Hello There!

Oh goodness, I have been SO bad at updating this poor blog. But here I am, hoping to get one last entry in for 2013.

Just in case you don't remember who I am, my name is Mariela. I am a 7th and 8th grade Language Arts teacher, a newlywed-ish wife trying not to be a complete domestic disaster, an owner to two incredibly strange felines, and as of late, a budding, wannabe guitar player.

Right after I wrote my last entry, I got to work getting my classroom(s) ready for the upcoming school year, and I finally feel, on this second Monday of Winter Break, that I have caught my breath. Hence, my appearance here.

The first three months of the school year are a blur, probably because I was juggling three different classes (7th grade reading or Expanded Language Arts, 7th grade Language Arts, and 8th grade Language Arts), two different classrooms, two different after-school clubs, and about 175 hormone-addled teenagers. Oh, and their parents. And parent/teacher conferences (hello, 14-hour workday!) and somehow getting used to a brand-spankin' new grading system that I'm pretty sure was designed by a drunk Bonobo chimp.

Aside from all that, however, I have really liked my new job. It's tiring, and I can't tell you how many times I've cursed at my computer as it magically erases all the grades I entered, but I'm really enjoying my students. They are awesome, and they amaze me and make me laugh every single day. Plus, no one tells you about the gift cards you get just for being someone's teacher. I'll basically never have to buy Starbucks again.

Then there's the one kid who gave me a can of pineapple chunks for Christmas, because she remembered that I had said that I liked pineapples or something.

On the home front, life is pretty spectacular. We just finished up with all the Christmas craziness, and we've been lounging like champions the last few days. I've been devouring the Divergent trilogy on my new, incredibly nifty Kindle Fire HD, and Evan has been indulging in some extreme videogaming.

I've also been attempting to play the guitar Ev got me for Christmas, and I'm proud to say I have successfully learned the D chord, although the tips of my fingers hate my wholeheartedly for doing so.

Newton and Ampersand are doing just fine as well. We got new couches and they've taken it as their personal mission to cover every inch of them with their fur.

In finally being able to slow down, take a breath, and look around, however, I've come to realize that whatever domestic progress I was able to take during last year's subbing schedule has definitely taken a solid position on the back burner. Our house is a disaster, because neither of us has had any time to really take care of the little things. Most nights we give each other tired, blank looks and go through some version of:

"We've had leftover pizza for the last three nights, so we should try to actually cook something."
"Yeah, but we'd have to clean the stove/oven/counter/fridge/pantry first."
"Wanna order a pizza?"
"Sounds great. I'll get Breaking Bad  cued up on Netflix."

That's really all we've been able to muster the last few months. I've learned that teaching has a way of making you really throw yourself into the lesson, and you forget about being tired, being hungry, paying your bills on time, having to pee, and wearing matching socks. At least, it's that way with me. I'll drag myself into the building every morning, slurping my coffee because I actually am too tired to lift it another centimeter to drink it like a civilized person, and wonder how on earth I'll be able to actually do more than sit and maybe drool a little. Then the first bell rings, and I'm on. That's how I describe it, anyway. I'm just on for my kids. I teach to the best of my ability, because I want them to learn.

And then, that last bell rings at 3:15, and every ounce of energy I had is drained. All that exhaustion, all that stress, all that strain on my bladder (I went about 4.5 hours without going most days. Might be TMI, but hey, I'm being honest)suddenly makes itself very, very known.  Add to that a 45 minute commute home, and I'm a little more than a pile of mush by the time I walk in the door.

So, I would suppose that's why our social lives and cholesterol have taken a mighty hit these last 12 weeks or so. But, there's hope on the horizon! I am now down to only two classes and two clubs, which means I'll hopefully have more time to dedicate to things like seeing other human beings who don't say "yolo!" at every opportunity, eating something not out of a box delivered by a kid named Steve, exercise by lifting weights, not stacks of essays, and of course, write in this blog more often.

Well, here's to 2013. It was a crazy, whirlwind year that taught me so much about love, family, teaching, and staying sane within all of that. I'm so excited to see what 2014 will bring, and here's to hoping it brings happiness, laughter, and love to us, but also to each and every one of you!

-Mariela

One Year!

Evan and I have been married for a whole year! Yay! As trite as it sounds, this year has flown by, and I'm glad that I have had the awesome opportunity and (some) free time to chronicle this awesome first year of our lives together. Thanks for coming along on this awesome ride!

This has been an incredibly busy summer for us, and we really haven't had a lot of time together, so we wanted to relax and spoil ourselves on our anniversary. And we did. You should probably find a comfy place to sit and maybe grab a snack, because this blog post is gonna be long.

