Utah and I are no longer speaking.

This past Monday was October the 20th, which commemorates two things: Peli's birthday (she's one year old!) and something else I'm not allowed to mention, because we "only have one anniversary."

Balogna.

Two years ago this past Monday, I pulled into the 10th Street church building's parking lot on the phone with my mother. It was early afternoon and very sunny out, and we were having a serious discussion about what would later be diagnosed as my chronic depression. I revealed to her what living with my little sister (who my therapist would later describe as "toxic") was doing to me, and she insisted I come home to talk about it.

Screw that, hippie. I've got a conference to run.

It was a Friday, and the reason I was pulling into the church's parking lot was to get everything decorated and ready to go for the institute conference Lawrence was hosting. My complete and utter inability to delegate meant I was a little ragged as the institute president and had a lot of work before me.

A few hours later, the decor was complete (Cinderella, many of the decorations courtesy of Mrs. Stock) and I was in the kitchen with Brother Heiner working on the food. I was just in the photography room with Heidi, watching her giggle with a boy or two (which boys, I'm not sure) and I mentioned casually to Brother Heiner that we needed to find someone for Heidi. Brother Heiner paused, and without looking up from what he was doing, he said, "What about you, Katie?"

Le gasp. It was well known I was waiting for a missionary, and I nervously played with the necklace holding his CTR ring and the key sent me after going into the field (the "key to his heart" for all you cheese fans out there), and said with half a laugh, "Brother Heiner! I already have somebody!" Masking complete shock as I said it, though, because the past month and a half included many hours spent on my knees asking Heavenly Father what to do with the doubt that had been plaguing me. In that time, a friend had died, truths been told, and I had visited the Nauvoo Temple, knowing full well in looking at it that I would be married there (after a couple years of insisting I'd be married in Logan), and while there finding myself completely unable to fill a tape to my missionary.

Brother Heiner stopped his chopping and looked at me. "Katie, he's great. You're great. But you won't be happy together."

I made some kind of joke and then excused myself. Brother Heiner was like a dad to me, but I sitll didn't want him to know the conflict I was feeling recently. That day had marked eighteen months (EIGHTEEN MONTHS! That deserves an applause or something), and without having even hinted at what I was struggling with, Brother Heiner brought it up. After a few minutes in the bathroom checking my makeup smudges (blasted emotions), I went to the lobby area to begin checking in people showing up for the conference.

It wasn't long before a couple of guys showed up that I'd never met before. The name of the boy in the striped shirt and tie stuck out to me: "Bobby." Who's named "Bobby" anymore? When signing in, under gender he wrote "B." He caught his mistake instantly and laughed with his friend, and explained that "B" meant "boy."

The dinner and speaker went smoothly, and with the "amen" at the closing prayer, I scurried out quickly to get the food into the dance. The cultural hall was dark and I was carrying lots of chopped up food (aw, chocolate fountain), and given my grace, I was very focused on what I was doing. As I was walking in the door, that boy, Bobby, was walking out. With my concentration on the little cubes of angel food cake, I was caught a little off guard when this Bobby guy punched me square in the arm. I looked up to see him running away, and I was very confused as to what had just happened (I later discovered he was just as confused with his actions as I was).

The night continued, and I squeezed in a dance here and there between chartering the food in and out. A slow song started, and the Bobby kid walked up to me and said, "Sorry about punching you earlier. Let me make it up to you with a dance." Cheese lines don't typically work on me, but he was cute, and I have trouble saying no at the expense of others' feelings. So we danced, and we chatted, and he commented on how ridiculously sarcastic I was being (yay defense mechanisms!) when at the end of the song, the DJ of the evening made an announcement.

"We've found a CTR ring, so if you lost yours, come on up and describe it." I looked down at my hand and was relieved to see mine, and thought how sucky it was for the person who lost theirs when I casually reached up to my necklace. Where my necklace used to be was a very broken chain with no ring or key to be found. I ran to the stage and described the CTR ring that used to be around my neck, and they handed it over. I looked every where to find the key that night and the next morning at cleanup, and nothing.

The next day, Bobby asked for my number before leaving the conference, and we were pretty much inseperable after that. So I like to remember October 20th because not only was it the day that I met my husband and best friend, but because that day, Heavenly Father was very blunt with me. I couldn't have asked for a clearer indication of His will for me.

And now Peli's puking. Happy Wednesday, all.

Busy, busy, busy.

