Orlando or Bust!

No point in beating around the bush here - in case you didn't figure it out from the title, the Elwood family is packing up & moving to Orlando, Florida!

Greg has the opportunity to attend the Motorcycle Mechanics Institute at UTI in Orlando for the next year & a half to become a Harley Davidson-certified mechanic. So, in approximately 30 days (32 from today, actually, but who's counting?), we will be packing up our infant son, our dog, and our lives, and making the 3-4 day drive (that's right; we're driving) to begin our new life! This is an incredible opportunity for all of us, & completing the 18-month course paves the way for Greg to have a solid career with Harley Davidson afterward.

Truth time: I am terrified!!

And excited!

But...mostly terrified.

I have never in my life lived outside of Nebraska, & I have never lived in a town bigger than 30,000 people (nor have I ever wanted to). But, I am excited to experience something so new & so far outside of my comfort zone, not to mention all the new adventures that will be waiting for us in Florida (hello, Disney World & Universal Studios!!). And I'm very excited for Greg to have this opportunity; he's been looking for a career he can be passionate about ever since I've known him. And did I mention that our apartment is going to be freaking awesome?! Because that helps too :)

So yeah. This is happening, and happening soon. It's something that's been in the works for us for about a year now, but we've been keeping it quiet until we had all the details worked out. Then some other things happened (like the birth of our son :) :) :) ), and before we knew it, we were 60 days out! And now here we are. I have officially given my notice at work (& I am going to bawl my bloody eyes out on my last day there! :'( ); we gave our notice to our landlords; and we're slowly tackling the daunting task of packing up an entire house & sorting what goes into storage versus what goes into the moving trailer.

--Insert deep breathing here--

To be honest, I was never sure what "or bust" meant when I would hear people say it, or see it on signs. When I was little, I thought they meant "or bus stop" & just ran out of space. Turns out, it means "or collapse from effort/die trying." While this will certainly be the longest road trip of my life (so far, anyway), I'm really hoping we will be able to make it without the "or bust" so to speak.

So, yeah. This is seriously happening.

One Year as an Elwood

Yesterday morning, I sat down to compose an anniversary piece. A tribute, you might say, to the last 365 days of my life, and the man who shared them with me as my husband. But as I stared at the screen, I decided it is perhaps more important - to me, at least - to tell the blunt and honest truth.

This year has been at times the most difficult year of my life.

The first year of marriage is not perfect, and from what I've been told - repeatedly - it never is. Oh yes, everyone and their dog has been lining up all year long to assure me of the old adage, "The first year of marriage is the hardest." And yes, I did think we would be the exception to this. After all, we'd been together for four and a half years before we got married, and living together for almost the same amount of time. What would really be that different?

I can't speak for my husband, but for me, even the first month, things were different. They were better. Soooo much better! We flirted, we laughed, we did things for each other, I felt so much closer to him, everything was new & fun like when we first got together, & all the little things we (or I) griped about before seemed so insignificant & pointless. I was so excited to be that annoying newlywed couple who post all these pictures of themselves, & constantly remind everyone that they got married this year, like: "Happy 4th of July from the newlyweds!" "First Halloween as Mr & Mrs!" "It's Thanksgiving in the Elwood house!"

It was the happiest I ever remember feeling.

Before I go on, here's a bit of background: my husband sustained substantial injuries in Iraq in 2007 (before I knew him) which ultimately led to him being discharged from the army. Since then, his condition had improved to the point where his doctor(s) had cleared him to go back to work full-time, and he found a job first with a factory in town, then with an irrigation company nearby. In early June of last year, he started coming home from work in more and more pain. By the end of the month, he would come home, shower, and by sidelined on the couch for the remainder of the evening because the pain in his knees & back was so severe that he couldn't do anything else. Flash forward to the end of August when his injuries had worsened to the point where he was forced to quit his job.

The next several months were spent reassessing our priorities, and struggling to find balance in our new situation - both financially & personally. I knew my husband was struggling with his new limitations & worried about the future. And, like me, when there is something heavy weighing on him, he pulls into himself and pushes the rest of the world away. I know this because, like I said, I do the same thing. Somewhere in this time, I guess I began to withdraw from the people and things around me, too. I went to work, I came home, a couple nights a week I went to the gym. I rarely reached out to my friends, and when I did, I almost never told them the truth about how things were going. I knew it made people uncomfortable, & everyone had their own important things to deal with; there was nothing they could do to help our situation, so why burden them with it? It was what it was, and I just had to keep pushing on until it got better.

