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This week I experienced one of those times where you want something you can’t have so bad that you let a few tears escape into your pillow at night. I don’t think I’ve felt like this since my application for the Film program at BYU was rejected my Freshman year.
I know that someday I’ll think the whole thing is rather silly, but this is now and I can’t force myself to feel that way. I was talking about going to Vegas to meet up with my mom and sister for this convention for photographers convention called WPPI. When Miss Dumpling from Weddingbee informed me that a group of photographers from around the country are getting together during that time to shoot an amazing Trash The Dress session, I immediately emailed the shoot coordinator to find out if I could join in as a bride model. The scenes and photographers will be fantastic, and the brides are going to have their hair and makeup professionally done and everything! With my Roman bridals, engagements in Mexico, 2000+ wedding photos, and after wedding shoot with my mom, it should be no surprise to anyone that I love to have my picture taken. This shoot would would be a once in a lifetime thing for me.
Except it’s on Sunday. And I don’t do things on Sunday. I don’t listen to anything except spiritual music, I don’t watch TV, I don’t spend any money. I go to church, I visit with family and friends, I read, I cook. I don’t go out into the desert and have my hair and makeup done and skip around in my wedding dress. I wish I did, but I don’t. Sunday is the Lord’s day. I have six other days for myself, I figure I can give him just one.
I think I laid in bed for about 2 hours the night I found out it was on Sunday, attempting to figure out a way to justify how I could make myself feel okay about this. But then I realized something. I wouldn’t be able to go to church that morning. I would be the only girl out in the desert with a temple-modest dress on. What if the topic of religion came up? What if someone knew and mentioned if? I would feel hypocritical for saying one thing, and doing another.
I just really want to do it, you know?
Have you ever had to make a decision like this? What stands in the way of the “fun” things you want to do?
I’m sure many of you are going to leave encouraging comments that say you think I should do it and you think it’s no big deal. I’m not going to change my mind, I just needed the chance to vent and get my feelings out so I could let my sadness/frustration go. I also hope this post doesn’t come off as “self-righteous”. There are many who would do the shoot, LDS or not, and I think each of us should choose to do what we feel is right for us.
Monday morning, MLK day, I woke up grouchy. Or rather, I went from being completely fine one moment to nsapping at That Husband the next.
“Why are you being like this? I can’t help you unless I understand what you want,” he patiently told me.
“I don’t KNOW what I want.
In the end what I wanted was to be out of the house. Lack of funds means we don’t get out much, and over time I’d let my frustration build up instead of talking through things with him.
So we went on a bike ride, absolutely one of my favorite things to do together. Even if he wears jeans and uses a giant clip to give his pants a peg-leg look.
First we felt lost, then we argued, then all we could find was this really ugly overpass. Coppell was starting to look really ugly and boring to me.
I practiced taking pictures while riding my bike. I’m not sure why that is a skill I wanted to master, but something tells me it could come in handy one day. I believe I took this shot while moving my camera in the opposite direction that I was moving, and it was the only one that had anything in focus. Interesting.
I was starting to think that the only things we would see on this excursion would be muddy ponds and abandoned baseball fields. But then, we found the nature preserve! I don’t think I understood why nature preserves, national parks, or city parks are so important until this very moment. I may sound very melodramatic, but even though it was the dead of winter and all the trees and plants were brown and leafless, this little preserve was like a little haven for me. No concrete, no pavement, no noise (except for the sounds of laughing children playing on swings nearby).
Our time in the preserve was rather uneventful, really just a chance to hold hands and wander together. We laughed at the placement of the placement of this sign. Not found at the beginning of our walk, like you would expect, but about halfway through.
Today we will end with two animations I created. I’m a huge fan of the timer setting on my camera, which can be set up to take 15 shots in a row. You will see that we weren’t very good at timing our jumps for the camera. 🙂 If you look really close you can see TH’s awesome clip job on his right pant leg.
Our tushies were sore the next day but it was worth it. I think we will be heading back to this spot once Spring comes around again.
Remember that time I asked you all if I should get a fish?
This poor plant is the reason why That Husband says it is a bad idea.
