Camp NaNoWriMo

If you haven't ever heard of it, National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo) takes place each November. Aspiring novelists all over the world embark on an epic quest to pen 50,000 words in 30 days. Camp NaNoWriMo is a less formal version that takes place during the summer, this year in July. I am excited to participate!

I have done NaNoWriMo as well as the Camp version many times in the past. (Every year from 2006-2013!) In fact, portions of both my published novels were composed as NaNo projects. I love the motivation and support that NaNoWriMo provides. There's an incredible energy to it.

The past couple of years I have skipped NaNoWriMo, because I had a couple of babies. :P Seriously, though, I never imagined, before having kids, how much it would affect my writing.

A) Raising little boys takes up a lot of time and energy. During my formerly-most productive times of day, I now either have little boys to care for, or I'm exhausted from caring for said kidlets.
B) Post-partum depression seriously affects my creative energy.

I read an article a few months ago by an author who declared that sometimes mom-writers mistake writer's block for what is really PPD. This article was a real turning point for me. Previously, I have felt really guilty and/or frustrated with myself when I have struggled to work on my books. I mean, writing novels is supposed to be fun, right? But while battling depression, doing anything creative feels a lot like pulling teeth.

It's hard because I know a number of people have been waiting for mine and Sam's third book for a long time. I get asked periodically when the trilogy will be completed. It's hard to admit to my readers, whom I want so desperately to please, that I simply haven't written anything in months. That I haven't wanted to write. That I haven't really been able to write.

Happily, the fog of depression is beginning to lift. This happened about a year after Joel was born, so I'm excited to been feeling a bit more like myself only 8 months after Xander's birth. I still struggle some days, but I actually feel like I can commit to Camp NaNoWriMo this time around.

Camp begins on July 1st. My goal is to write 30,000 words. Or more! Since I have already 33k written in Buk Tri ("book three" of our Seventh Empire series), this should put me around one-third complete, if the third book is similar in length to the other two. And hopefully it will get me back into the habit of writing consistently, so that we can get this thing done! Wish me luck!

#SAHM

I am embarking on a journey. I don't quite know where it will lead, but I am hoping that it will be helpful and healing.

A few months ago, my friend Tierra started posting a photo a day with the hashtag #sahm. (Stay at home mom.) For the first little while, I found her photos fun; another cute picture of her son, or whatever. But about a month in, she posted this explanation of why she was posting everyday. It helped her fight with depression.

The photos took on a lot more meaning. I really love seeing them. They're not always happy. But they are honest. I love her candid descriptions of how some days just suck. Her posts have been really resonating with me.



Depression bears a lot of stigma. Perhaps less than it once did. And people so often don't know how to respond, even when they are trying to be helpful. It's been hard for me to talk about with anyone.

This past summer, I was diagnosed with perinatal depression. To be honest, I think I have been dealing with depression since I was a teenager, but pregnancy and postpartum make it much, much worse.

Up until we moved to North Carolina, I worked part time, teaching taekwondo. On bad days, it was hard to summon the energy and enthusiasm to teach class. But really, I think taekwondo helped stave off the depression somewhat. A) physical exercise B) social outlet + adult conversation C) time away from my baby.

Since we moved, I have become a full-time SAHM. And I have never felt so isolated in my life. James is wonderful, but he is only one person. He cannot fill the void of my family, friends, students and peers. And he is in law school. It's a bit time-intensive. (Plus, we don't have our wonderful parents and siblings close by, willing to babysit. I can count on my hand how many baby-free dates we've had since moving.)

This leaves me alone with our little children much of the time. Please don't misunderstand me. I love my children dearly, and I am grateful that I am able to be at home with them. I want to be a stay-at-home mom. Most days, I feel good and enjoy my babies. But some days, I feel lonely/sad/angry/anxious/exhausted/guilty/overwhelmed/self-loathing/impatient/worried/weepy/indifferent/destructive/panicked/numb/isolated/isolated/isolated/isolated/isolated.

Facebook is my primary means of staying connected with friends. But Facebook has been hard for me lately. I believe in being genuine. I never post happy things if I'm not happy. Sometimes that means I simply don't post for long stretches of time (for me) because I can't find anything happy to post about. But that's not really being genuine either--and that's how I have arrived here.

