At the urging of the Cody Prater, I have decided to write a blog about the soon to be over 2010. I'm not one for recapping a year. I never really think of the year ending in December because I am faced with 4 more months of school still at this point. My year ends in May, but for the sake of the rest of you non-educators, I'll give in to the whole January 1st thing.
Every year around this time, I find myself a little down about life. Generally, I am faced with New Year's resolution making that I don't really do, but am still forced to consider all of the things I should change or fix or start doing in the first place. I am also a little bummed around New Year's because I think it's somewhat sad to know that another year of my life has come and gone. I realize lots of really cool stuff has happened, but I am also forced to accept that my past keeps getting larger. I hate being reminded that life is leaving us...me. It's a downer I know. I'm supposed to be thankful for all that lies ahead of me. I should be appreciative that I have my health and numerous blessings to count. I am supposed to raise my glass to the positive milestones in each year and in preparation for the year ahead. And I do all of those things..I just do them with the nostalgic subdued nature I find myself in when another year has gone by.
However much I hate to see a year pass, I cannot help but be a little relieved to wave goodbye to 2010. In this year I have hopped numerous hurdles that literally exhaust me to think back on now. For instance, Cody and I bought a home in 2010. I love where we live now. I enjoy decorating it and buying new stuff to make it better. We have improved our home and really made it our own. But I can't tell you I would want to do it all over again. It's been a journey certainly.
Cody and I also got our two fur babies in this year. There were some rough dog moments in this year. We are out a pair of glasses, a coffee table, numerous pairs of socks and underwear, a watch, and various other items we probably haven't found yet. But as we are soon to celebrate Staley and Finny's 1st birthday, I can't help but be filled with love for our little nuggets. They certainly have made themselves an irreplaceable part of the Prater pack.
On a personal note, this year was filled with some interesting happenings. Professionally, I had a successful volleyball season. Coaching volleyball is probably something that means more to me than I verbalize or write about very often. From June to the end of October I find myself immersed in something that is so familiar and fun for me to do. I felt like I was a better coach this year than I was last year, and I hope this pattern continues into 2011. Hopefully, a few kids in Lavaca are better in some way after experiencing the wrath of Coach Schrodt/Prater for a few months each year.
And finally, the one thing that I am so glad that I will leave behind in 2010 is our wedding. It was great. I'm so glad we did it. I love the pictures. I love Cody. We have been married for all of 6 months now and I am as happy as the day we made it official. I am really happy to be married. I am also really happy to never have to plan and execute my own wedding ever again. Ever.
Each year around October I have my students in class create a narrative writing project that focuses on their own lives. One of the assignments within the project is to create a bucket list or life list. This year I found myself in front of a group of 14 year olds reading the same bucket list I created three years ago when I started teaching. As I went through the things I once dreamed of accomplishing, I found that numerous of them were completed. I own my own car, a home, I am married, I have a couple of dogs, I am financially independent. I have completed a lot of the things that only a few years ago I was hoping to accomplish one day. I realize that 2010 is probably the year of milestones for me.
I stored my bucket list in a folder on my desk when we were through with the project in October. The other day when I was cleaning my classroom, I came across that folder and realized that I need a new bucket list. As I marked off achievements of this year, I realized that all of the college kid Katy Schrodt aspirations are for the most part shed. In this year, I feel as if I have transformed from the kid that I was for the first couple years out of college into an adult. With a life. And a husband. And a home. And bills. The one thing that I think is weird about leaving behind the goals of yesterday is finding my way to new goals. I no longer need to achieve the really big things I once dreamed of doing. After all of the accomplishments were checked off my bucket list, I found myself sitting in my classroom staring at only a few items left. I still need to go back to Europe. I need to win a state championship as a coach. And I need to have children. My own children. That Cody and myself would create. That I would carry for 9 months. That I would squeeze out of my birth canal. That I would support with our money. That would live in our house. Whose car seat would be in my car. Whose life would intermingle with the rest of the Prater pack. And who would forever alter all of the newly accomplished milestones of 2010...I realized that day in my classroom that producing offspring is the main big thing left. And I also realize that kids are bigger than owning a home or getting married. Much bigger...At least there's always 2012, right?
Nonetheless, here's to a year of goodness. A year with family and friends. A year of accomplishments. Here's to my 7th New Year's Eve with Cody. Here's to the year ahead. And the year behind us. 2010 has been good. It's one for the record books.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
The Hat Store
Every time Christmas/really cold weather rolls around, I’m always reminded of Cody and me years ago. I guess some of the best moments we have had together happened when it was winter time (remember this statement later in this blog).
This weekend Cody and I went to Dallas for his company Christmas party. During our four hour drive, we had an interesting conversation about our relationship, and the way it has progressed over these almost six years we’ve been together. I learned a lot from this conversation about Cody and me as a couple and also about Cody as an individual. I realized after talking to him that I don’t give Cody enough credit. Because he is so relaxed and easy to get along with, I occasionally attribute this attitude to indifference. I always assume that Cody doesn’t really over analyze much of anything and instead just goes with the flow. The longer I have known him, the more I guess that he doesn’t really care about stuff that I think about a lot. Cody’s easy-going attitude sometimes frustrates me and leaves me a bit unfulfilled on occasion.
One of the weirdest parts about being married I have determined is that your husband (in my case at least) assumes the role that used to be filled by females. For instance, Cody and I hang out the way I used to hang out with friends who were girls. I’m not saying I don’t have any friends anymore. I just think that marriage lends itself to making married people one another’s fulfillment of many different roles. Cody is my husband, boyfriend, friend, caretaker, lover, handyman (Cody will want to insert a joke here), financial consultant, entertainment, etc. The different roles that we fill for one another are endless. I don’t think that this is necessarily a trait of marriage specifically, but certainly of relationships where people live together. In the past few months, I have found myself wishing Cody was sometimes more like a girl. When things happen that I want to analyze and talk about and reanalyze and talk about some more, I have found that Cody wants to watch ESPN. Don’t get me wrong, I love ESPN. I just occasionally wish that Cody wanted to analyze and evaluate the way I do on a regular basis.
Okay, so back to the point…I realized this weekend that Cody may not verbalize his thoughts and feelings like women, but he at least has those thoughts and feelings. I like knowing that Cody has analyzed and thought out the experiences we’ve had together just like I have. I like knowing that some of Cody’s indifference is probably a partial disconnect between the two of us. After I considered this for a while, I realized that Cody probably has these exact same thoughts about some of the same things I do. At some point in our Dallas drive discussion, Cody said he felt “like a weight had been lifted off his chest.” I realize now that I am not all that Cody needs or wants or wishes for all the time either. That thought seems fairly simple, but I realized that I never really consider Cody as having any emotional needs. This brings us back to the indifference perception I’ve had about him. I always think of our marriage in terms of me. I realized this weekend that I need to consider the we in Cody and me more often.
I know now that the next step in this process is for me to relay this conversation to my closest friends (just kidding, sort of). Yet, I know that I will not be able to communicate the meaningfulness of this conversation to people who haven’t been there for six years. And I come back to the solace that Cody is the only person who has been there in all of the ways he has been there for all these years. This thought process brought me back to all of the moments along the journey of Cody and Katy that have really stood out to me. One in particular seemed fitting considering the topic of much of what was shared in the Dallas Drive Discussion of 2010 (yah, the event has a proper name now).
One year in college during Christmas break, I had gone “home” to my parent’s house (across town). I think this was the Christmas of our freshman year which would mean soon to be 2005. Anyhoo, it snowed around the holidays that year, and I was barricaded in my home as usual (my mother acts like driving on slick roads is as impossible as walking on water). To my surprise, Cody and his friend Mitch braved the weather in Cody’s blue jeep to come and hang out with me. We all three found ourselves in my bedroom hanging out (awkward, I know). This was at a point when Cody and I were dating, I guess you would say, but we were not officially together. Before the end of the night, Mitch had fallen “asleep” (I think he was just a good friend to Cody and recognized CP’s opportunity to mess around with his new girl) on the floor of my room. Cody and I stayed up and talked and laughed and had a memorable night with one another. I found myself in the room where so many nights had been spent thinking about the unsuccessful male relationships I had endured throughout the years. All around me was high school, but right in front of me was Cody. I didn’t know that Cody would last as long as he did. I didn’t know that Cody would be my husband one day. But I did know that Cody was different than any guy who littered the pictures that hung on the walls of that bedroom. It was perfect. It was a transition from high school to college. It was a transition from being somewhat interested in Cody to knowing that he was someone that I really wanted to know better. It was a transition from “talking” to Cody to being with Cody. We did not officially become boyfriend and girlfriend, but the night was worth noting. As they left, I remember watching Cody and Mitch slide down the street I grew up on and never feeling so good about anything in my life. I remember walking back inside and immediately wishing Cody would show back up (no offense, Mitch. I didn’t really miss you much). I remember thinking that Cody was exactly what I needed at that moment. He wasn’t too much of anything. And he was just enough to differentiate him from high school. Cody has always been just enough.
As we drove home from Dallas this weekend, I realized that Cody and I have probably traveled a somewhat different road than a lot of young people who fall in love. We followed rules that most people simply push to the side as ideas that are unrealistic. Years later and a wedding later, I think Cody and I can both wonder “what if” about us, but it doesn’t matter. This weekend clarified for me that Cody and I are very much on the same wave length. Since we have been married, I feel like so much has changed that I have psyched myself into thinking that something should feel changed as well. I thought we should be different than we used to be. I have certainly over thought the concept of marriage. I think I have been wrong. We are still as connected (if not much more) than those kids making out on my bed five years ago. Cody and I are exactly the way we are supposed to be. We may not always have what we need at the exact moment we need it, but we will eventually find our way there. We wear all the hats we need to wear for one another. And if we don’t…I am confident we’ll find the hat store.
This weekend Cody and I went to Dallas for his company Christmas party. During our four hour drive, we had an interesting conversation about our relationship, and the way it has progressed over these almost six years we’ve been together. I learned a lot from this conversation about Cody and me as a couple and also about Cody as an individual. I realized after talking to him that I don’t give Cody enough credit. Because he is so relaxed and easy to get along with, I occasionally attribute this attitude to indifference. I always assume that Cody doesn’t really over analyze much of anything and instead just goes with the flow. The longer I have known him, the more I guess that he doesn’t really care about stuff that I think about a lot. Cody’s easy-going attitude sometimes frustrates me and leaves me a bit unfulfilled on occasion.
One of the weirdest parts about being married I have determined is that your husband (in my case at least) assumes the role that used to be filled by females. For instance, Cody and I hang out the way I used to hang out with friends who were girls. I’m not saying I don’t have any friends anymore. I just think that marriage lends itself to making married people one another’s fulfillment of many different roles. Cody is my husband, boyfriend, friend, caretaker, lover, handyman (Cody will want to insert a joke here), financial consultant, entertainment, etc. The different roles that we fill for one another are endless. I don’t think that this is necessarily a trait of marriage specifically, but certainly of relationships where people live together. In the past few months, I have found myself wishing Cody was sometimes more like a girl. When things happen that I want to analyze and talk about and reanalyze and talk about some more, I have found that Cody wants to watch ESPN. Don’t get me wrong, I love ESPN. I just occasionally wish that Cody wanted to analyze and evaluate the way I do on a regular basis.
Okay, so back to the point…I realized this weekend that Cody may not verbalize his thoughts and feelings like women, but he at least has those thoughts and feelings. I like knowing that Cody has analyzed and thought out the experiences we’ve had together just like I have. I like knowing that some of Cody’s indifference is probably a partial disconnect between the two of us. After I considered this for a while, I realized that Cody probably has these exact same thoughts about some of the same things I do. At some point in our Dallas drive discussion, Cody said he felt “like a weight had been lifted off his chest.” I realize now that I am not all that Cody needs or wants or wishes for all the time either. That thought seems fairly simple, but I realized that I never really consider Cody as having any emotional needs. This brings us back to the indifference perception I’ve had about him. I always think of our marriage in terms of me. I realized this weekend that I need to consider the we in Cody and me more often.
I know now that the next step in this process is for me to relay this conversation to my closest friends (just kidding, sort of). Yet, I know that I will not be able to communicate the meaningfulness of this conversation to people who haven’t been there for six years. And I come back to the solace that Cody is the only person who has been there in all of the ways he has been there for all these years. This thought process brought me back to all of the moments along the journey of Cody and Katy that have really stood out to me. One in particular seemed fitting considering the topic of much of what was shared in the Dallas Drive Discussion of 2010 (yah, the event has a proper name now).
One year in college during Christmas break, I had gone “home” to my parent’s house (across town). I think this was the Christmas of our freshman year which would mean soon to be 2005. Anyhoo, it snowed around the holidays that year, and I was barricaded in my home as usual (my mother acts like driving on slick roads is as impossible as walking on water). To my surprise, Cody and his friend Mitch braved the weather in Cody’s blue jeep to come and hang out with me. We all three found ourselves in my bedroom hanging out (awkward, I know). This was at a point when Cody and I were dating, I guess you would say, but we were not officially together. Before the end of the night, Mitch had fallen “asleep” (I think he was just a good friend to Cody and recognized CP’s opportunity to mess around with his new girl) on the floor of my room. Cody and I stayed up and talked and laughed and had a memorable night with one another. I found myself in the room where so many nights had been spent thinking about the unsuccessful male relationships I had endured throughout the years. All around me was high school, but right in front of me was Cody. I didn’t know that Cody would last as long as he did. I didn’t know that Cody would be my husband one day. But I did know that Cody was different than any guy who littered the pictures that hung on the walls of that bedroom. It was perfect. It was a transition from high school to college. It was a transition from being somewhat interested in Cody to knowing that he was someone that I really wanted to know better. It was a transition from “talking” to Cody to being with Cody. We did not officially become boyfriend and girlfriend, but the night was worth noting. As they left, I remember watching Cody and Mitch slide down the street I grew up on and never feeling so good about anything in my life. I remember walking back inside and immediately wishing Cody would show back up (no offense, Mitch. I didn’t really miss you much). I remember thinking that Cody was exactly what I needed at that moment. He wasn’t too much of anything. And he was just enough to differentiate him from high school. Cody has always been just enough.
As we drove home from Dallas this weekend, I realized that Cody and I have probably traveled a somewhat different road than a lot of young people who fall in love. We followed rules that most people simply push to the side as ideas that are unrealistic. Years later and a wedding later, I think Cody and I can both wonder “what if” about us, but it doesn’t matter. This weekend clarified for me that Cody and I are very much on the same wave length. Since we have been married, I feel like so much has changed that I have psyched myself into thinking that something should feel changed as well. I thought we should be different than we used to be. I have certainly over thought the concept of marriage. I think I have been wrong. We are still as connected (if not much more) than those kids making out on my bed five years ago. Cody and I are exactly the way we are supposed to be. We may not always have what we need at the exact moment we need it, but we will eventually find our way there. We wear all the hats we need to wear for one another. And if we don’t…I am confident we’ll find the hat store.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Untitled
I recently had a person (who shall remain nameless) remark on how much she loved my blog. She then went on to provide me with her philosophy on blogging. She told me that she thought it was so “pretentious” of “all these people” who blog about these really deep topics and try to pretend like they’re teaching a lesson or something. In response I told her I thought it was pretentious of people to blog about what color they’re painting their wall or a weekend recap in which they recap nothing at all or an update on their weight loss progress. I’m not sure if this person was trying to call me pretentious, but I figure I’ve been called worse.
In honor of a lover of my blog, here’s a very pretentious post about death.
Last Thursday I attended a memorial service (different than a funeral I found out) for one of my relatives. I hate funerals. I knew that going into the day. I also found out that I hate memorial services. I know, I know. You’re thinking that it’s not anything too unique to dislike funerals. I get this, but I really hate funerals. As I sat in the front row of Eastside Baptist Church I started to realize why I hate funerals so much. Aside from the obvious and most dominant reason (someone has died that I was obviously connected with in some way), I think I also hate funerals, because it is an in-your-face reminder that life is flying by right in front of your face.
As I generally do when I attend a funeral, last Thursday I found myself trying to occupy my mind with something other than depressing thoughts about the loss of a loved one. As I sat there looking at flowers and critiquing Christmas decorations and considering how uncomfortable my shoes were, I realized that Eastside was the setting for one of the most vivid memories I have from high school. Early in high school I saw a band called Stephen Speaks perform in the exact same sanctuary where the funeral was held last Thursday. For some reason I remember everything about that night. I remember what jeans I was wearing. I remember who all was there. I remember where in the sanctuary I was sitting. I remember everything about that night. I have been in Eastside twice in my life. Once for that Stephen Speaks concert and once for the funeral. I found myself (in an attempt to detach myself from the terribly sad commentary that is often found at a funeral) thinking back on all the tiny details of that night in high school. I literally felt like I was remembering someone else’s life. It felt so long ago to me. The teenager sitting in the first pew of that church seemed completely foreign to the adult that was sitting in that first pew years later.
