About Me

Why I’m Voting for Evan McMullin

October 5, 2016 by Kathryn

If you’re not interested in reading a political post, come back tomorrow and I’ll have a funny post up about Wanda and a journaling post this weekend.

This is not a political blog. I don’t promote fiery rhetoric or enjoy causing friction. In fact, I generally prefer to keep my political views private. To me, the votes I cast are deeply personal and I discuss them only with a few close friends and my husband as we research together. I don’t do bumper stickers or lawns signs.

I also don’t tend to douse innocent strangers with buckets of water. However, if I see a person whose hair is on fire, I’ll happily throw some liquid to put her out.

America’s hair is on fire.

So, today on the blog, I’m dumping out my bucket, right here on the blog. I’m telling you who I’m voting for. You may not have heard of him.

His name is Evan McMullin.

I hadn’t heard about Evan McMullin until recently. I’m not a news junkie and I’m so sick at heart about this presidential election that when I see a link to a story about the race, I’ve gotten to the point where I scroll past quickly.

But, in the past week I’ve seen several links from dear friends about Evan McMullin, a new third-party candidate for president. My first thought was, “This is a stunt.” Next, “This is a joke.” And finally, “This guy is just trying to split the conservative vote so Trump can’t win.”

That last thought was mildly interesting because I really desperately don’t want Trump to win, so I followed one of the links.

Evan McMullin’s tagline is – It’s never too late to do the right thing.

And I spent an entire day watching video interviews and reading news stories about a man who I now deeply want to be the next president of the United States.

His chances are epically slim. All the better for the made-for-TV movie script after he wins, right? Maybe Sean Astin can play him.

Evan McMullin doesn’t sound like a politician. Because he’s not one.

He DOES sound intelligent, thoughtful, fair-minded, well-spoken, and earnest. He sounds kind. He sounds measured and calm but also firm and commanding. He sounds like not a narcissist or a racist. He sounds like someone who deeply wants to unite a divided country.

He is around my age. He’s 40.

He graduated from BYU with a degree in international law and diplomacy, working for the CIA as he completed his undergrad. He was an undercover CIA operative in major world conflict zones for 11 years. He has first-hand experience meeting with and fighting against terrorists and has a strong knowledge of world events, leaders, and people. He is well-versed in the constitution and fiercely devoted to protecting it.

He also received his MBA from The Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania. He’s worked in business. And most recently, Evan McMullin served as the chief policy director of the House Republican Conference.

Why did he get involved?

He can’t bear to see what’s happening in this presidential election. I know very few people who are excited about either major party candidate. Many are terrified of one or both of them.

I disagree with Hillary Clinton on most issues and I don’t trust her. Donald Trump’s presidency would be an unprecedented disaster for our country. He would embarrass us daily. He is unstable and unfit and I don’t believe our country, as we know it, would be left when he was done with it.

I’m an independent and have voted for people from both major parties over the years but my views are largely conservative. There generally isn’t a perfect candidate for me.

But I think Evan McMullin is that candidate. He sees himself as an American first. Then a conservative. Party loyalty comes after that. I know it sounds like a line but when he says it, I believe him.

For a more detailed view of his stances on issues, watch one of the videos posted below.

How can Evan McMullin Win?

He says he waited and waited in this election for someone with national name recognition to join the race, to step up and offer a third option, a viable option. When he reached out to contacts to ask if he could help in any way with an independent candidate running for office, they asked him to run.

He is only officially on the ballot of 11 states and eligible as a write-in in 20+ others and counting. Word is, he will soon be a valid write-in in my state, Washington.

His most realistic path to victory would be to win one or two states in a close election, causing Clinton and Trump to both miss the 270 electoral votes needed to win the presidency. There are 528 total votes. If that were to happen, the decision would go to the House of Representatives.

He believes he could win in a three-way contest with Trump and Clinton because his platform is closely aligned with Paul Ryan and other Republicans in congress.

Evan McMullin’s bid for the presidency is the longest of longshots.

But he’s a spark of hope in an election that has been a long, dark road for many Americans.

People have asked me how I can vote for someone who has such a low chance of winning. I don’t think that should even be a question. When I vote, I don’t look for who’s most likely to win and then jump on that train. When I vote, I vote for the person who most closely shares my values and who I feel would do the best job.

