Family Home Evening/Date Night

Family Home Evening as a young married couple is an excuse to have date night more than once a week if you ask me.  We love FHE together.  Sometimes we have a traditional program with prayer, family business, and lesson, and sometimes we extend it to be an evening of fun.


Last night was a full evening of FHE fun.

Preston was in charge.  I admit freely that his weeks for FHE trample mine in coolness, sweetness, spiritualness, etc.  He is so good at making it a worthwhile time.

Anyway, after prayer and business, he told me to put on my shoes and follow him out the door.  We ended up on a bike ride around town enjoying the beautiful sun.  Then he led us to the car and took us to Enoch to try a brand new pizza place called The Hub.









It was good!  I don't like so much cheese on my pizza that it is falling off the sides, and they had just the right amount--nice and light.  They twist their crust, too, so if you're a texture eater like me you'd love it.
I'd go back and get another box sometime.  I still haven't had pizza that beats Jason's (from the Pizza Cart) but I hope this place sticks around.

We scarfed down our pizza while watching The Avengers, and then added a few more carbs to our evening with some challah bread and honey butter while watching Thor.  Not nutritionally balanced, but super satisfying.  And yes, we watched two movies in one night.  We can do that.

Nights like this actually make you look forward to Mondays.  :)

It's My New Thing: Triathlons

You guys, I competed in a triathlon this weekend.

Whaaaa?!

I know.  It rocked, and I'm totally addicted.

It would have been appropriate to train, but I decided to do the thing 2 days before it occurred.  Don't worry, if it is a choice between swim or drown, you will swim, regardless of what shape you're in.

The competition was indoors, and so it was in reverse order of typical triathlons.  The run and bike were 25 minutes each, with goal distances of 3.1 miles and 12 miles (yeah right on that one).  The swim was 10 minutes with a goal of 16 laps, or 400 m.  I tell you what, after rigorous running and biking for 50 minutes that water was like heaven.  I managed to get 22 laps in the 10 minutes and took first place in my heat for the run.  The bike...well, I have work to do there (beginning with finding a comfortable position on a bike seat).

Growing up, my mom let us make decisions early on.  I remember being shocked in first grade when I discovered my best friend didn't get to pick out the clothes she wore.  Her mom laid them out every night.  I, on the other hand, got to wear whatever I wanted, be it a frilly lace dress or overalls.

Mom often states the common phrase, "Live and let live."  If we had some crazy idea for a profession growing up, she would most likely say, "Go for it!"  She has let us choose to live for a long time, and with it has instilled a deep sense of responsibility for our choices and strong ability in regards to them.

So, ultimately, it's my mom's "fault" that I jumped on a treadmill to compete in something new.

Also, my note to myself, "Remember, you're building your 70-year-old-self now" plays a big part.

Anyway, regardless of upbringing and sentiment and yada yada, this thing was fun.

Cheers!

Hey, You Snoutfair, You.

I read a list of 18 obsolete words/phrases today (found here).  My my how much we've changed.

Two of my favorites:  "snoutfair"--a person with handsome countenance (and my new nickname for Preston); and "with squirrel"--pregnant.

Also, "curglaff" happens to me at least twice a week.

***

We vacationed in Mexico for spring break.  Post on that coming soon!

***

We have friends in town this weekend for the WAC gymnastics championship.  Every time we get together I realize how blessed Preston and I have been in making good friends in college.  We're even more blessed that they still enjoy college gymnastics as much as we do.

***

Lastly, I've decided that one of my favorite colors is that of the yellow grass between Beaver and Fillmore, especially in the winter as it sits against the white snow.  Thank heaven for sight and color.  Oh how I love color.

***

Happy Weekend, Friends.

Good Day, Mr. Browning

A bit ago I shared this picture of the pillows my in-laws helped me sew.  I have loved the pillows and I still get excited to make the bed.

However, I never quite completed one of the pillows (below) because I needed time to look at it to decide what finishing touch it needed.

One day, I ran across a Robert Browning poem, and realized that it had exactly what I wanted on my pillow.  It is especially perfect that we have a pillow with a Robert Browning phrase on it because Elizabeth Barrett Browning helped me theme our wedding.  We're coming full circle. :)

Originally, I was going to paint the phrase I wanted right on the pillow, but then I remembered that I'm afraid of commitment.  So, I messed with design a few ways on paper and then on scrap fabric, and then used this strip of fabric as the final.    

