I Like Big [Families] and I Cannot Lie

I come from a large family.  Large in height, large in noise, and large in number.  It's a little crazy coming home to visit - we had fourteen people for Christmas without any extended family at all (granted, I am counting my baby nephew as a person because that makes it seem crazier).

I never liked having a big family while I was growing up.  This trip home both my mum and my little sister brought that up, and for the life of me I couldn't remember WHY I didn't like having a big family; I just didn't like it.  Maybe it was the lack of privacy (ha, my brain said prih-va-see as I typed that - dang Doctor Who), maybe it was the constant noise, or maybe it was just because I was a teenager and I hated everything.  Now that I'm older though, I love my big family.  I can't imagine it any other way.

In a big family you always have friends.  Growing up, my best friend was my older brother.  He and I did everything together, and did so until he left on his mission and I went ahead and got married.  Now I would say my best friends are The Man, my little sister, and that same older brother.  I hang out with them more than any friend from school, work, or church.  We have history together - inside jokes, stories from when we were kids, common interests and ideals...I love the relationship I've got with my siblings.  I'm not saying it's impossible to have sibling best friends in small families; it just seems like the odds are higher when you've got a ton to choose from :P

In a big family you get insight to how different people really are.  I mean, I have the same parents as my siblings, I've lived in the same places, had the same consequences and rewards, attended the same schools and had the same teachers, and yet we all turned out tremendously different.  My family includes a super-intelligent medical student who's always been very motivated and responsible, a super-introverted but secretly funny artist, a teacher, a bleeding heart who loves studying cultures and different lifestyle choices, a super-conservative gun-toting, truck-driving entrepreneur, a nerdy and lovable gamer/engineer/architect, and three more personalities that are just barely starting to emerge.  We are so different, and it's totally true that if you treat us EQUALLY none of us will be treated FAIRLY.  We all have different needs and ideals and it's not fair to treat us the same.

In a big family you learn that nothing is ever going to go perfectly, and you've got to roll with the punches.  Tonight, I really wanted to take my younger siblings to go see "Frozen."  We all got ready, packed into the car, and drove the 45 minutes to the theater only to discover that the show was sold out.  Instead of making it a huge deal, we treated it like an adventure - we got to visit two movie theaters in one night!  We drove over to the dollar theater, got into a movie that had started 20 minutes before (and was a totally different movie from the one we had come down from the cabin to see), and still had a fun time.  Sure, the house isn't always clean and the meals aren't always gourmet and the plans don't always go as we'd like, but we're used to it.  Life isn't about perfection; it's about enjoying the experience.

In a big family you learn to apologize.  As a Mormon, I believe that the family I'm with right now is the one I'm going to be with forever, and forever is a long time to be giving the silent treatment.  The belief that I'm going to be with these people forever helps me get over petty arguments and insensitive comments quite quickly, and that skill has transferred over to my relationships with other people because I've done it so much with my siblings.

In a big family you learn how to have fun without electronics.  It's hard for nine kids to share a Nintendo.  Possible, but hard.  This Christmas break we've played tons of board games, crab-raced, Weeble-Wobble Wrestled (my dad came up with it - you pretty much cross your legs and arms, wobble around on your ischia, and try to knock each other over), played chicken feet with an exercise ball, debated politics, sang together, put on an irreverent nativity play, and much more.  Sure, we've played video games too, but if the power went out we wouldn't have been bored.

I love my big family so much.  We are loud and crazy and active and funny and coming home just gets better and better each time.  It's crazy watching my little siblings become actual people with ideas and thoughts, but I love it.

The Man's always saying that he wants a big family, and I finally get it.  Big families are awesome.

I Think I'm Obsessed with My Hair

So I've discovered something: for me, hair makes all the difference in the world.

This is coming from a girl who's tried on quite a few different hairstyles.

When I was younger I had one hairstyle: a bob.  That's all my mum would let me have because apparently I looked so darn adorable in it.

SO darn adorable.

As I grew older and reached my rebellious stage (that came when I was about 5 and lasted into college), I decided that I had had enough of the bob.  I felt childish and chubby (and let's face it; if that picture above is anything to go off of, I was chubby), and it was time to grow up and grow out (hair, not tummy).  I grew out long, luscious...ok, who am I kidding?  My hair was long and thin and flat.  The end.

Long.  Luscious.

It made me feel more grown-up though.  I could wear pony-tails.  I could braid my hair (didn't know how to).  I could curl my hair (nah, doesn't hold a curl worth crap).  I could...Wear it down.  Every.  Single.  Day.  It got kind of boring.  And when I get bored, I like to change my hair.  So I spent many a year as a redhead.  Then when I was leaving for college I went insane: bangs.

If you're a meme fan, imagine Neil Tyson deGrasse here.
I can't put the accompanying words.

And then, in the prime of my life when I should have wanted to look as attractive as possible, I decided to do this:

My thoughts while taking this picture?
"Oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap."

This was my dad's favorite hairstyle on me, because it led to an awkward incident where a cop pulled over my mother for speeding while I was in the car and mistakenly thought we were lesbian partners.  So...that was different.  It ended up being my least favorite hairstyle because it led to every guy I was interested in thinking I was attracted to girls.  Which makes dating difficult.  Plus, I do not have the nose for short hair.  Just no.  I messed with it as it grew out; trying different colors, different textures, different hats...

I used to think I was a Beatles fan.  And a rocker.  Turns out both were incorrect.

It was like puberty all over again.  All awkward-growing-out phase.  All the time.  I always felt unattractive, and I got bored with my hair weekly.  And yet, I miss it from time to time.  I look back at my past with rose-colored glasses and miss that ridiculous hair.  Is this a metaphor?  Maybe.  

No.  No, it's not.

Really though, this is the longest I've had it since 2007.
It's weird.

Brain-Dead Morons

I'm not sure if I picked up the habit from Tina Fey in "30 Rock" or the character Schmidt in "New Girl," but now I really enjoy summing up the problem with kids these days by shaking my head and saying, "ugh, youths."

I find myself saying that all the time as a high school teacher.

As much as I like to pretend I wasn't exactly like them though, I know it's a lie.  I was often irresponsible, forgetful, disrespectful, stubborn, and sometimes just downright stupid.  See, youths can't help but be youths.  Their brains are re-developing.

When we're babies we make all these connections in our brains, then we prune them down to the useful connections.  Once puberty hits our brains decide to go for round two.  So teenagers are re-developing their thought processes, their understanding, and their schema for the world around them.  They can't help but be - as my mentor during student teaching so lovingly put it - brain-dead morons.

Watching my little brain-dead morons struggle with what seems like the simplest of problems for me has made me realize something: I don't want my children to go to college right after high school.

When I went to college I wasted the first two years staying up late, ditching class, and caring more about social aspects than the incredible learning I could have been doing.  It wasn't until I got engaged to The Man that I realized real life was coming fast and I needed to shape up.  When The Man went to college for the first time he slacked off too; we didn't realize the importance of what we were doing, and we didn't realize the great opportunity we had in our hands.

And it wasn't just us.  So many college freshmen and sophomores just do not get it.  Yes, there are a select few that work hard and really do succeed, but they are few and far between in my experience.  Our teenage brains weren't ready for it.

