swing and a miss

I am one week shy of my original due date. Our sweet first baby decided to stay with Jesus back in June. If you ask my husband, the baby was never a baby at all - just God's way of telling us that the timing wasn't right. I choose to believe that Baby #1 opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was Heaven - and I can't think of  better way to wake up.

The reason my ultrasound measured 6 weeks instead of 9 was because I never reached 9 weeks. Not even close. I made it through weeks 1-4, and then paused at week 5. The embryonic sac floated temporarily, and then collapsed on itself. It wasn't strong enough to carry it's own weight. I began to miscarry the day of our first ultrasound. The only photo I have of this baby was after the sac had collapsed around the embryo.

[the sac was very nearly gone at this point, but this was all I had to look at]

Miscarriages are.... odd. They elicit a lot of emotions, a lot of uncertainty, a lot of questions... And, for me, a lot of anger.  Time moved in slow motion. I don't remember when I first cried about our loss. I remember looking over at my husband, who was sobbing, and wondering Why is he weeping? Why am I not? I remember sitting down with our 8 year old and explaining to him that sometimes babies decide to stay in heaven, and that's okay; I remember him wrapping his arms around his knees and crying. I didn't cry then either. I think the momma in me knew that I had business to take care of before I could let my feelings protrude. I took 3.5 days off from work, and that's when I did my crying. I cried until I was certain my tear ducts had nothing left to cry, and then I cried some more. I cried so hard that I wanted to go back to work so I couldn't think about something - anything - other than my body failing at it's one job. And when I returned to work on a Friday, I remember people walking past me, avoiding eye contact, avoiding conversation. Good lord, I wish someone would talk to me. Someone please talk to me. Please wake my brain up to something new. Please talk to me. I thought this over and over, all morning long. At last, our market president walked up to my desk. Finally, human interaction. He said, "Courtney, we are glad you're back... but you can take as much time as you need. Let us know if you need anything." I wish he hadn't talked to me.

I immediately left the office. I needed silence. I needed chaos. I had no idea what I needed! Nothing was working anyway. This went on for several days. I missed more work; I was so exhausted that I somehow cut my eyeball open and had to get a patch; I wouldn't answer phone calls; I wouldn't see anyone; I drank many, many bottles of wine. And after 5 weeks, I realized I was still bleeding. I had never stopped bleeding. I started keeping track. Out of 70 days, I'd bled for about 50 of them. This was the miscarriage that would not go away.

I went back to my doctor and determined, with yet another depressing ultrasound, that all remnants of Baby were gone. But my body was confused. In the 2.5 months since my miscarriage, I had gained 20 pounds. My body still thought it was pregnant. My hormones were still raging. I just wanted this phase of my life to be done with. We moved to a new house and started a new chapter. But this page just would.not.turn.

[Dream home. Population: less than we had planned]

I was put on a prescription for..... something. I don't remember what. It took another two weeks to get my uterus back in sync with the rest of me. And in late September, we were given the green light to start trying again. Even then, I felt like trying again was like cheating on Baby #1. How could I prepare for Baby #2 when Baby #1 literally just left my body?

I don't know the answers, and I don't know how we made it through. I can see how infertility can cripple a family, because our one miscarriage nearly sent my marriage down a crap chute. Thankfully, my husband is a saint (a pain in the hind-quarters, but a saint, nonetheless). And in mid November, we had our big fat positive pregnancy test. We are having a baby.
At 8 weeks, we heard our new Baby Neal's heartbeat - a whopping 157 BPM. My due date this time around is July 27th, 2018. We will be safe to announce this pregnancy on January 12th - the end of our first trimester... and 8 days after Baby #1's due date.
Miscarriage is odd. It's sad, it's hurtful, it's scary, it's rage; it's a million different adjectives that I can't come up with in a blog. But I guess it's true that God won't let something bad happen without also providing something positive.

Here's to our positive...

[Yes... this precious alien baby looks like Eva from Wall-E]

Week 10

Dates: June 4 – June 10

How far along: 10 Weeks on June 8^th

Size of the Baby: Prune

Baby Development: Baby is about 1.5 inches long, is taking a more human shape, and getting tooth buds

Total Weight Gain/Loss: 0

Maternity Clothes: Give me all the stretchy pants.

Gender: Unknown

Movement: Apparently, we are moving BACKWARDS. More on this later…

Sleep: What’s sleep?

What I Miss: Fitting into my work pants.   

Cravings and Aversions: Nada!

Symptoms: Chest is still sore and getting deep veins. My irritability is trailing off, but I’ve had some spotting (again, more on this later).  

Best Moment this Week: My phone call from the doctor today saying that my HCG levels are normal

Not-So-Great Moment this Week: Our terrifying first ultrasound. 

Looking forward to: Our follow up ultra sound next Tuesday!

An Update….

The first weekend in June was full of some terrifying, stressful moments. My 14 year old stepdaughter Peyton ran away, and we spent every resource we could think of trying to track her down. I went viral on Facebook (which isn’t very exciting when the reason is unpleasant), and her photo was shared over 7,000. Two counties, three police departments, and a sheriff’s office were on the lookout for her. Luckily, she was found safely after two days. Our prayer at this point is that she can find happiness and safety in her health, even though it will no longer be in our home.

