Engaged.

Let's talk about being engaged.

Starting with the proposal, which is a complete blur until after it's over.
I spent, like, eighteen years of my life imagining that special moment with a slew of different proposers--from the red power ranger, to Ash Ketchum, to Legolas, to the cute boy at school, to my high school boyfriend, to every good looking person on the college campus. I went through scenarios with cookie cakes, dance routines, pavilions with twinkle lights, surprises on stage...

And none of those things happened.

It was over in approximately two minutes, in a place I hadn't expected to a man who hadn't existed in the hours I invested in my romantic daydreams.

I didn't even have process-able feelings about it until a few hours later.

Not that Josh did anything wrong. When I look back on the way everything happened, I am so grateful that there were no dance routines or pretty, romantic speeches. I am thankful for the shake in his voice, how awkward it was for him to kneel, and the way my giant purple hands splayed out in surprise.

But I guess it's similar to how we take a whole month to get ready for Christmas and then spend the day eating and piddling around. Christmas Day was awesome, but it wasn't the fantasy that the movies made us dream about.

(Unless, of course, YOU happen to spend Christmas sledding in the countryside ((in snow that isn't cold)) with a cheerful, non-dramatic, sweater-wearing family, before snuggling and playing board games and eating cookies together in front of the fire in your cozy log cabin while everyone talks about how wonderful life is. That might be you. I don't know.)

The proposal fantasies didn't include the week afterwards, which was a slippery slope of panic.

It felt like the whole world was calling, texting, and asking when the wedding was.
Uh.
I dunno.
Summer?
Wedding.
Marriage.
Haha.
Engaged.
Haha.
What?

I suddenly wished that I was one of those girls who'd been working on a wedding pinterest board for five years.

Finding the place to get married was easy: we wanted to do it in Josh's church. However, they don't allow dancing, so we needed a place for the reception.

I naively thought my friend Google would have all the answers.
Haha.

I quickly discovered that everything wedding-related is so expensive that most venues, dress shops, caterers, etc. don't actually post prices on their website.

Why, oh why, oh why, oh why.

I just wanted this to be like shopping for something on amazon.

I wanted numbers.

How many people?

What price?

Must I choose a package?
And all the websites were like:

NO, WE CAN'T TELL YOU THAT BECAUSE PLANNING YOUR WEDDING SHOULD BE LIKE THE MOST COMPLICATED AND EXPENSIVE PUZZLE YOU NEVER WANTED TO HAVE TO PUT TOGETHER.

In the meantime, I thought I'd go out for my first round of dress shopping. 

On a Saturday. At David's Bridal.

I wanted it to be low-key, so I only asked Morgan to come (with her mom and the boys).

I knew I was in trouble when I pulled into the last spot in the parking lot. When I walked inside, I was told to fill out a card with my information. It asked for a wedding date, which made me sweaty because it reminded me that I didn't have one, I didn't even have a venue yet, and HOLY COW eight or nine months couldn't possibly be enough time. Then I was whisked to an empty dressing room and stuffed into a corset and fluffy underskirt as I awaited the dresses that would be brought to me.

Did you know that wedding dress shopping is nothing like prom dress shopping?

I did not.

(And I'm not wearing a corset or fluffy underskirt on my wedding day.)

(NO.)
And I kept walking out onto the stage (yes, stage, in front of the dressing rooms) thinking, "I look like a cupcake...I look like a flowery potato sack...I look like an old lady..."

My friend Mary Claire heard my pleas for sanity, and sent me Barnes and Noble gift cards to buy a wedding planning book.

Bless her.

The book I chose is the most comprehensive wedding manual available to mankind (it was also one that I mocked every time I passed the wedding section in the bookstore--before I understood). It has a FOUR-PAGE CHECKLIST of all the things to do during your year-long engagement.

Fortunately, it also has a two-page "express" checklist for shorter engagements.

Pardon my hysteria-filled laughter.

Thankfully, we have nailed some of the details down, and my stress has gone down with it...you know, so long as I don't think about my entire life changing next year.

You know what's awesome, though?

I am going to be married to a GREAT MAN.

Someone who fits better than I ever thought possible.

He doesn't dance, play guitar, or have honey-gold hair like the boys of my dreams, but he's kind, humble, genuine, and understanding, and he makes the most ridiculous jokes.
I could not have possibly found a person more suited to the task of being around me all the time, and I love him so much.

But don't be fooled, single ladies. The smiling engaged lady in the facebook photos is a lot more confused than you are right now.

The Day That Nobody Could Literally Even.

