Crash Day

Last weekend I took R and J to Texas to visit my parents. Jordan stayed home for a couple different reasons, and I drove by myself three hours with both kids. It went well overall, and both of them slept  most of the way. There was one panic moment when I heard R say, "Mama, I beed," and I looked in the rearview mirror and saw blood dripping from her nose. She has nosebleeds sometimes, but I was in the middle of traffic on the highway and there wasn't any place to pull over. I reached in her backpack, which was in the passenger seat, and grabbed the first thing I could to give her to hold to her nose, which happened to be a pair of her (clean) underwear. (I keep underwear in her backpack now because we're potty training. I can't believe my baby is this big.)

I finally was able to pull over in a picnic area and cleaned her up, and the rest of the drive was uneventful. I always make sure to drive carefully once I get to their town, because I've gotten pulled over twice mere blocks from my parents' house, once for rolling a stop sign and once for going 23 in a 20 school speed zone. Clearly I shouldn't be given keys to motor vehicles with that kind of reckless driving.

We were in Texas Thursday to Sunday, and it was really nice to have some extended time to hang out with my family. They love my kids so much, and it makes me so happy. On Saturday I had what I'm calling a Crash Day. I woke up with the worst headache I've ever had--not quite migraine status but definitely worse than your average headache. I ended up sleeping the majority of the day and basically only woke up to eat, feed J, and I had one outing around lunchtime to visit a friend of mine from Saint Louis who happened to be in Dallas on business. My dad drove me to meet her because my mom didn't think I was fit to drive.

I was a little worried I wouldn't be able to make it home, but thankfully after taking about 6 naps on Saturday, I woke up on Sunday feeling almost back to normal. It was the strangest thing, and I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me, but my mom just said she thought I needed to rest. "For the past month," she said, "you have added a full-time job to your schedule and taken away nothing at all. And,"--then there was a dramatic pause--"you've stopped taking naps." I told her I don't have time to take naps anymore, and she just stared at me. "You're exhausted. I want you to start taking naps again."

I've been thinking a lot this week about my schedule and our routine. I've gotten a few comments about how well I seem to be doing adjusting to two kids, and while I do feel like going from 1 kid to 2 has been so much easier than going from 0 to 1, my crash day has given me a lot to consider about how well I'm actually doing. The truth is, I'm still adjusting. I forget sometimes that I just had a baby three months ago, and that's a lifetime when you're awake yet again at 3am, but really it's nothing.

I'm not happy with the skin flab on my stomach, and although I can fit into most of my pre-pregnancy pants, I'm self-conscious about how most shirts fall on my stomach and end up rotating the same two shirts that I feel don't look terrible. I'm frustrated that I want to go running but I literally don't have the time right now unless I want to workout at an absurd hour like 4am, which I really just don't. I don't like that I haven't read a book in about five months. And I really, really don't like that I haven't been diligent about committing to a daily quiet time to pray and read my Bible.

I am a firm believer that people do have time to do a lot of the things they say they don't have time for. But sometimes it feels like I honestly, truly don't have to time to do all the things I want do to if I also want to sleep at least a few hours at night.

People talk a lot about giving themselves grace, but if I'm honest, I'm really bad at it. I am a bit of a perfectionist, and I can be pretty hard on myself. I try not to compare, I really do. But I see other moms with babies the same age as mine getting workouts in before their kids are awake or moms with more kids than me getting the family up and to church on time, and I just feel a bit defeated. Which sounds so silly and dumb. I KNOW.

I think being back at work has been harder and more tiring for me than I realized until I slept 90% of Saturday while my parents watched my kids. And Jordan helps. He's an awesome dad and husband. I don't want to act like I'm a single parent over here. But guys, I am terrible at delegating. I'm terrible at letting people help me. That's something I'm constantly working on.

Anyway. What is the point of this post? 

I have no idea. Except to say that I promised my mom I'd start taking naps again, and I have taken an afternoon nap every day this week so far, and it has felt amazing. Also, I took both my kids on a road trip to Texas for the weekend and survived (barely).

I'm trying to nail down some specific goals moving forward that will allow me to feel like I'm able to keep more things in my life without wearing myself thin. Here are a few I've got so far: I want to join a gym and go 2 nights a week, I'm thinking Tuesdays so I can watch This Is Us while I run on the treadmill. I want to be in bed by 10:00 at the latest every night (my mom is going to call me and say that's too late, but again, that's at the latest. Ideally 9:00). I want to be intentional about carving out time for more naps. I want to establish chores that Jordan and I each have.

And I really do want to give myself grace, so I'll have to work on that too.

So, um.... I intended to share some pictures from what we've been up to lately, and this mess came out. I don't even know.

