A Poem: Game Of Thrones, I Hate You; I Love You.

It was late in the week when a horrible scream
rang out out while my husband was watching TV.
"What the hell??" I said, panicked, expecting to find
Something awful had happened, like Tom Hanks had died. 

"Sorry!" Jordan winced, "Nothing is wrong,
I was just catching up - Game of Thrones is on." 
Rolling my eyes, I plopped down on the couch,
Hating this show and being a grouch. 

"Have you given it a chance?" he asked with sincerity,
Though watching this show is, for me, an act of charity.
"I watched Season One," I replied, unamused,
"Then I'd had my fill of torture and boobs." 

"Just see what you think. Here, this episode is ending,
give it a go. And at least we'll be spending
time together watching TV, 'cause you know
I can't watch the Housewives." "THAT'S NOT MY ONLY SHOW. 

But fine," I sneered. "I'll give it a shot. 
You've roped me into the world of GoT, 
But just for one episode." Then I proceeded
to watch dead, naked people, and good guys get cheated.  

The scene opened on a pack of mean, scary dogs
Eating a girl alive in the dense forest fog. 
I then watched two siblings have sex near a coffin - 
Not an anomaly! They do this quite often! 

An army attacked a small village and killed
A boy's mother and father, and because still
That wasn't enough, they ate them for fun. 
Ate them. As in, cannibalism. Not done! 

I grew attached to a character, then learned my lesson:
Your favorites will soon become delicatessen.
Sliced up like a sandwich tray. It's a guarantee:
You like them? They're dead now. Hooray! Whoopee! 

Some horrible child of the devil named Ramsay
Did awful things to some women, then later - WHAM! he
cut off this poor bastard's penis! For REAL! 
He did it with joy! He did it with zeal! 

I sat there in horror, mouth hanging agape,
"How many storylines on this show include rape?!" 
"I know," Jordan said. "It's awful. It's true. 
But the plot is compelling. It really stays with you." 

Leaving the room in a dignified huff, 
I swore off the show and any similar stuff. 
Jordan clicked "PLAY" on the next episode,
And I made sure my indignance apparently showed. 

And then something happened. I'm not proud to say
that I woke up, rolled over, and whispered, "Hey...
I don't want to watch it again, that's still true,
but real quick - what happened in Episode 2?" 

Sleepy Jord filled me in and I sat there enraptured
Amazed at the attention this dumpster fire had captured.
I couldn't stop thinking - consuming my thoughts
were dragons, The Hound, and whether Arya got caught. 

How had this happened?? Surely there was some cure. 
I couldn't care this much; my heart is too pure! 
"No," I thought, solemnly. "You're a person of principle.
...but what about The Mountain? IS HE invincible?!" 

After dinner, the dishes were cleaned and put up,
I casually wandered to the couch with my pup. 
"I'm not watching," I said. "I'm working on my computer." 
And secretly watched Sansa marry her suitor. 

Four episodes later, my lower back ached,
My eyeballs were dry and unblinkingly awake. 
"WHOA," I breathed out. "A hell of a season." 
"No kidding," said Jordan. "NOW you see the reason." 

Begrudgingly, I have to admit I was wrong. 
The fantasy nerds had it right all along. 
The gore and the sex and the torture and smut
Are too much, it's true, but it's not that clear-cut: 

If you turn up your nose at the thought of this series,
or hold fast to pacifist, feminist theories, 
I get it. I do. And all I can say
Is that my heart is still with you. Yet later today, 

I'll be on the couch, digesting my meal, 
Watching Jon Snow wield Valyrian steel. 
And later, I'll dream of those bone-chilling stalkers
I saw for the first time last episode: White Walkers. 

So hear this lesson, stay far away. 
Don't yield to the old "Just one episode," play. 
You'll find yourself falling in love with Khaleesi
And learn that resistance just isn't that easy. 

I have no self-respect. My dignity is gone. 
and yet, I don't care once the TV is on. 
Heed this eulogy, friends, be not deaf to its tones - 
My soul is now owned by Game of FREAKING Thrones. 

3 Years with Jord.

I love a special occasion. And this one, for me, is particularly special - it's the last anniversary I'll spend with my husband as "just the two of us." 

Next year at this time, we'll have a precious little 6-month old in our lives. And for the rest of our lives. Nothing will ever quite be the same for us, and while we're so excited, we're also treasuring this time together. 

There is no one I'd rather navigate this next step with, or in whom I have more confidence as a future dad. It completely melts my heart to think about Jordan stepping into a father role. What a lucky kid. 