I need to communicate my reality. So, I intend to post every day with the hashtag #sahm. These posts may or may not be "happy" but they will be real. I don't know yet if it will help me. But I feel strongly that communicating is better than staying silent. If my posts bother you, feel free to unfollow me.

Please, above all else, please do not post suggestions on how better to manage my depression. Recommending "solutions" is hurtful, and sometimes offensive. I am working with my care providers to manage my disorder. From you, I simply need understanding and encouragement. For that, I would be very grateful.

Adventures in Motherhood: Eating out with my son

Joel is an active little boy. Unless he is unconscious, he is constantly exploring, babbling, and getting into things. While this sometimes can be exhausting, for the most part, it is a trait that I adore.

Over the past couple of weeks, I've had what I would call an adventure in motherhood. Another way to phrase it might be "experiences you didn't know you'd be having until you became a parent."

Last week, James and I went to Oteo in Lindon for dinner. It's a little family-owned Mexican place right next to our taekwondo studio; we've eaten there once before, and both times, I've been impressed by the unique qualities of their food. It's a pretty small place, probably a dozen or so tables all told, and fairly quiet.

James and I got seated, and Joel settled in a high chair. Needless to say, Joel is not really a quiet diner. He babbles, and his current form of asking for more food is to shriek. (We sometimes refer to him as "Veloci-baby.") He enjoyed sharing my empanada, even the peppers!

Still, I could not help but notice the looks garnered by our vocal baby. There was a woman seated behind James (so, directly in front of me) that craned her neck around a couple of times to glance at Joel. Kitty-corner from them, there was a young couple that outright stared at Joel multiple times, and "whispered" behind their hands afterward--loud enough that I could catch at least a few of the words, including "baby" and something that sounded a lot like "I would never."

Yesterday, James and I went out to lunch for Valentine's Day to our new favorite sushi place, Sakura in Orem. I have been sick, so this was about all we did to celebrate Valentine's Day. Again, we had Joel. (Actually, I'd been looking forward to letting him try sushi...he wasn't a fan!) And, of course, he was his usual self. While the reaction wasn't as bad as when we were at Oteo's, he still got a number of sideways glances and clearly some comments from the couple across the way.

I'll admit, I was embarrassed, both times. I would hate to sour anyone else's dining experiences, especially if, as it was for us yesterday, they were celebrating a special occasion.

That said, I was also a little upset to be at the brunt end of such rudeness, especially at Oteo. James and I love to eat out; it's one of our favorite ways to spend date night. We love to enjoy different foods, different atmospheres, and each other's company and conversation. Even if we ate out less (and we don't eat out an unreasonable amount as it is), I still don't think it would be reasonable to ask us to leave our son behind every time. We simply cannot afford, in either money or favors, to get a babysitter every time we want to go out.

If your suggestion would be, "just don't eat out," I have one thing to say to you: Get. Real. I am not going to spend the next X years stuck inside because I am a parent. Besides, adults can be just as obnoxious as kids. Have you ever met my brother? He's louder than any 10 babies. (Love you, Kyle!) 

Babies are not like adults. They don't have social skills yet. Joel doesn't understand that he shouldn't shriek or throw food on the ground, much as we try to prevent him doing so. I may know that he is annoying you, but that won't stop him from doing his thing. Giving me the stinkeye and whispering behind your hand about how you would never be "that parent" does nothing except sour the experience for me AND for you.

So, for future reference, if you're at a restaurant and there's a shrieking baby, how about instead of acting annoyed, you instead give those parents an encouraging smile, letting them know, "you got this!" You'll probably feel better about the experience than you would otherwise, and I know that I, as the parent, certainly would as well.

Frozen Pipe Adventure

Tuesday morning of last week, we woke to discover our pipes had frozen overnight. We spent most of the day trying, and failing, to sort things out on our own. When things still had not improved, my mother advised giving a call to her home teacher, Brother Steve Anderson, who is A) highly skilled and B) awesome.

Brother Anderson came over in the early evening to take a look. He was hoping he could get the water flowing himself. He and James went out to where our water main comes up into the front yard. By that time, it was dark, and bitterly cold. But they stayed out there, trying to manually heat up the pipe with a blowtorch. Still nothing.

At that point, Brother Anderson got in touch with a contact of his, who gave us some things to try, including stuffing a space heater into the hole in our front yard and letting it run overnight, in the hopes of warming the pipe enough to let water flow.