Hope you all have a great weekend! Try to take a nap. My mom said so.

The Bandwagon

Facebook.

Twitter.

Skinny jeans.

Harry Potter.

Disqus.

Smartphones.

Frozen.

That's just a short list of the things that at one point in the not-so-distant past (and let's be honest: the current present) that I refused to buy, watch, read, and wear because everyone else was doing it, and I don't like jumping on the bandwagon. 

Call it hipster. Call it difficult. Call it stubborn.
The fact is: My refusal to do things that everyone else is doing is not a new character trait. 

Ever since I can remember, I've hated matching. Forget about group t-shirts. I'll bring a cardigan just so I can look a little bit different. Sometimes Jordan and I will accidentally dress in a similar color for church. I will then demand that one of us change. When I left my first real job, my coworkers played a brilliant prank on me involving my hatred of matching that was at once hilarious and super annoying. You could say it was the best prank ever.

At first, it starts with the principle of the thing: everyone is obsessed with it, so I don't want to do it. I only got a Twitter account last year. I waited years after my friends had all read and reread the Harry Potter series to finally dive in. I still haven't seen Frozen.

After the initial refusal, however, it becomes less about the principle of not jumping on the bandwagon and more about not doing it for actual reasons. Or, in some cases, doing it for an actual reason.

Sometimes, I eventually realize that I'm an idiot for continuing to hold out for basically no reason at all. Twitter is awesome. I like writing witty one-liners. Skinny jeans look good on me, and they're (shocker!) comfortable. The HP series is really, really good.

Other times, I'm not not doing something merely because I just haven't gotten around to it. Take Frozen, for example. I'm not opposed to watching it, but we don't really watch movies very often, and I don't have a kid, and I just haven't gotten around to it. The same with most popular TV shows. At first I didn't watch "Orange is the New Black" because everyone was obsessed with it. Then I just didn't get around to it because I'm currently on Season 5 of (ahem) One Tree Hill. I pretty much put on a cone of shame every time I turn it on. It's truly the stupidest show ever. But that's a post for another day.

The final category are things I've decided I legitimately don't want to do. It stops being about the bandwagon. I have (what I think are) legitimate reasons for not doing something. Example: I'm one of 5 people in the US who does not have a smartphone.* I talked about that when I wrote about the social media rabbit hole. It used to be about the fact that everyone had one. Now it's about the fact that I don't want one.
(*not a real stat but probably pretty close)

I'm not sure what it says about me that I usually decide I don't want to do something if everyone else is doing it. I feel like this must be a fatal flaw of mine, because to be honest, it annoys me. On the other hand, I definitely would not jump off a bridge just because everyone else was, so that's good.

Still, I know I have the potential of missing out on some things. Like the awesomeness of Harry Potter. Other times, I'm glad for it, because I've seen that "look up" video shared about 50 times in the last week, and I'm like, "Girl without a smartphone over here! I look up all the time! Come join me, won't you?"

Anyway, I know this is mostly a ramble. But I've been thinking about this topic a lot, both as it pertains to me personally and as it pertains to the things I do (or don't do) on this blog. Using Disqus, offering sponsorship, hosting giveaways, doing linkups... The list is almost endless. For the past 6 months or so I've been frustrated by my desire to "fit in" the blogging world by doing these things, even as I try to balance my desire to do my own thing and not care what anyone else is doing or says I should do.

So I guess here's my question:

-Do you refuse to do things just because everyone else is doing them?
-Do you find it hard to balance jumping on the bandwagon with the potential to miss out on awesome stuff?
-Where's the line between being stubborn and legitimately not wanting to do something?

5 Foods I Shouldn't Buy Because I Have Zero Self-Control and Eat It All

I like to think I'm a healthy eater. Yes, I like meat. I like the occasional box of mac 'n' cheese. I like Doritos. Still, I cook at home most nights, we rarely eat out, and in general we do pretty well in the food department. Lots of fresh veggies and chicken and such things like that.

But I've learned that there are a few things I should never allow myself to purchase, because I have absolutely zero self-control. I like to think I do, but then I buy them and they're gone within a few days. It's like I come home with my bags of groceries, and suddenly I become unable to control my arm. It reaches out, opens the top, and then grabs a handful and brings it to my mouth. I didn't do anything! In fact, I was standing there telling it to stop, but my arm wouldn't listen.

Meanwhile, Jordan doesn't seem to have this problem and simply shakes his head in shame while I stuff my face.