That being said, I spent the majority of the weekend trying to regulate my stress and blood pressure. My stepmom support group (yes, those actually exist, and I am in one!) told me over and over to take care of Baby first. I tried to relax, but it’s hard to do knowing that your eldest kiddo – one whom you’ve had a rocky-at-best relationship with over the last five years and is currently hating your guts – is missing.

Tuesday morning, with Peyton safe and sound, I told Chris that I had a weird feeling about our ultra sound. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but my excitement had fluttered to anxiety and uncertainty. When the time finally came to hear the heartbeat and the doctor had me all juiced up on her machine, there was silence.

We couldn’t find a heartbeat. The doctor changed machines, switching from a heartbeat monitor to a full sonogram. Still, nothing.

We moved on to a transvaginal ultrasound, where we found a teeny tiny little yolk sac measuring just 5-6 weeks in size. Except… I’m 9 weeks and 5 days. That’s four weeks off.

As I am the Queen of Doom and Gloom, I mentally started preparing for the worst. However, they sent me for immediate blood work, which came back normal for 5-6 weeks. This was still progress from the blood work I had done two weeks prior. 

The doctor thinks I ovulated late, since I had only been off birth control for 1 month and may not have been regulated yet.  When I first tested positive on May 2nd, my HCG levels were at a measly 40, literally DAYS after conception. This week, they’re at over 13,000. So we are progressing at perfectly normal rate. I’ll just feel like I’m pregnant .f o r e v e r.

Alas, the Doom and Gloom struck again when I began spotting a few hours after the appointment. The on-call doctor said my T/V ultrasound may have caused the cervix to bleed, since it is ultra-sensitive at the moment. And since I’m only measuring 5-6 weeks, spotting is much more common.

I’ve been spotting continuously since the appointment last Tuesday; and I still have a lot of questions. 4 weeks is a big difference in ovulation. And what about that tiny little baby bump in my 9 week photo? Is that a food baby? Bloat baby? Not a baby at all? My mind has asked these questions over and over, but we will wait until tomorrow when we have another ultrasound to check the progression of my sweet little bean sac. We are praying for progress, health, and strength. (Of course, if we’re praying for things, I might as well pray for 11 weeks instead of 6 – no one likes counting backwards!)

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared. I'm terrified. But we are going to keep praying and staying positive. . Keep us in your thoughts and send your good ju-ju.

Weeks 8-9

DATES: MAY 21 – JUNE 2

How far along: 8-9 Weeks

Size of the Baby: Strawberry at 8 weeks, Olive at 9

 

Baby Development: Baby is about ¾ of an inch long, and developing organs, bones, and teeny tiny eyes and ears.   

Total Weight Gain/Loss: 0

Maternity Clothes: I bought my first preggo shirt for Memorial Day, “Red, White, and DUE.” I also grabbed a few maternity work shirts that I found on sale $5.99 SCORE.

Gender: Unknown

Movement: Science says I’m wrong, but I’m convinced I can feel tiny little flutters. It feels similar to getting a nerve twitch; like teeny little tugs from the inside of my tummy. Laying on my stomach is becoming slightly uncomfortable due to pressure from uterus (which is now the size of a grapefruit… Yay, science!)

Sleep: I usually have to get up to pee, and I cannot seem to get my neck and back comfortable. I’m also having some pretty wild dreams. For instance, last night we forgot to build stairs in our new house, and I have to hoist myself and Baby Neal to the 2^nd floor through a chicken coop window. 

What I Miss: Nada!   

Cravings and Aversions: Last week, I had a craving for chocolate cake… I settled for cappuccino yogurt, and felt ohsogross afterward. Chips and salsa are my current go-to. And LOTS of water. Like 3 liters a day! I’m also usually a big fan of leftovers, but they are suddenly seeming a bit gross to me. 

Symptoms: My chest is finally getting sore – but still not as bad as I expected. Mostly just if I run – which, let’s face is, is a rarity. According to my husband, I’m just “really kind of bad at it.”  

Best Moment this Week: Last Wednesday, I toured the infant room at Faith Church with my momma. I also had my first OB appointment at Hillcrest, but it was mostly just blood work.  And Peyton said she would like to be in the room during delivery (as long as she doesn’t have to stand by my feet – HA!)  

And this super sweet conversation: 

Monday, May 22 2017

Peyton, on going into high school next Fall: “Ugh, what is my purpose in life?!”
Me: Girl, I’m 30 and still don’t know what my purpose is.
Peyton: Sure you do. It’s to be a mom.

Not-So-Great Moment this Week: Being my husband’s chauffeur. And thereby, everyone else’s chauffeur. I’m also a bit irritable, which is exhausting. 

Looking forward to: Our first visit with the Doctor next Tuesday, which also means our first ultra sound!

Post script.... my work has locked down their security settings, and I wasn't able to post this when I initially wrote it. Without going into details, Peyton is no longer living with us. It is heart breaking for both me and her dad, but it's the best option for all of us. Hopefully in the future we can work to restore our relationship. 

 

7 Weeks!

How far along: 7 Weeks

Size of the Baby: Raspberry

Baby Development: Baby is about ¾ of an inch long, and developing organs, bones, and teeny tiny eyes and ears.   

Total Weight Gain/Loss: 0

Maternity Clothes: None needed, but real life: I bought two pairs of maternity shorts from Target because their stretchy fabric is perfection.