When Wednesday morning came and we still had no water, we ended up following the last resort recommendation of Steve and his friend, which was to hire a crew to come and attempt to thaw out our front yard and thereby, the frozen pipe. They weren't able to come until Wednesday afternoon. Needless to say, we were very grateful to my mother, who allowed us to shower at her house as well as use her kitchen to prepare food for our New Year's Eve party that night!

The crew arrived around 1:30pm and got set up. Basically they cleared the snow, laid heating coils across the lawn above the pipe, then spread insulating blankets over the top of it all. They left, and told us to call when we had water.

We were due at our friends' house at 4 for the start of the party. But at about 3:30pm, we heard a strange noise. In a panic, James found water flooding into the crawl space in our basement, and also some water spurting out from a panel behind our front door. Fortunately, James was able to quickly shut off the water. We pried off the panel, and found the leak, where a pipe had burst.

James called Brother Anderson, who said he would come an hour later. James insisted that I go to the party as planned, and he would meet me there once the pipe was taken care of. A couple of hours later, he arrived triumphant. Apparently the pipe had not been at all insulated, despite being separated from the outdoors only by the outer wall of the house. It is only a wonder that the pipes had not frozen before now!

Brother Anderson, amazing as he is, took care of the busted pipe, and advised James on how to finish the task, come spring. Water was restored!

...until the next morning, when we found it frozen over again. Boo! Fortunately, with the use of a space heater and an electric blanket, James had it thawed out again in about half an hour. Which was about when we discovered that the water from the crawl space had seeped out, soaking the carpets in our office closet and the corner of our family room. ARGH.

My scrapbooking supplies were the main casualties. I was in tears, but it certainly could have been much worse. In fact, of equal distress to me was the smell that soon permeated our basement--apparently the closet and/or the crawl space were home to a cat of our house's previous owner, because old cat urine spread with the flood. So gross. And then, when James tried to clean up the nastiness, it got onto his hands and resulted in ammonia burns.

Needless to say, it has been quite the week. Fortunately, we've got the carpets dry, clean and most of the odor is gone. Hopefully we will not suffer any lasting damage from this adventure. We are so grateful for Brother Anderson, for my parents, and for our Father in Heaven, who answers prayers!!

My Adoption Story

November is National Adoption Month. Across the country, conversations and events are taking place to celebrate members of the adoption triad: birth parents, adoptive parents, and adopted children. Many also take the opportunity to educate and promote awareness.

An acquaintance of mine, adoptive mother Lindsey Redfern, posted yesterday on her blog to mark the start of National Adoption Month. Her blog post was entitled and themed, "Be Courageous" in regards to adoption. I was profoundly moved by her challenge.

Many of you know that I am adopted. I am very blessed to have a relationship with my birth father and his family.

What many of you might not know--and which takes all of my courage to post here--is that I am also a birth mother.

I will share that story below. But first I feel I need to explain why I am posting today. Being a birth mother is not something that I have been "public" about up to this point. It is not something that I am ashamed of; it is, in fact, a very special and tender part of my personal history. But I have had reasons, up to this point, to keep this part of my story a little more reserved.

Part of my hesitation has been that I work with children and teens. Being an example and a mentor is very much part of my job, and I am very passionate about being a good role model.

Part of it has been this sense of disassociation that has been growing over the past couple of years. The more time that passes, the less and less it seems real. Honestly, sometimes it feels like someone else's story. It only rarely feels relevant to my life now.

And part of my silence, I'll admit, has been fear. I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (aka Mormons) and we commit to living the law of chastity, which is that we will have no sexual relations with anyone but our spouse. My fear of the judgment of others has stayed my tongue on many occasions. That, and the world in general is not always kind to birth parents. It has been easier at times to say nothing.

Be courageous, Lindsey wrote. Yes, I thought upon reading. It is time to share my story.

***

I was 18, and in my first year of college. I had been trained by my Mormon upbringing to seek a husband, basically as soon as possible. I dated a lot, and in my second semester I started going steady with a guy who lived the next floor down. Things got serious quickly. We were young, I was very naive, and as I indicated, I was absurdly eager to get married. I thought he was "the one." Things escalated, and I didn't know how to slow them down again.

One night. A few minutes, really. It wasn't very pleasant. And the results were devastating.

