dad was with us, we got a two bedroom suite, which included a kitchenette with utensils, stove, refrigerator, and a small dining area. It was perfect for all of us. Axton stayed in a pack-n-play next to our bed.

Homewood Suites not only has complimentary breakfast every morning, but also complimentary dinner Monday-Thursday. They also have a pool and free WiFi.

What we ate: We splurged and ate at The King's Arms Tavern for lunch while we were in Williamsburg. I would highly recommend this place above all the other Taverns - they are famous for their Peanut Soup, an original Colonial recipe. Go there for lunch instead of dinner - it's much cheaper and just as good. We ordered the crab cake (which was fabulous, but the coleslaw on the side was even better!), the Norfolk Pottage Pye (sooo rich), and A dish of beef, which was the best beef I've ever had from a restaurant. Possibly from anywhere. Here's their lunch menu.

What else to do: Want more Revolutionary history? Check out Yorktown. If you want something different to do in Williamsburg, something not hundreds of years old, you can always go to Great Wolf Lodge, an indoor water park. There's also the amusement park Busch Gardens or the outdoor water park Water Country USA. For the less adventurous, stroll through Williamsburg Botanical Gardens.


Also, see lots more fun photos on my photo blog! 

That time I cut 9 inches off my hair

I've been wanting to cut my hair for awhile now, but I also had the hopes of donating it. This week I was left in a pickle: either cut my hair pretty dang short to get the required 8 inches to donate, keep growing it out and put up with the tangles and mess for a few more months, or just cut it and not donate. 

I went with the first one.

And it's pretty dang short.

I made up my mind quickly and walked into the hair salon only knowing one thing:

"I want to donate my hair," I told the stylist. 

She looked at me and nodded. "Okay."

It was silent for a minute, and I realized that maybe I should have come a little more prepared. I had assumed salons did things like this all the time - shouldn't she know what to do?

"So, um," I stuttered. "Do you have a rubberband or something?"

She shook her head - and then smiled. "No," she said, her mouth open. The smile totally threw me off, because then I didn't know if she was kidding. I'm around a lot of sarcastic people who say yes with a smile when they really mean no so I wasn't sure how to take it. Plus, what salon doesn't have a hairbinder? Come on. 

"Are you serious?" I asked, smiling back. She's gotta be kidding. The irony of a hairsalon not having a hairbinder? Too much. But, I guessed wrong. She wasn't kidding. 

"Yes, I'm serious. You know you have to send your hair in yourself, right? We don't do that for you."

I knew, and was sad I already had a bad start to my haircut. Then she asked me how I wanted it cut and I realized I'd really come into this unprepared.

"Uh.....short. With, like .... layers. I guess." I stuttered.

........

"How about you look at a magazine?" she offered. 

So I randomly flipped through a book and picked a short hairstyle with layers. I didn't really care, I just wanted it off. 

When I came out of the salon and greeted Adam, he smiled big at me and asked, "Do you like it?"

My response?

"I got the Mommy Hair-Cut, didn't I?"

This happened Wednesday night, and I'm just now getting the courage to announce it - it's taken me this long to come to terms with my new short hair. I think I like it. Sometimes I look in the mirror and think, "That's super cute!" and then other times I think, "Gosh, I look like a boy." Or, "Is that a helmet or my hair? Either way, it's ugly." But then again, I guess it doesn't matter what length my hair is - I will always have a roller-coaster relationship with my looks. who doesn't?

I do like that it's not a bird's nest of knots when I wake up in the morning, that Axton can't use it to practice being Tarzan baby anymore, and that it takes me 1.2 minutes to straighten it. Oh, and I like that I was able to donate my hair for the first time (I've wanted to in the past but my hair was always dyed. Remember my high school obsession with bleach?). I won't post a picture of my rat tail because I figure if it grosses me out then there are others that it would probably gross out, as well. 

23 Things About Me on My 23rd Birthday

1. For a large portion of my life, 10 Things I Hate About you was my favorite movie. I can still quote almost the entire thing from start to finish.

2. Putting Axton's pants on him is one of my absolute least favorite parts about parenthood. As soon as I get one pant leg in, and start working on the other, then the first one comes out and then I'm back and forth, back and forth, over and over again. I feel like I'm in a Two-Second Groundhog Day land and I'm getting nothing accomplished. Silly really, that I let it frustrate me, but when it happens every.single. time? Gah!!! Just be naked, child!

3. I am a closet swearer. I know, I know - I shouldn't be. It's a bad habit I started back in 7th grade, but probably would have picked up anyway from a few members of my family. There have been countless times that I've inserted a swear word in a blog post, and then had to go back and erase it because I didn't think my readers would appreciate it too much. Nothing super "bad" (meaning, my F bombs are few and far between) but some D's and H's and once in awhile an S or B will float in my head. And most of the time, it's not out of anger - but humor. I just think a properly placed curse word can turn a mediocre sentence into a hilarious one. Gosh I'm terrible! I can't believe I'm typing this sh* up!

