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.

Code Blue

Warning: This is not a funny hospital story. Please skip this blog post if you are prone to fainting at slightly graphic medical stories. 


Recently I watched my first code blue at this hospital. 


A code blue is your classic CPR situation--someone whose heart is not beating or who is not breathing.


It is the kind of thing you see on TV all the time. And in some ways, it is like TV. It feels dramatic. People keep pouring into the room in droves. There are syringes flying and orders being called and chest compressions and the beeping of heart monitors. It is 15 people all working together to try to save a life when every minute really does count. 


And yet, it is utterly unlike TV. The patient's spouse is shuttled out of the room white as a sheet. This is a real person, not an actor. If things do not turn out well, this day will be life-altering and remembered with remorse. The patient is disrobed and blood drips on the floor in a puddle as new IV's are started. Chest compressions are hard and fast and make the bed shake. Students and medical residents take turns doing them because it is exhausting work. The patient receives a breathing tube down the throat to assist in giving breaths. 


Every 2 minutes we pause everything to watch the heart monitor return again and again to a flat line, called asystole. This means there is no electrical activity in the heart at all. It means the patient is probably not going to come back. It means all our efforts will probably be in vain. 

I stood in the corner holding a clipboard and wrote everything down, calling out when more medication could be given and keeping track of how long we'd been working. Doing this allowed me to participate in the code but mostly observe first hand what happened. 


I watched the heart rate come back for just a moment. A pulse! We have a pulse! A new hopeful energy entered the room as doctors gave new orders and we excitedly started preparing to take the patient to the ICU. 


Then, just as quickly, the pulse left, replaced once again by that terrible flat line. 


I watched as the room gradually became more and more quiet. Compressions continued but no one spoke a word. We all knew. Finally I called out for the last round of medication. Someone gave it. 


Nothing. 


And so, reluctantly, we stopped. The room emptied in near silence. In a moment we cleared the room and covered the patient with a fresh sheet and wiped up the blood. The drama of the moment fizzled out into a quiet sadness. Nurses rarely cry in such moments. Maybe it's the adrenaline. But the experience still cast a pall over the rest of the day, sobering us all. 


And yet, there lingered some small comfort in the nearly 30 minutes we'd spent trying to preserve a life. We gave life the best chance possible at lingering here. Everything we could do we did. Life is tenacious, but sometimes, so is death. When it's really truly our time to go, we go. For this patient, it was truly time.

Hitting the Wall

A while ago in church someone mentioned that she'd just finished reading the Bible cover-to-cover.


Why haven't I done that? I asked myself. I have read the entire New Testament several times and have read selected portions of the Old Testament, but there are vast areas of unchartered territory I still need to conquer. 


So I started.


Genesis went great. It's downright riveting--Adam gets created and then kicked out of the garden and Noah's trying to get his animals gathered and then Abraham shows up and there's that coat of many colors, and I could barely put it down! Exodus wasn't bad either. As I read, though, I started getting this unsettled feeling in my stomach. Something about my auspicious start bothered me deeply. I spent a few days trying to pin down what felt wrong about it all.


And then a sickening realization struck me. In 145 pages I had already covered almost every Bible story I knew. Sure, I still have David and Goliath to look forward to, and something about the battle of Jericho, but what on earth fills the other 1039 pages of the Old Testament?


I kept reading, bracing myself for the blow, and sure enough, it came. Leviticus. And after about 3 chapters full of dead lambs and goat and sacrificial altars and peace offerings and sin offerings and sweet savors I began toying with the idea of picking a new religion. Do Hindus have a shorter Bible? 


In the end, I decided to push through the wall. I bought two different books about the Old Testament. I read up on symbolism and ancient Israelite culture and Hebrew translations and I made it through Leviticus a better person. 


Then I hit the next wall: Numbers. So far: 3 chapters of numbering and sorting the camp of Israel. Turns out, there were a lot of Israelites. And I get to read about them, tribe by tribe.


Dangit.

The Houseguest: Camber's mom

Our Houseguest came. And behaved herself very well, thank you.


Something about having my mom come transformed me into a little girl wanting to play show and tell, "See mom! There's our parking spot! And our gas station! And look at that tree outside our window!" Etc. It's as if few things in my surroundings held any meaning for me until time to share them with another person. 