That one lapse of judgment and self-control wrought havoc upon my soul for months and years to follow. I immediately felt the departure of the Holy Ghost. I felt dirty...spoiled...used. Part of that is how I was taught to view extramarital sex, young as I was, and part of it was an honest spiritual response to my situation.

But the greater strain came two months later when I discovered that I was pregnant. I couldn't believe it. Those few minutes--he described it as "not even a full round"--changed the course of my life.

My first instinct was to marry as quickly as possible. But shortly after I disclosed my pregnancy, my boyfriend dumped me. He claimed that he'd been planning to do so for awhile. I don't know whether that was true or not. I simply knew that I was single, heartbroken, and facing an unplanned pregnancy alone.

Abortion was never an option. When I considered single parenting, I quickly realized that I was not very well equipped to raise a child, and more importantly, that I wanted him to have a mother AND a father. Honestly, I think that being adopted myself swayed me toward choosing adoption for my baby. My parents are amazing and wonderful, and I have never doubted their love for me. When I was candid with myself, I saw that I simply could not provide for this baby the kind of life that I wanted any child of mine to have. I wasn't ready.

I was introduced to Jen & Joe through mutual friends, and quickly bonded with them. Figuring everything out was complicated (a story for another time, perhaps) but by Christmas time that year, we had settled that I would place my baby with them.

My pregnancy was an average one, physically, but on an emotional and spiritual level, it was torture. I felt like I had no support (even though I did, in fact, have many people who loved and cared about me, though I suspect they were sometimes uncertain how to handle my situation). I tried not to get too attached to the "little monkey" growing inside of me, but that was impossible. As my due date approached, I was both eager and terrified. Eager to be done with the discomforts of pregnancy, eager to be done with my spiritual probation, eager to be done with the disparaging looks in my singles ward, eager to move forward with my life. Terrified of parting with this little person I hadn't ever met, but whom I already loved so intensely.

I went into labor on my due date. Once I was sure it was happening, I called my parents and Jen & Joe, who all headed down to Cedar City, where I was in school. We spent the evening together playing board games at their hotel, until the wee hours of the morning, when I decided it was time to go to the hospital. My mom and Jen were with me in the delivery room. On the morning of February 20th, little Ian was born.

He was beautiful. I treasured every moment that I had with him. Friends came to visit us in the hospital throughout the day, but I spent most of my time just cradling the baby. The next day, after we were released, my parents took us back to their home in Orem, where I spent time with Ian. I am so glad that I took those three days. I know that many people (on my side and Jen & Joe's) were concerned that I wouldn't go through with it. But I needed that time.

On the 23rd, Jen & Joe came to my parents' home, along with our caseworkers. We exchanged gifts. Then we signed all the paperwork. I did it as quickly as I could. My heart was pounding the entire time. I changed his diaper one last time, and then I placed him in his mother's arms and said "see you later."

It was the hardest thing I have ever done. I hope that it is the hardest thing I ever have to do, because it nearly broke me. I loved that baby so much while I carried him under my heart, and it only intensified once I held him in my arms. Knowing that I would not get to parent him, that I would not get to share in his life as his mother, broke my heart.

And yet, time has brought healing. Ian is now a happy and incredibly bright third grader, with two little brothers and so many people who love him. It was hard for me, for awhile. I ached for a long time. But I did move forward with my life. I finally was able to find spiritual healing. I finished college with honors. I have a career that I love. And though it took me longer than I ever thought it would back then, I got married to a man who loves and cherishes me more than I ever could have hoped for. My life is wonderful, and I have been so blessed.

I have never once regretted my decision to place Ian for adoption. I know, without a doubt, that it was the right thing for him, and the right thing for me. He has a loving family, with a mother AND a father, and all the things that I wasn't able to provide for at the time. And now I have my loving husband, and--at long last--a baby that I AM prepared to raise. I am lucky enough to have an open adoption with Ian and his family, so the love just continues and grows!

Weekend play

We've had a couple of eventful weekends! Last weekend, we had plans to go camping with Patrick & Shaylee (James's brother and his wife). It turned out to be something of a catastrophe! First of all, we weren't able to get a campsite. There was a snafu with trying to reserve one, and by the time we all got off work, all the first-come-first-served sites were taken. So, we ended up camping in our backyard: "Camp Holley."