Here are my top 5 biggest offenders:

I've talked about my obsession with this ice cream too many times on this blog, but it needs to be stated again. THIS IS THE BEST ICE CREAM EVER. I seriously have to limit myself to only buying this never. I think, "I'm fine. It's fine. I can just eat a little at a time." Lies! What I do is eat six small bowls a day, which equals like two giant bowls, but in my head I feel like I'm just eating a tiny scoop at a time. 

Three days later, the entire half gallon is gone, and Jordan's like, "Um, I didn't get any." And I'm like, "You snooze you lose!" Then I run away while spouting maniacal laughter from the ice cream-induced haze that has overtaken me.

These pretzels are so. freaking. good. I bought some last week and ate the entire bag by myself in a few days. Jordan didn't get any because I refused to share. 

Right now you might be thinking, "Okay, that's not so bad for you." But when you're eating an entire bag with a serving size of 17 in just a few days? It's probably not the best. Especially considering the ridiculous sodium count. I try not to think about it.

I can't lie to you. 

I buy the 2.5-pound bag and straight up eat these out of the bag by the handful. The worst part is that I'm like an addict with them. Jordan will walk into the kitchen and be all, "So whaddya doin'?" And I'm all, "Nothing go away. It's cool. I'm just standing here next to the fridge for no reason." But there's chocolate smeared around my lips and on the palms of my hands where it's slowly melting as I hold a handful behind my back. Because apparently I'm five years old. 

Unfortunately, hips don't lie as well as I do.

Let's just say I go through a lot of peanut butter. A lot. Crunchy, obviously. I even go so far as to buy extra crunchy because, well duh. Extra crunchy = extra goodness. Creamy peanut butter is for suckers. Sometimes I even sprinkle some chocolate chips onto my spoonful of peanut butter. But we're going to forget that last sentence ever happened.

You know what? Lucky Charms really ARE magically delicious. And Jordan doesn't like them, so that just means more for me! Plus, see that big check mark on the top of the box? That means it's made with whole grain, so it's good for me. Booya.

*Honorable mention: Chocolate chip cookies, both the dough and cookie itself. (See photo at the top of this post.) Knowing how to bake delicious cookies is both a blessing and a curse. I never realized until I got older how much my mother sacrificed by giving me the batters to lick. This is partly why we're still waiting to have kids. 

You think I'm kidding.

* * *

Okay, your turn to spill. Make me feel better!

What foods can you not resist?

Love Wins: On Christianity, Same-Sex Marriage, and Google

A few days ago, I took my daily visit to Google's homepage and noticed a link at the bottom of the search bar:

Clicking on the link sent me to YouTube, where I saw this: 

If you've been around this blog for any length of time, you probably know that I am a Christian. At least, I hope you know that from my more serious posts where I've talked about God and prayer and church. I normally don't get too political or religious on here, mostly because those are topics I would much rather discuss in person. Words in print can get twisted and misunderstood all sorts of ways. But when I saw the Google link, it got me thinking. I hope you'll hear me out so I can share some thoughts with you.

As a Christian, I do not support same-sex marriage. That's not to say there aren't Christians who support same-sex marriage, but my interpretation of the Bible leaves no question in my mind of God's intention on this subject.

What I DO support is the right for Google or YouTube or anyone else to express their opinions on the subject, whether it's through a link or a banner or a flag or a t-shirt. That's one of our rights at citizens of the United States, and I think the fact that we are allowed to publicly express our opinions, whatever they are, is something we often take for granted.

When I saw the Google link, I admit that I was frustrated, but it might not be for the reason you'd expect.

Google is one of the most powerful enterprises in the entire world. (I didn't look up any statistics on that, but I'm pretty sure it's a well-known fact.) It's not as frustrating for me to see a link on the homepage of Google openly supporting same-sex marriage as it is to consider that last year when the CEO of Chick-fil-A issued a statement in support of male/female marriage, people instantly got upset. (The "Chick-fil-A Marriage Controversy" actually has its own Wikipedia entry, interestingly enough.) The word boycott was mentioned, and suddenly everyone and their mom, conservative and liberals alike, wanted a piece of the debate.

I don't understand how Google putting up a link on its homepage is any different than Chick-fil-A issuing a statement, except it's from the opposite viewpoint. And maybe I'm wrong, but I think if the Christian community (conservatives, whatever you want to call them) were to get upset about a company like Google supporting gay rights, A) no one would care and B) anyone who did notice would say the Christians were just being ignorant and unloving.

I used Google to Google Google's gay pride banner. (Did you follow all that?) I did find this article from 2012 about a group who was going to boycott Google for their support of gay pride (yeah, good luck with that since Google owns everything). I also found this article about 25 companies that have been boycotted by conservatives for supporting gay rights. I'm not daft enough to claim that the conservative group doesn't boycott things too. (I'm not even going to talk about the Westborow Baptist Church crazies who would boycott socks if they could.) But it seems like there's far less backlash when a person or company is in support of same-sex marriage than when its not.