We kicked off our anniversary weekend with me going into my new job for five hours. Yeah, you read that right; I am now employed and no longer a substitute! Hurray! It was actually pretty awesome to get a job the week of our anniversary. And it was even better to go in a month before my official start date to help my new Principal and Vice Principal conduct a few interviews. I got paid a very decent amount to ask two questions to five candidates in Spanish, and I walked away with a nifty amount of moolah to help us celebrate.

My old Middle School, where I will be teaching 7th Grade Language Arts! 

As soon as I got home from work, (yay new job! Stay tuned for a blog post about that!) we headed to Portland to get a couple's massage. It was AMAZING. It was in this tiny, hole in the wall place in a part of Portland that had me looking skeptically at Evan almost the entire drive there, but it was fantastic. Our massage therapists spent 90 minutes massaging out every knot and tense muscle in my body. I'm pretty sure she actually decapitated me at one point; my neck felt so long and loose. Thankfully, she reattached it at some point and sent us home super relaxed and ready to tackle the next 30 years of married life.

That night, we went to Helium Comedy Club to see Adam Ferrara, a comedian that we've liked since we were unmarried whippersnappers in college. We had an absolutely fantastic time. Adam was super funny, and it was great to spend the night laughing, having a few drinks, and really setting the mood for the rest of the weekend. We had never been to a comedy show before, and it was really fun to try that together for the first time.

Such a funny guy! I didn't actually get a picture with him, because I was too shy.

Saturday was our actual anniversary, and it was so awesome to wake up next to my awesome husband and just feel incredibly grateful for such a great person to spend the rest of my life with. I felt even more grateful when he offered to make pancakes and bacon (my personal favorite breakfast foods that I would have every day were it not for the rather unfortunate physical and cholesterol side effects) to start our day. I hopped out of bed to start getting his gifts in order. Little did he know that he had quite the adventure ahead of him. I wrapped his presents and then promptly hid them in our car, much to his confusion.

After our wonderful breakfast, I opened my gifts from him, and I was totally blown away. He had very carefully chosen some of our favorite wedding pictures and had them framed in some beautiful dark wood matted frames. The tears were already going pretty decently at that point, but what really got me blubbering was his final gift: our vows done in absolutely gorgeous calligraphy. It was so wonderful to see our vows, which mean so much to the both of us, presented in such a great way, and it brought all the feelings from the year before front and center. Plus, it was awesome to know that Evan's Aunt Sandy had done the calligraphy for us.

Our vows! 

So many amazing memories! 

My favorite! 

So, at this point, I'm feeling like a schmuck because my wonderful husband has given me this incredible, sentimental gift, and all that I've given him thus far on our anniversary is a card. Argh. He loved the card though, and inside, he found a notecard that read: "They say marriage is based on trust, right? Well, trust me to lead me to your presents!" I then handed him the tie he wore on our wedding day, and proceeded to essentially kidnap my husband.

This is what Evan found on Saturday morning. 

I felt like Jack Bauer. And now that I think of it, people must have thought it strange for a woman to be driving with a blind-folded man in a Subaru Forester through the suburbs of Beaverton. Then again, I find it strange that no one stopped me.

My captive. I mean, husband. I thought the wedding tie was a nice touch. 

 Anyway, my husband thought he had it all figured out when we recognized where we were and guessed that our final destination would be his parent's house. Wrong. I just needed to stop there to get a bigger car. In an even cooler Jack Bauer-esque move, I led my still blind-folded husband from one car to his parent's Suburban, put his hand on the door handle, and said, "Get in." 

This is, I think, where Evan started to get a bit worried. "What are we doing in the Suburban?" He asked.

"Don't worry about it," I replied, praying to every god, goddess, saint, and woodland deity that I wouldn't drive the massive Suburban into every other car on the road. "Now let me drive this thing."

You have to understand that the largest thing I've driven to date is my little old Flying Avocado (officially, a 1997 Toyota Rav4) and it pees itself a little bit whenever I park it next to a car even remotely resembling a Suburban. But, I was on a mission, so on I went.

By some miracle, I managed to get Evan, myself, and the Suburban to our final destination unscathed. Once there, I instructed Evan to stay in the car while I clambered out of it (honestly, it's so high up I thought I might need a parachute to make it safely down out of the driver's seat) and set up Evan's present. This took a bit of finagling, but I managed to wrestle it out of our friend Travis' garage and out into the driveway. After a bit of staging, I brought Evan out of the car, and took the blindfold off, where he could finally see his brand new gas grill, grilling tools, and grilling book! He'd been talking about wanting a grill for a long time, and I had been hiding this one in various garages since May. It was great finally being able to give that to him and see his face light up. "Is it for me?"  So cute.

So excited! 

Grilling accoutrements. 

Standing with his manly new grill! Now to make it fit in the Suburban...

