The five-year paper

I am getting published. In a bona-fide journal.

You are allowed to think for a moment that this is glamorous.

***

Now you will remember the title of this post. And you think, surely no one takes 5 years to publish a paper (dissertations don't count).

I did.

Five and a half years ago I went to Argentina with BYU's nursing program.

While I was there I interviewed women at the maternity hospital about their eating habits during pregnancy and their views on nutrition. Easy enough. I figured I'd have my research published within a year.

Then I hit a few snags.

Problem #1: Camber's husband

I got engaged within a few months of returning to America. Then I got married.

No further explanation required.

Problem #2: Camber's Spanish skills

My Spanish comprehension, while perfect when listening to other gringos speak Spanish, is paltry when speaking to native Argentine women from the countryside with several missing teeth. (Yes, they lose their teeth young down there). When I sat down to translate the tapes later on, I realized I had no idea what the heck any of them were saying.

Just a glitch.

So I hired a native speaker to translate them for me, and let me tell you, that was the best-spent $80 of my life.

With my tapes effectively translated, I figured it was smooth sailing from then on.

Except for Problem #3: Camber's attention span

I'm pretty sure I wrote this paper in 5-10 minute spurts. I usually sat down dutifully at the computer and then remembered a pressing duty somewhere else. Like the dishes. And the books on the shelves that really needed to be alphabetized. And why not get around to organizing the cosmetics while I was at it?

No deadlines. No pressure. No bueno.

And then, Problem #4: Camber's publisher

Turns out, publishing takes forever. This is how it goes:

Step 1) Turn in your paper. Wait 4-6 months. Forget you ever wrote it. Hear back, "We'll publish this...maybe."

Step 2) Make the proposed changes. Wait 4-6 months. Forget you ever wrote it. Hear back, "We'll publish this...maybe." Make another set of changes for problems they apparently didn't notice the first time.

Repeat two more times. 


And at last, this link to the journal article.

Glamorous? Not exactly. But we all benefitted from fewer dishes.


Through all this, my greatest asset was Erin Maughan, my mentor. Without her this never would have happened. No, really, without her, this never would have happened. After a few months of stalling I'd get a gentle email, "Camber, I really think this paper is worth publishing. What can I do to help you?"

Thanks Erin.

And just for fun, 2 more pictures from Argentina. Because it was really, really fun there.

Doing what nurses do. Poking small children. 

Hang-gliding. What was I thinking?

The Big Kahuna

Once as a teenager my mom and I noticed the car odometer was approaching a milestone--something like 80,000. Not the big kahuna, but still pretty exciting. We decided we wanted to watch it turn. So we drove veeeerrrry slowly around the neighborhood. And then again. And again. And it turned and we were thrilled.

Ever since then, however, a small part of me has still longed for something bigger. And better.

100,000 miles.

As exciting as watching 5 digits change all at once proved to be, watching 6 could only be that much more thrilling. And a little unspoken dream was born.

Years later, our car reached 99,982 miles. Let me tell you, few things are more thrilling than standing on the threshold of a major event like this. Would witnessing a great event like this change me? Would it make me forget the little people? Would the glory go to my head?

With only one way to find out, we went on the great odometer date, and drove down random country roads at slow speeds until the odometer turned.

Here's the proof.

Did witnessing this event change me? Absolutely it did.

Did it make me forget the little people? Never.

Did the glory go to my head? Welllll...

Our Christmas/New Years Letter

(While many of you received this letter via email, there are some amazing people out there whose emails...I do not have. Anymore. So I am putting this out there for general viewing and reading pleasure.)

Photography by Eve Tuft who is offering very inexpensive photo shoots.
If you want one I'll help you get in touch. 

(Ever since Isaac and Camber Hess revealed earlier this year that they are Superman and Superwoman, the world has clamored for an interview. Matt Lauer recently sat down with Isaac and Camber in their Iowa home for this exclusive.)


