Surviving

There have been situations in my life where i have grown to detest certain questions. i heard them over and over and never came up with a good answer. For example:

"How was your mission?"
"How is married life?"
"What are you going to do with your degree?"

Now there are two questions i cringe everytime i hear...

"How are you?"
"Are you ok?"

Whether they are said in passing or in sincere concern, i honestly have no clue how to respond. Do they want the truth? How much of the truth should i give? What is the truth? Sometimes i want to say, "My husband decided he didn't want to be married anymore. How do you think i am? Would you be ok?" Usually i smile and say, "Fine, thanks. I'm fine."

After much thought i devised an answer that i believe encompasses the truth and yet won't make the questioner feel as uncomfortable as if i had said, "Life is shitty, thanks for asking."  i can quite sincerely say, "i'm surviving." That about sums my life up. i get up in the morning and get ready for the day. i eat (most of the time). i talk to the people around me. i work on organizing my 3-bedroom-2.5-bath-garage-huge-apartment-full of stuff into my one bedroom. i fight the desire to crawl under the covers and sleep/hide the hours away. i try to keep the birds from crying all day. i listen to classical music (no lyrics or memories that make me extra emotional). i veg with Erika. i get ready for bed. i close my door. i fall apart until i am so exhausted i collapse. i have more nightmares than good sleep. i repeat.

But i'm surviving. For three reasons: my family, my friends, my God.

My family...what can i even say about them? Erika and Chad pulled me into their home. They ignore my screaming birds and my occasional sulks. They let me fill up their garage with my boxes until i can pull myself together enough to get a storage unit. Stephanie reminds me that life will go on, but that i am allowed to mourn a bit right now. Ian prays for me (and who could ask for more than the prayers of a missionary). Mom helps me to be practical and take care of the stuff i just don't have the strength to deal with. Dad just knows me better than anyone and reminds me that i am still special and loved.

My friends text, email, call. You have been non-judgmental. Thank you for putting my name on the prayer roll. Thank you for sending me uplifting music (it does touch my heart ever so much). Thank you for calling even when i didn't think i wanted calls. For spending the time to come see me. Thank you for the texts (man am i happy when i hear my phone beep). For offering your homes to me. For being "there" even though some of you are so far away (well...all of you, now).

And i have a testimony. My prayers are heard. i am a daughter of my Heavenly Father, who loves me, and i love Him. Someday, i have faith and hope, i will find peace and happiness again.

Until then, i am surviving.

Micromanage

mi·cro·man·age[mahy-kroh-man-ij] verb (used with object), mi·cro·man·aged, mi·cro·man·ag·ing. To manage or control with excessive attention to minor details.

The following story is true (names/identities have been changed/withheld to protect the involved parties from being offended and therefore dropping away from the church).

A sign-up went around in Relief Society for volunteers to make a couple dozen cookies for an upcoming Stake Relieft Society Conference. I signed up without hesitating...what a simple way to help make someone else's life easier. Then the emails started.

Snippets of an email from the Coordinator of the Conference (directly quoted, mind you):

"Ladies,

It is time to make some cookies. You will find the recipes attached. Jennifer and Caroline are making the cranberry walnut cookies. Heather and Tanya are making the chocolate chip cookies. Erika and Ashley are making the English Toffee Chocolate Cookies.

We need each of you to make 2 dozen 3 inch cookies and drop them off at the stake center on Friday night at 7 pm. If you run into a problem and can not make the cookies or drop them off please let me know and I will make other arrangements. You can package them in something disposable please. They are going to repackage the cookies in some special way."

Wow. My emailed response? "How the hell do you make a '3 inch cookie'?!" (She didn't respond to that).

Then I read the recipes (because heaven forbid I should make my OWN version of chocolate chip cookies.) Here are certain winning phrases from the recipies:

"...Beat into shortening mixture until smooth. Drop by rounded tablespoonfuls (adjust amount dropped as needed to get a three inch cookie) about 2-inches apart on prepared baking sheets."

"...Place on cooling rack to cool completely. Store in airtight container when cooled."

"...Do not over bake--or you will be disappointed--cookies will become dry and crunchy."

Once again, wow. Store in an airtight container? Do not over bake? No...um...crap, Sherlock.

Then I received a follow up email instructing each baker to add one cup of chocolate chips to each recipe. Silly lady, she didn't instruct me whether I should add milk chocolate or semi-sweet! How am I supposed to make that decision on my own? (She didn't respond to that question, either).

**In the meantime** A sign up sheet was passed around for ladies to help "repackage" these cookies. But they didn't want cute little older ladies volunteering. In fact, they specifically asked only for people who knew how to tie "pretty bows." Hmm, I'm surprised there wasn't a picture of the exact type of bow they wanted tied and a clarification of what would be considered an "unpretty" bow.

