Baby's First Concert

Earlier this month we went to see Brad Paisley in concert. The tickets were really reasonably priced, so when I bought them, I got four, thinking we could either take some friends or take Nicky and Daisy. We decided to take Nicky and Daisy to have their first concert experience.

First, let's address how that went. I knew going into it that Nicky would love it and Daisy would hate it. I knew that I would have to take Daisy to pee at least four times during the concert. I knew she would be bored and that she would think it was too loud. I knew that both kids would get really tired - overall Nicky would be okay but Daisy wouldn't.

A few days before the concert, I started panicking - knowing that taking Daisy was a bad idea. We had already told her that we were taking her, so just to make sure she wasn't disappointed, I talked to her and told her the ups and downs of going to a concert, and I let her decide if she wanted to go. She decided to go, and everything went pretty much as we expected with her. She wasn't bad per se, but the concert was just too long, too loud, and too late for her. I took her potty in between every set, and I told her early on that there is a strict "No Potty During Paisley" rule. She actually did as well as could be expected from Daisy, and I think she enjoyed a lot of the concert. The problem with Daisy is that if 9 things go well and 1 thing goes wrong, she hates the world. So even though she spent most of the concert looking through binoculars with intrigue and having a good time, all she remembers is that she felt bored for 2% of the concert and that she got tired at the end, so if you ask her, she will say she hated it.

That's the Daisy way.

Nicky, on the other hand, loved it. He wasn't big on the opening sets (neither was I), but he liked Brad Paisley. He definitely got tired as the night went on, but he enjoyed the music, the special effects, and the opportunity to be really loud (we have issues with keeping Nicky quiet at home, so he was really happy about being encouraged to yell and cheer).

As far as wholesome family entertainment goes, we failed a bit. We've been to Brad Paisley concerts in the past, and we always thought it would be fine to take our kids. Now that we've actually done it, I'm not sure it was a great parenting choice. I think the other concerts we went to, though, were more mild. This one had a lot of bikini-clad women on the big screen, and there are a couple of new songs by Brad Paisley that I didn't know and am not impressed with. And of course, there's the drinking factor. I don't know if I was just more sensitive to it because my kids were there, but it seemed like there was a lot more talk of beer than there has been in past concerts. On the good side, it opened the door for a lot of discussions.

This concert wasn't as magical as the ones I've been to before. But sometimes that's just a result of trying to relive an experience. Brad's set list also wasn't what I hoped for. Unfortunately, some of my favorite Brad Paisley songs didn't make the concert. I get it, though, he has so many albums, he can't possibly sing everything I want to hear.

That's a good problem for a country artist to have. 

Draft Week - The Kind of Feminist I am

This is a post I wrestled with for a really long time. I wasn't sure if I wanted to discuss the topic of feminism here, but I started writing the post about six months ago just to see how it felt. I got most of it written, and then I realized that I'd hit Reason #3 once again - I wasn't sure how to conclude it.

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I tend shy away from topics like this. I don't usually feel like contributing to this particular online discussion, but I've had this post in the back of my mind for a really long time, and I think the time has come to write the words.

I am a feminist.

A feminist is a person who advocates for rights, opportunities, and identities for women.

Of course I'm a feminist.

There are a lot of negative connotations with the word 'feminist.' I believe that's because there isn't just one clear vision of feminism. In fact, according to Feminist Family Theory, there are five different branches of feminism stemming from the 60's & 70's.

1. Liberal Feminism

This branch of feminism emphasizes freeing women from subjugation, particularly in careers. Liberal feminists challenge laws and customs that restrict women from obtaining significant roles in society.

2. Marxist Feminism

Marxist feminists believe that the exploitation of reproductive and household roles of women are oppressing and place women as second-class citizens.

3. Radical Feminism

This branch of feminism believes that male dominance is the problem in society and that masculine and feminine traits should be limited in favor of androgyny. This branch also believes that the family structure is a source of male dominance and female oppression and should be avoided.

4. Social Feminism

Social feminism focuses on women's liberation from class oppression and patriarchy, particularly as found in families.

5. Cultural Feminism

This branch emphasizes bringing respect and value to traits that are seen as "feminine," rather than discriminating against traits that are considered "masculine." Cultural feminists believe we should celebrate and acknowledge the differences between men and women.

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These branches make it quite clear that there are some very different beliefs about the objectives of feminism and the causes of oppression toward women. One woman might embrace feminine traits as part of her feminism while another woman strives to eliminate feminine traits as part of her feminism. A woman might choose to pursue the role of mother, homemaker, and nurturer as part of her feminism while another woman chooses to devote herself to a career and remain childless as part of her feminism. The hard thing about feminism is that striving for women's rights can result in completely opposite actions. We are not in agreement over what women's rights should look like. Some women feel oppressed by the very things that make other women feel strong.

Regardless of the different philosophies of feminism, there have been great changes in opportunities for women over the past few decades. In 2010, women made up 46.7% of the workforce, up from 38.1% in 1970. Also in 2010, women earned 57.4% of bachelor's degrees, 62.6% of master's degrees, and 53.3% of doctoral degrees. Women now graduate with nearly half of all medical and law degrees, up from 10% thirty years ago (Zhou, 2013).