Friends, I free handed this--eyeballing a font I liked (Segoe Script)--and it was the most terrifying experience of my DIY life.  I couldn't find a stencil I particularly loved, and I didn't want to go to the effort of making one, so I opted for dangerous.  This is how I tend to do crafts--the nearly lazy way--and it usually haunts me forever because tiny mistakes show up here and there.  For example, I used a ruler to give myself straight lines to follow as I wrote, except I skipped that process for the third line which said "R. Browning."  You don't see it here because I cut it off.  Yep, I went crooked.  Sorry Mr. Browning, no credit for you.

Anyway, after frying my poor nerves, I grabbed the few supplies I needed to do the easy part of tacking on the strip of fabric.  (Chapstick is a necessary supply because whenever I'm concentrating I bite my lips.  And my hot milk, honey, and nutmeg drink just made me happy while doing crafts.  Oh, and I was watching Runaway Bride, so really it was a great time.)

  

And there you go!  A finished pillow that is still completely alterable.

(Sorry, it's not the best lighting, and my pillows look tired, but it really is quite pretty in person.)

Blogging

I'm facing somewhat of a blogging identity crisis.

It started with one of my favorite professors noticing the my latest posts. I immediately thought, "Oh boy.  Is he secretly grading my blog?"  I'll admit, and I hope it's obvious, my writing in an essay is very different than in a blog post.  But still, I want to feel like the same writer, and I want to be regarded as the same writer.

But can I do that via blogging?  Even now I'm choking on the word blog.

Am I the only one here who feels a little weird admitting I have a blog, and can I say so without being seen as that blogger?  The fact that I live in Utah and wear cap sleeves makes me hesitant to say I have a blog because in those two elements I'm already stacked into a pile.  My blog has just been put into a certain realm.

I've always been okay to belong with the grammar nerds and liberals and student government members and honor society members at the same time that I've belonged with church goers and athletes and dancers (who for some reason get a bad wrap in higher education as being the dumb ones).

So why, now, am I concerned with my identity--in a world as intangible as an idea, no less?

Maybe it's because my writer's voice--that vulnerable thing--is under scrutiny by an entirely new audience.

Maybe it's because now that I'm out of school, no one encourages me to write or apply for a certain position or get involved in an organization.  The place where I've always found a nook told me I was done--congratulations!--and now I have to find another nook; a nook in the blog world, perhaps.

And I've enjoyed blogging, certainly.  But I don't enjoy the stigma, and I don't want it to attach to me like a leech, sucking away the variety my life has had, pushing me to be that blogger with the recipes and the crafts and the outfits.

But at the same time, I want to feel free to post about recipes and crafts and outfits and whatever else floats my boat, and I want it to be independent of the [Utah/Mormon] blogger stereotype.  I realize, however, that I cannot control the cyberspace impression, so I must wonder and write and put it out there and let other people perceive it as they will.

I need to decide if I'm okay with that.

In Perspective--getting personal

We were late to church today because I couldn't get spinach out of my hair.

Yep.

I tried {this} hair smoothie for some va-va-voom, and it totally worked, except for the tiny pieces of spinach everywhere.  (And for future reference or for those of you who try it, I'd still use some styling product on my hair ends before styling.)

Normally, that kind of thing would turn my day over and I'd struggle to recover.  But today I have a lot to be grateful for even beyond a lucky break with my blow drier doing spinach duty.

***

It's been nearly a week since Preston got some blood tests done that came back clean, a week that I've thanked God every day that the love of my life is whole and healthy--because last Sunday, we weren't so sure.

Preston came home from a business trip on a Friday with a rash on both of his hands and a sore throat.  I didn't think the rash was much to worry about, but when it remained in full force on Saturday, Preston sent a picture of his hand to his Uncle Matt who is a pathologist in Provo.  (Oh how thankful I am for Uncle Matt and his compassion that accompanies his extensive knowledge.)

To my surprise, Matt was concerned.