In my child psychology classes we talked a lot about the importance of factoring development into academic success.  Many young boys become frustrated in kindergarten because male brains develop in a different order than female brains, and for 5-year-old males fine motor skills (writing letters, drawing, cutting with scissors) are generally quite difficult.  Many teachers advise parents of young boys to hold them back from kindergarten a year if they're struggling; that way when they come back the next year they are more developmentally ready and they can enjoy the activities more.

Why can't we do this with our teenagers and college?

I'm not saying I'm going to let my child lounge about the house for a year and pamper them until they're developmentally ready, but I can see some merit in international journeys, backpacking trips, or even just working for a year or so, saving up for college.

When students are developmentally ready for college, they work so much harder, and they see much more success.  It's been interesting watching The Man return to college after a several-year hiatus.  Instead of returning to his B, C-student standing, he started off his first semester back with straight A's and hasn't dropped below an A in the last two years.  It's not just The Man though; I knew many adults who came back to college (or were coming for the first time) in their 20's and 30's, and all of them worked harder and succeeded more than any of the freshman coming straight from academia.  They were developmentally ready.

Now maybe I'm way off, and maybe I'll change my mind in twenty-or-so years when I'm actually crossing this bridge, but it's something to think on.

Sexidorable

Yesterday I was a total downer, and I apologize.  Let's talk about something more fun today.  Well, I'll write at you, and you'll eye the page.  That's kind of like a conversation, yeah?

Little sister came over the other night, and we watched a great video in which older, respected (some not as much anymore...sorry DeNiro) actors read the words to popular songs.  And while watching this, we were both overcome with the same thought: Kevin Kline is still a fox!  Beard and all.

How does that happen?  How do you improve on this?

So, turns out I'm kind of into hairy guys, I guess...

Well, just keep your hair, let it turn grey, and apparently grow a beard.  Instant sexidorable (trademark pending).  You know what, Kevin?  You could probably even lose the beard.  I'm not picky.

Sexidorable is the only word I can use to describe him now.

Is this a thing?  Like...ruggedly attractive young men becoming sexidorable older men?  Let's test this theory.

Harrison Ford:

Who apparently has an earring now...

Sean Connery:

Do I have a thing for men with guns too?  Hm...

Robert Downey Jr. (ok, he wasn't a rugged young man):

Maybe it's the hair...Then again, how would that explain Connery?

Steve Martin:

Looks WAY too much like my dad.  This just got weird.

Well, excepting the last one due to the weird Electra Complex vibe, sexidorableness with age seems to be a thing.  Let's try it one last time with my favorite Python*, Michael Palin:

Sexi-freakin'-dorable, ladies and gentlemen.

It's a thing.  Tell your friends.

*I tried to make this not sound dirty, but he was a member of Monty Python's Flying Circus, guys.  They were called Pythons.  Get over it.

Not Wanting to Want

It's just one of those days.  Weeks.  Months.  Years.

Isn't it funny how you can be supremely happy with life, and at the same time depressed?  Well, maybe you can't, but my hormones are just impressive that way.  That's how I've been for the last year and a half.

I AM happy with life.  I got my dream job, which also happened to be the first job I interviewed with.  I live in a rather roomy apartment.  I can sleep in on Saturdays.  I'm married to my best friend, who is just killing it at school and work.  My family is happy and healthy and some of them are even nearby.  We have a reliable car.  We have enough money to buy groceries.  We even have enough money now to do things we're interested in, like buying furniture, going out to eat, and having a Netflix account.

We totally have enough money to buy frivolous things like this chicken.
We just don't have the class.

And yet I still have times where I shut down and can't seem to feel happy about where we're at.  Stupid Maslow and your hierarchy of needs.

If you're a regular you know that The Man and I tried to get pregnant for a year straight a while ago.  My body wouldn't cooperate.  It wouldn't even have a period for seven straight months of that time.  It got to the point where once a month I was buying a test and once a month I was becoming super depressed, and I just couldn't handle it anymore.  I went to a couple doctors to figure out why my body was acting so weird and all they had for me was, "hm.  Well, you're healthy, you're young, your hormone levels are great, and you're not stressed out about anything.  By all accounts you should be having a period.  Weird.  Oh well.  Now please pay us."

Hey there, Spotalotamus!  Have a terrible day!

Don't get me wrong; I loved not having to deal with that.  Except for the part where I was trying to get pregnant.  It's kinda necessary to have a working uterus/endocrine system.

So now we're at the part where I'm on birth control, we're not trying to have a baby, and I STILL get depressed once a month and think about babies constantly.  We're not trying for a couple reasons.
1. I am kind of scared that I'm sterile, and if we don't try then I won't have to face that.
2. The Man is still in school, and he is super stressed about it all the time; I don't want to add to that stress.
3. I have a full-time job that I actually enjoy, and it brings in a decent paycheck for a family of two.  I'd have to quit if I had a newborn.

And even though I keep coming back to those logistically-sound, totally reasonable answers, I still want a baby.  Beyond any logic, beyond any reasoning, beyond any soundness of mind.

If I could just not want to want a baby, that would be great.

Man Flowers

The other night The Man mentioned that he hadn't bought me flowers in quite some time, and he needed to get on that.  I heartily agreed.  Then I realized something: I've never really bought him man flowers.

Now, I'm not talking about those bacon bouquets or anything; I'm talking about the female version of buying flowers to tell her man, "hey, I appreciate you and I think you're pretty rad.  Here's something you can look at daily to remind you of my feelings."  Growing up I always heard that the men need to continue courting the women past marriage; what about the other way around?

I mean sure, I try to look nice and smell nice, but that's also because I need to be professional at work.  I also clean up the house from time to time, but that's because when things get too messy I just shut down totally and I can't get any work done at all.  I tell The Man he's handsome and I allow him to pay on dates, but gosh dangit I wanna get my man some flowers.

In my quest for man flowers (wow, this is sounding a little racy...) I tried to think about the times when I make The Man happiest.  Besides the obvious (making cookies - get your mind out of the gutter), he always gets really happy when I clean up the house.  I had my goal.

Well, I got home from school around 5:45 and got started.  I was tired from teaching and grading and planning and next-to-no sleep, but I pushed through.  By 8 I had the oven cleaned, the microwave spotless, the kitchen looking awesome, the living room re-organized the way he wanted it, the bedroom re-organized the way he wanted it (we were kind of on a re-organizing roll this weekend), the bathroom deep-cleaned (the landlords decided to not install ventilation so we get mold ALL THE TIME), and the apartment just looking all-around great.  We'll ignore the fact that I shoved everything I didn't want to deal with into the second bedroom.  And you know what?  It felt great.  Kinda like how flowers brighten up the house for anyone living there, the cleaning made our house feel all the better.

Man Flowers for the win.

I did leave an empty vase in the middle of the kitchen table.  I mean, I'm not a saint.

Sore Legs, Frozen Fingers, and a Sunburned Face

It's October now, and that means . . . winter is coming.

Okay, so I've never watched "Game of Thrones."  I'm a frequent-enough visitor of the internet to get many of the references though.

Anyways, winter.  This year I've been having the totally not-normal desire to go snowboarding (not normal for me; totally normal for other people).  The thing is, I have no idea WHY I'm having this desire.  I can probably count on one hand the times I've gone snowboarding in my life.  Skiing is a little bit more, but all of those times happened when I was a little kid.  My skiing memories come down to: complaining about my boots not fitting right, crossing the front of my skiis more than I would like to admit, being cold, thermal underwear, snowveralls (oh, I just came up with a name for those things!), not knowing what to do with my poles, and one distinct memory of my father taking me on a very steep run, where I promptly sat down and scooted my way down the entire hill.  Oh, and being on a ski trip when Sonny Bono skiied into a tree and died.  I'm not sure how real that last memory is though; I have a penchant for fabricating memories.