Conclusion of the story, although SEVERALLY tempted to make 2.5 inch cookies on purpose, under bake them (because heaven forbid they should get dry and crunchy) and store them on an open platter, I followed the directions exactly as given.

BAM! 3 inches
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
And the cookies weren't even that good.
 

"For behold, it is not meet that I should command in all things; for he that is compelled in all things, the same is a slothful and not a wise servant; wherefore he receiveth no reward."

D&C 58:26

Ambition

"Life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans." -John Lennon

Regardless, I still whole heartedly believe in making plans, and especially plans for your life. I also believe that "life plans" don't always need to focus on families, careers, financial security, and spiritual preparedness. Be a little selfish sometimes!! In other words, make a bucket list and then...as impractical or silly as some of those things may seem...dream about finishing it. Even better...DO IT!! Here is my bucket list (in no particular order).

**Updated: What is crossed off, i have accomplished since i wrote this list!***

JO's Bucket List:
*Hike Machu Picchu
*Drive a motorcycle
*Backpack across Europe
*Read the Bible from cover to cover
*Ride in a hot air balloon
*Get a cap on my peg lateral
*Drive from coast to coast (staying at Motel 6s and eating at diners if at all possible)
*Get scuba certified
*Make a pilgrimage
*Solve the Rubik's Cube
*Sleep on an overnight train
*Earn a PhD
*Read every book in my library
*Museum hop in New York (MoMA, Met, Guggenheim)
*Hike the Appalachian Trail
*Participate in a flash mob
*Visit the San Diego Zoo
*Rock a right hand solitaire (no less than a carat, please!) **Although it's not a solitaire, i now rock a gorgeous diamond right hand ring!
*Ride an elephant
*Achieve my ideal weight **i love myself no matter what my weight now. My ideal weight=exactly what i weigh right now!
*Live on all habitable continents
*Beat Jacob at Texas Hold 'Em
*Visit the seven "new" wonders of the world: Machu Picchu, Peru (already on list); the Coliseum, Rome; Petra, Jordan (CHECK!); Christ Redeemer, Brazil; The Great Wall of China; Chichen Itza, Mexico (CHECK!); The Taj Mahal, India
*See a show on Broadway
*Have a 2 year supply of food storage
*Spend a week at yoga retreat OR silent retreat
*Paint something that I would hang in my house
*Ride in a helicopter
*Visit Hogwarts :)
*Have a follower on my blog that I've never met
*Ride a camel
*Get Lasik surgery
*Learn a new word every day for an entire year
*Go to a midnight premier of a movie
*Have my hair styled at a salon that charges ridiculous fees (because it's THAT good)
*Write my life story
*Attend a masquerade

Things I would love to say that I've done, but not enough to actually do them:
*Run a marathon I DID IT!!!!
*Skydive
*Own a bookstore
*Play a game of Monopoly until the very end
*Get a tattoo
*Dive with sharks
*Have my name changed to be all lowercase letters

Things that were on my bucket list that are now completed (wooohooo):
*Be a beautiful bride
*Get a pixie cut
*Master a foreign language
*Fly first class
*Take an art class in an actual art museum
*Learn to drive a stick shift
*Live in Paris
*Swim with dolphins
*Graduate from college
*Paint a room in my house black
*Kiss the Blarney Stone



"Live as well as you dare." -Sydney Smith

So many books, so little time

At the moment, i find myself balanced in that awkward "in-between-books" stage...the one where i look at my ridiculously long "to-read" list and hear all the suggestions of friends and family and begin to break into a sweat trying to decide what book to pick up next. Do i indulge and re-read one of my favorites? Do i try to read a classic i have neglected? Do i tinker with some silly young adult fantasy series? Do i try and stay up to date on the latest in literature?

Although i have yet to pick the specific book, i have composed a list of 12 books never before read by me from which i will read until i have checked them all off. A large part of me is ashamed to admit that i have never read some of this literature; several i have started (even mulitple times) but never completed. i feel confused and overwhelmed at where to begin. Mostly, i am just thrilled at the delicious choices!

Fountainhead- Ayn Rand
Heart of Darkness- Joseph Conrad
Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin
War and Peace- Leo Tolstoy
On the Road- Jack Kerouac
The Brothers Karamozov- Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Jesus the Christ- James Talmage
Don Quixote- Miguel de Cervantes
Mistborn: The Alloy of Law- Brandon Sanderson
Madame Bovary- Gustave Flaubert
Uglies Series- Scott Westerfeld
On the Origin of Species- Charles Darwin

Suggestions on where to begin? (i request at the moment that you not give me more book ideas as this may cause me to quit my job, leave my church, neglect my home and my husband, lock myself in the back bedroom and subsist solely by feasting on the words of good literature.)