What was not so cute was wedging the poor thing in the back of the Suburban. After some impressive Tetris type moves, we got it back there and brought it home, where it now resides proudly on our deck.

After the grill adventure, we set out to go and pick up our one year anniversary cake! I've honestly been so excited about this because I didn't get a chance to have a lot of cake after the wedding, what with all the excitement flowing about. Our bakery does this cool thing and actually bakes you a new little cake for your one year anniversary so you're not having to gnaw on some brick of freezer-burned cake. Anyway, we really didn't waste any time in cutting into this one (have I mentioned that MyFitnessPal is totally oblivious to any of this occurring? Calories don't count on your anniversary, birthday, or wedding day. At least that's what I tell myself) and savoring every bite. Plus, it was nice to not be wearing a corset this time around.

How cute is this!? Totally worth waiting a year for. 

Some lemon poppyseed with some lemon chiffon filling goodness. 

That evening (I told you this was long. Did you get a snack? Go get one. I got one as I was writing this) we got spiffed up, went down to Portland, and checked into the Downtown Marriot for our "staycation." When we checked in, we were told that we would be on the 20th floor. I got vertigo just thinking about it. For those of you that don't know, I'm just slightly terrified of anything taller than a step stool. But, I gamely rode the elevator for what felt like years until we got to the very top of the world, it seemed. Our room did have a great view of the city, though. And it was super nice to not be surrounded by laundry, grad school homework, or cat hair for once.

Our awesome view! I took this picture then carefully backed away from the window. 

We then made our way to the Melting Pot, where we had an awesome time eating cheese fondue, cooking salmon, mahi mahi, steak, and duck right at our table (I was slightly paranoid about food poisoning, but I got over it by my second glass of wine) and then totally indulging in some S'mores chocolate fondue for dessert with strawberries, bananas, and marshmallows to dip in it. Oh, so GOOD! The best thing about it all was really sitting back and enjoying each other's company, away from all the little (and big) stresses in our lives. I wasn't chatting with Teacher Evan or Grad Student Evan, I was talking to Husband Evan, and it was wonderful. We ate, we drank, we reminisced about our favorite wedding moments, and we had an amazing time. When we got back to hotel, we met up with Ashley, one of my bridesmaids and best friends, and her boyfriend Brian, who happened to be staying in the same hotel that night for a nightcap and some wonderful conversation. It was a great night. 

Our little cooktop thingy. 

Us looking all snazzy for dinner! 

The various wonderful goodies to dip into our S'mores Chocolate Fondue. 

They brought this out just for us! I immediately ate the strawberries. 

The next morning, we ordered breakfast and mimosas in bed, and since I was finally over the fact that I was 200 feet off of the ground, we watched Portland wake up and even saw a bride getting into her car on the way to (hopefully to, and not away from; let's stay optimistic) her wedding.  It really brought the whole weekend full circle. I wished that this bride was marrying someone fantastic. Someone who would stand by her through their first year, through all the trials and triumphs that Life can throw at you. Someone who would love them completely for who they are. I wished that bride all the happiness in the world, because a year before, Evan had granted me just that.

Drool-worthy, right?

Coffee and mimosas! 

The celebrating couple under the influence of rather strong mimosas, as pirates. What else are fancy hotel napkins for, right? 

It has been an incredible year, and I know that we will just continue to make so many happy memories together as we tackle this amazing journey together. I know there will be hard times, but they will just make us stronger. I know there will wonderful moments that will make us stand in awe of each other. I know that through everything, we will love each other, as our vows say, in the only way we know how, completely and always.

Marriage is awesome. Happy 1st Anniversary!

What's In A Name?

A whole bunch of boring paperwork, waiting, and grumpy government workers, it turns out.

In honor of our eleven month (already?!) anniversary, I thought I'd share my thrilling journey of how I've finally gotten around to changing my name. I thought it'd be fun. Silly me.

First stop was the Social Security office. Evan and I gathered up all of our documents into a nifty manila folder, and set out, totally oblivious to what awaited us. We went in and were met with a cop, who gruffly told us to check in, get a number, and join the other million (or 55) people in what is probably the drabbest, most depressing little room I've ever seen. There were 13 little windows, and apparently, they only thought to have people working in oh, four of them.

"This window is just for show." Seriously.

After thirty minutes of watching the same bald eagle cartoon character tell us about the dangers of carrying your SS card with you (even though every single person in the room had it with them), Evan started up a game of Scrabble on his phone, and that helped pass the next 45 minutes. We finally were called, and a grumpy lady who reminded me far too much of Roz in Monsters, Inc., took our paperwork, said that we'd had a "relatively short wait," (seriously?!) and was done with us in 5 minutes. She actually went so fast that she had to raise her eyebrows at us and say, "Yeeeesss?" Evan and I were still in a relative stupor from having sat for so long that we didn't realize she was all finished. Needless to say, we hightailed it out of there.