My snowboarding memories are a bit better, since I was a little bit older and boys were involved.  The first time I ever snowboarded a boy that I had a crush on convinced me to get clip-ons instead of bindings.  Stupid, stupid Spotalotamus.  I spent the majority of that day on the bunny hill trying to get my stupid boots to attach to the stupid snowboard because the stupid ice kept building up on top of the stupid clips and...I have some issues with clip-ons.  Oh, and he also convinced me that I was "goofy" (snowboarding term, not mental capacity).  The next time I went snowboarding was with another boy I had a crush on.  He convinced me to use bindings and that I was "regular" (left foot forward).  This second time was a much better experience, but I kept switching my stance mid-run.  I would start off regular, then feel unsafe and switch to goofy, then feel unsafe again and switch to regular.  Actually, in the...four (?) times that I've gone snowboarding, I've never really figured out if I'm goofy or regular.  What I do know is that I'm slow, I can't toe-grind, and I have a knack for running into little kids (okay, it happened once, and they didn't fall over).

So that is why I am so confused about my sudden interest in snowboarding again.  Maybe it's my almost-never-used snowboarding outfit crying out to me.  Maybe it's the need to get an adrenaline rush since I don't know anyone with horses out here.  Maybe it's that I really like semi-squatting because of kickboxing.  I have no idea.  What I do know is that I am too poor to be a snowboarder right now, the only board I kind of own is at my parents' house the next state over (and it doesn't have bindings), and The Man is way too busy to go snowboarding with me.  Case in point: it's 3pm on a Saturday, and I've seen him for a total of 30 minutes.

I'm probably not going snowboarding this year.  Maybe next year.

The Worst Love Story Ever: Part 2

So where did I leave off?  My oh-so-smooth line?  K.

Turns out that line worked, and the super-cute guy that my friend had a crush on became the super-cute guy that I stole from my friend.  Two weeks after the kiss I convinced him that we needed to start dating by giving him the ultimatum of "either we start dating or we stop kissing."  Romantic, right?  A few weeks after that I started telling him that I loved him (because...I'm like that) and a few weeks after that he finally said, "I think I might be starting to love you too."  Which I decided to interpret as "I love you."  We ended up dating for a few months, and then I left to go back to school and my new man stayed home.

I'm not sure if you've heard this before, but long-distance relationships suck hardcore.  There was an upside of my lip-locking buddy being thousands of miles away though; I got straight A's that semester.  See, when you're depressed nobody wants to hang out with you, and you don't want to hang out with anybody.  You can either get a lot of TV watched or get a lot of work done, and luckily I didn't have Netflix.  After 6 weeks of not seeing him I called him up and told him that he either had to visit me or I'd break up with him because he wasn't serious about the relationship.  And...that worked out spectacularly for me because I lost a boyfriend that night.

The end.

Only you know that it's not because if you're reading this it's almost certain that you know me in real life and you know exactly what happened next.

See, I really liked this short but attractive man.  It wasn't just his impressive facial structure; from the very first time I had hung out with him it just felt...easy.  And right.  My older brother had always been my best friend, and when he left on a two-year mission for our church I had a hole in my heart where my best friend should have been.  The guy I stole replaced that missing portion of my heart.  He was funny, intelligent, kind, and helpful, and he became the best friend that I needed.

And that is why our break-up only lasted like...three days.  A while later we got married, and that guy I stole became The Man.

And he is just the best.
This was a couple of years ago; the only time I got him to do a fauxhawk.

So our love story isn't really as cute as most you hear, and it isn't a story I want my kids to emulate ("oh yeah, Suzy, go ahead and make moves on that boy and make out with him for weeks before committing"), but it's our story.  Oh, the proposal!

Remember that night hike I went on with him?  When I called my friend from The Man's phone?  Well when he proposed he took me back on that hike.  At night.  I knew it was coming, I just didn't know at what point he would get down on his knee.  Turns out it would be at the top of the hill, as I started heading down the other side.  He yanked on the hood of my sweatshirt from behind, and I jerked back a little bit, turned around, and saw him with the ring in his hand.  I can't even remember if he was on his knee or not...probably.  Who really cares though?

The Worst Love Story Ever

So it's 3:30 in the morning.  I woke up at 2 without an alarm.  It wasn't just a look-at-the-clock-and-groan-and-go-back-to-bed wake up, it was a caffeine jolt of energy.  And all because of stupid stupid midterms.  Midterms suck, y'all.  I thought I was on top of my grading, but in the past two days I have graded hundreds and hundreds of papers.  And I'm not even close to done!  It's been on my mind so much that apparently my brain thinks I needed to be awake and grading more than I needed to be asleep.
I'll show you, Brain.

In my break time I'm going to take my mind off my students totally and instead tell you a story: the worst love story ever.

Once upon a time there was a Spotalotamus.  Wait, no...Let's start that over.

It was the end of my sophomore year of college.  The school I went to has a weird track system, so I was going to school in the summer time and one of my roommates (also a good friend since...middle school, I think) was back home enjoying her time off.  She met a nice young man and started telling me stories about him.  She also had me look at pictures of him on Facebook (as all girls do, don't you lie), but I wasn't all that impressed.  However, I was happy for her.  She was moving on from a boyfriend I had hated and enjoying her summer time with this new boy.  Due to the weird track system, she was going back to school for the fall and I was coming home for my "summertime," so she asked me to become friends with the guy so I could find out if he was interested in her or not.

Fall rolled around and I was back home, and I finally met him one day at a service project.  Turns out he was super attractive, he just didn't look all that great in photographs.  Luckily for my friend, however, the guy was two inches shorter than me, and that's just a huge no-no in my book.  Unluckily for my friend I'm a sucker for good-looking faces (aren't we all?) and as the day went on I found myself flirting with him more and more.  When I went home that night I happily (and jokingly) informed my roommate/friend that her man and I were now best friends and I would be getting that information soon.

And then the trouble really started.  See, it turns out I actually enjoyed being around this guy, so I started hanging out with him more and more.  One time I even called him at 10 at night to go on a hike; he reluctantly agreed.  On the way to the hiking area I realized I had forgotten how to get there and I didn't have my phone, so I called my roommate/friend.  From the phone of the guy she liked.  At 10pm.  Because I'm a stupid jerk.  Even worse, I called her AFTER the hike to tell her that I was starting to become interested in her man, but I could totally stop at any time if she wanted me to because, you know, friendship!  Since she was clearly the better friend, she said something about just wanting me to be happy, but I could hear it in her voice that she was upset, so like the good friend that I am I listened to her words and not her tone and decided to go for it.

I shamelessly went after this poor young man, and late one night it was I that used the cheesy pick-up line: "I'm cold..."  He came closer and put his arm around me, and I brazenly turned my face up and went in for a kiss.  He pulled back a little, saying, "I've never kissed anyone before."  So, naturally (since it's been established that I'm kind of stupid), I responded with the oh-so-smooth, "it's okay; I'll teach you how."

To be continued (since the ungraded papers are calling my name)

A(nother) Rant

There’s a phrase I think we should all agree to stop using.  That phrase is “wait until you’re [insert a one-up here].” 