Matt: So, by now everyone knows that you’re living here in Iowa. But . . . why? Don’t you think the public has the right to know?


Isaac: I suppose they do, Matt, I suppose they do. Camber and I moved here back in August 2010 so I could attend graduate school at the University of Iowa. I’m getting my MBA.


Matt: But isn’t it cold in Iowa? [Camber shivers reflexively.]


Isaac [locking eyes with knowing stare]: Yes.


Matt: I see. [Pause.] Let’s move on to happier topics. I hear Isaac graduates in May. Any word on future plans?


Camber: Oh, we’ll be returning immediately to the full-time crime destruction machines God designed us to be.


Matt: Really?


Camber: Ha! No. We’re moving to Cincinnati in July.


Matt: Cincinnati? Isn’t it cold there, too?


Isaac [same knowing stare]: Yes.


Matt: I see. [Pause.] So why move there instead of say, Arizona, where the weather is beautiful, all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average?


Isaac: Matt, it turns out that fighting crime doesn’t pay well. We just can’t keep up our lavish lifestyle fighting crime in areas like Arizona. I was lucky enough to find a great job in Cincinnati at a marketing research consulting firm. Camber and I are both excited for the new adventure!


Matt: So no more crime fighting for now?


Camber: Have you seen Cincinnati, Matt? Let’s just say there will be plenty of opportunities to moonlight.


Matt: Let’s move onto some of your big events from this past year. Is it true that both of you had surgery in the same month this year?


Camber: [Sighs] It is true. I had cataract surgery to fix eye damage I got when I was young. It went well, and I see much better now.


Matt: What about your surgery Isaac. What was that for?


Isaac: [Pause.] That’s . . . undisclosed at this time, Matt.


Matt: I see. [Pause.] But glad to hear that you’re both feeling better. What about your summer in Chicago? I’ve heard you had to spend most of the time apart. What was that like for you?


Isaac: It was difficult. I had an internship there for 11 weeks, and we did spend most of the summer apart because Camber had a job as a nurse back here in Iowa. It was grueling, but we learned how to stay connected and close even though we were many miles apart. Modern technology is amazing, and really helped.


Camber: And I got to visit several times over the summer. Chicago was fun, but really loud. And several of Isaac’s family dropped in as well. His mom and brother, Sean, visited. But the pizza. Oh . . . the pizza. [She closes her eyes, licks her lips.] If you’ve never had Chicago-style pizza, you haven’t yet lived.


Matt: Good to know. So it shocked the world when we found out that Superman and Superwoman were living among us, an unassuming married couple. How long have you been married, and . . . any Superchild coming along soon?


Camber: We just had our fifth anniversary a few weeks ago! We’re so happy to be married. Best. Five. Years. Ever.


Isaac: As for the Superchildren, most of our family know that we’ve been trying—unsuccessfully—for several years now. We’re still hoping and praying, and may be looking into adoption in the near future. We’ll be sure to keep you up-to-date.


Matt: Fair enough. I just have one last question. Can you confirm the rumors out there that the Justice League is about to kick out The Green Lantern, because the movie was just that bad?


Isaac: I can’t confirm, but let’s just say I can’t—won’t—deny it.


Matt: Ouch. Well, thank you so much Isaac and Camber. You’ve been great guests.


Camber: Thank you, Matt. If you get kidnapped by terrorists, you know how to reach us!

5 years

We celebrated our 5-year anniversary last week and feel like we've reached a true milestone in our marriage. 5 years feels...legit. Solid. Lasting. In fact, to date, we've been married 25.47 Kardashians. In celebration of our accomplishment, we're each writing a little something about the other. 

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Why Camber thinks Isaac is awesome (in no particular order)

By Camber Hess

1) He is one of the few people I know that first recognizes people by their voice instead of their face. 