I decided to share last year's post (as it still totally encapsulates how I feel about my angel husband) along with some wedding photos/videos by the amazingly talented Leslee Mitchell and Brittany Sturdivant of Love Be Photography, respectively. I just love looking back on this sweet day and looking forward to the future, but, today especially, I love standing right here, planted in this moment, holding hands with the man I married. 

8/2/16

It's pretty early in the morning. There is a dense fog hanging over the mountains - I can't see anything except the houses immediately across the street. I'm drinking a hot cup of coffee that my husband made for me, because he always does that when he wakes up before I do  (which is *cough* every morning *cough*). The only sound I can hear are birds chirping somewhere in the mist, and the "click click click" of my dog's feet as he wanders through the the house downstairs trying to figure out where I am. 

(He found me. He is now preventing me from writing this post because he wants to be in my lap. He is not a lap dog.) 

Okay, he's satisfied. Now sleeping at my feet. 

Confession: before I got married, I always thought it was kind of gross when people called their spouse their "best friend." 

That's your best friend? I thought. Don't you have real friends? Don't mix church and state. That's your spouse, not your friend. 

I vividly remember a conversation right before Jordan and I got married in which I told a girlfriend of mine in Memphis that Jordan was definitively NOT my best friend. He was my fiancé. To me, those were different. Jordan, on the other hand, was sure that I was his best friend. I felt a little guilty, but I stuck to my guns. Friends were friends. Husbands were husbands. 

Isn't it great to look back at yourself and think, "Wow, you were such a dummy. I'm so glad you learned some things!"? I think so. 

It took this move for me to realize that friendship - deep, understanding, soul-bearing friendship - is at the heart of a great marriage. And now, most days when Jordan leaves for work, I say, "I love you! You're my best friend!" And he still (thank goodness) returns the sentiment. 

Our first year of marriage was peppered with small challenges, most of them based in Jordan's residency and his countless hours of back-breaking work. Despite his schedule, it was certainly not a tough year, all things considered. 

This year hasn't been tough either - or, at least, it hasn't been unpleasant. But putting at least 5 hours between everything and everyone that's familiar to us has made the emotional roller coaster that is my life take dips and twists that are much more intense, much more thrilling and scarier, than ever before. Moving away is an adventure, but it also involves a little bit of mourning the life that you leave behind. 

This is my long-winded way (because, when it comes to me, is there any other kind?) of saying that I have never been more in love with my husband than I am today. 

This year, Year Two, Jordan has seen me at my most vulnerable and my least self-possessed. Not going to a job every day gave me time to think about what it is I'm doing on this planet, which, of course, led to a lot of self-doubt. In fact, this blog was born from such doubts and is my daily way of overcoming my fear of being unproductive. 

Through all of these moments - from the small triumphs of making a friend to the deep bowels of feeling profoundly aimless - my husband has been a rock. Well, really, he's been a rock, and a cheerleading shaker, and a bottle of champagne, and a laugh track, and a pillow, and a cool breeze, and a hiding place, and a safety net. Whatever it was that I needed. 

Jordan wakes up happy. He's kind to people, especially those he works with and those he works on. He's sharp as a tack, quick-witted, very funny - funnier than I am, to my deep chagrin (but secret delight - don't tell him I said so). Always playful. He's smart...scary smart. Steel trap smart. Want him on your team at pub trivia smart. He's no-nonsense and straightforward, solutions-oriented in a crisis. He's diligent, thorough, careful, confident. Perfectionistic in the best way. He finishes the DIY projects that I start and abandon. He regularly asks what he can do to help around the house even when he is bone tired. He says, "Thank you," for meals and clean laundry. He is empathic, motivated by helping people and animals who can't help themselves. Loves this earth. Experiences God in nature and doesn't understand the appeal of a city skyline, no matter how many times I explain to him that glittery lights are pretty. He's hard on himself and always improving, moving forward, in each of the roles he plays. He loves my friends. He is patient - good grief, is he ever - and long-suffering EVERY. DAY. He once housed his mother-in-law and his mother-in-law's dog for five straight weeks and didn't utter a word of complaint - instead, he walked through the door every afternoon and asked, "How are my girls doing?" Decent. Does the right thing. Doesn't take sick days. Doesn't complain. Always shows up. 

Look, we've all got problems and undesirable traits. Jordan, too. But if looking at someone's character is about what they do in the way of patience and kindness, selflessness and humility, celebration and cool-headedness (haven't I heard this somewhere before?), then he's got character spilling out of his pores. 

