Things I'm afraid to tell you

This blog topic was the genius idea of Ez from Creature Comforts and several other bloggers.  Basically, bloggers are airing their metaphorical dirty laundry, their faults, their insecurities.  Then, Mimi and Meg, a fabulous blog, decided to keep this honesty revolution going, so I thought I would join. 

Things I'm Afraid to Tell You

1.  I'm scared of burning out as a teacher.  Mind you, I don't think this is happening yet.  I still put in way too many hours and try to come up with great lessons.  I just don't want the non-stop stress to get to me and somehow turn into Ben Stein in Ferris Bueller's Day Off.   "Anyone?  Anyone??"  

2.  Our laundry is never done.  Ever.  When I look for, say, my striped shirt, I need to check my closet, drawers, two baskets of clean clothes spilling out onto the living room, and the dryer.  Dan and I have a silent power struggle over who will be the first to cave and fold. It could be a psychological experiment on marriage: let's put this basket and a couple in a room with a two-way mirror.  What can I say? It's the one chore we both hate.

3.  Dan's better at keeping his cool than me.  All you married folks know the rules:  Don't go to bed angry.  Don't yell.  Don't bring up other issues in a fight.  How a couple fights is deemed just as important as how compatible they are.  Yet I'm ashamed to admit that Dan is usually an all star at fighting because he follows all of these rules like a diligent student and is able to keep Obama-style calm.  I'm not saying that he's right in fights, but he does know how to fight right, if that makes sense. I, however, am the one who will have to apologize for the way I fought, for stomping out of the room or for bringing up "Yeah?  Well, you didn't do the dishes last night!" during a quibble about, say, money.  It's one marriage thing I'm definitely continuing to work on.

4.  I feel guilty about needing a break.   After my miscarriage last September, I cried off and on for three days.  Then, I talked with Dan about putting our efforts towards a family on hold.  I was exhausted from a year of peeing on sticks and, of course, our loss.  Many of you have been there before.  The blood clots the size of silver dollars, having to go through an ultrasound with no exuberant "listen to the heartbeat!" moment, the "it wasn't meant to be" platitudes, the follow-up visits to the gyno flipping through Parents magazine listening to pregnant patients complain about swollen feet... I was done.  I thought I would take off a month or two.   Fast forward seven blissfully carefree months later, I finally am ready again.  

I am afraid to say out loud that I feel guilty and self-indulgent for taking that much time off (wasting all that baby making time) and am scared of trying again, of losing, of our lives changing.  I just keep wishing someone could promise me that none of this would hurt at all.   Which is silly, of course. 

I know this is heavier than my other things (hard to compare number 4 to, say, leaving laundry on the floor).  I'm not posting this because I want any sort of responses; it's just that baby stuff is on my mind a lot and if I'm going to reveal shit I'm afraid to say, this has to be on it.

What are you afraid to tell people?  Feel free to click here and join too!

Languages of Love

I've been trying to learn survival French for our upcoming trip to Paris and found myself Googling "language of love" the other day. I was looking for something over-the-top schmaltzy and French-inspired to give Dan for Valentine's Day as a nod to our upcoming trip and our love for anything cheesy. See beret photo below for proof of that...

Instead of finding said cheesy gift, I came across this website called The Five Languages of Love. Essentially, this guy (paging, Dr. Love!) came up with the idea that people show and receive love to their "lov-ahs" and family and friends in five different ways:

Words- notes, phone calls, sexting (just kidding), telling how amazing that person is

Quality Time- easy enough to understand

Receiving Gifts- this has nothing to do with being materialistic and is more about the people who treasure tangible reminders, like a note from a friend

Acts of Service- anything from unloading the dishwasher to picking up the person's favorite take-out after a hard day

Touch- not just nookie! Anything from a hug from a friend to fist-bump during your team making a touchdown

What I found kind of fascinating is that everyone has one or two areas that are most important to them, the ways they feel the most loved. And they are more inclined to give in this way, which may or may not be how the people around them want to be loved. For instance, a guy may bring home roses and write notes because he values "receiving gifts" when his wife may really just want to feel cared for by having some of the house chores occasionally done for her ("acts of service"). This website makes the point that you should give in the way that other people need the most.

Of course, it's ideal to give in all five ways. Who can really pick a favorite?

Not to get all Dr. Phil on everyone, but I'll admit that I took the quiz. My top one was quality time. Nothing makes me feel as great as date nights with Dan or when friends clear time to hang out. I have to say Dan is also great at "acts of service", like picking up my favorite Thai meal after a very long day today or scraping frost off my windshield before I go to work in the morning. He admitted that his is probably quality time, too, which inspired me to go in a different direction for Valentine's Day.

I've noticed that Dan loves me sitting in the room while he watches Jeopardy. If I start to get up to leave because I frankly find the show nerdy as hell, he'll say, "You leaving, hon? Want to watch and see if I get this final question right?" I think he likes showing off his mad trivia skills (yes, that's his thing, being a history teacher and all), and while it isn't an elaborate date night, it probably feels like "quality time" to him. So what did I do for Valentine's Day for him?

I designed a Jeopardy game! Yep, I used an online program to create a custom game for him, with his favorite categories such as "The Beatles", "The Redskins", some funny facts about us, and then some actual trivia I stole from past seasons of the show. I'm going to hang out with them and watch as he dominates the board. What is... the nerdiest gift ever?? But I have a sneaking suspicion he's going to love it!

And just because I've been in a Valentine's kind of mood (I went to a murder mystery party themed around this holiday that I'll have to share about later!), I decided to give my sister and friends Valentine's this year as well, just for fun. I mailed each of them one of these quirky postcards from a fabulous Etsy vendor:

Yes, those are artsy postcards of none other than the Golden Girls! Who doesn't love Betty White? I stole the vendor's idea of writing "Thank you for being a friend" from that show's theme song on the back. I also mailed each of them a box of these:


They're the perfect size to mail and I mentioned on the postcard that I thought they would be a tasty treat to eat while watching The Bachelor (one of my close friends is into the show too) or a sappy movie. Everyone understands that chocolate can be a language of love, no?

Hope you all have a happy Valentine's Day!

The dog that doesn't bark

This post may read a little like "Deep Thoughts with Christen" a la the old SNL sketch, but I recently read about a different type of gratitude, and it really resonated with me. Because it's still Thanksgiving weekend, I just had to share.

I was on the blog The Happiness Project and author Gretchen Rubin was talking about giving thanks when bad things don't happen, rather than only when good things do. She likened avoiding catastrophes to a Sherlock Holmes story where the sleuth uncovers a murderer because he realizes the nearby hound never barked, meaning that the villain had to be someone who knew the pooch. Rubin discussed that one of the foibles of people is that they will worry and worry about incoming test results or the phone ringing in middle of the night, but they rarely give notice when said test results are negative or loved ones stay safe. She urged people to give thanks for the "dog that doesn't bark"... for the bad things that never happen.

Giving thanks for when things turn out okay is such a simple concept. If I'm being totally honest, I think this article stuck with me because I have a black belt in worrying. For instance, I get a knot in my stomach before parent-teacher conferences lest I have a nasty parent who is batshit crazy, even though I've only met a very few like that in the eight years I've been working. I'm the one who tosses and turns until I have to get up to write out a "to do" list while Dan is snoring five minutes after his head hits the pillow. Too often, I will rehash conversations with people and worry whether I said the wrong thing and that some weird interaction will occur in the future. It suddenly hit me after reading Rubin's blog that I expend useless energy worrying as a type of superstitious warding off of bad things. Like a twisted version of the Field of Dreams quote, sometimes I really think: If I worry enough, it won't happen.

Often, the worry that was screaming in my head never comes to pass. You know, when the parent-teacher conference goes smoothly or the car inspection is all clear, I don't give it a second thought. Who notices the dog that doesn't bark? Rubin has a point about that being kind of a sad habit of people.

I've already posted about the car accident I was in two years ago that really shook me up. Some teenager on his cell phone ran a red light and smashed into my driver's side, propelling me into oncoming traffic. My car was totalled, but I walked away with only a few cuts and bruises. You can see in the pictures below there are shards of safety glass from the window that shattered:















That night, I took home a piece of the shattered window. It kind of looked like soothing, blue-green beach glass. It was my relic, a reminder of how thankful I needed to be for how that crash turned out, and give thanks for the people in my life. I was okay, I kept repeating to myself. The glass had cracks in it, and it eventually crumbled to bits when I picked it up, and I had to throw it out because it was just gravel at the bottom of my jewelry box, but Rubin's post kind of brought that feeling of gratitude back.

Dan and I didn't put slips in the thankful jar about things that turned out okay, but I have countless ones. For the home owners' annoyances we've never had to deal with. For the scary interactions and sad experiences we've never gone through. For the happiness, health, and safety of Dan and me, our friends, and family. Thank goodness for every metaphorical dog that didn't bark.

The End of "Deep thoughts with Christen"- ha ha! :) Does this concept resonate with any of you?

Just a nice September Saturday

Thank for all of your amazing comments on my last post. I can't tell you how oddly liberating it was to write about what was going on after weeks of feeling sad. Your support means so much. Truly.

I thought I'd share a few pictures from one of the actual happy days this month. During a recent Saturday, Dan and I went to Williamsburg again to bike ride and have lunch. Yes, that's two trips during the course of a few weeks. Maybe there's something soothing about a recreation of a bygone era?

I guess there's not much to see in these pictures. It was just a nice day.

We lunched outside the Cheese Shop, the specialty shop famous for fancy sides and gormet sandwiches. I like the pimiento cheese and roast beef one.

and their chocolate chip cookies:

Then, we walked around and just enjoyed the sunny day, herb and flower boxes, and cute outdoor garden shops:


I reminded myself for the millionth time that I want to plant an herb garden someday. I'm thinking it's a summer project.

Not pictured: The garden shop owners. They were sweltering in their colonial garb (bonnets, britches, full hooped dresses). It would just be mean to snap a photo while they're dripping with sweat. Poor things.

Cute beehive baskets:

Prettiness that makes me want to landscape our backyard:

Pictures before getting helmet head from biking:

I love vines. Sooo garden party.

We tooled around the College of William and Mary and kissed on this bridge 'cause the story is the person you smooch on here is the one you will marry.

Yes, we're already married, but any excuse for romance works.

Like I said, not too much to see. But it was a great day in the midst of a tough month, and I'm thankful for it. :)

Thanks again to all of you

Hitting publish

Sometimes after writing, it's hard for me to actually hit "publish".

Let's call it what it is... my blog's identity crises. La Vida Lista has no problem with lists, to do's, and cutesy restaurant reviews. It likes to document happy times, like Dan wearing an apron with The David's junk on display from our Italy trip. It's even okay displaying snarky posts about life's hilarious hassles, like about our creepy neighbor telling us we have bats in our attic. But venting about work? People? A really shitty week? It isn't going there.

There's a half dozen posts that have never seen the light of the interweb. It makes perfect sense. I made a decision early on that I wouldn't vent about my job since people have been fired for a lot less, so you'll never see a rant about a student on here.

I knew that my blog wouldn't be a place where I would air my grievances Festivus-style about someone because I'm paranoid about causing hurt feelings. What if he or she just happened to be one of my seven readers??

And I didn't want to write about things that made me really sad because... well... I'm not sure. There's always someone who has it worse out there so it makes me kind of uncomfortable to whine. And I guess I don't really know most of you and you all don't know me. Maybe I was scared that people might make assumptions of me being sulky or a Debbie Downer or would (gasp) hit unsubscribe. Who wants to read about someone feeling blah? So instead of hitting submit, I wrote them for me, hit save, and moved on.

But I'm thinking now that this is my blog and that it's okay to write about the bad as well as the good. And you all seem so nice. So I've decided to be brave and real and write. No cutesy conclusion that ties everything together and no disclaimers. Okay, maybe one disclaimer: I'm feeling much better now, so no need to worry about me. There. Old habits die hard.

Here it goes. I've felt sad these past few weeks because:

I got pregnant in July. I wasn't by late August.

Of course, the real story is longer. How I peed on the test at 5:00 a.m. and then couldn't stop smiling after that and had to lie through my teeth to Dan to sneak out at 10:00 to go to the mall and buy a Redskins bib. How I gave him the bib and the test and his eyes bugged out because I think he'd been worried after more than a year and a half of trying and then he whooped and bear hugged me and kept repeating, "Oh, hon, I'm so happy!" How I bought two pregnancy books and felt uncharacteristically calm even when I read about side effects and labor. I can do this, I thought. Billions of women have! How I was so excited I even blurted the news to the lady at Jiffy Lube who changed my car's air filter since I figured it was safe she would not pass the story on to family or friends. (For the record, her response was so satisfying, whooping and saying something in regards to, "You go, girl!" Then, she gave me advice on how I shouldn't eat for two that people don't know that but if you eat for two you will look like a mutant of your former self so, girl, don't become a chowhound. Priceless advice from the Jiffy Lube lady.) How Dan and I Googled ways to reveal the news to our family and imagined surprising them Punked style.

It was barely seven weeks, but Dan and I already called that tiny cluster of cells our "Lovey".

Then, I started to miscarry and immediately called and sobbed to my mom, who hadn't even known I was pregnant yet. How I felt stupid for allowing myself to become so ecstatic, rather than my usual "cautiously optimistic". I'm a professional worrier with almost a superstitious tendency of looking out for Murphey's Law to take effect. How did I miss worrying about this? Later, I was shocked to go on the web and read about how absolutely common this very sad event is. Many of you reading have probably been there too, in perhaps even worse situations where you were pregnant for much longer. I'm sorry for anyone who has ever been in this club.

Afterwards, I realized three things. First, I have amazing people in my life, like a sister who will drop everything and drive two hours just to hug me, parents who really got how sad I felt, friends who will e-mail and commiserate over greasy Mexican and say the right things, and Dan who prayed, held, and was there for me every moment. Second, I realized later that I'm glad I let myself feel happy when I first found out. Joy is now, in the moment. It was wonderful giddily waking up each morning and feeling like it was a whole new world already. Even if I had crossed my fingers and "prepared" myself by reading miscarriage stories on the web and tempered my excitement, I still would have been crying to my mom that night. And I'm not sure lowing my expectations would have made it any less sad.

Oh, and third, that we're ready to be parents.

Since I'm being honest here, I'll admit that this isn't the only thing making me feel kind of low this September.

Beyong the usual chaos and stress of school, there have been other things that have been bringing me down. A family member is going through some shit that's been making her sad; it's her business so I won't go into it here, but I feel for her so much.

Like a bad country song, our family dog died last week.

And lastly, I haven't been able to stop thinking about a family who is suffering through the worst loss that anyone can go through. You know who I'm talking about if you happen to read this person's blog too. It's her story to tell, so I won't post anything about it here, but I will say that I can't stop reading her posts and feeling so helpless of what to write. Their loss is unimaginable. I can't help but to tear up when I read about all of the love in this heartbroken family. It certainly puts what's going on in my life in perspective.

As promised, no cutesy conclusion. Okay, hitting "publish" before I change my mind. Sorry for the heavy post. But I know you all will understand.