Gender: Unknown. Peyton and Noah both think it will be a boy; my nephew Brayden said it will be a girl, but then later changed to boy so that he and Noah would equal. Chris goes back and forth on what he hopes for. Grandma “Nannie” is hoping for all things pink. I tend to lean toward boy, but only because I already know our boy name. Up until recently, Baby had a tail, so I will officially remain on the fence for now.

Movement: Too early, but I can feel my body changing. For instance, when I lay on my stomach, I can pin point exactly where all the action is. It’s like a tiny little buildup of baby pressure.

Sleep: I am exhausted all day, but don’t sleep well at night – mostly because I have insane dreams!

What I Miss: Being able to predict my mood swings. I used to be able to warn Chris when they were coming; but these days, LOOK OUT, Daddy! I also haven’t made it to Yoga, but that’s mostly because youth baseball is taking over my life.

Cravings: None, but I have had some taste bud changes. The only time I’ve actually gotten sick was after drinking sweet tea. The only beverage that sounds good is water, or occasionally milk. I also suddenly love Bean Dip from Taco Bueno – and I have hated bean dip my entire life. I also don’t crave sweets at all, which was a total weakness before I was pregnant!

Symptoms: I pee .all.the.time.  I’m beyond tired, and struggle to keep my eyes open at work. And I get the craziest mood swings - the tiniest little things can set me off! I haven’t cried very much, but I am very easily irritated. On the bright side, no morning sickness! The only time I get nauseous is when I get too hungry.

Best Moment this Week: Setting up our appointment to tour the infant room at Faith Early Childhood Education!

Not-So-Great Moment this Week: Learning that child care is .e x p e n s i v e. In what world can I come up with an extra $175 a week?!

Looking forward to: Our first OB appointment next week!

Next Thursday, when we hit 8 weeks, both kids have their last day of school, and I have my first OB appointment. I can't wait!

Leading up to the positive…

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

I had my usual mug of Red Diamond sweet tea for breakfast. It’s my favorite drink.
I immediately threw it up.

For lunch, I sat in my car eating Taco Bueno. Actually, I devoured the bean dip. It’s delicious. Best bean dip ever.
Except that I hate bean dip of all varieties.

What is happening, taste buds?

[*Side note – I actually wrote this in the memos on my phone because I thought it was so odd]

Tuesday April 25, 2017

While waiting for Peyton at the dentist, I made a cup of coffee. Immediately, my stomach was in my throat. It was everything in my power to not get sick in their waiting room!

Wednesday, Aril 26, 2017

I was supposed to start today, but nobody ever showed. I just got off birth control on March 1, so I assume my body is still adjusting. But I do start to wonder…

Thursday, April 27, 2017

Aunt Flo is still a no show! I started putting two and two together, and decided that THIS IS IT. I drove my happy bum to Target, acquired the almighty Starbucks (all praise the Caramel Macchiato with Coconut Milk!) and peed on a stick. Alas, it was negative.

At baseball practice that night, I told my fellow baseball mom Lindsay that it was negative. She said, “You will know when you are.” This really stuck with me, because I really THOUGHT that I was. “No, trust me – you will know.”

Fast forward a few days…

Monday, May 1, 2017

Chris was in Las Vegas for work, and I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned, tried yoga rests, counted breaths… nothing worked. I was wide awake at 3am, with a feeling in the pit of my stomach. Lindsay was right – I would KNOW. I just didn’t have an explanation for HOW I knew.

Tuesday, May 2^nd, 2017

I woke up almost an hour before my alarm (for those of you who are counting, that’s 2 hours of sleep, and I haven’t slept soundly since!), and immediately took a test. There is was. A double line. A faint double line, but it was there. I wasn’t sure I trusted my own vision, so I sent a photo to my friend Shannon in Maine. She confirmed, which is basically the Biblical Word for me.

Peyton had another dentist appointment at 9, and my doctor somehow got me in to see him at 9:15. One urinalysis and a blood sample later,

[no, that is not my actual peed upon stick. thanks internet]

I’M PREGNANT.

I am 4 weeks and 5 days, give or take; and Baby Neal is the size of a poppy seed.

Estimated Conception: ummthatsnoneofyourbusiness, but the Easter Bunny was nearby.

Estimated Due Date: January 4, 2018

Yay Baby Neal!

& baby makes five

Ummmm so I believe I might have missed a few things since 2015, yes?!


1. Spoiler alert - we got married. Yaaaay matrimony!
2. We sold our house, moved all 4 of us into a 2 bedroom apartment, and are one measley month away from finishing construction on our dream home. Yay American dream!
3. My eggo is preggo!

In the grand scheme of things, Chris and I have been together for almost 5 years. We will celebrate our 2nd wedding anniversary this September, and just found out last month that we are expecting our first baby together.


We have friends and family who live as far west as Alaska, and as fear east as Maine - not to mention the sister and niece who live all the way in Iceland! I hope to document this pregnancy for those who want to feel close when the miles just won't let it happen. And of course, for my momma, who was pregnant when there weren't apps, blogs, or 3D Ultrasounds. You better believe she has the WhatToExpect app on her iPhone and she is following Baby's every step!


Bear with me as I'm sure I will let fly a few curse words, many mood swings, and the occasional humble brag that I have yet to encounter much morning sickness.



Let's go, baby!

Learning Diversity from Preschoolers

It has been said that playing youth sports can lead to benefits such as higher grades, greater self-esteem, and stronger peer and family relationships[1]. What I learned, however, was that volunteering to coach those youth sports can lead to just as many unexpected benefits for the adults involved.