Another advantage of houseguests is the excuse they give to visit things that only tourists ought to visit. Like the Amish Colonies. And the apple orchards. Fun places, but we just kept forgetting to go to them. Until my mom came. 


Yet another perk: my mom lives life with great zeal. She is the kind of person that will continue to have girls night with young married girls in their 20's. And grown men in their 20's and 30's will sit down across from her chair at work and confess everything from woes with women to their latest surgery (and show her their scars). Even my husband has been known to call her up and chat for an hour. Without me around. She can find humor in a traffic jam and joy in a $1 bacon cheeseburger. Any road trip with her is guaranteed to bring great excitement and noteworthy memories.


So when we went to Nauvoo (just the two of us) she proclaimed the old men that led the tours adorable and loved the horses and the temple and the pioneer dresses and bawled at the Carthage Jail tour and became BFF with our waitress at the hotel buffet and laughed at the pancake machine that produced ridiculously tiny pancakes at breakfast. And I enjoyed them all the more with her.

The ridiculously tiny pancakes

One night we went to dinner downtown and settled in...and realized the food was waaayy more expensive than we'd planned. I voted to leave. Isaac thought that was awkward. We already had water, after all. Then, because my mom is always up to adventure we decided to split an entree three ways. Not just any entree. A burrito. So that's what we did, and we loved the restaurant all the more for our funny memory of a three-way burrito.


Also at some point one of us mentioned crepes and that led directly to making plans for an epic crepe night. Which we carried out. We made probably 2 dozen crepes for...three people. We ate crepes for dinner and for dessert as well as pre-dinner snack and bedtime carb loading. 


And then she left.

And life got a little more boring.

At Carthage Jail in Illinois where the Prophet Joseph Smith was martyred.
This picture was taken post-meltdown. Mom is recovering here.

These champs took us on a tour of the countryside.
This is one of about 16 pictures we took with the horses.

This is a placard with a quotation from my 4th-great grandmother.
Apparently she wasn't the docile, subservient type. 

Rules for Houseguests

A few years ago, my mom came to visit and Isaac decided that it was in our best interests to write up a list of houseguest rules to prevent potential misunderstandings.
She is coming today to Iowa for the first time, and Isaac sent her an updated list of rules as a friendly reminder of appropriate conduct on our premises. I promise, this is well-worth your time.


Dear Mom,

In preparation for your visit, I thought I would send you an updated list of rules. I have made updates to each section, and have added a section for "Iowa" at the end.

--Isaac

Section 1: The Kitchen

Rule 1.1 Guests are prohibited, except in cases of extreme life-threatening emergencies, from making any negative comments regarding the general state of kitchen cleanliness, the height of the stack of dishes, or the inability to find the bottom of the sink. Compliments are encouraged.

Rule 1.2 Guests are prohibited from snacking on chocolate chips.

Rule 1.3 Guests are prohibited from breaking dishes (except in cases of self-defense), climbing into the refrigerator, banging pots and pans (except on January 1st), or hiding under the table (except in cases of self-defense).

Rule 1.4 Guests are prohibited from commenting on the general lack of counter space, the stains on the kitchen table (it is not blood), or the old linoleum on the floor.

Section 2: The Living Room

Rule 2.1 Guests are prohibited from touching any remote belonging to a television, DVD player, CD player, lamp, or fan.
              Rule 2.1.1 Guests are prohibited from wanting to touch the remote.

Rule 2.2 Guests are prohibited from complaining about the volume of the radio, television, or DVD player.

Rule 2.3 Guests are prohibited from using (or touching) musical instruments, including (but not limited to): the piano, the guitar, the ukulele, the kazoo, the nose whistle, the jaw harp, or the armpit. Justin Cooper (Camber's little brother) is exempt from this rule.

Rule 2.4 Guests are prohibited from commenting on the cleanliness of the sliding glass door. Each remark will be punished by the guest having to lick the sliding glass door completely clean.

Section 3: The Bathroom

Rule 3.1 Guests are prohibited from borrowing, stealing, using, breathing on, or looking at my toothbrush (it's the electronic one).

Rule 3.2 Guests are limited to 10 minutes in the bathroom during a normal potty trip, 20 minutes for one (1) long potty trip during the day, and 30 minutes in the morning (which includes shower time).

Section 4: The Office (Guest Bedroom)

Rule 4.1 Guests have unlimited access to the office. It's your haven, your temporary home, your refuge.