Maybe it’s just my stage in life, with all my friends having babies and people expecting me to do the same, but the one I get is “wait until you’re a mother” or “wait until you’re a parent.”  I didn’t realize how much it bugged me until recently. 

See, I believe that my feelings are valid.  Sure, maybe I’m not as tired as you or as stressed as you, but I am still PLENTY tired.  I am still PLENTY worn out from teaching all day.  Allow me to decide for myself whether my feelings are real or not.

If a child stubbed its toe and started crying about how much it hurt, you wouldn’t snicker and say, “oh, just wait until you break a bone” (unless you’re a terrible human being).  You would say something along the lines of, “oh, that looks painful.  How can I help you?”

Why can’t we do the same with adults?  Sure, the unemployed college student may be complaining about their workload and that may seem like a very petty thing if you work three jobs or have seventeen children or who-knows-what, but think about when you were in a similar situation.  Think about how stressful life seemed at the time.  Did you want to be told something akin to, “well you need to quit whining because you ain’t seen nothin’ yet and you’re not really in pain, you just think you are because you haven’t experienced life enough?”  (Oh, how it pained me to put that question mark there…but I couldn’t leave that beginning question hanging.)

Maybe people say things like that because the person being addressed never really calls you out on belittling them.  I sure don’t.  When people use the “wait until you’re a mother” line on me I’ll just smile pitifully and agree that, yeah, they’re probably right.  I will be more tired when I’m a mother.  Inside I get upset, but I’m so non-confrontational that I just push that feeling down until it comes bursting out in diary entries or nightly conversations with The Man or a blog post.

So here’s my burst: Stop telling me that my feelings are not real.  Stop telling ANYONE that their feelings are not real.  If they say they’re stressed, take their word for it.  If you can’t comfort them yourself, throw chocolate or video games or spa coupons or paintball gear at them.  For the love of huckleberry ice cream though, do NOT tell them to nut up or shut up.  It makes us feel like worthless stupid whiners.  We’re stressed/tired/heartbroken/depressed/worried enough as it is.

“Mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort” –Mosiah 8:19.  If someone’s having a hard time, let’s agree as a species to sympathize with them instead of telling them to grow up.  Let’s get back to that human decency thing I’ve heard so much about.  Agreed?

Let's Talk about Plants, Baby; Let's Talk about You and Me...

Hey there, it's been a while!

I'm not sure what to write on today.  I'm currently procrastinating my hammering out of next week's lesson plans, grading, and cleaning my house, and I thought this would be a semi-productive outlet for that procrastination.

I think I'll write about plants.

Snooze-fest, right?  Well, not really.  See, I think we know how important plants are, but we don't really KNOW how important plants are.  Sure, they're pretty, and sure, they can smell nice, but did you ever stop and think about how much of your life you owe to plants?

I never really cared about plants all that much.  Botany was my least favorite subject (I took four classes on it), I kill every plant I try to keep in my house (not on purpose), and I don't enjoy eating them all that much.  I take that back.  Fruit is pretty awesome.

Teaching Biology has given me a new-found respect for plants, however, and I'd like to share that respect with you.

1. Plants give us the oxygen we need to breathe.
I'm starting off with the most obvious one.  Plants take our waste product (well, sometimes they take a few of our waste products) and make it into oxygen (their waste product).  If photosynthetic bacteria hadn't started photosynthesizing billions of years ago, the atmosphere would never have been able to sustain life as we know it.  Earth would still be surrounded by a cloud of carbon dioxide and nitrogen from those awesome volcanoes (which we also owe a huge high-five to), and the only life forms would be those thermophilic (heat-loving) bacteria you can still find in places like Yellowstone.

2. Plants give us the sugar we need for energy.
Blasphemy!  You may scream.  Sugar comes from terrible big corporations that are out to make us zombies addicted to their food and we should cut it out of our diets completely!
Or maybe you didn't scream that.  Hopefully you didn't.
Besides oxygen, the other waste product of photosynthesis is sugar.  Plants take in carbon dioxide and light waves, and they make glorious, glorious sugar.  If you can't photosynthesize, you have to get your sugar from eating something that does (or something that ate something that does).  Even if we had somehow managed to come about without oxygen, we wouldn't have an energy source, because without sugar we don't have ATP (adenosine tri-phosphate), and without ATP, you are a puddle of useless goo.

3. Plants give us the carbon we need to form cells.
There's a reason humans are called carbon-based life forms in science fiction.  Can you guess why?
Aw, you little genius, you!
And can you guess where we get carbon from?
Sugar!  Good ol' C6H12O6 (glucose) made from photosynthesis.  Without plants making sugar and us eating plants (or eating things that eat plants), we wouldn't have the carbon we need to create the cells in our body.  Way to go plants!

4. Plants give us the nitrogen we need to make proteins. 
How much do you know about amino acids?
Well, you've probably heard the metaphor about DNA being a blueprint.  The thing it's a blueprint for?  Amino acids.  There are 21 amino acids, and different combinations of amino acids code for different proteins, and EVERYTHING in life is made up of proteins.  Our bodies can produce some amino acids, and others we need to get from our diets.  You know what else?  Every single amino acid has at least one nitrogen atom.
You may know that around 78% of Earth's atmosphere is made up of nitrogen, but did you know that we can't do anything with the nitrogen found in the atmosphere?  Guess who we have to rely on to get us that nitrogen?  If you guessed plants, you're catching on ;)
Not all plants can get us the nitrogen we need, mind you.  They have to have special bacteria in their roots to grab onto the nitrogen found in the atmosphere (N2), rip it apart, and make it into a form our bodies can handle (usually nitrate, which is NO3-).  Legumes (like beans, peas, and alfalfa) are the most common plants that can convert nitrogen for us, which is why your mother always told you to eat your peas.

5. Plants give us the over-stimulation we need to de-stress.
A man named Richard Louv wrote a book about how as a society we are pulling more and more away from nature, and how that pull away is hurting our emotional well-being.  It's called Last Child in the Woods, and even though it repeats itself quite a bit after a while I recommend at least getting through half of it.
One thing Louv talks about is the rising incidents of ADD in America.  If you've learned about ADD, you know that people with it have a hyper-focus mode.  The problem is they aren't always focused on the things we want them to be.  Louv goes into studies of children with ADD being exposed to nature.  Turns out the over-stimulation calms the children down considerably, making them more able to focus on the task at hand when they're asked to do school work or pay attention at home.  If they can't hyper-focus, they can let themselves relax.  I don't know if you've felt "the healing power of nature," but I sure have.  Even on days when my mind is going 80 miles a minute, going into nature calms me down almost immediately.  Suddenly I'm trying to take in the enormity of the sky, the height of the trees, the smell of the world around me, and I forget what I was so worried about.

So did I succeed in convincing you about the radical nature of plants?  (I'm trying to bring "radical" back; work with me here)

You owe plants quite a bit.  Go out and high-five a tree today or something.

Joy Versus Pleasure

I don't know about you guys, but I grew up learning that joy and pleasure were two different things.  When I went to look them up in the dictionary, I was a bit surprised:

Joy: a very glad feeling; happiness, delight
Pleasure: a pleased feeling; delight; one's wish, will or choice

Wait, so...They mean the same thing?  What do you think of when you hear the word pleasure though?  What about joy?