When my future stepson, Noah, decided to play tee-ball, I had no idea I would end up volunteering to coach. After all, I had no biological children on the team, and I would be the only female assisting. But when the director of the league said that if parents didn’t volunteer there would be no 6-and-under tee ball team, we took action. My fiancé volunteered to be the head coach for fourteen children between ages 3 and 6; and I volunteered to assist him. He had never coached – or really played – baseball in his life, and it had been well over a decade since I picked up a glove. Together, we prepped practice schedules and batting lineups, and I set out to find team uniforms.

When we had our first practice, I quickly likened coaching tee-ball to herding cats. I was suddenly in charge of fourteen kids with little to no attention span who all came from different walks of life. There were four girls, ten boys, one Hispanic child, one African American child, one Native American child, one child with ADHD, one child who (by no fault of his own) wasn’t old enough to comprehend running bases, and several children who cared more about hugging my leg and chatting than they did playing ball. While working with the parents, I learned we had one single dad, three sets of divorced parents and corresponding step parents, one set of adoptive parents, one periodically disabled parent who had recently undergone back surgery, and one parent who had recently lost her husband; and then there was me – someone who had no legal claim to any child on the “Glenpool Wolfpack” team, and was suddenly in charge of helping make sense of the madness that is coaching preschoolers. It was easily one of the most challenging and rewarding experiences of my adult life.

In an office setting, employees are consistently taught that sensitivity to cultures and appreciating diversity is imperative to a positive work environment. Imagine my surprise when I realized that coaching a group of fourteen kids under age six would require the same range of sensitivity and understanding! How I spoke to one child sometimes had to be different than how I spoke to another child: talking about “mommy and daddy” in front of the child who recently lost his father may be more hurtful to him, while the adopted child hearing a teammate ask her, “how come you don’t look like your mom and dad?” may create a potentially uncomfortable conversation. The spectrum of sensitivity and understanding of different backgrounds and lifestyles that came with this voluntary job was something I never expected to encounter. By the end of the three month season, I learned that it was important to get eye-level with this age group; and it was just as important to do the same with their parents. I learned that some parents desperately want to help in any way they can, while it was a challenge to ask some parents to even bring their child to a game on time. I learned that even though I may need to cater to fourteen different developing personalities, it was vital that I treat every child with the same amount of respect and adoration.

Every child was coached to their ability rather than a set standard, but every child, no matter what, got a high five and a “Great job!” from Coach Courtney. There were nights after games that I felt I was more exhausted from trying to coach these fourteen personalities and wrangle them into the dugout than I was after an eight-hour work day. There were days when I had more angry phone calls and text messages from parents than I did visits from students in my office. There were moments that I wasn’t entirely sure that I could remember which child required which type of coaching. But there was not a day that went by that I did not appreciate every single one of those booming personalities and differences. Children were creating dialogues with me about differences that I simply cannot experience in a work setting – “How come his mom is never here?” “How come that dad is in a wheelchair?” “Why didn’t that person’s grandma ever bring us snacks?” It was an invaluable opportunity to talk to very young, malleable minds about the fact that not everyone is the same. Some people have one parent, while some people have four; some dads stay in wheelchairs, while some walk, some run, and some aren’t with us anymore. Some people have the opportunity to buy us snacks (“Isn’t that nice of them? Let’s go say thank you!”), and sometimes people aren’t in a situation to afford it (“But let’s go tell her thank you for coming to watch us!”). Seeing their sweet faces process this information and realize that it’s okay that their friends are different was something I will never forget.

By the time the last game rolled around, I desperately tried not to shed tears during our last team huddle. I never would have imagined that while coaching a six-and-under tee-ball team, I would learn more about life than they probably did about the sport. Differences aren’t just important in the workplace. Lifestyles unlike mine shouldn’t only be respected as an adult. Diversity lives in every age group, not just at the office. I feel honored and blessed that I was able to both coach and learn from a group of children who left a mark in my heart, and helped me celebrate their individualities in a way I didn’t know existed.

[one player not pictured]

---

[1] “True Sport: What We Stand To Lose in Our Obsession to Win.” U.S. Anti-Doping Agency; TrueSport.org; http://www.truesport.org/library/documents/about/true_sport_report/True-Sport-Report.pdf

Meet the Maids Monday: Katy

'ello lovelies! I haven't written in awhile because, well, life. School is out for summer (for the kids anyway - blast you, higher education!), Peyton and Chris flew to Washington DC and back, my brother's wife had baby boy #2 (omgomgomg I'll show you his precious little chubbiness soon), Chris and I are working on cleaning out the storage so we can have a garage sale, and we've been binge-watching Game of Thrones like the mad king himself is forcing it upon us and threatening death. No really, it's serious business.

SO. That being said, all those fabulous adventures should really be documented, mostly so that my feeble aging busy mind won't forget them. Our wedding is nearing the double digit countdown, and what better way to document my adventures in nuptialing (hey, it could be a word) than to start
  Meet the Maids Monday?!