2) He never loses his temper. Never. And he has never, ever raised his voice at me. He is, however, a sharp-shooter with a rubber band (I learned this yesterday. Wish I'd known that before we got married). Ouch.


3) He is, it turns out, super smart. He has a perfect GPA in graduate school so far and yet has mostly maintained his personal policy not to study excessively. 


4) He plays the piano and guitar, has an angelic singing voice, and can memorize the lyrics to a song after listening to it just a few times. 


5) He is one of the easiest people in the world to cook for. His favorite food? Spaghetti. Really. His eyes light up with pure joy when I tell him spaghetti is for dinner. He will also eat leftovers, whole wheat pasta, and canned green beans. How did I get so lucky?


6) He loves to talk. Loves it. (See my blog post about this here). If there is anything on his mind he will sit you down and tell you all about it. It makes him very easy to come to know and communication has never been even the slightest problem in our marriage. And I never find him boring. 


7) Along with #6, if there is a secret he has to keep (like a present he got me for Christmas) it kills him not to tell me. So he tells my mom in the meantime. 


8) He has great athletic prowess. He can run fast, jump high, throw a frisbee with incredible control, and beat Camber at arm-wrestling even when she's been working out for months. Grrr.


9) He loves good books, and that includes the Harry Potter series, which we have read out loud to each other. Twice. Also he loves Jane Austen. We have watched the 6-hour Pride & Prejudice together at least 3 times. 


10) He can entertain himself for hours with his wedding ring. In mid-sentence I have found him flicking it in the air, spinning it on a table, trying it on different fingers, or pretending it's a monocle, and at restaurants he makes obstacle courses out of salt shakers to roll it through. Many a stimulating conversation has been put on hold by "Oh! Dang it!" Followed by Isaac crawling under the table or searching between couch cushions. It's adorable. 


I'll keep him around, I think. At least for 5 more years.

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10 Reasons Camber Deserves to Rule the World*

* Benevolently, of course

By Isaac Hess

To Whom it May Concern:

Since the financial crisis, I understand that your committee has been tasked to find an authoritarian leader to save us from ourselves. After being married now (blissfully) for 5 years, I would like to respectfully submit the name of my wife, Camber Hess, for your consideration regarding the post of benevolent dictator.

10. She will feed us all.

And I'm not talking about any of this food ration garbage, where each person gets just the necessary calories for survival. I'm talking about delicious food: Indian curry, amazing pastas, casseroles, breads—oh, don't even get me started on the amazing breads!

But most importantly, each slice will be baked with Camber's love. You want to solve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict? Give them a fresh slice of Camber's home-made wheat bread, and they will not only stop fighting—they'll start sharing jam.

9. She gives wonderful back rubs.

This may appear, on its surface, a skill Camber will rarely apply as dictator. You think this for two reasons: (1) you have not thought of the many possibilities; (2) you've never entered heaven through Camber's back rubs as I have.

Just think of how Camber's back rubs will ensure swift world peace. Kim Jong Un will immediately agree to reunite North Korea with the south once his knots are worked out under Camber's masterful hands. (Once those hands have begun their work, Camber can be denied nothing.) Drug lords in South America will agree to cease their murderous fighting under the influence. In fact, once we have trained an army in the way of Camber's massaging, we can probably cure all drug and alcohol addiction overnight.

8. She is an amazing musician.

The piano, organ, kazoo, accordion, nose flute—need I go on? If music is communication that rises above language, then Camber will unite the world under a flurry of piano pieces and egg shakers. Plus, she can play Rachmaninoff; that should please the Russians.

7. She loves outdoor activities.

Legend tells of a time when Camber brought down a lion cub and bear cub with her bare hands—at the same time! I have not confirmed this, but given the outdoor feats I have witnessed with my own eyes, I do not doubt it. She hikes, bikes, kites, camps, canoes, and so much more. No one will miss Vladamir Putin. Camber can kill tigers just as easily, if not more so.