I feel like people (or maybe it’s just me) remember their lives in decades. I have a pretty good grasp of who I was up to 10 years ago. Beyond 14 years old memories almost feel inaccessible to me now. For example, I don’t remember what I looked like when I was 12. I remember very little of the small stuff from years and years ago that I still remember about high school. As I considered that night with Stephen Speaks years ago, something a switch flipped inside of me. I didn’t want to be sitting in that pew at that church last Thursday. I didn’t want to have to remember who I was as a teenager. For a few moments I wanted to be a teenager again. I was frustrated and sad and there was depressing music already playing. People were crying (I assume for the loss of a loved one) and then it hit me…
I don’t hate funerals solely because of the pain caused by losing a loved one. I hate funerals because they’re a reminder to everyone that time is ticking. It took a sunny day in 2010 to bring me back to a night years ago when things were simpler. As I scanned the room last week I realized that there is hardly anything left of that kid at the Stephen Speaks concert. I was sitting next to my husband. My family was there, yes. But it was an older, different family than I knew years ago. The whole situation was different than I wanted it to be. Discomfort in my reality often times makes me think back to the safety of my past. Things were good at that Stephen Speaks concert. Although I am certain that if you could talk to Katy Schrodt circa 2002, she would have plenty of issues and complaints about her present situation (would that not be awesome to be able to talk to a younger or older version of yourself?). Things are always different once you have enough time to find a place for them in your memory. I hate change. I take comfort in the routine of certainty. Unfortunately, as is evident by funerals of loved ones, very little is certain. That’s a bummer. It’s a bummer for 24 year old me and it was also for the teenage me. Maybe less has changed than I think.
By the time I walked out of the funeral, I had pretty much come full circle (in my defense it was a long service). I got caught up in the suckiness of a funeral. There is nothing good about it. I realized that my life is going to keep on moving regardless of whether or not I want it to. Since then Cody and I have decided that we want to go to Europe this summer and sow our wild oats. So maybe that’s the good in remembering someone else’s well lived life. Maybe it helps the rest of us to remember to keep on moving.
Take that, you non-pretentious blog writers.
In honor of a lover of my blog, here’s a very pretentious post about death.
Last Thursday I attended a memorial service (different than a funeral I found out) for one of my relatives. I hate funerals. I knew that going into the day. I also found out that I hate memorial services. I know, I know. You’re thinking that it’s not anything too unique to dislike funerals. I get this, but I really hate funerals. As I sat in the front row of Eastside Baptist Church I started to realize why I hate funerals so much. Aside from the obvious and most dominant reason (someone has died that I was obviously connected with in some way), I think I also hate funerals, because it is an in-your-face reminder that life is flying by right in front of your face.
As I generally do when I attend a funeral, last Thursday I found myself trying to occupy my mind with something other than depressing thoughts about the loss of a loved one. As I sat there looking at flowers and critiquing Christmas decorations and considering how uncomfortable my shoes were, I realized that Eastside was the setting for one of the most vivid memories I have from high school. Early in high school I saw a band called Stephen Speaks perform in the exact same sanctuary where the funeral was held last Thursday. For some reason I remember everything about that night. I remember what jeans I was wearing. I remember who all was there. I remember where in the sanctuary I was sitting. I remember everything about that night. I have been in Eastside twice in my life. Once for that Stephen Speaks concert and once for the funeral. I found myself (in an attempt to detach myself from the terribly sad commentary that is often found at a funeral) thinking back on all the tiny details of that night in high school. I literally felt like I was remembering someone else’s life. It felt so long ago to me. The teenager sitting in the first pew of that church seemed completely foreign to the adult that was sitting in that first pew years later.
I feel like people (or maybe it’s just me) remember their lives in decades. I have a pretty good grasp of who I was up to 10 years ago. Beyond 14 years old memories almost feel inaccessible to me now. For example, I don’t remember what I looked like when I was 12. I remember very little of the small stuff from years and years ago that I still remember about high school. As I considered that night with Stephen Speaks years ago, something a switch flipped inside of me. I didn’t want to be sitting in that pew at that church last Thursday. I didn’t want to have to remember who I was as a teenager. For a few moments I wanted to be a teenager again. I was frustrated and sad and there was depressing music already playing. People were crying (I assume for the loss of a loved one) and then it hit me…
I don’t hate funerals solely because of the pain caused by losing a loved one. I hate funerals because they’re a reminder to everyone that time is ticking. It took a sunny day in 2010 to bring me back to a night years ago when things were simpler. As I scanned the room last week I realized that there is hardly anything left of that kid at the Stephen Speaks concert. I was sitting next to my husband. My family was there, yes. But it was an older, different family than I knew years ago. The whole situation was different than I wanted it to be. Discomfort in my reality often times makes me think back to the safety of my past. Things were good at that Stephen Speaks concert. Although I am certain that if you could talk to Katy Schrodt circa 2002, she would have plenty of issues and complaints about her present situation (would that not be awesome to be able to talk to a younger or older version of yourself?). Things are always different once you have enough time to find a place for them in your memory. I hate change. I take comfort in the routine of certainty. Unfortunately, as is evident by funerals of loved ones, very little is certain. That’s a bummer. It’s a bummer for 24 year old me and it was also for the teenage me. Maybe less has changed than I think.
By the time I walked out of the funeral, I had pretty much come full circle (in my defense it was a long service). I got caught up in the suckiness of a funeral. There is nothing good about it. I realized that my life is going to keep on moving regardless of whether or not I want it to. Since then Cody and I have decided that we want to go to Europe this summer and sow our wild oats. So maybe that’s the good in remembering someone else’s well lived life. Maybe it helps the rest of us to remember to keep on moving.
Take that, you non-pretentious blog writers.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
You Must Be a Biker
I have been a bit challenged with coming up with topics to write about lately. There has been plenty of stuff happening, I just haven’t found anything that would transfer to a blog very well. However, yesterday I went to Wal-Mart and was checked out by a large black woman named Tabitha. Tabitha provided me a lovely experience that could only happen in Wal-Mart that reminded me of a perfect topic to address on the internet…
Tabitha: “Oh, you must be a biker.”
Me: (look of confusion, consideration of what she means by “biker”) “Why’s that?”
Tabitha: “You’re glasses. They look like you [sic] a biker.”
Me: “Oh, ok. I’m not.” (starting to get a little annoyed because it’s Wal-Mart and for some reason all Wal-Mart employees check out items at the rate of 1 item per 10 seconds.)
Tabitha: “You one of those stern people. What you do? You a drill sergeant?”
Me: “Nope. I teach English and coach.”
Tabitha: “Oh, I could see that. You be screaming at those kids like ‘do this, go faster, do this.’”
Me: “Yah, I guess so.” (finally I’m waiting on my receipt, slowly starting to walk away)
Tabitha: “What kind of bike you got?”
This was the conversation I had as I was trying to leave Wal-Mart. The reason I found this intriguing was because A. Tabitha thought I drove a motorcycle because of the blue glasses I got in St. Martin (not exactly biker glasses) B. Tabitha asked me if I was a drill sergeant.
I get this type of question ALL of the time. I have random strangers tell me to “Smile” on a regular basis. People ask me if I’m “okay” all the time. My kids make sarcastic remarks about me looking “excited” about stuff. I don’t get this. I never think to tell someone to smile or cheer up or look excited. If they don’t look excited, they probably aren’t. Who am I to think that I should tell someone how to look? Also, I am confused as to why people ask me these things. No, I do not walk around with a big, goofy grin on my face all the time. On a regular basis, I am not generally happy. On a random Tuesday afternoon at Wal-Mart when all I want to do is go home, it doesn’t come naturally to me to smile at every human I see. I smile when I think something is funny. I don’t smile just because I am so delighted to exist that every moment I must grin. I have determined that my natural demeanor is not one of happiness. At the same time, just because I am not smiling, that does not mean that I am upset about something. It means I am indifferent. At Wal-Mart, I am indifferent. At work, I am generally indifferent. Early in the morning, I am ALWAYS indifferent. The look on my face is one of neutrality. I believe that if I smile all of the time, my smile will have less meaning. It’s like cuss words. I don’t cuss all the time. I save a few select cuss words for those moments in my life where I really need to make an impact. I don’t want to cry wolf with my smile. I figure I will save it for experiences that make me want to smile. So, no, I am not upset. And yes, I am okay. And no, I am not excited. I will certainly let you know when I am unhappy about something. I will also make a point to look happy when I am. All the rest of you smile-whores out there, stop asking me these weird questions.
Tabitha: “Oh, you must be a biker.”
Me: (look of confusion, consideration of what she means by “biker”) “Why’s that?”
Tabitha: “You’re glasses. They look like you [sic] a biker.”
Me: “Oh, ok. I’m not.” (starting to get a little annoyed because it’s Wal-Mart and for some reason all Wal-Mart employees check out items at the rate of 1 item per 10 seconds.)
Tabitha: “You one of those stern people. What you do? You a drill sergeant?”
Me: “Nope. I teach English and coach.”
Tabitha: “Oh, I could see that. You be screaming at those kids like ‘do this, go faster, do this.’”
Me: “Yah, I guess so.” (finally I’m waiting on my receipt, slowly starting to walk away)
Tabitha: “What kind of bike you got?”
This was the conversation I had as I was trying to leave Wal-Mart. The reason I found this intriguing was because A. Tabitha thought I drove a motorcycle because of the blue glasses I got in St. Martin (not exactly biker glasses) B. Tabitha asked me if I was a drill sergeant.
I get this type of question ALL of the time. I have random strangers tell me to “Smile” on a regular basis. People ask me if I’m “okay” all the time. My kids make sarcastic remarks about me looking “excited” about stuff. I don’t get this. I never think to tell someone to smile or cheer up or look excited. If they don’t look excited, they probably aren’t. Who am I to think that I should tell someone how to look? Also, I am confused as to why people ask me these things. No, I do not walk around with a big, goofy grin on my face all the time. On a regular basis, I am not generally happy. On a random Tuesday afternoon at Wal-Mart when all I want to do is go home, it doesn’t come naturally to me to smile at every human I see. I smile when I think something is funny. I don’t smile just because I am so delighted to exist that every moment I must grin. I have determined that my natural demeanor is not one of happiness. At the same time, just because I am not smiling, that does not mean that I am upset about something. It means I am indifferent. At Wal-Mart, I am indifferent. At work, I am generally indifferent. Early in the morning, I am ALWAYS indifferent. The look on my face is one of neutrality. I believe that if I smile all of the time, my smile will have less meaning. It’s like cuss words. I don’t cuss all the time. I save a few select cuss words for those moments in my life where I really need to make an impact. I don’t want to cry wolf with my smile. I figure I will save it for experiences that make me want to smile. So, no, I am not upset. And yes, I am okay. And no, I am not excited. I will certainly let you know when I am unhappy about something. I will also make a point to look happy when I am. All the rest of you smile-whores out there, stop asking me these weird questions.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Oh Baby, Oh Baby
I think it’s funny how life has such a logical progression, despite how few people actually follow it. When you graduate high school, you go to college. When you date someone at least a year, you marry them. When you get married, you have a baby. I occasionally find myself dreadfully bored with the predictability of my life. I have been one of those people that follow the rules, make sure step 1 is completed before step 2. I’ve never deviated from the path people assume others should follow. I have watched family members and friends do all sorts of crazy stuff. 8 year bachelor degrees. Illegitimate children. Stints in jail. Vegas weekend weddings. I have watched others do that stuff and generally laughed at their irresponsibility. However, at the same time deep down inside of my rule following soul, I have envied those people. The ones who made their own rules and created their own path, even though it was generally out of laziness or promiscuity and resulted in a divorce 3 months later or other life-altering repercussions that people still talk about behind their backs. Not me. I literally cannot think of anything I’ve ever done that was off the wall.
I have found myself recently being bombarded with the next step on the recipe for a successful life…Dun, dun, dun BABIES!!! They’re everywhere. People just had babies. Or just found out their pregnant. Or just started trying to have babies. They’re at walmart. They’re in the halls after school wreaking havoc in a generally non-baby high school. They’re in magazines. They’re peoples’ Facebook profile pictures. Those untrasound pictures that really look more creepy than cute. And certainly are not of any interest to anyone other than the humans who created that weird, blurry, alienesque image. They’re everywhere. Babies are everywhere. Baby names, baby books, baby clothes, baby cribs, baby bottles, baby diapers, baby squeals. Babies, babies, babies.
In my perpetual attempt to follow the rules, I have recently found myself considering having a baby of my own. I do believe that Cody and I have genes worth passing on to future generations. I want to have some children. I am intrigued and humbled at the thought of reproducing some little athletic, intelligent, beautiful child that I get to raise. The other day I went so far as to count months in intervals of 9 to decide when the best month to get pregnant would be. Scary.
Then it hit me. Babies are the one thing in this world that you should not let anyone else motivate you into having. Everything else is reversible. College degrees will always be there. There are jobs you can get with a criminal record. Most STD’s can be cured or at least contained with modern medicine. All of those things can be fixed to some degree. But a kid is a kid for 18 years. A kid is a kid 14, 15, 16 years after it comes out of your womb. It’s all the sudden sucking every ounce of money you can make out of you and eating your food and waking you up in the middle of the night and having sex way too early with questionable partners and disrespecting you as if you didn’t push that 8 pound lump of flesh out of your birth canal. I am not ready for a baby. Or a child. Or an early adolescent. I am not ready to reproduce. This universe can show me the cutest pictures its got with the most perfect infants all cuddly and quiet looking. It can make me run into the most precociously adorable 5 year olds that remind me a lot of me at that age. It can force all of my friends around me to get pregnant and recount all of the wonderful things about a baby. It can make every person I come in contact with on a daily basis ask me when I’m going to have a baby, and all I’m going to do is keeping shaking my head no. I am not going to give up my life. I am going to be selfish and sleep in late and waste money and do what I want to whenever I want to do it for as long as I’d like to do it. My biological clock is not ticking, but my selfish clock is ticking loud and clear and I’m holding on to the awesome life I’ve got right now for a while longer. Babies can wait. I’ll just play with everyone else’s until I get my own.
I have found myself recently being bombarded with the next step on the recipe for a successful life…Dun, dun, dun BABIES!!! They’re everywhere. People just had babies. Or just found out their pregnant. Or just started trying to have babies. They’re at walmart. They’re in the halls after school wreaking havoc in a generally non-baby high school. They’re in magazines. They’re peoples’ Facebook profile pictures. Those untrasound pictures that really look more creepy than cute. And certainly are not of any interest to anyone other than the humans who created that weird, blurry, alienesque image. They’re everywhere. Babies are everywhere. Baby names, baby books, baby clothes, baby cribs, baby bottles, baby diapers, baby squeals. Babies, babies, babies.
In my perpetual attempt to follow the rules, I have recently found myself considering having a baby of my own. I do believe that Cody and I have genes worth passing on to future generations. I want to have some children. I am intrigued and humbled at the thought of reproducing some little athletic, intelligent, beautiful child that I get to raise. The other day I went so far as to count months in intervals of 9 to decide when the best month to get pregnant would be. Scary.
Then it hit me. Babies are the one thing in this world that you should not let anyone else motivate you into having. Everything else is reversible. College degrees will always be there. There are jobs you can get with a criminal record. Most STD’s can be cured or at least contained with modern medicine. All of those things can be fixed to some degree. But a kid is a kid for 18 years. A kid is a kid 14, 15, 16 years after it comes out of your womb. It’s all the sudden sucking every ounce of money you can make out of you and eating your food and waking you up in the middle of the night and having sex way too early with questionable partners and disrespecting you as if you didn’t push that 8 pound lump of flesh out of your birth canal. I am not ready for a baby. Or a child. Or an early adolescent. I am not ready to reproduce. This universe can show me the cutest pictures its got with the most perfect infants all cuddly and quiet looking. It can make me run into the most precociously adorable 5 year olds that remind me a lot of me at that age. It can force all of my friends around me to get pregnant and recount all of the wonderful things about a baby. It can make every person I come in contact with on a daily basis ask me when I’m going to have a baby, and all I’m going to do is keeping shaking my head no. I am not going to give up my life. I am going to be selfish and sleep in late and waste money and do what I want to whenever I want to do it for as long as I’d like to do it. My biological clock is not ticking, but my selfish clock is ticking loud and clear and I’m holding on to the awesome life I’ve got right now for a while longer. Babies can wait. I’ll just play with everyone else’s until I get my own.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Where Did October Go???
I have recently sucked at blogging. I have found myself sprinting through October, which as a volleyball coach October seems to be the most ridiculous month ever. The good thing is that volleyball is over and I have one post that I have been meaning to share for three weeks now...
We all know that October is breast cancer awareness month. I find I have a love/hate relationship with this month. I appreciate and am grateful for all of the press that breast cancer awareness gets. I am glad that so many people want to fight and support such a worthwhile cause. However, I often find myself a little sad when I see pink ribbons, because it takes me back to some moments in my life that have been a bit rough. Nonetheless, I am happy to believe in a cause that I would like everyone to support in hopes of one day there being less women effected by breast cancer.