I think this example of my nurturing skills has left him a little bit nervous about my ability to nurture another living thing. I tell him not to worry about the baby, because when the baby wants something, it will cry. If this plant would have cried a time or two it might not be waiting for trash day outside our door.
Good gardners don’t automatically equal good mothers. Besides, aren’t poinsettas supposed to die. It’s a reminder that Christmas is over, that winter is here to stay for several more months, that life has become as boring, staid, predictable, and menial as it once was. I’ll give plant nurturing another try before I condemn myself as a black thumb.
As soon as I heard seven-year-old Tarak McLain start to read his list on NPR I started to cry. By number 5 I was doing that little hiccuping thing I do when I know I am overreacting to something but I can’t help it. It took him 6 hours to compose and the words are all his own. It’s one of the most touching “This I Believe” segments I’ve ever heard.
I think we learned yesterday that we don’t all agree. But I know we all believe.
I believe life is good.
I believe God is in everything.
I believe we’re all equal.
I believe we can help people.
I believe everyone is weird in their own way.
I believe hate is a cause for love.
I believe that when I meditate I feel peaceful.
I believe we should be generous.
I believe brothers and sisters should be kind to each other.
I believe kids should respect their parents.
I believe I should not whine.
I believe people should wake up early.
I believe people should go outside more.
I believe in nature.
I believe people should use less trees.
I believe we should help the Arctic and rainforest animals.
I believe people shouldn’t throw litter on the ground.
I believe people should not smoke.
I believe God is in good and bad.
I believe in magic.
I believe people should not give up.
I believe love is everywhere.
I believe that God helps us to have a good time.
I believe we live best in a community.
I believe we can protect people in danger.
I believe we should help the poor.
I believe it’s OK to die but not to kill.
I believe war should not have started.
I believe war should stop.
I believe we can make peace.
Today is apparently a day for me to write opinionated posts because I have one more for you.
I’m not as excited as most about the inaguration today. I won’t even be watching it. (This could also be because we don’t have any kind of broadcasting on our tv.)
I understand that there are some people who are overjoyed just because George W. Bush is gone. I will admit I am happy I won’t have to cringe over his grammar any longer.
But the overwhelming majority of people seem to be calling this inaguration “historic” because Obama is black. I may sound a tad conceited when I say this, but I have never had any problems with judging people because of the color of their skin or the country of origin. The people making a fuss over the color of his skin are likely people who would claim the same. They say they voted for him because of who he was, not because he was black, but if they don’t care about his skin color why do they keep bringing it up over and over?
I think I am going to hear two opinions in the comments: Many of you will reply and say that you celebrate his skin color because it indicates the enormous amount of progress that the United States has made since the era of civil rights. Others will say that having a black President proves that anyone can be President.
I’ve heard many references to the color of his skin, but I haven’t heard much about his credentials and what he will do for the country (except coming from Obama’s own mouth).
Martin Luther King said:
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.
If we turn Obama into “The Black President” and judge all his successes and failures as those of the black man who once ruled the free world, are we really living “The Dream”?
At the beginning of our marriage I was so naive. Previously, I thought when people asked if/when I wanted to have kids that they were looking for an honest answer. Innocent and smiling I would say “I wish I had one right now.” I’ve since learned that telling the truth often leads to exclamations of shock or negativity from the listener.
“You are so young!”
“You should wait two or three years before you do that.”
“You need to take time for yourself to enjoy your marriage!”
“Having kids, period, is a mistake.” (Seriously, people have said this!)
Frankly, the more I hear responses in this vein, the angrier I become. What right do these people have to tell me what to do with my own cervix? What right do they have to judge my desire to sacrifice my body, time, and money to bring new life into the world and the timeline in which I decide to do so? Should I text you each morning I successfully swallow the pink pill so you can rest assured I will continue to enjoy my marriage for at least one day longer?
Don’t ask me the question if there is only one reply you want to hear. Rather, whisper to your husband about the time That Husand and I are losing to enjoy ourselves, while you sleep in your lonely apartment and judge me behind my back when you hear I am pregnant 6 months into the marriage. Hold onto your views that kids are to be tolerated as an expensive inconvenience several years into the marriage after the mortgage is paid off and careers are further developed. Whatever you do, don’t take one moment to consider that I might have different priorities in my life.
