Attractive, yes?
So four years ago, I went to the temple to do baptisms for the dead for the very first time. My friend Becky and I were leaving from Manhattan, KS and heading toward Omaha, NE. Becky had mapquested the directions, and as I was driving, Becky asked if it would be okay if she took a nap during the 75 mile stretch. I agreed, and as I drove for the next hour, wondered why all the signs said "W" instead of "N" and why when I was supposed to merge on a major highway, I was in the middle of the country. When Becky woke up, we were just outside Mankato.
Fantastic.
Yesterday, Bobby had a race in Heber Valley. It was cyclocross race, and when he was done, he was very tuckered. We still managed to go out to lunch with one of his biking buddies (who happens to also be our dentist) and go shopping in the outlets in Park City before he was ready to pass out. He gave me directions on how to get home, and then went to sleep. I woke him up an hour later.
"Um, honey? Is Evanston between Park City and Provo?"
Yup. I definitely drove to Wyoming.
Worst. Sense of direction. Ever.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Canine flatulence.
Bedtime was actually a half hour ago, but it seems my anxiety is up for some reason and isn't allowing me to fall asleep as easily. In that time, Peli has farted probably 20 times, reminding me why dogs eat dog food and not chicken breasts served at work picnics.
Yesterday, I went with our dog trainer, Stacie, to Salem to help her out with a pet fair. She had to set up a booth and distribute information about being a responsible pet owner, and also MC'ed several of the demonstrations. I readily agreed when she asked me to accompany her, because I think she's pretty fabulous and I love all things animal related. We were driving there in her SUV with her pit bull she's fostering in a crate in the back, and Peli was sitting in the middle. The middle seat was down to make room for things, so Peli wasn't buckled in (yes, my dog has a harness so she can be buckled in when we're in the car. I'm protective, not neurotic). Stacie asked if Peli liked the window rolled down, which is actually one of Peli's favorite things in the world. There are two things you can do to make her absolutely wiggle with joy: Go on a car ride (bonus points for a window rolled down) and taking her into the mountains for a hike. Stacie rolled down the window and asked, "She won't jump, right?" Of course not. She loves to stick out as much of her body as she can, but she never jumps. Three dog classes have ingrained some sort of common sense in her, so she would know not to jump out of a car going 40+ mph.
I was mid-sentence in telling a story when Peli was gone.
Stacie immediately pulled off to the side, and before she had even stopped I jumped out of the car and ran into the middle of a very busy street to rescue Peli. Hyperventilating, I automatically imagined finding my little girl lying in the middle of the road, either from jumping out of a car going that fast or from getting hit by a car. Instead, she was standing in the middle of the street, looking around as if to say, "Now what?" I couldn't decide whether to throw up or cry, so instead settled on informing Peli that she will have to settle with just car rides and not car rides with the window down. Ever. I'm pretty sure I lost a few years off my life.
Last night was the shop party for Bobby's work, which was pretty fantastic. It was a big campout in a beautiful part of the mountains, and it was catered by a restaurant that was much nicer than anything we ever go to (going camping with gourmet food that we don't have to pack? Talk about vacation). It was fun watching all the other people from the other shops throwing back, and then observing the Provo boys standing off to the side, sipping their sodas and then going to bed at 10:30 (everyone else was going strong till 2 a.m.). This morning, most of the crew went on a mountain bike ride, and I stayed behind to do what I do best: hang out with the dogs. There were some insanely cute dogs there, and I was in hog heaven. Peli went nuts playing with everyone. One of the guys there went on a hike with his two golden retrievers, and took a large mutt with him (a very sweet dog named Lacey). While they were out hiking, Lacey kept going off the trail (something Peli often does), and would run back, until she didn't run back. The guy taking her looked for a bit then assumed she ran back to the camp site. She didn't. A fellow dog lover and I took Peli out and we wandered around the area, looking for Lacey. It was a huge downer to what had been a really fun experience, and I could only imagine what her owner was feeling. After looking for a few hours, her owner went to the park station to tell them to look for a dog and found that someone had seen Lacey and picked her up and brought her there. Thank goodness for Peli's classes-- she doesn't need a leash when we hike because she always comes back when we call her. Maybe next class she'll learn not to jump out of a freaking window.
