So I’ve been away awhile. Actually a whole summer’s worth of awhiles. A whole summer’s worth of awhiles full of, well, do(hot mess)ticating. So much has happened in the past three or four months that quite a few of the little things I love to do – like, say, blogging – got lost in the whirlwind, and I’ve spent a lot of time just trying to figure out where to start when it comes to processing and reflecting.
There are many wonderful things I can’t wait to post. So many, in fact, that I get really excited, then overwhelmed, then… oof. Lost. So I’ve decided to follow the lead of many of my favorite books and movies, and tell the stories of the Great Summer of 2013 by starting at the end before revisiting the beginning. So here it is:
I’m writing to you now as a wife (but don’t call me Mrs. Halter – that’s my mother-in-law), a professional (I just adore my job), and one of the seemingly high-brow-intellectual types with letters following my name (read: I 100% graduated from grad school, the prospective actuality of which seemed like an exercise in the careful maintenance of my sanity).
So there’s that. But look out, because I’m excited to say the rest is finally coming.
When things get stressful and life gets crazy, sometimes what we really need to do is give ourselves permission to take care of ourselves. It’s amazing how many times I hear people (myself included) start a sentence with “I wish I could just…” and finish it with something really wonderful-sounding… and totally attainable. It seems, though, that we often create obstacles that get in the way of just doing it. Maybe it’s money. Maybe it’s time. Maybe it’s family or friends or work or obligations or life in general. For me, it’s usually a combination of all of these things, which then turns into a devastating mixture of guilt for thinking of indulging and disappointment for not doing it.
Lately, things have been stressful and life has been crazy, and all I’ve wanted to do was get out of town. I’ve wanted to get out of town, specifically, to Santa Barbara. I kept waiting for someone to suggest it, or volunteer the idea, or simply just go with me if I asked, and it wasn’t happening. I toyed with the idea of going by myself over and over, and although I have never had a problem doing anything alone, including dining at a restaurant or going to a movie, I was having a hard time justifying spending the money on gas or taking a day off to just go if it was only going to be me.
And then, a week or two ago, I got over myself. I stopped waiting for someone to take the initiative and decided to take it myself. I let money just be money, and I blocked out my calendar, and I got the hell out.
And I found more than what I had hoped for.
If that doesn’t bring a person some peace of mind, I don’t know what will.
I came back a little bit different. I had left that Friday morning with a to-do list and major shoulder tension and come back with a lighter wallet, a more fashionable closet, and a reinforced love of home (see picture above of beautiful California coastline… sigh).
But more than that, I came home with a spirit that burned a little more fiercely and a heart that felt a little lighter. For me, those three hours in the car rocking out to Justin Timberlake and Ellie Goulding, eating that lunch at Cafe Nordstrom, and strolling around State Street felt less like a waste of valuable time, money, and effort, and more like soul-searching. And you know what? It didn’t matter that gas cost money and I had things to do at work and I got home late and had a 10K to run in the morning. It was exactly what I needed.
Do me a favor. Close your eyes, and wherever you are, take a few deep breaths. Check in with yourself. Finish this sentence: “I wish I could just _______.” I don’t care what your answer is. I don’t care if it is reasonable or outrageous or absolutely 100% ridiculous. I don’t care what other people or your insecurities or your inner critic tell you. Give yourself permission to just go out and do it for no one but yourself. You deserve it.
One of the best things by far about wedding planning is having an excuse to surround myself with beautiful things. In the past few months, I’ve learned about everything from cakes flavors and dessert bar styling to interior design and antique furniture to graphic design and fancy papers. Now, maybe that doesn’t sound that great to you, but for a girl who has spent the last few years stifling jealousy upon entering a perfectly styled home and longing for time or reasons or excuses to start stretching my decorating/entertaining/beyond muscles, this is exciting stuff. I mean, seriously. I would spend my all-day-every-days scouring lifestyle blogs and Crate&Barrel shelves and wedding magazines if I could. Don’t even get me started on Pinterest. (Swoon.)
However, in my quest to master all things domestic, I think it has become pretty obvious that despite my best intentions, I never quite hit it on the head. But give me a weekend, some amazing sidekicks (what’s up, Mom and Sister-in-Law!), and an ridiculously crafty wedding-related to-do list, and you can be sure that I will knock your socks off with my enthusiasm. You wouldn’t believe the gorgeous inspiration I picked up and the DIY-mishaps got myself into while enjoying a visit from my adorable mama and my uber-talented sister-in-law Amy.
We kicked off the weekends with cupcakes, of course. I love trying new flavors from our baker Breanne from SeaBreeze Cupcakes. These are her “24 Carrot” and “Lemon Drop” flavors.
One of the highlights of the whole weekend was the result of referral I received from our amazing wedding coordinator Danae Pearce of Danae Grace Events, who recommended that we check out Embellish Vintage Rentals located in Nipomo, CA. The place is a GOLDMINE. Here are a few snapshots of the beautiful antique and vintage objects available to rent for any special occasion, as well as the breathtaking barn that serves as a drop-dead gorgeous wedding venue.
A collection of antique clocks caught my eye! Love the two on either end of the front row.
Glitter signs in French, adorable tins, and some glam golden candelabras. Can’t think of much else a girl could need.
Rustic meets glam. Yes, please.
This wall collage of gold mirrors WILL be recreated in my bedroom someday.
We also spent most of Friday night and Saturday organizing our thoughts and narrowing down our DIY projects for wedding decor. This meant a lot of craft store/thrift store/fabric store shopping and about a gazillion questions fired my way requiring me to pull every ounce of my creativity out of nowhere. By Saturday night we had a collection of craft items that would cause Martha Stewart to swoon…
…and me to pour myself a drink.
I’m both overwhelmed to have so many projects to finish and excited to have an excuse to do things like this.
If you’d like to participate, I’ll be taking bets on how much of a disaster my good intentions will generate.
A few weeks ago, while Bill and I were snagging a rare moment together eating a late afternoon snack at the dining room table, our roommate Emily came downstairs. Now, having been in a graduate program with a strong cohort model (read: every.single.class.together) with Emily AND living with her since September, I know when she’s a little nervous. As opinionated and strong as women come, the tip-off is generally a subtle look on her face and an endearing quiver in her voice. However, at this particular moment, no warning was given as she bolted down the stairs on a mission, sat herself right down at the table, and blurted “Ihavesomethingtotellyou. I’mmovinginwithBen”.
Ben is her boyfriend. Girlfriend didn’t even pause for dramatic effect.
It took a minute to process what she had just said. Once said processing finally engaged, two emotions went through me. The first was pure excitement and happiness for her, especially after watching their whole relationship spark and take shape over the past year or so. The second, however, was a little crushed. Emily was an awesome roommate. The day we got the idea in our heads was a year prior while writing graduate-level research papers and drinking beers (yes, simultaneously) at her kitchen table, and we realized that we were spending a good amount of time bitching about the exact same pet peeves and irritating behaviors of past/current roommates. I’m pretty sure I’m the one who laughed and said, “Seriously, we should just live together.” She laughed. I laughed again. Insert tentative glances at each other to see if the other was serious or if we were just crazy. She moved in September 3rd.
Our wine and chocolate nights, impromptu dinner parties, and compulsive venting sessions are over. I am definitely going to miss her.
But it was more than that too. If Emily moved out, Bill and I were faced with a few choices. We could get a new roommate, which seems the exact opposite of desirable two and a half months before our impending nuptials and starting our life together. Or we could try and finagle a way to keep it just us. We opted for the latter, at least for the time being.
So we’re trying to make it work financially, which hasn’t been the most stress-free issue inserted into my world, but it’s totally worth it. Now it’s just us. We have started our nest. At the current moment that nest is a giant disaster – really more of a smattering of sticks and twigs we’ve both been collecting in our separate lives until we found each other. It’s cluttered, disheveled, and has no decorating scheme. We have cabinets stuffed to the brim from pre-roommate-evacuation times, and since Tuesday night, we now also have rooms and closets and refrigerator shelves that are stark and 100% empty.
I’m both excited and intimidated to have such a big creative project ahead of me. A WHOLE house. For us. To start our lives together. Slowly but surely, we will begin piecing our sticks and twigs together, with the hopes of it all eventually resembling a nest. Er, home.
Last night, I found myself sitting between two beautiful women while watching Bill play basketball in a league at his gym. One of these women I know well. The other I don’t know as well, but I get to hang out with her on occasion through Bill’s friends. We were having a fantastic time watching the guys and chatting, and the conversation eventually turned, as it usually does, from reality television and baking and going out and laughing to this:
Exchange #1
Me: “I can’t wait until my bachelorette party in Vegas.”
Beautiful Woman on Right: “Me neither! Except I need to do a lot of working out before I go so I can look good in my bikini…”
Me: “Girlfriend, your body is rockin’. You could walk through the basketball court in a bikini right now, and guaranteed the game would stop and all these boys’ jaws would drop.”
BWonR: “That is SO not true.”
Exhange #2
Beautiful Woman on Right: “Holy s*#&! I swear that ball was coming straight at my face!”
Me: “It definitely was. If he hadn’t caught that, you’d FOR SURE have a broken nose.”
BFonR: “Well, that would have been okay. I’ve always wanted a nose job.”
Me: “What?!?!?! WHY???”
BFonR: “I hate my nose. Every woman on my mom’s side has a big awful nose.”
Exchange #3
Beautiful Woman on Right: “We’re starting beach volleyball on Tuesdays next week! I need to firm up my butt so I’m not jiggling all over the place in my bikini!”
Beautiful Woman on Left: “I just went and bought shorts because there is no way I’m jumping around in a bathing suit in front of people.”
…
Um, wait. There’s another piece to this. Both of these women are tall. And gorgeous. And at least 20 pounds lighter than me. It affected me. I’m not proud of it, but it did.
But it also got me thinking about all the other things that have been playing into that lately too. I remember vividly that last summer when coworkers in the student office I was working in heard that I got engaged, it took approximately 43 seconds for someone to ask when I was going to start getting in shape for the wedding. Except the shape I was in was 5’9″ and athletic-yet-curvy, and I thought it was pretty great already.
And it has been happening steadily since. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard terms like “bridal boot camp” and “shedding for the wedding”. In fact, last Tuesday I mentioned to someone that I was going to yoga (which I started to help with stress), and her first reaction was “Good for you! Gotta fit into that wedding dress!” Except when I ordered my dress, the lady at the bridal salon asked me in all seriousness if I wanted to order my dress in my size (an 8 in bridal gowns) or in a size 6 or 4. Is that a question she commonly has to ask? Isn’t it my dress? So shouldn’t it be in, well, MY size?
I’ve been having a hard time lately. My bachelorette party is in Vegas, which will of course involve days partying by the pool and nights living it up in skin-tight mini dresses. One of my best friends just had a baby, and seeing as how she was a size 0 before she brought that sweet little thing into the world and is well on her way back there, I can guarantee you that she will look “better” than me on that June 1st weekend. And we already know the Beautiful Woman on Right is way smaller than me, and she’ll be there too, not approving of how she looks her her bikini. But now I’ve got it in my head that my bikini has to work 20 lbs harder than her bikini, and it is (and I am) going to be that much less happy about it.
All of a sudden, I went from “I can’t wait until my bachelorette party in Vegas” (see Exchange #1 above) to feeling self-conscious and picking apart my body because all eyes are going to be on me – now the biggest girl there.
Except I’m not big.
How did we get here?
There is an epidemic among girls and women in the country. There is so much pressure for us to look pretty and hot and symmetrical and tan and toned – but not too toned because that’s not attractive – and perfect and cute – but not too cute because that would be creepy.
Frankly, lately I would rather look happy. Healthy. Smart. Funny. Caring. Ambitious. Passionate. And while we’re at it, emotional and capable and complex.
As part of our holiday festivities, Bill and I got the opportunity to head to his home town to spend some time with his family. Where is his hometown? Um, here.
It is not this cold in California. Not in Northern California where I grew up. And definitely not on the beautiful, sunny, just-about-70-degrees-year-round Central Coast where we live now. Anybody who has experienced a Minnesota winter was skeptical when I told them we were going. Bill asked me which cold weather clothes I was bringing, and when, on a 60 degree night, I pointed to the one I was wearing, his only response was laughter. And even though I spent part of my time packing laying in the fetal position on my closet floor, I was DETERMINED to be tough, to be a champion, to not let it get to me. That’s just my fighting nature.
But then we got there, and it was effing COLD. Like lungs-turn-to-ice-when-you-breathe-in cold. Like I-can’t-open-the-car-door-because-it’s-frozen-shut cold. Like constantly-falling-on-my-ass-because-the-ground-is-pure-ice cold. Yeah, it was kind of like that. But the weirdest thing is that people still do whatever it is they would normally do, like go to the movies (This Is 40 is hilarious), or shop at the Mall of America (omigod LOVE), or walk from their apartments to lunch (um, hold on… I didn’t do so well with that one).
I got over it (on the outside), and we had an amazing time. Here are a few snapshots.
Flying over the states at sunset!
I found a little peace on the plane in a good book and the kindness of strangers. Thanks for the healthy organic snack, Ernest! I hope you had a good journey to Chile.
Our first morning there included venturing outside. Snow angels were made, and sled rides were had.
Huh. That’s something you don’t see every day. (Well, at least I don’t!) I carted this little puppy around with me for the better part of 20 minutes. An icicle!
The Timberwolves *cough*marrymerickyrubio*cough* put on one heck of a show, breaking the Oklahoma City Thunder’s 12-game winning streak.
College basketball teammates came together at a St. Paul pub to catch up about engagements (us!), weddings (Eric!), and babies (Jeff!). Even though I wasn’t around in the glory days, you could tell that times they are a-changing (as is the definition of “glory days” it seems).
Not pictured: the amazing Christmas celebration we had with Bill’s family, the timeout we took for beers at Wild Bill’s Saloon, meeting Bill’s best man and family over appetizers at TGI Fridays, or the bonding time I spent addressing our save-the-dates with Bill’s mom and sister. Even though I was nervous about the cold, the trip was incredible. Bill introduced me to another little piece of himself, and the more time we spent in Minnesota, the closer I felt to him. It was so nice to spend part of the holidays…
…with the new side of my family.
(But I am glad to be back in California. It’s much warmer here.)
Once you give a man a man cave, that is. Those were the words of coworkers, friends, family – everyone of the female gender, really – who I told about Bill’s Christmas present. I didn’t feel an ounce of doubt then, and I don’t feel an ounce of doubt now. You wouldn’t either if you saw Bill’s face when I let him open the door. I’ve turned my guest room over to the dark side… It’s a MAN CAVE!
Since he couldn’t really open it, I wrapped the door of course.
A new comforter and a throw repping the Timberwolves…
A panoramic canvas of Target Field, home of the Twins…
Heritage banners of his favorite pro teams… He might be from Minnesota.
A grown-up version of an over-the-door basketball hoop reminiscent of childhood days…
And don’t forget a stash of Bill’s favorite MAN FOODS aka PROTEIN.
Of course, there was also a stocking filled with things like A1 Steak Sauce, an NBA sweatband, an microwaveable Egg McMuffin maker, and ball pump needles. Overall, I couldn’t wait to give him everything, and the smile on his face was worth it.
And of course, the next week of hearing him brag to his guy friends about his present from his girl wasn’t such a bad thing either.
Big exciting things are happening today! Bill and I have yet to spend a Christmas day together, and unfortunately, this year will not be our year either. But that’s okay, because like many other couples, we declare a day sometime before the holiday our honorary Christmas. And that day…
Is today! Merry Christmas, everyone!
An honorary Christmas picture from last year:
There will be a lot of orchestrating going on today. I have a BIG surprise planned for Bill, and I am really excited about it. I can’t reveal it yet because sometimes the sneaky little bugger checks my blog, but I can say that this year is a lot different. Last Christmas was our first together, and you could tell. We both were crazy over what to get each other, as it was my second big present-requiring occasion (his birthday was first) and his first as a couple. So needless to say, exasperation was rampant and many an opinion was gathered before taking the plunge. It’s amazing how stressful it can be finding that painstakingly perfect gift for a new to semi-new significant other. Is this enough? Did I spend too much? Do you think this conveys just the right amount of thought to express how I’m feeling, or does it say “IKNOWIT’SWAYTOOEARLYBUTIWANTTOGETMARRIEDANDHAVEYOURBABIESTOMORROW!!!!!!”
So there’s that.
But like I said this earlier, this year the pressure was off. We seem to know each other substantially better, and I thoroughly enjoyed picking out a gift that would mean a lot to the Billy in my life. (And since he decided to propose in June, the whole scaring him away with marriage and babies thing is sort of off the table by his own doing…)
Now, don’t get me wrong – it still took awhile to figure out what would be perfect for him. To begin with, he never really asks for much, and when he does, I POUNCE. So I did spend awhile looking for nice leather messenger bags, since he casually mentioned one night that he could really use one for work. Commence obsessive online searching for bag with said criteria. But I am a huge proponent of thoughtful gifts with lots of personal meaning, and after a week or two of looking, plus a near-decision, I got off the whole work bag thing pretty suddenly.
And then it hit me. I knew exactly what to get him. And now after hiding things ALL OVER the house as they arrived over the last few weeks, I am beyond excited to put it all together. So, what is it, you ask? Oh, I’ll tell you… but first I’ve got a day of covert mission-ing to do. I can’t wait!
Stumbled across this last night. As far as I can tell, this is amazing advice for the first 15 years of marriage, not to mention a great humbling reminder of what is really important during a time when the stresses of wedding planning can lead to petty arguments and tension.
Speaking of, Bill and I have been arguing a bit, and about cake of all things. Sounds ridiculous, right? Well, it doesn’t feel ridiculous at this moment in time. I know, I know – first world problems and all that. But just because it sounds trivial doesn’t mean there weren’t two nights this week that I went to bed beyond irritated. Livid even. And while most say doing so is not a good idea, I have to agree with Lydia Netzer’s #1 tip for keeping marriage alive: go to bed mad. Sure, it took awhile to fall asleep. Yes, I left for work in the morning without speaking to him. (Okay, so Bill wasn’t even awake yet, but just the principle of leaving without a word made me feel better.) And by lunchtime the day after our fight, I was able to compose this:
“So as I was sprinting from my 10 am meeting at Career Services to my 11 am presentation for Study Abroad this morning, I realized something… I am exhausted. Like want-to-curl-up-in-my-cozies, shut-out-the-world-and-cry, I’m-never-coming-out-of-my-hole exhausted. That’s probably where all the tears of last weekend are coming from – small frustrations building on top of each other and amplified into overwhelming issues. I’m not discounting any of the points I’ve been making, and I think some of my feelings are valid, but I do want to thank you for being supportive and patient enough to sit down and talk about things. Reason #3487 I can’t wait to marry you.
(Reason #3486 is so we can finally stop arguing about cake.)”
We both felt better for the rest of the day. And even though we just stupid argued over stupid cake all over again when I got home, and I went to bed mad yet again, neither of us said anything hurtful or regrettable. Not such a bad alternative.
So maybe it’s not such terrible advice. And in case you didn’t catch it the first time…
‘“’Let not the sun go down upon your wrath’ is prefaced in the Bible by the phrase ‘Be angry and sin not.’ So, who’s to say it doesn’t mean ‘Stay angry, bitches. Don’t let the sun go down on that awesome fierce wrath of yours.’ Seriously.”
do(hot mess)ticated 