It's upsetting and even personally insulting when "conservative" is lumped in with "ignorant" and "hypocritical" and "judgmental." You bet there are ignorant, hypocritical, judgmental people. That's you. That's me. That's every single person on the planet, not those who label themselves a "conservative."

I'm all, "Jordan, don't leave empty water glasses all over the apartment," but I leave them all over too! Hypocrite!

I pray.
I go to church.
I believe in God. 

But I have many people I call close friends who don't pray, don't go to church, and don't believe in God. I have friends who are gay. I have friends who curse and get drunk and have pre-marital sex. Some of my friends pretty much disagree with me about every political and religious topic. That doesn't mean I don't like to hang out with them. It just means that maybe we don't talk about politics or religion.

Do I wish all my friends went to church and believed in God? Of course. But I don't beat them over the head with my Bible about it. I don't stop being their friend or tell them they're going to hell or act like I'm better than them. If you don't believe me, I'll give you their email addresses so you can ask them about it yourself. I'm not going to defriend someone on social media or stop following their blog just because they don't agree with me. I'll stop following their blog for reasons like bad writing or boring subject matter, but I'm not going to write them nasty comments because they don't agree with my thoughts on God.

I know there are Christians who do write nasty comments and hold up signs and use racial slurs, and for that, I'm sorry to those who have been hurt. I believe a Christian is called to be a light to the world, and often we don't do that very well. (One example is Christians being notoriously bad tippers at restaurants, which I think is lame.)

Am I perfect? Heck no. I'm a hypocritical, selfish jerk, and I'll be working on that my entire life. But I'm doing the best I can to show the love of Christ everywhere I go. I fail at it almost as soon as I wake up--Jordan can tell you that. But I'm trying.

Just because I don't agree with same-sex marriage doesn't mean I'm ignorant. It just doesn't. When Jordan and I have discussions, I enjoy playing devil's advocate. I like hearing and thinking about different points of view because it makes me think about what I truly believe and why. I sat and read this blog for a few hours because reading differing viewpoints on homosexuality was so interesting, and I wanted to see what other people were saying.

I don't think that's ignorance. I think that's being in the world but not of the world.

I keep seeing the slogan "Love Wins," and it makes me feel like the liberal community think Christians are villains who want love to die.

Here's the truth: I believe in love too.

I want to love people. I want to serve people. I want to be kind and real and uplifting to those I come into contact with throughout my day. And I want to have real, honest, adult discussions about religious and political issues without name calling and assumptions. 

I don't have all the answers, and I know that some of you who've made it this far are raging mad at me. But what I also know is that I believe Jesus died and rose again, and one day he's coming back for all of us. If that makes me sound ignorant in your mind, so be it.

I will still love you as Christ has called me to love, even if I don't agree.

And finally I believe that one day, at the end of all this, love will win.*

(EDIT: Saying "love will win" is not a reference in support of Rob Bell's theology in his book Love Wins.)

_________________

*If you are going to leave a comment, be nice about it. We're all adults here. 

Also keep in mind that this is NOT a post about same-sex marriage or homosexuality specifically but more on the hypocrisy that surrounds the subject on both sides.

**Feel free to email me if you want to continue this discussion.

abumgarner [dot] editor [at] gmail [dot] com

currently...

currently, i am...

*enjoying: 

less stress at my new job

my previous job was full of daily stress. so much so that it wasn't uncommon for me to have  dreams about authors and plot lines. and not the good kind of dreams. i've been at my new job for just over a week now, and while it is an adjustment, and at times i'm lonely (it's hard to go to a new workplace), i am currently enjoying much less stress. 
when the phone rings, it's not going to be for me. you have absolutely no idea how freeing that is.

*learning: 

how to be content

a few weeks ago, jordan said something that i initially perceived to be hurtful. but in the weeks since, i've thought about it, and i realize he's mostly right. that's par for the course with us. seriously, it's annoying how well he knows me. 


anyway, what he said is that i have a difficult time being content. this conversation was specifically related to my desire to buy a house. i've been living in an apartment since i moved to oklahoma 4 years ago, and now i want my own house. where i can have more than one storage closet and a garage and a yard where i can sit outside whenever the heck i want to. 
but that's not where we are right now, and i need to be content with that. as such, i've been trying to find ways to improve our current living space. even small things like my diy necklace hanger and diy photo frame that i made during my time between jobs have greatly improved my sense of contentedness. 
so jordan, here's an official thanks for calling me out. the truth hurts, and i didn't take what you said well initially, but it's what i needed to hear.  