The party ended with the owner of the shops handing out a bunch of free stuff, and he let people pick by shop, starting with the individuals the shop managers felt deserved special recognition. After those people all went, he then let the rest of the people working at the shops go, starting with the shop that was having the best year. Bobby ended up being recognized for his hard work, so he got a new roof rack and a pretty sweet jacket. It's a good thing, too, because the Provo shop is doing the worst of all the shops, so by the time everyone else from there went, there were only t-shirts left. The owner was also handing out bib shorts ($100+ a pop) that had the store name on them. Bobby asked if there was a small I could snag, and he gave us one (a huge deal, because he can be a jerk when he's at the shop). I went up and thanked him, and explained that Peli had chewed my other shorts and that they were being held together with a pretty sketchy sewing job, so I really appreciated the new shorts. With that, he pulled out a second pair of bib shorts and handed them to me. Hot dang!
The Lord has really blessed us. We went to the temple last week and have made a goal to be more adament about that, because as Bobby put it, "we don't really deserve the blessings we get no matter what we do, but we might as well try to be a little more worthy of them." My new job is amazing. The people I work with are great, and I have a lot of freedom to make the job what I want it to be. It seems a little unstructured right now, so I want to use the time I have there to create a protocol for the individuals that are in the transitional housing that instills more accountability. Last week, I was in Salt Lake City for a conference and learned a ton about domestic violence. I felt like I knew a lot before, but man, there is always so much more out there. I know I've been blessed with a drive to help people, and I'm working hard to figure out what exactly I'm supposed to do with it. Being in social work isn't enough. I learn more things, and I get frustrated because there aren't enough hours in the day, days in the week, and I'm only one person, so where do I focus my time and energy? I found out there is a huge correlation between domestic violence and animal abuse, and I adore animals-- what can I do to help create more opportunities for survivors to place their animals in a safe haven while they seek safety? Then I learned that the Native American population is seriously lacking in allies (70% of violent crimes against women in the Native American population are commited by non-Native Americans) and that until 1982 (only 26 years ago!) 47% of Native American women of child bearing age were sterilized as mandated by the federal government and the women weren't even told! So many crazy things are happening that need attention, so figuring out where to focus is going to be interesting.
Well, Chuck just snuggled up to me, so perhaps I can attempt sleep again. Tomorrow could be a very long day if I don't conk out soon.
Yesterday, I went with our dog trainer, Stacie, to Salem to help her out with a pet fair. She had to set up a booth and distribute information about being a responsible pet owner, and also MC'ed several of the demonstrations. I readily agreed when she asked me to accompany her, because I think she's pretty fabulous and I love all things animal related. We were driving there in her SUV with her pit bull she's fostering in a crate in the back, and Peli was sitting in the middle. The middle seat was down to make room for things, so Peli wasn't buckled in (yes, my dog has a harness so she can be buckled in when we're in the car. I'm protective, not neurotic). Stacie asked if Peli liked the window rolled down, which is actually one of Peli's favorite things in the world. There are two things you can do to make her absolutely wiggle with joy: Go on a car ride (bonus points for a window rolled down) and taking her into the mountains for a hike. Stacie rolled down the window and asked, "She won't jump, right?" Of course not. She loves to stick out as much of her body as she can, but she never jumps. Three dog classes have ingrained some sort of common sense in her, so she would know not to jump out of a car going 40+ mph.
I was mid-sentence in telling a story when Peli was gone.