At some point throughout this month, I wore a pink ribbon on my shirt for a few days at school. One day I had a couple of boys ask me about the ribbon. I responded that it represented breast cancer awareness and was naturally responded to with immature giggles from boys. I didn't think a whole lot about it. I think men of all ages want to giggle when they hear the word breast. I told myself it wasn't malicious and that they were simply too young to understand the significance of a pink ribbon. Later that same day I had two girls ask me about the ribbon and respond that they thought breast cancer awareness was overdone. They didn't know why only breast cancer got all the hype and they thought it was stupid...There are only a few moments where I allow myself to get on my high horse about personal issues as a teacher. I don't feel that it is my responsibility to impart my beliefs on impressionable teenagers. But on that day I did.
I decided to first of all freak out on the two girls and explain all of the reasons why breast cancer deserves all of the "hype" it can get. I then went on to reprimand the entire class of kids because that's what teachers do. The next day in class I created an assignment solely to teach those two girls and my immature boys a lesson. We wrote a definition paper in which you define an abstract concept like poverty or depression or loneliness or family or something along those lines through your personal experiences. I modeled the assignment by sharing my own definition paper I had written on breast cancer...Here's what the 9th graders at Lavaca got to experience that day.
I worried the entire time. While the other kids cartwheeled without a care in the world, I attentively watched the door waiting on my mother’s return from the grocery store. Since she had reassured me over and over again of her speedy return, I had managed to begin my gymnastics practice with a relatively small amount of worry. I thought of every possible mishap that could take place. Bloody car wrecks and grocery store robberies filled my brain. When there were only fifteen minutes left in my practice, I began arranging an alternate ride home from the teenager who was teaching my class how to do a front roll off of a small trampoline. I recounted the entire situation each time I reached the front of the line, including my prediction that my mother had been in a terrible wreck. The only consolation I got from my instructor was a confused look and the claim that she had not heard any sirens, so my mom was probably fine. In the end, my mother returned from the store blaming an incompetent check-out person at Harps for her lengthy trip to the grocery store. And most importantly promising to never leave me again.
All of my life I have feared my mom leaving me. My fear held me hostage for years until I learned to believe in my mother’s devotion. For instance, I did not spend the night at friends’ houses until I was convinced my mother would return the next morning. In my childish world, I worried that my mom would get sick of me and one day decide to desert me when I least expected it. I was a “mama’s girl” to the utmost degree. Fortunately, as I grew up, I learned to trust my mother and appreciate her commitment to both my brother and me. After years of her being there, I even took for granted my mother’s presence. That is until she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2002. As a fifteen-year-old I regressed to my eight-year-old state of mind. However, the fear of losing my mom to breast cancer was a much more realistic concern than bloody car wrecks or grocery story heists.
For me, breast cancer was a sixteenth birthday with a bed-ridden mother. It was a birthday party with no presents. It was sympathetic stares and endless questions regarding, “How is your mom?” Breast cancer was living for the next set of test results that revealed the status of my mom’s health, my mom’s life. It was sympathy cards every day. It was home cooked meals from someone else’s home. Breast cancer was IV’s and nights in a hospital. Breast cancer was specialists and second opinions. It was constant worry and bargaining with God for my mom’s recovery. In the end, after months of fighting, breast cancer was a hurdle cleared and an obstacle avoided. It was a weight off of my entire family’s shoulders.
Still today, breast cancer is one of the most influential forces in my life. As a teenager I witnessed my mother fight for her life to escape the chains of cancer. I learned that breast cancer is more than an illness, but a transforming force for many. Breast cancer molded and shaped and scarred my mother into the woman she is today. Ironically, it also molded and shaped and scarred me into the person I am today. Through my mother’s experience, I learned that cancer does not discriminate. It cares not your race or age. It cuts with a knife and leaves its mark forever. Breast cancer is a physical tyrant, an unforgiving force. It attacks the most undeserving of victims, including my mom. It stalks generation after generation with its presence feared by daughters and granddaughters. Breast cancer is my fear now. Breast cancer is a lump in your breast. It is mammograms and hospital waiting rooms. It is blood work and biopsy results. Breast cancer is sutures and staples and disfiguration. In my mother’s case, it is a double mastectomy, a loss of femininity. It is one in every four women in the United States. It is radiation and chemotherapy, nausea and bald heads. It is husbands with no wives, children with no mothers, and parents with no daughters.
All of my life I have feared my mother’s leaving. As a child, I worried of her temporary departure. As an adult, I worry about her permanent departure. Breast cancer planted an eternal fear of its return in my mind. If it does not return for my mother, perhaps it will settle for me instead. Breast cancer has taught me more about life and love than anything else. For me, breast cancer restored my eight-year-old appreciation for the people I love.
Needless to say my kids were overwhelmed after hearing me read this. I did, however, get some of the best writing out of my students I've gotten all year. One day after school, one of the girls who had made the remarks about breast cancer found me and apologized. She explained she had never met anyone who had breast cancer or known anyone who knew someone with it. I sometimes wonder what I'm doing as a teacher. And very rarely do I ever have any sort of proof that I'm making even a small impact. However, this month I feel like I have opened a few sets of eyes to life beyond the sheltered existence so many young kids find themselves a part of.
So, I have a love/hate relationship with October. However, I am thankful that October has evolved into Pinktober. Breast cancer awareness is very much a worthwhile fight to undertake. And whether people walk or run or wear pink ribbons or assign 9th graders an assignment solely to allow for their personal satisfaction of teaching a lesson that has nothing to do with English, we must all do our part. Hopefully one day, October can be devoted to the fight for the cure of a disease other than breast cancer. Until then, we must spread the word.
We all know that October is breast cancer awareness month. I find I have a love/hate relationship with this month. I appreciate and am grateful for all of the press that breast cancer awareness gets. I am glad that so many people want to fight and support such a worthwhile cause. However, I often find myself a little sad when I see pink ribbons, because it takes me back to some moments in my life that have been a bit rough. Nonetheless, I am happy to believe in a cause that I would like everyone to support in hopes of one day there being less women effected by breast cancer.
At some point throughout this month, I wore a pink ribbon on my shirt for a few days at school. One day I had a couple of boys ask me about the ribbon. I responded that it represented breast cancer awareness and was naturally responded to with immature giggles from boys. I didn't think a whole lot about it. I think men of all ages want to giggle when they hear the word breast. I told myself it wasn't malicious and that they were simply too young to understand the significance of a pink ribbon. Later that same day I had two girls ask me about the ribbon and respond that they thought breast cancer awareness was overdone. They didn't know why only breast cancer got all the hype and they thought it was stupid...There are only a few moments where I allow myself to get on my high horse about personal issues as a teacher. I don't feel that it is my responsibility to impart my beliefs on impressionable teenagers. But on that day I did.
I decided to first of all freak out on the two girls and explain all of the reasons why breast cancer deserves all of the "hype" it can get. I then went on to reprimand the entire class of kids because that's what teachers do. The next day in class I created an assignment solely to teach those two girls and my immature boys a lesson. We wrote a definition paper in which you define an abstract concept like poverty or depression or loneliness or family or something along those lines through your personal experiences. I modeled the assignment by sharing my own definition paper I had written on breast cancer...Here's what the 9th graders at Lavaca got to experience that day.
I worried the entire time. While the other kids cartwheeled without a care in the world, I attentively watched the door waiting on my mother’s return from the grocery store. Since she had reassured me over and over again of her speedy return, I had managed to begin my gymnastics practice with a relatively small amount of worry. I thought of every possible mishap that could take place. Bloody car wrecks and grocery store robberies filled my brain. When there were only fifteen minutes left in my practice, I began arranging an alternate ride home from the teenager who was teaching my class how to do a front roll off of a small trampoline. I recounted the entire situation each time I reached the front of the line, including my prediction that my mother had been in a terrible wreck. The only consolation I got from my instructor was a confused look and the claim that she had not heard any sirens, so my mom was probably fine. In the end, my mother returned from the store blaming an incompetent check-out person at Harps for her lengthy trip to the grocery store. And most importantly promising to never leave me again.
All of my life I have feared my mom leaving me. My fear held me hostage for years until I learned to believe in my mother’s devotion. For instance, I did not spend the night at friends’ houses until I was convinced my mother would return the next morning. In my childish world, I worried that my mom would get sick of me and one day decide to desert me when I least expected it. I was a “mama’s girl” to the utmost degree. Fortunately, as I grew up, I learned to trust my mother and appreciate her commitment to both my brother and me. After years of her being there, I even took for granted my mother’s presence. That is until she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2002. As a fifteen-year-old I regressed to my eight-year-old state of mind. However, the fear of losing my mom to breast cancer was a much more realistic concern than bloody car wrecks or grocery story heists.
For me, breast cancer was a sixteenth birthday with a bed-ridden mother. It was a birthday party with no presents. It was sympathetic stares and endless questions regarding, “How is your mom?” Breast cancer was living for the next set of test results that revealed the status of my mom’s health, my mom’s life. It was sympathy cards every day. It was home cooked meals from someone else’s home. Breast cancer was IV’s and nights in a hospital. Breast cancer was specialists and second opinions. It was constant worry and bargaining with God for my mom’s recovery. In the end, after months of fighting, breast cancer was a hurdle cleared and an obstacle avoided. It was a weight off of my entire family’s shoulders.
Still today, breast cancer is one of the most influential forces in my life. As a teenager I witnessed my mother fight for her life to escape the chains of cancer. I learned that breast cancer is more than an illness, but a transforming force for many. Breast cancer molded and shaped and scarred my mother into the woman she is today. Ironically, it also molded and shaped and scarred me into the person I am today. Through my mother’s experience, I learned that cancer does not discriminate. It cares not your race or age. It cuts with a knife and leaves its mark forever. Breast cancer is a physical tyrant, an unforgiving force. It attacks the most undeserving of victims, including my mom. It stalks generation after generation with its presence feared by daughters and granddaughters. Breast cancer is my fear now. Breast cancer is a lump in your breast. It is mammograms and hospital waiting rooms. It is blood work and biopsy results. Breast cancer is sutures and staples and disfiguration. In my mother’s case, it is a double mastectomy, a loss of femininity. It is one in every four women in the United States. It is radiation and chemotherapy, nausea and bald heads. It is husbands with no wives, children with no mothers, and parents with no daughters.
All of my life I have feared my mother’s leaving. As a child, I worried of her temporary departure. As an adult, I worry about her permanent departure. Breast cancer planted an eternal fear of its return in my mind. If it does not return for my mother, perhaps it will settle for me instead. Breast cancer has taught me more about life and love than anything else. For me, breast cancer restored my eight-year-old appreciation for the people I love.
Needless to say my kids were overwhelmed after hearing me read this. I did, however, get some of the best writing out of my students I've gotten all year. One day after school, one of the girls who had made the remarks about breast cancer found me and apologized. She explained she had never met anyone who had breast cancer or known anyone who knew someone with it. I sometimes wonder what I'm doing as a teacher. And very rarely do I ever have any sort of proof that I'm making even a small impact. However, this month I feel like I have opened a few sets of eyes to life beyond the sheltered existence so many young kids find themselves a part of.
So, I have a love/hate relationship with October. However, I am thankful that October has evolved into Pinktober. Breast cancer awareness is very much a worthwhile fight to undertake. And whether people walk or run or wear pink ribbons or assign 9th graders an assignment solely to allow for their personal satisfaction of teaching a lesson that has nothing to do with English, we must all do our part. Hopefully one day, October can be devoted to the fight for the cure of a disease other than breast cancer. Until then, we must spread the word.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Thoughts on Friendship
I remember it like it was yesterday. The months leading up to high school graduation were filled with promises of keeping in touch, plans made 6 months in advance, and talks of Christmas break activities we would all partake in when we were back home. Empty promises. Cancelled plans. Prior engagments.
The other night my very good friend Brooke Whitney (her name isn't Whitney anymore, but this is blog so I make the rules here) was in town from Lubbock. Laura (my other very good friend) and I made our way to Northwest Arkansas for dinner with Brooke. Despite not seeing Brooke since my wedding, the gap of time did not seem to effect our time together. We picked up conversations just like we were 19 again. We talked of pretty much all of the same topics of yesterday with a few nouns and verbs replaced with other more sophisticated ones. We didn't find our time awkward. We didn't feel like we had nothing left to discuss. We were very much as we used to be. It was refreshing to know that some things don't change as quickly as others.
On the drive home, I started thinking about why the majority of the time relationships that face thousands of miles of distance don't work nearly as well as Brooke, Laura, and myself. I decided the issue is this...when you don't see someone for months at a time, you are forced to pick up on the last day you were with them. For instance, when I graduated high school and then we all went our separate ways, we were forced to miss out on all of the experiences of the first semester of college without a continual communcation and analysis of these activities. When I saw you over Christmas, we were still seniors in high school even though we were so far from that place. I see people now who I felt like I knew really well in high school or even college and find myself downright confused as to where the person I once knew has gone. Life happens to us in the absence of each another and people are forced to fill those gaps of time one way or another. I run into people who I remember as uptight and conservative who now ramble on about partying and sex. I run into people who were the biggest whores I ever knew who now have 3 kids and a husband (granted the 3 kids could have stemmed from their previous life). Nonetheless, I have these experiences often.
Anywho, I guess my point is this. People change. People literally change what they believe, how they act, and who they are. It is rare to find people who either don't change much or change in a way that allows you to pick up conversations where you left off months ago. My only reservation I ever had in marrying Cody was the understanding that 23 year old Katy Schrodt will not be the same as 33 year old Katy Prater. I have always wondered how married people some how avoid the growing up process without growning apart. However, I decided after 5 years of being with Cody that you simply need to have the big things set in concrete. If you're a genuine person at 18 you probably will be at 28. If you're a funny person now, you will probably always be. If you're a sweet and loving person, you will probably be that as well. So maybe the relationships that last are the ones that you care enough to remember the big things that you appreciated before. The details of life are only the icing on the cake. It's the character traits that I appreciate in the people I love. So when you can, find a person that you used to know and try your hardest to pick up where you left off. Because maybe it was husbands and jobs that we dealt with last Wednesday, but it felt as enjoyable as boyfriends and class. It's less about the topics of conversation, and more about the people you're talking to.
The other night my very good friend Brooke Whitney (her name isn't Whitney anymore, but this is blog so I make the rules here) was in town from Lubbock. Laura (my other very good friend) and I made our way to Northwest Arkansas for dinner with Brooke. Despite not seeing Brooke since my wedding, the gap of time did not seem to effect our time together. We picked up conversations just like we were 19 again. We talked of pretty much all of the same topics of yesterday with a few nouns and verbs replaced with other more sophisticated ones. We didn't find our time awkward. We didn't feel like we had nothing left to discuss. We were very much as we used to be. It was refreshing to know that some things don't change as quickly as others.
On the drive home, I started thinking about why the majority of the time relationships that face thousands of miles of distance don't work nearly as well as Brooke, Laura, and myself. I decided the issue is this...when you don't see someone for months at a time, you are forced to pick up on the last day you were with them. For instance, when I graduated high school and then we all went our separate ways, we were forced to miss out on all of the experiences of the first semester of college without a continual communcation and analysis of these activities. When I saw you over Christmas, we were still seniors in high school even though we were so far from that place. I see people now who I felt like I knew really well in high school or even college and find myself downright confused as to where the person I once knew has gone. Life happens to us in the absence of each another and people are forced to fill those gaps of time one way or another. I run into people who I remember as uptight and conservative who now ramble on about partying and sex. I run into people who were the biggest whores I ever knew who now have 3 kids and a husband (granted the 3 kids could have stemmed from their previous life). Nonetheless, I have these experiences often.
Anywho, I guess my point is this. People change. People literally change what they believe, how they act, and who they are. It is rare to find people who either don't change much or change in a way that allows you to pick up conversations where you left off months ago. My only reservation I ever had in marrying Cody was the understanding that 23 year old Katy Schrodt will not be the same as 33 year old Katy Prater. I have always wondered how married people some how avoid the growing up process without growning apart. However, I decided after 5 years of being with Cody that you simply need to have the big things set in concrete. If you're a genuine person at 18 you probably will be at 28. If you're a funny person now, you will probably always be. If you're a sweet and loving person, you will probably be that as well. So maybe the relationships that last are the ones that you care enough to remember the big things that you appreciated before. The details of life are only the icing on the cake. It's the character traits that I appreciate in the people I love. So when you can, find a person that you used to know and try your hardest to pick up where you left off. Because maybe it was husbands and jobs that we dealt with last Wednesday, but it felt as enjoyable as boyfriends and class. It's less about the topics of conversation, and more about the people you're talking to.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Some of my favorite things...
In an attempt to keep my job, I would like to very generally reflect on a letter published in a newspaper somewhere near Fort Smith that I think highlights an interesting concept that I have been presented with numerous times as an educator, specifically a coach.