When I think of pleasure I think of coming home from a hard day of work, kicking my feet up on the coffee table, sinking into the couch, and biting into a spectacular chocolate bar.  Or maybe sliding into a hot bubble bath after being out in a rainstorm and hearing the rain pounding against the windows while I sit enveloped in warmth.  Or maybe getting kissed on the cheek while laughing.  Those things bring me pleasure.  Maybe for you it's watching your sports team pull out the winner from a neck-and-neck game.  Or driving your motorbike super fast down a freeway.  Or singing along to your favorite song in the car.  Pleasure is awesome.

When I think of joy I think of looking into The Man's eyes on our wedding day and knowing that I would be spending eternity with the man that I love.  I think of my parents' house on Christmas day, with my millions of siblings  (ok, 8 siblings) ripping open presents and hugging each other and laughing and getting excited about giving gifts to each other.  I think about what it will feel like to hold my own child in my arms for the very first time (and the thousands of times after that).  I think about late nights spent talking with friends, the feelings I get at church, and hugging.  Joy feels different to me.

At church today one of the speakers put it into much better words that I ever could have: Pleasure is about me and now; joy is about us and forever.

Looking back at what brings me pleasure, I can totally agree.  Pleasure is a personal thing.  It's about getting what you want at that moment.  Even the definition kind of agrees with me there: one's wish, will, or choice.  Pleasure isn't really about making other people happy, it's about making yourself happy.  And there is nothing wrong with that at all.  We should definitely get pleasure out of life.  Life would be a whole lot less fun without moments of pleasure.

However.  "The kingdom of God is not meat and drink; but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost" - Romans 14:17.  "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith" -Galations 5:22.  "Men are, that they might have joy" -2 Nephi 2:25.  We're not here for fleeting moments of pleasure; we're here for joy.  The joy of family, the joy of friends, the joy of service, the joy of knowing that you are loved and important and necessary.

I believe joy is garnered from growing positive relationships with each other, serving people who need our help, recognizing your blessings, and being grateful for the good instead of focusing on the negative.  Joy is that feeling that we've found a little bit of Heaven on Earth.  Joy is an almost overwhelming feeling where you can almost feel God's arms wrapped around you.  Joy is so much more than pleasure.  Joy, to me, is God showing us a tiny fraction of how much He loves us.

If you've felt true joy, you know exactly what I'm talking about.  Eating an amazing chocolate bar will NEVER be as great as holding your newborn child.  I'm not saying the chocolate isn't wonderful, I'm just saying the child is so much more so.

Are you ready for today's challenge?  Bring joy into your life.  Foster meaningful relationships.  Help someone out.  Call up your parents or siblings or children and tell them you love them.  List the blessings in your life and thank God for all He has given you.  I promise you that if you actively try to bring joy into your life it will come, and it will change you for the better.

By Request: Some Workouts

I was asked today if I would post some links to my favorite workouts on my blog.  My favorite ones range from 10 minutes to 55 minutes, and they're all possible to do in your house with little to no equipment.  I love that because I don't have to be sweaty in gross in the gym; I can just flail around all uncoordinated in my living room and nobody will judge or stare.  So if you're looking for some fun workout videos, here are my top 8:

*Disclaimer: These videos are mainly geared towards women, but that doesn't mean they don't work just as well for guys.  Give it a try!

Pop Pilates Beginners

This is great for if you're just starting workouts again.  Pilates is nice and low-impact, but it's awesome for toning your body.  This particular workout is about 30 minutes long and she introduces you to form, breathing, and all that good stuff you need to do pilates successfully.

Pop Pilates Full Body

Once you're comfortable with the beginners video, this is a nice step up.  It's still not too difficult, but you will feel the burn in your abs when she does that portion.  This workout is about 15 minutes long.

Pop Pilates Arms

This workout is short (10 minutes) but VERY worth it if you're trying to tone up your arms.  Unless you already work out your arms a lot, you're going to be sore.  In a good way.
*Edit: I just did this one...it wasn't nearly as difficult as I remembered it.  Maybe I'll feel differently tomorrow though :P

Jillian Michaels Kickboxing

Now we're moving into the ones that are a little bit more intense.  This one's not too bad, but she will work you.  The workout only lasts about 20 minutes, it's easy to follow along with, and it's pretty fun.

Jillian Michaels Banish Fat Boost Metabolism

This one will make you hate Jillian a bit more.  Probably because this is a 55 minute workout.  I love this video for the circuits.  It's good to change up the type of exercise you're doing, and Jillian changes it up enough so your muscles don't get too exhausted, but you are working.

Workout TV Kickboxing

My favorite right here.  It's a 40 minute video with lots of punching and a little bit of kicking.  I think Chris is what makes it so fun though; she cheers you on and just looks so darn excited the entire time.

Workout TV Total Body

Another 40 minute workout with Chris, but this one hurts more (once again, in a good way).  This workout uses circuits a lot more too; she alternates between strength and endurance.  You need hand weights for this one; a set of 10 lbs and a set of 5 lbs should work great.

Coach Kozak MMA

I put this one last not because it's especially long (15 minutes) or hard, but because it's the hardest to follow along with.  He moves very quickly and if you don't know your calls and you aren't watching closely it's easy to get lost.  It is a good workout though.

I mentioned it in one of the descriptions, but remember to change up your workouts.  Throw in some running or some weights-only days to give your body a bit of rest.  And, of course, drink a lot of water!

I would tell you that exercise is only a quarter of the battle and that if you're trying to lose weight or tone up changing your diet is a necessary part of your plan, but who am I kidding?  Well, no, I said that wrong.  DIET IS THE MOST IMPORTANT PART.  I just won't tell you my diet because I'm a stinking hypocrite and I don't eat well.  You should though.

Feel free to post your favorite workouts in the comment section!

Don't Be A Cyrano (even though he's amazing)

Struggles are an interesting thing.  When it's something minor, I'm usually willing to whine about it to the entire world.  When I'm struggling with something that occupies the majority of my thoughts and causes me to break down in crying fits from time to time, I keep that struggle hidden and I'm not willing to ask for help when I really need it the most.

For example, when I have a headache or my muscles are sore or my insides are threatening to burst in righteous anger I'll mention it to The Man every two seconds (give or take).  Usually the struggle is due to a stupid decision I made, like staring at the computer screen for too long, taking too many rest days between workouts, or eating an entire pan of brownies when I know that my insides can barely handle the sugar in a single cup of juice before they start protesting.  I know that I was stupid, and I whine both about my stupidity and about the consequences that I have to deal with.  I'm also not shy about asking to be held or coddled or reassured that it's perfectly okay for me to spend the entire day lying on the couch moaning.

It's only when the situation is out of my hands that I clam up.  I can admit to being stupid; that's easy.  I can whine about a tummy ache because it's not personal and it doesn't make me feel like something is wrong with me.  I can ask for help when I step on a Lego because I can say something simple like, "hey, I stepped on a Lego, I'm in pain.  Please comfort me."  It's a little more complicated to say something like, "hey, I would love to be growing my family right now but we tried for a year and nothing happened and I feel like I'm broken and it's quite painful sometimes to see the people I love having babies and getting excited about their new lives as parents because it's something that just doesn't seem to be in the cards for us right now so I try to act like I really don't want kids and I make jokes about wanting to stay skinny or loving my sleep but really truly honestly deep down inside I'm breaking a little bit."