In Year Three, I will undoubtedly want to kill him at some point. And he will probably want to lock me in a room to let me run out all my energy like a five-year-old at a McDonald's Playplace. C'est la vie. It's part of the gig.

Over the course of me sitting at this computer, typing this post, all the fog has burned away. It's bright, sunny morning. I can see the mountains all around our house, wisps of clouds suspended in the air. It looks like a Bob Ross painting. My dog is snoring down the hall, where he moved to be closer to the air vent. Jordan just came up and asked if I wanted anything else. He meant coffee.

But the answer is, I don't. 

5 Things: Ways To Avoid Current Events Burnout

This has been an exhausting week in terms of keeping up with the world. Lots has happened. Lots has been really sad, disappointing, upsetting, and tough. I've felt a lot of anxiety around trying to inform myself about current events without allowing myself to become anxious or overwhelmed, which is not an easy combination. Here are some things that have helped me. 

1. Stay off/limiting social media. 

As much as it kills me to say, I have a Facebook problem. Many (most) of my friends have moved past this stage, but Facebook is still the website that I go to when I don't have anything else to do. Because of that, I find myself mindlessly scrolling through status after status - people's complaints, the products people are selling, photos of engagements and babies being born, etc. It's not all bad! But it is a LOT of input for one brain, especially when most of it is white noise. Reading about how the person who sat behind me in Algebra feels about the transgender ban in the military is not, in my opinion, a helpful way to process how I feel about it.

Twitter is another danger zone. This week, I found myself all spun up about John McCain's decision to vote "Yes" on the proposed healthcare legislation, only to find later that what he voted "Yes" to was to open the floor to debate the plan - not the plan itself (in fact, he voted "No" on the plan last night, so, ya know.). I am still unsupportive of this choice, but a series of fifteen angry tweets by my peers led me to believe that something more catastrophic had happened than had actually happened. This happens to me A LOT - allowing the opinions of others to work me up into a froth. Had I done my own research, I would've figured out what was really going on and saved myself the embarrassment of tweeting something dumb. 

2. Seek out credible news sources, and, even then, limit what you choose to read. 

If you've been following this blog for any length of time, you've probably heard me rave about theSkimm, which is a daily e-mail consolidating all the important sound bytes and news items of the day into a digestible, easy-to-read, ten-minute experience. 

But theSkimm is far from the only platform offering services like this: The New York Times has launched its own capsule daily news, as has NPR. Whatever news source you enjoy, it's likely that they'll start offering something similar. 

The reason this has been so effective for me is because I can't mentally and emotionally process a constant, day-long stream of opinions and updates about the world. Doing so makes me unproductive, depressed, and often keeps me from holding valuable perspective about what's going on vs. how big a deal it's being made into. Processing my information at once, every day, in the mornings, has made me able to retain more information and feel more confident, informed, and stable. I've stopped watching cable news completely and GOSH does that make a difference. 

3. Talk about it. 

Something about talking through tough issues with my peers or parents is helpful to me. I think being able to just verbally dump all my concerns on the people I love and then have them help me sort through it makes me feel like the walls aren't collapsing in on me. It's probably because I'm a verbal/written processor. I know that shocks you! 

Allowing other people into your head means you aren't alone in there. Holy hell, my head is a scary place sometimes. I bet yours is, too. Don't get trapped in there by yourself. Talk to your people. If your people are good ones, they'll help you make sense of it all. Things aren't as scary with a community around you. It's tribe mentality, and boy, does it work. 

4. Call your legislators. 

Oh, the instant joy that comes with hanging up after calling a legislator and leaving a voicemail for his or her aids to listen to later. Not impolite ones. Just normal, "Hey, this is how I feel, can ya let my boy/girl know?" sort of things. 

Y'all, people are passionate, but I'll tell you what does almost nothing: e-mails to your legislators. Facebook posts. Twitter rants. I'm not knocking these outlets on their own - often, you can get a lot of relief from either reading one or penning one of your own - but those things by themselves produce nothing but a momentary laugh, nod, or grimace from readers. It is so rare for a piece of writing to galvanize anyone to action without follow up of some sort. 

Calling your legislators and letting them know how you feel isn't just a way to blow off steam - it's actually part of our duty as citizens of this country. It digs way down to the bones of what makes America America. No march, no rant, no article, no 140 characters can do anything by itself. Keep calling, keep calling, keep calling. 

5. Remember that the 24-hour news cycle requires news. 

It wasn't so long ago that there were four channels and a hard stop to broadcasting every night that concluded with the national anthem. Since then, the monster of the 24-hour news cycle has been created. And it is HUNGRY. 

The mere fact of this neverending parade of news means that there has to be content to fill it, whether that content is meaningful or not. That might mean bringing so-and-so's ex-boyfriend's dog sitter on to offer her analysis of a situation, of bastardizing a truly tragic news story (like Charlie Gard), or reporting on content that no one is sure about yet for the sake of having something to put on TV. News media, it seems, cares less and less about credible sources and more and more about ratings. 

Fake News isn't just a thing that happens by clicking suspicious links your aunt posts on Facebook. I'd like to submit that Fake News can also mean stories about real events, but that those stories are inflamed and beaten to death to a degree that they mislead the public. It's just not responsible, and it's a product of the current need for news to be ALL THE TIME. 

So. Take a breath and step away from the computer if ya need to (I do). It's our job as consumers to CHOOSE what we listen to. I am terrible about having something "on" just for the sake of having noise in the background - I'm not even listening to it. Turn on some instrumental music. Sit in silence. If that's too much, flip on a white noise machine. But do SOMETHING to allow yourself a decompression every day, away from the noise of the world. Re-set. Otherwise, your brain might just become its own never ending newsfeed of anxiety-producing material that you just can't seem to get on top of. 

My Baby Stole My Brain.

...and won't give it back. 

You know those Life Alert commercials? 

Mmhmm. YOU know which ones I mean. 

That is the current state of my brain. There are lots of things about pregnancy I thought people played up/were kind of myths (more on that in tomorrow's post), but one of them is "pregnancy brain." 

Yeah right, I thought, arrogantly. These chicks are just being lazy and don't want to try anymore because they're cookin' a baby. Can't blame them, but let's not act like the forgetfulness can't be helped. 

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh, pre-pregnancy Mary Catherine. How foolish you were. You simple idiot.

I'd like to offer a few pieces of anecdotal evidence that Pregnancy Brain is, in fact, a thing. For your consideration: 

1. The Pants

Jordan bought (well, I bought) some things from J Crew. In the stack, there were two pairs of shorts that he didn't care for. He asked me to exchange them for a different color pair of shorts and a pair of slacks. These items have been sitting on a stool in our bedroom for probably 8 weeks now, and I finally got around to doing it this week. 

I took said items to the store to exchange, only to realize that I couldn't remember his pant size. Like, at all. It was gone. It was nowhere in the system from when I worked there, so my trip was fruitless and I had to go home, look in his other pants, get the size, and go back in. It's a 32/32 by the way, which really means I only had to remember the one number, twice. 

That one sounds mild, does it? Could've happened to anyone, you're thinking? Stay with me. 

2. The car keys. 

I recently got a new car. If you know me personally, this is a Big Deal as I have been driving the same car since my sophomore year of college (meaning almost a decade). My car had started to really die out on me - the AC was faulty, the radio didn't work, and, in its death rattle, the starter began acting up. 

One fateful Saturday morning after I'd taught Pure Barre, I got into the car only to find that it wouldn't turn over. Jordan had to come get me, and since we'd already made plans to go look at cars the next day, we decided to leave the car where it was and get it the next day. 

When we arrived at the car, neither of us could find the keys. Where had we put them? we both wondered. We couldn't figure it out, so we went on to the dealership and made plans to deal with the lost keys later. 

The next day, I made it my personal mission to find the keys. I turned the entire house upside down. Searched through our laundry, every nook and corner, and dug through Jordan's Jeep - nothing. COMPLETE mystery.

"Did you check your pockets?" my mother asked by phone. YES, MOM, I CHECKED MY POCKETS. Come on, girl. I felt like Parker Posey in Best In Show when the hotel manager suggests she look under the bed (anyone? anyone??) for her dog's lost toy. #busybee

So eventually, we bought another car and traded my current car in. Despite the fact that it was still in the Pure Barre parking lot. Locked. 

The only thing either of us could think of was that I'd locked the keys in the car that morning. So we called AAA. I'm sure this poor guy thought that we were about to hot wire this car given that he unlocked it and we were still unable to locate the keys and/or start the car. He drove away, but he looked dubious. 