But with those opportunities, comes something that troubles me. A survey was done from 1972-2006 in which men and women reported on happiness and satisfaction in various areas of their lives. When the study began in 1972, women reported higher levels of happiness than men, but at the time the study concluded in 2006, women were reporting lower levels of happiness, suggesting that women have become less happy over time.

Betsey Stevenson, one of the researchers, suggests two reasons for this:

1. Happiness for women now encompasses multiple domains, not just the home.

2. Since women's opportunities have increased, women now compare themselves to larger groups than they did thirty years prior.

Ultimately, my wish for women is for each of us to be happy with who we are and confident in the individual paths we take. I don't think there's a "one size fits all" formula for achieving that, as our talents, interests, wants, and needs are all so different. That's part of what makes us such amazing creatures, though - we have so much human-ness in common, but at the same time we all bring unique perspective and balance to the world. I'm glad that there's not a "one size fits all" solution for feminism because that would mean that we were all the same, and I can't think of anything more boring.


Smith, S.R., & Hamon, R.R. (2012). Exploring family theories. New York: Oxford University Press.

Zhou, L. (2013, March 22). Can American women have it all and be happy? Phi Kappa Phi Forum. 

Draft Week - My Fat Photo Philosophy

And here is where I overachieve! Post #5 for Draft Week, wherein my goal was to finish and publish four posts from my draft folder. It feels good to overachieve. It's not a thing I often do these days, so I'm going to bask in this moment and really soak it in.

I might even refer back to it over and over again for the next year. "Remember how I'm an overachiever?" "Oh, you know how I like to go above and beyond!" "Sometimes I do more than is expected of me."

(Can you hear me over the sound of me patting my own back?)

Anyway, I wrote this post last fall  (October 2017) after we went to Disneyland. I never published it because I worried that I wasn't being entirely truthful with what I wrote. This is a post about getting in the picture. I call it my "Fat Photo Philosophy." But I've gained ten more pounds since I wrote this, and I admit, it's getting harder and harder to get in the picture - especially if that picture is going to be on someone else's phone where I won't have control over it.

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This is a post about my weight.

(I figured I would just throw that out there so you can leave if you want. Weight-related posts aren't my favorite, so I don't blame you if you bail).

I'm currently the heaviest I've ever been. I'm bigger than I have been even nine months pregnant (and I look pregnant. I'm not saying that to be cruel to myself. It's just a matter of fact. Sometimes people look at my belly and give me a knowing smile. A lady in my ward has done this to me for about two years straight. I'm starting to wonder if she's just really bad at math because I could have had two babies in the time she's been eyeing my belly, and yet, no humans are escaping me).

Part of me isn't happy about it. Another part of me doesn't care one bit.

Two years ago, I was a different "heaviest I've ever been" (I was the heaviest I'd ever been but 17 27 pounds lighter than I am right now). I went to Disneyland that year, and I was so horrified by the photos afterward that I thought I'd found the motivation to change.

I lost a little bit of weight (about ten pounds), and then I gained about thirty pounds, putting me where I am currently.

Now I look back at those photos from two years ago, and I don't think I looked so bad.

Which is why I have the following "Fat Photo Philosophy:"

Even though I'm the biggest I've ever been, I'm still going to get in the picture,* and I'm still going to share photos of myself. Granted, there are photos that I will never share - everyone has the right to tuck away those bad angle photos and those "what is my face doing" images. But... I have a lot of photos that may not be flattering in the weight department, yet still show me experiencing joy and living a good life.

Why should I hesitate to share those just because my gut is sitting in my lap?

Also, someday I might be bigger and look back at those photos and say, "I can't believe I used to think I was so fat!"

Or maybe the opposite. Maybe I'll be thinner, and I can look back and see how much I've changed.

I won't get either of those opportunities if I don't get in the photos.**

*I will still whine about extended family photos. This has nothing to do with weight. It's just my Extended Family Photo Philosophy to complain and resist at all costs. I like my extended family, but I prefer to not stand close to them and hold still for long periods of time. 

**This philosophy was pondered and adopted while riding Splash Mountain and knowing that the Splash photo was not going to be pretty. 

Draft Week - Navigating the Audience

With this post, I make my goal of getting four posts from my draft folder published. Since Draft Week started on a Tuesday, I have a couple of days left to overachieve. I might just exceed my goal (something I rarely do anymore).

I started this post in 2013, and even though five years have passed, I still experience this all the time.

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Being a parent is so hard. It's one of those things that you don't truly understand until you're living it. People always hinted at it during my pre-kid life, and I was like, "Yeah. I know! It's hard. Duh!" but the forewarning was nothing compared to the actual experience. Now I'm like, "Daaaaang! You weren't kidding!"

One of the most challenging things for me has been parenting in front of other people. I always jokingly say to my children when they start acting up in front of someone else, "Don't make me parent you in front of [insert person here]!" This is my slacker way of begging my kids to behave while simultaneously offering comic relief and warning the bystander that things might not be pretty if my kids keep acting up.

The thing about parenting with an audience is that the audience usually has an opinion on how the situation should be handled, and I can almost guarantee that I will not do what the audience thinks I should do (with that said, I have been the audience for other people's parenting many a time, and I am guilty of silent criticism. We all do it, which is why I don't want to parent my kids in front of other people. It's so much easier to have the "right" answers when you're the outsider looking in).

Take this scenario, for example:

I am at the park with some acquaintances and their children when one of the other mothers turns to me and says, "Your son is climbing the tree."

Does she expect me to tell him not to climb the tree? I mull over this for a minute, wondering if there is any reason I shouldn't let Nicky climb the tree, but frankly, I don't care if he climbs the tree as long as he's not damaging it.

I smile and say, "Yep. He's a good climber." Turns out, this mother does not let her children climb trees, and she wants me to make my son get out of the tree so her kids won't want to climb it, too.

Which of us is supposed to compromise?

And then there's this:

We are at a large extended family gathering with loads of small children. People are preparing the final details of potluck lunch, and we'll be eating any minute. There is a large stack of plates at one end of the table. Several kids are grabbing plates and using them as frisbees. None of the mothers are bothered by this. I see Nicky grab a plate, and I intervene, explaining to him that they are not our plates. We did not pay for them, and we should not waste them. We need to make sure that there are enough plates for all of the people to use for lunch.

Meanwhile, another little kid overhears me and goes running to his mom crying because I told my kid he couldn't throw paper plates (I said nothing to this other child, mind you). So the other mother (who, of course, is a relative) picks her son up and takes him (and his paper plate) away from me to play.

And there I sit. The only mother who won't let my kid throw BRAND SPANKING NEW, UNUSED paper plates THAT WE DID NOT PAY FOR. And need I mention that we're outside in the mountains, and that all of these frisbee plates are making large puffs of black mountain dirt each time they land?

I can't help but wonder where to find the balance in all of this. Sometimes I am the lenient mother; the one who lets my children climb trees, take off their shoes at the park, and eat off the ground at Disneyland.* Other times I am the strict mother; one who won't let my kids throw paper plates at a potluck.

I mention eating off the ground at Disneyland because it comes from a real experience. We were there with my brother-in-law, and my kids spilled a little container of goldfish. They swiftly started eating them off the ground, and my nephew joined right in. My brother-in-law dove toward the kids in a panic, shouting, "No, don't eat those!" Scotty turned to him, and said, "It's cool, they can eat off the ground." I was in sheer panic over how this was going to play out. I was surprised when my brother-in-law took a deep breath, and with much pain, turned to his own children and said, "Okay, kids. Today we eat off the ground." And then they joyfully finished cleaning up the goldfish.

This story both relieves me and stresses me out. It relieves me because my brother-in-law made a choice that made all our lives easier, but it stresses me out because I know that he bent one of his own family rules, and he probably spent the next six months worrying that his kids had contracted a terminal illness.

I realize that every family has different values and expectations for behaviors, but I don't always know how to handle things when we are in a situation where we have one rule and another family has a different rule, and we're in an environment that puts us at odds with one another. It always feels like one of us has to bend to the other's ways, and I don't like negotiating my parenting with other people. My solution is usually to tell my kids, "Their mom will take care of them, and I will take care of you," but that doesn't do much to soothe the tension of the situation, and it doesn't work in every situation. Sometimes it feels like tyranny.

*Our own food that we drop. Although I can't say I would deny them a perfectly good churro if one happened to by lying on the ground close by. It's like finding four bucks in my pocket.

Draft Week: Doggy Paddling

My draft folder is now down to 111 (From 165). As I've combed through my unpublished posts, I'm amazed at how many posts I've abandoned for reason #2: I realize that I'm whining or complaining. Don't get me wrong, plenty of whiney posts see the light of day around here (one of my most frequently used labels is "wo is me"), but there are masses of posts I've never published because I know I sound like an ungrateful sack of potatoes.

(Are sacks of potatoes ungrateful? I just made that up).

I decided to post this one from January 2016 because I wrote about an event that had a big impact on me. I now refer to this event as "The Day the Sunday School Boys Made Me Cry." It may seem like a small event, but it was a kind of turning point. One of my boys didn't come to church for over a year after this happened, so it has always been bookmarked in my mind as the last time he came to church (he bravely returned last year and was in my class again).

I just taught the same lesson to my new Sunday school class a few weeks ago, and it will always be remembered as "that lesson," though this time around it went very well, and no one made me cry. I'm glad I had the chance to see the lesson unfold the way I envisioned it.

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Last week* I wrote about how I feel like I'm drowning. I can't explain why, but things have just been really rough for me emotionally lately. I don't usually get the January blues, but maybe that's what this is. I dunno. I've been doing the, "Do I have depression?" debate for a while, but it doesn't quite fit the bill.

Anyway, I'm a firm believer that whining to the point of embarrassment really helps turn things around. Don't take that out of context. What I mean is that writing a blog post or talking to a friend and just taking a minute to vent is really helpful, but then you need to wipe yourself up off the floor and try to improve things. In other words, you can whine for a minute, but then you need to suck it up and take action. 

Last week I had some chances to vent. It started on Sunday when everything caught up to me in the middle of Sunday school (I was teaching), and I completely lost it in the middle of my lesson in front of a bunch of a 15 year old boys (they weren't exactly being kind that day). I started sobbing. Not just crying, but sobbing. I was sniffling and doing those quick inhales that make you unable to talk. My face was red and puffy. I just exploded. Then I got control of myself and dismissed the class. I had a quick chat with my team teacher, and then I went to the bathroom to do damage control.

When I walked in, one of my good friends (and mothers of one of the boys I'd just cried in front of) was standing right inside the door. I took one look at her and just started sobbing all over again. I explained myself in between sniffles. Then she left, and I looked in the mirror and started sobbing again just because I looked so ridiculous. I hid in the bathroom stall for a while hoping that I'd stop crying and get my act together so I could go to my next class. The restroom traffic was so heavy every time someone came in, I'd say, "Hey ________. I'm in here crying. Do you need a stall right away?" Luckily they let me stay.

I texted Scotty from the bathroom and told him what was going on, and he texted me back that he was outside waiting for me, so eventually I had to come out of the stall. Since the bathroom never emptied, I made my escape while a friend was changing her son's diaper. I walked out like, "Hey, don't mind me. Just a little emotional breakdown. No big deal. Oh my heck! Look at my FACE!!! What is wrong with my face? Okay then, good day."

A few days later, one of my friends texted me and said, "I've been thinking about you, and I've been meaning to ask you if you're doing alright." I responded, "Haha! I'm a mess, but you know how it goes..." Then she called me and let me have a big, old whine fest with her.

She didn't give me advice. She didn't tell me to cherish every moment or say, "If you think it's hard now, wait until you have teenagers!"

In terms of being a good listener and helping me feel better, my friend nailed it.

When I got off the phone, I realized I'd just vented to a friend whose husband spent the last year battling cancer. See what I mean about whining to the point of embarrassment?

Now that I've had the chance to let some of my emotions out, I feel like I might be able to start doggy paddling.

*"Two years ago" would be more accurate now

Draft Week: What it Looked Like

At the beginning of Draft Week, my draft folder had 165 posts in it. I've been working my way through them, finding the "deletables," and I'm now down to 116.

I decided to click the arrows and go as far back as I could to see what kinds of posts I'd abandoned in my twenties. This is a post I wrote in 2013 (when I was 29) and never finished.

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A friend came to my house the other day to drop off a few things. My house was clean, and I had everything ready for our Family Home Evening lesson that night - this involved a hide and seek activity, so there were little papers taped all over the house. My kids were seated at the kitchen table eating their dinner and speaking softly to one another. I was fully groomed: hair done, make-up on, dressed to shoes. My children's artwork was displayed on the front door. Scotty had classes and wasn't going to be home until after 10:00 that night.

What it looked like:

I am an engaged, thoughtful, and loving mother who can manage the home even my when my husband is gone. I have taught my kids manners while maintaining great hair. My FHE lessons are well-thought-out and planned ahead of time. I adore my children and lovingly display their masterpieces for all to see.

The real story:

That was the first time my house had been clean in months. Scotty and I had spent hours working on it over the weekend, and to keep it that way, we spent most of our day on Monday away from home. I don't cook dinner for my family on Mondays - my friend does* - so there was no mess from dinner prep. My kids were silent because they shut down in front of people they don't know well. My FHE lesson was planned in haste about five minutes before my friend arrived. It was the first time we'd had FHE in several weeks. The only reason I was dressed and groomed was because I volunteered at the school that day, and the last time I'd gone to the school, I'd been a grubby mess so I went out of my way to look presentable this time. My children's artwork was hung on the door because they found it in the recycle bin, threw a fit, and hung in there themselves.

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I arrived at a church event with four friends. The five of us rode there together and then sat at the same table and engaged in conversation and laughter. Two people who had come alone joined us at our table. When we were ready to go, the five of us gathered our things and exited together, leaving the other two women behind.

What it looked like:

The five of us are best friends - perhaps even a clique. We know everything going on in each other's lives. We do a lot together and intentionally exclude others. We dominate the Relief Society table, and the real event is the ride there and back in the "party van."

The real story:

Earlier that day, I asked one of the women if she wouldn't mind picking me up on her way to Relief Society. She hesitated and then explained that so-and-so was already picking her up and that she would ask if so-and-so wouldn't mind picking me up as well. In the meantime, someone else approached so-and-so and asked for a ride. We were all just looking for someone to go with so we wouldn't be alone, and we approached each other in such a way that we ended up in the same vehicle.

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Just a reminder, primarily for myself, that what we see doesn't always reflect the whole story. The person who appears to have it all might be the person who cries every morning because she can't convince herself get out of bed and face the day. The close-knit group you feel excluded from might have people in it that are incredibly lonely. In fact, it might not even be a close-knit group at all.

*My friend and I used to meal swap. She cooked dinner for my family on Mondays and I cooked dinner for her family on Thursdays. We did this for a year, and then we stopped because I went back to school and was pregnant with Eva (and I can't cook when I'm pregnant).

Draft Week - Domesticity & Me

It's Draft Week here at Fluent Brittish, wherein I'm trying to get some posts out of my draft folder. My goal is to publish four drafts this week.

The first one is a post I started before Christmas and didn't post for reason #3: I didn't know where I was going with it. Yesterday I sat down and finished it. I'm not sure I arrived anywhere, but here it is:

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This morning I was listening to a podcast, and one of the co-hosts briefly made mention of the fact that she is not "domestic." That statement made me think about my own relationship with domesticity.

I decided that on the spectrum of domesticity, I might fall somewhere in the middle, but it depends on your interpretation of "domestic." If being domestic means I get dolled up in lipstick and a ruffled apron to bake bread, then I'm not domestic. But if being domestic means I do tasks to manage a home and a family, then I am domestic.

Most of my domestic weaknesses lie in keeping my house clean. I'm not a cleaner. Don't get me wrong - I love a clean house, and I thrive when my home environment is tidy, but I stink at making it so. I loathe cleaning more than anything, and I will find 5,000 other things to do before I will tackle a cleaning job.

 

{Laundry}

I am also very messy by nature. A neat freak would need hospitalization after watching me cook or do my hair. I've decided to just own it and bide by the idea that I'm a creative genius. In fact, I validate myself by looking at my sink full of dishes and saying, "Britt, look how creative you are! You found thirteen unusual and non-traditional utensils to feed your family with this week! You genius, you!"

My other significantly weak area of domesticity lies in nurturing. I have to remind myself to show my family affection and to spend time with my children. People might read that and think I'm awful. I'm not saying I don't do those things - I'm saying they are not easy or natural for me.

One trait I think a lot of people classify as "domestic" is being "crafty." While this may be a domestic ability, I don't think being crafty is important. It's nice to have some crafting skills - they can save you a lot of money and help make life pretty, but ultimately, I don't think being "crafty" is a determining factor in whether you're a good wife, mother, or homemaker.

(Ten years ago I thought crafting was the ultimate measure of my value as a person. I am reformed).

Now I reserve most of my crafting for special events and circumstances, like when I made Daisy's baptism dress.

 

Most of my domestic strengths have to do with planning and scheduling (I hesitate to call them "strengths" because it's not like I'm amazing at them - I just don't suck at them. Maybe "non-weaknesses" is a better term) .

I'm decent at meal planning, grocery shopping, and budgeting (except for the part where I have to live by the budget. I struggle there sometimes, but I do well with managing finances for the future). I'm sufficient at providing food for my family. I cook at least one meal per day. I'm good at mass food prep and always have prepared meals at the ready in the freezer.

I think I'm a decent cook. My in-laws probably disagree, as pretty much anything I take to family potlucks ends up coming back home with me, but other people eat my food and sometimes even compliment it. I've never roasted a turkey, though. I'm sure that's some kind of domestic failure.

I'm not much of a baker. Several years ago, a friend (whom I would consider "very domestic") asked me if I preferred baking or cooking. I'd never even thought of them as two different tasks. Now that I'm a little older, I can say that I prefer cooking to baking. I went through a phase where I felt like baking mattered, and I tried to master bread making in all its forms (I made everything from loaves to buns to pretzels). I dropped all that when I went back to school, and I haven't picked it back up. Just like crafting, I think baking is a nice skill but it's not essential.

(A thousand domestic goddesses just gasped).

I can garden, and I can bottle food using both water bath and pressure cooking techniques (though it's been two years since I did either of those things due to school. This year I'm planning to start up again)

{Apricot nectar}

I'm good at getting my kids up in the morning and getting them ready for school or church. My kids are never the elaborately groomed ones, as I gave up a long time ago on insisting their clothes match, but they are usually bathed!

I keep a detailed calendar and I get everyone to where they need to be. We have a family meeting every Sunday night where we go over the schedule for the week.

In all honesty, I don't really care whether I'm considered "domestic." It's a bit of an old-fashioned word, anyway. What I hope to be is a good manager of my family's resources. So if baking bread or sewing curtains helps me use what we have wisely, I hope I can do those things. But if I can accomplish the same goal by shopping at the Dunford store on discount days and getting my curtains from the thrift store for $2, that's just as good!

Welcome to Draft Week

Today I looked back through my draft folder - the place where blog posts go to die. I found several posts I never finished. The three most frequent reasons I don't finish posts are:

1. I start writing and then get distracted by something else (usually my kids)

2. I notice that I am whining or complaining

3. I start a post and realize I don't know where I'm going (conclusions have always been hard for me)

Since there are so many posts I've never finished, I decided to establish this week as "Draft Week."* 

This week I'm setting a goal to get at least four posts from my draft folder published, even if they aren't "finished."

It's the blogging equivalent of cleaning my kids' rooms and taking all their junk to DI.

*Despite how it sounds, it has nothing to do with the military or the NFL. 

Meet Teenage Britt

The other day I stumbled across a copy of the Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul Journal that I wrote in as a teenager. I took a deep breath and read through it, knowing it would be slightly painful. I don't reflect fondly on my teenage years. I wish that my adult self could travel back in time and talk some sense into my teenage self, but it wouldn't matter... I know her, and I know she won't listen. Her frontal lobe isn't fully developed.

Through my journal, I was reminded of some of the truths about Teenage Britt. Here are some of them:


She was an avid journal keeper.

I filled many journals from the time I was ten until I was about 22, so it's no wonder one of them was the Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul Journal. As a young adult, I carried a journal with me to church each Sunday and wrote in it before sacrament meeting started. It was around the time I became pregnant with Nicky that I stopped keeping a journal. That was about the time I started blogging, so that's probably why I stopped keeping a hand-written journal. I still have one, but I only write in it a few times a year.

She was very self-conscious about her face.

I had terrible acne when I was a teenager. I tried every over-the-counter and prescription acne treatment known to man. I think my body was composed of 10% salicylic acid by the time I turned 20. Nothing worked. I was always trying to cover my face, but I couldn't afford fancy make-up, so I just caked on the cheapest Cover Girl foundation I could find. I avoided swimming pools like the plague, and if I had to get in water, I never let my face get wet.

I finally found a prescription that worked when I was in my twenties. It was called Evoclin, and my insurance didn't cover it, so I had to pay about $120 for it. Now they make a generic version, and it's much more affordable. My skin cleared up and stayed clear as long as I was proactive about using the prescription. After that, I tried to get rid of my scarring through chemical peels. They didn't really help.

I used Evoclin until I was about 27. Then I went off it, and my face remained (mostly) clear. I still have minor scarring, but for the most part, my face has healed. I still get zits but not like I did as a teen and young adult.

She didn't get asked to high school dances.

I never got asked to a dance at my school.

She made some really weird date choices.

I didn't go to any boys' choice dances, but I went to all the girls' choice ones, and I asked some really strange boys. One time it was a boy who worked at Chick-Fil-A in the mall. I don't know why... he wasn't interested in me at all. Our relationship was purely customer service oriented - I bought chicken nuggets from him on my lunch break from work. He said yes, and we went, and it was incredibly awkward.  Then when I was a senior, I asked a sophomore to Senior Ball. Again, incredibly awkward.

I don't know what my thought process was.

She was a liar.

Until I was about 25-27 years old, I was very dishonest. I must have very desperately longed to change this as a teenager because in my Chicken Soup journal, I mentioned several times that I wished I were more honest.

I have some pretty good ideas about why honesty was a struggle for me, but I wont go into it. It's something that took a long time to overcome, but I did it. I believe I'm an honest person now.


She couldn't function without boys.

As a child and as a teen, I put way too much stock in boys. I was always longing for someone, anyone to like me. It wasn't just a crush or "taking interest" in the opposite sex. It was absolute desperation. It was pathetic and sad. I don't know how it looked to the observer, but I know what I experienced and felt at the time, and I don't think it was healthy.

She had amazing friends, but she didn't know it.

I am still very close to a lot of my friends from high school. Not all of us see each other regularly, but we try to meet up with at least once a year, and we have a great time.

She had questionable hygiene.

Of everything I could tell you about my teenage self, this is, by far, the most embarrassing. I had terrible hygiene! I did not bathe nearly as often as I should have. I washed my hair and face, and that's it. AND... I was on the dance team! Which means I sweated for hours and hours each day.

I also rarely washed my clothes, and I always slept in them. I never wore pajamas. Sometimes I didn't even take my shoes off.

I was probably the stinky kid, and I was clueless. No wonder no one asked me to dances!

She was good overall.

Even though I lied a lot and might have been smelly, I was a really good teenager. I did well in school, I was responsible, and I stayed out of trouble.

She held herself back.

I was a very timid person (still am). I wanted to try out for the school play or be in the choir. I would have loved to do student government or play volleyball or basketball. I was so incredibly scared of failure, that I never let myself try anything. I still struggle with this, and I worry that I've projected it onto my kids.

She had incredible faith.

This is the one thing I still can't wrap my mind around when I think of myself as a teenager. I had such a strong testimony. I studied my scriptures diligently and carried a Book of Mormon everywhere I went. I lived for Personal Progress and seminary (even though I sluffed sometimes). I listened to spiritual music more than secular music, and I went to church alone a lot of the time.

There was something in me that was very spiritually mature. Sometimes I wonder if I was better at it then than I am now.

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Teenage Britt had a few strengths, but I am so very glad that she doesn't exist anymore. I occasionally pay tribute to her by jamming to N'Sync or telling "Back in my day" stories, but I always follow those events with a big sigh of relief that I never have to be a teenager again!

Currently {February 2018 Edition}

Reading: The Blessing of a Skinned Knee by Wendy Mogel

Watching: Lost... again.

Listening to: "Man of the Woods" by Justin Timberlake (the song, not the album - though I have "test ran" each song) in between The Greatest Showman soundtrack.

Procrastinating: Making some doctor appointments, cleaning my house, and doing any exercise that involves more work than walking.

Wanting: A family room. A few years ago we built a bedroom and a storage room where our family room was. We intended to build a family room in our basement, but life got in the way. We need a little room to spread out. There isn't enough seating in the living room for everyone, so I feel like we are all in each other's space all the time.

Trying to: Convince more of my friends to watch Lost.

Craving: Sushi

Wearing: A Dunder Mifflin hoodie and jeans.

Relieved by: Nothing. I'm super anxious about several things, and I might explode.

Missing: A Chinese restaurant that Scotty and I used to eat at before we got married. We went there at least once a week. Sometimes twice. We were fans. Sadly, they closed down a long time ago.

Excited to: Watch more Lost and work on some new puzzles we got for Valentine's Day.

Neglecting: Getting my hair trimmed (Friday goal: make a hair appointment).

Feeling: Meh.

Wishing: That I were less prone to feeling annoyed.

Burdened by: Valentine's candy wrappers stashed in every nook and cranny of my house.

Loving: Lost

Thankful for: Hulu. Because Lost isn't on Netflix anymore.

The Beginnings

I looked back through my blog archives and found that it's been four years since my last Valentine's Day post. I'm overdue for something sappy and gag-worthy.

This morning, I did the math and realized that Scotty and I have been together for 19 years as of today (for a minute I worried that we missed the 20th Anniversary, so I was relieved that it's only 19).

Let me tell you how it all began...

The First Begining

Our relationship has more than one beginning. The first beginning was when I was 14 years old. Scotty and I went to the same church, but we never really interacted. He was two years older than me.

One day for a youth activity we were playing games out on the lawn of the church. We played "human knot" where you stand in a circle, everyone grabs two random hands in the middle, and then you have to work together to untangle yourselves without letting go.

Scotty grabbed my hand.

It meant nothing to him, but for me - it is what brought him to my attention.

That night I wrote in my journal that I was going to marry Scotty.

The Second Beginning

Several months passed after the "human knot" incident. During that time, my crush on Scotty grew big time. I confided in some friends at church that I liked him. I never thought anything would actually come of it - for me it was just really fun to crush on an older boy. I didn't know Scotty very well, and I just assumed he had a girlfriend. But oh! What a fun challenge it was to think of ways to try and talk to him or to just conveniently be where he was. My best friend lived really close to Scotty, so when I walked to her house, I would always go out of my way to walk past Scotty's house.

(Spoiler alert: my best friend ended up marrying Scotty's step-brother, so walking past his house brought multiple results).

On the day before Valentine's Day when I was 15, I dragged a friend of mine from to Scotty's house to give him a Valentine. It was just a paper Valentine with a sucker attached to it. My friend and I were always jokingly asking Scotty if we could drive his car. The Valentine had a picture of a car, and it said, "Valentine, you drive me crazy!" (We still have the valentine).

The next morning, I went out on my front porch and found one of those gas station roses wrapped tightly in a cellophane tube (do these things still exist?)

I picked it up, and turned it over to see a message written in Sharpie:

To: Brittany

From: Scotty

I'm sure you can imagine the reaction of 15-year-old Britt.

(I was freaking out in the best of ways).

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Nineteen years later, I am blessed to still share February 14th (and all the other days of the year) with Scotty. Those teenagers who swapped valentines seem like completely different people from a completely different lifetime, but I am so grateful that Scotty and I have stretched, changed, and grown into two people who still love each other.

(We don't look anything like this anymore!)

Eight Favorite Quotes - Braving the Wilderness

For a while I've been contemplating writing some posts where I share my favorite quotes from the books I've read. I've been hesitant to do so because long lists of quotes don't really make intriguing blog posts. But today I realized what a wonderful resource it would be to have these compilations of quotes for my own reference.

Today's list comes from Braving the Wilderness by Brene Brown, which I finished a few weeks ago. My overall rating for this book is about 3.5 stars. This book has some really strong five-star content, but you have to wade through a lot of 2-3 star content to get to it. I've checked out all of Brene Brown's books from the library at various times, but this is the first one I've finished - not due to lack of interest but lack of time (remember when I did school?) I will definitely be going back to revisit her other books. I love her perspective.

{Via}

The best gift this book gave me was the term "wilderness." Since reading it, I have found myself calling out the wilderness. As I witness contention over issues where I can see both sides, I now take a deep breath and say, "This is the wilderness," and somehow, that brings me peace.

With that, here are eight quotes I enjoyed in Braving the Wilderness by Brene Brown:

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"Do not think you can be brave with your life and your work and never disappoint anyone. It doesn't work that way." -Oprah Winfrey (p. 5)

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"Spirituality is recognizing and celebrating that we are all inextricably connected to each other by a power greater that all of us, and that our connection to that power and to one another is grounded in love and compassion."  -Quoted from The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown

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"Wilderness is a metaphor to represent everything from a vast and dangerous environment where we are forced to navigate difficult trials to a refuge of nature and beauty where we seek space for contemplation. What all... have in common are the notions of solitude, vulnerability, and an emotional, spiritual, or physical quest." (p.36)

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"Be more curious than defensive." (p. 37)

This quote is referring to listening to other people's perspectives and asking them questions rather than worrying about defending our own points of view.

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"People are hard to hate close up. Move in." Title of Chapter 4

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"It is consistent with the idea that collective assembly is more than just people coming together to distract themselves from life by watching a game, concert, or play - instead it is an opportunity to feel connected to something bigger than oneself; it is an opportunity to feel joy, social connection, meaning, and peace. Collective assemble has long been a part of the human experience and the current work begins to quantify its important psychological benefits." -Quoted from the research of Shira Gabriel, Jennifer Valenti, Kristin Naragon-Gainey, and Ariana Young, 2017 (p. 130)

[PAUSE]

If you only read one quote from this post, I would want it to be one of these last two:

[RESUME]

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"...if our faith asks us to find the face of God in everyone we meet, that should include the politicians, media, and strangers on Twitter with whom we most violently disagree. When we desecrate their divinity, we desecrate our own, and we betray our faith." (p. 76)

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"Stop walking through the world looking for confirmation that you don't belong. You will always find it because you've made that your goal. True belonging and self-worth are not goods; we don't negotiate their value to the world... No one belongs here more than you." (p. 158)

Eva's World

Meet Eva.

Age 2.8.

Toe-headed, sippy cup obsessed, highly opinionated, lovely, stubborn Eva.

Whether you argue for age two or age three, she is definitely in the thick of the Terribles. 

(For the genetic cocktails Scotty and I have created, it seems to be worse for age three, so I keep reminding myself that what I'm going through now is nothing compared to what's coming over the next year).

(Also, when my kids are out of this phase, and go I back and read my blog posts where I boob about how hard it is, I always think, "It couldn't have been that bad. Why was I such a whiner?" but then when I'm living it again, I realize... it really is that bad. So this is a note to my future self: age two and three are really, really hard. You're not just being a baby! You've been through it four times now. The pain is real). 

(AND... I know that there is someone out there who has teenagers who is thinking I'm an idiot).

The good thing about the Terribles is that they are also incredibly cute at this age. One minute they are literally clawing the skin off your face and screaming in your ear (in public, no less - I just love when we're in Costco, and my child's scream is so high-pitched that the people around us flinch and cover their ears), and the next minute they are giving you eskimo kisses.

What is with these tiny people?

(As I'm writing this, it's 6:30 a.m. and Eva is right up in my grill whispering "milk" in her serial killer voice).

The other day I took my first steps toward returning to my former routine of getting up at 5:00 in the morning. I'm out of practice so I was exhausted by mid-morning. I got Eva some milk (to prevent the whispering) and turned on Daniel Tiger and took a quick nap on the couch. I think I was woken up by Eva about every three minutes for the 18 minutes I attempted to sleep. At one point, she was climbing all over me, and when I got up, I was soaking wet, and so was she. I'm pretty sure she peed on me. She also managed to unlock my phone and take about 200 pictures. Most of them were of her own finger, but she also took these little gems:

About 1/4 of the photos featured her feet:

At some point, she must've accidentally gotten into the filters.

And apparently I was the subject for a time.

I've never really seen what I look like when I sleep. I'm a little creeped out by my eyes. I appear to be peeking. No wonder no one respects my sleep. I don't look believable!

(Not that my kids care one bit whether I'm really asleep or not).

This age is beautiful and hard. This is the phase where, with each of my children, I have ended up on anti-depressants. My coping skills with a three-year-old are very lacking, and this phase fatigues me (physically and mentally). It's really easy for me to slip into a pit of overwhelm. I'm not quite to that point, but I feel myself heading there.

C'mon Eva. Let's get through this.

(And while we're talking about it, please, pretty please, don't touch the 700 piece puzzle that I left sitting on the kitchen table last night because I falsely believed that I could finish it before you woke up this morning, but here it is... 6:45, and you are jumping on the couch - the couch that you have managed to dislodge most of the springs from, reiterating that I can never have anything nice).

(Sigh... I already know how this story ends. At least I'll have something to blog about tomorrow).

Things I've Done Lately

Cooked eggs in mason jar lids (it went exactly how I thought it would)

Got a tilapia bone stuck in the roof of my mouth while eating fish tacos and playing Risk (I lost the game due to a very tragic mistake in Asia)

Filled sippy cups...

Over and over and over...

Drove three miles with this Walmart bag stuck to my antennae (thank you, random flying garbage)

Slept on wet hair and woke up as Inigo Montoya

 Sliced my finger (and nail) with a rotary cutter 

Went to the Brad Paisley concert

Navigated Crazy Hair Day

Endured Nicky's first Lego League competition

Ate this gyro (but removed some of the onions)

Finished a couple of puzzles

"Oooo"-ed and "ahhhh"-ed over the twistiness of this head of romaine

Bought new boots

Attempted to learn the choreography from the "Man of the Woods" music video