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.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
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:
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.
Winner winner, chicken dinner! Literally. And best part is, there's leftovers for tomorrow!
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.
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| My ingredients posing beautifully before being subjected to my culinary skills. Or lack thereof. |
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| 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.
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| My mixture and too-small bowl. I ended up just standing the chicken breasts in the bowl and spooning the seasonings on it. |
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| 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.
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| Chicken in the oven, and the time left after my quick chicken dance to the culinary gods |
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| A hypochondriac's best friend. |
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| The final result! |
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| 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! |
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| Served with some pasta and a salad! |
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| Yay! Not another gooey Crock Pot meal! |
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| And, a reward for the cook, for a job well done! |
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
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.
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?
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.
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.
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| 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?
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| 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.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
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.
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.
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.
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| "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.
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| "We'll get the hang of calling each other 'husband' and 'wife,' right?" |
Monday, December 31, 2012
Looking Back on 2012
So, it is the last day of 2012, and following my annual tradition, I have a cold. Honestly, it's a tradition I would gladly do away with, but maybe it's the Universe's way of telling me to slow the heck down and take time to reflect on the past year.
2012 started with a tree falling on our house. No joke. It wasn't a big tree, and it really didn't do any real damage, but it certainly got our attention, and the rest of the year kept us on our toes until right about now. That dinky little tree must have been some sort of sign that 2012 was going to be testing us on quite a bit more than the strength of our roof.
Oh, and test us it did. In 2012, I found myself in the midst of attending graduate school, student teaching, quitting my job, and planning a wedding. To give you a small tidbit of what my mind was like during those months, there was a moment when I was looking frantically for my keys, and kept searching throughout the entire house, maniacally looking at the clock and freaking out about how late I was to some class. I kept yelling at everything, as if it was Newton's, Ampersand's, or Evan's fault that my keys had gone missing. As I was ranting, waving my hands around angrily and cursing my house for being a black hole that swallows keys, I realized that they were actually in my hand, and had probably been there for a while. Yep, that's how intact my mental faculties were for the majority of 2012. It's a miracle I didn't try to make floral arrangements with my 7th graders and teach Roman history to my bridal party.
2012 was tough on us in other ways, too. On September 3rd, one of my oldest and dearest friends passed away. His loss absolutely broke my heart, along with many others', and I honestly feel like the world has lost some of its light since his passing. It has been impossible to understand, but I find comfort in remembering him for the amazing person he was, and the impact he had on so many lives.
In remembering the harder moments of this past year, I can't help but feel so incredibly lucky to have such amazing family and friends that helped me through it all. I'm more than fairly certain I would have never made it to today in nearly as good of shape (they always downplayed how deep and dark my crazy deep/dark my under-eye circles were) without all of their support and love.
Even though there were difficult times this year, there were some amazing moments, too. For example (and I'm pretty sure you can all guess what I'm going to say) July 27th, 2012, was a phenomenal day. I honestly feel like I floated down the aisle (a miracle, considering I was wearing three-inch heels and walking on uneven grass) because I was totally lifted by the hope, love, and support all around us. On that day, I married my best friend, and we began a crazy, life-long adventure, which has already featured parasailing in Hawaii, hosting Thanksgiving without giving anyone food poisoning, cutting our very first married Christmas Tree (and consequently killing it because we forgot to make to cut the stump again, therefore it wouldn't absorb any water), nearly going bankrupt over a feline, surviving No Shave November with minimal razor burn, and learning the Canadian sport of Curling (a post for another day, trust me). Also, I got over my crippling fear of cooking, and embarked on making some edible meals (others, not so much. I'm working on it) more complicated than grilled cheese or Ramen noodles.
My Dayquil is wearing off, and so therefore, is my endurance for typing on my very old, crotchety laptop. I wish I had the strength to write about every amazing moment of 2012, because really, there were a lot. I wish I could go into so much more detail about Grey's Nights, Sushi Dates, and Baking Adventures. But all I will say is that they are all moments that I will carry with me through the end of 2012, into 2013, and for many, many years afterward.
And so I say goodbye to 2012, with a kiss and a slightly hacking cough, and say hello to 2013 with a smile and so much hope for all the memories to be made there.
2012 started with a tree falling on our house. No joke. It wasn't a big tree, and it really didn't do any real damage, but it certainly got our attention, and the rest of the year kept us on our toes until right about now. That dinky little tree must have been some sort of sign that 2012 was going to be testing us on quite a bit more than the strength of our roof.
