Control is mostly (definitely) an illusion.

Silly me. I assumed once I figured life out it wouldn't change again. I could finally rest my weary head and, I don't know, smoke a pipe? But don't worry, it never came to that because I have learned one thing over and over again in life: control is mostly an illusion.

It's a real nice illusion though. Real nice. It's a bit like a low-hanging cloud scuttling around the middle of a mountain range. When I was younger I always had a dream of taking a jar up to those clouds and bringing some of it back with me. It was a tangible goal; I could get a jar, maybe wear a jacket and hike up to the unsuspecting cloud and snaggle some to take home. Then I think I realized that you couldn't catch a cloud in a jar. Well, technically, sure you can, but it just condenses to water droplets. This reminds me of control. You work to get to it, plan for it, but you can never quite have it, just the illusion of it in a wet jar.

I'm not sure why this is a lesson I've had to re-learn so many painful times in life. I thought I'd figured it out on so many different occasions, it's actually quite funny looking back. Silly me. Nothing has brought this lesson home further than marriage and motherhood. I know, I know, these are pretty much the only topics I write about but you have to admit, they're pretty major ones.

She's the best baby. Worth every moment of crying, spit-up and blow-outs.

Six pounds 11 ounces. Small, snoozy and dark-haired. My precious baby girl helped remind me of my jar full of water droplets. She was beautiful, of course, from day one. She had a crazy entry into life and then she demanded I give it all up for her. And I did. Steve did too. I didn't try to control all that much for the first six or eight weeks, but then as I started feeling more myself I started looking for my cloud-catching jar. Boy, oh boy, did that ever backfire. I had to relearn how to feel in control of the simplest aspects of adult life (ie: brushing my teeth or getting to take a shower). I felt completely out of control. Very luckily, I had a superstar husband and family to help remind me that this is how every new mother feels.

Hottest husband? Check.

But I've learned. I've adapted. Not always gracefully or with any tact, but I'm slowly getting there. I felt so confused for the longest time because I couldn't seem to get back that elusive control I'd so lovingly cultivated before all of this. I was doing all of the same things that brought it before -- why the flip wasn't it working? I'm going to wax quite poetic no,w but I think when I'd climbed the mountain with my jar, I looked out and saw that the mountain had changed, as well as the cloud and the jar I would need. I'm pretty sure that's happened every single time I've felt like "Aha! I've got the secret control formula now!" 

It's never going to be the same as before. That's just a fact of life. Doesn't mean it's a nasty, gross fact, like taxes or death. It can be a really cool, interesting and liberating fact, like you can eat dessert before dinner if you want. Control is an illusion, I'm pretty sure I've never been in control in my life. My jar always comes back with water droplets, not a cloud. But I learn and grow every time I try and find control, and there are things I can control in my ever-changing life. Whom I love (like my hot husband and beautiful baby),  my attitude toward all this change, which at best is grudgingly and at worst is full of tears, and if I want to eat lots of chocolate at 7 a.m. instead of a waffle.

So I'm going to try and remember that even though I can mostly control nothing and life will keep slapping me in the face with the red herring of change, I can control what I learn from it and a few small but really important aspects like love, perspective and chocolate consumption.

Motherhood: Fact or Fiction?

A magical unicorn ride through the fields of gold. Swimming amongst the stars on the backs of dolphins. Dreams about shopping sprees where everything fits and you always look fabulous. These are ways I would NOT describe motherhood.

I love my little poop machine. I wasn't so sure about her for the first month (as described earlier, I felt sure that her real mother would come along and collect her ) but as time's passed, and her little personality starts to shine through, I like her more and more. However, I don't know why I thought magical was synonymous with motherhood. It's not magic friends, it's spit, grit and hard work.

You know how humans are biologically hardwired to perpetuate the species? As a girl, I thought about being pregnant and having babies since I was like 12. It's so natural, yet so unnatural at the same time. Nothing about pregnancy was really magical or normal to me. I was really depressed and physically ill the first three months, cried three or more times a week (often everyday) and if it's so natural why was I so upset about gaining weight and watching my body change?? I really thought it would just be the best not to have a period every month. Well, it's more like having one for nine months.