Once I got my new SS card (with my new name, yay!) I decided that I needed a new license (also, it was about to expire. Thank goodness that checkout lady at Safeway told me!)  Again, I prepared all of my necessary paperwork after navigating the website, calling them to double check, and checking the website again. Needless to say that I didn't want to make this trip twice. The DMV, I've decided, is where happiness goes to die. I had thought that the Social Security office was the worst, but noooo, I was wrong. Again, the beige walls, the government propaganda posters, the lighting developed to make you look sickly, and of course, old grumpy ladies in droves. Oh, and the DMV had the fortune to add in a bunch of terrified and awkward  but trying to look cool 16 year-olds getting their licenses. People who didn't have a phone to play with while waiting were forced to share a Harbor Freight Tools ad. Luckily, I had my phone, but after obsessively checking Facebook, Reddit, Instagram, and Tumblr for an hour, my phone started making desperate dying noises in the form of extraordinarily high beeps that earned me glares from the Grumps at the counters.

It actually says "Expect long wait..." at the bottom. At least they're honest. Oh, and when I got there, they were "serving" number 205.  

I've learned in this process that government loves loves loves lines. The DMV was no exception. There was a line when I first walked in, and then after a 1.5 hour wait, another line to be seen, and then another line to get my picture taken. Once they handed me my interim license, I honestly asked, "Where do I go now?" and the kind (sarcasm, here) man pointed to the door. So I made my way to the door, garnering envious looks from the people in the first line, and out to my car, where I honestly had to squint in the natural light. I felt like a prisoner finally set free. And, a prisoner with a new license picture! The last one I had made me look like a freakish sumo-wrestler. No, really. It was awful. While seeing that I had a new name on my license felt pretty darn nifty, seeing a picture that didn't make me wince every time I saw it was even better. Thank goodness, because I have to deal with it for the next eight years!

Sayonara, Sumo wrestler! Hello, new name!

In all seriousness, I now hold two pieces of identification that say I am a Tyler, which means a lot to me, as it makes me feel like I am officially a part of two families that I absolutely adore.  And I love that kept my maiden name as my middle name, because it means that I can keep an important part of my culture and past with me. Also, it means I get a middle name! I've never had one, so now it's great that my mother now has one to yell at me when I'm in trouble (kidding! She had zero problems yelling at me when I was trouble sans a middle name). It only took eleven months, smiling insanely hard at the Grumps so they wouldn't glare too hard at me, and close to three hours of my life sitting in the least comfortable chairs ever created.  

And, it was all totally worth it! 

Becoming The Best Versions of Ourselves

Hello! I'm sorry it's been so darn long since I last posted. Two months! Eeek!

We have been super busy juggling everything on our plates. I have been fortunate enough to be working at least 4 days a week at a great middle school, and Evan continues to tackle teaching, grad school, and my culinary skills.

With so much going on, we realized that we were neglecting ourselves. The day came when I reached for one of my favorite cardigans (required teaching attire) and it didn't fit. Like, I had the embarrassing button gaps that are so very unflattering. Oy. My first reaction was to wonder whether I had accidentally dried my sweater, but my super logical (scumbag) brain was like, "Oh honey. Don't make excuses."

Of course, I lamented to Evan, and he mentioned that his favorite jeans were just a tad too snug for comfort lately.

And so, we've embarked on a journey together to start bettering ourselves. We have a gym membership, and we actually started using it. I've been taking Zumba, Pilates, and yoga classes, and Evan has been busting himself on the weight lifting machines. Since those still intimidate me, I prefer to get yelled at by Jillian Michaels at home.

I also read some research into what can help in making weight loss and fitness plans more successful, and after all my reading, here's what I have come up with:

1. Tell people: I have told a few people that I have embarked on Mission: Get Sexy. As embarrassing as it can be, it feels good to know that people have your back. And now, I'm telling all of you. Yep. Hey everyone, I am tired of being a FattyMcFatFat, and I'm working my tush off to be better.

2. Track your food: Ev and I have started obsessively tracking our food and calorie intake on myfitnesspal.com. It's free, and it gives you a relatively personalized program. Plus, you can be friends on there and cheer each other on. Also, knowing I have to track every freakin' morsel that goes into my mouth makes me rethink choices. Do I really want to track those 250 calories worth of Pirate's Booty (my carbohydrate bff/nemesis) or would I rather track 25 calories worth of baby carrots?