Today was different, so I thought I'd blog about it.

Overall, my days this school year have been pretty tame. Discipline issues? Nah. Parent issues? Nonexistant. Drama? Minimal.

But today.

Something was in the water today.

I think this dog illustrates what my brain was doing inside of my head from eight to three o' clock:

 This year I work with kids in every grade--and in EVERY GRADE something was off.

It started with the third graders. We were reading a passage about helper dogs, and as any third grade teacher knows, the most discussion that will ever be generated in a third grade class happens when you say the word "dog". 

"MY DOG LOOKS LIKE THAT PICTURE."

"ONE TIME MY DOG _____."

"MY NANNY DOESN'T LIKE MY DOG."

"MY DOG ______ ONE TIME."

"MY DOG DIED LAST YEAR."

"MY DOG LIKES TREATS."

Second grade was no better. Our story was about Louis Braille. I don't know how many times this conversation happened:

"Why was Louis Braille's alphabet important?"

"It helped blind people see."

"But...they...no."

My seventh grade group was as unintelligible as a vine video on repeat. 

Me: *talking about the article we're reading, which is about the Paris attacks*

Seventh grader: "Hey, when you went to China, didn't you say they had toilets that weren't real toilets?"

And as they were leaving: 

Seventh grader 1: "China's got better security so they don't get blown up."

Seventh grader 2: "It's like 'Die, Hitler, die!'" 

I just. Huh? What? Hitler?

Then there were my fourth graders.

Me: "Did I tell you that I'm going to get married?"

Fourth grader with a shirt over his head: "I have a turtle shell."

Me: "What would happen if the settlers crossed over into the Indians' land?"

Fourth grader: "They would all DIE. DIE. DIEeeeeeeeaaaaahahahahahahaaa!!!"

Even the eighth grader couldn't keep her brain straight while we were reading Hatchet.

Me: "Why was Brian excited to find the berries?"

Her: ".....because they were RED."

Me: "He hasn't eaten in two days and he's excited about them being red? Is that what you would say if you hadn't eaten in two days? 'Oh, I'm so hungry, look how brown this hamburger is!'"

Eighth grader: *can't stop laughing*

My first grader was upside down and sideways in her chair at one point, between pulling things off of my shelves and needing to use the bathroom.

Fifth grade didn't understand anything I was saying, and sixth grade really just wanted to talk about relationships and the new Hunger Games movie (the latter, at least, was related to our reading the actual book together. Which is what we're doing. And I personally think it's awesome).

I finished the school day feeling close to what a normal day last year felt like.

Then, at five o' clock, I went back to my old school to watch the girls' JV game--which was a little awkward but 100% worth it. Nothing beats kids yelling your name as soon as they see you...except having heart-to-heart talks with them afterwards. I saw four of my kids, but they told me about some of my other kids as well, and I felt completely pathetic about how excited I was just to know how my troublemakers were doing.

The day was weird, hilarious, and fulfilling.

I love my kids.

I love my job.

That's all.

We Got Engaged: A Tale of Rings, Candy, and Silliness.

I got engaged, and I suppose it's only fair to share the story.

It all started back in May, when Josh asked me to be his girlfriend and I had a hunch that we would get married.

He loves the Lord, likes to travel, uses big words, and is really, really weird.

In September, after I had returned from Europe and the panic attacks of doom had subsided, we started ring shopping...a process that deserves another blog post entirely.

(NOBODY TELLS YOU HOW STRESSFUL THESE THINGS ARE.)

On October 21st, we found the ring, and on the 24th, we bought it.

YEAH, YEAH, I WAS THERE. 

Not that Josh can't do a good job, but we both felt better making the decision together. 

However, I didn't get to see the finished product that day, because we bought the band and diamond separately (and by "we bought it" I mean "Josh bought it", but, you know, everything in our lives is getting VERY WE-ISH).

After walking out the door, we double high-fived, had the biggest hug of our lives, and suddenly got slap-happy. 

We spent the rest of the day feeling engaged but not telling everyone. 

And we bought pumpkins.

That was a Saturday.

On Wednesday, October 28th, we had our first kiss.

We had wanted to wait until engagement, but we were pretty much already engaged when we bought the ring.

And I was dying.

And I regret nothing because it was a FANTASTIC first kiss.

On Saturday--Halloween--dad talked to me about marrying Josh.

Then he went to the shooting range to talk to Josh about marrying me and because he "needed someone to hold the target."

Dad doesn't do things halfway.

At this point, I was losing. My. Mind.

He has the ring.

He asked my dad.

IT'S GOING TO HAPPEN TODAAAAYYYY!!!

Imagine my disappointment that evening when I realized that Josh's Halloween costume didn't have pockets for a ring.

(We still had a blast that night because we are US and that's what we DO.)

The next morning was the first day of non-daylight-savings-time, as well as the first day of Seasonal Affective Disorder.

I was a MESS.

Then I got these text messages, because Josh was out buying discount Halloween candy before church:

Which made me feel better.

After I got home from church, I decided to make pumpkin bread. However, as soon as I'd started looking at recipes, Josh called and asked if I wanted to go to the mountains with his friends, Seth and Caleb.

(Josh was coming too, of course.)

I like Seth and Caleb, and I didn't want to be in the house all afternoon...but I wasn't expecting him to propose while we were just hanging out with a couple of his friends.

Which is what he did.

Before we got up to the mountains, I asked him why he was being so giddy.

"CANDY," he replied, which wasn't surprising to me because he had eaten an entire week's worth of candy before church even started.

We drove up the motor nature trail, which was spectacular. At the first viewpoint, I took a picture of the boys. Josh sneakily asked Seth if this was the prettiest spot, and Seth was all, "Nah, man. *WINK WINK*"

I have no idea how I was so oblivious.

At the second viewpoint, I got out to look at the mountains while Caleb frantically retrieved the ring box for Josh behind me.

Then Caleb offered to take our picture.

Josh couldn't figure out where to put his feet.

It was awkward.

Then I felt him reach in his back pocket.

And I went backwards while he asked, "Will you marry me?" in an I'm-going-to-cry-if-you-say-no voice.

And I gracefully replied, "ARE YOU REALLY DOING THIS RIGHT NOW??"

Then I remembered that I was supposed to answer his question, so I said, "Yeah."

In two minutes, it was over.

A lady from the Visit Gatlinburg Facebook page had taken our picture and asked if she could put it online. 2,500 strangers thought we were cute.

Because we are.

We're the cutest of the cute couples.

And we are getting MARRIED.

Mr. Hyde, the Perfectionist

"Do you still walk like a duck sometimes?"

Josh's question confused me until I remembered what he was referring to.

"Walk like a duck? OH. No, I don't! Isn't that great??!"

Last year, I'd usually be at school until five or six o'clock, and I'd get so stressed out that my leg muscles would lock up. My pirate-duck walk down the hallway from my classroom to the copier would have been funny to watch most days if I wasn't simultaneously clenching my teeth and whispering, "I can't, I can't, I can't."

I haven't done that this year.

I also haven't had any post-parent-call tears, eat-a-sleeve-of-cookies-in-ten-minutes fits of rage, or Friday afternoon head-against-the-whiteboard-in-sheer-hopeless-exhaustion moments either.

I've been thankful for my job every day this year. My new school feels like a community, and most everyone wants to be there. If things don't happen as planned, nobody breaks a sweat. It's just the kind of place I've wanted to work in

So why do I still feel some anxiety?

My counselor has helped me understand that I struggle with perfectionism, which I wouldn't have guessed. In my mind, perfectionists did everything, you know, perfectly. My room is kind of messy, I spend too much time on facebook, my lessons are more spur-of-the-moment than they are scripted. How in the Sam Hill could I be considered a perfectionist?

My counselor, of course, has seen this many times, and she pulled out a list that explained all of my feelings. 

Like these:

#6 Fear of Rejection. If you reject me, it proves that there's something wrong with me. 

#15 Emotional Perfectionism. I should always feel happy, confident, and in control.

#21 Magical Thinking. If I worry enough, everything will turn out okay.

Deep down, my problem is that I want to make everyone happy. I have the idea that if I make everyone happy, everyone will like me, and I will be loved an accepted by society on the basis of my ability to be the best person there ever was, ever. 

A lot of people have this problem.

The problem with this problem is that all the human beings on earth are different, which means that their expectations, too, are different. Eventually I always disappoint someone, which is the point in time where the Mr. Hyde who lives in my brain starts to give me a lecture about how awful I am.

"You aren't good enough, you messed up, you're stupid, you won't succeed, and everyone can see your flaws--you poor, hyper-sensitive, lazy, stupid, ugly, pathetic human, you."

This even happens when I don't even necessarily disappoint someone. 

It strikes when I drive slowly and see someone on my tail, when I don't eat something at a group dinner because it'll make me sick, when I talk to someone without smiling, or even when I forget to lock my car door when I go somewhere with Josh. 

Yup. Classic Perfectionism.

After digging up my personal Mr. Hyde during my last counseling session, I also discovered that my perfectionism spills into my relationship with God.

My counselor asked, "Do you really believe that God is good?"

Well. Hm.

Do I really believe that He loves me?

Maybe I don't believe it as much as I thought I did, because my sometimes my walk with Him feels more like a list of works than a loving relationship.

Examples:

Sometimes I beat myself up for listening to secular music in the car.

I'll tell myself that I don't pray enough, or that I don't pray correctly, and I'll avoid praying because it reminds me of my perceived inability to be a proper Christian.

I see my achievements as God working through me, and my failures as a result of a personal problem that I need to fix.

On my own.

By myself.

Maybe with the help of the internet.

I know my flaws, and I want to cure them with essential oils, deep breathing, eating correctly, going for walks, and listening to less-than-completely-vulgar music.

But maybe...just maybe...the perfectionist Mr. Hyde who lives in my head is there for a reason.

Maybe I'm not supposed to be able to fix my own flaws.

Listening to the voice of my self-guilt obviously hasn't helped me (I don't know about you, but panic attacks and extra stomach issues aren't what I consider becoming more perfect) and I doubt that it ever will.

So--to all the other perfectionists out there who didn't realize that you don't have to have OCD-like-tendencies to be a perfectionists--I SEE YOU. I understand your need to feel accepted. I know that compliments don't cut it when you don't believe them. I bet that, if the two of us sat down for coffee, we could give each other advice about self-acceptance until we're blue in the face, and then neither of us would go home and practice it.

God is the only one who can take care of our anxiety and insatiable to please others. He is also the only one who will accept us with our flaws and who loves our need for Him.

This Post Isn't About Tido.

I always know exactly what I want to write about until I'm sitting in front of the computer scr---AAGH DOG STOP LICKING MY FEET.

That's what I wanted to say.

Tido's being a terror because nobody else is home. 

He's awfully cute, though, especially when he's pretending not to have legs.

Anyway.

Life is pretty good right now.

I've got this hilarious, wonderful boyfriend.

My anxiety is much more controllable than it was a month ago (and my therapist gives me chocolate. WOOHOO). 

I love my job.

I didn't realize how much teaching small groups would allow time and energy for me to encourage students and see them grow. Last year I was lucky if I gave each kid a compliment in a week--this year I can give one kid multiple compliments within thirty minutes. 

How great is that???

I'll be completely honest, though. I miss my fifth graders. Certain things remind me of them all the time, like horror movie trailers and annoying songs from vine.

Which is why it was so very wonderful to see them a week ago.

THAT'S RIGHT.

I decided to take a professional day to observe another intervention teacher. Fortunately, I happened to work with the best intervention teacher in the county last year, and she wanted me to come watch her because she knew I'd bring cookies. That meant I'd be able to spend a day at my old school.

Of course, it was wonderful.

Word that I'd arrived quickly spread through the sixth grade. and throughout the morning my kids would pop their heads into the intervention room to wave at me. I stopped by the cafeteria during their lunch time in hopes saying hello, and was almost bowled over by a knot of eleven year olds piling on top of each other in Chinese-second-grader style.

My heart exploded into pink confetti and glitter sprinkles.

"MISS LOVE!!!"

"DID YOU COME BACK TO TEACH US?"

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?"

"I'M ALMOST AS TALL AS YOU NOW!"

"I WENT TO THE POOL THIS SUMMER."

"DID YOU COME BACK FROM CHINA?"

"YOUR HAIR IS SHORTER."

"I BET I'M BIG ENOUGH TO PICK YOU UP."

"_____ HAS A BOYFRIEND NOW."

"CAN I TELL YOU A SECRET?"

"HOW IS JOSH?"

"WHEN ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED?"

"WHEN WILL YOU COME VISIT AGAIN?"

"I'M GOING TO BE THE LAST ONE TO HUG MISS LOVE."

"NO YOU'RE NOT."

(Everything is in all caps because it's impossible to keep a normal voice level in the cafeteria.)

Another teacher got some really cute pictures of the reunion, but I'm afraid to post them because they have kids' faces in them. Just imagine a lot of big smiles.

At the end of the day, I stood out in the hallway as my kids were getting things out of their lockers. After a few minutes, I realized that the kids who were talking to me the most were....the baddies. 

 The kids who'd given me the most headaches. 

The kids who made me lose sleep.

The kids who made me wonder if I'd make it through the year.

The kids I'd loved the hardest.

I impacted them the most, and here I was with the opportunity to show them that even though I left, I still cared about them.

Gosh, teaching is great sometimes.

Herbert and the Good Week

Three reasons why last week was good.

1. I started working with my new kids. 

Up until that point, I'd been testing, placing, and filling out paperwork, but last week I finally started working with them. Every day I've got small groups of 2nd-8th graders for 30 or 45 minutes each.

My mornings start with 3rd and then 2nd grade. These are the children who love everybody and who exclaim, "YAY, READING!" when I show up at the door.

THAT'S RIGHT, SEVEN AND EIGHT YEAR OLDS. READING IS YAY.

Then I've got a seventh grade group, and while middle school still isn't my cup of tea, these guys make for fun discussion time.

"Highlight anything in the passage that you think is interesting."

*kid on my right highlights everything*

After that comes eighth grade and lunch, and then my squirrely groups--fourth and fifth. They're maddening, but they make me laugh.

"Miss Love, do we get a prize if we win?"

"Sorry, guys, I forgot my candy."

"Oh wait, I've got---yup--we can use this lifesaver I found in my pocket!"

"What are your hobbies?"

"TV, video games, and digging."

My last group is sixth, and they are very, very cute.

I'm still getting a feel for what to do with each group--I've got a 7-year range to work with--but in the small group setting I can see the kids making progress, which is ridiculously rewarding.

2. I survived a day of first grade.

On Friday, I was pulled last-minute to sub a first grade class.

Children between the ages of three and seven are their own type of animal, and I steer clear of their classrooms if I can help it. Why? Because I spend all of my time having the same conversations. 

"Class class!"

"Yes yes!"

"Everyone take your pointer finger and show me where the--"

"OW! SHE WON'T STOP PUSHING ME!"

"HE TOOK MY CRAYON!"

"I NEED A TISSUE!"

"I DON'T HAVE A PENCIL!"

"MY GRANDMA HAS THREE CATS!"

"--dotted line is. Ok, cool."

I anticipated the vortex-of-doom feeling as soon as I was told to go to first grade, so I came up with Herbert to make the day a little brighter.

Herbert started as a face and gained clothes/body parts when the class did well. If he made it to a dapper top hat, they got to watch a movie. We finished all of their work by lunchtime, so I made sure that Herbert got his hat. The best part of the day was saying, "If we keep being so loud, Mr. Herbert is going to lose his legs!"

3. The fair.

Josh has been looking forward to Fall since July, and has been talking about the fair since August.

On Saturday, we met up with Morgan and Kurt to eat good food, stare awkwardly at the world's smallest woman, pet some goats, and stand in lots of lines.

The best part of the day was laughing. The second best part of the day was feeling victorious because I didn't have a panic attack. Two thumbs up for being fully functional!

August

Three weeks ago, I started working at a new school.
This year I'm a reading intervention teacher, which means I'll be working with small groups on different grade levels.
Which was the perfect setup for post-Europe-panicky-Laura.
It meant that, in the midst of getting myself balanced, I didn't have to prepare a classroom (just a desk!), fret about parents, or pore over new curriculum. Not that this position will be a walk in the park, but I don't think I could have come up with a better situation for right now.

I have, of course, had my kids on my mind as the new school year started.
My fifth--now sixth--graders in Pigeon Forge.
My eighth--now tenth--graders in Mongolia.
My second--now fifth--graders in China.
Pictures of them are all over my new desk space.

August went by at turtle-speed, and I don't remember much of it.
I had a birthday, moved schools, and readjusted to life--mostly with the help of Boyfriend (also known as J Money).

This poor boy stood by me in my less-than-dignified moments...such as when he found me crying in my room on my birthday, because I was still adjusting to my medication and I COULD NOT decide what to wear to dinner and I was scared that I'd have a panic attack in whatever restaurant we were going to.

He's been patient in my times of high anxiety and he's helped me push my boundaries back out in a healthy way. He knows that the worst things anyone can hear during a panic attack are, "What's wrong with you? Snap out of it. Everything is fine!"
Those are the words already going through my head when I'm anxious, and they only make me feel crazy and guilty because everyone around me is fine. But the truth is that in those moments, I am experiencing real fear. My body thinks that real threat is imminent and has already sent adrenaline pumping through my veins.
What I need to hear is that the moment will pass, that I'm not crazy, and that I'm not alone.

Then I usually need food.

The good news is that I haven't had a full-blown panic attack in at least a month. My fear of restaurants is almost gone and I've started drinking coffee again. Josh makes me laugh on a daily basis and encourages me in between. And, while I miss a lot from last year, I really like my new school.
Now, if September will stop acting like August, we can get this year going.