Why is that?  Why is it that at our greatest moments of need, so many of us turn inward instead of turning outward and admitting that, yes, we actually are hurting?  Is it because we're afraid of that look of pity we'll get from others?  Is it because we're afraid to admit that we have insecurities and struggles just like everybody else?  Or is it simply because we have no idea how anybody else could help us out of our current struggle?

I think I've kind of romanticized holding in my pain a bit.  I think of it as an act of courage or strength.  I'm strong because the world can't see that I'm actually weak at times.  What I'm starting to realize is, maybe I've got it backwards.  I recently had a friend admit a very personal and painful struggle to me, and it didn't make me think less of him at all; it deepened my respect.  Maybe it's time that we stop holding it in, and we ask others for their acceptance, their love, and their prayers.  The people who love us want us to be happy, and they have no way to help us get there if they have no idea that we're struggling.

Today's challenge: if you're struggling with something, let someone know.  Perhaps they can be your "sponsor," giving you a shoulder to cry on the super hard days.  Perhaps they'll be able to give you a message of hope, or point you down a path you didn't even know was available to you.  Know that you do not have to go through your struggles alone.  You are loved.  People want to be there for you.  Let them.

First Day of Teaching

I haven’t posted in a while, and I apologize.  I know you’re all waiting on the edges of your seats for my posts, but I’ve been a little busy lately.  Here’s why:

I started my very first teaching job today (if you discount the week of training I did last week).  It was crazy how quickly my brain switched right back into the teacher mode that student teaching put me into.  One minute I was freaking out, the next I was calling out students, making terrible teacher jokes, and going off on tangents so my lesson plan would last the full 50 minutes.  It was kind of cool. 

A few things I learned/remembered today:

-I pace when I teach.  Like, a lot.  My classroom has the desks along the sides and a nice little path down the middle (“A path!  A path!”), and I took FULL advantage of that path.  I was speedwalking back and forth while telling student exciting stories about Tesla versus Edison, the NASA scientist who claims to have invented a warp drive (yeah, no), and the chickens that we made grow teeth.  And while I like to think that I’m in pretty good shape, I am SORE!  I guess pacing for 8 hours is a little more strenuous than running for one.

-I already have students exactly like the ones I student taught, and I think that’s going to happen every year.  It’s kind of strange how similar some of my students are to past students.  They sit in similar places in the class, make similar comments, and some of them even look similar.  Do any teachers read this blog that could back me up on this?  Like, are all students clones?

-I may have already made a few kids hate me, but I honestly think it’s going to be better for the class in the long run.  In student teaching I started off as a huge pushover, and I paid for it.  This time around I decided that I am an adult, I know what I’m talking about, and gosh darnit, I deserve to be respected!  So I called students out, made them change seats, and said in no uncertain terms that if they messed around at all during labs I would kick them out of my class (maybe permanently).  It was kind of exciting to see the fear in their eyes when I got serious.

-There is a TON of administration that goes into teaching.  Like, you don’t just get to teach a class and ignore the rest of the school.  ESPECIALLY not in a charter like mine.  I forgot about that.

-I am super ADD.  I was bouncing all over the place, from tangent to tangent.  I wore some rubber bracelets (I call them my fidget bands) so I wouldn’t be popping marker caps like I tend to do, but I ended up popping caps anyways.  I even climbed up on a chair and did the crane pose at one point.  If I were my student I really wouldn’t know how to react to me.  The worst parts were when my mind was jumping all over the place and I’d forget what I was talking about…I’d just stare at the students for a little bit, trying to get my train of thought back.  And no, it wasn’t just nerves.  If you’ve been around me for longer than an hour, you’ve probably realized that I’m all over the place.  It’s ridiculous.

-I really do love teaching.  Maybe it’s just my need for attention, but I loved seeing excitement in the kids’ eyes as I told them science stories and some of the awesome things that are happening in the science world right now.  I had teenagers entranced and asking questions and gasping and getting fully involved in discussions.  Teenagers, people!  It’s quite the rush.  Teaching honestly is rewarding, and even invigorating at times (and also the most draining thing in the world at other times).

So, yeah.  I’m a bona fide teacher.  I’m a grown-up with a salary.  I have hundreds of kids whose educations depend on me.  It’s terrifying and exciting and challenging and I’m remembering how much I love it.  Check back with me in a few months though :P

The Taming of the Shrew

Today is my mother's birthday; she's turning...29.  Ish.

My mum is incredible.  She has raised 9 children, raced several 100-mile bike races in recent years, is pursuing a college degree, is actively fighting the school board back home for student privacy, makes friends wherever she goes, and does it all with an auto-immune disease, hypothyroidism, and osteoporosis.  I can't think of many people that I respect and love like I do my mother.

On top of all that, my mum is gorgeous.  I don't think she's
aged since she was 22.

Like all teenage girls (except for my cousin; shout-out to you, Cuz!) I didn't always love my mother like I do now.  In fact, from about 9 to 15 years old I made her life a living Hell.

I'm the first girl in my family, and my older brothers are the perfect children, so my mum was in for quite a shock when I came around.  I may seem calm and cool and collected in public, but I am a mood-swinging mess, and adolescence just amplified it.  I honestly wouldn't be surprised if the movie of my life shows a screaming fight every single day with my mother for those six years.

When I was around 16 years old I decided that I really hated the person I had become.  I yelled at my parents, my siblings, and my friends, my language was filthy, I dressed in clothes that were way too small for someone my size, and I just hated being at home.  Wow, maybe this should have been the post that I titled "I Was a Teenage Dirtbag."  Anyways, the point is that I was a tool, and I finally realized it.  I decided at that point that I wasn't going to be that person anymore.

See, even when I was acting like a beast sprung from the fiery pit itself, my mother still tried to impress good values upon me and my siblings.  She worked hard, she was unselfish in her service, she loved my father and treated him well, and she tried to treat everyone she met with kindness and respect.  She didn't give up her values just because I had, and that made all the difference.  Deep down inside of my little black heart I knew that I was a terrible person.  I knew I made life miserable for my entire family, and I knew that I was capable of being so much better.  Due to my mother's love and teaching, I knew I could change.

I started off with something very little.  I started telling my mother that I loved her every time I left the house.  Sometimes I didn't mean it and sometimes it was just out of habit, but I did it.  Every single time.  When I talked to her on the phone, I would always end with, "I love you."  I am totally and 100% serious when I say those three words changed my entire life.

I had been pushing my mother away for years and years, when all she wanted to do was love me.  Once I started expressing love for her, she instantly forgave me for all the tears and pain I had caused her for so long.  She would tell me she loved me back, she would hug me, and she would tell me she was proud of me.  Our relationship took a complete 180.  More than that, it changed me.  I stopped fighting with my mother, so my home became a much nicer place.  My siblings were less afraid of me, my parents were overjoyed to have me acting different, and I started to love being home.  When I felt that I was loved at home, it gave me the courage to change my behavior outside of the home.  Instead of being sarcastic, mean, and bitter I just became a little weird and crazy.  The change happened just in time for me to leave for college too, so for the first time in a very very long time, I actually felt homesick when I left.  I missed my family.  It was a weird experience for me.  Before that I had only missed my dog when I left (and that's not a joke, sadly).

We've almost hit the point in time where I've loved my family longer than I despised them, and that's pretty cool to me.  I know I made the best decision of my life that day.

The point of my story is this: You are not a static being.  If you find yourself unhappy with where you are in life, change.  Maybe it will be easy, and maybe it will be the hardest thing you ever do, but I promise you it is possible.