The cool thing is that we've already seen results. I am feeling better, have more energy, and don't have quite as many "maybe it just shrunk somehow," moments. I recently tried on that cardigan again, and it fit! Whoo!
Evan is feeling better too, and it is so awesome having a partner that can nicely tell me to get off the couch and accompany him to the gym. He has been super supportive, and it has made a huge difference versus doing this on my own. We recently did an hour-long interval training bootcamp called Hot Sweaty Mess, and it was great to push each other through it.

Busting my butt on some boxes! 

CrossCore exercises! 

I know I've posted about this before. I've been struggling with my weight for a few years now, but I feel empowered this year to start off my married life as healthy as I can. I want to ring in my anniversary feeling awesome and looking hot. I am committed this time to making this successful for me, for Evan, and for our lives together.

So this is me in a wedding in 2003.  Back then, I got to this weight in unhealthy ways. This time, I'm doing it the healthy way! 

Anyway, I definitely plan on posting more about how this little journey of ours is going, and posting more in general! Summer is right around the corner, and it is going to be epic! Definitely more Tyler tales to come!

Ten Years Ago

Ten years ago, I woke up on a very ordinary Thursday. I was grumpy because some telemarketer called, and I spent the morning in a relatively bad mood, avoiding homework. I even took to my LiveJournal to complain about having been woken up, and having to read something by Henry David Thoreau. Like I said before, it was a totally ordinary Thursday.

Then a friend called and asked if I wanted to hang out. Sure, I remember saying. Let's go rent a movie, come back to my house, and just hang out. No big deal.

I remember his car. It was a recent graduation present. A Mitsubishi Diamante. Maroon, and equipped with a brand-new stereo. We popped in a Sublime cd, and rolled the windows down, because the spring air was warm and we were on Spring Break. We chose a movie; one of the Bourne trilogy, and on our way home, he asked me, "hey, have you ever gone over 100 miles an hour?"

"No," I replied. "What's it like?"

Now, I often wonder if there was any indicator, any moment in that evening that may have been warning me. I've scoured my memory for a sensation, for a tingling in my scalp, something to let me know that I was barreling toward something very, very bad. In television and movies, there's always the big clue; they drop something important, and it flutters to the ground in slow motion. There's a key word or a look that just makes you think: something big is going to happen.

But every thing about that Thursday ten years ago is totally, absolutely, ordinary. I had lived through so many Thursdays just like it before. Real life, it turns out, is completely ordinary until one, crystalline moment where it's not. And chances are, you never see it coming. I didn't, anyway.

At 16, I was full of life, excitement, and that special something that all teenagers seem to possess: the sense that they're invincible. So believe me when I say that I had no idea anything was wrong as we barreled down a quiet country street, Sublime's "Summertime," blaring from the new stereo, the warm spring wind whistling through the open windows, until I saw the stop sign blur past my window.

"Oh no," I remember thinking. And then nothing.

I should have died. No, really. Every doctor, paramedic, and cute firefighter that helped me that awful, awful day has told me that they've never seen a crash like that where people lived. Doctors since have held up those plastic heart models and told me that my aorta should have separated from my heart upon impact. I didn't have an airbag. My seat belt was torn off of the wall of the car because of the sheer force.

It's a strange thing to hear, as a 16 year-old lying in a hospital bed, that you're not supposed to be there. Aren't I invincible? The doctors kept asking if we had been drinking or doing drugs. No, I kept saying, No. We were invincible.

It was God, people would say. It was a guardian angel, or pure dumb luck or physics. It's been 10 years and still, I'm not sure why. All I know is that I'm alive, and in all reality, I shouldn't be. I feel indebted, in a way, to whatever force came to the decision that that particular Thursday wouldn't be my last. Every day since the accident I wake up and feel completely, utterly grateful for the chance to just live another day. Every day is a celebration of sorts, because I get to experience all the little things that make life wonderful, and I was so incredibly close, a breath away, from getting to experience anything ever again.

So today I am celebrating ten wonderful years of getting to live my life. I am here today, and in the last ten years, I have experienced so much. I graduated high school, college, and graduate school. I met so very many amazing people whose presence in my life just brightens it, and I met Evan, my love. And then there are the little things that also make life so worth living. To go outside, feel the grass between my toes, and watch the trees sway quietly in the wind. To wake up every morning, open my eyes, and see the love of my life sleeping peacefully next to me. To feel the sun on my face, take a deep breath, and let myself be completely overwhelmed by the absolute beauty of it all, of everything.

Ten years ago, I lost that invincible feeling, but I was rewarded with such an enormous appreciation for life, and just how much of a gift it is. Life is purely amazing, beautiful, and I am awed by the sheer wonder of it all. Thank you, God, Luck, Physics, for these last ten years. I can't wait to see what wonderful (and ordinary) things Life has in store for me in the next ten years to come.