6. She is an exercise maven.

Obesity is a serious problem—for other people. Camber is as lean as a panther, maybe even leaner if we're talking about a panther that just took down a wildebeest. Camber's addiction commitment to exercise is inspiring. Do you think she stops when she's sick? No! When she's tired? No! When she's dead? Unsure, but I doubt it!

Think of how this will inspire the world to healthier ways. And if she brings this same level of indefatigability to her other responsibilities, the world will thrive in gloriousness.

5. She saves lives at work already.

As benevolent dictator, Camber will have to allocate scarce resources, including health care. Let's face it, there just isn't enough to go around. Some people will have to die. Some of my friends' grandparents probably won't make the cut.

But Camber has been there. She takes care of sick people all the time, and does so with compassion and grace. This will give her compassion for her people, but will also give her the wisdom to know when it's time to just give up on entire nations/states (sorry California—we're sending you out to sea).

4. She laughs at my jokes.

As the future "first man" to Benevolent Dictator Camber, it is important to my ego that she does this, so it is important for you, as the committee, to know that she does. This will placate me despite the fact that I have no power, and will prevent me from seeking to overthrow her rule. Why would I need to? My wife thinks I'm funny. What else can a man aspire to?

3. She supports me in my schooling.

For the past two years I've been sucking money away from our bank account at about the same rate she puts it in, all for a stupid piece of paper called a Masters Degree. And she's happy! Clearly Camber isn't in this for the money. She's good. She's supportive. And it makes me happy.

Once the whole world feels this love and support, it will transform us from a mass of in-fighting people to a mass of in-loving people. (That sounds gross, but keep your mind out of the gutter.) It has changed my life to know I have her support; think of what that would do to the whole world?

2. She's beautiful.

It is a well-accepted fact, that it is vital to be smoking hot to be an effective leader. Camber has this covered.

The men will want her. The women will want to be her. People will never be compelled to pay taxes: they will do so of their own free will. Laws will never be enforced: people will obey as a token of love. Pilgrims will travel over the whole world to see her—which will increase tourism revenues, helping the economy. All will love her, and despair.

1. She Loves Me.

Why does loving me make her fit to rule the world? Simple: it proves she can love anyone. Loving me as she does is no small feat. If she can love me, she'll have no problems loving and serving even the dregs of society, giving them of herself all day every day.

Plus it means I get to live with her in the palace.

Baby Jesus v. Santa

Some years, when December rolls around, I feel like I'm really celebrating 2 holidays. Just when I start feeling all happy and hopeful about little baby Jesus I think, "Sheesh! Why are there so dang many people to buy presents for?" (Insert the genius idea of gift rotations. Best idea ever.) 


After some sad experiences over the year, the Savior's message of hope and peace has found profound meaning for me this season. And yet, rather than revel in the comfort, I compulsively brainstorm gift ideas on scratch paper and mentally curse stores when I spy obviously inflated prices. And I reluctantly join the hordes of people at Wal Mart scowling at each other over the last box of Peppermint Oreos and precariously balancing awkward rolls of wrapping paper on the way to the car (because I am NOT making more than one trip in this weather, thank you very much). Christmas is a holiday at once spiritual and secular, hopeful and hectic, cheering and chaotic. And alliterative.


So who wins, baby Jesus or Santa? As a child, I liked baby Jesus and all but the magic happened Christmas morning when I woke up at 4 AM and peeked in my stocking. Presents are a little more immediate than, you know, salvation. 


In our house, Isaac, who counts down to Christmas starting in about June, has banned all Santa decorations, at least for now. Instead we have a nativity for almost every year of our marriage. 

If you look closely, you will notice there is no baby Jesus in the middle one.
It came that way.
Maybe he got to feeling self-conscious that day.

However, our household Santa ban did not prevent us from going to see the most decked-out Santa house I have ever beheld. 

And yet, next to the Santa display was this:

Maybe they can both win. 