I live in a blue state. Our electoral votes will most definitely go to Hillary Clinton. They always go to a democrat. So, does that mean I always vote democrat? No. I vote for the person who I believe could best lead our country. Every time.

And I don’t always feel passionate about the candidate I vote for.

This year there’s a candidate I feel passionate about.

Women fought for years for the right to vote. And so many others around the world do not have that option. I will not throw away my gift by voting “against” someone or choosing the “lesser of two evils.”

This November, I am writing in “Evan McMullin” for president. And I’m voting the heck out of my local elections. Because there are good people in Washington State who are stepping up to serve and have a great chance of winning on a local level.

It’s never too late to do the right thing.

If you’re interested in what Evan McMullin is doing, check out his website and join the movement!

**This blog is a place of love, respect, and encouragement. If you violently disagree and want to flame, feel free to do it somewhere else. I’m happy to have respectful discussion, but I will delete anything inflammatory or hateful.**

212 The Extra Degree: Extraordinary Results Begin with One Small Change

October 3, 2016 by Kathryn

Today, we start with a science lesson.

Water boils at 212 degrees. So, at 211 it’s just hot water. But at 212 it boils. And boiling water generates steam. Steam can power a locomotive.

That’s a huge difference with just one additional degree.

This is the premise of Sam Parker and Mac Anderson’s motivational book, 212 The Extra Degree: Extraordinary Results Begin with One Small Change. I read an advance copy this summer and it was a great, short read. The whole book is just 88 pages long but it left me feeling inspired and motivated to make a few tiny changes in my life.

Sound at all like Drops of Awesome to you? Me too! I really enjoyed this new analogy, one more way to think about how sometimes it’s just one tiny effort that can make all the difference.

In fact, the book has a similar resonance to 523 Ways to Be Awesome.

“How many opportunities have you missed because you were not aware of the possibilities that would occur if you applied a small amount of effort beyond what you normally do?”

I would add, how many times were you too defeated to apply more effort because you didn’t recognize how well you were already doing? Drops of Awesome.

The book contained short success stories and familiar quotes about courage and perseverance. One of my favorite was the famous quote by Thomas Edison, “Many of life’s failures are men who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.”

This quote resonates with me because I don’t always exhibit great stick-to-it-iveness and I often find myself wondering, what if I REALLY tried? What would happen then?

I comfort myself in my failures by saying, “If I’d REALLY tried, I could have been awesome at hip-hop dance, or filmmaking, or basket weaving. I just didn’t choose to give it my full effort.”

Sometimes committing fully is scary. What if I try my hardest and fail? Then there would be nothing left to give and I would know my best effort is not enough. That’s not something I want to know all the time.

Right now I’m standing on the edge of a situation like this.

I have written professionally for the past 10 years and I always told myself, “If I didn’t have kids at home… if I had more time… I would make writing a full-time career and I would be super successful.”

And now the kids are in school and I can still find all kinds of excuses to not go all-out with writing as a business. What they all boil down to is, I’m scared. I’m scared of spending the next few years working around the clock, only to fall on my face.

But reading this little book helped me crystalize something in my mind. I don’t have to worry about failure. I just need to turn up my effort by one tiny drop at a time, by one degree. And never give up. Or, at least if I give up tomorrow, then I need to un-give up the next day.

What are you afraid to commit to? A better relationship with your spouse? A community service goal? A career? Weight loss?

What could you accomplish if you stopped focusing on what-ifs and fears and started just focusing on increasing your effort? One degree.

Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links. This means, I may receive a small commission if you choose to purchase something from a link I post. Don’t worry, it costs you nothing. Thank you for supporting my website!

A Few Things You Don’t Need

September 26, 2016 by Kathryn

We all need air, water, food, shelter… and possibly cheese. But there are a few things you don’t need in your life.

You don’t need to be perfect to lift someone else.

This blog is sometimes stressful for me. I started out telling stories about my kids. I know my kids. I know how to tell stories. It worked. But the kids are getting older and their stories are their own. There are fewer and fewer family stories we are all comfortable with me telling on the internet.