Little by little, however, the thought began to creep into my mind;
what if it doesn't get better?

I wanted to talk to my husband about my concerns and how I was feeling, but I felt like I had no right. He was the one going through this, not me. He was the one in pain all the time, not me. He was the one who had all this thrust upon him and so much else taken away all at once, not me. What possible reason could I have to ask for his sympathy? (Please note, these were all my thoughts, never his) So, I sought out counseling sessions through a fantastic program provided by my work's health insurance. Counseling had helped me so much in the past, I was sure it would help me now. Unfortunately, the counselor & I just didn't "click", and, rather than seek out someone else, I became even more disheartened, resigning myself to the harsh reality that I would have to deal with everything on my own.

It was the loneliest I ever remember feeling.

I think it was November when my husband posted an update on our situation on Facebook, & my friend Tara reached out to me. She told me a coworker of hers was part of a support group for people whose spouses or loved ones suffer from PTSD, chronic pain, TBI, or other military-related injuries and hardships. I went to one meeting, and within the first 15 minutes, I felt a weight lifting off my shoulders. Hearing these women - these real, emotional, strong women - sharing experiences so similar to mine made me feel like I wasn't alone after all, and - as trite as it may sound - renewed my hope that things really could get better. I was so relieved, I cried. A lot.

The new year saw us going out with friends again, being more involved in each others' lives, and a revitalized intimacy in our relationship. I earned a promotion with my job that allowed me to work in different positions throughout the day. My husband & I were both so excited for this new opportunity; it was going to be more work, and of a different kind, but I loved it, and was anxious to meet the goals they set for me. For that month, I firmly believed that 2016 would, in fact, be better. But...

On Valentine's Day, we noticed our beloved cat, Selene hadn't been eating, and had been getting sick. She always loved her food, so we took her to the vet who told us she had a baseball-sized, cancerous tumor in her abdominal area. It had come on so quickly, he said she likely had only a week left at the most, and the chances of her surviving an attempt at surgery were very slim. We could watch her waste away in pain, or we could let her go in peace.

Tuesday, February 16th, we took our little Selene back to the vet, wrapped her in a red fleece blanket - one she always snuggled into my lap with - kissed her, hugged her, and loved on her, and she passed away cuddled up on my lap. No more pain, no more suffering. My husband and I were both shaking with tears and grief. She was our baby, and she was gone. It felt like someone had carved a piece out of my heart, and I know that feeling will never go away, for either of us. Not a day goes by that we don't miss her little face, her purring, her kisses, and her attitude, but her loss forced us to lean on each other again for support, to talk to each other like we used to. I don't think either of us would have gotten through it without the other. And, of course, our dog :)

Even though we'd never really settled on a date at this point (he wanted to wait until we'd been married at least a year, I wanted to start trying after the new year), we decided to put off having a family. Despite the fact that I knew it was the right decision for us, it was a hard pill for me to swallow. I had reached a point where I was ready to be a mother, and it was what I wanted for me in my life. But that's the thing about being married; it's not just you anymore, and it's not just your life. After losing Selene, however, we were able to reach a compromise (after much debating, a couple all-out fights, and of course more tears) and agreed to wait until our life is a little more settled. Another adage I've heard more time than I can count over the last year: "If you wait until you're ready to have a baby, or until you can afford it, you'll never have one."
--exhausted sigh & eye roll--

So yes, the first year of marriage has definitely been hard. But in all fairness to marriage, it didn't exactly get the chance to put its best foot forward before life came out of nowhere and knocked it on its ass. The point is, we got back up. We toughed it out. This weekend was the first time we were able to talk about Selene without one of us - ok, me - sobbing uncontrollably. We took a trip to the Henry Doorly Zoo on Saturday and ate Hardee's. Twice. Last night, we got dressed up and went out for dinner & a movie, then finished the night with the Game of Thrones premier. Today we'll eat last year's wedding cake, order a Hot Stuff pizza, and watch Outlander. We're slowly figuring out our future, & just how different it looks now as compared to a year ago.

Our marriage did get off to a rough start, and we've both said if we hadn't had four and a half years of practice with each other before all this, it's hard to say what would have happened. I'm still a little sad we don't have more pictures of our first year as husband as wife, but we still have year two, year three, year 50 :) We still have issue to work through (as all couples do), and I'm sure we still have any number of trials ahead of us, but I'm feeling better about our future than I have in a while. And if we survived this year, I'm pretty sure we got this.

Happy Anniversary, husband!

I will love you when you drive me crazy
I will respect you when we disagree
I will support you when bad times come our way
And I will always remember
How grateful I am
To have you by my side

No, I'm no one's wife

For almost seven years, this verse in "All That Jazz" from the musical, "Chicago" was sort of my mantra.
"No, I'm no one's wife. But, oh, I love my life!"

In other words: I'm not married, and I'm ok with that!

I guess, now that I'm in my late 20s, and am about to be someone's wife, I'm noticing things I either didn't notice before, or just never paid much mind to. For instance (and, unfortunately, this is something I have been running into for several years now), the fact that I am almost 28 with no husband and no children, somehow makes me less...credible, I suppose? As a professional, an adult, and as a woman in general.

I am getting married in April of next year. By the time I change my name, the man I'm marrying and I will have been together for going on five years. I'm not ashamed of that fact; I'm actually proud of it. We decided this. Together. The two of us. There for a while, we even thought about not getting married at all. We would have had a happy life, committed to each other, raising a family, without becoming husband and wife. Separate last names forever, and that would have been just as ok with us. After a while, however, we did decide to get married because it was something we wanted to share with each other.

However, once we announced the wedding date (one year and four months after the engagement), then came the endless questions of "Why wait so long?" "You've been together so long already; why do you need such a long engagement?" Because we aren't in a hurry. Because for us, it isn't about being married; it's about being together. Of course I'm excited to be able to introduce him as my husband; of course I'm excited to sign with my new name, and check the box next to "Married". But, personally, I don't think that makes me any more valuable to society than I already am...

When I was vying for a promotion at a previous job, my boss at the time told me that I was going to struggle more in that position than the other candidates, specifically because I was younger, single, and had no children. He told me customers would have a hard time taking me seriously and relating to me - and vice versa - because I wouldn't know what it's like to have a family. He - jokingly, though I believe it was only half-jokingly - told me I should get married & have a couple kids, then come back. Har har har.

For the record, I did get that promotion, and I never once lost a costumer due to being neither a mother nor married.

Even today, however, more than three years later, this is something I'm still running into. You know what is perhaps the worst part? The majority of this judgmental pressure comes from my friends (*NOTE not all of my friends; just some. And no, I will not be naming names, or offering reassurance as to whether you - the reader - are or are not one of these said-friends. If you're guilty of this, I'm sure you can figure it out for yourself. Further more, I'm sure it's something we have discussed, and hopefully reached a truce).

When I was sixteen, I made myself a promise: I would not get married before I was 23, and - if I had anything to say about it - I would not become a mother before I was 25. This was a decision I firmly stood by - and successfully navigated - because I knew it was the right one for me. I wanted the chance to explore the world a little, find my place in it, and gain a firm sense of who I was in my own right before I had someone else utterly dependent on me. To be fair, I do see some benefits to being a younger parent, but - obviously - the benefits did not outweigh the cost in my particular case and opinion.

That being said, I find it incredibly insensitive and irritating when someone - friend or stranger - spends a significant amount of time trying to convince me that being a younger parent is infinitely better than being what they'd consider an "older" parent. It worked for you; that's great. I'm very happy for you and the fact that you are satisfied with your life choices. So, why do you feel the need to tear apart mine? Obviously it is too late for me to ever be a young parent, even if that were something I desired. So you telling me that I'm taking too long to have kids, or that I need to get a move on it before I'm 30, or that I won't have any energy to keep up with them, or that I'll never know my grandchildren, is really just mean. You are standing there, criticizing the choices I have made for myself and my life, for no reason other than the simple fact that they are different from yours.

I will turn 28 without any children, and without any marriages. But I will have 28 years of uninterrupted life experience; a Bachelor's degree from a University; three years of experience in my job field; steady and stable employment with plenty of opportunity for advancement; and a solid, supportive home life. These facts don't make me any better, or any worse than anyone who is married and/or a parent. They are just facts, pure and simple.

And yes, I love my life.

"Warrior"

Ever had a story in your head that won't leave you alone? I've been thinking about this one for a couple weeks now, so I decided to leap back into the writing pool with this short piece. That is all. Enjoy.