Many of you say this to others and think you are doing them a service. You waited, so they should too! Or maybe you didn’t wait and now your life is ruined and you want to prevent me from making the same mistake. I’m not quite sure what I am supposed to be waiting for at this point. I have the husband (and his best swimmers), the necessary funds, the mental competence, and my body has been telling me how ready it is on a monthly basis for over 10 years now.
So tell me, other than a reason to “enjoy life” for awhile, why should I wait? Some people told me I should wait to get married also. I’m going to go ahead and say that they were wrong.
I’m going to propose something new. Let’s leave the talk of should we/shouldn’t we to the couple. Let’s stop asking if people are “trying”. You tell me that instead of desiring a child I should be exploring other areas of my life, so ask me about them.What do I like to do in my spare time? Where do I work? If I could have dinner with any three people in the world, who would it be?
Unless you want to hear me say “I’d be pregnant last week if it were completely up to me,” just don’t ask.
(In case you didn’t catch it, my deepest desire is to have a baby. Not to have people stop criticizing me for wanting to do so. Though both would be ideal.)
“You don’t have any cellulite,” she said as she tortured my muscles with what I had judged as gentle looking hands upon seeing them for the first time (I was wrong, they are anything but gentle.)
Usually I try to accept whatever compliments come my way, for they are usually true. You say my hair looks pretty? Why yes, I think it looks pretty also and I’m not afraid to admit that. You say I have nice skin? You are right, I do have nice skin, all thanks to my Danish ancestors.
But this one, it was too much for me to take. I mean, I’ve seen the back of my thighs and it ain’t a pretty sight.
I was about to interject (for surely one should deflect a compliment when it is a blatant lie), but then I realized something. Between the two of us, which one could be considered the expert here?
My credentials: I’ve been to the beach several times, and I always find myself flipping through those trashy mags that advertise “Worst Celebrity Beach Bodies!” to help the rest of us feel better about our menial lives.
Her credentials: She routinely plunges her hands deep into the backs, butts, thighs, and calves of strangers. She’s had the opportunity to get up close and personal with hundreds of different dermises.
I’m going to say she wins this one.
I’ve officially been branded cellulite free in 2009. It feels good to be here.
Don’t you hate it when you have to share a bed with someone and things feel awkward when you roll toward each other in the middle of the night and there is the possibility that you might wake up breathing in each others faces?
Enter The Bed Shield. Choose which side of the bed you will sleep on, grab one fluffy pillow and done!
It won’t prevent them from stealing the covers or kicking you with their hairy legs and feet, but it will keep you from waking up with their hot breath on your face at 3:26 AM.
I feel terrible for admitting it. This is not how a new wife is supposed to feel. But…
I don’t cry when That Husband leaves on business for 3-4 (sometimes 5) days during the week.
Maybe it’s because I resigned myself to this lifestyle when I decided I wanted to marry him. Or maybe (and this, I believe, is the real reason) it’s because I’m independent enough to do okay without him.
When he is gone I can be selfish. I make dinner when I want it, I play loud music when it pleases me (though it doesn’t seem to please our upstairs neighbor), I consume less waste so I don’t have to get up early to take the trash out every MWF, and I can leave the dishes in the sink for days just because I feel like it.
I try my best to be a model stay at home wife whenever he returns. The kitchen is clean, the dishwasher is running, dinner is on the table, the bed is made, the sheets are washed, the house is vaccumed, the dirty clothes hamper is empty, the clean clothes are put away, and this week there will even be pictures hung on the walls that weren’t there before. I kiss him hello and give him my best June Cleaver smile.
I realize that when we have kids this selfishness will be a thing of the past, and it’s likely that our arguments will revolve around how often he is gone and how difficult it is for me to cope with that. But that is then, and this is now.
Except I will say that I feel a little pang of regret when he calls to say he will be home Friday instead of Thurdsay. And that the bed sometimes feels really cold without him next to me (albeit at least an arms length apart). And I miss our hugs, and our kisses, and our nightly scripture study. And I miss feeling like I can take care of him when he scrounges around the kitchen for a snack. And the way he says “hon” and the clothes he leaves on the bedroom floor without fail every single morning when he is home.
So there are no tears, just a little bit of sadness.