As we were getting set up, however, James and Patrick discovered that their tent (borrowed from Shaylee's parents) was broken. Guh. Fortunately I was able to zip over to my parents house and borrow one of their tents. Meanwhile, Shaylee was working on dinner, which unfortunately was taking forever--we discovered that the fuel on my campstove was running low, which was why things weren't cooking. However, it was getting pretty late by the time we got it all figured out--about the time that the boys finally finished putting up the tent, after a couple of tries. So, it was about 10pm by the time we ate!

Shaylee had made homemade fries to go with the burgers that James and I made. When she finished with the fries, we needed the campstove, but her pan of grease/oil was still hot. So she laid the pan down on the patio to cool while we continued making dinner, intending to dispose of the grease once it was cool. But after dinner, we went straight into our campfire--the one truly pleasant part of the evening. We roasted s'mores and Starbursts and watched birds (we think) flying back and forth in front of the stars.

James and I had already settled down in our tent when we heard Patrick and Shaylee rustling about for awhile--dealing with their belongings, I thought at the time. But the reality was a sad state indeed. It turns out that Shadow had consumed most of the pan of grease, and proceeded to vomit several times in the house, as well as in Patrick and Shaylee's tent. They hadn't noticed when they first went in and it got everywhere. It was awful, James and I were so embarrassed. After they got cleaned up, we got them settled in our guest bedroom for the night.

Needless to say, our "camping trip" did not turn out at all as planned. The next morning, we dropped the pretense of camping, and determined to just enjoy the rest of our time together. We had breakfast, played games, and hung out most of the afternoon, which was a much more pleasant experience than the evening's adventures!

Sunday evening, we had decided to make our first attempt at Chicken Bryan, our favorite dish from Carrabba's. We get the same thing every time we go. So we decided to try to make it ourselves! (And so maybe we can try other things when we go next time.) It turned into a very special evening for us. We got all dressed up. We ate from our wedding china and silver, with candlelight. And to our delight, our chicken bryan was delicious!

This past weekend started off with a trip to the Call's new house. A few days ago, I posted a plea on Facebook--James and I have wanted to go swimming all summer, but it just hasn't happened. We finally made some time, but lo and behold, it turns out that the pools have limited their hours because school's in session, and we wouldn't be able to go. Fortunately, we have awesome friends! The Calls were very kind and invited us to their house to swim. Their pool is warm enough that Joel got to give it a try! He was not a fan of the life jacket, as you can see, but once we took it off and just held him in the water, he enjoyed splashing for a few minutes.

After classes on Friday, we got to visit with our friends the Estradas. It's been AGES since we've all hung out, since before Joel was born, in fact. We had a blast playing games and whatnot. But one of the best parts of the evenings was watching our babies interact! Savannah is 2 1/2 months older than Joel (though he's bigger!) and just on the verge of crawling. They were so cute together!

Saturday was a day that James and I have been eagerly anticipating. We had tickets to the national tour of WICKED, playing up in Salt Lake. We were so excited to see it! Of course, there was some nervousness attached--we had a babysitter (non-family) for the first time. I was a little anxious about it, but everything turned out great. The show was amazing, and we came home to a happy baby.

It's just nice sometimes to have a great weekend. =) That's all!

What not to say to the 9-months-pregnant-lady

Baby J is due on Tuesday, and my sanity is stretched to its limits! In an effort to help you help me, here is a list of questions that might be better avoided than asked if you and I happen to chat before the baby comes. I have indeed been asked each of these questions sometime in the past month, and the responses that follow are often what goes through my mind when it happens. Fortunately, most of those thoughts have stayed in my head...so far.


"You look like you're about to pop!"

Yes, I'm humongous. Thanks for pointing it out. You're only the fifth person so far this morning. My self esteem really needed that reminder. I feel like I should be developing a complex, except that I'm just too exhausted to get around to it.

"Are you sure you're not having twins?"

See above.

"Looks like it's going to be a big baby!"

See above.

(On that note...in black belt class this week, my master instructor had everybody guess how much they think our baby will weigh. I have to account for the fact that most of my classmates were teenage or prepubescent boys, but still. Not a fun game for me. Apparently they all think the baby is going to be humongous. Which leads me back to my statement above.)

"Sleep while you can!"