This letter to the editor, written by someone who withheld their name (don’t even get me started on fighting battles without believing in them enough to put your name on them), touched on the topic of favoritism in sports. Being the naïve educator that I am, I would have never assumed this letter would have been aimed at me had it not been for the withheld writer offering up that she or he had children who played volleyball. Throughout my short tenure as a coach, I have had people refer to me playing favoritism before. I have even had a child once label me as someone who plays favorites. Certainly “favoritism” is a buzz word in education. Educators are not supposed to have favorites because as we all know, educators are not humans like the rest of America. Nonetheless, here is my take on favoritism and why we should be okay with coaches, teachers, administrators, and anyone else in this world “playing favorites.”
Yes, I have favorites. I have favorites in my classroom, and I certainly have favorites in my gym. As I told the young child who accused me of playing favorites, I am proud and perfectly okay with having favorites. The students/players that I consider my favorites, however, are not the kids that I like the most, as all assume. They are not my favorites because I wish I could hang out on the weekend with them because our personalities click with one another so well. Instead, my favorites are the kids who do their work. And my favorites are the kids who listen to what I tell them and try to fulfill those requests as best they can. And my favorites are the kids who show up to practice with a good attitude and a willingness to work more than the others. And my favorites are the kids who are better than the other kids, because that’s how this world works. There are people who are good at stuff and people who are not. And why would I not like the ones who are good more than the rest. I don’t care that your child is ADHD and that you drank alcohol like a fish when you were pregnant so his brain doesn’t work like the rest of the kids. I don’t care that you work at night on a line in a factory instead of taking care of your children, and thus your child can’t read when he gets to the 9th grade. And I don’t care that God didn’t bless your child with feet that don’t trip, legs that can jump, and hands that can catch a ball. And I don’t care that you want your kid to play just as much as everyone else because high school sports are really just about having fun. Fun, my foot withheld writer. I’m not here to have fun. I’m here to rely on 15 year olds to perform on any given Tuesday or Thursday so that all of the endless hours I devote to your child will transfer to a wins and losses record. And I am here to teach your child, regardless of their ability to pass a ball, that this world is not fair. And you will have to answer to the favorites game for the rest of your life. And whether you’re 14 or 40 someone will always get what you want because they will be the favorite. I am here to teach your kid that maybe they should work harder to get better to bust this game that educators play, instead of adopting their parent’s excuses and allowances that have created an offspring who isn’t a favorite. I’m a believer that the apple doesn’t fall from the tree, withheld writer, so don’t assume you can break the cycle of non-favorites within your family by writing a rather elementary level letter to a local newspaper.
Yes, I have favorites. And no, your child probably isn’t one of them. And regardless of whether it’s junior high volleyball or success beyond public education when things stop being “for fun,” at least your child can look back and realize that their below average life started with you. You and your decision to convince your child that they are just as good as everyone else and it is my fault as a volleyball coach that they are perpetually not worth mentioning. You can claim that life lesson, not me.
More than that, I would also like to note that the majority of people in this life that your child will have to deal with were probably favorites themselves. Teachers were the smart kids, coaches were the starters, and administrators were a combination of both of those. Therefore, most educators deep down inside do not feel sorry for your child. Favorites believe in favorites. Public school employees just happen to be the lucky ones who generally get to provide you and your child with your first dose of reality in respect to the abilities of your son or daughter.
So, in summary I do have favorites. They’re called athletes and intelligent people. Don’t take it out on me that your child is neither of those.
This letter to the editor, written by someone who withheld their name (don’t even get me started on fighting battles without believing in them enough to put your name on them), touched on the topic of favoritism in sports. Being the naïve educator that I am, I would have never assumed this letter would have been aimed at me had it not been for the withheld writer offering up that she or he had children who played volleyball. Throughout my short tenure as a coach, I have had people refer to me playing favoritism before. I have even had a child once label me as someone who plays favorites. Certainly “favoritism” is a buzz word in education. Educators are not supposed to have favorites because as we all know, educators are not humans like the rest of America. Nonetheless, here is my take on favoritism and why we should be okay with coaches, teachers, administrators, and anyone else in this world “playing favorites.”
Yes, I have favorites. I have favorites in my classroom, and I certainly have favorites in my gym. As I told the young child who accused me of playing favorites, I am proud and perfectly okay with having favorites. The students/players that I consider my favorites, however, are not the kids that I like the most, as all assume. They are not my favorites because I wish I could hang out on the weekend with them because our personalities click with one another so well. Instead, my favorites are the kids who do their work. And my favorites are the kids who listen to what I tell them and try to fulfill those requests as best they can. And my favorites are the kids who show up to practice with a good attitude and a willingness to work more than the others. And my favorites are the kids who are better than the other kids, because that’s how this world works. There are people who are good at stuff and people who are not. And why would I not like the ones who are good more than the rest. I don’t care that your child is ADHD and that you drank alcohol like a fish when you were pregnant so his brain doesn’t work like the rest of the kids. I don’t care that you work at night on a line in a factory instead of taking care of your children, and thus your child can’t read when he gets to the 9th grade. And I don’t care that God didn’t bless your child with feet that don’t trip, legs that can jump, and hands that can catch a ball. And I don’t care that you want your kid to play just as much as everyone else because high school sports are really just about having fun. Fun, my foot withheld writer. I’m not here to have fun. I’m here to rely on 15 year olds to perform on any given Tuesday or Thursday so that all of the endless hours I devote to your child will transfer to a wins and losses record. And I am here to teach your child, regardless of their ability to pass a ball, that this world is not fair. And you will have to answer to the favorites game for the rest of your life. And whether you’re 14 or 40 someone will always get what you want because they will be the favorite. I am here to teach your kid that maybe they should work harder to get better to bust this game that educators play, instead of adopting their parent’s excuses and allowances that have created an offspring who isn’t a favorite. I’m a believer that the apple doesn’t fall from the tree, withheld writer, so don’t assume you can break the cycle of non-favorites within your family by writing a rather elementary level letter to a local newspaper.
Yes, I have favorites. And no, your child probably isn’t one of them. And regardless of whether it’s junior high volleyball or success beyond public education when things stop being “for fun,” at least your child can look back and realize that their below average life started with you. You and your decision to convince your child that they are just as good as everyone else and it is my fault as a volleyball coach that they are perpetually not worth mentioning. You can claim that life lesson, not me.
More than that, I would also like to note that the majority of people in this life that your child will have to deal with were probably favorites themselves. Teachers were the smart kids, coaches were the starters, and administrators were a combination of both of those. Therefore, most educators deep down inside do not feel sorry for your child. Favorites believe in favorites. Public school employees just happen to be the lucky ones who generally get to provide you and your child with your first dose of reality in respect to the abilities of your son or daughter.
So, in summary I do have favorites. They’re called athletes and intelligent people. Don’t take it out on me that your child is neither of those.
Monday, August 23, 2010
A Look Back In Time
A little glimpse at a recently hired 21 year old English teacher staring her last few days of summer before her first year teaching in the cold, scary, acne infested, adolescent face...in other words, I found this in a notebook that I was writing in on July 2, 2008. It's a little depressing, somewhat laughable, and a little ironic in light of my current situation.
"I got a job. A real 9-5, go everyday, on salary with benefits (I don't actually have benefits now which makes this even funnier. At the time I assumed all under paid educators in America at least got insurance. Ha.) adult, real world, childhood is over forever, your life will never be fun again, job. I didn't want a job. I got a job because that's what you do after college if you don't go to grad school of some other more interesting alternative. I took the boring, not worth talking about route...It seems so boring and routine. It's like once you enter the working world you don't ever make it back to the spontaneous world you lived in before. I chalk the job up to peer pressure. Everyone else got one. Why wouldn't I? What throws my job into an even less notable category is that I'm going to teach. It seems so weird. Why would I teach? How did I get to this point? How did I devote 4 years of my life to become a teacher? I don't really feel like I am the person I used to be. This is a logical thought when you consider the maturation process that is college. However, I think the version of myself 4 years ago was a lot cooler. I feel so average. I hate the thought of being average. Average is the first step toward failure. Nonetheless, I got a job...Three years later Cody and I are still together. I have no more clarification or definition of us than I had at the beginning of this. Things are not the way they used to be. He's a great guy, but he still feels so far from what I expected. But now I can't remember what I expected. I don't know how you know if a relationship is the way it is simply because that's the natural process of how two people in love change or if you lost something completely necessary to happiness. I contend that there are moments when this makes sense to me. When I stop overthinking and just let it be. I hear so many philosophies on love and marriage and happiness. I don't know which ones I agree with. This is what I know: Cody is a good and decent person, Cody has a genuine heart, he's never done anything negative worth mentioning, and he claims he loves me. I sometimes wait for it to end. I brace myself for some catastrophic ending to him and me. I wonder if he loves me the way you're supposed to love the person you spend your life with. There must be something worth maintaining considering we've lasted this long. He is mine. I am his. For now. It's been one interesting experience regardless of what happens outside the utopia that is college. I don't want college to be over. However, even if I stayed, it wouldn't be the same. There's a time limit on something as cool as this. If it lasted forever, it wouldn't be worth missing. Missing something is part of the appeal I've learned. Everytime I don't think I care I realize I do. When I tell myself it wouldn't hurt, it does. When I try not to cry, I do. Maybe that's when you know it's love. When it hurts so bad, but you come crawling back each time."
The other night Cody and I went and looked at the new dorms at UA Fort Smith. We walked our 24 year old bodies into a world of freshmen. We snuck into a door that we didn't have the key to. We peered in windows of rooms we will never live in. We spent some time on a campus that is no longer our campus. As we drove away with the belltower shining through the moon roof, I realized it is over. College is over. Not because we graduated. Not because we have a degree. It's over because we're not 18 anymore. The next day I walked into the halls of Lavaca High School and taught kids because I am an adult who is married to the guy I always wanted who I never wanted to admit was the one I wanted. I occasionally have these moments where all I want is the way things were. It's annoying and useless and a waste of time. But it takes a while to walk far enough away to no longer know you can't go back. Walking around The Lions' Den the other night was a good indicator that college is the new high school. I have walked far enough to understand it is no longer mine. I realized as I drove away with Cody that I need to focus on the irresistible apects of my present. One day I will be holding one child in my exhausted arms with another tugging annoyingly on my sleeve and I will think back to the days when Cody and I sat around with our dogs and did just about whatever we wanted. I will reminisce and think fondly upon this right here. I need to live in the now and less in the once was.
I hope the freshmen of The Lions' Den love college as much as I did. And I hope one day they look back so longingly on their experience. And for now, I will keep on walking.
"I got a job. A real 9-5, go everyday, on salary with benefits (I don't actually have benefits now which makes this even funnier. At the time I assumed all under paid educators in America at least got insurance. Ha.) adult, real world, childhood is over forever, your life will never be fun again, job. I didn't want a job. I got a job because that's what you do after college if you don't go to grad school of some other more interesting alternative. I took the boring, not worth talking about route...It seems so boring and routine. It's like once you enter the working world you don't ever make it back to the spontaneous world you lived in before. I chalk the job up to peer pressure. Everyone else got one. Why wouldn't I? What throws my job into an even less notable category is that I'm going to teach. It seems so weird. Why would I teach? How did I get to this point? How did I devote 4 years of my life to become a teacher? I don't really feel like I am the person I used to be. This is a logical thought when you consider the maturation process that is college. However, I think the version of myself 4 years ago was a lot cooler. I feel so average. I hate the thought of being average. Average is the first step toward failure. Nonetheless, I got a job...Three years later Cody and I are still together. I have no more clarification or definition of us than I had at the beginning of this. Things are not the way they used to be. He's a great guy, but he still feels so far from what I expected. But now I can't remember what I expected. I don't know how you know if a relationship is the way it is simply because that's the natural process of how two people in love change or if you lost something completely necessary to happiness. I contend that there are moments when this makes sense to me. When I stop overthinking and just let it be. I hear so many philosophies on love and marriage and happiness. I don't know which ones I agree with. This is what I know: Cody is a good and decent person, Cody has a genuine heart, he's never done anything negative worth mentioning, and he claims he loves me. I sometimes wait for it to end. I brace myself for some catastrophic ending to him and me. I wonder if he loves me the way you're supposed to love the person you spend your life with. There must be something worth maintaining considering we've lasted this long. He is mine. I am his. For now. It's been one interesting experience regardless of what happens outside the utopia that is college. I don't want college to be over. However, even if I stayed, it wouldn't be the same. There's a time limit on something as cool as this. If it lasted forever, it wouldn't be worth missing. Missing something is part of the appeal I've learned. Everytime I don't think I care I realize I do. When I tell myself it wouldn't hurt, it does. When I try not to cry, I do. Maybe that's when you know it's love. When it hurts so bad, but you come crawling back each time."
The other night Cody and I went and looked at the new dorms at UA Fort Smith. We walked our 24 year old bodies into a world of freshmen. We snuck into a door that we didn't have the key to. We peered in windows of rooms we will never live in. We spent some time on a campus that is no longer our campus. As we drove away with the belltower shining through the moon roof, I realized it is over. College is over. Not because we graduated. Not because we have a degree. It's over because we're not 18 anymore. The next day I walked into the halls of Lavaca High School and taught kids because I am an adult who is married to the guy I always wanted who I never wanted to admit was the one I wanted. I occasionally have these moments where all I want is the way things were. It's annoying and useless and a waste of time. But it takes a while to walk far enough away to no longer know you can't go back. Walking around The Lions' Den the other night was a good indicator that college is the new high school. I have walked far enough to understand it is no longer mine. I realized as I drove away with Cody that I need to focus on the irresistible apects of my present. One day I will be holding one child in my exhausted arms with another tugging annoyingly on my sleeve and I will think back to the days when Cody and I sat around with our dogs and did just about whatever we wanted. I will reminisce and think fondly upon this right here. I need to live in the now and less in the once was.
I hope the freshmen of The Lions' Den love college as much as I did. And I hope one day they look back so longingly on their experience. And for now, I will keep on walking.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Hello, my name is Adulthood, Adulthood Prater.
I was (note the past tense) so very impressed with myself throughout this entire wedding process for not overanalyzing every tiny detail of every experience. I didn't get caught up in the "I'm getting so old, my life is spinning out of control game" that I often times find myself in during times of immense change. I even handled the post-wedding reality set-in. I was very fortunate to have a summer as an educator to get married in that allowed the weeks after June 19th to be spent like Cody and I were 18 again. We watched movies all night, slept til noon, and did as little as we possibly could. Life for the past 6 weeksish has been pretty sweet.
However, as all times of stress free existence do, my summer of leisure has come to a screeching halt. I have found myself thrown into the tornado of "I'm old." I am currently mid-spin, eye of the storm (yes, I know that's a hurricane reference), hunker down in the bathtub with the mattress on top of you mode. I am overwhelmed.
This all began to strike me about the time I decided to turn 24 years old. Cody and I had some friends over for a birthday/housewarming celebration. We had a great time. Everything went well. But at some point during the night, I looked around the living room of my home filled with my couple friends (once you get old, you only hang out with couples) made eye contact with my husband smiled at my fur children and sipped my glass of wine and realized this isn't 2004 anymore.
My birthday was only the beginning of my turmoil. Here recently I have also been forced to go back to work. As a teacher I am faced with the perpetual label of Mrs. _______ or Coach ________ at all times. Even when students are not around, teachers still have a hard time socializing like the rest of Americans who call each other by their first names. The past few days I have been bombarded with "Hey, Coach Schro...oh wait, it's not Schrodt anymore. What is it now?" comments. I have had my mail box relabeled in the teacher's lounge. The name by my classroom door says Prater instead of Schrodt. I was forced to complete an assignment in alphabetical order as a "P." I have had every username I have ever possessed reset and thus compiled of something Prater related. IT IS EVERYWHERE!!! It's almost laughable. One of the women who consider not changing their name has had the name change process completed for her. I am officially Coach Prater. I get it.
The whole process is so weird. I literally feel like I have no idea where my life has gone. I had a professor in college who used to always remark on how difficult it is to turn a year older as a teacher but to come to work every day to kids who are always 15. They don't get old. They move on and you are reloaded with another group of kids in the exact same place as the ones you had before. I am faced with the innocence of adolescence on a daily basis. I am faced with the youthfulness that I have finally realized I no longer have like I used to. I am married. I am not 22. I am no longer Schrodt. And I am a little bit lost.
I need a minute to breathe...
And then I was reminded that often times in the midst of chaotic Katy mode there is often a light at the end of the tunnel. Here recently I have been blessed with a resolution to a mess that I have been reliving for about 6 years now. Something that simply didn't go the way I wanted it to go has been resolved for all to enjoy, most importantly me. I have recently been reminded by the most unlikely of candidates that "everything happens for a reason." Oddly enough, that same tidbit of advice was given to me by the person involved in my self-inflicted mess 6 years ago, but I simply didn't listen. I wasn't old enough to understand. This experience of restitution could only be appreciated by 24 year old Katy...Schrodt.