Winner Winner, Chicken Dinner

One of the more interesting twists the Universe has seen fit to saddle us with this year is having me learn to cook meals outside of the microwaveable meals realm. See, with Evan always either working, at graduate school, or commuting between the two. And me, being a lowly substitute that generally subs at a school less than four minutes from our house, have to take on the dinner duty a lot of the time.

At first, when I realized that I was going to be in the kitchen a lot more often, and for longer than it takes to get a cookie or a bowl of cereal (both viable meals in my opinion; Evan begs to differ) I actually felt anxious. Cooking, you may (or may not) be surprised to learn, is not my forte. Like, at all. As in, I honestly believe I'd be better at pole vaulting.

But, I had to stand up to the challenge, lest we both starve or end up eating at 8:30 pm every night. I decided to start in the rookie leagues, and scoured Pinterest for any Crock Pot recipe that needed minimal ingredients. I have a ton, and really, my Crock Pot has granted me a precious lift in cooking self-esteem.

So today, I decided to branch out and try out one of the more challenging appliances in my kitchen. Our oven terrifies me. It's a gas oven, so when it's on and you look inside, it quite literally looks like the fires of Hell. Understandably, I try to avoid it, but today I wanted to tackle a recipe that I had made before, and Evan had really liked. The poor man has been fed Crock Pot meals for the last week, and I feel like we needed a break.

If you're even remotely as incompetent in the kitchen as I am, and have somehow stumbled onto this little blog, here's a recipe you may want to try!

So, without further ado, here's my attempt to successfully make Brown Sugar Chicken.

First, you need decent music. I can't cook in total silence, because I feel like I'm being punished. So, my first step in attempting to make anything edible is finding a good playlist to either dance or sing your cooking-related stress out to. My choice today was my Jason Mraz playlist on Pandora.

After you get a good vibe going, you need your ingredients. The reason I love this recipe so much is that there's absolutely minimal effort and maximum flavor. All you need for this is:

• Chicken breasts or thighs - about a pound and a half. To be honest, I just put four breasts on a plate and called it good. 
• A packet of Italian seasoning. I buy these by the handful because you can use them in a ton of recipes and saves you time by not making you take out those ridiculously tiny spice jars, filling even tinier spoons with the spices/getting spices all over your kitchen counter, and making your own seasoning. 
• 1/2 cup brown sugar, packed. 

That's it. Really. Oh, and you'll need a shallow baking dish. You can either spray it with non-stick spray, or line it with aluminum foil. The former is a great way to spend the evening scrubbing away all the caramelized brown sugar like a 19th century wash woman. Therefore, I recommend lining it with foil.

My ingredients posing beautifully before being subjected to my culinary skills. Or lack thereof. 

My aluminum foil-lining job. Be jealous. 

Find a medium-ish (my recipe is really specific, I know) sized bowl, and mix the brown sugar and the seasoning together. Once your chicken is defrosted, pat it dry with a paper towel (and try to not get raw chicken juices all over the counter, as I did) and coat each chicken breast with the mixture. 

My mixture and too-small bowl. I ended up just standing the chicken breasts in the bowl and spooning the seasonings on it. 

 If you have extra seasoning left over, you can just spoon that over the chicken in the dish. That's what I did, and the chicken didn't mind a bit.

The coated result, before going into the oven! 

I had preheated my (evil) oven to 350 degrees before opening it and throwing that good ol' baking dish in there. I then crossed my fingers, did a quick "let my chicken be edible" dance to the culinary gods, and set my trusty timer for one hour. I then proceeded to wipe the heck off of my kitchen counters with Clorox wipes because I was sure the chicken juices I had accidentally spilled while patting my chicken down a bit too vigorously had resulted in my very own salmonella colony.  

Chicken in the oven, and the time left after my quick chicken dance to the culinary gods

A hypochondriac's best friend. 

The final result! 

Close-up of the deliciousness. I sliced it because I was positive it couldn't have been this easy, and I was sure it was completely raw on the inside. It wasn't! 

Served with some pasta and a salad! 

Yay! Not another gooey Crock Pot meal! 

And, a reward for the cook, for a job well done!

 Winner winner, chicken dinner! Literally. And best part is, there's leftovers for tomorrow!

On Teaching and Using Equestrian Sport Metaphors

I just realized that I didn't manage to get a single post written in the month of February. How lame of me! Hopefully this absolute tome of a blog post will make up for it.

In our defense, we were incredibly busy this past month. Evan is up to his elbows in graduate school work and trying to wrangle 7th graders on a daily basis. I, amazingly, worked almost every day in February, subbing all over the place.