*inspired by: 

a book i just started reading: 

the happiness project by gretchen rubin

i like resolutions. i like making goals for myself. 

oddly enough, i've already been unknowingly creating my own happiness project. even though i haven't been calling it that, i realize now (after only the first chapter of this book), that that's what i've been doing. but maybe for me it should be titled "the contentedness project." maybe. i don't know. 


i like this book. that's basically what i'm saying. 

*working on:

organizing my apartment

per items 2 and 3 above, i made jordan go through his closet a few days ago, and we got rid of a good number of old t-shirts as well as a few pairs of cargo shorts. and okay, jordan gives me a hard time about how many shoes i have, but good grief! this boy had eight pairs of cargo shorts in khaki, green, and blue. hoarder. 

*indulging in:

leftover birthday ice cream cake 

We're Two Opposite Peas in a Salty Pod

It has become clear over the past 14 months of marriage that there are no two people more opposite in taste or social adeptness than Jordan Bumgarner and myself.  

Our first married fight was on our honeymoon road trip to San Antonio. We were maybe three hours into our drive and coming up on lunchtime when Jordan asked me what I had in our "to-go" bag for a snack. I pulled out a chocolate-chip granola bar and an apple. 


An argument immediately broke out over the fact that he needs salty treats, not sweet ones, and what, for the love of the dust bowl, was I doing bringing fruit? Goodness.

Granted, I blame myself. We'd dated for almost two years before getting married, and I knew what snacks he liked. For him, a "salty treat" is basically limited to:

a) a can of dry-roasted peanuts

b) a bag of pretzels 
c) a, b, and anything else with a lot of salt

At that moment I couldn't (still can't) wrap my mind around granola bars being sweet. Seriously, who knew? And an apple? Weirdo. I swear they don't taste sweet to me. 


The salty vs. sweet conversation (read: heated discussion) continues to this day. While I'm finishing off the half gallon of mint chocolate-chip ice cream we picked up at Target the night before, he's going back for a fourth helping of potatoes and fried okra. The positive side of this is that I get most of the ice cream to myself. The negative side to this is that soon I'll weigh 400 pounds and get shipped off to the Biggest Loser campus. 

(By the way, I did find Breyer's mint ch. chip at Target a few weeks ago. I freaked out and did a happy dance right there in the aisle, obviously, and would have bought five half gallons if they weren't already down to one. Later that week I also had no less than four people tell me they saw it and thought of buying me some. I either have the most considerate friends or they're all just sick of me complaining about it.)

So that's the taste opposition. But we are also as opposite as opposite can be in our desire (or not) to be social. Our second notable married fight occurred in our San Antonio hotel and went something like this:

Scene: We've just dropped our bags off in the room, and I've forced him onto the balcony to take a picture. Now we're back inside. 

Me (pacing around the room): So what do you want to do?

Jordan (collapsing on the bed and reaching for the remote): Nothing.

Me (pacing): What do you mean nothing?

Jordan (chanel surfing): I mean nothing. You know, just sit here and watch TV.

Me (unfolding the San Antonio map I'd snagged from the front desk): Let's go exploring!

Jordan (chanel surfing): My feet hurt.

Me: Let's walk to the Alamo!

Jordan: But my feet hurt. And Man vs. Wild is on.

And so it goes.

To say we're opposites would be a huge understatement. If I got down to the fundamental start of every argument we've ever had, it stems from the basic fact that we're just not wired the same way. In considering all the ways we're different, it's actually kind of ridiculous to me that we get along at all. And yet it works somehow, and I wind up thanking my lucky stars that he puts up with me.


He calms me down and makes me think, and I get him to do all sorts of things he hates. Like dancing at our wedding, for one. I've started packing peanuts and pretzels for car trips, and he laces up his shoes and goes exploring with me...most of the time.


Our opposite natures have been especially clear over the past few months. I've had a really difficult time dealing with some tough work stuff, looking for and starting a new job, quitting my old job. In those moments it's glaringly obvious that the way we respond to stress and change and uncertainty is like night and day. Sometimes it's so frustrating I want to pull out my hair, and Jordan's even told me that he wishes I were a dude so he could fight me. (That actually poses an interesting question: Who would win in a fight? Guy Amanda or Jordan? Think about it.)