If I was going to keep writing, I needed a new direction. And I love writing. I love connecting with other women online. And that one guy who reads my site. I like connecting with him too. His name is Dan. And he lives in my house. Re: eternal matrimony.

The most shared post I’ve ever written is Drops of Awesome. So I decided to change domains and build a site based on the stories and ideas I shared in that post. I wanted a site that would tell people that they are enough, that all their small acts of good are overwhelmingly important, and that they can change who they are for the better with one tiny choice.

In theory, this sounds like a great idea for a website and I am completely passionate about this topic. However, I’m frequently intimidated by the prospect of sharing advice or ideas with women who I know could teach me so much.

I have to constantly remind myself that I don’t have to be perfect to lift someone else. If I didn’t struggle with feelings of inadequacy or discouragement, I probably couldn’t write so passionately about this topic.

None of us are perfect. And we all need each other. So I keep writing.

What are you passionate about? You can start now to share that passion with others, to teach them what you know.

Don’t wait until you’re perfect to reach out and lift someone else. We need your light and influence in the world.

You don’t need to know everything to do something.

I procrastinate. A lot. And although sometimes this is due to laziness, it’s more often due to perfectionism. I don’t want to start a project until I have all the materials, know everything about how to do it perfectly, and feel confident I will not fail.

I almost never meet all of those conditions.

And so the crap I bought to put in my 72-hour kits sits in a box in the garage until the diapers and pull-ups hardly even fit my 13-year-old anymore.

Well, last week I decided to believe my mantra – You don’t need to know everything to do something. I put away all the lists and plans and books about making 72-hour kits. I stopped by the grocery store for some food items and then just got out everything I had and threw it in backpacks.

It took two hours.

To complete a project I’d been procrastinating for 10 years.

Is it perfect? Nope. But it’s a lot better than what I’ve had for the past decade. Is there something you’ve been dying to do but you’re waiting to know everything and be perfect? Stuff that thinking in a dark hole somewhere and just get her done.

You don’t need a huge amount of time to make a difference.

I feel better when I serve someone, when I make a difference in someone’s life. But I don’t have time to start a charitable foundation today or even hand out food to the homeless.

Sometimes I need to remember that although I may not have time or capacity to make a difference with a thousand strangers, I can always make a difference to an individual.

Have you ever smiled at a child you don’t know in the elementary school office and seen her face light up? How about letting someone ahead of you in traffic? That might not save a life but it might restore the other driver’s faith in human kindness just a bit.

If you don’t have time to make a quilt for your niece’s birthday, send her a card. If you don’t have time to address and mail a card, text her or call her while you’re grocery shopping.

We are all busy. But some of the things that have made the biggest difference to me took almost no time at all. A text message telling me my friend was thinking about me all the way in Portland. An encouraging smile and nod from a neighbor who sat on the front row of my book talk and signing last weekend. Office staff who greet me warmly whenever I stop by the elementary school.

We can all do more of this junk. And it will feel amazing.

Do Something Good

September 19, 2016 by Kathryn

On days when I exercise, I’m much less likely to snarf a huge bowl of Mac and Cheese for lunch. On those big workout days, I tend to eat more veggies, lean meats and whole grains.

It’s not because I think, If got up at Stupid o’clock in the morning to burn 800 calories on a spin bike, I’m not going to eat back that entire amount in cheesy carbs!

It’s generally because I feel awesome about working out and I want to keep that high going. It’s about momentum and it’s about tasting victory.

One good choice in my life almost always leads to another good choice because doing good feels… what’s a good word to use here? AWESOME!

If I wake up and train like an athlete, then I feel all athlety and fierce and it’s only natural that I’ll want to fuel my athletic body with the right kind of fuel.

Choosing to be athletic makes me feel like an athlete. And when I feel like an athlete, I act like an athlete.

The same goes for my parenting. If I make a conscious effort to reach out to one of my kids and ask about his day, then I’m a nicer mom in our next interaction. I feel closer to him. We understand each other better.

Choosing to be nice makes me feel like a nice mom. And when I feel like a nice mom, I act like a nice mom.

So what do you want to be like today? Do one thing that a person like that would do. Savor how it feels and let that momentum carry you away on a pillowy cloud of Awesome.