Subbing is teaching me so much about what it means to be a good teacher. After I survived student teaching, I had figured that I'd get my own classroom, and just start learning the ropes from there. The Universe, however, saw fit to throw me into teaching via subbing, and that is a completely different ball game. Subbing is like starting a new job every single day.  Plus, every time I walk into a school, I'm basically doing a  job interview. The teacher (and the rest of the staff, really) are depending on me to magically know where everything is in the classroom (I'm starting to believe that all teachers hide the hall/bathroom/library passes just as a test for subs) manage students' behavior without any background knowledge or previous relationship with them, and then somehow try to act like I know what I'm doing and follow the lesson plan in such a way that the kids actually learn something. It can be grueling, to say the least. Luckily, I've been fortunate enough to sub in classrooms where the kids aren't actively seeking to run over my soul with their Nike's, Keds, or Toms.

There's a steep, steep learning curve that comes with subbing!

That is, except for one occasion that literally had me questioning why on earth I had chosen this profession at all.

I went to teach for an 8th grade Humanities class. No problem, I thought. I had actually met all of these kids before during my student teaching, and so I was actually looking forward to seeing them again. I knew that there were a few students with whom I'd had issues with during my student teaching experience, but I figured, "hey, I've been doing this for a little bit now. I've tackled some tough classes. I can do this!"

Before I get into the gritty details of that day, I'm going to introduce a horse-riding metaphor. See, a long, long time ago, I rode horses. I was by no means a professional, and I never entered a show arena. But, I loved going to the barn, seeing my lovely Quarter Horse, Chex, and just going out for a trail ride. He was great, and I got really confident on him. So confident, in fact, that one day, a friend and I decided to ride our horses over a few jumps. I remember thinking that even though I had never ridden Chex over jumps before, it wouldn't be a big deal. I'd ridden for a few years, right? Everything would be fine. Right?

Absolutely not me. But in my head, we looked this good.

Okay. Back to the torturous teaching day. As soon as the class started, the tension started rising. It seems like one of the difficult students I had dealt with months before had not exactly let go of their grudges against me. In fact, they were holding onto that grudge like it had handles and a chocolate-filled center. This student is a bully, and didn't even let me get past taking attendance before starting to antagonize other students and getting them riled up. Even then, I thought I could handle it. I have this policy, called Earn or Owe, where I tell students that every second they take away from their learning or that of their classmates, they owe me after class. On the flip side, if the class as a whole behaves well and uses their time productively, they get free time after class. In every other class I've subbed in, it's worked like a charm. It also teaches the students that they are responsible for their learning, that they need to look out for their classmates, and work together to earn a reward. It's been pretty darn useful. That is, until that day.

Go back about 9 years. There I am, riding Chex. We've warmed up, and he's been great. Granted, he was blind in one eye, so that should have been a red flag, considering depth perception is important when leaping over a very McGuyvered (yeah, I turned it into a verb) jump. I remember nudging Chex forward, and ever so obediently, he began to move toward the fence. I quickly got him to start cantering, and the fence loomed in front of us. I was super confident that we'd clear it, no problem. Chalk it up to teenage stupidity, or cockiness, but I totally made myself forget that neither Chex or I had any experience with jumping whatsoever. As we got closer, Chex's ears perked up as he saw what was in front of him, and instead of jumping cleanly and elegantly over the jump, he spooked. Chex had never spooked before, and so my loose grip on the reins and relaxed seat in the saddle was not prepared for his sudden, very fast change in direction. Instead of going over, he went around, but being a horse, he neglected to tell me, and I found myself losing my stirrups and realizing, in that movie-ish slow motion way, that I was going to fall off. I scrambled for the saddle horn, and I managed to yank on the reins enough to slow him down, but I did end up just embarrassingly sliding off the saddle and into the dirt, with Chex looking at me like, "And when had you thought to tell me we were going to do that?"

And in that classroom in February, I felt myself slipping off the saddle again, if you will. I had confidently climbed onto this animal, it had spooked on me, and I was quickly losing my seat. This class of 8th graders managed to rack up three minutes in time they owed me. Each time I reminded them that their behavior was costing them time after class, 99% of the class would groan and try to get the 1% to shut up, but this particularly difficult student would just grin and say, "I don't care." It was the longest 56 minutes of my life. I ended up just stopping the lesson and having them work in relative silence, but this student would manage to utter things under his breath, and when called on it, would say, "I didn't do anything! You didn't even hear me! It was so and so!" And whoever he had blamed would then yell back indignantly, "No! I didn't say anything! It was you!" Followed quickly by, "Screw you! I'm going to kick your a** after school!"