Rule 4.2 Guests may not read any journals on the book shelf, but may enjoy the pictures on the cover.

Section 5: The Master Bedroom

Rule 5.∞ Guests are prohibited, upon penalty of death, from entering the master bedroom, from opening a closed door to the master bedroom, from peeking under the door into the master bedroom, from banging on the door of the master bedroom, and from any other practice which would disturb the peace, quiet, happiness, or general zen-like state of the master bedroom occupants.

Section 6: Iowa

Rule 6.1 Guests are prohibited from confusing the state of Iowa with the state of Ohio. Guests are required to perform 15 pushups for each mistaken reference to "Ohio." The substitute "Ohiowa" will be accepted up to three (3) times per day; each reference to "Ohiowa" beyond three times will result in a 15-pushup punishment.

Rule 6.2 Guests are prohibited from stating the obvious, especially from the following exclamations:

"It's cold here in Iowa!"

"There's so much corn!"

"Rivers here are big!"

"There are no mountains!"

"Iowans are fat!"

Etc.

Rule 6.3 All statements, questions, thoughts, heart-felt loathings, or sighs about corn are prohibited. If a guest wishes to make a remark about corn, he/she must substitute the phrase, "Iowa is awesome," for the word corn. Example: "Goodness me! There are so many -- Iowa is awesome -- fields here!"

Rule 6.4 Guests are required to make two (2) positive comments about Iowa during each stay of the visit. General compliments regarding the greenness of the trees, the rolling hills, the general scent, the loveliness of the university, and the general lack of monkeys, are encouraged.

My mom is a very good sport.

Get out of my forest

Last week we went camping at a lovely state park with our friends Jershon and Shelly. Well, sort-of camping.

Because during that fateful night, we learned about the dark side of the woods.

It all started when we arrived at the park and started unloading the car, and heard a dismayed "Oh no" from our friend Jershon.

"I forgot to pack our tent."

Uh oh.

We quickly assessed the damage: four adults and a toddler and only one 3-person tent.

We discussed our options: driving home--no way. Sleeping in the car--too small. Isaac and I sharing the tent with the toddler--Um, no thanks.

Finally we decided that our friends would take the tent along with their toddler, and Isaac and I would sleep under the stars. It promised to be a clear night without rain.



It sounded romantic. Just us and nature. And the air mattress.

And for awhile, it looked like we were in the clear. There weren't even a lot of mosquitos. We had a campfire, roasted s'mores, and talked until well after dark.

It was a lovely, relaxing night. Until we saw the eyes.

They reflected an eerie red from our headlamps, and lurked near our bed at the edge of camp. Then one pair of eyes became two, and then three. Then they went for the food, and we realized our creepy red eyes were three raccoons. Three really, really bold raccoons.

We decided it was a good time to change our sleeping arrangements. Under the stars? Vetoed.

We began quickly gathering our food before the shameless raccoons started fighting us for it. And then I was all but attacked by three jumbo-sized daddy long-legs. I no sooner killed made Isaac kill one before another one surfaced. We made a beeline for the car, a five-minute walk down the trail.

At the car, I was struck again by another reality. It's impossible to sleep well in a Chevy Malibu. What a stupid idea! What do you do, recline the seats and try to sleep with your legs hanging off the end and your head at a 45 degree angle? And what about the middle console waiting to whack you should you have the gall to try to turn over?

Heck. No.

On to plan C: Get a hotel. I told Isaac this. His eyes lit up, hopeful. This night could be salvaged!

I whispered, "Isaac, Jershon and Shelly never have to know!"

Because I'm sure they wouldn't notice us showing up the next morning looking...clean. And well-slept. With powdered sugar on our lips from those delicious donuts at the hotel breakfast. Isaac whipped out his iPhone and found a hotel. Thinking better of it, we went back for Jershon and Shelly after all.

As it turns out, selling Shelly on the hotel was not difficult. The raccoons had been hunting them. Jershon stared one down, and while it stared back, unmoving, the other two started to close in from the sides. Just like raptors.

So we grabbed our clothes and toiletries (and the toddler) and left for town. Once in the hotel, we slept like babies. Civilization never looked so inviting as it did that night. No raccoons. No daddy long-legs. No mosquitos. And that beautiful, beautiful flushing toilet.