4. I could probably eat some form of Mexican food for every one of my meals - I love refried beans and tortillas. That's practically all I ate during my pregnancy, and almost every time we go to Taco Bell I order a bean burrito with no onions and extra red sauce.

5. I'm really bad about washing my hands. Gross, I know. Like, I wash them after every time I use the bathroom, of course, because it's easy to remember when it's right there. But when I'm out and about, or we go to the park or the mall or after a diaper change (yuck!! I know! But really, most the time I don't get poop on my hands, I've gotten quite skilled with a wipe), I just forget. And then halfway through my next meal I'll slowly stop chewing and then get up and wash my hands really fast. Usually. Or I'll just say, "Meh. Builds your immunity." (Again, I'm even embarrassed admitting this to myself!)

6. I wrote my college senior thesis on Toni Morrison's Beloved. It's about a black woman who kills her daughter so she isn't taken into slavery - it's been banned from many schools and universities. But most things that have something important to say are often feared and rejected by society, yes?

Anyway, I used Ihab Hissans' theory The Literature of Silence to examine her novel. Here is my thesis statement:

"In Beloved silence operates in the community's refusal to warn Sethe of schooteacher's arrival, invoking Sethe's outrageous murder of her daughter, which results in the apocalyptic and radically ironic figure of the ghost Beloved, with the final irony being found in the telling of the novel Beloved, a story that was not meant to "be passed on."

Heavy stuff.

7. I had a bad habit of bleaching my hair in high school. Baaaaaad.

8. My favorite childhood memories are when we lived in Wisconsin. We lived on 14 acres, with 3 acres of strawberry patches, an acre of raspberry patches, long, grassy fields, a dirt road, and a pole-shed. I used to love to mow our giant lawn because we had a riding lawn mower and I would put on headphones, crank up the music and just ride for hours on end. I would roller-blade in circles in our pole shed, making up songs about boys and growing up and singing them loudly because it echoed in there. We picked strawberries and sold them for money and made strawberry jam and pies, we helped my mom in her giant garden and watered my dad's rows of pine trees, moving the hose every half hour.

9. I've been writing in journals off and on ever since I knew how to write. I kept a pretty steady journal all through elementary school, and I've since found out that both of my parents have read parts of my journals they've found in boxes. When they told me, I felt completely betrayed and resolved that I would never read my children's diaries. I stopped writing in one until the day my heart was broken my junior year of high school. I had just broken up with my boyfriend of two years, and had no where else to turn. I wrote in that journal every single day, trying to heal my heart through words. I have two entire journals filled with my mournings over that boy, spanning a period of a whole year.

10. I took 3 years of French in high school and 3 semesters in college. I was in the middle of applying to study abroad in Paris - I only had the phone interview left - when I met Adam. Obviously, I never made that phone call.

ps - Robyn, when Adam saw this pic he said he liked your hair :)

11.Whenever we played Spice Girls in 5th grade (and we played that a LOT) I was always Ginger Spice. I think I liked that her "other" name was Sexy Spice. But now that I think about it, is that even true? Or did someone just make that up?

12. I grew up with a guitar-playing Daddy. I have distinct memories of him singing "What's Goin' On?" by 4-Non Blondes, "Romeo and Juliet" by Indigo Girls, and "Walkin' in Memphis" by Marc Cohn. I know all the words to those three songs and can't hear them without thinking of my Dad. It also instilled a love of men - or anyone, really - who play the guitar - that's how Adam snagged my eye.

13. My high school job was being a Police Cadet for the Idaho Falls Police Department. My mom worked in a secretarial position there, so I had some good ins. Mostly I just liked working in the office, shredding papers, putting speeding tickets into the computer system (I loved it when they were for someone I knew in school - I always felt like I had a secret over their heads), filing confidential reports on things like domestic abuse or robberies. Once I led a demonstration on bike safety for a group of youngsters, and later, a tour of the the Police Department to a group of Cub Scouts. I had to fingerprint them all as part of their merit badge. I was also asked to do things like a night patrol during an Art Festival. I had to take a shift from 6pm to midnight, just walking around the river and making sure no one tried to break into the tents that were set up for the event. I had a radio that I could dial into dispatch if there was any trouble. I had a uniform and a badge and that little radio and I felt pretty tough. Until one drunk guy came around, kicking a can on the ground and shouting loud. I got totally freaked out even though he didn't even glance up at me.

14. My first concert was when I was 10 years old and I saw Enriquez Iglesias. I've since been to a Good Charlotte concert (13), Jimmy Eat World (17), JoDee Messina (18), and Miranda Lambert (20) concert. I have quite an eclectic taste in music.

At the Jimmy Eat World concert - my first one without parents! 