Stacie immediately pulled off to the side, and before she had even stopped I jumped out of the car and ran into the middle of a very busy street to rescue Peli. Hyperventilating, I automatically imagined finding my little girl lying in the middle of the road, either from jumping out of a car going that fast or from getting hit by a car. Instead, she was standing in the middle of the street, looking around as if to say, "Now what?" I couldn't decide whether to throw up or cry, so instead settled on informing Peli that she will have to settle with just car rides and not car rides with the window down. Ever. I'm pretty sure I lost a few years off my life.
Last night was the shop party for Bobby's work, which was pretty fantastic. It was a big campout in a beautiful part of the mountains, and it was catered by a restaurant that was much nicer than anything we ever go to (going camping with gourmet food that we don't have to pack? Talk about vacation). It was fun watching all the other people from the other shops throwing back, and then observing the Provo boys standing off to the side, sipping their sodas and then going to bed at 10:30 (everyone else was going strong till 2 a.m.). This morning, most of the crew went on a mountain bike ride, and I stayed behind to do what I do best: hang out with the dogs. There were some insanely cute dogs there, and I was in hog heaven. Peli went nuts playing with everyone. One of the guys there went on a hike with his two golden retrievers, and took a large mutt with him (a very sweet dog named Lacey). While they were out hiking, Lacey kept going off the trail (something Peli often does), and would run back, until she didn't run back. The guy taking her looked for a bit then assumed she ran back to the camp site. She didn't. A fellow dog lover and I took Peli out and we wandered around the area, looking for Lacey. It was a huge downer to what had been a really fun experience, and I could only imagine what her owner was feeling. After looking for a few hours, her owner went to the park station to tell them to look for a dog and found that someone had seen Lacey and picked her up and brought her there. Thank goodness for Peli's classes-- she doesn't need a leash when we hike because she always comes back when we call her. Maybe next class she'll learn not to jump out of a freaking window.
The party ended with the owner of the shops handing out a bunch of free stuff, and he let people pick by shop, starting with the individuals the shop managers felt deserved special recognition. After those people all went, he then let the rest of the people working at the shops go, starting with the shop that was having the best year. Bobby ended up being recognized for his hard work, so he got a new roof rack and a pretty sweet jacket. It's a good thing, too, because the Provo shop is doing the worst of all the shops, so by the time everyone else from there went, there were only t-shirts left. The owner was also handing out bib shorts ($100+ a pop) that had the store name on them. Bobby asked if there was a small I could snag, and he gave us one (a huge deal, because he can be a jerk when he's at the shop). I went up and thanked him, and explained that Peli had chewed my other shorts and that they were being held together with a pretty sketchy sewing job, so I really appreciated the new shorts. With that, he pulled out a second pair of bib shorts and handed them to me. Hot dang!
The Lord has really blessed us. We went to the temple last week and have made a goal to be more adament about that, because as Bobby put it, "we don't really deserve the blessings we get no matter what we do, but we might as well try to be a little more worthy of them." My new job is amazing. The people I work with are great, and I have a lot of freedom to make the job what I want it to be. It seems a little unstructured right now, so I want to use the time I have there to create a protocol for the individuals that are in the transitional housing that instills more accountability. Last week, I was in Salt Lake City for a conference and learned a ton about domestic violence. I felt like I knew a lot before, but man, there is always so much more out there. I know I've been blessed with a drive to help people, and I'm working hard to figure out what exactly I'm supposed to do with it. Being in social work isn't enough. I learn more things, and I get frustrated because there aren't enough hours in the day, days in the week, and I'm only one person, so where do I focus my time and energy? I found out there is a huge correlation between domestic violence and animal abuse, and I adore animals-- what can I do to help create more opportunities for survivors to place their animals in a safe haven while they seek safety? Then I learned that the Native American population is seriously lacking in allies (70% of violent crimes against women in the Native American population are commited by non-Native Americans) and that until 1982 (only 26 years ago!) 47% of Native American women of child bearing age were sterilized as mandated by the federal government and the women weren't even told! So many crazy things are happening that need attention, so figuring out where to focus is going to be interesting.