Take one step forward. Do something good today.

A Tiresome Day

September 15, 2016 by Kathryn

A few weeks ago I took Wanda and Magoo into the next town over to get some new tires put on the Swagger Wagon. The next town over is awesome. It has a Wal Mart and a movie theatre and a state prison. It has a cute downtown main street district, almost like our town, but with more snazzy jammie retailers, tattoo parlors, smoke shops and places that will pay you cash for gold.

We chose a mom and pop tire shop over the big retailers because we like to support local business and they were much cuter on the phone AND equipped to do both the tire install and the alignment in one visit. Their prices were almost competitive. And they said they could get it done in a little over 2 hours.

So we dropped off the car at 11am and they told me it might take a biiiit longer than they had originally thought. That’s cool, I thought. We’ll walk over the train tracks, along the busy highway, and past several strip malls to the movie theatre and catch a show.

Although the next town over has a dollar store, it does not have Uber. Weird, right?

The walk to the theatre was a little over a mile, my longest distance since the surgery. Woot. And we had a great lunch of nachos, popcorn, and slushies while we watched The Secret Life of Pets. Good. Not great. The kids loved it.

We stopped by the grocery store to pick up a few things, walked past a couple of loudly screaming teens with expletives on their t-shirts, enjoyed the sun, and carried our groceries the mile back to the tire store, by way of a couple of very cool little vintage shops.

Altogether, kind of an awesome day, a bit weird, but awesome. However, it had been three hours and I had super ripe peaches at home waiting to be canned. It was time to get this show on the road.

But the car wasn’t done.

So we stalled at a used book store and bought a few things. They were serving Slytherin Iced Tea in honor of the new Harry Potter Play. Nice people. And when I said we were waiting for our tires to get done, the bookstore owner looked at me appraisingly and said, “The Big Chain Store or Mom and Pop.”

He approved of my choice.

But the tires still weren’t done.

So, to round out our Next Town Over-ish day, we stopped at 7-11 for boxed hot dogs and microwaved burritos. The hot dog box said, “100% Delicious” and Dan later asked Wanda if those words were true.

“Not really,” she said, “Maybe 99%?”

But the kids were 100% awesome. Because we spent the next couple of hours in the shop waiting room. It smelled like a mechanic shop and flies were buzzing everywhere. And the seats were old and dirty.

But Magoo could not get over how comfortable they were. And Wanda happily did magic tricks to herself with an old deck of cards while I read my book.

At one point the mechanic invited me back to show my why he was having trouble getting the alignment right and asking if he could put some after-market parts on the car to help it out a bit. He was kind. And he explained things well. And everyone in the shop treated us like we were family.

When it was time to go, about 6 hours after we’d originally dropped off the car, the elderly owner of the shop pulled my kids aside and lovingly told them how special they were.

“And do you know how you get special kids?” he asked.

They smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

“With very special parents.”

He gave me a warm smile and handed each of the kids an intricately detailed die cast car. They were thrilled. And they are special kids. It’s strange to say, but it was one of the best days I’ve had in a while. Just hangin’ out in a Podunk downtown, eating at the Sev with my peeps.

And the lateness of the hour saved me from having to can peaches in the heat of the day. It was not hot at midnight as I finished up the last batch.

As we left tire shop, my special son informed me that my special daughter had put stuffed her special trash into one of the towers of tires. So I got to stand on a chair and do a handstand inside the tires to fish it out.

Special times.

A bit tiresome. But special, nonetheless.

Bucket of Awesome: Your Life’s More Amazing Than You Realize

September 12, 2016 by Kathryn

We are all storytellers.

Every day in little ways we each tell the stories of our lives. We tell them to others. Sometimes we write them down. Mostly, we repeatedly tell them to ourselves.

And how we tell them makes a HUGE difference in how we see ourselves.

We decide which stories get told over and over again. The more we tell them, the more important they become in the canon of who we are.

We decide how we tell them. The tone of our stories becomes the tone and direction of our lives.

Which stories will you choose to tell?

So many amazing things have happened in my life. There have been incredibly hard things too. Which stories do I focus on? Which stories receive my time and attention?

Do you know one of those people who is always ready with a tale of disaster and heartache?