Maybe we all get old. Maybe we don't appreciate our youth while we've got it (I know, I know, I'm not that old). Maybe we make decisions that haunt us for 6 years. And maybe, you only get the resolution that you need when you're at a point in your life when you can accept it and appreciate it. Maybe there is more good in growing up than I can understand right now. All I do understand is there a certain renewal to one's spirit when you finally reach a point of catharsis. And in all the drama of the Prater wedding experience I have found comfort in something that happened to Katy Schrodt. Therefore, as Katy Prater I will carry forward my little nugget of wisdom I have received. Regardless of age or name, there are some good things that cannot be denied.
"when it's good, it'll feel like it should." - John Mayer
However, as all times of stress free existence do, my summer of leisure has come to a screeching halt. I have found myself thrown into the tornado of "I'm old." I am currently mid-spin, eye of the storm (yes, I know that's a hurricane reference), hunker down in the bathtub with the mattress on top of you mode. I am overwhelmed.
This all began to strike me about the time I decided to turn 24 years old. Cody and I had some friends over for a birthday/housewarming celebration. We had a great time. Everything went well. But at some point during the night, I looked around the living room of my home filled with my couple friends (once you get old, you only hang out with couples) made eye contact with my husband smiled at my fur children and sipped my glass of wine and realized this isn't 2004 anymore.
My birthday was only the beginning of my turmoil. Here recently I have also been forced to go back to work. As a teacher I am faced with the perpetual label of Mrs. _______ or Coach ________ at all times. Even when students are not around, teachers still have a hard time socializing like the rest of Americans who call each other by their first names. The past few days I have been bombarded with "Hey, Coach Schro...oh wait, it's not Schrodt anymore. What is it now?" comments. I have had my mail box relabeled in the teacher's lounge. The name by my classroom door says Prater instead of Schrodt. I was forced to complete an assignment in alphabetical order as a "P." I have had every username I have ever possessed reset and thus compiled of something Prater related. IT IS EVERYWHERE!!! It's almost laughable. One of the women who consider not changing their name has had the name change process completed for her. I am officially Coach Prater. I get it.
The whole process is so weird. I literally feel like I have no idea where my life has gone. I had a professor in college who used to always remark on how difficult it is to turn a year older as a teacher but to come to work every day to kids who are always 15. They don't get old. They move on and you are reloaded with another group of kids in the exact same place as the ones you had before. I am faced with the innocence of adolescence on a daily basis. I am faced with the youthfulness that I have finally realized I no longer have like I used to. I am married. I am not 22. I am no longer Schrodt. And I am a little bit lost.
I need a minute to breathe...
And then I was reminded that often times in the midst of chaotic Katy mode there is often a light at the end of the tunnel. Here recently I have been blessed with a resolution to a mess that I have been reliving for about 6 years now. Something that simply didn't go the way I wanted it to go has been resolved for all to enjoy, most importantly me. I have recently been reminded by the most unlikely of candidates that "everything happens for a reason." Oddly enough, that same tidbit of advice was given to me by the person involved in my self-inflicted mess 6 years ago, but I simply didn't listen. I wasn't old enough to understand. This experience of restitution could only be appreciated by 24 year old Katy...Schrodt.
Maybe we all get old. Maybe we don't appreciate our youth while we've got it (I know, I know, I'm not that old). Maybe we make decisions that haunt us for 6 years. And maybe, you only get the resolution that you need when you're at a point in your life when you can accept it and appreciate it. Maybe there is more good in growing up than I can understand right now. All I do understand is there a certain renewal to one's spirit when you finally reach a point of catharsis. And in all the drama of the Prater wedding experience I have found comfort in something that happened to Katy Schrodt. Therefore, as Katy Prater I will carry forward my little nugget of wisdom I have received. Regardless of age or name, there are some good things that cannot be denied.
"when it's good, it'll feel like it should." - John Mayer
Monday, July 19, 2010
Nagging Questions...
So, I still am not to a point where I feel like I have anything philosophical, or really anything interesting at all for that matter, to say about getting married. However, I have noticed an incessant few questions that are inevitably asked to me on a daily basis. I have decided that maybe if I answer them on this blog, a few people will get their much anticipated answers here rather than from interaction with me.
1. "How's married life?"
This is by far the most commonly asked question to me now. I'm not sure how long the interval of receiving this question lasts. 1 month, 6 months, 1 year?!? I honestly don't mind the question. I just feel like a real let down because I don't have a clever answer. I refuse to answer without sarcasm, and thus am left talking about how my life is the exact same before we were married. Here's my best shot at an answer: I have gained 9 pounds and slept more in the last month than I have in quite a while. I have cooked approximately 4 dinners and 2 breakfasts (0 lunches) in the past 4 weeks. I am not pregnant, nor do I want to be, and I like/love Cody about as much as I ever have. That is the update on married life. I don't know why I threw in the "I'm not pregnant" part. I just feel like everyone waits with baited breath for an offspring once you're married. Not. For. Me.
2. "How was the wedding?"
This is the most commonly asked question numero two (I considered writing "two" out in Spanish and then realized my English spelling skills are not bilingual). My answer is....wait for it...don't answer too quickly...don't seen too eager...you know she has something worth hearing....good. It was good. There were no enormous mishaps. Cody did not bail on me. No one tripped down the aisle. There were no fights. There were no largely embarrassing moments. It was good. Things did go wrong. I have seen the video and wished that I didn't look so uncomfortable in all of the fluff that is a wedding, but overall, it was fine. I was braced for a more traumatic experience than I received, so I consider myself lucky. As my wise mother has told me before, "Nothing is ever as bad or as good as you expect." My wedding proves this statement to be true.
3. "Has anything changed with you and Cody?"
This is generally the follow up question to number two, at which point I realize I am not getting out of this conversation without divulging some sort of uncomfortable personal information. Drumroll please....the answer is no. I generally make some convoluted reference about sex at which point everyone laughs. Other than that though, no. Things are not different. We have not fought yet (we didn't fight before we were married either). We have not done anything crazy. We have not changed every characteristic that makes up Cody and Katy. We are the same two people we were 4 weeks ago plus a marriage license and common living quarters. I realize not too exciting, but sufficient for me nonetheless.
4. "Would you do it again?"
This is a bit of a loaded question I think. Would I marry Cody again? Yes! Of course. I don't regret or second guess or worry about the actual union of people that was made official on June 19th. I am happy to be Cody's permanent (muhahahahaha) partner in crime. Now, would I get married in the same fashion as we did again? The jury is still out. I think I am still too close to my wedding to answer this fairly. I still remember all of the stress and anxiety and chaos that was created by the wedding. I often wonder if maybe running off with a few close friends and family would have been the better option. It is not that I didn't have a good time on my wedding day. There were plenty of shining moments that will inevitably stick with me for years to come. However, there are some moments that were not so shiny and down right hard to bear that are also still intact. I don't know the answer to this.
I figure it's like any coming-of-age, traditional, rite of passage sort of experience. While I sat on the football field of Southside High School sweating in my Rebel blue robe inbetween two kids I swear I'd never seen before with a graduation hat that made me feel even more conspicuous than I did as an almost 6 foot tall 17 year old, I did not understand why graduation was so important. However, as a 23 year old educator who cried at Lavaca's graduation last year, I can't help but look back fondly on that sweaty night in May. And maybe, just maybe, one day I will remember June 19, 2010 with nothing but good thoughts. Sometimes the years filter away the negativity that we (I) often allow to creep into our (my) present.
5. "What was your favorite moment of the wedding?"
This is not a really common question, but one that a few of my closer friends have asked me. I like this question, because it forces me to remember the good. I would have to say that I have a few favorite moments. Some are logical. Some are not. Precursor: I realize these next few sentences are cliche and lovey and dovey and some of you will roll your eyes. I would do the same thing if I were reading this somewhere else. Deal with it!
Favorite moment number one: walking down the aisle. I know, I know, I know. I can't believe she pulled out the walking down the aisle card. I did. However, my reasoning for liking this moment is not the conventional, "I finally got to see my handsome husband to be," reasoning. I had already seen Cody in a photographer induced creation of an aisle walking scene before the actual wedding. Honestly, I felt like it was a little bit awkward. It is hard for Cody and I to act like ourselves in tuxedoes and wedding dresses with a man taking pictures of us and various people walking through the church. However, the actual walk down the aisle was something I will remember with a smile. It was like the whole evolution of Katy and Cody getting married was finally over. I had my dad with me. I had my mom watching me. I had all of my family and friends and most everyone in this world that I love there for Cody and me. It meant a lot to me. It meant more than I guess I realized. Through all of the RSVP's and planning and hypothetical conversations about getting married, I could never grasp what it would really be like. It was bigger than I anticipated. It was right. It was something that I will hold forever. Less because of some touching moment with Cody and more for a touching moment with everyone who was there. I walked down the aisle knowing that I was nearly to the finish line and that everything was going to be okay. It was a feeling that I had been searching for since I got engaged. It was a feeling of accomplishment, of success, of goodness.
Moment two: Riding in the convertible to take pictures. Yes, it was hot as could be. Yes, I was sweating. Yes, I had on a dress. BUT, I also finally had Cody alone so that we could just be for a minute. We drove and listened to the wind and talked about the wedding and just took a deep breath before the reception started. It was good. It was fun. The car stalled numerous times, but not even a little car trouble could ruin my wedding high. It was fun.
Final moment: At the end of the night after the reception guests had left, Cody and I left to go home. I had changed from my wedding dress and Cody's bowtie was undone. The whole evening was over and everything had gone relatively smoothly. Cody and I walked out of the reception holding hands into a June night in Arkansas. It had cooled off and the wind was blowing and my shoes were in my hands rather than on my feet. We were finally off stage and back to our normal existence. As we walked to the car, Cody used a voice that only Cody uses to talk to me. It's one of those voices that every annoying couple has that make everyone around then nauseous. It is the most defining characteristic about Cody to me. When I heard him talk to me, I knew all was right in the world. I had the guy I loved. It was official. All of the stress was behind me. Within 24 hours I would be on the beach, and I was happy. That is the moment that I remember. That is the moment. The one that no one saw. The one that we have no pictures of. The one that did not involve some scripted dance or itinerary-outlined activity. That is the one that made all the rest worhtwhile.
1. "How's married life?"
This is by far the most commonly asked question to me now. I'm not sure how long the interval of receiving this question lasts. 1 month, 6 months, 1 year?!? I honestly don't mind the question. I just feel like a real let down because I don't have a clever answer. I refuse to answer without sarcasm, and thus am left talking about how my life is the exact same before we were married. Here's my best shot at an answer: I have gained 9 pounds and slept more in the last month than I have in quite a while. I have cooked approximately 4 dinners and 2 breakfasts (0 lunches) in the past 4 weeks. I am not pregnant, nor do I want to be, and I like/love Cody about as much as I ever have. That is the update on married life. I don't know why I threw in the "I'm not pregnant" part. I just feel like everyone waits with baited breath for an offspring once you're married. Not. For. Me.
2. "How was the wedding?"
This is the most commonly asked question numero two (I considered writing "two" out in Spanish and then realized my English spelling skills are not bilingual). My answer is....wait for it...don't answer too quickly...don't seen too eager...you know she has something worth hearing....good. It was good. There were no enormous mishaps. Cody did not bail on me. No one tripped down the aisle. There were no fights. There were no largely embarrassing moments. It was good. Things did go wrong. I have seen the video and wished that I didn't look so uncomfortable in all of the fluff that is a wedding, but overall, it was fine. I was braced for a more traumatic experience than I received, so I consider myself lucky. As my wise mother has told me before, "Nothing is ever as bad or as good as you expect." My wedding proves this statement to be true.
3. "Has anything changed with you and Cody?"
This is generally the follow up question to number two, at which point I realize I am not getting out of this conversation without divulging some sort of uncomfortable personal information. Drumroll please....the answer is no. I generally make some convoluted reference about sex at which point everyone laughs. Other than that though, no. Things are not different. We have not fought yet (we didn't fight before we were married either). We have not done anything crazy. We have not changed every characteristic that makes up Cody and Katy. We are the same two people we were 4 weeks ago plus a marriage license and common living quarters. I realize not too exciting, but sufficient for me nonetheless.
4. "Would you do it again?"
This is a bit of a loaded question I think. Would I marry Cody again? Yes! Of course. I don't regret or second guess or worry about the actual union of people that was made official on June 19th. I am happy to be Cody's permanent (muhahahahaha) partner in crime. Now, would I get married in the same fashion as we did again? The jury is still out. I think I am still too close to my wedding to answer this fairly. I still remember all of the stress and anxiety and chaos that was created by the wedding. I often wonder if maybe running off with a few close friends and family would have been the better option. It is not that I didn't have a good time on my wedding day. There were plenty of shining moments that will inevitably stick with me for years to come. However, there are some moments that were not so shiny and down right hard to bear that are also still intact. I don't know the answer to this.
I figure it's like any coming-of-age, traditional, rite of passage sort of experience. While I sat on the football field of Southside High School sweating in my Rebel blue robe inbetween two kids I swear I'd never seen before with a graduation hat that made me feel even more conspicuous than I did as an almost 6 foot tall 17 year old, I did not understand why graduation was so important. However, as a 23 year old educator who cried at Lavaca's graduation last year, I can't help but look back fondly on that sweaty night in May. And maybe, just maybe, one day I will remember June 19, 2010 with nothing but good thoughts. Sometimes the years filter away the negativity that we (I) often allow to creep into our (my) present.
5. "What was your favorite moment of the wedding?"
This is not a really common question, but one that a few of my closer friends have asked me. I like this question, because it forces me to remember the good. I would have to say that I have a few favorite moments. Some are logical. Some are not. Precursor: I realize these next few sentences are cliche and lovey and dovey and some of you will roll your eyes. I would do the same thing if I were reading this somewhere else. Deal with it!
Favorite moment number one: walking down the aisle. I know, I know, I know. I can't believe she pulled out the walking down the aisle card. I did. However, my reasoning for liking this moment is not the conventional, "I finally got to see my handsome husband to be," reasoning. I had already seen Cody in a photographer induced creation of an aisle walking scene before the actual wedding. Honestly, I felt like it was a little bit awkward. It is hard for Cody and I to act like ourselves in tuxedoes and wedding dresses with a man taking pictures of us and various people walking through the church. However, the actual walk down the aisle was something I will remember with a smile. It was like the whole evolution of Katy and Cody getting married was finally over. I had my dad with me. I had my mom watching me. I had all of my family and friends and most everyone in this world that I love there for Cody and me. It meant a lot to me. It meant more than I guess I realized. Through all of the RSVP's and planning and hypothetical conversations about getting married, I could never grasp what it would really be like. It was bigger than I anticipated. It was right. It was something that I will hold forever. Less because of some touching moment with Cody and more for a touching moment with everyone who was there. I walked down the aisle knowing that I was nearly to the finish line and that everything was going to be okay. It was a feeling that I had been searching for since I got engaged. It was a feeling of accomplishment, of success, of goodness.
Moment two: Riding in the convertible to take pictures. Yes, it was hot as could be. Yes, I was sweating. Yes, I had on a dress. BUT, I also finally had Cody alone so that we could just be for a minute. We drove and listened to the wind and talked about the wedding and just took a deep breath before the reception started. It was good. It was fun. The car stalled numerous times, but not even a little car trouble could ruin my wedding high. It was fun.
Final moment: At the end of the night after the reception guests had left, Cody and I left to go home. I had changed from my wedding dress and Cody's bowtie was undone. The whole evening was over and everything had gone relatively smoothly. Cody and I walked out of the reception holding hands into a June night in Arkansas. It had cooled off and the wind was blowing and my shoes were in my hands rather than on my feet. We were finally off stage and back to our normal existence. As we walked to the car, Cody used a voice that only Cody uses to talk to me. It's one of those voices that every annoying couple has that make everyone around then nauseous. It is the most defining characteristic about Cody to me. When I heard him talk to me, I knew all was right in the world. I had the guy I loved. It was official. All of the stress was behind me. Within 24 hours I would be on the beach, and I was happy. That is the moment that I remember. That is the moment. The one that no one saw. The one that we have no pictures of. The one that did not involve some scripted dance or itinerary-outlined activity. That is the one that made all the rest worhtwhile.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Not There Yet...
I have promised a post about my wedding. I know I have some thoughts about the day and the process and all that experience meant to Cody and me. However, I'm still not at a point where I feel like I really have anything interesting to say. When I got home from honeymoon, I literally turned my brain off to anything wedding related. I promised myself as I was freaing out in the midst of this process that once it was over I was really going to let it be over. And I have. So I am waiting for the pictures and video and all of the physical evidence of the day to be given to me so I can see what kind of emotions are evoked. Then, I will write. I think.
Nonetheless, I have decided to really step out of the box and make a very bloggish post using pictures of our engagement and wedding experience. These are the few pictures that I took along the way. As you will see, they are very much indicative of Cody and me.