So far starting a new job has been a harder transition than I hoped for. I miss my friends and the certainty of knowing I'm good at my job and respected by my peers. But that's really another post of it's own. For now, I'll just continue my undercover attempt to get Jordan to like fruit and trick him into going exploring with me using my signature line: 


"But this is the only _____ you'll ever have!" 
For the blank, just enter whatever word you want: 
--Honeymoon
--27th birthday
--Second Friday of June in 2012


Just make sure to be super dramatic. It works every time. 
Trust me. A little manipulation goes a long way toward happily ever after, especially if you're a pea in a salty pod. 

10 Things I'm Afraid to Tell You

Earlier this week I read this post, which linked to this post. Apparently there's a blogging thing going around. I missed it, as usual--I'm often behind.

For some reason, the idea of writing a post with some confessions immediately appealed to me. This is partly because I feel dry of interesting blogging material at the moment and partly because of this video I watched yesterday, which has been on my mind and heart ever since.

On this blog I write about all sorts of funny happenings, and I post pretty pictures. 

But my life isn't always funny, and it doesn't look pretty all the time.
{I've probably been the most honest about this here.}

It's Thursday, May 10. 

My 1-year wedding anniversary is in exactly 4 days.

My 26th birthday is in exactly 2 months.

And here are 10:

{these are in no particular order}

1. I hate my skin. It's better now, but I still struggle with it (and seriously envy Jordan's smooth skin). Before my wedding, I went to the dermatologist because I refused to walk down the aisle looking like I had chicken pox. But during my four years of college and the three years since, I refused to let anyone get near my face. I recoiled if anyone tried to touch it, and it became a habit to pull my sweatshirt up over my chin so people couldn't see the acne.

2. I worry about getting fat. I notice myself getting anxious about it if I haven't gone running or done some type of exercise in four or five days. Then I head out for a 4-mile run or do a Jillian Michaels video, and I eat an entire gallon of Breyer's mint chocolate chip ice cream (because it's the BEST), and all is right with the world--at least for the next four days. (I should add that I enjoy working out, so it's not like it's something I have to force myself to do. But when I don't do it, I start feeling frumpy.)

3. I wish I had more money. Jordan and I are extremely blessed. We have much, much more than enough. But I still have to daily fight down that twinge of jealousy when I visit someone who lives in a bigger house than I do or has fancier clothes than me. The past year of consistent tithing has really been wonderful in helping me think about "my" money as not mine at all but God's. I need to care less about "stuff."

4. I love Jesus. This obviously isn't any kind of dark confession, and it's certainly not a bad thing. I know I've talked about church and God on this blog before, but just in case there was any confusion: I love Jesus. Am I the perfect Christian? No. But I love going to church and playing the violin in the worship band. Oh, and I listen to KLove. That's right.

5. My dream is to be a freelance editor. No 9-5. No set schedule. Just me editing books. My secret hope (not-so-secret now, I guess) is that someone will find me via this blog and my monthly writing tips, and that will launch my freelance career. 

6. I used to scoff at cheesy pet names. But here's the truth: I love that Jordan calls me "babe." I remember exactly where we were the first time he ever said it (driving in his truck on the way to a softball game). It gave me goose bumps. That might be when I realized I loved him. (Okay, I totally made that last part up, but it could be true.)

7. I hate how competitive I am. Just once I want to play a game and not get upset if I lose.

8. I wish I were a faster runner.

9. Pinterest stresses me out. So much creativity in one place.

10. And last but not least is this dear blog of mine. I've been writing for almost 2 years now, and I love it. But I'm not going to lie: I wish I had more followers. I know that's silly. Who cares how many followers I have? The people who read this blog want to read it, and do I really want people "following" who don't even read? The obvious answer is no. Still, I can't help but see people with thousands of followers who get hundreds of comments, and I wish that were me. But then I realize that if I did have thousands of followers, that would be a lot of pressure, and I don't know if I'm ready for that yet. I am thankful for this creative outlet and the faithful friends who comment and read everything (you know who you are). (Shout out to Audra, follower/commenter/supporter from the beginning.)

*  *  *

So that's a few things about me you probably didn't know.

And I've just decided to write a follow-up post titled:

10 Things I Like About Myself/My Life

Because for every thing I wish I had or wish I did better, 

I have five more blessings I could name.

And those are important to recognize too. 

I might make it a link-up (since I know how to do those now).

Stay tuned.

And thanks for reading. 

* * *

{I'm going to tack on a shameless plug for my new weekly photography linkup: 
Alphabet Scavenger Hunt. 
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My Love/Hate Relationship with DVR

A while ago I wrote a post about my love/hate relationship with smoothies. (Which we've learned is really just a love relationship mixed in with me being klutzy.)

I'm back now to talk about my love/hate relationship with the DVR.

About two months ago, Jordan and I decided to shell out the big bucks for cable. We'd been using an antenna to get the basic channels, but we really wanted to be able to watch baseball playoffs and college football, both of which are on cable. 