I know, I know. I should have kicked him out. I should have come down on him. But, it's complicated. This student has been a sore subject between the teacher I worked with during my student teaching and I for a very long time. I think he's a bully that's been allowed to be a stinker (because this is a family-friendly blog, I'll say stinker) for far too long; she thinks that he just needs more love and tenderness. So, as I'm subbing in her class, I can only think that she'll never call me back if I get him into trouble. I had wanted to prove to her that I could actually teach, and I had let this class take the bit in their mouth and run away with me. I literally had been left with no reins because I so badly wanted to leave a good sub report. I felt powerless. And you know how they say that horses can tell when an inexperienced rider climbs on? Middle schoolers have that lovely sixth sense as well, and this student saw me coming a mile away. He knew that it wouldn't go well for me if I left a negative report about him.

So, as I slumped into my chair at the end of the day, I knew that I had to tell the truth. I sat down and wrote my only (so far) negative sub report. It mentioned this student by name, and all the things he had done. I mentioned not really wanting to come back if this is what I could expect from her class. And then I got into my car and cried.

I also let a few humiliated tears fall onto the dust that day way back when as I sat nursing my bruised ego and behind. I watched Chex, now grazing calmly, incident completely forgotten. I tried to be mad at him, but I knew that I was to blame for what had happened. I knew that I had rushed both of us into something we weren't ready for. And I knew that I had to get back on and try again.

I spent the entire weekend after that awful teaching day thinking about what I could have done better. I wanted to badly to blame the students, to blame it all on this one student, to say mean and horrible things to that student the next time I saw him (just because I'm a teacher doesn't mean I'm immune to negative feelings, trust me) and to just never, ever, go into that classroom again. My confidence as an educator had been badly shaken, and I wondered if I had what it took to be a good teacher, if I let one punk 8th grader get to me this much.

 And then the phone rang. It was my old mentor teacher. She apologized for his behavior, and then mentioned something about remembering how he just really "hurt those he really cares for," or something. Honestly, I wasn't paying particularly close attention, at least not until she said, "Would you be willing to come in on Monday?"

And suddenly, there I was again, sitting humiliated and frustrated in the dirt, knowing that I had to get back into that damn saddle and try again. I paused, and then heard myself saying, "Yes, I'm free on Monday."

The most similar thing about both of less than stellar experiences, one on a horse, and one in a classroom, was the sense of pride I felt after decided to tackle both of them after making mistakes. I did eventually get over that jump with Chex, and I did make it through Monday with that very same class. During both events, I remember my hands shaking as I faced the obstacles ahead of me. But the important thing was that I did it. I got back in the saddle, bruised, battered, and better for it. I got back into the ring, back out onto the pitcher's mound, whatever sport metaphor works best for you. I did it. In both instances, I won my confidence back, and it let me move forward.

I wish I could say that every teaching day since then has been a dream, but that hasn't been the case. Every day is a potential fence in the field that my students might not trust me to get them over. Sometimes they spook, and it's my job to lead them back and show them the way over. And that's really what teaching is. And there's really nothing I'd rather do. Although, it'd be nice to go for a trail ride or two.

Six Months of Marriage! Huzzah!

Goodness, I have really neglected this poor little blog. See, I told myself that I would allow myself to sit down and write a new post once these two things happened:

1. I recovered from my last cold. Unfortunately, as soon as I was over that one, another one happily moved into my respiratory system. My immune system will absolutely never forgive me for being a substitute teacher.

2. I worked out. Let me just say that doing cardio requires some sort of breathing ability, and because of reason #1, my lungs are failing miserably at anything more than walking around classrooms collecting more germs. Therefore, Zumba classmates have totally forgotten who I am, and my dumbbells are collecting an impressive amount of dust.

Since I've given up on trying to have any sort of life away from Dayquil, I decided to come here and write a celebratory six-month anniversary post! I know I'm a little late, but six months ago, we were on a plane to Hawaii, and I was on a lot of Xanax to get me there. I'm absolutely terrible on airplanes. I just don't see anything natural about being on a glorified rocket, and the fact that my seat is a flotation device for water 36,000 feet below me doesn't help at all. But, I digress. We made it to Maui, and it was totally amazing, and totally worth the paralyzing fear.

To celebrate our six month anniversary, we bought a car! Well, with the help of Evan's parents, whose generosity knows no bounds. We are totally in love with our 2009 Subaru Forester, and now I don't have to worry every time Evan leaves the house to go to work because he's not driving his relatively ancient pickup truck down I-5. Plus, I like driving it, too.

"I don't rattle down the road! Yay!"

We then got all spiffy-looking, and made our way in our new (to us, anyway) car to the Rhinelander, where we feasted on fondue and schnitzel. So. Good.

The best part of the celebration? Looking over at my husband over that steaming bowl of cheese, and feeling so wholly, wonderfully married. I finally feel like it's fallen into place, and I'm not being a total wife poser. I felt so blessed to be married to my best friend, and to know that we have so many adventures ahead of us in our journey together.

"We'll get the hang of calling each other 'husband' and 'wife,' right?"