On a somewhat unrelated note, we lost our original star and bought a new one online this year. Isaac made me wait until he got home to put it on the tree. Aaaaannnnd this:

Note to self: increase tree-topper budget for next year.

Merry Christmas all.

Grateful

Thanksgiving this year was an epic 5-day masterpiece of sugar binging, Arizona sunshine, and Camber's family. I feel like I have a lot to be thankful for this year, in addition to the usual good health, family, Gospel, free country, etc.

First, I got to meet my niece Hannah, already a year old, and my nephew Jake, who was born in September.

Jake was so excited to meet me that his bowels filled with joy.

Which left no more room for poop. 

So he had a spectacular blow-out--in my arms. This was his first blow-out of such grandeur, and I am proud to have helped.

I am grateful I chose to carry him at that time with his backside facing out. 

Also, I am grateful for the 1st annual Cooper Turkey Trot. By hosting a private 10K, we saved a collective $75 and slept in 3 extra hours. 

I am grateful I got 3rd place. Even though there were only 3 runners.

I am grateful my dad worked hard to produce an incredible Thanksgiving dinner. And I'm grateful it made him tired so we could take this funny picture during games.

I am grateful we got to be there for Jake's baby blessing. And that in Phoenix it is warm enough to wear short sleeves in November. WHY do I live in Iowa?

Isn't my family adorable?

Last of all, I am grateful that Isaac's mouth is, indeed, too small to swallow a baby.

Camber's list

I have long felt an affinity for awesome last names. 


One of my greatest fears as a child, aside from the usual worries about the house burning down or dying before I turned 16 and got to go on a date, was that I would marry someone with a dull last name. Like Smith. Or Johnson. (No offense to the many good Smiths and Johnsons out there. I still love you guys). 


Luckily that fear did not come to pass, although taking my husband's name did involve relinquishing the alliteration I'd so long adored (my maiden name started with C). True love requires sacrifices. Sometimes painful ones.


Since my married name is neither dull nor epic, as a pet project I've been keeping a running list of awesome last names that I have coveted at some point or another. I promise, these are all real names. I hope these people appreciate what they have.

Camber's Awesome Last Names List

Stufflebeam

Peekenschneider

Beenblossom

Horlacher

Fightmaster

Stoneburner

Bosch Von Benedict

Niffenegger

Snodgrass

Oxenreider

Hammermeister

Zieglowsky

Hightower

More to follow. Hopefully.

As consolation, we're considering the middle name Fightmaster for our oldest child. Boy or girl. 

If anyone has an awesome name to contribute, by all means please share it.

Switching Places

I like to run a drama-free household. So this year we had some stringent criteria for our Halloween costumes. They needed to:

1) Be cheap, or, preferably, free
2) Require no sewing, gluing, painting, or glitter
3) Require little to no shopping
4) Be comfortable and preferably un-embarrassing (Isaac's request)

And being the ever-resourceful people that we are, we came up with costumes that met all four criteria.

We switched places. 

Meet Camber, MBA Candidate, and Isaac, RN.

I was all set for an easy, drama-free morning as we put on our costumes, but we hit a snag I wasn't anticipating.

Isaac said, while I buttoned up his shirt, "You look weird."

So in case I didn't catch it the first time, he repeated it when I got on the suit jacket. "You look weird."

At first I thought he was just referring to the general sagging nature of the suit. Not quite my size.

But before we exchanged our habitual peck after morning prayers, Isaac recoiled.

"I feel like I'm kissing a guy."

Thanks, dear. This was the real reason he thought I "looked weird."

Never mind that I didn't make him wear anything even remotely girly. He looked great in the scrubs. In fact, he enjoyed them so much that we calculated how old he'd be if he became a doctor after his MBA.

38.

Forget it.

Our ward Halloween party was epic, and just for fun, here's the donut-eating contest (photos courtesy of Channa Dalton, who has a far better camera, and let's face it, better camera skills, than I do)

Isaac lost. But he looked good, and that's important.