So we went big. Extended cable. The sports pack (with additional channels such as but not limited to: the Military Channel, the Tennis Channel, ESPN Classic, and others). And the DVR.

I've never had a DVR before, but it didn't take me long to realize that it's freaking awesome. 

It also didn't take me long to realize that it takes approximately 7 seconds to get addicted. 

I've started pausing live TV, like, all the time. All the time. Even if Jordan comes into the room for just a second to talk to me, I pause it. I record shows I don't even care about all that much just because I can. I recorded Bring It On, for crying out loud! I sort of hated myself for that one, but I couldn't stop. 

We're getting rid of it in January no matter what. And I hate even more that I need to keep reminding myself of this, because without the impending deadline, I don't know if I could actually get rid of it. Having cable has reunited me with my true love, Top Chef. That show is so great, and I'm still bitter about last year, when I got cut off in the middle of the season of Top Chef All-Stars. But the DVR has brought us together again, and it's wonderful.

But I hate feeling constrained and indebted to an electronic device like this. I want my freedom! And yes, I realize I could take freedom in my own hands and just not use the DVR to pause live TV and record lame movies, but it's there, and I can't stop.

So really, maybe this was a post about my love/hate relationship with my own discipline. Which, unlike my love for smoothies, turns out to be all hate.

My Bucket List and a Half Marathon

Ten months ago, when I considered resolutions for 2010, I had no idea that this year I would cross (count it) two things off my bucket list. Actually, I didn't even know I had a bucket list--until a friend proposed going skydiving in celebration of her 25th birthday. Then I realized that I'd always wanted to go skying, but when it came down to actually planning it, paying for it, and jumping out of a plane, I needed someone else to motivate me. 

The same is apparently true for running. I'd always wanted to run a half marathon. I'd heard about people training and seen pictures of herds of skinny people in short shorts and sports bras, but for me it was just one of those I-would-love-to-do-that-but-I-would-die-if-I-ran-thirteen-miles kinds of things.

The idea of actually training for something like that seemed daunting and too far out of my reach. But then my good friend Audra e-mailed me and announced she was going to train for a half marathon. She sent me the link to register for a race on October 10 in Wichita, Kansas, and told me to think about it. It was late spring at this point, and I was running a few times a week--just to keep in shape but not enough to run more than 2 or 3 miles at a time, so 13 miles sounded insane.

Finally doing something I'd always wanted to was too tempting to resist, however, so I bought a cheap watch at Walmart and made a running playlist on my ipod. I mapped out a three-mile route around Jordan's neighborhood, and I made a tentative schedule that would have me ready to go by October.

My goal seemed simple enough: 13.1 miles at 10-min/mile pace. That's 131 minutes or 2hrs 11minutes, give or take a few minutes on either end. I started out running intervals of 5 or 6 minutes running and 1 minute walking, and eventually I was able to run 30 or 40 minutes without stopping. I was feeling good.

But the more I ran, the longer my runs became, and I soon found out that there's a huge difference between 8 miles and 4. Duh, it's twice as far. I know. But really, it's a whole different game, and I was sad to discover it was one I wasn't very good at.

I'm a mostly positive person. At least, I try to be as positive as I can given the circumstances. But for some reason, this running thing showed a side of me I didn't like. And it threw me for a loop.

I was whiny, stressed, pessimistic, and convinced that when it actually came down to it, I would fail. I was attempting something I wasn't at least mostly sure I would be able to do well. And well by my standards, which is usually a high bar. So I didn't register, and I didn't tell anyone I was training. I remained noncommittal about the whole thing until I finally officially signed up and wrote a blog post about it. Then, suddenly, it seemed more real once I actually said it out loud.

My goal time dropped from 2:10 to 2:30, and then after an 8-mile run that felt like death itself, I decided I was just going to be happy to finish. Screw making good time.

As race day approached, I became more and more nervous, especially after a terrible bathroom episode while on a 5-mile run, and I couldn't stop thinking about being in the middle of the race and having nowhere to relieve myself. It was depressing, so I stopped thinking about it.

Okay, that's a lie. It was all I could think about.

And then it was here, and I headed off to Kansas to meet up with Cori, Audra, Joey, and Hilda.

I was worried about eating too much fiber, too much protein, drinking too little water, too much juice. I knew anything I ate might come back to haunt me later. While Cori scarfed down a burger and fries on Saturday night, I picked at chips, fearfully dipping them in runny salsa before chugging glass after glass of water.