The worst is when this comes from experienced mothers. Have you forgotten what it felt like to be nine months pregnant? Sleeping is a joke. I'm up every hour to pee, my back hurts, my hips hurt, I can't breathe because my nose has been stuffed up for the last six months, I get too hot, I get too cold, my limbs get pins and needles, the baby kicks me so hard that he scares the crap out of me, and sometimes I just can't sleep for no apparent reason at all. I understand that living with a newborn has it challenges. But I'm more than ready to swap pregnancy-induced insomnia for the new baby variety.

"You're giving birth where/how/without x?!"

I'll be sharing more of my thoughts on birth after Baby J's arrival. Needless to say, though, I've had countless birth stories shared with me at this point, and my determination is that people make of their births what they will. Someone's C-section might be the perfect experience, while to someone else it sounds like a nightmare. Etc. My question is--you think by now I haven't done my research and made these decisions already?

"Your recovery is going to be so ________!" 

I've been getting this a lot lately, and it's driving me batty. How on earth do you know what my recovery is going to be like? There are so many factors involved! Physically, emotionally, not to mention the x-factor of a brand new baby, whom neither you nor I know anything about. Maybe my physical recovery will be quick (which I've had predicted quite a bit) but what if I struggle with postpartum depression? That's not something I'm likely to share with many people, but if I'm struggling mentally, it's definitely going to affect what I'm up to, physically. Please don't set up expectations for me that I may or may not be able to meet.

"Are you in labor yet?"

Seriously, the last couple of days I've been asked this at least a dozen times, and each time I hear it, I get closer to punching someone in the face. There is nothing that I want more right now than to have my baby. Thanks for reminding me that nothing's happening yet.

"Have you popped that baby out yet?"

Similar in effect to the previous question, but I'd add one in return--"If I had already had the baby, do you really think I wouldn't have told you already?" (This is for people who ask me over the phone. For someone who sees me in person, I want to say, "Yep, I left him at home and stuffed a basketball under my shirt so I could still look super pregnant, just for fun!" Maybe with a manic grin on my face.) I assure you, when Baby J comes, the world will know!

Staying Busy

Patience has never been one of my strongest attributes, and it's being particularly challenged right now. I told James the other day that the closer I get to the end of my pregnancy, the slower time seems to be flowing. I was having a particularly hard day when I posted this:

At a prenatal appointment the other day, my midwife and I were discussing my upcoming labor. Her suggestions for dealing with early labor were a combination of rest and keeping busy. She encouraged me to make a list of things that never get done around the house that I could do during labor--"Make the list extensive," she said, saying to include things like washing the baseboards.

I realized that this was the answer not only to my labor, but to the next couple of weeks altogether.

I've started keeping a list of things I want to accomplish, large and small. And in my spare time, I turn to the list and pick something. So far today, for instance, James and I reinstalled the back seats into my newly-repaired car (we'd taken them out for our trip to Colorado) and then installed the base of Baby J's carseat. I then went shopping, to find a scrapbook for baby things (I'm tired of having my fridge cluttered with ultrasound pictures, baby shower cards, etc.) which will also mean an ongoing project for the evenings. Then I went to Lowe's to pick up some garden tools, so I can start working in the yard. (Mostly clean up. The amount of leaves that got trapped in our yard over the winter is somewhat ludicrous.)

The list goes on. I feel so much more optimistic about making it through the next couple of weeks armed with so many to-do's. It helps me stay focused on other things besides the overhanging questions of when the baby is going to come!

I hate buying new bras

I hate buying new bras. The entire experience from start to finish is horrendous, and it gives me honest-to-goodness anxiety.

First of all, you have to go through the sizing nightmare, which is usually depressing. ("I'm a size what?") If you do the sizing yourself, you probably give yourself a headache trying to get the measurements right (bra sizing systems are bizarre to me). If you have someone professionally size you, at least you know you're getting the correct size, but you also have to face the embarrassment/discomfort of having someone else size your breasts. Even if you have the most professional helper in the world (ie someone who doesn't make you feel judged for being whatever size you are, and/or someone who doesn't make you feel like you're being accidentally or purposefully groped in the process) you still are having a stranger loop a measuring tape around the girls and call out just how small or large they are. Maybe there are women who don't have any qualms about this, but I am not one of them.