Oh, and test us it did. In 2012, I found myself in the midst of attending graduate school, student teaching, quitting my job, and planning a wedding. To give you a small tidbit of what my mind was like during those months, there was a moment when I was looking frantically for my keys, and kept searching throughout the entire house, maniacally looking at the clock and freaking out about how late I was to some class. I kept yelling at everything, as if it was Newton's, Ampersand's, or Evan's fault that my keys had gone missing. As I was ranting, waving my hands around angrily and cursing my house for being a black hole that swallows keys, I realized that they were actually in my hand, and had probably been there for a while. Yep, that's how intact my mental faculties were for the majority of 2012. It's a miracle I didn't try to make floral arrangements with my 7th graders and teach Roman history to my bridal party.
2012 was tough on us in other ways, too. On September 3rd, one of my oldest and dearest friends passed away. His loss absolutely broke my heart, along with many others', and I honestly feel like the world has lost some of its light since his passing. It has been impossible to understand, but I find comfort in remembering him for the amazing person he was, and the impact he had on so many lives.
In remembering the harder moments of this past year, I can't help but feel so incredibly lucky to have such amazing family and friends that helped me through it all. I'm more than fairly certain I would have never made it to today in nearly as good of shape (they always downplayed how deep and dark my crazy deep/dark my under-eye circles were) without all of their support and love.
Even though there were difficult times this year, there were some amazing moments, too. For example (and I'm pretty sure you can all guess what I'm going to say) July 27th, 2012, was a phenomenal day. I honestly feel like I floated down the aisle (a miracle, considering I was wearing three-inch heels and walking on uneven grass) because I was totally lifted by the hope, love, and support all around us. On that day, I married my best friend, and we began a crazy, life-long adventure, which has already featured parasailing in Hawaii, hosting Thanksgiving without giving anyone food poisoning, cutting our very first married Christmas Tree (and consequently killing it because we forgot to make to cut the stump again, therefore it wouldn't absorb any water), nearly going bankrupt over a feline, surviving No Shave November with minimal razor burn, and learning the Canadian sport of Curling (a post for another day, trust me). Also, I got over my crippling fear of cooking, and embarked on making some edible meals (others, not so much. I'm working on it) more complicated than grilled cheese or Ramen noodles.
My Dayquil is wearing off, and so therefore, is my endurance for typing on my very old, crotchety laptop. I wish I had the strength to write about every amazing moment of 2012, because really, there were a lot. I wish I could go into so much more detail about Grey's Nights, Sushi Dates, and Baking Adventures. But all I will say is that they are all moments that I will carry with me through the end of 2012, into 2013, and for many, many years afterward.
And so I say goodbye to 2012, with a kiss and a slightly hacking cough, and say hello to 2013 with a smile and so much hope for all the memories to be made there.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Marriage Role Model Dream Team
You know, Evan and I are incredibly lucky in a lot of ways. For example, we both have jobs, we have health insurance, we don't have terribly bad morning breath, etc. But more and more, I'm starting to realize how lucky we are to have such incredible sets of parents who model to us, on a daily basis, what a good, healthy, and loving marriage looks like.
I mean, my parents just celebrated their 29th wedding anniversary on Sunday, and I still catch them staring dreamily into each other's eyes. And they flirt with each other. The still-fourteen year-old in me cringes to see that, but the newbie married part of me is just damn impressed. I love how much they love each other.
And Evan's parents are about to celebrate their 36th wedding anniversary, and they're at a point where they can more or less communicate wordlessly and without having to be in the same room. No, really. My father-in-law will suddenly look up from his paper, a question on his face, and before he even utters a word, my mother-in-law will say, "Yes, we do," and both then continue what they were doing previously as I sit gaping and astounded.
Both relationships are amazing, and totally inspiring to me, who regularly feels like I'm a total marriage poser just playing at this whole "adulthood," thing. This married dynamic definitely takes some getting used to, and when it's not as buttery smooth as I'd like it to be, I just look to my parent's and in-laws' and see what Evan and I could be like someday. They constantly show us how far a little work and a lot of love (oy, how cheesy can I get today?) can take a relationship, and it is such a motivator. Especially because we're still trying to get a decent laundry schedule down ("But I thought you were going to fold the clothes?" "Wait, is this basket clean stuff or dirty stuff?" "Not sure, should we just wash everything?" are common phrases thrown about the Tyler household) and our parents all run along like a well-oiled machine. At least, they make it seem like one; they always seem to have clean laundry. Along with their mastery of laundry coordination, they also raised us. There are days when I'm so overwhelmed in folding socks, chasing crazy cats, and burning dinner that even the tiniest thought of adding children to the mix makes me feel faint. And here our parents pulled it off, no problem. Amazing, I tell you.
I honestly get all twitterpated when I think of Evan and I's relationship, and where it will be in 29, 36, or 50 years, especially when I know we'll be following in such amazing footsteps.
I mean, my parents just celebrated their 29th wedding anniversary on Sunday, and I still catch them staring dreamily into each other's eyes. And they flirt with each other. The still-fourteen year-old in me cringes to see that, but the newbie married part of me is just damn impressed. I love how much they love each other.