Well, Chuck just snuggled up to me, so perhaps I can attempt sleep again. Tomorrow could be a very long day if I don't conk out soon.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Forgive Peli for eating the hot pocket.
My first week at my new job consisted of a lot of the craziness that comes with starting a new job. I had to figure out what it was exactly that I'm supposed to do and the people I'm working with had to adjust to having a human being doing the things that they've been making up for the past couple months. Each day I'm finding out more and more about how the person before me didn't really do a whole lot, which makes me all the more determined to do everything I can to succeed at this job.
Pretty much, my job consists of maintaining the stats, act as landlord for the transitional apartments, make phone contacts with the aftercare clients and also make home visits. I have a large closet of donations to distribute which makes me feel a little bit like Santa, but I also have to be cold faced when they don't pay their rent and don't file an extension of cure and start the eviction process.
Friday morning, my boss called me and told me to dress for the fair. We took all the kids with some of their parents to the state fair, and it was exhausting. Fun, but exhausting. One of the very small children did not like that I wouldn't let them play the carnie games and took up saying, "You suck! Just kidding." Another small child was three and as we were leaving, I asked him to hold my hand so I wouldn't get lost (he started running ahead a lot) and he told me he was excited to see the ducks again (there were ducks at the entrance to the park). I told him he was very smart to have remembered there were ducks, and he said, "Yes. Big ducks. And they have grey faces. I like ducks." A three year old! I was amazed.
Friday afternoon, we were helping a woman move into a new apartment, and I saw some puppies. Me being me, I went over to pet the puppies. There were three of them, brindle, and were some sort of boxer mix. They were horribly skinny. I was petting them and ignoring a box that was right next to them, covered in flies, assuming it was the apartment's garbage. The owner came over and started to herd the puppies away from me, and I asked her what kind they were. She told me they were boxer/shepherd mixes, and when I said they were really cute, she said, "They're just getting over parvo. That one didn't make it." She pointed to the cardboard box, and my peripheral vision told me that a little, dead puppy was laying in the bottom. When I returned to my office (because I have an OFFICE), I called animal control and gave them the address. The dispatcher told me the puppies didn't have a chance, and the animal control officer couldn't take them to the shelter because then every other dog would get parvo. When I didn't say anything, she said she'd let the officer use his discretion.
When I hung up, I cried.
Other than that, though, I really do believe I can be good at my job (fortunately, witnessing innocent little puppies dying of parvo isn't really included in my job description). Tuesday through Friday of this week will be spent in Salt Lake City for a conference on Domestic Violence, and the keynote person is this lady:
Pretty much, my job consists of maintaining the stats, act as landlord for the transitional apartments, make phone contacts with the aftercare clients and also make home visits. I have a large closet of donations to distribute which makes me feel a little bit like Santa, but I also have to be cold faced when they don't pay their rent and don't file an extension of cure and start the eviction process.
Friday morning, my boss called me and told me to dress for the fair. We took all the kids with some of their parents to the state fair, and it was exhausting. Fun, but exhausting. One of the very small children did not like that I wouldn't let them play the carnie games and took up saying, "You suck! Just kidding." Another small child was three and as we were leaving, I asked him to hold my hand so I wouldn't get lost (he started running ahead a lot) and he told me he was excited to see the ducks again (there were ducks at the entrance to the park). I told him he was very smart to have remembered there were ducks, and he said, "Yes. Big ducks. And they have grey faces. I like ducks." A three year old! I was amazed.
Friday afternoon, we were helping a woman move into a new apartment, and I saw some puppies. Me being me, I went over to pet the puppies. There were three of them, brindle, and were some sort of boxer mix. They were horribly skinny. I was petting them and ignoring a box that was right next to them, covered in flies, assuming it was the apartment's garbage. The owner came over and started to herd the puppies away from me, and I asked her what kind they were. She told me they were boxer/shepherd mixes, and when I said they were really cute, she said, "They're just getting over parvo. That one didn't make it." She pointed to the cardboard box, and my peripheral vision told me that a little, dead puppy was laying in the bottom. When I returned to my office (because I have an OFFICE), I called animal control and gave them the address. The dispatcher told me the puppies didn't have a chance, and the animal control officer couldn't take them to the shelter because then every other dog would get parvo. When I didn't say anything, she said she'd let the officer use his discretion.
When I hung up, I cried.
Other than that, though, I really do believe I can be good at my job (fortunately, witnessing innocent little puppies dying of parvo isn't really included in my job description). Tuesday through Friday of this week will be spent in Salt Lake City for a conference on Domestic Violence, and the keynote person is this lady:
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Officially a triathlete.
In the wee hours of the morning yesterday, my husband and myself stirred out of bed and did what no man has willingly done before-- put on our tri suits. For those of you who have never done this, a women's triathlon top is a spandex mastectomy, eliminating any and all curves in an attempt to make you more hydrodynamic (or something). I was sleepy, flat chested, and in a very cold car, preparing myself mentally for the 400 meter swim that was to take place outdoors in roughly 60 degree weather, followed by the 9 mile bike ride and the 3 mile run.
When we got in line for the swim, we were spaced apart according to how quickly we thought we could do the swim. Bobby got in the 11 minute part of the line, and I got in the 14 minute line. The race started at 8 a.m., but my feet didn't touch the water until 8:35. I watched Bobby as he swam through his group, and it was apparent that he was in the wrong swim group. He ended up swimming it in eight and a half minutes. I knew I was in the wrong group when I passed the guy in front of me before the first leg of the first lap. I completed the swim in ten and a half minutes.
After the swim, we had to scurry to the parking lot to transition to the bike. My lovely sense of direction induced a slight panic attack, because where I swore up and down I left my bike, it was not there. Before I required the paper sack to breathe into, I discovered my bike was one row over, and quickly changed into my biking attire. My husband assured me that the ride and the run would be on a flat course. Oh, silly Bobby. The ride started with a very long, moderately steep climb, and because it was a lap course, it was a climb we would have to complete twice. It didn't help that my impeccable sense of direction also sent me going the opposite way the race required, and I had to turn around. Ah, well.
When I finished the ride, I was pulling into the transition area when I saw Bobby. He had already finished the race, and met me while I was pulling on my tennis shoes. The prince charming he is, he ran the first half of the 3 miles with me. We don't have fuel belts (yet), so I was pretty dependent on the water the race staff was handing out after the giant hill in the run. When I got there, however, the water was all gone and instead, there was a cup of ice handed to me. Boo. After the first lap, Bobby complained of feeling sick to his stomach and "tired" (whatever), so I was left on my own for the last lap. We discovered yesterday that people pushed to the brink of death are very friendly, so I had no problem finding people to talk to on the run. I spent a good leg of that lap discussing century bike rides with a lady who had just completed the Ulcer earlier this year, and she gave me some helpful tips on the century we're scheduled to complete later this month (a century is a 100 mile bike ride). She got very tired, though, and I still felt pretty energetic, so I scurried over to the finish line. I finished my first triathlon without feeling like I was going to die, which was my goal after only 2 weeks of training for it.
Bobby ended up taking 2nd for his division, and naturally, because they give medals to the top three finishers in each division, I took 4th. I took 4th out of 8 in my division, though, and it was my first tri, so I'm pretty satisfied. In addition to Bobby's medal, we also took home a couple collapsable coolers, a protein shaker, and a Spoon Me gift card, because we're greedy and patient and stayed after everyone was leaving to take the raffle stuff no one picked up. Bwahaha!
On a slightly different note, I got a call Friday afternoon and was offered the job at the women's shelter that sounds like a dream come true. On Tuesday, I'll begin training to become their Aftercare Coordinator. Three cheers for helping to save the world (and for getting a pay check again). Hip, hip, HOORAY!
