3 Observations from church in/on Maui

Made it to church on the island everyone calls paradise. The parking lot- less paradisaical. More like crowded. But I found one of the last un-double-parked spots and slipped in the back.

A few thoughts in passing:

1. There's just 300 songs in the LDS Hymnbook. How is it possible there are still SO MANY I've never heard? Every ward/congregation has it's favorites, yes. And there are hymns that are go-to's everywhere (I Stand All Amazed, The Spirit of God). But love hymns. Consider myself well-educated about hymns. And I've been in the wards where whoever selects the hymns seems to be on a mission to educate the ward on the more obscure hymns and still am astounded at the times I straight up double-take from confusion (Truth Reflects Upon Our Senses, anyone?)

2. As someone who has never passed the Sacrament, I thoroughly enjoy when the logistics get messy and the Deacons get all stressed about keeping up with short rows, or the one guy who somehow has two trays. Services where attendance is constantly in flux (like a ward in one of the most touristy cities in the world, with close proximity to rich, west coast Mormons [a new gang I like to think exists underground]) it is, I'm sure particularly challenging. No less fun to watch!

3. Tourist wards are fascinating. It's a whole game in and of itself to play Who is FROM here, Who LIVES here, Who is VISITING? Tourists aren't hard to spot (usually more pink than tan). Locals aren't tough (especially if they are Islanders). It's the lives here group that are the wild card. Maybe they moved to Hawaii because they wanted to wear sandals to church, it's not that they didn't pack full church attire. Maybe they have that beachy feel because they're from California or Florida. Some people just love muumuus, no matter the occasion or location.

Christie: An Ode in Three Parts

Together in Prague Christmas 2005

Not actually an ode in the elaborately structured poem sense, but three things I just absolutely love about my cousin Christie, my almost sister:

Stylish in Vegas 

1. She's a guaranteed good time
Not in the Jenny- 'for a good time, call' sense, but that you can count the fact that you do anything with Christie and know it will be enjoyable. We pretty much giggled across Prague and London when we went there almost a decade ago, and she was fresh off a broken engagement - well within her rights to be miserable.

Heading into or Girl's Trip I'm pretty sure I was 25% excited to see Justin Timberlake and 70% excited to just hang out with Christie and feed off her energy for life (that leaves 5% for just being excited to go anywhere, a traveler's reserve). Whether cajoling our 'too-old' concert neighbors into getting up and dancing or selling me on some seriously awesome lightning-shaped dollar store earrings, she's just plain fun.

Rockin in London 2005

Ready for Justin Timberlake

2. She's real
Check her Facebook for proof: there's no sugar coating her moments of parental angst. Talk to her on the phone and she'll be honest about the good and bad in her life (no taming excitement on the good, no downplaying the bad for the sake of being tough).

One of the things I often lament in my moments of hating on the world is how easy it is to have superficial connections with people. I'm pretty great at maintaining acquaintances, but it takes real energy to truly connect with someone in a meaningful way. Christie is an inspiration in being genuine. A couple years ago she called me in a flurry because she had met a woman in the WalMart parking lot who she wanted to help. She had offered to watch this woman's kids so she could go to work and wanted to brainstorm long-term solutions for people like her. Not in a patronizing save-the-world kind of way (the way I'm prone to and self-conscious of) but in the way that she had connected with this random woman literally on the side of the road and wanted to improve her life to the same degree that she wants happiness for her closest friends and family.

After a long day playing

3. She's got depth
Sometimes I pick my brainiest, nerdiest, most conundrummy questions and save them up for Christie because I know she can take it. There's no pretense of knowing all the answers, but there's also no question too big or faux pas she's not willing to stew on or opine. She's well-read, actively feeds her brain, is thoughtful and careful about her spiritual and political convictions- treading the fine balance of believing something with enough fervor that it means something and questioning it enough that it's not all-consuming.


I keep trying to convince her and her husband to move right next door to me so I can see her every day, but it hasn't worked yet. Boo.

And an adorable babe to boot, right?

2 of 3 Trimesters - DONE

I'm 28 weeks pregnant - that's about 7 months for normal people out there who don't count everything weeks. That's right into the third trimester, which from a Dr's POV (and that of a retired neo-natal NICU nurse Mother-in-law), is considered the 'if your baby comes now, not only will it not die, it is not likely to have any serious lifelong medical impairments' marker. Read: Great news for just in case I don't make it another 12 weeks.

Porter and I have been late bloomers in most regards when it comes to talking about the pregnancy/baby. People keep saying I should be talking about it more, or announcing it, or something, but I am very much at a loss for what that even means. I've never been great at announcements. We didn't take a pregnancy test until I'm pretty sure I was almost 2 months pregnant (8 weeks in pregnant-speak). Didn't tell anyone until 11 or so, not because of the dreaded 12 week 'you probably won't miscarry' marker, it just didn't seem to come up. It felt like conversation hijacking or something. We finally told family at 18 weeks, my work at something like 20, Facebook at 24 weeks and now the blog at 28. Yay for full disclosure in, on, and around the internet!

What not telling people did to me is it made all sorts of thoughts I had along the way have no context. I couldn't say them out loud without announcing I was pregnant. I couldn't announce I'm pregnant without some sort of mandatory mini-celebration. No need to go into the discomfort I have celebrating my fertility with acquaintances (and even friends), fact is, now it's out. So here's some of the thought I've had, as I've had them, some time in the last 7 months, in semi-chronological order, as I remembered to write it in my 'Thoughts I've had' notepad on my cell phone:

• No way is it possible to pee in a cup without peeing on myself, or at least the container
• The Time Traveler's Wife movie trailer should not make me cry
• Damn everybody and their opinions. Everyone thinks they did it right. Their way or the highway. LAME!
• Why won't everyone give me their advice? It's so vague!
• Was that a kick? Feels like an eye twitch.
• Round ligements are the worst ligaments
• I am starving
• Work is overrated. No way I'm coming back after.
• I love my job! I Will learn to juggle. Imma gonna be SUPERMOM!
• What if I can't handle the pain? What if labor is really truly the worst thing ever?
• Porter is WAY more excited about this than me
• Why doesn't Porter care about what stroller we use? 
• Gender, no gender. Gender, no gender. That is the question
• I hope it's a boy. He will be just like his dad.
• I hope it's not a boy. Baby penises are gross
• I am starving!!!!
• I am getting fat! I have never been fat before. I hate that I hate that I feel fat!
• Maternity tops are cute!
• Helllooo ThredUP Maternity!
• I am definitely not on top of life enough to be in charge of anything/anyone
• Pregnancy is going to be fundraising gold!
• Please no crazy acne. Please no gross acne.
• My boobs are huge. 
• I need to find a baby to hold. Anyone will do. Who has a baby? Surely someone I know has a baby.
• My friends are such good moms.
• My sister and sisters in law are such good moms
• Awww a dad with a papoose and bottle!
• What if my child is AWFUL.
• Turns out sports bras DO have a purpose...
• I don't crave fast food more but the satisfaction I get from it is expontially higher
• I could die without ever hearing the phrase 'you just wait' ever again
• There is so. Much. Stuff. To. Buy. Scratch that. There is so much stuff to choose from.
• God bless hand-me-downs
• I need to unsubscribe from this email list. It's giving me anxiety.
• Holding my nephew, I just can't wait for my own baby to fall into me like he does his mom
• At the Women of Influence Awards, women kick BUTT!
• There is really NO WAY to not pee all over yourself when leaving a urine sample.
• Food. I need food. Food food food food

And plenty more 

3 Christmases

I'm beginning to feel that I am one of the lucky few who rarely have to split holidays and special occasions between some combination of extended family, divorced parents, remarried parents, in-laws, and friends who think they are your family. Porter's family is exceptionally small and thus far Trish has been happy to join in whatever chaos the Knudsons are stirring up, or host son, daughter-in-law (that's us) and a big chunk of my family from time-to-time as well.

This Christmas, my local fam was travelling to the far-away fam so we ended up splitting Christmas into three segments

1. Local Knudson

Because we can NOT be without a theme, and 5 days early is just too soon to reenact the Nativity, and since the Lunar calendar delightfully obliged us with overlapping multi-faith holidays, we opted for a Hanukkah dinner and dreidel-off. Brisket, challah bread, latkes, kugel (listed in order of familiarity)- it was as Jewish a dinner as we could get without setting a seat for Elijah (which we almost did last minute until someone remembered that was for Passover and Elijah's not invited to Hanukkah dinner).

Rees and Lucy and Rob loved the dreidel, but Porter easily had the best spin.

My favorite part of the evening, at least leading up to it, was that Porter picked out presents for Brian and Heather and was super excited about it because he did a great job. Porter isn't usually as crazy about the gift selection process as I am in general. Here's to hoping the high of finding the perfect gift at the right price becomes as addicting to him as it is to me.

Don't be deceived. This store is literally the worst.

2. Brattens in Boston

Went for snow. Got sunshine. Glad for it. I don't handle cold well.

I'll blog about the trip as a whole, but Christmassy to-do's included:

• Getting episcopunked into a two and a half hour Christmas Eve Service. We were planning to attend midnight mass anyway, and the service was, indeed, uplifting and heartwearming and full of a good mix of familiar and unfamiliar hymns (as well as several familiar hymns with extra verses I've never heard before. More investigation into suspiciously missing verses needed.), but we braved the only bit of adverse weather we had all week to go to a Bach Cantata in a historic church. 
• BLINK! A Light and Sound Extravaganza! at Faneuil Hall (and surrounding shopping center). Basically it was an enormous tree and all the normal size trees around blinking in time to the Boston Pops rendition of the Hallelujah chorus. An impressive feat of timing and electricity, to be sure. I'm happy with the twinkle lights on their own, no percussion needed.
• The Knudson family's most successful Christmas day Skype session to date. That's not saying a lot, we've failed miserably most other attempts. This round we all got connected, but haven't quite yet Google Hangout's multi-video chat kinks
• Gifts around the lamp. Nothing huge (one of my gifts for Porter consisted of a screenshot on my phone of something I'd purchased, wrapped as a gift), but what's Christmas morning without a little unwrapping? We made a little lamp and everything. It was surprisingly satisfying.

  

  Skyping at its best

  

  Surreptitious selfie at the Christmas service

Surreptitious priest photo at the Christmas Service

Cool old church

3. Leftovers
Does calling it leftovers make it sound less important? It isn't meant to. It gave us an excuse to leave up the Christmas tree with gift boxes around it until New Years' Day, which I am all for. (Thanks to my mom I will always sing the song I Cry The Day That I Take My Tree Down at the end of Christmas. Not in a nostalgic way, rather mostly reminiscing about how out of place the song is on an otherwise very religious Christmas CD. And how incredibly overwrought the song is [seriously, this YouTube slideshow captures it all].

New Years Day morning we'll be opening gifts from the rest of the extended family that doesn't live here, as well as some more local Brattens. Then we'll eat brunch and cry, since it will be the day we take the tree down, and I want the season to last all year rooooooound!

Dressing the tree

Fully dressed in all its splendor

3 Things to do with 24 hours in Las Vegas

Thanks to miles and a willing travel partner, I had an eventful day after Thanksgiving. Here's how I would recommend spending 24 hours:

1. A Show
In my case, Justin Timberlake. Mr. Dreamboat himself. You know, Jessica Biel (ahem, Jessica Timberlake legally) is pregnant too, so that pretty much means we're in the same life situation and have lots in common. Plus, why's he got to be so dreamy? And his songs so dang catchy? After 4 or 5 JT songs became Repeat Songs of the Day (it all started with Pusher Love Girl, a song I like to think Porter would write for me if he were both a songwriter and drug user), I started compulsively looking at concert tickets. I've been to like 5 concerts ever in my whole life and I was seriously considering paying money for not only overpriced tickets, but travel to and accommodations in a random city.

Crazy talk!

With hearty encouragement from Porter (who loves when I'm actually interested in anything enough to want to spend money on it) and a push from a willing travel companion (and fellow JT fan, as Spotify could tell me), Christie and I landed on Vegas at Thanksgiving.

I realize now that many shows are probably worth coming to Vegas for. The night after Justin Timberlake, Stevie Wonder was performing. I may have considered Britney Spears, who plays permanently in Vegas now. I'm still waiting for the day I can talk someone into seeing Blue Man Group with me. I can't imagine there are many nights where there aren't at least B-grade comedians and magicians playing somewhere. I'm not sure how I made it through annual road trips to Vegas in college without seeing even one show (maybe because I was poor and afraid they'd all turn into strip shows by the end?).

2. The Spa 
Groupon chose Planet Hollywood, which worked out marvelously. Seriously, facials every day for the rest of my life. I'd never been to a spa affixed to a hotel before, and now I'm convinced that they are always gonna be top notch, because if I walked out of the spa splotchy or not dazed and elated from pure relaxation I would, you know, complain to the front desk and ask for a room refund, and in the case of Las Vegas, not gamble. So they've got to be good.

The Asian woman who scrubbed, steamed, and treated my face has been doing this for almost 20 year. And, let it be known (she did, with a proud crinkle in her eyes), she's almost sixty and looks 45. That is the power of the facial.

3. Good-Old Fashioned Wandering
This was my first time in Vegas staying in Downtown Las Vegas, which, contrary to everything I'd ever before believed about Las Vegas, is not actually on or even really near the Strip, but 20 minutes northeast in a totally separate block of smaller, older, and decidedly cheesier casinos and attractions than the strip. The bartender who served me oatmeal before I caught my shuttle back to the airport admitted that it's usually semi-local regulars who stay downtown-"the mullet crowd"(see below). Plenty to see even beyond people watching, with the Fremont Experience and my new favorite museum ever, the Mob Museum.

The strip is obviously good wandering as well, though a tad less peaceful, what with the million other pedestrians in cocktail attire, costumes, or sweatpants making their way through all the tchotchke shops and Mexicans handing out ads for female escorts in between the casinos. It is unreal to me just how many people there are in every casino (and how, considering how many smokers I saw, nowhere inside smells like smoke at all!). I guess everyone else caught the 'wander and people-watch' memo.

Just don't eat here. You will literally die. 

Olympus Day Spa: 3 Stop Tour

In what might be my favorite birthday gift to date, Porter sent me to the Olympus Day Spa. The naked spa, as it may be known (Korean, women only). The spa I'd heard always been recommended in sighs and almost uncomfortable moans. 'Ooohhh, it's pure heaven' 'I just can't get enouuuugh.'

There are three features that send women over the edge with Olympus Spa obsession:

1. Naked pools
Four pools, each at varying temperatures (too hot for comfort down to cool enough that I wonder why anyone would step a toe in); dry sauna, wet sauna, and a magical trough of some sort of anti-microbial water warmed to the exact right temperature. You just scoop it over your body with conveniently-provided bowls- Thai shower style. It's amazing.

Lesson 1: Soaking gets old when you hate being pruny like I do, but a variety of pool temperatures seems to mitigate the pruniness.
Lesson 2: Bodies are shaped so differently. It's good to be reminded that even people who look pretty good with clothes on are all pretty lumpy, each in unique and fascinating ways. Hard to not notice, even when you're trying to not pay too much attention to the fact that everyone around you is naked and you're playing it cool about the fact that you're naked too. Socially abnormal, but in this small tiled room, totally normal. I think it'd be good for any teenage girl with body issues to see.
Lesson 3: People actually go to naked, pruny spas with their friends, and when they do, they don't sit quietly, they chat. Even when the signs say 'be quiet' and they send a nice but firm Korean woman around from time to time shushing. I have a hard time imagining going anywhere naked with anyone I know. How is it that strangers are more comfortable than friends or family when it comes to nakedness?

2. Robed rooms
What a delightful surprise! Seven rooms all heated (or cooled) and pumped full of earth properties that do nothing but heal your bones, blood, and soul. Mud and Jade, Sand, Salt, Charcoal, Elvan Stones (straight from Middle Earth!), one dedicated to meditation (something about bamboo?), and even one that smells like cedar, has a writing desk, and cabin tchotchkies on the wall. That's actually the cheesiest of the rooms, as practical as it is for getting your body temperature back to normal after sweating from your bones in a 130 degree room. The others feel like being transported to another planet. The sand room actually has sand under a canvas floor. The charcoal room makes your skin feel like you just finished a pore-tightening face mask. I spent about half as much time in these rooms as I would have liked to if I hadn't saved them til last and ran out of time. Lesson learned: Save time for earth rooms.

3. Services
Regular old spa - pedicures, massages, facials (that's what I got because I want a facial every day for the rest of my life). Olympus is known most, though, for their body scrub. They have you come an hour early to soak in the two warmest naked tubs to prime up the pruny, then they throw you on a table 4 feet from another naked scrubee (my neighbor was some 65 and we only had to avoid eye contact once), and scrub to you til you bleed. Not actually bleed, but there were several times when if I were told I were bleeding I would have believed it.

Baby soft skin has its price. A price I'm sold on.

Three areas in Which I have NO Self-Control

I've got it together, right? I don't smoke or drink (even coffee!) and never have. I have an impressive enough title. I volunteer through my church in both teaching and leadership roles. I'm growing a baby inside my body and take prenatal vitamins (almost) every day. I raise money for people in need. I'm reasonably informed about pop culture, world events, and the goings-on of friends and family. You might just say I'm a freaking master of the universe. (This may or may not be my personal script for one of these)

Well, mostly. Except for I have zero self-control when it comes to:

1. Waking up early for no reason
Give me an appointment at dawn (or, in Seattle winter reality, before dawn) and I'll be there. It takes me 15 minutes from eyes open to dressed, (dry) shampooed, and reasonably made-up and ready to go. Early flight, early meeting, early breakfast with a friend (who's scheduling that, anyway?), whatever, I'm there. If it's say, waking up to run errands, clean, or dare I say exercise, forget about it. Sleep, my beloved crossword puzzle app, or really any amount of staring at a wall or ceiling will always win. Always. Tasks intentioned before my brain goes into scheduled mode are in no way reliable.

2. Binge-streaming
I'll talk myself out of watching a movie on my to-watch list because I don't want to waste 90 minutes,then proceed to watch 4 episodes (or more) in a row of whatever is my show of the moment. My favorite are shows with more than 5 seasons with enough drama and comedy to engage me but are humdrum enough that I can tell myself I can be otherwise productive while watching them. Grey's Anatomy was 9 months of crack. I'm working through Gilmore Girls now.

Curses to Netflix.

3. Cereal
It's got to be some sort of childhood regression. I ate a lot of cereal as a child. I eat a lot of cereal now. I think I'd be perfectly happy eating cereal for all meals every day. My brain might not agree - I have come to the responsible conclusion that cereal is not actually brain food and actually causes energy spikes and crashes worse than candy or soda. Doesn't change anything: I want it. I can't get enough. Buy a box and it will be the first suggestion for every meal. Multiple bowls, until I don't even like the cereal anymore. That's sickness right there. I've lately taken to taking plastic sandwich baggies of the good stuff (Lucky Charms, Cinnamon Life) from my parents after Sunday night dinner. All the yum with many fewer food comas.

Cheez-its are the only other snack that seem to have a similar cannot-stop-until-I'm-sick-and-miserable effect on me. Life and Cheez-its, in my dreams an nightmares equally.

Three things I'm grateful for

It's the day for it. And while I try to live my life full of gratitude, I do feel that I spend more time than I'd like to admit being dissatisfied. Not exactly the opposite of grateful, but closer to its opposite than its ideal. At the moment I am very thankful for:

1. Opportunity
This year has been one where I seem to keep saying to myself "I can't believe I get to do this." Count it for travel (it's been a truly epic year for that); Count it for employment (I've been given a HUGE chance to learn in my current job, and get to do all sorts of fun things and meet interesting people through it.); Count it for generally being in a position where I could do anything I want if I want to (a sometimes paralyzing freedom I both appreciate and fear). I'm in a place where I'm usually caught deciding between good options, and I realize that not everyone has that luxury.

2. Cheerleaders and mentors
I'm at a place in my life where I am learning so much. I try to be as open as I can about learning and trying new things out, and luckily I've been blessed with people who quietly believe in me, actively tell me so, and talk me through some of the more challenging processes and decisions. It's maybe an innate thing to doubt oneself, and I recognize the value of having people around to pull me out of that.

3. Sleep
Or rather my ability to sleep. Maybe it's really my bed I appreciate. I wrote a paper in college once where we were assigned to write about a 'sacred space' in our lives. Some peers wrote about their grandpa's house or a mountain they hiked. I wrote about my bed. Growing up in a busy house, and always having shared space with roommates, my bed has always been my safe zone. It still is my space to rejuvenate. Sleeping, reading, staring at the ceiling in fetal position because I'm stressed out or annoyed, it's always there for me. (Methinks my bed needs a post of its own) And, probably tied to my almost religious opinion of my bed, I love sleep. And I've generally been pretty good at it. I'm rarely an insomniac, and can apparently hit rem sleep pretty quick.