15. From the age of 7 to 12 I believed I was living in a haunted house. We bought our house in Wisconsin from someone whose son had committed suicide. His first attempt was in the basement of the house we bought, and my brother told me - to freak me out - that whenever someone attempts to commit suicide - even if they fail - their soul stays where it happened. To add to that, we lived at the end of a dirt road and across the road from us was a church and the graveyard that this boy was buried in. My friends and I would go looking for his old fort that he had built in the forest on our property and when we couldn't find it from time to time, we would get all freaked out and think he had moved it. We would go to his grave at midnight and light a candle or do other stupid stuff. Every single weird thing that happened outside I thought was him. (As a type this now, as an adult, I can see how disrespectful this would be to people who have attempted, or succeeded at committing suicide, and also to the parents of the boy who died. However, I realize I was just a dumb kid looking for trouble at the time, so I hope I'm forgiven).

16. My fifth grade teacher was Mr. Owens. He introduced me (and our class) to pomegranates. He read Charles. R. Swindoll's quote on attitude to us at least once a week, he passed out a jar of lemon drops during special occasions, and he read The Hobbit to us. I remember I was telling a story to my class, and acting it out as I went. I was imitating how our chickens walked and generally just making a fool of myself, but I had the entire class's attention, and everyone was laughing. Afterwards, Mr. Owens had told me that I should be a comedian when I grow up. I remember being stunned, and I chased him down the hallway to ask him about it.

"Do you mean that?" I panted when I caught up to him. "But I can only make people my age laugh, I can't make adults laugh."

"Well, those kids that are your age now? They'll be adults when you are too, and they'll still be your age," he had said.

I don't know why I remember that, because obviously I'm not a comedian. However, I am a writer and I think I'm funny sometimes, so it's kind of similar.

17. Speaking of having chickens... well, we had chickens when I was growing up. They were a sort of Easter present to me. I got a box of 25 chicks and they slept in my room with me in their box until they were too big to fit in there anymore. Then we moved them outside to a chicken coop. I picked them up and carried them around and painted their nails so I could tell them apart. I named all 25 of them and collected their eggs every morning. I remember one cold winter morning going down to get eggs. It had snowed the night before and the gate was stuck. I kept banging and kicking on it, thinking it was just packed with ice and snow. When I finally got the gate open, I uncovered what had been blocking my path - it was a dead chicken, frozen solid. He must have been left out over night. I was terrified - I screamed all the way back up the hill to my house and burst through the door sobbing. It totally mortified me.

18. This is what I was wearing the night Adam met and fell in love with me - if you can't tell, that's a pig on my shirt. Charming.

19. I have a bad history of bladder control. I'm sure someone with a psychology degree could really rip me a new one over this (or anything else I've written), but it's just life. I once peed my bed when I was 12 (I was sleeping with my mom, too, poor lady) (why was I sleeping with my mom at 12 years old, you ask? Because my parents had just divorced and we moved 1200 miles away from my home, that's why. I slept with her every night for a few years, until she got married, actually). Anyway, back to my bladder issue. I once peed my pants when I was 10 because I couldn't get my house key out fast enough and I'd been holding it all day at school. Then when I was 18 and at college I peed my pants, too. I had just sat down at a toilet when my stall door swung wide open (apparently I hadn't locked it all the way) and I had to hurry and shimmy over there before someone saw me. Do you know how hard it is to stop peeing midstream? Extremely. I had to lengthen the straps of my backpack so it would cover my pants while I ran back to my dorm room to change. And, we can't forget the time I wet the bed when I was pregnant (age 21). Gah, it only gets worse when you have kids, too.

20. I asked for a horse for many Christmases in a row when I was little. We lived in a neighborhood then, so it never happened. But one summer we boarded a horse on our property and I got to ride her everyday. Her name was Splash and she was a feisty one, but I only got bucked off once. I'm pretty sure she might have bit my friend Heather when she came to visit me.

21. The summer of 2007 I went to Idaho Girl's State and was elected governor of over 300 girls. I learned that not only could I do scary things, like be a leader, but that I was likeable - and in mass quantities. Sure, not every girl voted for me, and probably not every girl liked me. But enough did, and that meant a lot to me during those vulnerable high school years.

22. Sometimes I talk funny. I like to add random "r's" to words. As in, "The weather outside is narsty." In fact, I said that exact sentence once when I was governor, over the microphone and I could hear everyone's confused whispers and I had to clear my throat and start again. "Sorry, um, nasty."

I also like to add "shm" to the beginning of words. Adam and I say "Shmank shmoo" and "shmore shmelcome" on a daily basis.

23. One of Adam's birthday presents to me was a 23rd birthday photo shoot. I'm going to be using one of the photos for my photography website, business cards, and thank you notes. I can't decide which is my favorite, so if you get the chance click on the link and like or comment on your favorite one!

When I came out of the bedroom this morning, after working on this blogpost, this is what I found on our couch: