Yesterday was our one year anniversary. I was going to write a post about it, but I guess I got busy with other things. We took a weekend away which was nice, but by the time we got back, there were a lot of things to do! Laundry, work, and finding a nice “romantic anniversary dinner” recipe that would be easy enough to pull off. Apparently there are lists of these things on the Internet, you know? So I tried to make steak for the first time by myself. Well it wasn’t exactly stellar. I cooked it longer than I intended to and put too much salt. But it was okay. I think Hubby was touched, which is what counts. Today I’m trying another one on that Internet list. It’s a baked chicken with tomatoes and garlic and kale, and it was pretty easy, so far. We’ll see how it turns out!
I’m kind of pooped now, after two part-time jobs during the day and feeling the kale bits on the kitchen floor with my feet while prepping. Yes, something about that tires me out. My head is aching, but the chicken is in the oven. Phew.
So seriously, what am I supposed to write? Oh boy, what is a girl to do! Marriage is a strange and funny thing, and there are some things that just have to be kept between the two peas. That’s the hard thing about it. On the one hand, it’s my marriage right, so I should be able to talk about it? But on the other hand, we’re two and yet one. It’s all intertwined and yet not. That’s the funny thing about marriage.
I seriously have arm cramps from whatever I did today (blowing bubbles for kids? throwing a bouncy ball? I have no idea..) so I will continue this line of thought later.
I’ll leave you with a quote I found that resonates with me.
A happy marriage is a long conversation which always seems too short. – Andre Marois
Recently I’ve been going through a shopping craze. And by that I mean, adding things to a shopping cart online and not going through with it after reading reviews from the BBB. I mean browsing through hundreds of pictures of dresses and inspiration. I mean sending pictures to my friends and hubby and asking them what they think. I mean wondering what my skin tone is, whether it’s warm yellow and cool yellow. It’s UGH time consuming. Stop being so glamorous, fashion bloggers!
This is going to be a lot of rambling, and not in the least bit interesting, just warning you.
So I recently bought a bag from ThredUp because my bag finally lost its magnetic clasp to the wind somewhere at the school I work for. Of course it did. I’m so glad I have a work hoodie that I wear everyday because it’s been a few weeks and it already has highlighter and who knows what else all over it. Anyway, back to the purse. So I’m kind of excited cause I got a great deal on it, and it should be in “excellent” condition even though it’s secondhand. But here’s the thing, I’m also worried people will judge me for the brand (Am I the judgmental one? Oh dear) and think I spent hundreds of dollars on a purse. So there I was, weighing these things, debating whether I should get a purse. UGH. BUT I also read that the quality is actually better with these expensive branded bags, and they can last you a long time, versus my bags my relatives get me from Asia which start shedding fabric chips after a year or so. (I love you Mom and Auntie and all the bags you’ve ever gotten me I promise!) The thing is, if I get something that lasts, that means I’m also kind of stuck with it for awhile. This could be either a good or bad thing. A day or so later, I found another purse that looked really cute, and I started to regret that I didn’t wait. I know, the drama.
Next up in life as an adult– need to identify the bug that has been biting me in my sleep. I’m so scared! And looking up answers on the internet makes it worse because there are so many gross pictures.
Pretty pictures of tulips instead of bugs found here.
A lot has happened since I last wrote on here, but it feels weird to blog because I don’t know if anyone reads this anymore. It’s strange, moving through the years and having people flow in and out of your life with relative ease. Some go unnoticed, and some do not. I’m starting a new job on campus, which is nice. I’ll be editing materials for disabled students, which is definitely up my alley. I am nervous to begin of course, since it means less hours available for studying, but I’m glad for the income. It’s been nice being a student again, but every once in awhile it’s nice to at least earn enough to be able to eat out every once in awhile and not feel too bad. And I need to start saving for you know, life.
As I’ve grown I feel like my posts have become more and more mundane, but I think the subject matter hasn’t really changed. I think what has changed is possibly the way I react to the subject matter. I still remember my blog posts from junior high that were full of lots of high-energy stress and excitement over school and people. Well, look where I am now. Still in school, and still thinking about people.
A sent me a book about our defining decade, that is, the decade of our twenties. It was about how to make the most out of our lives now. Here’s where we are at. Let’s do this.
Now that I’ve made the all too common leap from education to the workforce and back to education again, one question I often am asked is “Which do you like better, work or school?” I always enthusiastically declare “School! I loved college.” Now of course, I am looking back with probably rose-colored lenses. I remember when I was in college, I longed for my high school days. What did I like about college?
I liked and equally disliked the Berkeley bubble. That meant I was surrounded by all these brilliant people who I felt very average next to. I liked the flexibility of generally being able to choose which classes to take and when. Point in case, I took one 8am class in my entire college career, in my first semester of freshman year, and never did it again. Guess who planned that? I also liked my time and support network. There was plenty of time in college. Time for tears to fall and conversations to be had at random hours in the day. Time for games to be played with plenty of friends. Time for wandering around cafés and libraries. I don’t do that anymore.
My point though is not to reminisce over how awesome school was, but rather to be thankful for what I can be thankful for in working.
When I work, there are 8 hours in the day minus lunch where I know exactly where I have to be and what I have to be doing– being productive. I can channel my energy and feel like I have created something by the end of the day. Instead of constantly taking in information, I am constantly producing, exercising a different muscle. Maybe that’s mundane and obvious. Working has also showed me that the world around us is composed of an extremely diverse body of human beings that are simultaneously interesting and frustrating. But I think above all, after working, every time I sit before a plate of food, I am very thankful to the Lord who provided me that food on the table. It does seem ironic, doesn’t it? After all this time working, I have to say, it’s not because of me. It’s not because of what I did or created. Everything I have is because the Lord gave. With that, a childhood prayer becomes more heartfelt, “Thank you for the food, Lord.”
It’s this feeling that rises up inside “I want to go home”. I’ve been traveling this weekend, and while I like to taste new foods and see new sights, there’s nothing quite like resting in your home again.
There’s someone else who is homeless. Our dear God is searching for a home. His home is within our hearts, and yet, perhaps there is not much room there for Him. On my trip, I became inspired to open a business someday. I don’t know that it will ever become too serious of an endeavor, but for awhile, I did enjoy daydreaming about the fonts I might use, the features I might have, the food I might sell. In the same way, when the Lord came into my spirit, He was very happy there. Now there was a place where He might have a home. But it doesn’t stop there. My soul still has the tracks and marks of God’s enemy. Just like the poor cafe with the ugly logo, my own heart is damaged. Its brokenness echoes the story of a historic robbery. And while my spirit bears the evidence of salvation, my soul is a work in progress. How much I need Him! This is my Friend and my Love. Eventually, we will both be at home.