And my Halloween cupcake, because it was the cutest darn thing I've ever eaten.

To conclude it all, the first words Isaac said to me when we got home? 

"Please change."

Girly. Or not.

I think it's time to come clean with you.

Sometimes, I am not very good at being a girl.

There. I said it.

Let me explain. A while back I sat in a room with a bunch of other girls and it struck me suddenly that they were all wearing these shiny things with their clothes. Jewelry, I think you call it. The stuff has always bewildered me because it doesn't seem to accomplish the main function of clothing--namely, covering skin.

At any rate, the jewelry seemed to look nice on them, so I thought I'd consider getting some for myself. I went to a popular jewelry store (Walmart) and started perusing the displays. I thought necklaces seemed pretty straight forward and started there, and within a minute I broke out in a cold sweat. 

Who knew that there were so many variations on a simple necklace? It's just a shiny thing you hang around your neck, right? But there's so much more involved--is it for a low neckline or a high one? Casual or formal? Do you wear it alone or with another one? What color is the shirt you're planning to wear it with? Worse, what color are the shoes you're planning to wear it with (no one actually owns more than one pair of casual shoes...do they?) Then, you have to start coordinating with the earrings and bracelet that are going to go with the necklace, and you might want to consider matching eye shadow and purse color as well.

Suddenly I felt nauseated and my respiratory rate doubled. I could feel the store closing in on me, and sensed other customers staring at me, positive they could sense my lack of finesse at jewelry purchasing. Probably they were snickering. I booked it to the produce section. Apples I can handle.

Here's the truth. I grew up with three brothers and no sisters. The males in my house mocked make-up and prissiness in all forms and I was in college before I knew about eyebrow plucking or hair straighteners. I own two necklaces that I actually wear and bought neither of them. 

I have two hair-do's, and that's only if you count the ponytail/headband combo that I sport when exercising. My favorite place to go clothes shopping is at a thrift store, and my makeup collection has three items in it. On my wedding day, I spent about 15 minutes doing my hair and makeup. The same amount of time that I spend every day. And while I feel a twinge of regret looking at my somewhat plain appearance in my pictures, I'm also pretty sure I was the least-stressed-out bride in the history of weddings.

Here's the question: Is that okay? Am I allowed to deep down wish I were wearing a T-shirt and baggy shorts? Can I consider myself an adequate woman if I never do learn how to accessorize?

    

I brought all this up with Isaac, and his only response was, "How is that a problem? That's one of the things about you I think is awesome!"

See the T-shirt? And how happy I look? What a great day that was.

Well, at least I married the right guy. And I don't plan on buying a new necklace any time soon. It's just too traumatizing.

Ugly numbers

This was our mealtime conversation today.


I: J's birthday is today. He's 28. We spent some time talking about how 28 is a perfect number.


C: Why?


I: Because it is one of a few numbers whose factors add up to itself (1, 2, 4, 7, 14). 6 is another example. 


C: 28 is more impressive. It's bigger and still pulls it off. Like how big prime numbers are more impressive.


I: Prime numbers sure are ugly numbers


C: What do you mean?


I: Think about it. 13. What could be uglier than that? Or 11? Or 17?


C: I have positive emotional associations with 17. I idolized that age from the time I was young. I can't think badly about it.


I: You have to let those go. We're talking about the number, not the age. 17 was the best year of my life, but it's still an ugly number. 


C: I'm sorry. I can't do it. 17 isn't ugly.


I: Well, you can't argue against 11 and 13.


C: You have to admit that 11 is lovelier than 13.


I: I think that's because 13 follows 12. And 12 is almost a perfect number.


C: Yeah, 12 really is a tough act to follow. Poor 13.


I: 5 and 7, though. Those are exceptions. They're almost as perfect as 12.


I still think I'm right about 17.