When we got in line for the swim, we were spaced apart according to how quickly we thought we could do the swim. Bobby got in the 11 minute part of the line, and I got in the 14 minute line. The race started at 8 a.m., but my feet didn't touch the water until 8:35. I watched Bobby as he swam through his group, and it was apparent that he was in the wrong swim group. He ended up swimming it in eight and a half minutes. I knew I was in the wrong group when I passed the guy in front of me before the first leg of the first lap. I completed the swim in ten and a half minutes.
After the swim, we had to scurry to the parking lot to transition to the bike. My lovely sense of direction induced a slight panic attack, because where I swore up and down I left my bike, it was not there. Before I required the paper sack to breathe into, I discovered my bike was one row over, and quickly changed into my biking attire. My husband assured me that the ride and the run would be on a flat course. Oh, silly Bobby. The ride started with a very long, moderately steep climb, and because it was a lap course, it was a climb we would have to complete twice. It didn't help that my impeccable sense of direction also sent me going the opposite way the race required, and I had to turn around. Ah, well.
When I finished the ride, I was pulling into the transition area when I saw Bobby. He had already finished the race, and met me while I was pulling on my tennis shoes. The prince charming he is, he ran the first half of the 3 miles with me. We don't have fuel belts (yet), so I was pretty dependent on the water the race staff was handing out after the giant hill in the run. When I got there, however, the water was all gone and instead, there was a cup of ice handed to me. Boo. After the first lap, Bobby complained of feeling sick to his stomach and "tired" (whatever), so I was left on my own for the last lap. We discovered yesterday that people pushed to the brink of death are very friendly, so I had no problem finding people to talk to on the run. I spent a good leg of that lap discussing century bike rides with a lady who had just completed the Ulcer earlier this year, and she gave me some helpful tips on the century we're scheduled to complete later this month (a century is a 100 mile bike ride). She got very tired, though, and I still felt pretty energetic, so I scurried over to the finish line. I finished my first triathlon without feeling like I was going to die, which was my goal after only 2 weeks of training for it.
Bobby ended up taking 2nd for his division, and naturally, because they give medals to the top three finishers in each division, I took 4th. I took 4th out of 8 in my division, though, and it was my first tri, so I'm pretty satisfied. In addition to Bobby's medal, we also took home a couple collapsable coolers, a protein shaker, and a Spoon Me gift card, because we're greedy and patient and stayed after everyone was leaving to take the raffle stuff no one picked up. Bwahaha!
On a slightly different note, I got a call Friday afternoon and was offered the job at the women's shelter that sounds like a dream come true. On Tuesday, I'll begin training to become their Aftercare Coordinator. Three cheers for helping to save the world (and for getting a pay check again). Hip, hip, HOORAY!
Monday, September 1, 2008
Barack chalk (I love Stephen Colbert)
I just finished my jog, and for the first time in a while, I thoroughly enjoyed running. The weather right now is absolutely perfect, and spent a lot of time doing self therapy. It was beautiful and I enjoyed it.
Yesterday was the first Sunday we've been able to actually serve in our calling. We've been Primary instructors for a few months now, with no children to teach. Saturday, we got the phone call that our time had come! We were going to teach three kids. I opened up the manual and made elaborate crafts to follow along the lesson in the book to teach the kids the importance of tithing. I was excited, and it's hard for me to craft without an excuse to do so. At 8 a.m. the next morning, we were in the Primary room with big smiles, ready to go through the lesson. The first two kids were Jack and Eric. Jack has been in Primary before, and had no qualms about sitting in the tiny little chair in front of the table. Eric was a little apprehensive, since this was his first time, and instead wanted to sit on the floor in front of the door. My experience with kids has taught me that if a small child wants to sit in front of the door instead of in a chair, you let him, because that's not really what's important. He feels like he has control over some part of a new situation and will be more receptive to the stuff that counts. So he sat by the door. Then in came Caitlin.
Oh, Caitlin.