This is the first picture we took after we got engaged. It was probably around 2a.m. on November 1st. We were tired. I was overwhelmed. I was wearing a plaid shirt??? That night I went to bed and laid awake worrying about all of the stuff that had to be done now that I officially had a ring on my finger. I realize now I really had no idea what the wedding planning process would be like. This picture is literally of a different person than I am now. The girl in this picture seems like someone I knew a long time ago. Who knew planning a wedding would expediate the maturation process perhaps more than anything else in life? Goodness...
I took this picture on the way home from school one day. I was in Lavaca and volleyball was over. I had finally accepted the reality of being engaged and gotten past the initial "Holy crap!" I was happy. I was excited. I was (am) in love and I decided such a gorgeous ride home from Lavaca warranted me taking a picture of my own hand in my own side mirror. Very 12-year-old girlish if you ask me.
This is one of our engagement pictures we took along the way. I like this picture because it is fun. It's not so serious or lovey dovey or any of that junk. It's just us being us which was a refreshing change of pace in a wedding planning process that I felt like sometimes required too much molding to tradition and what everyone else does. And yes, I realize everyone takes a picture like this, but it still doesn't mean I can't like it.
These are three of my favorites. The first one is of us holding our marriage license as we walked out of the court house. The second is of Cody holding it in the Heisman pose. The last one is of me holding it in the triple threat position. This is Cody and I in a nutshell. We found ourselves laying on the concrete in front of the court house taking pictures of ourselves acting like annoying teenagers. It was good. I think we have both sort of found ourselves being more silly than normal throughout this process so as to reaffirm to each other (and ourselves) that marriage doesn't have to mean the end of being young or being kids in a lot of ways. We're still 23. We're still silly in love with each other. We still act like we did when we were 18. And I hope we are like this for many, many years. Adulthood can wait.
And finally, here we are with Phineas Gerald and Staley John. They have most definitely become our children. Cody and I have made a little family with these two pups fulfilling any sort of desire to have kids of our own. They are cute (probably cuter than any human children we could ever create) and they have been a challenge that I think Cody and I have both enjoyed for the most part. The picture is terrible and I cut off part of Cody's head, but I like it all the same. I like it because it has the guy that I love and the puppies that I adore all in the same place. I don't know what exactly I think about the past year of wedding craziness, but I know that I came out the other side with all of my favorite people intact and I know that I am happy about that.
Nonetheless, I have decided to really step out of the box and make a very bloggish post using pictures of our engagement and wedding experience. These are the few pictures that I took along the way. As you will see, they are very much indicative of Cody and me.
This is the first picture we took after we got engaged. It was probably around 2a.m. on November 1st. We were tired. I was overwhelmed. I was wearing a plaid shirt??? That night I went to bed and laid awake worrying about all of the stuff that had to be done now that I officially had a ring on my finger. I realize now I really had no idea what the wedding planning process would be like. This picture is literally of a different person than I am now. The girl in this picture seems like someone I knew a long time ago. Who knew planning a wedding would expediate the maturation process perhaps more than anything else in life? Goodness...
I took this picture on the way home from school one day. I was in Lavaca and volleyball was over. I had finally accepted the reality of being engaged and gotten past the initial "Holy crap!" I was happy. I was excited. I was (am) in love and I decided such a gorgeous ride home from Lavaca warranted me taking a picture of my own hand in my own side mirror. Very 12-year-old girlish if you ask me.
This is one of our engagement pictures we took along the way. I like this picture because it is fun. It's not so serious or lovey dovey or any of that junk. It's just us being us which was a refreshing change of pace in a wedding planning process that I felt like sometimes required too much molding to tradition and what everyone else does. And yes, I realize everyone takes a picture like this, but it still doesn't mean I can't like it.
These are three of my favorites. The first one is of us holding our marriage license as we walked out of the court house. The second is of Cody holding it in the Heisman pose. The last one is of me holding it in the triple threat position. This is Cody and I in a nutshell. We found ourselves laying on the concrete in front of the court house taking pictures of ourselves acting like annoying teenagers. It was good. I think we have both sort of found ourselves being more silly than normal throughout this process so as to reaffirm to each other (and ourselves) that marriage doesn't have to mean the end of being young or being kids in a lot of ways. We're still 23. We're still silly in love with each other. We still act like we did when we were 18. And I hope we are like this for many, many years. Adulthood can wait.
And finally, here we are with Phineas Gerald and Staley John. They have most definitely become our children. Cody and I have made a little family with these two pups fulfilling any sort of desire to have kids of our own. They are cute (probably cuter than any human children we could ever create) and they have been a challenge that I think Cody and I have both enjoyed for the most part. The picture is terrible and I cut off part of Cody's head, but I like it all the same. I like it because it has the guy that I love and the puppies that I adore all in the same place. I don't know what exactly I think about the past year of wedding craziness, but I know that I came out the other side with all of my favorite people intact and I know that I am happy about that.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
SSS
So I have considered writing a post about my wedding numerous times. I have a lot to say. I am not necessarily avoiding it. I just need a few more days to really wrap my head around the whole eperience. So, until then I have decided to simply recount a funny experience from our honeymoon adventure to the Bahamas.
Note: If you ever have three S's on the bottom right hand corner of your plane ticket, it means the airline safety folks have randomly chosen you to be extensively searched and patted down while going through security. This is vital information for my story.
On the way to the Bahamas, Cody and I flew out of XNA the following Sunday after our wedding. Every time I go through security at an airport post 9-11 I feel like I am in some sort of race. Get my shoes off (pray that you remembered to wear socks). Get out all electronics. Place them in a bin. I need a bin! Make sure all of your liquids, gels, etc. are no larger than 2.5 oz. Place them in plastic bag...you get the picture. It stresses me out. On this day, I happened to forget to take my Vera Bradley credit card holder out of my back pocket. I walked through the metal detector and was asked to "step to the side." Then a woman radioed to someone that she needed a "female assist" at terminal 2. When the "female assist" arrived, the other female told her I had "bolted." What the heck? I tried to explain that I left my coin purse in my pocket on accident, but that didn't fly (pun intended). I was patted down and gawked at by fellow travelers. I was looked at judgingly by the TSA employee and Cody didn't let me live it down for the rest of the trip....No, that is not the funny part of this story. Hang in there.
On our way back from the Bahamas, we again were forced to go through security. It seemed to be a little more strict. I assume because we were trying to get back into the U.S. Nonetheless, at 4:45a.m. we found ourselves being shuffled through the Bahamian airport with me much more cognizant of the security rules since my recent problem with "bolting" at XNA. We got to the security line and I made sure to get everything out of my pockets. My gels and liquids were all neatly tucked in my Ziploc baggie. My ducks were in a serious row. I did however forget to wear socks which kind of grossed me out. I was reprimanded by the worker at the metal detector who sternly told me to walk flat footed as I was trying to tip toe through the process so as to avoid whatever foreign filth that may be on the floor of the Nassau airport. Beyond that little mishap, I thought I really performed well. The detector did not ding and I assumed I was on my way to freedom when I was again asked to step to the side. What do you mean? I don't have anything in my pockets. My gels were correctly zipped. My electronics were all neatly placed in my bin. What did I do wrong???
My bags were immediately checked by some young man. He did a rather haphazard job of searching and told me that I had been singled out because of the "SSS" on the bottom of my ticket. He explained the random selection which made me feel a little better. However, my bare feet were still touching the floor and my security mishap wasn't close to over. A female attendant proceded to pat me down. I had to lift up my feet. I had to have my hands and feet swabbed with some sort of device that I assume checked for bomb residue (who makes bombs with their feet by the way?) I was groped and embarrassed and again gawked at by fellow travelers, including Cody. He loved it. Two out of two times on this honeymoon I was a potential terrorist. Real funny. Still not to the funnny part...stick with me.
We get through immigration. All is well. We start to board the plane and are walking toward the gate. Cody and I are among the first few to reach the wing (pun not intended) of the airport where our flight would depart. As we turn to walk to line up at the gate (keep in mind this it the Bahamas, so the airport was a little shady), a man is asked to step to one side and I am asked to step to the other. Cody also lines up behind me assuming all of us need to stop to have our bag reexamined yet again. No, no, no. Only myself and one other lucky traveler are apparently in store for the bag inspection of the century. Seriously, what is going on?
Cody walks on to the gate which is maybe another 20 feet down this wing. All of the other passengers also walk past the two lucky bag inspection winners. Here comes the sticky part...
As part of a gag gift before my wedding, some friends of mine put together a little gift bag of weird, humorous sex stuff. It included a pleasure pack of flavored condoms, some weird pills (I won't go into details), pain relievers, lubricants, things of that nature. Because I am not particularly familiar with sex and all that it entails, I had thrown a few of these items in my carry on luggage after our wedding. I only kept the logical items (condoms, lubricants, weird pills) because who wants to be caught on their homeymoon without all the right tools. Luckily, all of those tools were in the bags that were going to be checked in front of about 50 passengers headed to Miami...Goodness.
I get pulled to the side. The airport worker asks me to lay my bag flat on the table. Cody had walked to the gate and was turned around staring at me laughing like a crazy person. Others are again looking at me like I am part of a bad car wreck. The airport lady opens the first pocket and all is well. There is a book and passports. Very logical items for a traveler. I realize at this point that I am screwed. I knew that the condoms that the first inspector looked over were going to be discovered. I stood in complete terror. I was suddenly 13 years old trying to hide cigarettes in my backpack (note: I never smoked cigarettes when I was 13). There were women and small children passing by. And this woman was not just looking. She really took her job seriously. She opened the next pocket to find a box of condoms. Instead of steering from this awkward item like any normal person would do, she decided to take all 12 of the assorted flavored condoms out of the box and onto the stage for all to see. The condoms were followed by some lubricants, weird pills, and even some lingere from the trip. After about the third time she looked at me like I was the biggest freak in the world, I offered up that I was on my honeymoon. I thought maybe it would soften the blow of my suitcase of tricks. She continued to search straight-faced and serious. She covered every nook and cranny and displayed it for all the world to see. I was red. I was ashamed. I wanted to crawl into a shell and die. Cody all the time is almost rolling in the line to get on the plane. I am mortified.
She eventually finds my ticket in my hand. She looks at the bottom three S's and informed me that even if I wasn't the first one to walk down the ramp, she still would have searched my bag because I was inflicted with the scarlet letters. I told her those S's have really made for some inconveniences for me. I said they must stand for security, security, security (I am really trying to make nice with this stone cold TSA employee). As she zips my final pocket closed, she looks up from my bag o' sex to say with a sly smile that for me, the S's stand for "sex, sex, sex." Burn.
The Bahamians had the last laugh. I relayed this story to Cody and we couldn't help but laugh hysterically. It was a very fitting end to a honeymoon that we will always remember. We had a lot of fun and enjoyed a much deserved break. There was beach lounging and good food. There was dancing and relaxing. There was a week of goodness for two young people in love. And let's be honest, what else should the S's stand for on your honeymoon?
Note: If you ever have three S's on the bottom right hand corner of your plane ticket, it means the airline safety folks have randomly chosen you to be extensively searched and patted down while going through security. This is vital information for my story.
On the way to the Bahamas, Cody and I flew out of XNA the following Sunday after our wedding. Every time I go through security at an airport post 9-11 I feel like I am in some sort of race. Get my shoes off (pray that you remembered to wear socks). Get out all electronics. Place them in a bin. I need a bin! Make sure all of your liquids, gels, etc. are no larger than 2.5 oz. Place them in plastic bag...you get the picture. It stresses me out. On this day, I happened to forget to take my Vera Bradley credit card holder out of my back pocket. I walked through the metal detector and was asked to "step to the side." Then a woman radioed to someone that she needed a "female assist" at terminal 2. When the "female assist" arrived, the other female told her I had "bolted." What the heck? I tried to explain that I left my coin purse in my pocket on accident, but that didn't fly (pun intended). I was patted down and gawked at by fellow travelers. I was looked at judgingly by the TSA employee and Cody didn't let me live it down for the rest of the trip....No, that is not the funny part of this story. Hang in there.
On our way back from the Bahamas, we again were forced to go through security. It seemed to be a little more strict. I assume because we were trying to get back into the U.S. Nonetheless, at 4:45a.m. we found ourselves being shuffled through the Bahamian airport with me much more cognizant of the security rules since my recent problem with "bolting" at XNA. We got to the security line and I made sure to get everything out of my pockets. My gels and liquids were all neatly tucked in my Ziploc baggie. My ducks were in a serious row. I did however forget to wear socks which kind of grossed me out. I was reprimanded by the worker at the metal detector who sternly told me to walk flat footed as I was trying to tip toe through the process so as to avoid whatever foreign filth that may be on the floor of the Nassau airport. Beyond that little mishap, I thought I really performed well. The detector did not ding and I assumed I was on my way to freedom when I was again asked to step to the side. What do you mean? I don't have anything in my pockets. My gels were correctly zipped. My electronics were all neatly placed in my bin. What did I do wrong???
My bags were immediately checked by some young man. He did a rather haphazard job of searching and told me that I had been singled out because of the "SSS" on the bottom of my ticket. He explained the random selection which made me feel a little better. However, my bare feet were still touching the floor and my security mishap wasn't close to over. A female attendant proceded to pat me down. I had to lift up my feet. I had to have my hands and feet swabbed with some sort of device that I assume checked for bomb residue (who makes bombs with their feet by the way?) I was groped and embarrassed and again gawked at by fellow travelers, including Cody. He loved it. Two out of two times on this honeymoon I was a potential terrorist. Real funny. Still not to the funnny part...stick with me.
We get through immigration. All is well. We start to board the plane and are walking toward the gate. Cody and I are among the first few to reach the wing (pun not intended) of the airport where our flight would depart. As we turn to walk to line up at the gate (keep in mind this it the Bahamas, so the airport was a little shady), a man is asked to step to one side and I am asked to step to the other. Cody also lines up behind me assuming all of us need to stop to have our bag reexamined yet again. No, no, no. Only myself and one other lucky traveler are apparently in store for the bag inspection of the century. Seriously, what is going on?
Cody walks on to the gate which is maybe another 20 feet down this wing. All of the other passengers also walk past the two lucky bag inspection winners. Here comes the sticky part...
As part of a gag gift before my wedding, some friends of mine put together a little gift bag of weird, humorous sex stuff. It included a pleasure pack of flavored condoms, some weird pills (I won't go into details), pain relievers, lubricants, things of that nature. Because I am not particularly familiar with sex and all that it entails, I had thrown a few of these items in my carry on luggage after our wedding. I only kept the logical items (condoms, lubricants, weird pills) because who wants to be caught on their homeymoon without all the right tools. Luckily, all of those tools were in the bags that were going to be checked in front of about 50 passengers headed to Miami...Goodness.
I get pulled to the side. The airport worker asks me to lay my bag flat on the table. Cody had walked to the gate and was turned around staring at me laughing like a crazy person. Others are again looking at me like I am part of a bad car wreck. The airport lady opens the first pocket and all is well. There is a book and passports. Very logical items for a traveler. I realize at this point that I am screwed. I knew that the condoms that the first inspector looked over were going to be discovered. I stood in complete terror. I was suddenly 13 years old trying to hide cigarettes in my backpack (note: I never smoked cigarettes when I was 13). There were women and small children passing by. And this woman was not just looking. She really took her job seriously. She opened the next pocket to find a box of condoms. Instead of steering from this awkward item like any normal person would do, she decided to take all 12 of the assorted flavored condoms out of the box and onto the stage for all to see. The condoms were followed by some lubricants, weird pills, and even some lingere from the trip. After about the third time she looked at me like I was the biggest freak in the world, I offered up that I was on my honeymoon. I thought maybe it would soften the blow of my suitcase of tricks. She continued to search straight-faced and serious. She covered every nook and cranny and displayed it for all the world to see. I was red. I was ashamed. I wanted to crawl into a shell and die. Cody all the time is almost rolling in the line to get on the plane. I am mortified.
She eventually finds my ticket in my hand. She looks at the bottom three S's and informed me that even if I wasn't the first one to walk down the ramp, she still would have searched my bag because I was inflicted with the scarlet letters. I told her those S's have really made for some inconveniences for me. I said they must stand for security, security, security (I am really trying to make nice with this stone cold TSA employee). As she zips my final pocket closed, she looks up from my bag o' sex to say with a sly smile that for me, the S's stand for "sex, sex, sex." Burn.
The Bahamians had the last laugh. I relayed this story to Cody and we couldn't help but laugh hysterically. It was a very fitting end to a honeymoon that we will always remember. We had a lot of fun and enjoyed a much deserved break. There was beach lounging and good food. There was dancing and relaxing. There was a week of goodness for two young people in love. And let's be honest, what else should the S's stand for on your honeymoon?
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Stages of Engagement
Since I am one week away from being a married person, I feel as if I have kind of run the engagement marathon. I have been engaged for a little more than seven months now. I have learned along this journey that there are stages of being engaged and for all of you folks who have not been engaged, here's a little summary of what to experience if you ever find yourself a fiancee...