Katy
[matron of honor]

Katy and I have been friends since, well, birth, essentially. We first met in preschool - yes, you read that right: preschool - and have been adventuring together ever since. We've remained friends through two school districts, 178 different hair colors, failed mutual friendships, many (many) failed relationships, trips to the lake, trips to the hospital, nights we may never remember, others we wish would die a painful death, and everything else that 24 years of friendship might entail. We cried at Disney World when we saw Cinderella's castle, and we set Bob Marley's bar on fire in Jamaica. We've been inside a car when it rolled upside down, and we've sat together in silence trying to get our lives right side up. She is a strong, fierce woman who has taken charge of her life and deserves every.single.positive thing that comes her way. Three years ago, I had the privilege of standing next to her while she said "I do" to her husband Jace [my future hubs was also in attendance, of course, but admired me from afar because he had a date - ha!], and 3 short months from now she will stand next to me while I agree to love Chris forever. There isn't a single person on this planet who knows my heart the way that Katy does; we've said for years - we are soul mates. Those guys we love are just lucky to come in second!

Pee Wee's Big Adventure

There have been a couple some several moments during my two and a half years as a Step-Whats-It when I have questioned my thoughts and feelings. Typically, this happens during negative times. When I am feeling discouraged or my tank is empty or I just down right don't like what is happening right then, I find myself asking, "Is that how parents are supposed to feel? Is it normal to just want the day to end and everyone to go to sleep so you can start fresh tomorrow? Am I allowed to feel defeated? Am I doing this right?" I'm sure I already know the answers to all of those questions, even if I never really feel they are validated.

Still, on more than one occasion, I've found myself questioning my ability to parent, constantly searching for that daggum validation.

Today, I found it. Or rather, it found me.

At this point in my Step-Whats-It-dom, I am on a first-name basis with the school counselor. We used to share emails and phone calls rather often (toooo often!! I told myself). But over the last few months, they have lessened.
That is, until this morning - the first day back to school after spring break... at 11am... when the direct line to my office phone rang. I know that number. I know who that is. I can feel my face getting hot already. Hello anxiety. Hello school counselor. There is nervous laughter on the other end of the phone as she tells me that P's English teacher is in her office, and they haven't talked with me in awhile. What does that mean? How have we not chatted often enough this year already? Then she says, "Courtney... Are you sitting down?"

I literally rolled across my office in my desk chair and prepared to grab my inhaler for whatever startling detail about my step-kiddo she was about to tell me. I stop when she says, "It's good. It's great. P entered one of her essays into a national competition - and she WON. Courtney, she won the grand prize. P is going to Washington, D.C.!"

I wanted to say a million positive things. I wanted to say how proud I was and that I knew she could do it. I wanted to tell her I loved her and I was so happy to be involved in this moment. I wanted to tell her something. Anything! But the words didn't come to me. Heck, oxygen wasn't even coming to me at that point. And suddenly, I realized I was sobbing at my desk. Huge, can't-hide-behind-them, grasping-for-breath, kid-like, gargantuan bucket of tears because I am .so.very.proud. I know this child didn't come from my body, and I didn't carry her for 9 months. I don't know every story, and I sure don't know every wound. But I know in that moment I didn't feel like a Step-Whats-It. I felt like a mom. I'm so proud of her. I'm proud of this girl. I'm proud of who she is, and I'm proud of what she's done, and there aren't enough cells in my worldly human body to be able to express the magnitude of that feeling. 

And the thing that gets me the most... The thing that still has me choking on my own breath is that she is being recognized for something she created, all on her own; for an ability nobody on this planet has but her. Even with missing huge chunks of her childhood and experiencing things no little girl should ever have to witness or feel, she was able to create a magical piece of work that not only impressed the people who love her, but a group of strangers who saw so much potential in her that they want to fly her to our Nation's Capital and shower her with additional knowledge and encouragement. She is going to gain an experience so few people have the opportunity to do.

She deserves it. And that is the validation. 

[And she's beautiful to boot]

If You Give A Guy A Flauta....

It is rather well-known that raising a child is expensive. Raising two is even more expensive. Raising two while also planning a wedding, running out of room in your current home, and finding a way to pay off $20,000 in student loan debt is really freaking frustrating. And expensive.

Still, Chris and I find a way to save at least a little bit of cash so that we can treat ourselves to dinner one night a month. I think it's very important to find the time and resources to celebrate our successes, our lessons, and our wild adventures together.

Yesterday, I took off work to finish my Christmas shopping (and no, I did not finish it - shopping fail), so Chris and I met for lunch at Cafe Agave for one of our monthly outings. We've been trying new places lately, and this was a spur of the moment stop. We had .so.much.food. that we had a lot of leftovers. I sent him back to the office, and then off on my merry way I went!

I found myself parked (for-ev-errrr) at a busy stoplight near the mall. I made eye contact with a discheveled man on the corner, holding a sign that read, "Disabled Vet. Anything Helps." For whatever reason, I found myself compelled to do something. I started digging around for change or cash or anything resembling money, but lo and behold, I had absolutely zero cash or coin on me. Not a cent. The only thing I could find in my sweet little fleet vehicle was a Styrofoam box with two leftover flautas from lunch. I laughed aloud, thinking, Good lord, Courtney, no man, no matter how desperate, is going to want your luke-warm man-handled leftovers.

At this point, I know the light is getting ready to turn. The man is still looking at me. I still have no money. I start to have one of those weird, panic-y, "oh my God, I have to do something, he's watching" attacks. So I rolled my window down (all the way, which is totally against the rule that my mom taught me when I was a teenager). I told him I had no money, but I had some left over food; then held my box up to the window like some sort of desperate-for-validation orphaned cartoon child. I expected him to laugh. I expected him to say no thanks. I expected him to do a million different things other than what he did.