Also, to the parents of teenagers, things will get better.  Everybody goes through a little turd phase.  Keep loving your child.  Keep teaching them good values.  Maybe they won't take the exact path you want them to take, but they will become amazing people.  Have faith in them.  Let them know you believe in them and in their dreams.  And most importantly, love them through everything.

Going Naked: A Follow-Up

Well, the day has finally come: I've reached the end of my journey.

For the past two weeks I've been "going naked" every day.  Tomorrow morning I will allow myself to free my make-up from the prison I've been holding it in (I just put it in a different cupboard than usual), and I just may paint my face up again.

Or maybe I won't; I don't really care.

There have been some awesome things that have come about due to my lack of make-up.  Here are the top 10:

1. Getting ready in the morning takes even less time.
2. I can actually rub my eyes when they itch.
3. I don't have to scrub the make-up off my face every night.
4. I don't wake up with raccoon eyes despite the previous night's scrubbing.
5. If I've been outside and it's really hot and I want to cool down, I can just find a bathroom and splash water all over my face.
6. My crying face is still hideous, but at least I don't have black streaks to add to the grossness now.
7. I honestly think my zits clear up quicker (but I have no evidence to back this up).
8. I focused a bit more on my hair, so I learned some new hairstyles that I can pull off.
9. Instead of packing on the powder when my face got shiny I just washed it and dried it off.  Guess what?  It has the same effect, lasts just as long, and you don't have to carry around powder!
10. I don't feel tired and ugly without make-up anymore.  In fact, some days I looked in the mirror and saw a downright sexy lady looking back at me.

The funniest part of all this was that The Man didn't even notice a difference at all.  About five days into the challenge I told him what I was doing and he said something along the lines of, "well you look exactly the same."  As ugly as I thought I was those first few days, my husband still thought I was pretty darn attractive.

Strangers didn't give me weird looks, babies didn't cry when they looked at my face, and not a single person suggested that I cover up the abomination I call a face with a paper bag.  Shocking, right?  On my super-sexy days, I could even turn a couple of heads.

So if you were scared to go without make-up because you assumed people would be shocked and appalled by your unpainted face, think again!  I'll renew my challenge: go without make-up!  It's pretty awesome, and I promise if you do it for long enough, you're going to start loving your natural face.



(Day one versus day fifteen)



It's funny; looking at these photos you can tell that I look EXACTLY the same; but I feel worlds better about looking like that now.  Sure, I'm not going to win any beauty pageants, but I think I look pretty great :)

Also, selfies with iPads look ridiculous.  Come on, Spotalotamus; use a normal camera.

Adult-ing (If the Definition of Literally Can Change, Adult-ing Can Be a Verb)

This afternoon I ran into a guy that I've known for about 12 years.  I went to school with him, ran cross country with him, he dated one of my friends, we went to the same church, he's good friends with my older brother...basically I know this guy pretty well.  I haven't seen him in at least a year though, so as I rode my bike past him my only thought was, "hey, that guy looks kind of familiar."  As soon as I realized who it was I stopped my bike and turned around to talk to him for a minute.  He's married now with a kid on the way, and it was weird because he didn't look like himself.  He looked like an adult man.

I honestly don't know how to explain that any better.  To me, my friends look just like they always have; we're kind of grown-up teenagers.  My friends have careers, children, houses, spouses, and degrees, but I never really realized that we are adults now.

It kind of opened my eyes a little bit.  See, I've always felt a little weird and apprehensive about my abilities as a teacher because I thought that my students just saw me as a few years older than them (which I am), but they see something totally different.  They see a woman who has studied and worked several jobs and lives on her own and pays taxes and worries about things like health insurance.  My students see me as an adult.

Not just that, but strangers who have no idea who I am or what I've done with my life see me as an adult.

Gone are the days of my actions being excusable due to my age.  Gone are the days of talking about what we want to do when we graduate college.  Gone are the 3am Walmart runs and the unabashed non-committal make-outs.  And the weirdest part?  I'm kind of starting to like it.

I like that other adults actually consider my ideas when I talk.  I like signing my own waiver forms and having my own name on my bank account and declining waiters' offers of alcohol with my meal.  I get excited when I think about mortgages, car loans, insurance forms, and all that other stuff because I AM DOING IT.  I am adult-ing.  I'm proving to myself that I CAN be responsible and capable and hard-working and I will NOT starve or go without clothes when I don't live with my mother.

I'm an adult, and I think I'm going to own that now.

Why I Am a Cat Person

When I was growing up we always had cats and a dog in the house (we also had pets that lasted for much shorter periods of time, like parakeets, lovebirds, mice, hamsters, fish, crawdads, frogs, crickets, lizards, a brief stint with a snake, and probably many more I'm forgetting).  Even now when I go home to visit my family is housing three cats (one of them my own), a dog, some fish, a bearded dragon, and a four-year-old boy (my youngest brother).  I am so accustomed to having animals in the house that leaving my cat back home so The Man and I could live in our current apartment made me cry for days.  It just doesn't feel right to not have something to care for, which might be why I've been more baby-hungry than usual lately.  What I mean to say is, I really miss my cat, y'all.

How do you NOT miss something this adorable?
And if you can read her collar, yes, her name is C.A.T.

That extremely vocal ball of fluff and bad breath is the reason I decided to write this post today - to fight for cat ladies everywhere.  By the end I hope to have you convinced that cats are pretty darn awesome.

1. Cats are soft

There's no arguing with this one, folks.  Cats are super soft.  I have yet to meet a coarse-haired cat, but I have met many coarse-haired dogs.  Lots of dogs have been bred for their coarse hair because of its ability to repel water, and since nobody's really expecting their cats to swim across a lake to retrieve the duck they just shot, cats are almost all soft and fluffy.

2. Cats can be dropped 

This is especially awesome for when you have a cat that doesn't like to be cuddled.  You pick it up, snuggle it for half a second, and before its claws come out you just pull your arms back and let it drop to the ground.

Little known fact: The "come at me, bro" stance is really just people showing
off how great they are at dropping enraged cats.  See these arms?  No scars!
It's pretty intimidating when you know someone can move that fast.

If you picked up your dog and then let it fall on the ground, you're going to be getting some seriously sad-looking puppy dog eyes for the rest of the day.

3. Cats couldn't care less about you

Dogs have needs.  Mainly, they need your attention ALL THE TIME.  They'll follow you around the house with that look in their eyes.  You know the one.  'What are you doing?  Can I do it too?  Can we go for a walk?  Can I eat that?  Hey, you should totally pet me right now; that'd be so rad!"

Cats sit on the highest perch in the house and look at you with a very different look in their eyes.  You know the one.  "Oh.  It's you.  You're still here.  I'm going to close my eyes and when they open again you better be gone."

Though when you do need a cuddle buddy, cats are there.  They're happy to steal your body heat while you're sitting at the computer, or reading a book in bed, or sitting on the toilet (ok, maybe that last one is just inconvenient).  Cats are cuddly without being needy.  Like a good significant other.

4. Cats NATURALLY want to poop and pee in the litterbox

Even the big cats bury their poop.  It's an instinctual reaction to keep predators or competition off their scent.  Since it's burned into their brains, it's as easy to litterbox-train a cat as it is for me to coerce The Man into eating the desserts I bake.  They WANT to use it.  Sure, they track a little litter through the house because of it, but isn't that nicer than being woken up at 5 every morning by your dog that really really really needs to go pee right this second?