“How was your day?” you ask.

She rolls her eyes and settles into a long and tragic story about how it’s been the worst day of her life and everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. She does this every time you speak to her.

I know other people who always seem in a great mood. When I ask them what they’ve been up to, they usually tell me about some success or joyful experience. They are genuinely happy and, in contrast to the first type of person, it seems that their lives are overflowing with Awesome.

Is the second friend just luckier than the first friend? Does she just live a charmed life? I don’t think so. I know we all have a broad range of experiences and some weeks are harder than others. Some lives are harder than others. But in many cases, our lives are as happy as we decide they will be.

When we choose to spend the majority of our time telling uplifting stories or simply finding the uplift in our difficult stories, we and everyone around us will be inspired.

How will you tell your story?

When I look back at my experiences with postpartum anxiety and depression, I can see myself as a victim, or a loser, or a hero who overcame something awful and used the experience to make positive changes in my life.

My view of this has changed over the years. Today I choose to think of myself as going through something earth-shattering and then being miraculously preserved so I could emerge stronger and kinder than I was before.

If that’s my story, then it informs everything I do. I’m on a hero’s journey. If I see myself as a victim, that will inform everything I do as well.

I internalize that story. I tell it. I refine it. I become it.

If your life is a Bucket, you decide what you will fill it with. I’m aiming to have a Bucket of Awesome.

How can I fill my Bucket of Awesome?

Over the coming weeks and months, I want us to do an experiment together. On Saturdays I will post a journal prompt. As we work through these prompts, we will choose what stories to tell and how to tell them.

We can change our lives by how we tell our stories. Journal along with me as I excavate my past for the joy, the goodness, the Awesome. When we’re done, we’ll have a whole Bucket of Awesome, a story to inspire the people we love, and a brighter perspective of who we really are.

Will you fill your Bucket of Awesome with me?

Maybe it Wasn’t ADD

September 9, 2016 by Kathryn

It happened.

After 13 years of parenting little people, I no longer have a lunch buddy, a grocery buddy, or a pound on the door while I go to the bathroom buddy. For 6 hours. Every. Single. Weekday.

Starting this week, my kids are all in school fulltime.

I’ve had wild emotional mood swings about this.

Last year when I chose to only put Wanda in half-day kindergarten, it had a little to do with money, but mostly it was about – I wasn’t ready yet. She was ready. SO SO ready. But I couldn’t bear to let go of my last little friend for that many hours each day.

I knew I’d miss her, miss my role as a fulltime stay-at-home mom.

Motherhood is my favorite thing. Gratitude is not a strong enough word to describe how I feel about being a mom.

But it is brutal sometimes. And it is not cessant. Even a little bit.

Halfway through the school year last year, I started to get excited. Wanda was overripe for full day school at that point and I found myself daydreaming about all the things I’d accomplish when I had more uninterrupted time.

I could write a novel worth publishing. I could go back to school and become a doctor or an astronaut. I could even find out what it feels like to finish a thought before being interrupted.

I’ve been a casual on-again/off-again writer and blogger for ten years, periodically taking on too much freelance work. Then I would scale way back when I realized I was incapable of being a great working mom of young kids.

My blog has gone through periods of large readership, but things are quiet around here these days. I just haven’t had the time and focus to give it.

As I contemplated my new free time and all the ways I could fill it, I started to get really excited. I was ready. I could do this. I was simply moving into a new chapter of my life and I might love it.

Then a couple of weeks ago I went online to pay school fees.

And there was a box by Wanda’s name.

For lunch money.

I was overcome with sadness. It was sadness that she would be eating lunch with someone other than me. Sadness that a hugely important phase of my life was ending. My identity for the past 13 years was gone. I grieved.

So I didn’t know what to expect this week as the kids headed off to school.

Would I be sad? Would I be lonely? Would I be bored?

I doubted I’d be bored. I’d spent the entire summer (whenever I wasn’t having emergency surgery) making a business plan for all the writing and marketing I was going to do this year. But maybe I’d be depressed or lacking in motivation to follow through. That scared me.

The morning of the first day of school, Wanda was eating breakfast while I read. She called my name.

I looked up to see a concerned expression on her face.

“What’s wrong, Wanda?”