3 Things I Can't Seem to Get Straight

Seriously.

1. Getting the right corner of my bedsheets on the mattress on the first try.
I've been counting lately and I'm not kidding, I'm 1 for 15. That means in the last 15 times I've made my bed, I have correctly put the sheets facing the right direction, in the right corner ONE TIME. I swear, I check seams and eyeball lengths for the the short end and long end.

2. Putting on tights without having on leg twisted backward.
Tights are stretchy, but they have their limit- like when one leg is turned entirely toward the back of the leg when the one on your body and up to your thigh (thus not prone to twist any further) is face forward. There ought to be some cheater markers on tights to make this easier.Get on it l'eggs, or Hanes, or whoever is at the forefront of tights and pantyhose technology

3. Keeping noon in the right M
9 am, 10 am, 11 am, 12 pm... Whose idea was that? I've got a better track record than with bedsheets, but I'm annoyed and embarrassed at how many noon meetings I've set for midnight.

3 Problems with Being Inspired

Every once in a while there's a moment where everything is crisp and clear. Where any self-doubt or external obstacle seems meaningless. Where you feel you can take over the world. That you will take over the world.

Inspiration.

It's the pits.

I mean, it's pretty wonderful, feeling limitless and empowered and energized and in control and all the things you hope to feel every day when tackling a big project or working out life. But it also brings with it some problems:

1. When he pendulum swings from great to awful
I was at a professional conference recently where I had these little fireworks in my head about all the things I'm going to do and become in my professional life. My pen and notebook couldn't keep up with the inspiration as I thought out plans and made lofty goals. By 25 minutes after the conference, safely back at my office in the realm of reality, I looked over my notes, only to be filled with an overwhelming dread. The fireworks of possibility had burned out and had left singed in my psyche holes that weren't there before. You can't see the world the same way again, but the world is the way it was.

When I was in high school I volunteered with a program in Mexico and remember talking with the program director about how great it would be to take these kids who literally found their homes and meals out of the city dump to my hometown, just to give them a taste of potential. The program director kind of sighed and said something like 'And life would go on as normal' - a comment I didn't really understand, but can identify with a bit. Like, life wasn't so bad before I knew it could be better. But now I know it could be different, can I be satisfied with the not so bad now?

2. With the rise of expectation and possibility comes the increase in risk and disappointment
Great doers of the world say all the time (or at least they are quotes often on inspirational boards) that going big usually means failing big. Joseph Smith said that 'a religion that does not require the sacrifice of all things never has power sufficient to produce the faith necessary until life and salvation.' Robert F Kennedy said that "only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly." Oprah Winfrey says "This is your moment."

Roll 'em all up (along with a hundred other quotes about how important it is to jump off cliffs before you can fly and all that crap) and there's a theme you get: If you want to be amazing, you've got to trudge through some mud first. And by mud I mean (they mean): lose money, disappoint people, hate yourself, be told you're wrong, be told you're anything but what you're trying to be, lose hope, wonder if anything will ever pay off, give your heart and soul for very uncertain outcomes.

Misery. You want it?

3. It all comes down to you
I don't know if I'm particularly prone to needing validation, or if it's common in the age of the internet forum, but I ask Google everything. How do I make sure my pie is venting properly? How do I start a conversation with a very wealthy person that I've never met before? How do I ask a person of great wealth for a gift of $10,000 or more? What are all the reasons daylight savings should be abolished? What is the best way to make sure my butt doesn't get all saggy the closer I get to 30? How do I make sure my marriage will last? Why are people selfish? Why are people generous? Blah blah blah...

There's an answer for everything, except: I want to be this person and do these things but I don't know if I have it in me- the time, energy, and personal capacity - to really live to my potential. How do I make it happen? How do I find the balance between striving and satisfaction? How do I know where my priorities should be? What decisions in life will I regret?

There's something really wonderful about the individuality of inspiration, but it's also daunting and frankly, obnoxious to see what could be and know that the only thing keeping me from all that could be is me - my desires, my will, my dedication to that inspiration.

So I'll take my inspiration- personal, spiritual, professional, whatever. I'll take it and ask Google how to handle it (PS: Just asked and there's no answer to that question at the moment), and hopefully it propels me forward to something greater.