Sunday morning I woke up at 6:15. I popped my contacts in, tugged on my running shoes, ate a quick (slight) breakfast of a piece of toast and a half glass of OJ, and pinned #2220 to the front of my shirt. Then Cori and I drove 15 minutes to downtown Wichita, parked, and calmly walked to the start line--all while butterflies slammed against the inside of my stomach. It was surprisingly easy finding Joey and Audra in the crowd, and before I knew it we were waiting with an excited mob of runners, listening to the horn blow, and moving forward with the crowd.

From that point on, I was focused on one thing--the finish. As I zig-zagged through the crowd, Colbie Caillat singing in my ears, I looked around and thought, This is awesome!

I'd gotten used to running alone, meandering either through Jordan's neighborhood or a nearby park, that I'd been missing the community of running. Two thousand pairs of toned calves and blistered feet, hearts pumping, arms moving, feet kicking up gravel. Maybe I had beginner's luck, or maybe it was runner's high, but the first 7 miles went by before I knew it. Besides a quick 30-second stop at a few water stations, I went for over an hour without taking a legit walk break, and I was under my 10-min/mile goal. It wasn't until mile 9 that things got really hard.

When am I going to reach 10 miles! I thought, looking ahead to see a long line of runners stretched out before me. For the first time, I feared keeping up my (for me) blistering pace. When I finally did reach the blessed sign marked 10, I shouted, "Yes! Thank the Good Lord!" A girl in pink next to me turned and smiled. After a quick stop for water, I decided that I was going to stop again at mile 11. So I started running and running...and running. After ten minutes, I still hadn't seen any sign. I haven't slowed down that much, I thought. Then, like a beacon of light in a dark night, I saw a water station. 

"What MILE is this?" I asked the nearest worker. 

"You're almost to mile 12," she said, handing me a cup of Gatorade.

I guess that's the upside to not having clearly marked miles markers. Only a mile and a half to go; then I could stop. And eat.

When mile 12 hit, I was dead on my feet, but somehow I kept them moving. It's weird how that works. I mean, I could have stopped. No one was technically making me run, but my fear of failure and hope of greatness pushed me on. I think mile 12 was the worst. I was so close, and yet I still had 1.1 miles to go. As much as I wanted to sprint to the finish, it was all I could do to keep my current pace. There was a lady in orange I had my eye on; as long as she was near me, I was fine. If she started to pull away, it meant I needed to run faster.

With about two tenths of a mile to go, I saw Hilda. She wasn't running, but I stayed at her apartment in Wichita, and she'd agreed to meet me at the finish. I slapped her hand and smiled, and it was beautiful to see a friendly face.

She also snapped this photo of me:

When I ran across the finish, there were people lining the road, cheering, it seemed, just for me. I felt suddenly felt alone, but in a good way. I crossed the finish line and at last gave my legs the okay to stand still. Then I looked at the clock.

2:08:19. 

I couldn't believe it. I'd run faster and longer than I ever had before, and I beat my goal time! That's when I almost threw up. It's ironic, really. With all my worry about having to poop in the middle of the race, I hadn't even thought about something coming out the other end. It was a close call, but let's just say I was able to hold it down.

In the wake of my great success, I grabbed a water bottle, Gatorade, and somehow found Hilda. The wind, which had felt so refreshing just two minutes ago, now felt like a knife, slicing through my sweat and quickly freezing me to death. I wrapped what looked like a sheet of tinfoil around myself, and we went back to the race to wait for Audra, Joey, and Cori.

I used Hilda's phone to call Jordan, where I left an excited, out-of-breath message, which I have no doubt he wasn't able to understand. 

"I'm so excited!" I shouted to Hilda. "I can't believe I did it!"

And I really couldn't. Like I said, I'd been horribly pessimistic about the whole thing--certainly something to learn for next time. 

But when it came down to it, the adrenaline kicked in, and I just kept running. Thirteen whole miles (plus a tenth!) at 9:48 min/mile. 

 This story could have ended horribly. I ran 15-minute miles. I had to stop at every mile and go to the bathroom. I tripped and twisted my ankle. The possibilities for disaster are endless. Then I would have cried and written a post about how disappointed I am, how silly I feel, and how much of a failure I've become. Even though in this case nothing like that happened, I'm not naive enough to think that I won't even have setbacks or days when real-life me just can't measure up to my expectations for myself. But that doesn't mean I should stop setting a high bar, because it's just that much sweeter when I finally finish. 

In a world of ultra runners and 100-mile races, 13 miles isn't all that much, and 10-minute miles isn't lightening fast. But it was for me, and that's what I measured against. So I couldn't be happier. Another check for my bucket list. A medal for my wall. A 13.1 decal for my car. And the knowledge that I can do it, because just last weekend, I did.