The rash, called Petechia, reflects problems with the blood platelets and the ability to clot.  It can be a sign of a plethora of ills ranging from leukemia to lupus to a heart valve issue.  Though Matt didn't want to worry us, he said the rash was not something to cast aside.  He recommended we sleep through the night and see a doctor by Monday for some blood tests, sooner if the rash spread to Preston's feet and mouth.

Let me tell you, it was a long night.  Preston was pretty freaked out by Matt's concern, and his tension stole my reason.

I began to imagine what it would be like if Preston had cancer or another disease--how our life could change so quickly.  I felt that familiar resolve that I will stick by him no matter the battles, that I would be willing to do anything to make his life beautiful and comfortable if some ill took that from him.

I began to imagine what it would be like if God decided to take the love of my life home.  The despair was unbearable.  All I could imagine was me going with him somehow.

I began to feel regret for the times that I haven't loved Preston enough--when I get frustrated with him for leaving food out, or when I don't laugh hard enough at his jokes, or when I tell him, "Hold on," putting something like an email or a book first when he wants to be silly and play.  I vowed to love him harder.  My heart ached at the thought that I had ruined my chance.

Of course, I hadn't.  But late hours of the night seem to dissipate reason.  We both were prey to that.

By morning, the rash had appeared in Preston's mouth, but things seemed more hopeful with the sun.  Preston spoke with trusted friends and found some peace of mind, and then at another encouragement from Matt went to the doctor on Monday for a blood test.

Thank goodness they found nothing.  It was most likely a virus linked to his sore throat, and it is already going away.

But the experience realigned both of our perspectives, for which I'm grateful.

***

And so today, when I normally would have tugged at my hair and sworn to wear a hat to church, I instead laughed with Preston at how silly my home remedy experiments can be as he held strands of speckled wet hair in his fingers.

And guess what...now he can't stop playing with it  :)

Insecurities: Access Denied

I'm totally feeling overwhelmed right now.  It's a Sunday afternoon--we had stake conference today--and I sat down on the couch to read the list of the 58 new missions the LDS church created.  I read the list, talked about it with Preston for a moment, and then I got distracted by a link on the sidebar:  "Why are so many mommy bloggers Mormon?" from the Deseret News.

One blog featured in the article is 71 toes.  Shawni, the author, is participating in the mommy blogger missionary effort started by Mariel of Or So She Says.  I got caught up browsing the comments on Shawni's blog in response to her acknowledgment of her faith and her willingness to share her testimony.

It's now been over an hour, Preston long ago disappeared for a nap, and I have finally stopped browsing blogs and comments on the subject since it gave me an itching anxiety.  Man, there is some pressure put on Shawni.  But I applaud her ability to answer questions and respond to criticism.  She mentioned that she served a mission, and I felt an odd sense of peace knowing that she's done this before.

And then the pressure hit me like a sack of flour: I never served a mission.

I began reading Preach My Gospel, but never got through it.  Sure, I've given talks and taught lessons and even been through the missionary discussions with friends, and I never worried about my understanding or ability to share.  But in one brief moment sitting on my couch I felt utterly inadequate.

And then, of course, with that domino came crashing all the others:
*Is my brain even able to know the stuff I need to know?
*Am I missing something I should be doing right now?
*Should I expect something of my blog beyond record keeping?
*I'm so inconsistent blogging.  I really need to set that schedule.
*But why?  I don't know what to write about anyway.  I'm not funny enough, or profound enough, and I don't "do" photography.
*I don't "do" photography?!  Then why in heaven's name do I have a blog?!

And then I felt all this pressure to take that photography class my mom got me for Christmas 3 years ago.

And then I remembered that I still haven't decided what I want to do for graduate school or even where and when to do it.  And that I have a goal to write a book someday, and that Shawni of 71 toestoes and mother of 5 kids wrote a book, and then I remembered how doggone tired I am even without 5 kids (and that I don't want 5 kids) and that I'm sick with the winter blues, and I feel like I can never be like Shawni and write a book and do everything else like have a perfect blog.

And then I remembered that during my hour of blog browsing I read this about blogs:

Shawni's Disclaimer

And it made me feel a little better at least about blogging.

So I returned to the old self who is independent and capable, comfortable in my own shoes, who doesn't succumb to pressure to be anyone or do just anything.

Like cliff jump at Lake Powell.