Then, once you've determined what size you are supposed to be wearing, you have to go through and try things on. Usually, trying on bras makes me feel like an alien in my own skin. This may not be as nightmarish for women with smaller breasts, but for me, every bra fits differently, and in this case, "different" is not fresh and wonderful. Feeling my boobs go up higher, down lower, in more, out more, flatter, perkier, smooshed closer together or held farther apart...well, it makes me crazy. After a few bras, I no longer have any idea what my boobs are supposed to feel like, and everything feels wrong. Because my bra-shopping trips usually come under the dire straits of I-NEED-A-NEW-BRA-SO-BAD-THAT-UNDER-NO-CONDITIONS-CAN-I-GO-HOME-WITHOUT-ONE, I eventually settle on whichever bra feels the least weird, and make my reluctant purchase.

Of course, the worst part (in my opinion) is taking a new bra home. Because then you put it on, and almost immediately regret having purchased the thing, because your boobs feel all wrong. You wiggle, you adjust the straps, you shift the girls around, you put a shirt on, take it back off and do it all over again in the hopes of making it feel right. But it doesn't feel right. It doesn't fit like the old bra did, and even though you know (you hope) that this new bra is better (because you wouldn't have bought the new bra unless you really, really needed it) you just don't feel right. That's usually when I break down in tears, because I just spent all this money on a bra that clearly makes me look like an alien (even though it doesn't).

I've been wearing the same style of bra, up or down in size, for the past 7 or 8 years. And I would have contentedly gone on buying the same bra for the foreseeable future, except that then came a baby, and the same old bra won't work--first of all, because I've gotten larger, but second, because breastfeeding is in my future. And so I faced the bra shopping nightmare, accompanied by my sweet husband, who made it slightly more bearable, though I did end up in tears shortly after arriving home. I suppose that such is the life of the female, but I don't think I will ever stop hating this particular necessity.

Our little family is growing again!

I have been eager dying to announce to the world that we are expecting. Although, to be honest, I think my mother has been faring even worse than I have. She cannot wait to be a grandma, and I think she's been waiting with baited breath until she could shout it from the rooftops--which she started doing about three minutes after I posted the news on Facebook.

My 12-week appointment was this morning, which was our predetermined "announcement day" so long as everything was well. Baby Holley is growing and has a healthy heartbeat, which was fun to hear. Actually, at my 8-week appointment, the midwife used a handheld ultrasound machine, so we got to see the baby--or rather, the bean-shaped thing with a heartbeat that they told us was our baby. But we weren't complaining!

The baby is due on April 8th, which seems like a lovely time of year to have a baby. I suppose any time of year is nice to have a baby. Or maybe it's just nice to have a baby, regardless of what time of year?

And to answer your question, dear reader, yes I have been sick, though I have tried to keep up my normal routine as much as possible. I have also been reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally tired. Imagine me, who has always been a complete night owl, going to bed at 10:30 every night, because I literally can't function any more. I try to snag naps when I can. The nausea has certainly been the worst part. I haven't actually been throwing up a whole lot (except for that time on our cruise when I lost it on a street corner in Puerto Rico...) but feeling so sick really takes it out of me. But I'm very, very, very hopeful that here moving into the second trimester, that part will fade. Cross your fingers for me!

Anyway, James and I are both incredibly excited. You should see his face light up when he talks about becoming a daddy. It just melts my heart. And I, of course, am overjoyed to become a mommy (at last!) We're excited for what the future has in store for our family!


PS: To our Taekwondo friends--
A few have already expressed concern over whether I will continue teaching after the baby is born. And I'm here to assure you that yes, I intend to continue teaching. That said, I can't plan for the future indefinitely. James and I are committed to Black Belt Testing in January 2015.  I will for sure continue teaching until that time. After that is more of a grey area. I love Taekwondo, and I love teaching at the studio with all my heart. It's a little hard for me to imagine life without it. However, my family will always be my first priority. So for now, I'm leaving our post-Black Belt Testing plans undetermined.

Nationals Recap

Last week James and I went to Chicago for the USA Taekwondo National Championships. The two of us left Monday afternoon and drove straight through--a trip which ended up lasting about 26 hours, due to the awesome traffic in downtown Chicago. Of course, upon arriving we had time for a quick shower before jumping right back into the car to get me to a referee meeting that night at McCormick Place. Needless to say, we were pretty sick of being in the car by the time we finally got to bed that night!