He looked up at the sound of her laughing, and watched as she vigorously rubbed their puppy’s neck and ears, thanking the pup in a ridiculous voice for his slobbery kisses.

She looked so happy, and…at peace. Their earlier conversation flashed through his mind, and he couldn’t help replaying her words in his head. Quite frankly, it bothered him how cavalier she was about what had happened to her; that she could just bring it up in casual conversation like it was any other event. But it had taken her five years to reach this point; surely he couldn’t begrudge her wanting to acknowledge it now and then.

It wasn’t as though it didn’t faze her at all anymore; they slept in the same bed each night, and he was all too familiar with the nightmares that still came out of the dark to terrorize her unconscious. But he understood the desire to transform something horrible into just another everyday fact. Like hitting puberty and discovering hair in places it had never been before; something that happened to you without your permission. You can’t change it, so you do your best to adapt, to accept it as part of yourself and learn to live with it.

His breath caught at the thought of just how hard it must have been for her to accept what had been done to her, to learn to live with that as a fact of her life. He’d come into her life just over a year after, and while he wouldn’t have called her broken, there had been a shadow behind her eyes; a tremor hidden her voice over the phone. She’d concealed it well, even from him, but one scarred soul always recognized another.
He’d always known it would take someone with a stubborn streak and a patient heart to reach him again. He found all that and more in her. Her fire melted his resolve, and her touch soothed his temper. He’d given her someone to lean on and taught her to confront her demons; she’d given him sincerity and taught him peace. In the end, the two of them had helped heal each other.

As he looked at her now, smiling brightly, her eyes clear and voice strong, he felt a sudden swell of pride. His woman was a warrior.

Voluntarily Unemployed

This month alone, I have left two jobs. Good jobs. Stable jobs. Jobs that just...weren't right for me. For the first time in 14 years, I am voluntarily unemployed.

I won't lie...it's a little scary.

The closest I've ever been to this situation was in late December of '09 when I was told I would be laid-off from my job at Earl May for several months. I tried to find another job during that time; something temporary since I knew Earl May would rehire me in March (which they did). So, I spent most of January and February indulging in some me-time. That, however, was different. I knew I had a job waiting for me; I knew I would only be unemployed for a specific amount of time, and I didn't have half as many financial responsibilities to budget for at that time.

Now here I am; 27 years old with bills and loans and payments to make...and a world of opportunities at my feet. For the first time ever, I am in a position to find the job I want, to think about my options before jumping into another career. As I said before, it is scary, but it's also rather invigorating. I feel surprisingly at ease and filled with a new-found sense of excitement at my current situation.

Yes, I could have stayed on at my newest job longer and given it a better shot, but I know me. I know that, when I get something in my head, it is almost impossible to change my own mind (I imagine there are several people who can back me up on that point). I know that, if I have already decided it isn't the right fit for me, I'm not going to give it my all, and that wouldn't be fair to the clients or coworkers. The news of my abrupt departure wasn't as well-received as I had hoped, but I suppose I can't really blame them for that; it's never easy or fun to hear that someone you just put through two weeks of training has suddenly changed their mind and is leaving you out of the blue.

I am not going to go into details about precisely why I decided to leave, but before the speculation can escalate, let me just say that no; it was not because I felt overwhelmed or that I had gotten in over my head (as I feared may be the case). The job simply didn't turn out to be what I thought it would be, and I knew I wouldn't be happy doing it for very long. So, I decided it would be best to leave sooner rather than later, before I had established rapport with clients and taken on a full caseload. Maybe I was wrong, but the decision felt--and still feels--right.

So, once again, here I am. Employers of the Kearney-area, be aware; this fox is officially on the hunt.

In a Most Delightful Way

I love origins stories. And I've loved Disney since before I can remember. So it's only natural that I would find a reason to see the latest combination of the two. I have to say, however, in all honesty, I really didn't expect it to...inspire such a reaction from me.

Walking out of the theater this evening after watching Saving Mr. Banks, I felt...light, and warm, and inspired. You remember that feeling when you were a kid; when you would tilt your head back, stretch out your arms, close your eyes, and take a deep breath in? It felt like, if you stayed that way long enough, you would float right up into the clouds and drift along in a heavenly blissful state. It was kind of like that, for lack of a better explanation (and had it not been so bloody cold outside, I may have been tempted to do exactly what I just described).