[Yep, this was me.]

He said thank you. He wished me a Merry Christmas. And he took his sign and the Styrofoam box to the sidewalk - well away from the corner and from traffic. He sat the sign behind him so that no one saw it. He limped and crouched his way to a sitting position - and he ate my luke-warm man-handled leftovers with such delicacy, it was as if he wanted to remember every single detail. 

It was then that I realized he only had one shoe. The other foot had a sole-less shoe top on it; made to look like a shoe, only there wasn't really a bottom. I turned to face forward, and my light changed. 

Yes, both literal and proverbial lights changed.

I was so happy that he ate my leftovers, I cried my way down the road to the mall.

I'm not saying you should go give your leftovers to a stranger on the corner in order to validate a good feeling or the spirit of giving.** I'm saying that I was so worried about whether or not my gift was good enough, that I failed to realize my gift was good.

We should all stop wondering whether Aunt Bea will like her scarf. Whether Grandpa will like his popcorn. Whether your significant other will like that sweater. Whether you will like all of the gifts that you will receive this season.

The important thing to remember is that you like each other enough to give something. Anything. It doesn't matter if it's a scarf or a Lego or a leftover flauta. It doesn't matter whether the gift is good enough. It matters that you love them enough to give. It matters that you do good.

**Footnote: Really, I think this would be awesome - if you can pay for the person's Starbucks drink behind you, can't you take a sandwich to guy a street corner?

Merry Christmas, from my family to yours <3

Save The Date

So as it turns out, planning a wedding is both happily exhilarating and horribly frustrating. The latter is mostly because I don't have a million dollars, AND it's hard to tour venues, talk to florists, and research photographers when you have a 6 year old who needs your help studying books every night so he can be the best reader in kindergarten (FYI - he is) and an almost-12 year old wanting to know why on God's green earth she isn't allowed to have a cell phone that we aren't allowed to creep through to make sure she isn't planning to exonerate the entire female population of the 6th grade (FYI - she is).

Aside from that, wedding planning is exciting and fun and surprisingly easy. We have our venue, I have my dress (Maggie Sottero is the queen of everything), the bridal party has been selected, the food has been planned, and everything else seems to be falling into place. It makes it much easier that I have a groom who reads me very well. He knows precisely when to freak out with me and when to tell me it will all randomly work out. It also helps that we can both remain the same level of calm throughout venue tour, only to let out the same squeal or gasp as soon as the doors shut behind us.

But hey, check out this fancy place that we are getting hitched!

[Oaks Country Club]

9.19.15

[I cannot wait to marry this guy.]

We're Getting Married!

Extra! Extra!

WE ARE GETTING MARRIED!

[My fiance (eeeep!) and me in Ocho Rios, Jamaica]

Months ago, Chris asked to plan a special 2 year anniversary trip. I was ecstatic! But then he began telling me all the details of a horrifying adventurous Hog Hunting trip in the woods of Arkansas. Sounds awfully romantic, right? Ugh. Boys.

But this guy was keeping secrets the whole time. He renewed his passport, booked our flights, had secret chats with my dad and my brother, and whisked me off to Jamaica for a full week of romance and adventure. We went sailing, paddle boating, knee-boarding, had a couples massage on the ocean, danced under the stars, and he proposed on the private Drift Away beach area. His proposal reminded me very much of the time he first told me he loved me.

Look, Courtney, I love you. Ok? You hear me? Alright, now let's finish painting this kitchen.

Courtney Nicole... Will you marry me?

 It was very much "us." Sweet, simple, to the point.

 

We are planning for an October wedding, since it is the anniversary of all our major moments: first met, first date, first kiss, first crisis, first anniversary, first everything. We could technically have our wedding on our dating anniversary, if we want to go bold with a Halloween Wedding. Is that even a real thing? The kids would require a costume contest. I can't say I'd mind have a Ninja Turtle at my wedding....

I plan on blogging my wedding planning adventures here, and I'm so excited to be able to document everything. Hooray for the wonders of the inter-webs!

#WhyIStayed #WhyILeft

I'm going to get serious for a minute about all this Ray Rice woman-beater news. Need a refresher? Take a look:

http://www.cnn.com/2014/09/08/us/ray-rice-new-video/

I keep hearing people say "Well, she lunged at him!" and "She was going to hit him first!" "She did hit him!" "She shouldn't have been heading toward him!"

Let me tell you something: I don't give a shit.

Two men in my life - whom I love and respect dearly - have been victims of domestic abuse. Yes, MALE victims of abusive females. And you know how many of those females they hit back?

NONE.

Here are a few of the incidents.

Male knocked out cold by a skillet. Male kneed in the groin until he can no longer stand. Male kicked in the head so hard - while driving his young daughter in a vehicle on a highway - he almost fell unconscious. Male hit with a steel pole. Male cussed at, spit on, and slapped in the face repeatedly. Male pushed down the stairs and then kicked in the stomach.

Not a single time after any of these instances did either male raise a hand. In fact, both males, on more than one occasion, were threatened with lawsuits and further physical altercation after moving out of the way to avoid contact or holding up their arms to shield themselves. Both males were football players. Neither female weighed more than 140 pounds. And NEVER did they strike back. Not. One. Time.