Then labor and delivery. I was assuming I would be like the women around the world who work through the pain, squat down, have a baby and are in love instantly with the purple mini-human. Nope. Not even close. I thought I was going to pass out from the pain of contractions, and then lose my lunch. It also took that unexpected turn of emergency c-section, which is not natural at all but I'm so grateful it's available.

So then you have a baby. Time for the baby to eat! Breastfeeding was one subject under which I was the most disillusioned. It's not quick, easy or natural. It's a skill you both learn, like some sort of piano concertist or fixed-gear biker. I really thought it was just an easy, natural thing you both intuitively knew how to do. Wrong, wrong and wrong.

I'm trying to strike a tone of realization more than complaint. I am forever grateful to have the chance to carry a new and beautiful baby girl and to have the opportunity of watching her grow and develop. It's amazing! However, it's a far cry from what I assumed was an easy, natural change in a woman's life. I would say not "Easy as childbirth."

A Farewell to Pregnancy

I can't lie, I wasn't broken up about not being pregnant any more. I tried to enjoy the 10 months (because 40 weeks = 10 months in reality) as much as I could. I tried not to freak out about my changing body, emotional upheavals and lack of wit. I tried to remember that I WANTED this, that it wouldn't last forever and that Steve still loved the blubbering, balloon-shaped crazy woman I often became. But as the days and weeks roll forward from March 28th, I get to relish in the return of me.

My beautiful hunger monster wasn't born the way I had imagined. We went to the hospital at 3 p.m. and she was born at 4:12 p.m. via emergency c-section. I've never had any type of surgery before. The closest thing I'd ever had done was having my wisdom teeth out. I was wiggin' out.

In the following week, Steve and I went through a myriad of emotional, spiritual and physical ups and downs. I had surgery, we were down in Ogden and Charlotte was in the NICU. She's a normal, growing baby girl now but I was so overwhelmed in those first days – it was like living someone else's life for a while. But, almost more crazy than the way she was born is how she has, unknowingly and with no ill will I'm sure, made our lives all about her.

I think listing a few of the thoughts I had about her BEFORE she was here will set up her non-hostile takeover of our lives:

– I was praying and hoping for a calm, happy and SLEEPY baby. I need sleep. I can hear so many people saying "Well so do I. Everyone does, stupid." No, no, no... What I mean to say is I NEED SLEEP. I've had struggles with anxiety and depression for years but one of the best preventative measures and remedies is sleep. Consistent, mostly uninterrupted sleep. So I was hoping she was sleepy and that somehow no one would get bludgeoned by a crazy she-demon.

– I have always assumed that the moment your baby is born, your heart cracks open and creates a new chamber labelled "my sweet angel baby." Not so. Not even close. First of all, I didn't get to see her for an hour after she was born, then I held her for about 20 minutes and didn't hold her again for three days. Not a great start to bonding. Then it was the ultimate surreal experience when I did see her – to think she was MY baby, like, she came out of my body where she'd been growing for months. I'm still pretty new to the idea that I am a mother and sometimes I still wait for the real mom to come in and say she's back from shopping and I can go home. It's really weird. I love her, for sure, but it's like entering the lottery, talking it up for months and months and then standing with a check in your hands saying "What do we do now"?

– When I was younger, I just assumed six was the magic number of children. My mom had six kids, so obviously that was the best number. My aunts had families of four and six, respectively, and lots of my friends came from families of four, five, six or more. It was the magical time of having big families, I think. Well, the magic is gone. I knew I wanted to have Charlotte, I really felt like I should be pregnant, but let me tell you that the more I was pregnant, the closer I got to actually having my own baby the more I realized that the wheel of family planning had been mistakenly set absurdly high all of those years and dialed back to a reasonable one.

Charlotte after a bath.

I am currently living day to day, not knowing when I'll be doing anything, barely able to plan trips to the doctor, the store or even outside of my house. Steve and I are tired, happy, frustrated, blessed, worried and in love all at once. It's the craziest and most time-consuming adventure I've ever started, but I know that we were supposed to have our baby bundle of joy. I try and remember that feeling of assurance when she's crying because she had a blow-out that barely missed the opposite wall and I haven't showered in a month (which is a lie, but I feel it sometimes).

Keep Calm and Carry On

I really like that mantra. I've only recently heard of it (although I've confusedly seen all sorts of stupid rewrites that I'm sure someone thinks are clever) and Steve explained it was used by the British government during WWII on encouragement posters. It must have worked because the country didn't tear itself apart as far as I know.

When living life you sometimes get hit by the reality of big decisions you've made, such as: marriage, pregnancy, paying bills, attending school or pretending to be an adult. By hit I mean your heart may race, you lose precious hours of sleep and you devote countless hours of time/energy to worry, "What the what am I doing?"

When I was first married (like first few days and weeks – I'm still first married, really), I thought I had to do things in a certain way so that I could be a successful married person. Have a schedule, be in charge of house things, be REALLY productive, have awesome meals that I just magically knew how to cook, all sorts of ridicules stuff like that. After a few breakdowns and loving words of comfort from Steve, I realized that I could pretty much keep on being me, living life, but now with my awesome hot best friend to give me the hottest smoochies. This was fortuitous, because I was gearing up for a big freak-out with all my silly notions of myself being married.

Fast forward to a few days ago. I'm pregnant and starting to worry about being a mother again. I have been regaled again and again by every mother within 15 miles of me about how "Your life will never be the same," "You'll be busy all the time" and "You'll join the living dead club of mothers who never sleep," and such sentiments of that nature. I very much dislike (hate) when I think or perceive that others are trying to tell me how MY life is going to be, but I was letting it get to me. They're right,  I thought, it's all over now. I'll have to devote my life to Charlotte, stop exercising, eat out of cans and wear mu-mus...
But wait! I'm in charge here. I'm still going to be me, living life, but now with my super hot best friend Steve and a cuddly baby girl named Charlotte. This is going to be awesome. 

So I'm fond of the phrase "Keep Calm and Carry On" because it's exactly how I try to live my life. I trick myself into thinking everything is going to be different and I'll never get to do what I need to when another phase of my life starts. This, however, has NEVER happened. If it's important enough to me, I do it. If it isn't I don't and I start doing something else. I like being 23, married, pregnant and adult-like. It's awesome. My life only happens one day at a time and I can do anything for a day.

Steve gave our brother-in-law a shirt saying "Now Panic and Freak Out" (one of the witty rewrites) for Christmas last year, and though funny, I'm going to try and do the exact opposite of that. Although I think a shirt with both sayings on it might just sum up how I react in real time.

Living pregnant: One day at a time.

This is one of the only topics I have to discuss right now, mostly because it completely overshadows and consumes anything else I may relate to you. It's a big deal bringing life into the world. It takes a lot of work on everybody's part, emphasis on the bodies part. Steve has to contend with a hormonal rollercoaster for a wife, I slowly watch my body morph and cry about cooking food and Charlotte has to grow inside me. Here is a snippet of a typical pregnant day.

10:00-11:00 am
Wake up at the crack of dawn for a PL (pregnant lady). Hobble to the bathroom, just like the 19 times throughout the night, as my sweet baby angel kicks my bladder for fun. Cheerios are my breakfast food of choice, they are tasty and easy to get together. The last thing on my to-do list at this early hour would be attempting to care about making something stupid like pancakes or scrambled eggs. Eat the nutritious cereal in bed and the most important TV shows for the next one-to-two hours. This is a routine more or less guaranteed to prevent harm from befalling other people who I may see if I had to leave my house earlier than two pm.

Between 1:30 and 4:00 pm
Time to work it out! Monday, Wednesday and Friday mean a slow waddle up to the gym at USU. I'm secretly hoping that others immediately notice I'm pregnant, thus explaining the crazy huffing and puffing I make travelling up the 90 degree slope of a walkway. I have definitely contemplated saying "Don't worry, it's because I'm expecting a bowling ball" every few seconds to myself on this trek.
Can't run anymore, for my lower back screams with every step. I had to make the switch to the elliptical machines, something I would have scoffed at before pregnancy. But they are starting to kick my butt hard core. Mostly I just think the same thing over and over to make it through "You can do it baby Charlotte. Good job. We aren't going to die today!"

around 3 or 4 pm till... whenever
Chores. I may or may not get to those. Cooking. That is a definite possibility, but I'm comfortable eating peanut butter, Nutella and honey on bread for tonight. About once a week I'm pretty motivated to make something so delicious that Steve jumps up exclaiming excellence in cooking. That, uh, hasn't happened yet because I'm no Paula Dean, but then he probably wouldn't have married me if I was a 60-something southern woman. I'll try pretty hard to make a scrumptious whatever, and I may or may not break down halfway through for any number of reasons. I'm tired or I break something or it isn't turning out or I hate cooking and we'll be eating applesauce till we die.

After dinner till my body falls unconsious
I may crochet something awesome -- excellent work! We might watch a movie together in which I secretly cry because sad music is playing. I will certainly talk to Steve about my day, either really cheerfully or with snot running down my face. Fall asleep after drinking gallons of water to quench the never-ending thirst, searing my back with rice bags to dull the sciatica and tossing for a good 30 - 40 minutes. But my sweetheart always says he loves me at some point, that I'm beautiful and how proud he is of what I'm doing for our family.

Pregnancy 2012: A Woman's Dilemma

Have you ever been pregnant? Perhaps not. Certain obstacles may be blocking your way, like being a man. There's nothing I can do to help you in that case. However, if you are in fact female and may be pregnant sometime in life (first time or again) I believe this may interest you slightly. 

In the five months I have been pregnant, I have gathered interesting facts about pregnancy that no one ever informed anybody else about. I suppose it's kind of like making out or 'knowing' someone for the first time. There are just things you learn on the job, as it were, that you don't know or hear about otherwise. Doubly true for pregnancy

Sarah Pregnancy Fact #1 Having PMS for nine months.
  I was excited as a teen by the idea of pregnancy for two main reasons: having a sweet, cuddly baby and not having a period for nine or so months. I have so far had one of those hopes dashed. I feel like I'm on my period most everyday. Bloating, irritabillity, upset stomach, light cramps, headaches, muscle soreness, cravings, tiredness.. if I'm not mistaken, I have been under a serious false assumption most of my teens and early twenties. It's just lower level PMS for nine months everyone, remember this.

SPF #2 Body changes are just as hard as when you aren't preggo.
  I'm very body conscious. I like to feel good (what I eat and how I exercise) and that makes me like my body and how I look. Again, for some unknown reason, I thought that when I was pregnant it would suddenly be awesome to gain weight. No reason to fret Sarah, you're pregnant! Wrong and wrong. I've had some crazy body image struggles through this time. Steve helps a lot with this, reminding me of things that are real and true, not just what I percieve them to be while upset and sobbing. My friends, it's hard when you're body changes at any time. It's a lesson I have to learn over and over; nothing stays the same forever, including and especially your body.

SPF #3 Every pregnancy is different.
  I don't think this is news to anyone. You hear this quite a bit. However, unless you understand how very different it can be for you, your mother, your sisters or your best friend, you'll find yourself comparing numbers and experience until you think you're an alien giving birth to a hippo. YOU are different than any other women, you need to know that. You have had many years to come to terms with who you are, how you like things to be, how your body acts and reacts and what makes you happy and comfortable. Listen to your body and what you feel/think is right. There are lots of rules and tips for having a healthy pregnancy, awesome and excellent, BUT you know yourself best. If you know how to keep yourself healthy and happy, do that. Exercise how you know works for you. Eat the way you know makes you feel full and healthy. Gain the weight your body gains and don't go crazy on the numbers. Healthy is good but I understand my body better than any doctor or woman with awesome advice. Listen, gather information and facts and decide what you want to do based on your body, mind and life. It's your pregnancy, not anybody elses.

SPF#4 Love being pregnant.
 It's tough stuff. It hurts, your always uncomfortable, you feel large and out of control sometimes. When I look back on this time of my life, however, I want to think of the crazy wonderful miracle pregnancy and birth are. It's special and such a blessing to be able to bring a little baby into your life. You wouldn't be here if a wonderful woman hadn't been pregnant. My little brother Michel had some sage advice to give "I don't know why people think so much about what they weigh of wear. I mean, in a hundred years, who's going to care??" 
 That's how I want to remember this time. It's hard stuff being pregnant, but it's pretty amazing. I'm going to care about my children, the good work I've done and all I've come through and learned. So bring on the pregnancy, let's do this thing!
   

Social Dismorphia

I have a theory, and it's distressing. I believe that the industries of fashion, beauty and care products may be run by robots. And by robots I mean money-mongering souls who either don't realize what they are doing or, more likely in my mind, don't care. These robots are programmed to destroy women, and thus society. I firmly believe that a family is the most important unit of society, and good things come from strong homes. Destroy the master of services and all good things (as I call homemakers) by chipping away at her self-worth slowly over her lifetime of media exposure. It's a brilliant plan, and I think it's working.

Looking good is awesome. Being confident feels great and makes you happy. However, letting evil robots set the criteria for these good things is not good. I'm constantly battling myself over how I look because of what I see and think looks good, determining my self worth by what I look like rather than what I can do. It's wrong, seriously wrong, and on the days I am self-aware enough to see that, I feel completely free and happy, no matter what I look like that day.

You know when I feel best? When I feel healthy, when I am with those I love and when I do good things for myself and others that day. Looking smokin' hot is good too, sometimes, but it's when I determine I look good (also when Steve lets me know). I've discovered over the years that I honestly feel the most beautiful when I love myself for what I do, when I work hard and try my best in any arena. For a big example in my life: exercise.

I could write a book on what I think about the many faces of exercise. "The Good, Bad and Sweaty," I would call it. One things I'm very passionate about is listening to your body, and in terms of exercise, I think it is the key to whatever success you're striving for. I started working out seriously at 14 or 15 because I was overweight and unhappy. It was a good thing, but I went about it in the wrong way. I was exercising just to be skinny, eating only when famished and then feeling guilty about eating. I ended up losing fat and looking good, but in my mind it was never enough, food was never a good thing and my ideal weight was just less than what I weighed, always less.

Like I said, I really could write a book on this, but what I want to say is that I went about this awesome and healthy aspect of life in an extremely unhealthy way. Why? The robots. I wanted to be skinny because that's beautiful. I wanted to look like the happy girls I saw at school who were thin and awesome. This idea scares me more and more for my sons and daughters (I'm going to have the first in the series by March/April of next year) because I want them to value themselves on what they do, not what they look like.

The thing about robots is, they aren't real. They're created by humans to do and say what we tell them to. This is an evil positive feedback loop, my friends. They sell us these thoughts, we buy into them and they sell us more. I don't want to buy any more robot garbage. I want to feel good about myself no matter what a scale says, no matter how others appear or what they say. I want to disillusion myself and others. It's one of the most important things in my mind because women, families and homes are fundamentally important in our life. We would all, in fact, not be here without women. Down with robots and yes to reality. I'll take a cake-baking, hard-working mother of 17 who has a full time job and remembers your birthday over garbage spewed from the mouths of money-licking robots any day.

Story of Ball Sports Team Game

Sarah wrote the above at the Utah Statesman offices. Sarah visits me when I'm helping put the paper together. Our sports editor, Tavin Stucki, left his computer unattended, so we helped fill his pages. The layout is actual Statesman style, how it would appear in the paper (with a couple spacing tweaks).

You don't need a gender when you're rich.

I was talking with my sister Rachel earlier this day. She is the firstborn, and I the second. Here is a close-to-verbatim of our conversation:
S: We would be so rich if mom and dad had stopped having kids after the first two
R: (Posh male/female voice) Ah yes, I've just been with all the ladies at the polo club.
S: Are you a girl or a boy being rich?
R: I'm obviously still a woman, hanging out with the rich ladies at the club.
S: You don't need gender when you're rich obviously.
R: Gender is a poor man's game.

There are a couple genders in our family, namely the most important two: male and female.
Sometimes we will joke about how life would have been if our parents ceased having children after the the first two excellent girls. This is a game any sibling can play no matter what the birth order. It's always an interesting game to play at siblings' birthday parties.

Sarah's side

So as we discuss the benefit of the first two children in our family, I thought it important to mention how rich we would have been with only a four-person family. Loaded, I tell you, simply loaded. I don't think it's so much about my father's occupation (software engineer) as it is about the sheer lack of people to care for. Less mental strain as well. However, there are cons to consider:

1. We would still be living in Salt Lake instead of my favorite place, Cache Valley
2. I wouldn't know many of the awesome people I do now (mostly including the man I married)
3. We certainly would have been robbed more than zero times (as has been the case in Smithfield)
4. I think I'd be an evil snob

All  things considered, I believe that playing this game is a valuable tool in ascertaining the true value of siblings in your life. Age also helps a lot; you like siblings more when you're all older. Nevertheless, the pros of siblings and families far outweigh the lure of excessive riches -

1. You have more friends as a child (very important as you may not make friends in school)
2. It's always loud and raucous, which equals everything important to kids
3. More fun on holidays, birthdays, outings to the zoo and pretty much every activity
4. A ton of secret codes and inside jokes that aren't funny to anyone else
5. So much love

Steve's side

I'm glad things worked out the way they have for the Russak family. Excellent work mom and dad. Way to go Rachel, Sarah, Moriah, Matthew, Anna and Michel. Steve also comes from a larger family and I am quite fond of his awesome upbringing. So thumbs up Kent parents and Katie, Kara, Lisa, Steve, Bob and Will. Families are essential, siblings are very important (and fun) and being filthy rich isn't everything.

I'm still not sure if I'll make it to having more than one child though, pregnancy is essentially important yet filthy hard.

The Dream of The 1890s.
 I like to crochet. That's about as crafty as it gets for me. It's clean, simple and ready to go whenever you are. All other crafts I have attempted before this turned into half-finished projects guiltily stashed in a closet. Take sewing for example. I like the idea of sewing, you make something really useful in bright colors and as a gift it's just about the coolest thing you can give. A well sewn blanket makes others oo and ah, a pair of jeans would send most anybody over the moon with astonishment.

My mother loves sewing and sewed her way into legend during her early years. Costumes for church productions, clothes for herself (including the astonishing jeans), wedding dresses and even little miniature clothes for Barbies. She had it all, and still does in fact. It's her ultimate dream, I believe, to have an army of seamstresses slave away to accomplish her daring designs while she takes on the most beautiful, awe-inspiring projects herself. This dream would be hard to beat, particularly because it includes an army of seamstresses.

When I got married, I was worried I would have to step it up, craft style. I don't like most crafty things, I dislike decorating and I become miffed when I see women who are so craft-tastic act as if it's 'nothing'. Crochet is my gateway into the world of crafty women as I see it. It's the only d.i.y. activity that I find joy instead of shame and guilt in. And that's okay.

Women, wives and mothers come in all shapes and sizes, right? I believe so. Why should it be any different with the level of crafty, homemade skill that a female possesses? It should not and is not as far as I'm concerned. Though no one ever actually told me I'm a failure at homemaking, these thoughts and conclusions came after an intense, internal battle with my developing role as wife and soon-to-be mother.

So continue on Pinterest crafters. Strive to can your way to food storage security my hippie friends. Make all the hair flowers, aprons and quilts that you can. I applaud what you can do because you like to do it. I don't.

I think I ought to tell you.

 Steve and I are expecting. Expecting what to do what? To have a baby, my fair friends, to have a baby. I've never had a baby before and let me tell you what, it's a crazy business. A few pregnancy related thoughts:

If you want to have a baby, try and remember that feeling that got you into this mess. After I found out, through the oh-so graceful pee-on-a-stick method, I was all giddy and excited. And then I became more and more pregnant and I honestly thought to myself "I don't want to be pregnant no more." This feeling came as a pretty big surprise to me. Steve can attest that I was all about having babies. I felt like it was the next big thing for me, and now for us. But oh my, pregnancy is a cruel taskmaster sometimes and is nowhere near the experience I've heard regaled by countless mothers after the fact. It sounded much more like a magical pony ride than an emotional knockout with physical duress. 

I can say, however, that when I saw baby Kent on the sonogram I started to feel the excitement and happiness I was hoping for. Sure, the baby looks like an alien tadpole at that stage and sure, you still feel pretty horrible but I my heart started racing and tears started flowing as I saw the baby in real time, wiggling all around.That's when it felt real, not just like having PMS for three months.

Husbands are an essential part to any pregnancy. Not only because their initial investment, but also their continued sponsorship throughout. My sponsor is the best. Steve constantly reminds me of happy things, about the baby being here and that he things I'm beautiful all the time. I don't know if body image is as big of a deal for anyone else, but I have just about lost it more than a couple times as I've watched my body change. I'm fairly controlling with my weight, how I workout and what I eat as I'm positive 75-99% of women are. I never thought I'd be 'that pregnant lady' who didn't enjoy the magical changes coming over my body. But I sure didn't and don't. It's a process, one I hope to conquer but probably not till the veil of deceiving forgetfulness comes over me after birth.

Being married is the best, but it takes work and thought and tears and cookies. Having a family is the best, but it takes time and tears and stretch marks and emotional jujitsu. So get married and have a family, it's the best thing you'll ever do.

The Introduction of Kent Kingdom.

 Congratulations! You've found your way into our musings that we shall share with you. I've never written on a blog before, and honestly I've avoided writing things that remind me of high school papers/essays so I don't have to be embarrassed. Steve is majoring in smarty-pants writing, however, so I think as his wife I must try to better my skills.

Steve picked the name for this blog. It reminds me of the hermit crab I had as a teenager. I don't remember his name, which is tragic, because I think that he would have wanted me to remember. He was a particularly introverted crab. I would only see him poke his head out of his shell if he was sure I wasn't looking (and by sure, I mean really sure). If he thought he was being watched, or perhaps stalked, he wouldn't come out again for what seemed hours. I would lay on my bed, pretending to be asleep, eyes closed with measured breathing, to lull him into the falsest sense of security. Only then could I behold his majesty. Unfortunately, his majesty didn't last for long. He died pretty quickly after I started playing mind games with him. I didn't know he was dead for a long time, a testament to his extreme shyness. I miss him, he was a good companion for someone like me.

We decided we are an introverted, people-disliking couple. That's not to say we are mean or actually hate anyone. We just happen to prefer each other to anyone else and we don't come across as "the couple to approach cause they seem so nice." That's just not our style. We likely come off rather abrasively, like a medium-grade sand paper, not the rough grit that grinds away obvious faults nor the fine tuning paper that brings out the smooth texture right before finish. Somewhere in between those extremes. We are friends with a more approachable couple and it works well for us. They bring the innocence to our rough personalities, making others more likely to approach us just by association. I'm grateful for opposites in this world, otherwise we'd all have to try too hard to be every personality type and end up not liking anyone.

P.S. I love the Crocodile Hunter. I am in no way trying to shame him, this is to honor him. His name is Steve and I married a Steve. I'm all about people named Steve.