First of all, our names are the same (not counting the spelling). She was wearing a bright pink dress, and looked freakishly similar to how I looked when I was little. She was also toting a stuffed duck named Ducky. When I was little, my favorite stuffed animal was a duck named Ducky. Caitlin was very shy, very quiet, and very unsure of the scary new people she was left in a room with. She was me!
Bobby was with Jack and Eric on the piano, trying to get them to sing a primary song, while I consoled Caitlin in the absence of her mother and got her to warm up a little to the idea of being in Primary. By this time, the block was half over, and the kids were not acting like they were ready for my tithing bank and the mites we had so carefully created. Instead, we got some coloring sheets of Jesus blessing the children that Jack and Caitlin worked on while Eric built a fort out of chairs. All in all, very productive, and spending time with Caitlin reminded me of how adorable I was and how adorable my kids will inevitably be, leaving me to reconsider my animosity toward the prospect of life suckers (aka offspring).
Five days from now, we'll be doing a triathlon (hence the running regularly again). Tomorrow, the rec center opens up again so we can get some swim time in. I did a BRICK a couple days ago (Bike, Run, It Can Kill), and the name doesn't lie. Holy pea soup, what a miserable feeling. I only rode 10 miles and then ran 3, and I thought my legs were cement. Fortunately, it's a nine mile ride followed by a 5k, so I know I can do that part... let's just hope I can do all of it after I've swam 400 meters. Blech.
Oh, yeah. How hilarious is this Sarah Palin nomination? Oh, McCain, is dementia starting to set in in your old, old age?
Yesterday was the first Sunday we've been able to actually serve in our calling. We've been Primary instructors for a few months now, with no children to teach. Saturday, we got the phone call that our time had come! We were going to teach three kids. I opened up the manual and made elaborate crafts to follow along the lesson in the book to teach the kids the importance of tithing. I was excited, and it's hard for me to craft without an excuse to do so. At 8 a.m. the next morning, we were in the Primary room with big smiles, ready to go through the lesson. The first two kids were Jack and Eric. Jack has been in Primary before, and had no qualms about sitting in the tiny little chair in front of the table. Eric was a little apprehensive, since this was his first time, and instead wanted to sit on the floor in front of the door. My experience with kids has taught me that if a small child wants to sit in front of the door instead of in a chair, you let him, because that's not really what's important. He feels like he has control over some part of a new situation and will be more receptive to the stuff that counts. So he sat by the door. Then in came Caitlin.
Oh, Caitlin.
First of all, our names are the same (not counting the spelling). She was wearing a bright pink dress, and looked freakishly similar to how I looked when I was little. She was also toting a stuffed duck named Ducky. When I was little, my favorite stuffed animal was a duck named Ducky. Caitlin was very shy, very quiet, and very unsure of the scary new people she was left in a room with. She was me!
Bobby was with Jack and Eric on the piano, trying to get them to sing a primary song, while I consoled Caitlin in the absence of her mother and got her to warm up a little to the idea of being in Primary. By this time, the block was half over, and the kids were not acting like they were ready for my tithing bank and the mites we had so carefully created. Instead, we got some coloring sheets of Jesus blessing the children that Jack and Caitlin worked on while Eric built a fort out of chairs. All in all, very productive, and spending time with Caitlin reminded me of how adorable I was and how adorable my kids will inevitably be, leaving me to reconsider my animosity toward the prospect of life suckers (aka offspring).
Five days from now, we'll be doing a triathlon (hence the running regularly again). Tomorrow, the rec center opens up again so we can get some swim time in. I did a BRICK a couple days ago (Bike, Run, It Can Kill), and the name doesn't lie. Holy pea soup, what a miserable feeling. I only rode 10 miles and then ran 3, and I thought my legs were cement. Fortunately, it's a nine mile ride followed by a 5k, so I know I can do that part... let's just hope I can do all of it after I've swam 400 meters. Blech.
Oh, yeah. How hilarious is this Sarah Palin nomination? Oh, McCain, is dementia starting to set in in your old, old age?
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