Jordan had to go to work, so I stayed to clean out the car. Not knowing that the last time I drove the car would be the ACTUAL last time I drove the car, I'd made no effort to tidy it up. It's not important to the story, though it might be entertaining to include that inside the car, I found the following items that I did not know were there: 

• An extra key fob (still not able to start the car, but at least we could unlock it from the outside!) 
• A highball glass 
• A pair of Chanel sunglasses with one of the lenses missing 
• A full, unopened bottle of wine 
• A legal pad full of notes I'd been looking for
• A perfume bottle 
• Five pairs of Pure Barre sticky socks
• An iPod shuffle 
• Three cigars 

You get the point. If you found those items in a car, you'd be like, "So this is an alcoholic smoker who sometimes works out? Mmkay." 

Anyway, as I was cleaning out the ruins of my life, it started to rain. I pulled on my rain jacket and put my wallet in my pocket so that I could walk to Domino's and get a pizza to stress-eat by myself and...

...touched something. Metal. And clinky. 

The keys. They were in the pocket of the raincoat I'd been wearing that morning. Which means not only am I a moron, but MY MOTHER WAS RIGHT! 

3. The pound cake

Last week, I needed to make a pound cake as a thank you gift for a weekend trip we'd recently been gifted. I thought, "This will be a snap. I've done this a billion times." I FaceTime'd my mom, started chatting, and got to work. 

I laid all the ingredients out - eggs, sugar, flour, vanilla, lemon extract, Crisco (YEP. CRISCO. Deal with it.), etc. Started creaming everything together. Talking away, blah blah blah, got it done in a jiff, put it in the oven, and sat back to wait for the house to fill with that fabulous baking smell. I cleaned up all my ingredients, wiped my counters, and congratulated myself.

But it didn't smell fabulous. It didn't smell like anything except scrambled eggs cooking. 

I looked in on the cake and saw that it was sunken. This has happened to me before - I accidentally shut our back door too hard while baking once and it collapsed - so I thought, "Eh. Whatever. We'll see." 

Anyway, thirty minutes later, I looked in to find that the center of the cake was still completely raw. Odd I thought. I'll let it bake a little longer, I guess.

Twenty minutes later, the blackened scorch of failure wafted through the house. 

"What the HELL??" I said aloud to Tom Hanks. 

Turns out I forgot to put flour in the cake. Despite getting the flour out and setting it with the other ingredients and putting it back into the pantry with the other ingredients, it did not occur to me that I had not actually put the flour in the batter. So, I basically made custard, and then burned the custard. Then threw it away. Then went to the store and bought a cake. 

Friends, these are things that, despite my spazzy and oft-forgetful nature, would have NEVER HAPPENED had this baby not crawled into my brain stem, torn it in half, kidnapped my mind and held it hostage in my uterus. I can't even access normal thought anymore. I couldn't remember John Hughes' name the other day. JOHN FREAKING HUGHES, director of the 80's canon of classics such as The Breakfast Club and Sixteen Candles. I can't remember anything about Jordan's work schedule. I asked a friend when she was due (she'd already had the baby). I asked a co-worker how her mother-in-law was doing who'd recently fallen ill (it was her father-in-law). I left the house without Tom Hanks to TAKE THE DOG TO THE PARK. 

I've surrendered to it. Whatever. This is my life now. 

"Oh, sweetie, it only gets worse," knowing moms say to me with a smile. 

That's cute, lady. Thanks for the looming reminder that I'll never be able to effectively bake/speak/interact with other humans normally again. 

Oooooo, this baby better be cute is all I'm sayin'. 

Will You Accept This Podcast? Episode 6!

We nerded out SO. HARD. THIS TIME. 

Listen, normally we gloss over the details for the sake of general stupidity and patter. NOT TODAY, CHILDREN. We did a deep-dive of these hometowns (including a scale that we rated each hometown by) and dug into the long and short of it. It's just one of those weeks. 

 I need your opinions. I need your feedback. Who do you think is going to win this show?! Do you agree with our opinions?? Please affirm my opinions. I need it. I want it. 

Episode six is live. Click the image below to listen.

Will You Accept This Podcast, Episode 5!

We're BAAAAAAaaaaack! 

After a few weeks off (one because the show wasn't one, one because we just took a break), we're back with our shortest podcast yet! 

Action packed with our discussions about how "Friends" is overrated, the name for female foxes, Jordan's family's odd and charming Tooth Fairy tradition, and, of course, The Bachelorette. And MC's opinions on what men who are balding should do, which Jordan takes real issue with. So maybe she shouldn't have said it. But she did. Tune in!