My job is a beautiful thing. I quite enjoy coming home every single day feeling exhausted, because I know that in that day, I have done everything I possibly can in eight hours to help my clients and help the movement in ending domestic violence. Every day is different. One day, I can be counting up a storm to get the stats done, and the next, I could be in the hospital all day because one of my clients had an incredible low the night before. Probably my favorite day thus far is when my incredible boss said, "Katie, your job today is to make sure that dog is tired before I commute to Salt Lake tonight." She had a adopted a dachshund puppy for her mom unexpectedly, and she knows how much I love dogs, so I got to play with an adorable dog (with a TON of energy) all day. It was a much needed distraction in a very difficult week.

This weekend was also a much needed distraction. Friday night, we went to a mission reunion for the California Sacramento Mission with Bobby's mission president that was released this past May. It was... interesting. Definitely interesting. There was a question and answer session, and it was truly inspiring to see how an individual could be casually speaking and invite the Spirit into the room so quickly. Bobby's president was a well studied, spiritually-connected man. The Q and A was supposed to last forty-five minutes, so with just a few minutes to go, he asked his son (with Downs Syndrome) to give his testimony, and asked his wife to do the same. The spirit was so strong it could've knocked you over. Then he offered his closing remarks. His remarks turned into a 20 minute speech pushing his political agenda (being from California) about the protection of marriage. It was no longer a spiritual discussion, but a soap box declaration that included many misconceptions. It frightened me that someone who had seemed so well versed and so educated could quickly sound so misguided, and passionately so. Light hearted jokes at the homosexual population's expense and explanations that the acceptance of gay marriage leads to the teaching of HIV protection in schools' sex ed programs (in case you were wondering, the demographic statistically more greatly affected by HIV/AIDS is black women, who are by definition NOT gay men), and I struggled to respectfully keep my mouth closed. It's hard for me to remember to be open and tolerant of other people's opinions when their opinion includes a lack of tolerance toward others (I'm a hypocrite. I'm working on it).

There is something that has been bothering me a great deal out here that has increased in its eye-stabbing factor since I began working at the Center for Women and Children. As a part of LDS culture ("culture" should be emphasized, as it is not doctrinally based), college is an opportunity to find a husband and prepare for becoming a wife rather than receive the education and training necessary to find and establish a financially viable career. I understand the Proclamation to the World and do believe in the benefits, both spiritually and practically, of a mother staying home with her kids, and hope to do it myself when the time comes. Knowing that, though, I did not get a degree for the sake of getting a degree, and instead plan to further my education so should something happen, I can support myself and my family. Bobby could get hurt, die, or something crazy could happen. At the shelter, I went into a transitional apartment to get the phones set up, and one particular apartment had Primary pictures all over the fridge, scriptures on the book shelf, and statues of Christ on the counter. Another woman I took to court last week happened to look out the window and began crying, and said it was because she just saw the temple she and her husband were sealed in. So when I was at the reunion with Bobby and he was chumming it up with his old companions, I would make small talk with their wives, and the conversation typically went like this:

Me: Are you a student?
Her: Yes.
Me: What are you studying?
Her: Family and home science.
Me: Oh... what are you planning to do with that?
Her: Nothing. I'm going to be a mom.

The Family and Home Science degree is what I call being a crappy boy scout (you know, "Be prepared"?). That sort of degree means that only one path of life can work out. He'll graduate in something that will make enough money for the entire family, and he'll enjoy his job enough to have it his entire life. He'll never get sick, he'll never be in an accident, and he'll never beat you. It's horrific to think that it's possible someone could beat you when you signed on for eternity, but it's like my client said: "You marry a man because you love him, and you think he's a good person. You don't marry a person and think they're crazy." Other clients' husbands started doing drugs and became violent. For the accident and all that, perhaps the degree teaches you how to find a really good life insurance policy (morbid, eh?). If not, better hope there are some well paying entry level general positions available when you need it.

It just seems like the possession of ovaries is a "Get out of Ambition Free" card. With all of the excitment about Sarah Palin and the alleged big step she's making for womankind, I feel like we have an especially greater duty to step it up to show how un-interchangeable we are.

Anyhoo, getting to go to the first session of conference in the best seats ever (Thanks, Jenn!) was made even better with the announcement about a temple being built in the Kansas City area. It took a lot of self control to not start the wave in the conference center while President Monson was up there, but I definitely peed myself a little out of excitment (I'm part cocker spaniel). I still don't understand the excitement about the Italy announcement, unless I was uknowingly surrounded by a ton Italians/Italian enthusiasts (if so, they weren't wearing their uniforms this time). I'm really glad that we'll have the opportunity to go to the temple often when we come back to Kansas, because we've grown really accustomed to having one down the street here.

Bobby just made me dinner, and is insistant that I eat it "while it's hot." What a fabulous husband.