1. "LET ME SEE YOUR RING!!!" Early on in this process, news slowly spread about Cody and me being engaged. Suddenly I found myself everywhere I went with my left hand out in front of me with someone remarking on how pretty they thought my ring was. I was often told "He did good," in reference to my ring. Everyone loved it. At the beginning of this stage, I didn't think much of this. However, after about a month of dangling my hand for all the world to see, it started to get a little old. I had told an abridged version of our engagement way too many times to count, and I also recognized that not everyone was so enthralled with my ring as they pretended to be. And I know from personal experience some folks immediately walked away with their friend or boyfriend and immediately began analyzing what they didn't like about my ring. Either way, this stage was cool for about five minutes. Luckily, I still have the ring and I like it whether you do or not.
2. "What are your colors?" About three seconds after I found myself engaged to be married questions started coming at me from every direction about every tiny detail of my wedding. What are your colors? How many bridesmaids? Who are they? Where's the reception? Have you gotten your dress? Who's your photographer? Who's your florist? (Oh, she's great). Where's the honeymoon? Where are you going to live? Are you living with him now?...There was an absolute plethora of questions to be answered about my wedding. Generally, I didn't know the answers and only had to respond with "I don't know." And often times I was a little taken aback by some of the questions that people asked that didn't really have anything to do with the wedding. The things about my life with Cody that you wouldn't ever ask anyone unless they were getting married (like do you already live with him?) It was weird. I even had one person give me a book about how to have sex. Uhhhhh...that's not normal and it's also awkward to an exponential degree. I often times equated this process to being pregnant. For some reason when people are obviously pregnant others throw out any sort of courtesy for that pregnant woman. Without blinking their hands on our her stomach as if that is a normal thing to do to someone. Being engaged is like giving people a reason to ask you every question they could ever think about your personal life. Weird.
3. "Is there anything I can do to help?" I have been asked this question a hundred times here recently. Don't get me wrong. I like knowing that people want to help me. The bad part is that I'm not one of those people who delegates anything very well, so I have turned down offers to help numerous times. I don't know how to tell people to do anything for my wedding because it's MY wedding. You don't know what I like. I'm extrememly picky and generally not even my own mother can do it right, so I have stopped considering letting most people help me. Apparently I want to run this race by myself whether that's a good idea or not.
4. "Are you ready?" This has been the most recent stage of the engagement process. Once you are only weeks away from being married, you start having people ask you if you're nervous or more often "ready" to be married. I just smile and nod when on the inside I wonder what they are asking me about. Are they asking if all of the wedding details are in order? If so, the answer is probably no. For the past few weeks I have been running around like a crazy person trying to ensure the fewest number of things possible blow up on June 19th. Are they asking if I am ready to be married to Cody? To actually live with him and share my life with him now and forever...Surprisingly, I think this would be the easiest question to answer with a yes. I am ready to be married. I don't worry about this being the right thing. I worry about the logistics of the food stations at our reception. I don't worry about whether or not we are going to be happy together, I worry about the angle at which the lights are going to hit the dance floor. I don't worry about whether or not Cody and I are making the right decision by getting married. I worry about all of the ridiculous planning that has gone into this one day in our life.
However, I think this is how it's supposed to be. I figured out the other day that they only thing that has kept me relatively sane throughout this process is Cody. I have been running through a really dark, scary tunnel of wedding planning for seven months now. I have cried and second guessed myself and given up and gotten mad and wanted to do anything other than have this wedding. I have been literally exhausted over June 19, 2010. But every time I lifted my eyes to glance at the end of this wedding tunnel, I have seen Cody holding a cup of water and a towel and naturally the first place trophy that I will win for placing first in this wedding marathon, and I have found a reason to keep going. I have started viewing all that is a wedding as the final obstacle in my relationship with Cody. It's God's way of testing you one more time to see if you are really meant to be with one another. The closer I get to June 19th, the closer I get to Cody. And that is the reason I have endured the hand raping, the extensive interrogations, endless planning, and all that is the stress of marriage. I want the prize at the end of this race more than I have wanted any prize before. And if that means I wear a big white dress and walk down an aisle and let everyone in on the personal details of my life, then so be it. I have never been one to quit a race.
1. "LET ME SEE YOUR RING!!!" Early on in this process, news slowly spread about Cody and me being engaged. Suddenly I found myself everywhere I went with my left hand out in front of me with someone remarking on how pretty they thought my ring was. I was often told "He did good," in reference to my ring. Everyone loved it. At the beginning of this stage, I didn't think much of this. However, after about a month of dangling my hand for all the world to see, it started to get a little old. I had told an abridged version of our engagement way too many times to count, and I also recognized that not everyone was so enthralled with my ring as they pretended to be. And I know from personal experience some folks immediately walked away with their friend or boyfriend and immediately began analyzing what they didn't like about my ring. Either way, this stage was cool for about five minutes. Luckily, I still have the ring and I like it whether you do or not.
2. "What are your colors?" About three seconds after I found myself engaged to be married questions started coming at me from every direction about every tiny detail of my wedding. What are your colors? How many bridesmaids? Who are they? Where's the reception? Have you gotten your dress? Who's your photographer? Who's your florist? (Oh, she's great). Where's the honeymoon? Where are you going to live? Are you living with him now?...There was an absolute plethora of questions to be answered about my wedding. Generally, I didn't know the answers and only had to respond with "I don't know." And often times I was a little taken aback by some of the questions that people asked that didn't really have anything to do with the wedding. The things about my life with Cody that you wouldn't ever ask anyone unless they were getting married (like do you already live with him?) It was weird. I even had one person give me a book about how to have sex. Uhhhhh...that's not normal and it's also awkward to an exponential degree. I often times equated this process to being pregnant. For some reason when people are obviously pregnant others throw out any sort of courtesy for that pregnant woman. Without blinking their hands on our her stomach as if that is a normal thing to do to someone. Being engaged is like giving people a reason to ask you every question they could ever think about your personal life. Weird.
3. "Is there anything I can do to help?" I have been asked this question a hundred times here recently. Don't get me wrong. I like knowing that people want to help me. The bad part is that I'm not one of those people who delegates anything very well, so I have turned down offers to help numerous times. I don't know how to tell people to do anything for my wedding because it's MY wedding. You don't know what I like. I'm extrememly picky and generally not even my own mother can do it right, so I have stopped considering letting most people help me. Apparently I want to run this race by myself whether that's a good idea or not.
4. "Are you ready?" This has been the most recent stage of the engagement process. Once you are only weeks away from being married, you start having people ask you if you're nervous or more often "ready" to be married. I just smile and nod when on the inside I wonder what they are asking me about. Are they asking if all of the wedding details are in order? If so, the answer is probably no. For the past few weeks I have been running around like a crazy person trying to ensure the fewest number of things possible blow up on June 19th. Are they asking if I am ready to be married to Cody? To actually live with him and share my life with him now and forever...Surprisingly, I think this would be the easiest question to answer with a yes. I am ready to be married. I don't worry about this being the right thing. I worry about the logistics of the food stations at our reception. I don't worry about whether or not we are going to be happy together, I worry about the angle at which the lights are going to hit the dance floor. I don't worry about whether or not Cody and I are making the right decision by getting married. I worry about all of the ridiculous planning that has gone into this one day in our life.
However, I think this is how it's supposed to be. I figured out the other day that they only thing that has kept me relatively sane throughout this process is Cody. I have been running through a really dark, scary tunnel of wedding planning for seven months now. I have cried and second guessed myself and given up and gotten mad and wanted to do anything other than have this wedding. I have been literally exhausted over June 19, 2010. But every time I lifted my eyes to glance at the end of this wedding tunnel, I have seen Cody holding a cup of water and a towel and naturally the first place trophy that I will win for placing first in this wedding marathon, and I have found a reason to keep going. I have started viewing all that is a wedding as the final obstacle in my relationship with Cody. It's God's way of testing you one more time to see if you are really meant to be with one another. The closer I get to June 19th, the closer I get to Cody. And that is the reason I have endured the hand raping, the extensive interrogations, endless planning, and all that is the stress of marriage. I want the prize at the end of this race more than I have wanted any prize before. And if that means I wear a big white dress and walk down an aisle and let everyone in on the personal details of my life, then so be it. I have never been one to quit a race.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Things that make me nervous about my wedding day...
Recently I have found myself somewhat overwhelmed by this whole wedding idea. And by somewhat, I mean terribly, utterly, frozen in fear, heart pounding, I don't think I want to do this anymore, overwhelmed. I have logically tried to analyze these feelings seeing as I am set to be married in about 2 weeks. I feel like I need to understand these reactions so I can maybe work to understand them and control them on June 19th. Here's what I've come up with...
I am not a nervous type of person. I would go so far as to tell you that when I have been plagued with nerves in past situations I manage to overcome these emotions by reminding myself that I am better than anyone else doing the same things so they will be the ones who look like idiots. For example, I understand that I have performed in front of a lot more people than will be at my wedding. The difference is that in the past I have generally been doing something. Showcasing some type of talent. And correctly or not, I have always had a fair amount of confidence in my skills. The problem with getting married is that it takes no talent. Anyone can walk down an aisle and hold a bouquet and say "I do." You don't have to compete to get a chance to do this (well, I guess you do if you consider the dating game a competition but that's a whole other post). You just show up. You buy the white dress. You throw a bouquet together with some fake flowers that were half off at Hobby Lobby and you strut down that aisle like you own the place.
Now, I will not be holding fake flowers and I will not strut (okay, I may strut a little), but I will be walking the same way any other woman who has ever gotten married has walked. There's no talent. There are no points to be scored. There is not a Wins-Losses record for marriages. It's frustrating. I feel like all that is left when you are performing a performance that takes no skills is for people to stare at you and judge you solely based on how you look. I've never been a big fan of this. Was I the hottest chick on the court? Probably not. But I bet I could have beaten the hottest chick on the court in a number of athletic competitions that include, but are not limited to: H-O-R-S-E, wrestling, ping pong, any sort of catching game, reading exercises, a spelling bee, shoe tying, dog whispering, free throw contests, etc. (I could go on forever. Let's be honest). Where are my games on June 19th?
I need some sort of skill beyond looking pretty to be showcased on my wedding day. I don't know how to look pretty. I do not spend hours of my free time trying to get prettier than I was the day before. I don't understand this skill. I have sort of decided that the skills I will have to focus on are things that I am simply not very comfortable with: grace, femininity, being emotionally vulnerable. Those three things alone make me a little nauseous (is that how you spell nauseous? I may need to revoke my spelling bee skills from the aforementioned list. Is that how you spell aforementioned? Ahhh!). Sorry. I digress.
After all of these thought processes, I have come to this conclusion. The skills that are being showcased on your wedding day are simply different than what I am used to. A dashing groom who seems comfortable with displaying his love for you equals an above 75% free throw percentage. A dress that makes you look prettier than you really are equals a flawless hitting approach and court awareness. An aura of genuine emotion and seemingly honest happiness equals a game winning shot from just in front of the half court line. I am just going to have to be okay with these being the things that I have to focus on instead of any type of real skill.
However, I would like to think that even in the tightest of situations and most unfavorable circumstances, I tend to come through in the end. I once had a coach tell me that I was very much a "game player." Looking back on that phrase, I realize now he was trying to tell me that I was somewhat lazy in my preparation for competition and instead only wanted to shine when the lights turned on in a gym packed with people who only wanted to see me and no one else play something. Maybe this was a little bit true. Maybe I did eat up the spotlight. Maybe June 19th will be more fulfilling than I would have ever predicted because there will be no other bride. There will be no one competing against me. The spotlight will turn on at 6p.m. to reveal me and only me standing in the run out tunnel with fog spilling out around me (Why did I not consider getting a fog machine until just now?) Maybe I will like this...Maybe.
Note to self...get a fog machine.
I am not a nervous type of person. I would go so far as to tell you that when I have been plagued with nerves in past situations I manage to overcome these emotions by reminding myself that I am better than anyone else doing the same things so they will be the ones who look like idiots. For example, I understand that I have performed in front of a lot more people than will be at my wedding. The difference is that in the past I have generally been doing something. Showcasing some type of talent. And correctly or not, I have always had a fair amount of confidence in my skills. The problem with getting married is that it takes no talent. Anyone can walk down an aisle and hold a bouquet and say "I do." You don't have to compete to get a chance to do this (well, I guess you do if you consider the dating game a competition but that's a whole other post). You just show up. You buy the white dress. You throw a bouquet together with some fake flowers that were half off at Hobby Lobby and you strut down that aisle like you own the place.
Now, I will not be holding fake flowers and I will not strut (okay, I may strut a little), but I will be walking the same way any other woman who has ever gotten married has walked. There's no talent. There are no points to be scored. There is not a Wins-Losses record for marriages. It's frustrating. I feel like all that is left when you are performing a performance that takes no skills is for people to stare at you and judge you solely based on how you look. I've never been a big fan of this. Was I the hottest chick on the court? Probably not. But I bet I could have beaten the hottest chick on the court in a number of athletic competitions that include, but are not limited to: H-O-R-S-E, wrestling, ping pong, any sort of catching game, reading exercises, a spelling bee, shoe tying, dog whispering, free throw contests, etc. (I could go on forever. Let's be honest). Where are my games on June 19th?
I need some sort of skill beyond looking pretty to be showcased on my wedding day. I don't know how to look pretty. I do not spend hours of my free time trying to get prettier than I was the day before. I don't understand this skill. I have sort of decided that the skills I will have to focus on are things that I am simply not very comfortable with: grace, femininity, being emotionally vulnerable. Those three things alone make me a little nauseous (is that how you spell nauseous? I may need to revoke my spelling bee skills from the aforementioned list. Is that how you spell aforementioned? Ahhh!). Sorry. I digress.
After all of these thought processes, I have come to this conclusion. The skills that are being showcased on your wedding day are simply different than what I am used to. A dashing groom who seems comfortable with displaying his love for you equals an above 75% free throw percentage. A dress that makes you look prettier than you really are equals a flawless hitting approach and court awareness. An aura of genuine emotion and seemingly honest happiness equals a game winning shot from just in front of the half court line. I am just going to have to be okay with these being the things that I have to focus on instead of any type of real skill.
However, I would like to think that even in the tightest of situations and most unfavorable circumstances, I tend to come through in the end. I once had a coach tell me that I was very much a "game player." Looking back on that phrase, I realize now he was trying to tell me that I was somewhat lazy in my preparation for competition and instead only wanted to shine when the lights turned on in a gym packed with people who only wanted to see me and no one else play something. Maybe this was a little bit true. Maybe I did eat up the spotlight. Maybe June 19th will be more fulfilling than I would have ever predicted because there will be no other bride. There will be no one competing against me. The spotlight will turn on at 6p.m. to reveal me and only me standing in the run out tunnel with fog spilling out around me (Why did I not consider getting a fog machine until just now?) Maybe I will like this...Maybe.
Note to self...get a fog machine.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Lie, Lie, Lie...
Today I took my bridal portraits. I spent most of the day getting my hair done followed by my makeup and then heading up to Northwest Arkansas to actually take the pictures to try to avoid 95 degree weather with 100% humidity in Fort Smith. The good part about this story is that the pictures are complete. They're over and done and one way or another we are just going to have pick a picture that we (my mother) can all live with. The part about this story that isn't good is pretty much everything else...
I have been dreading this day for weeks. I had these pictures originally planned for about a week ago when we rescheduled for fear of rain on a day that in reality not a raindrop fell and it was about 75 degrees in Fort Smith where I really wanted to take the pictures. Eff me. Nonetheless, I tried to move forward and forget about our lost opportunity and hope that it would be bearably cool in Fayetteville on my new day so as to avoid me sweating through my bridal portraits.
I had discussed this day with Cody for a while. He knew what was going on. He knew I was getting my hair done and makeup and all that stuff. He knew I wasn't exactly excited about the whole process. He understood that me and a big to do over how I look is not really my style. He knew. Today after I had gotten my hair and makeup done my mother and I ran home to get my bouquet before going to Fayetteville. Coincidentally, Cody was at my parents' house taking care of our puppies when I arrived to get the flowers. (Mind you I have spent all day trying to look exceptionally pretty for these stupid pictures). I got to the house and debated as to whether I should even go inside for fear that I shouldn't show Cody how breathtakingly beautiful I look. I mean he shouldn't see me this pretty until our actual wedding day, right? Nonetheless, my need to respray my hair outweighed my desire for Cody not to see me.
I turned the corner in the front yard and passed Cody to his response of, "Hey." Hummmm, that's weird. I figured he obviously didn't get a good glimpse of me. I assumed the 3 puppies were occupying his time. He'll certainly say something in just a second. Second time around he walked past me as I was hairspraying my hair...."Do you have on fake eyelashes?" WTF? Are you seriously again not remarking about how unbelievably gorgeous I look after spending the entire day working to look this good. Are you really going to find nothing positive to say and instead point out that my eyelashes look fake enough that a man can spot that they're not mine. Seriously? Can you not figure out that when your fiancee stresses over a day from beauty hell and you happen to see her right before she leaves to take pictures you should maybe mention she looks good?