You know how long these attacks went on? Years. You know how long the males stayed with the females? Years.

Male 1: #whyhestayed - she convinced him that nobody would ever love him as much as she would, and that he wasn't a man unless he took her back; it was all he'd ever known.
             #whyheleft - he learned what it meant to be a man. He discovered who he could be, what he could do. And he knew that his baby sister wouldn't put up with that woman treating him like that for too long.

Male 2: #whyhestayed - he loved his babies and was scared to raise them alone; he didn't think any female could ever love him after that; he thought all women would be the same; he thought it might get better; he felt numb to it; it was all he'd ever known.
              #whyheleft - he loved the babies too much to risk their safety.

Let's not forget that the hashtags for #WhyIStayed and #WhyILeft are not gender specific. Men are also victims of domestic violence. And they can be victims without EVER responding violently or deserving it.

All that being said.....

I love Male1 and Male2 more than words could say. They are the best men & the best daddies that I have ever seen, and I could not possibly have more . r e s p e c t . for them.

Also, I think Ray Rice is a punk bitch and I have no doubt that someone in prison will remind him of that some day.

just hold on.

When I was four, I thought the rodeo and the radio were the same word. I was certain that the rodeo was this giant concert you went to, and country artists just sang and sang and sang, all through the night, and the dj's aired everything live on the radio. I distinctly remember standing in the kitchen around that age and saying, "Momma, when I grow up I wanna tour with Reba on the rodeo." Okay, child.

From 7 through 19, I wanted to be a veterinarian. I even went to an Ag college and took pre-vet classes. They were fantastic until I discovered that I just wanted to cuddle animals, not perform surgery on them.

Then I became absolutely certain that I would join a sorority, study abroad, become a writer, and settle down in a little house in the country with years worth of stories to tell, and a country-grown husband and 2.5 children to listen to them. But guess what?

.LIFE DOESN'T HAPPEN THE WAY YOU THINK IT SHOULD.

It hurts. It stings. It throws curve balls when you didn't even know you were in the game. Sometimes, life is just plain mean. But sometimes it turns out even better than you had planned. God has plans for you that you haven't even fathomed. And although I believe this wholeheartedly, if you had told me 2 years ago, 5 years ago, 10 years ago that I would be where I am today, I still would have scoffed and cried and thrown a fit. But think of the travel! Think of the stories! Think of all the things you're missing out on! Think of how hurt you've been and how much you deserve this! past me would yell at present me. [Past me was a bit dramatic, to say the least.]

I often see articles where people think of all the things they want to tell their former self. I've thought about this a lot. Probably more than a normal person should, but HEY, if Brad Paisley can write a song about it, then I can let me sweet little mind wander. Not that it does any good, seeing as how each time I ponder it, I can only come up with one.single.thing that I would say to me:

Just hold on.

And I don't think there's anything wrong with that. It doesn't take away from the lessons of my past experiences, and it doesn't steal the joy in all the .beautiful. things that have happened to me since the Courtney Crash of 2010.

Someone I love very dearly is having a rough time juggling the never ending downpour of "This isn't where I thought I would be." To that, I say darling, just hold on. There are wonderful, mesmerizing, unforgettably fantastic things ahead of you. We simply have to reignite the flame that was alive when we were young. The flame that says I can do anything. I can be anything. And if you think otherwise, then by God, I'm going to prove you wrong.

I took a quiz today - one of those super fancy Buzz Feed quizzes that makes you wonder if someone is secretly telling the editor's secrets about you. This particular one was, "What career should you really have?"

"You should be a writer: you have a skill for language, your imagination is vast and you are artistic and creative. Your brain is just overflowing with ideas, and all you have to do is get a piece of paper and share it with the world. You were born to turn words into magical stories."

Ah, so perhaps my fate isn't decided just yet. The wonderful thing about your life not being quite where you thought it would be? You can still direct where it's going.

How do you know?

I love skimming through the Facebook page for "Humans of New York." It's a pretty fabulous idea, really. A man with a camera walks around the streets of New York City and asks people to tell them a little bit about themselves. Sometimes they are funny...

"I've taken over five thousand portraits of people in New York, and I find out a little bit about everyone I photograph..."

"Well, you're not finding out a thing about me!"

Sometimes they are sad...

"I was never once afraid to fight. I was a brawler. A bull. I even fought in Madison Square Garden. But it knocked me out for a whole year when my mom died."

Today, one had me really thinking.

"I remember the first time that I knew I loved him and I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. We were driving down some back road in Utah, and we stopped at a light in front of an old water park, and he looked to the left to make a turn. And at that moment, I knew. And that night he kissed me for the first time."
"But you said he looked left. Weren't you sitting on his right?"
"Yeah, I was looking at the back of his head. Not quite as romantic, is it?"

I know people always say "When you know, you know!" when they feed you icky cliche quotes dripping with cheese about destiny and fate and timing. But you know what? I like cheese. And there really is no other way to put it, other than when you know, you really freaking know.

The beginning of our relationship was laden with crap that should have sent us running (and to be honest, one of us did try to run... But I convinced him not to). After knowing who he was since I was in grade school, we finally met in a bar while I was gulping whiskey, and still neither of us remember the details of the first few times that we hung out. It was supposed to be easy breezy and no strings attached. But after knowing each other for just over two weeks, on what was probably one of the worst nights of his life, he asked me to be his girlfriend. It was Halloween, and his kids were not brought home on time. In fact, they weren't brought home for another 20 days. He was miserable. He was erratic. He was a parent who didn't know where his babies were. I understood that he was probably only asking me to be his girlfriend because he was vulnerable, he was sad, and it was about to be the longest night in his entire life. So I stayed with him that night. And the next night. And the next night...