It's been too long since you've cleaned your bathroom if...

This Saturday was an insanely busy day at my house…one of those days where I felt like I was running in circles to get everything done and still failing. At some point in the day Jacob stepped into the guest bathroom where I was scrubbing the bathtub, looked quizzically at me and the following conversation ensued:

Jacob: Why are you cleaning the guest bathtub?

Me: I don’t understand your question.

Jacob: No one used this bathroom this week and you are super busy. Why are you taking the time to clean it?

Me: Because it’s Saturday.

Jacob: I don’t understand your answer.

Me: It’s just something that IS. On Saturdays, you clean the bathrooms. That’s just the way it is. It’s like breathing. You don’t think about breathing. You don’t question breathing. You don’t feel like breathing isn’t necessary. You just do it. It’s the same with Saturdays...you just clean the bathrooms, whether they have been used or not.

Jacob: …(stunned silence)…

After this exchange I began to think that maybe not everyone cleans their bathrooms on Saturday...or regularly for that matter. I remembered an article I had read listing the 10 dirtiest parts of most people’s houses (which may or may not have induced an 8 hour cleaning spree in my own house). One of the places listed was the bathtub. REALLY? Letting the soap from your body run down into the bath while you shower does NOT count as cleaning! Apparently there are people who are unaware of when they should clean. In case you are one of them, here are Jennifer’s foolproof guidelines for when to clean your bathroom.

You should clean your bathroom if:

*There is more hair on the floor than on your head.
*You leave the shower feeling dirtier than when you got in.
*You can no longer tell the color of the porcelain.
*There is mold. Period. There should never be mold. Ever. Kill it.
*The counter is no longer visible underneath all the curling irons, hair bands, bobby pins and makeup scattered around.
*You feel like you should wipe the toilet seat before sitting down.
*You stick to the wall if you accidentally brush against it because of the coating of hairspray.
*You have to rub your fist against the mirror to get a clean spot…and it’s not even steamy in the room.
*You feel the need to apologize before someone uses your restroom.
*Your child has peed or shat in the bathtub. Just rinsing it down the drain does NOT count.
*You walk into a Walmart bathroom and feel right at home.
*The thing growing between the toilet and the wall has started giggling every time you step out of the shower.
*It’s been more than a week.

(Please note that even if only ONE of these statements is true, your bathroom probably needs to be cleaned. If all of the above are true, you should consider condemning your bathroom until an exorcist can expel the evil that exists therein).

Will you be my neighbor?

As you know, we moved at the end of January. Now we occupy a beautiful townhome…and once again we share walls. In our current location, we are connected on one side of the house, sharing garage walls, living room and kitchen walls, a wall in the master bedroom and a backyard. Because of our close proximity, I was anticipating meeting our new neighbors. I have always been blessed with wonderful neighbors who have become dear friends. I already imagined the friendship and trust that would develop between our two families. The landlord informed us that they were a younger couple with no children. Perfect! Just like us!

We moved our things in bit by bit but never saw the neighbors. On February 1st we actually began inhabiting our new home. After about a week, we were surprised that the neighbors still hadn’t come over. After two weeks, we began to wonder if WE were supposed to go over THERE and introduce ourselves. But then we couldn’t figure out how to take over cookies and welcome ourselves to the neighborhood. Once we had been there for a month, we decided it had reached to an awkward point where NEITHER of us could really just knock on the others door and say, “Hi, we are your, um, newish neighbors.”

Not knowing about who lives on the other side of the wall addles my brain; I have morphed into a psycho stalker. My stalking habits include (but are not limited to):
-Peering out blinds when cars pull into the driveway.
-Noting the time and frequency of the garage door going up or the front door being opened.
-Staring at the shared wall in front of my vanity and wondering if someone is sitting in the exact same spot on the other side staring at me.
-Trying to move in complete silence in order to hear if anything is going on in the other townhome.
-Talking to the neighbors as if they can hear me. For example, when I hear their microwave beep asking, “What are you cooking for dinner tonight?”
-Staring at their house every time I pull in, searching for open blinds or lights on or a shadow in a window.
-Randomly screaming as loud I can to see if someone next door comes over in concern or even calls the cops.