I have always, always loved Mary Poppins, and watching the story of how it came to be brought back all kinds of fond musings; memories I hadn't thought about in years. I suddenly remembered the first time I ever saw the film...

I was about 4 or 5, maybe even 3, we were visiting Grammy and Granddad in Thedford when Grammy put in a movie for us younger grandchildren to watch before bedtime. I was fascinated from the beginning! Drawings you can step into? Dancing penguins?? Merry-go-round horses that came to life??? It was all so purely fantastic!

After that, I distinctly remember asking my mom if we could watch "the movie with the horses and the dancing penguins" again and again. That Christmas, Grammy & Granddad sent us home with a special gift; our very own copy of Mary Poppins. I would twirl around the living room, singing aloud with every song... "Chim-chiminey, chim-chiminey, chim-chim cha-ree..." "Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, the medicine go dooown, medicine go down..." "Step in time, step in time, step in time, step in time, never need a reason, never need a rhyme, step in time, we step in time..."

And of course there was the matter of being able to fly simply by holding onto an umbrella. I really have no idea how many times I jumped off the top of our swing-set, eyes squeezed shut, clutching my "magic" umbrella, just sure that this time, I would open my eyes to find myself sailing above the trees and looking down on the roof of our house. I'm fairly certain we three children ruined several perfectly good umbrellas in this process, especially when the idea occurred to us that all we needed some wind to give us a boost! Luckily, our parents were patient, and our mom was very good at sewing patches onto our clothes.

Driving home tonight, I felt that little-kid-magic again. The full moon lighting up the land, the patchy clouds moving over the night sky, even a car turning down an old dirt road...it was like I stepped through one of Burt's chalk drawings into my own fantasy world. It was like I grabbed ahold of the magic umbrella and was gently sailing over the land, with all the passersby below completely unaware.

Watching Mary Poppins with Grammy is one of my favorite childhood memories, and someday, I hope I get to watch my own children jump off the swing-set with an umbrella in their hands, and I hope I get to cuddle up with my grandchildren and watch their eyes go wide with wonder when they jump through the chalk drawing and the horses leap from the merry-go-round.

So, even though I know no one with any ties to either Walt Disney or P.L. Travers will ever read my little blog entry, I just wanted to express a sincere thank you to both of them for effecting my childhood "in a most delightful waaaaay!"

Six years can feel like a lifetime

Six years ago today, something heartbreaking and life-changing happened to me (how do I remember the exact date? I harbor a few rain-man tendencies...). While I was back home having Thanksgiving with my family, my fiance at the time was celebrating his 21st birthday in Kearney (where he & I were living together) by sleeping with a stripper from Cozad. In our bed.

Bet you weren't expecting that.

So why am I airing out this particularly dirty piece of personal laundry on the internet (and probably making at least one person incredibly uncomfortable in the process)? Because, even though it was the most painful experience of my life thus far--there are not enough adjectives to describe that kind of deep-seated pain--it was quite possibly the best thing that has ever happened to me.

It forced me to find myself for the first time, ever. Instead of being defined by a small-town high school, and then a long-distance boyfriend, suddenly I could only be defined by me, and I had to figure out what that meant on my own. With the never-ending guidance & support of my incredible family (whom I was finally able to have a solid relationship with again!) and more than my fair share of kindred souls along the way, of course. It also led me to some of the deepest connections I've ever had, friends and more than friends.

All in all, I would have to say that this night, six years ago, is really what made me who I am (trite, but true). After about eight months of self-pity, the quiet, insecure, mousey-Shelly who begged him not to leave her & who gained 20 lbs in less than two weeks after this revelation suddenly was forced to open her eyes, and realized that she did deserve more, and that there was a whole big world out there full of wondrous experiences and intriguing people, and in the end, more than enough to keep her happy outside of that relationship.

It really does seem like another lifetime. Sometimes it doesn't even feel real, or feel like it was actually me that it happened to.

It may have taken six years, but I am finally in a place where I can look back on that night without any residual hate or malcontent. I wish him well, and I almost feel like I should thank him. For giving us both a way out of a situation that neither of us were really prepared for, and that most likely would have ended much, much worse farther down the line; for not listening to me when I insisted that we stay together no matter what; for being strong enough to walk away (the first time) when I wasn't; and for being respectful enough to bow completely the second time, after I had finally found my independence. Maybe someday I will.