Two weeks later, and still no kids. It was also my 26th birthday. I was living in a tiny apartment in the ghetto (no really - g h e t t o!), and he decided he was tired of staying at his house without them there. He came over carrying a toothbrush and a 12 pack of Busch beer. He'd been in meetings with lawyers all day, and he looked like he'd aged about ten years in just thirteen days. By the end of the night, he was finally pissed off.  He punched pillows on my bed until the frame shook, and I remember thinking to myself Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into?

And I immediately answered my own question: love. 

In that horrible second, I knew there was nowhere else I'd rather be. After knowing him for exactly 30 days, I knew that I was going to spend the rest of my life with him... while he was punching pillows, cursing the entire world, and having the most miserable, taxing, gut-wrenching moment of his life. That Human of New York was absolutely right. Falling in love is not always so romantic. Sometimes it's messy. Sometimes it's really hard. But it is always worth it.

Nine days later, after his kids were home and safe, he said it was time for us to call it quits. He said I deserved someone who didn't have messy situations, and he would be okay with just him and the kids. But I am a horribly stubborn woman so I didn't go anywhere. Three months later, we were painting the kitchen when he said, "Hey. I love you, too. You hear me?" I'm not sure how long he'd known it, but I figure it was somewhere between the whiskey on day 1 and not leaving him on day 39, even after he told me to go.

It's day 572. Every night we sleep on the pillows that he beat to a pulp, and every night I am reminded that when you know, you know.

Vertical Living - Look Up.

This morning, my boss and I trekked across the great state of the O-K-L-A for a 3 day Financial Aid conference. Per our usual routine, we spent the morning talking about what we did the night before. We usually talk about the kids and their crazy antics, our significant others "acting like guys," all the things we didn't get done, and how much we love our families in spite of their flaws. And far too often, I am ashamed to say, the conversation ends up looking like this: flaw. flaw. flaw. I love them to pieces, but oh my gosh that flaw!

I'm human. And sometimes I err. And sometimes that err is aloud.

This morning, I told my boss that I was ready to give up on a situation. More specifically, a person. I was tired of feeling guilty, I was tired of feeling like a bad person, I was tired of feeling inadequate, and I was tired of putting forth effort with little to no results. I was done with one step forward two steps back.

Enter Robin Marsh.

Robin was the keynote speaker at our Financial Aid conference. She is friends with Miss America, she is a news anchor on Channel 9 in Oklahoma City, and she has nothing to do with financial aid. My boss and I looked at each with the same thought: this is pointless - what is she even doing here?

Enter Robin Marsh.

She gave the most moving speech I have ever in my life had the pleasure of hearing. She said, "When you verbalize gratitude, you foster peace. You foster positivity. I call it a vertical living, because you look up, and you give thanks to God... Don't let flesh make you look out. Look up. If you compare, you foster instant disaster. Look up."

She asked us what we are thankful for. Family, friends, health, life, faith. These answers were repeated throughout the room. My immediate thought was that I was thankful for Chris and the kids. But then a voice appeared in the back of my human, erroneous mind and said, Nope! Remember? We're done with effort with one of those individuals! No mas from this girl! Dunzo!

Enter Robin Marsh.

She spoke right to me when she gave the following message: young girls need us. There's a young girl that needs you. A girl can look in a magazine and in just 90 seconds, she will feel worse about herself.   [Robin then snapped her fingers, counting the 90 seconds; the room was silent.]   Dare to compare? Let's dare NOT to. Let's be role models to the girls who need us. Let's not allow one burr in our boot keep us from making a difference in one person's life. That person needs you.

There in the middle of conference room with 200+ people, in the front row of tables, with my boss and peers and a news anchor in front of me, I had tears falling down my cheeks. Robin said she had something for us. She and Miss America 2007, Lauren Nelson, had written a book. "God, Girls, and Getting Connected: Spiritual Apps for a Teen's Life." I thought to myself I want that for P, but I don't have any money.

Without skipping a beat, Robin looked my direction and said, "If you can't afford, I will give you one. You need it that much."

Enter God.

I'm sure Robin was talking to every person in that room. But she was seeking me. I felt it. I felt her message. And for the first time in a long time, I felt God. I felt Him within me, I felt Him as me, I felt Him in her words and in my heart. 

At this time, she quoted Romans 12:15. 

Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.

She said the rules are simple. If you are happy, let me celebrate with you. If you are going through a hard time, then let me cry with you. But always be grateful for the storm, because there is joy there. Think of what could come of it. Think of what you could do for that young girl.

I don't often like to share my religious beliefs or spiritual feelings with people, let alone social media. But I tell you this: I was completely enveloped in the love of Christ today. I absolutely cannot wait to get home, hug the individual that I vow here and now to never ever ever give up on, and hand her the book that Robin Marsh signed for her; wrote for her; worked on with God for the betterment of her life.

And mine.

Funny how a conference meant for financial aid professionals can have a profound effect on my heart; how a book meant for a pre-teen can change my relationship with God; and how one speech can change the rest of my life.