In the morning we ate a hot, free breakfast at the hotel and drove back to our campsite, the tent waiting for us as if we'd never left.

We all go camping perfectly willing to share the woods with a few select species: deer, squirrels, and butterflies. The problem is, there are other creatures in that forest we'd rather not think about. As long as we don't see them, we can pretend they're not there.

But that night we saw them. And then we ran back to civilization like the wusses we really are.

Late-night entertainment

There are two kinds of confused people in the hospital. Adorable confused and Yelling and Swinging confused.

Last night one our patients became acutely ill and confused. Adorably confused. 

Patient: Am I still alive?

Nurse: Yes, you're still alive.

Patient: I didn't die yet?

Nurse: No, not yet.

Patient: Is 2 plus 2 still 4?

Nurse: Yes.

Patient: Am I here?

Nurse: Where's here?

Patient: I don't know. Wherever I am is here.

*Pause*

Patient: Here is where soul and body meet. Will you find it and take me there please?

*Pause*

Patient: I've been like this all my life. I'm a rebel without a clue.

Nurse: Do you mean a rebel without a cause?

Patient: I think I'm trying to be funny.

He succeeded.

The summer bucket list

I'm the kind of person that spends most of the summer dreading the inevitable approach of winter and panicking about not taking full advantage of the summer. I start every summer with an informal, unwritten bucket list of things I want to do before death winter arrives. As the months pass, if I'm not making progress on my list, I start panicking about the ever looming end of my life summer.

This summer my bucket list was in big, big trouble. So was my sanity. June and July were spent working or in Chicago, or else inside hovering over the air conditioner during our abominable heat wave. By August 1st, my skin still boasted its pristine ivory hue leftover for winter. Because it had not seen the sun.

Translation: My summer was being wasted away indoors.

Then Isaac finished his internship, we went to Utah, and the last 3 weeks have basically been an exercise in condensing a summer's worth of bucket list activities into a few short weeks. And in being happy to have Isaac home.

We

hiked a mountain
went camping at 9,000 feet
ate sushi and we loved one of us loved it
went on a bike ride
went canoeing
played frisbee golf
went to the Iowa state fair
went camping sort-of camping again (story to follow)
got slightly tanner
had a barbecue
swam in a lake
made homemade ice cream

Things are looking up for the list.

Although, for the record, I'm still dreading winter.

Here are some pictures of use checking things off my list:

Bless your heart, Iowa, but these are what real mountains look like.

Isaac's family. I don't know who the pink shirt is.

This is the famous butter cow. It's life size and it's ALL butter.
I hope they put that butter to a good use afterwards.
Except for the udder.

That massive hunk of flesh is, believe it or not, a bull.
And it won.
And I'm pretty sure it's too fat to come after you if you touch it.

Our awesome friends Jershon and Shelly standing by the first place pumpkin.
If you can't read the sign it says 1295 lbs. 

Things I forgot about

I have noticed an increase in my happiness lately, and have dedicated the next 48 words to explaining the source of my newfound joy:


Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home Isaac's home!


I came home one night after a truly rotten day at work to my handsome hubby who made dinner, cleaned it up, and gave me a back rub.


I forgot what a breath of fresh air it used to be to come home to him after "I'm pretty sure I need to quit my job" days. Somehow after joking around during dinner and watching him wash dishes for me, the terrors of the day seem like distant memories.


I forgot the small joys of trying to decipher what he's saying with a mouth full of toothpaste foam and of trying keep each other awake during scriptures. 


I forgot how much more quickly sleep comes when he's next to me.


I forgot how our little bedroom seems less lonely, dark, and quiet with Isaac in it, even when the only sound he contributes is the soft breathing of sleep. He also brought home the nightlight, so that probably explains the "less dark" thing...


In the end, we are extra grateful to live in the same house again. 


And, so I don't forget that the Chicago thing really happened, here's some final proof:

At Wait Wait... don't tell me! We're smiling because we already know it's going to be epic.
And it was. If you want to hear the show, go here. You'll laugh, I promise.

Camber shaking Carl Kassel's hand. And regretting the Thai food we just ate. Garlic breath? Probably.

This was probably a highlight of Carl's day.

Sometimes a large dirty city can look kinda pretty.

At the Lincoln Park zoo. But you can't see any animals in this picture. Sorry.