In order to abate the frustration at my lack of knowledge of our friends next door, Jacob and I have started hypothesizing about their lives. It began like this:

Me (out of the blue): “I know! Our neighbors are really really Mormon. They will only associate with those of their faith for fear of inviting a bad influence into their lives. Every week at church they wait for their new neighbors to show up so that they can introduce themselves and we can begin sharing casserole recipes. But of course, they haven’t seen us there and therefore assume we are pagan and slaughter animals on an alter! Since we still attend our old ward, they don’t REALIZE we ARE good Mormons and we can still be their friends.”

Jacob: “Nope. They aren’t or they would have been welcoming us to the neighborhood the first time that we pulled up and fellowshipping us when we didn’t show up at church. They have to be Mormon haters who think LDS people are pushy and ‘holier-than-thou’ and don’t want to befriend us for fear we will send the missionaries and visiting teachers over and heart attack their house or leave otherwise ‘inspiring’ gospel messages on their door and cars.”

Me: “But how do they know WE are Mormons unless they introduce themselves and ask? I mean, it’s not like we pulled up with 7 children under the age of 8 or anything.”

Jacob: “Both our vehicles have Madison County license plates. We. Are. Mormon.”

Me: “Oh. Yeah.”

From that point on, one of us randomly throws out a theory about the neighbors. We have come up with some pretty good ones.

-They speak no English. They don’t even know how to say “Hello. We speak no English.”
-They are in the middle of major marital problems and it would be super uncomfortable to introduce themselves; they would have to either pretend like they were a happy couple or say, “Hi, we are the Johnsons and we are contemplating a divorce.” (We never hear them fighting because they fight by giving the silent treatment and leaving nasty notes).
-They grew up watching the Hitchcock movie “The Birds” and developed an uncontrollable terror of feathered creatures. They have heard our birds singing and it sends them into panic attacks to think of knocking on our door.
-They are deaf and would therefore be unable to communicate with us. This is why we never hear any talking or music or movies either (and why they don’t respond to my blood curling screams). We have yet to devise a theory as to why they didn’t drop off cookies with a note explaining their condition.
-They are Nazi sympathizers, have seen from a distance that neither of us have blonde hair and blue eyes, and stay away so as to suppress the urge to release gas into the vents of our house. (Its not that they would mind killing us, they just don’t want to end up in prison.)
-They are hoarders in the extreme and have so much trash piled in their house that there wouldn’t be room to admit us. Also, there is no space in which to bake cookies and Mrs. Neighbor couldn’t bring herself to part with any stationary in order to leave a note.

What do you think?

Yesterday as Jacob pulled into the driveway, Mr. Neighbor was taking a picture of the outside of the house. We may or may not have obsessively checked Craigslist ever since to see if they are posting their townhome. If they move, we will be on the new neighbors' doorstep on DAY ONE, cookies in hand.

There's no place like home

We have been in our new house for over a month now. I unpacked my last box two weeks ago. Sometimes I miss my old home. I long for the large jetted tub; there is no comparing the cool brown of my new bedroom walls to the bright turquoise I painted in my old bedroom. Contemplating the spring and the desire to grow, my heart aches at the lack of sunny yard that I have to work with. Then again, my laundry room here makes me giddy; I adore having a bedroom door that I can close (as well as an attached masterbath). I am getting quite used to climbing into a vehicle that has stayed in a toasty garage all night long. Furthermore, being within walking distance to campus has proven a major blessing for my little family.
I struggled with this move more than any we have done before. Perhaps because I poured so much of myself into our little country home. I expected we would be there until Jacob graduated. I painted most of the rooms; I put up flower boxes; we cultivated the garden; we planted a strawberry patch. It was my haven to return to at the end of a long work day. I had to move for Jacob...and I don't regret that. However, the difficulty of the move made me stop and consider, what makes a place feel like home anyway? As we have settled in to our townhome (a complete opposite of our little country house) I realized that this is home to me:

*Everything has a place and everything in its place.
*Books, books, books.
*The bathrooms smelling like clorox and peppermint toilet bowl cleaner.
*Good music playing.
*Walls covered by original art...I only have 1 print! (Most of it is done by my amazing sister in law)
*Camo seemingly appearing in all corners.
*Displayed photographs of us by my beloved little sis Stephanie Wadsworth.
*Birds happily (or noisely) chirping as we walk in and out of the house.
*Oreos in the pantry.
*A guest room all set up (towels and everything) ready for the next Wadsworth to come stay.
*At least one bright colorful wall :)

Also, it's still our haven. As Jacob says, somewhere where he can take off his shoes and unload his pockets...and in so doing, unload some of the outside world and just be comfortable.

For me I keep thinking of the lyrics of "Home" by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros:
"Oh Home. Yes I am home! Home is wherever I am with you."
In the end, this is how I feel. There is no place like home...and there is no place like being with my Jacob.