Freakin' crap guys...LIE!!!! If your girlfriend or fiancee or wife or any female that you have any type of connection to goes out of her way to look different than she usually looks, tell her she looks good. Lie straight through your teeth if you have to. Practice the delivery of these lies when you're by yourself at night with nothing to do. Take 2 seconds of your precious time to be prepared for that one moment when you see that girl and you realize she looks different than usual and you must convince her you think she looks pretty...Lie, lie, lie. Women lie. We lie all the time. I lie. I lie because I care enough to lie.
I don't get it. It bothered me. It took my mom pointing out all of the stuff I had had done before Cody finally told me it looked "cool." Great. I was so excited to know that I (my mother) was paying tons of money and I was spending hours of my time enduring beauty procedures that are like a little slice of hell so that I could receive the same reaction that you would give a new flashlight. Awesome.
Once I got back in the car my mother remarked that she was a little surprised Cody didn't tell me I looked good. I tried to explain that Cody doesn't really have it all together like everyone assumes he does. Sometimes (often) he misses the forest for the trees. It sucked. I spent an entire drive to Fayetteville questioning all the makeup and hair. Maybe it didn't look good. Cody obviously wasn't impressed and isn't he really the most important opinion? It was bad. I was reaffirmed a little when my photographer told me I looked pretty and 2 guys at Taco Bueno and a guy at the gas station. But why did all of these men notice me and my own man didn't. Ouch.
This was bad. Maybe this carried over to the rest of the bridal portraits experience because the rest of the day didn't get much better. It was hot in Fayetteville and the buttons on my dress didn't work and my veil was weird. A million other things went wrong. Unfortunately, the buttons can be fixed along with the veil and the heat is something no one can control. There's only one lasting effect of this day. Lie, lie, lie.
I have been dreading this day for weeks. I had these pictures originally planned for about a week ago when we rescheduled for fear of rain on a day that in reality not a raindrop fell and it was about 75 degrees in Fort Smith where I really wanted to take the pictures. Eff me. Nonetheless, I tried to move forward and forget about our lost opportunity and hope that it would be bearably cool in Fayetteville on my new day so as to avoid me sweating through my bridal portraits.
I had discussed this day with Cody for a while. He knew what was going on. He knew I was getting my hair done and makeup and all that stuff. He knew I wasn't exactly excited about the whole process. He understood that me and a big to do over how I look is not really my style. He knew. Today after I had gotten my hair and makeup done my mother and I ran home to get my bouquet before going to Fayetteville. Coincidentally, Cody was at my parents' house taking care of our puppies when I arrived to get the flowers. (Mind you I have spent all day trying to look exceptionally pretty for these stupid pictures). I got to the house and debated as to whether I should even go inside for fear that I shouldn't show Cody how breathtakingly beautiful I look. I mean he shouldn't see me this pretty until our actual wedding day, right? Nonetheless, my need to respray my hair outweighed my desire for Cody not to see me.
I turned the corner in the front yard and passed Cody to his response of, "Hey." Hummmm, that's weird. I figured he obviously didn't get a good glimpse of me. I assumed the 3 puppies were occupying his time. He'll certainly say something in just a second. Second time around he walked past me as I was hairspraying my hair...."Do you have on fake eyelashes?" WTF? Are you seriously again not remarking about how unbelievably gorgeous I look after spending the entire day working to look this good. Are you really going to find nothing positive to say and instead point out that my eyelashes look fake enough that a man can spot that they're not mine. Seriously? Can you not figure out that when your fiancee stresses over a day from beauty hell and you happen to see her right before she leaves to take pictures you should maybe mention she looks good?
Freakin' crap guys...LIE!!!! If your girlfriend or fiancee or wife or any female that you have any type of connection to goes out of her way to look different than she usually looks, tell her she looks good. Lie straight through your teeth if you have to. Practice the delivery of these lies when you're by yourself at night with nothing to do. Take 2 seconds of your precious time to be prepared for that one moment when you see that girl and you realize she looks different than usual and you must convince her you think she looks pretty...Lie, lie, lie. Women lie. We lie all the time. I lie. I lie because I care enough to lie.
I don't get it. It bothered me. It took my mom pointing out all of the stuff I had had done before Cody finally told me it looked "cool." Great. I was so excited to know that I (my mother) was paying tons of money and I was spending hours of my time enduring beauty procedures that are like a little slice of hell so that I could receive the same reaction that you would give a new flashlight. Awesome.
Once I got back in the car my mother remarked that she was a little surprised Cody didn't tell me I looked good. I tried to explain that Cody doesn't really have it all together like everyone assumes he does. Sometimes (often) he misses the forest for the trees. It sucked. I spent an entire drive to Fayetteville questioning all the makeup and hair. Maybe it didn't look good. Cody obviously wasn't impressed and isn't he really the most important opinion? It was bad. I was reaffirmed a little when my photographer told me I looked pretty and 2 guys at Taco Bueno and a guy at the gas station. But why did all of these men notice me and my own man didn't. Ouch.
This was bad. Maybe this carried over to the rest of the bridal portraits experience because the rest of the day didn't get much better. It was hot in Fayetteville and the buttons on my dress didn't work and my veil was weird. A million other things went wrong. Unfortunately, the buttons can be fixed along with the veil and the heat is something no one can control. There's only one lasting effect of this day. Lie, lie, lie.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Moving Slow
I hate moving. I hate picking up everything I have in one place that I call home and moving it to another place that I will eventually call home. I have recently started moving some of my stuff from my duplex that I live in with my roommate of 5ish years, Laura, to the house that I have bought with my boyfriend of 5ish years. Before we all start to point fingers and talk about me under your breath with your closest friends, I am not moving into the house. I am only moving my things in the house so as to avoid the inconvenience of moving after the honeymoon. I am still living within the rules of my grandmother so let's not get carried away with the accusations.
If I had to pinpoint one super annoying thing about myself, I would have to say it is my tendency to overanalyze things too much. Whenever a milestone of life rolls around, I find myself stuck in a really weird state of mind that forces me to consider the way things once were and worry about the way things may end up. I am not good at rolling with the punches. Thus, every time I move, it is impossible for me to throw my crap in some boxes and move on with my life. I have to revisit every stray shirt and random picture, every pair of shoes and meaningless piece of writing. Things that I haven't seen since the last move are suddenly of extreme interest to me, and I end up spending more time thinking back on the way things used to be rather than just moving on to the next phase.
As I slowly begin the process of moving out of our duplex, I can't help but realize that this is the biggest move yet. I am not moving as a wide-eyed 18 year old to experience the experience we were all predestined to have. I am not moving from one apartment to another with the same collegiate feel regardless of what apartment number I'm in. I'm not moving away from UA Fort Smith with a degree in tow and a reservation about the real world that I calculated at the time to be the biggest adjustment I would ever have to make.
I am moving with the big things in order. I have a job. I have a boyfriend almost husband. I have a little (very little) amount of money. I have a house..I now have it all. I have the American dream tucked away in 1600 square feet of real estate bliss. And yet, I am as hesitant as I have ever been. I don't know what I think about having a permanent roommate...more than that, a BOY roommate. I don't know what I think about being an adult in every sense of the word. I don't know what I think about the irreversibility (I don't know that this is a word) of the life I am about to undertake. I am not completely detached from college. I am not completely detached from paying rent and owning nothing to speak of. I am just as confused and naive as I was when I left 8500 Canopy Oaks Drive 6 years ago.
Nonetheless, moving a few different times has taught me a few things...hold on to what you know. I have had the same awesome roommate since my sophomore year of college. We did not start out as good friends, but have certainly found our way to this over the years of Sebastian Commons and life post-graduation. On a different note, in this move I have Cody, who has been like a part-time roommate since the days of staying up until 4a.m. in my volleyball apartment at the Commons (you can make accusations about this statement). We certaily know one another pretty well and I couldn't think of a better boy to pick if I had to find me a male roommate. Secondly, moving always reminds me that change is often times exactly what you need. I know that Cody and I are making a step that will be positive once all of the wedding planning clutter is stripped away and we find ourselves married and co-habitating like normal human beings do. I foresee lazy afternoons with our puppies (I literally mean dogs here, no human puppies for a while), cooking dinner on occasion (rare occasion), and all of the happiness that being married to your best friend can bring. And finally, I have learned that the building in which you reside defines very little of your life. I will still have all of the people that mean the most to me regardless of where I live. Laura may not be in the next bedroom, but she will always be a phone call away. Cody will not be in the next apartment, but instead in the same bed! There will be some turbulent times, but once the moving, wedding, marriage, new stage of life hype dies down, I am certain I will find myself at home no matter where my house is.
If I had to pinpoint one super annoying thing about myself, I would have to say it is my tendency to overanalyze things too much. Whenever a milestone of life rolls around, I find myself stuck in a really weird state of mind that forces me to consider the way things once were and worry about the way things may end up. I am not good at rolling with the punches. Thus, every time I move, it is impossible for me to throw my crap in some boxes and move on with my life. I have to revisit every stray shirt and random picture, every pair of shoes and meaningless piece of writing. Things that I haven't seen since the last move are suddenly of extreme interest to me, and I end up spending more time thinking back on the way things used to be rather than just moving on to the next phase.
As I slowly begin the process of moving out of our duplex, I can't help but realize that this is the biggest move yet. I am not moving as a wide-eyed 18 year old to experience the experience we were all predestined to have. I am not moving from one apartment to another with the same collegiate feel regardless of what apartment number I'm in. I'm not moving away from UA Fort Smith with a degree in tow and a reservation about the real world that I calculated at the time to be the biggest adjustment I would ever have to make.
I am moving with the big things in order. I have a job. I have a boyfriend almost husband. I have a little (very little) amount of money. I have a house..I now have it all. I have the American dream tucked away in 1600 square feet of real estate bliss. And yet, I am as hesitant as I have ever been. I don't know what I think about having a permanent roommate...more than that, a BOY roommate. I don't know what I think about being an adult in every sense of the word. I don't know what I think about the irreversibility (I don't know that this is a word) of the life I am about to undertake. I am not completely detached from college. I am not completely detached from paying rent and owning nothing to speak of. I am just as confused and naive as I was when I left 8500 Canopy Oaks Drive 6 years ago.
Nonetheless, moving a few different times has taught me a few things...hold on to what you know. I have had the same awesome roommate since my sophomore year of college. We did not start out as good friends, but have certainly found our way to this over the years of Sebastian Commons and life post-graduation. On a different note, in this move I have Cody, who has been like a part-time roommate since the days of staying up until 4a.m. in my volleyball apartment at the Commons (you can make accusations about this statement). We certaily know one another pretty well and I couldn't think of a better boy to pick if I had to find me a male roommate. Secondly, moving always reminds me that change is often times exactly what you need. I know that Cody and I are making a step that will be positive once all of the wedding planning clutter is stripped away and we find ourselves married and co-habitating like normal human beings do. I foresee lazy afternoons with our puppies (I literally mean dogs here, no human puppies for a while), cooking dinner on occasion (rare occasion), and all of the happiness that being married to your best friend can bring. And finally, I have learned that the building in which you reside defines very little of your life. I will still have all of the people that mean the most to me regardless of where I live. Laura may not be in the next bedroom, but she will always be a phone call away. Cody will not be in the next apartment, but instead in the same bed! There will be some turbulent times, but once the moving, wedding, marriage, new stage of life hype dies down, I am certain I will find myself at home no matter where my house is.
Friday, April 23, 2010
DateNight
Last Saturday night Cody and I went and watched the movie “Date Night” with Steve Carell and Tina Fey. I was a bit skeptical at first (often I think comedies are just stupid instead of funny) but was pleasantly surprised at how much I liked the movie. The movie was based off of a couple (Steve Carell and Tina Fey) and their trials of being married with children and jobs and way too much to do to focus on their relationship with one another. I couldn’t help but feel like the movie was screaming at me (and Cody for that matter) with all of the parallels I could make between the movie and my life recently.
Tina Fey in the movie is an overly controlling, “I’d rather do it myself,” stop wasting my time, I have too much to do type of wife/mother. Steve Carell played a completely capable, likable, yet somewhat irresponsible and goofy character. This combination of characters made me feel like the movie was based off of our life recently. With this wedding mess, I have been in event planning mode for the past 6 months. I have no extra time. It makes me angry when people waste my time. And I want everyone around me to recognize the efficiency with which I have to work to accomplish this grand idea I have in my mind. Unfortunately, I feel like Cody is often the person I am dealing with who I feel like is wasting my time. Cody does not live his life based off of concrete deadlines. He has goals, but they are somewhat flexible goals and goals that deal with only himself generally. He doesn’t worry with details or being precise. He always just meanders into success, while I have to plot a path, calculate the wind resistance, call ahead to ensure the finish line is in the exact spot I have listed, and maintain a focus and persistence that the other competitors often mistake for me being rude and cold.
I don’t know the solution to this problem. Cody and I work differently and yet are both very successful with the ways we work. Neither of us is going to change the way we do things, although I do try to remind myself that Cody does not frustrate me on purpose. I know I should allow Cody an opportunity to do things right, but it is so hard for me to do that. I am the queen of doing it myself because I know you won’t do it correctly. I’ve been like that all of my life. Unfortunately, Cody and I find our relationship somewhat strained at times of extreme stress (AKA wedding planning) because we are so different.
This has really started bothering me ever since the Hollywood happy ending of “Date Night” where Tina and Steve find their way back to the reasons why they are together. If there is ever a time to focus on the good in someone else, it is while you’re engaged to them! So, I have decided to start focusing on all of the good that is Cody Prater because there was a point in time when all I knew of Cody was the loveable, funny, caring, sensitive, insightful, perfect guy that I met 5ish years ago. I am trying to find my way back to the beginning of our relationship before I knew that Cody was the most unorganized, scatter-brained, un-detail oriented human on the face of the earth. I want to go back to month 2 of staying up until 4 in the morning talking about the things in life that really matter, rather than the schedule for the next day. I want to go back to month 6 when he made me a video that proved to me he paid attention to what matters. I want to go back to swimming in fountains and traveling to new places and graduating from college and being perfectly in love with one another. I feel like life has gotten in the way of me living.
I will fix this before June 19th because I realize that this is THE moment that Cody and I need to be at the height of happiness. And I will not let details and deadlines control my wedding experience. This is my new goal. And I am an exceptional goal accomplisher.
Tina Fey in the movie is an overly controlling, “I’d rather do it myself,” stop wasting my time, I have too much to do type of wife/mother. Steve Carell played a completely capable, likable, yet somewhat irresponsible and goofy character. This combination of characters made me feel like the movie was based off of our life recently. With this wedding mess, I have been in event planning mode for the past 6 months. I have no extra time. It makes me angry when people waste my time. And I want everyone around me to recognize the efficiency with which I have to work to accomplish this grand idea I have in my mind. Unfortunately, I feel like Cody is often the person I am dealing with who I feel like is wasting my time. Cody does not live his life based off of concrete deadlines. He has goals, but they are somewhat flexible goals and goals that deal with only himself generally. He doesn’t worry with details or being precise. He always just meanders into success, while I have to plot a path, calculate the wind resistance, call ahead to ensure the finish line is in the exact spot I have listed, and maintain a focus and persistence that the other competitors often mistake for me being rude and cold.
I don’t know the solution to this problem. Cody and I work differently and yet are both very successful with the ways we work. Neither of us is going to change the way we do things, although I do try to remind myself that Cody does not frustrate me on purpose. I know I should allow Cody an opportunity to do things right, but it is so hard for me to do that. I am the queen of doing it myself because I know you won’t do it correctly. I’ve been like that all of my life. Unfortunately, Cody and I find our relationship somewhat strained at times of extreme stress (AKA wedding planning) because we are so different.
This has really started bothering me ever since the Hollywood happy ending of “Date Night” where Tina and Steve find their way back to the reasons why they are together. If there is ever a time to focus on the good in someone else, it is while you’re engaged to them! So, I have decided to start focusing on all of the good that is Cody Prater because there was a point in time when all I knew of Cody was the loveable, funny, caring, sensitive, insightful, perfect guy that I met 5ish years ago. I am trying to find my way back to the beginning of our relationship before I knew that Cody was the most unorganized, scatter-brained, un-detail oriented human on the face of the earth. I want to go back to month 2 of staying up until 4 in the morning talking about the things in life that really matter, rather than the schedule for the next day. I want to go back to month 6 when he made me a video that proved to me he paid attention to what matters. I want to go back to swimming in fountains and traveling to new places and graduating from college and being perfectly in love with one another. I feel like life has gotten in the way of me living.
I will fix this before June 19th because I realize that this is THE moment that Cody and I need to be at the height of happiness. And I will not let details and deadlines control my wedding experience. This is my new goal. And I am an exceptional goal accomplisher.
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