Thursday, July 3rd was the first day of competition. Of our team of 8 (not counting coaches and parents), only Lexi competed that day, in board breaking. I spent the day refereeing, one of my most favorite pursuits. Although I did not get to spend much time in the center, I still learned a lot and met some great people.

On the Fourth of July, I got to be solely an athlete. We had a couple of competitors that day - Cade competed in board breaking and weapons, and Lexi in sparring. We had planned to go out to the Navy Pier that night for fireworks, but never had the chance. The Demonstration Team competition was that night, and despite a 5pm call time, we did not end up competing until about 10:30pm. We watched the tiny bit of fireworks we could see out the window of McCormick Place before setting up for our demo.

Demo Team was, in a word, disappointing. Don't get me wrong, we had a great performance, one of our best. Our energy was great, and though we had a few flubs, we felt great about what we accomplished. But we took last place. Fifth out of five.

We still don't know why. Watching the other teams, it frankly doesn't make sense. We should have placed, at least. We had strong technique, great energy, good team unity. The only thing we can figure is that perhaps we got docked for something. We learned later that we weren't supposed to use a chair in our demonstration--even though I had asked one of the Vice Chairs this question specifically earlier that day, and he said we were fine. It's possible we were deducted for it. We don't know for sure. Maybe the judges just really didn't like our demo. Who knows. It was a huge disappointment for all of us. Still, we feel proud of our performance. We all worked very hard to achieve what we did, and if I do say so myself, we looked great out there.

Friday and Saturday I was back as a referee. I have to say, it was a lot harder this year, with my team there. In the past, I have gone alone, and have been able to focus entirely upon refereeing. But this year, I kept checking my phone, to see who was fighting or how somebody scored. My five-minute breaks were usually spent dashing over to wherever my team was, to spend those few minutes with my husband and the group. The hardest part was when they all went out without me--to the aquarium, to the Navy Pier. Alas. But I enjoyed refereeing, as I always do, and it was still more enjoyable to have my team to go home to in the evenings.

All in all, our little team of 8 took home 3 medals: Brennon, my student, won the bronze medal in a large sparring division of 28 red belts, which made me very proud. Renee, one of our adult students, took home a bronze in board breaking (it was super fun to watch her with her baby bump--Renee is due in October!). And our friend Kristen won the silver medal in her weapons division, which was very exciting.

And after a loooong drive back to Utah (only 24 hours, but it seemed like much longer!), it feels so good to be home.

Handling Hard Times

Sometimes life is just hard. And I think it's important to acknowledge.

We live in a Facebook society--where we share the good news and the trivial bad, but rarely anything of real substance. Don't get me wrong, I love Facebook. I enjoying stalking my friends and family, almost to an absurd degree.

Yet I think this kind of social interaction often does us a disservice. On more than one occasion, I have started typing a new status update, only to second guess myself: "Is this too serious for Facebook?" And many times I have deleted the words before they ever made it into cyberspace. I have instead bottled up the whatever-it-was that was bothering me, or hurting me, or disturbing me, and put on a happy show for Facebook-land.

Most of the time, my life is precisely as it appears on cyberspace. But sometimes, there are other emotions. Sometimes I am stressed, or sad, or anxious, or angry, or discouraged. The kinds of emotions that are far less acceptable to post about on social networks. The emotions that are the most important to process.

I know that I am not alone. I'm not the only person who struggles, and I'm not the only person who bottles emotions inside, for fear of "TMI"-ing everybody. In our world of social networking, blogging, texting, and so forth, we are becoming emotionally handicapped.

But we don't have to pretend all the time. It's okay to talk. It's okay to feel. I'm not suggesting we blab our innermost feelings on Facebook. I am suggesting that when the time is right, we find a sympathetic ear, and let it out. Talk, vent, weep uncontrollably--whatever it takes to process the emotions that need to be expressed. Because life is hard. We deal with real challenges; different ones for each of us. If we spend our lives pretending, for the sake of our cyber-image, that our lives are happy and hunky-dory all the time, we will never actually be happy.

I am happy, most of the time. But when life throws me a curve ball, I want to be able to deal with it, overcome it, and move forward. I don't have to fixate on the hard times, but I don't have to ignore them, either. I own those hard times.