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.

Showing Love

Speaking of appreciation....


When I get mad at Chris for whatever crazy reason I come up with, 4 things usually happen.

1. I wasp around, pretending not to be mad until I finally explode.
2. I explain in various ways why I'm mad, usually not getting the real reason to roll off my tongue until much later in the argument conversation; he then gets frustrated that I'm even mad about it in the first place.
3. We are silent for a short period of time, we continue to kiss and say I love you and try our hardest to pretend not to be mad, until we finally AREN'T mad anymore (being mad is no fun, it doesn't solve problems, and not kissing and loving on him just does not fit into my schedule).
4. We talk about it. 

The last argument we had, I literally had steam coming out of my ears. The culmination of many things led me to burst (see number 1, above). The next day, he went to work while the kids and I had a snow day. I cleaned the bedroom, vacuumed the house, folded sheets, washed dishes, climbed through 3 loads of his laundry, had dinner waiting on the table for him when he got home, and offered up a foot rub immediately afterward.

But I was ticked off. Why did I do all those things for him?

Being angry does not justify not showing love. He still worked hard all day, he still provided for our family, he still deserves to come home to a woman who loves him with all her heart - even if her mind is still slightly full of steam instead of paper hearts.