Plus, you have a fail-safe way of knowing your cats feelings.  If your cat poops or pees OUTSIDE of the litterbox, you know something is terribly wrong.  Something is stressing them out, they're sick, or you've been ignoring them for weeks.

5. Cats usually don't eat vomit, poop, garbage, or rotting corpses

If your cat does one of those things, they're probably not feeling well.  Cats are notoriously picky eaters, so you pretty much know where their mouth has been.  If you have an outside cat, that mouth has been murdering something.  Now, my cat loves to lick people, because she's kind of weird, but she's an inside cat so I know that mouth has only been used for eating food, drinking water, and cleaning herself.  Which doesn't seem as bad to me as a dog's mouth, even though they're probably pretty comparable.

6. Cats are hilarious

Little kids get the "10 o'clock crazies;" cats get the "all-the-time crazies."  Cats will freak out for no good reason and start sprinting around the house, showing a better knowledge of parkour than any human can ever hope to achieve.  When you're bored and home alone, this can be more entertaining than you will ever know.

Awwww yis!  Something is about to go down.
(Those eyes do look digitally enhanced, but it's pretty darn close to reality.)

7. Cats can be left inside all day

This is an awesome cat trait.  Maybe you work full-time, or go to school full-time, or maybe you're really into all-day snowboarding trips.  Cats are cool with that.  You just tell it goodbye, pat its head as it glares at you, and walk out the door.  They won't bite your table legs, they won't destroy your furniture, they won't howl inconsolably for hours...They just sleep.  

So to sum it up, cats are dogs without all the trouble of potty-training, neediness, and barks.  Cats are amazing.  Plus, we have Grumpy Cat.  So, automatic win.

Pure awesome.

Meet My Pet, Peeve

As soon as I graduated college, I went right back for more school so I could earn an endorsement for teaching Chemistry.  Yesterday morning I was sitting in my Organic Chemistry class and I heard the worst sound in the world: crunching.

Now, usually I'm okay with crunching, whether it's dried leaves, bike tires on gravel, or an apple in my own mouth.  This crunching was different though; it was the crunch of someone eating granola in the middle of a lecture.  Maybe it's because I was secretly jealous that this student had the foresight to bring a snack to the two-hour lecture, or maybe it was because I could barely hear the professor over the impressive jaw smashes of the granola-masticating human, but it drove me crazy.

It was there in the lecture hall, slinging hateful insults at the unknowing student through thoughts that I realized that I have a problem with eating noises.  A couple of nights ago, in fact, I had been silently screaming at The Man for eating a burrito next to me.  Because I'm a jerk face.

Of course, my own eating noises are usually fine, but other people eating is just terrible for me.  It's one of my pet peeves.

I have many other pet peeves: I absolutely hate it when people write "LOL" or use "u" instead of adding two stinking letters and looking worlds more educated.  It frustrates me to no end when people neglect to use their turn signals while driving.  Girls that do the Disney version of a sneeze (you know what I'm talking about; that high-pitched squeaky noise that sounds exactly like "ah-choo!") make me want to slap them and tell them to sneeze like a human.  Basically I can be a very hateful person when it comes to my pet peeves, is what I'm saying.

So as I was mulling over my jerkish ways I started thinking about the phrase "pet peeve."  Why is it a pet?  Why isn't it just a "peeve?"

I decided that it's because we treat our peeves like pets*.  We don't ignore them and get on with our lives, because then our pets would die.  We think about them often, sometimes we feed them by picking out annoying people and focusing on how much we hate them, and we nurture our little peeves.  Where would we be without our peeves?  We wouldn't be as "unique."  There's no way in the world someone else is annoyed by the same things we are; our peeves make us special and different.  Just like a cat.  Ok, maybe the metaphor doesn't work perfectly.

So here's my challenge for the day: let one of your pet peeves die.  Maybe you're going to finally wear socks with sandals and realize how heavenly it is, maybe you're going to "LOL back and forth on the text line" (yeah...Black Eyed Peas), or maybe you're going to sit back and ignore it when your significant other blatantly picks their nose in front of you.  Whatever it is, I salute you for your courage and strength.  I think I'll tackle my food-noise problem first :)

*Other names for a pet besides Peeve: Damned Spot, Ruprecht, Wade Wilson (if you got all of those references, we can be friends)

How I Stopped Running from Jell-O

I'm one of those people that has super vivid dreams all the time.  The upside of this is some awesome flying dreams.  The downside is some terrifying nightmares.  Sometimes my nightmares are about legitimate fears, like someone breaking into our house and trying to harm us, and sometimes I have dreams about gelatinous blobs chasing me.  In dream world, those things are terrifying.

They're coming after me!

The worst part about my nightmares is my cowardice.  I never turn and fight in my dreams; I always run away.  Usually I'll grab the people around me and try and get them to safety, but dream me just doesn't think it's worth it to fight the threat.  On top of that, dream me is a terrible runner.  At the peak of my running career I could hold a seven minute mile for several miles, and in later years I've still kept in pretty good shape, but dream me can't run worth crap.  It's like the entire atmosphere is transparent molasses and I'm fighting to even get walking pace out of my worthless body.  It is so frustrating to be running for your life while moving at slo-mo speed (luckily everyone else in my dreams is a good runner, so the people I love usually get away).

It was kind of a frustrating thing because all growing up my oldest brother would talk about his dreams, in which people would come after our family and my brother would go all Rambo on them and save everyone.  By the way, my brother is strong, but he's 6'2" and maybe 150 pounds.  Not exactly intimidating.  I couldn't understand why my scrawny brother could beat up his dream villains and I was stuck running from Jell-o.

But.

For the past few months I've been working out in real life, and I've found an exercise that I LOVE: kickboxing.  Pilates is great and all, but I don't really feel like I've exercised unless every part of my body is dripping sweat (there's a lovely visual for you).  Kickboxing makes me work so hard that my eyes have literally stung from sweat, and Michael Bluth was wrong; it is not sweet.  It hurts so bad.

The sweetness of kickboxing comes from feeling my arms and for once there's no jiggle there when I flex.  It comes from taking on the boxer's stance and just feeling powerful and in charge.  Seriously, try it right now.  Stand up, wherever you are, and take this stance: knees bent, one foot in front of the other, head looking over the shoulder of your front foot side (is this making any sense?), hands up in fists protecting your chest and face.

Even better, take the stance and throw a couple punches, like this chick.

Now tell me that didn't feel awesome.  You want to take on the world.  For my workout I punch, kick, twist, leap, and feel like an all-around beast.  And the best part?  I probably look ridiculous.  I'm still a bit jiggly and a lot uncoordinated, but it doesn't matter because I FEEL AWESOME.

So why did I even bring up my dreams if I was just going to be one of those annoying people that only talks about their awesome workout?  Well, my dreams have changed since I started kickboxing.  I no longer run away; I turn and fight.  When I do run I hit full-speed and I'm usually heading towards the danger.  In my dreams I can even do parkour now, which is hilarious because I am dismal at it in real life.  My vertical leap is about two inches off the ground.  

What I'm trying to say is exercising empowers me.  It makes me feel more confident about my body and more confident in my abilities, and the confidence even transfers over into my subconscious.  If you're thinking about starting to work out again, or if you're bored of your current workout, I strongly suggest picking up kickboxing.  You will have the most amazing dreams.