And Evan's parents are about to celebrate their 36th wedding anniversary, and they're at a point where they can more or less communicate wordlessly and without having to be in the same room. No, really. My father-in-law will suddenly look up from his paper, a question on his face, and before he even utters a word, my mother-in-law will say, "Yes, we do," and both then continue what they were doing previously as I sit gaping and astounded.
Both relationships are amazing, and totally inspiring to me, who regularly feels like I'm a total marriage poser just playing at this whole "adulthood," thing. This married dynamic definitely takes some getting used to, and when it's not as buttery smooth as I'd like it to be, I just look to my parent's and in-laws' and see what Evan and I could be like someday. They constantly show us how far a little work and a lot of love (oy, how cheesy can I get today?) can take a relationship, and it is such a motivator. Especially because we're still trying to get a decent laundry schedule down ("But I thought you were going to fold the clothes?" "Wait, is this basket clean stuff or dirty stuff?" "Not sure, should we just wash everything?" are common phrases thrown about the Tyler household) and our parents all run along like a well-oiled machine. At least, they make it seem like one; they always seem to have clean laundry. Along with their mastery of laundry coordination, they also raised us. There are days when I'm so overwhelmed in folding socks, chasing crazy cats, and burning dinner that even the tiniest thought of adding children to the mix makes me feel faint. And here our parents pulled it off, no problem. Amazing, I tell you.
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| My parents on their wedding day. Check out all the love in this picture! And check out all the tiers on their cake! |
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| The Marriage Role Model Dream Team. Plus Allen and Molly. |
Here's to you, Mama and Papo, Marybeth and Warren. Happy Anniversaries to the best Marriage Role Model Dream Team we could have ever asked for. We are so very lucky, and we love you all so much!
Christmas Tree Hunting
Between my bouts of work, grad school, and life, I shall be moonlighting as a blogger here. My wife's writing tends to put mine to shame, but I shall do my best.
We made for Ryzn Creek Farm, located just a few scenic miles north of North Plains. After a great tip from our good friend, Travis, three years ago, we have visited Ryzn Creek Farm for all our indoor arboreal needs. After an arduous hunt (ten minutes), we made our selection.
I set to work violently hacking the poor thing down, smiling maniacally as I worked.
No sooner was the tree on the ground, when three Girl Scouts appeared, offering to help us carry our prize back to the parking lot. I thought we had hit the jackpot this year, when the leader of the pack quipped, "Who's carrying the front?" I obediently grabbed the front of the tree and we began our march. Her only words of encouragement were, "Tell me if there any stumps!" German and Ana were saved from the bossy Girl Scouts, as they opted for the tree closest to the parking lot. The owner even offered to cut it down for them with his chainsaw.
Back at the in-law's house, we were treated to a delicious dinner of tamales, beans, and salsa. After dinner, we completed another annual tradition, the viewing of Love Actually.
The next day we were able to bring the tree inside and hang our decorations on it, thus providing our cats with two feline holiday treats: tree-flavored water and a large number of forbidden, shiny, and dangling objects to play with. Newton provided supervision the entire time, and kept trying to lend a paw in hanging the ornaments. Ampersand was nowhere to be seen during this process, as she was sure that the tree was sure to be her doom. Nonetheless, she was hiding under the tree and partaking of Grand Fir Pale Ale later that evening.
With our tree now decorated, the Christmas season is here in full force. Eight days and counting!
Evan out.
The Christmas season is upon us, and that means it is open season on all evergreen trees between five and nine feet tall. Just over a week ago we bundled ourselves up, obtained some coffee, met up with my lovely in-laws, and headed out to secure ourselves a beautiful tree.
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| We were taking old-timey pictures - German and Ana's came out way better than my attempt. |
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| I don't look old-timey at all, I just look like I dropped my ice cream cone. |
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| So many trees to choose from! |
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| Next year I am bringing a plastic bag to kneel on. |
Back at the in-law's house, we were treated to a delicious dinner of tamales, beans, and salsa. After dinner, we completed another annual tradition, the viewing of Love Actually.
The next day we were able to bring the tree inside and hang our decorations on it, thus providing our cats with two feline holiday treats: tree-flavored water and a large number of forbidden, shiny, and dangling objects to play with. Newton provided supervision the entire time, and kept trying to lend a paw in hanging the ornaments. Ampersand was nowhere to be seen during this process, as she was sure that the tree was sure to be her doom. Nonetheless, she was hiding under the tree and partaking of Grand Fir Pale Ale later that evening.
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| "You're doing it wrong," his look seemed to say. |
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| All done! |
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| Newest ornament addition this year - "Mr. & Mrs." |
Evan out.
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