She eyed me with pity.

“When I leave for school today, the only one you’ll have to talk to is Cortana.”

(We’re a Windows Phone family. Cortana is my personal digital assistant. Like Siri’s big sister.)

To her, that was a horrible prospect. Me, sitting alone at a table, my head in my hands, repeatedly saying, “Cortona, tell me a joke.”

I walked her to school. I had a nice walk home. I showered in silence.

Then I got in the car to run an errand and this feeling welled up inside my chest, a feeling I hadn’t been expecting.

Total, pure, bubbling JOY.

I can do this. In my worry and sadness about turning in my full time stay-at-home mom badge, it hadn’t occurred to me that I would be getting another badge back. KATHRYN. I was overcome with this feeling of reclaiming a part of myself that I willingly surrendered many years ago.

I am autonomous.

I am free.

I am simply Kathryn for six whole hours each day.

And I love it.

I have gotten so much done in the past three days. I can’t even believe it.

Lately I’ve been talking to my doctor about the possibility that I might have ADD. My thoughts have been so scattered and I’ve had such a hard time finishing tasks and following through.

My kids just started school fulltime and I realized – maybe I don’t have ADD. Maybe I just have children.

I think my explosion of productivity can be explained this way – In the past, when I’ve had an hour to work on a blog post, what I’ve really had is:

5 minutes to work on a blog post

6 minutes to have my hair styled like a princess

3 minutes to work on a blog post

5 minutes to notice the pirate booty on the floor and pick it up before it got ground into the carpet

10 minutes to work on a blog post

15 minutes to kiss the invisible owie and find the band-aids because IT JUST FEELS LIKE BLOOOOD

3 minutes to work on a blog post

And then 13 minutes to figure out how the Octonauts were possibly going to rescue the Humuhumunukunukuapua’a

Now, when I have an hour to work on a blog post, I have AN HOUR TO WORK ON A BLOG POST.

And I miss my kids. But that just makes it more fun to see when they get home each afternoon. Missing them is not the worst thing in the world. I’m genuinely delighted to see them when they come home.

Enjoying this phase of life doesn’t take away from how much I adored being home and raising my kids full time. Some of my most precious memories were made during those times and I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Today as I drove home from volunteering at the school, I saw a mother with her toddler, standing by the construction site. They were holding hands and engrossed in the digger truck action. I felt a twinge in my chest and thought, “I don’t do that anymore.”

But I like this time too. I’m coming to believe that there are seasons enough in our lives for all the good things we want to do. We just need to look for the beauty in the one we’re in and be present so we can make the most of it.

Your Body is a Miracle

July 18, 2016 by Kathryn

I’m not always in love with my body. The past couple of years I’ve gotten squishier and sometimes my energy is low. I can’t always wear the clothes I want to wear or get the times I want when I’m racing. Sometimes I’m embarrassed when I see an unflattering picture of myself. And then I go on another ~~diet~~ lifestyle. Let’s call it a new healthy lifestyle. It just looks like a diet to human person with working eyes and a brain.

My passion is helping people find the good in themselves and in others. But sometimes it’s hard to find what I like about my body when there are so many things I wish I could change. Then I feel bad that I can’t just let go and love myself more. Because I’m Drops of Awesome lady. It’s not always easy in practice. Most things aren’t.

The Friday before Fourth of July I started having some pain and bleeding. The timing wasn’t right but I figured it must just be lady problems. I took Ibuprofen and I muscled through. My parents were in town and there was fun to be had. They left on Sunday and on Monday, the fourth. The pain got worse.

We got situated at the parade and I was really uncomfortable so Dan made a run to the grocery store for some painkillers while I soaked up the small town eye-candy. We had a good day. I threatened to call a doctor if things didn’t get better. The pain came and went for the next couple of days.

But Wednesday morning as I was rinsing Wanda off after her swimming lesson, I knew things weren’t alright. I hobbled out to the car and called my OB for an appointment and miraculously they fit me in that afternoon. I cried all the way home, dropped the kids off, and then cried all the way to the doctor’s office.

I called Dan from the car just to talk me through it. I’d never experienced pain like that and I was so terrified they’d tell me it was normal and to get over it. I had packed my phone charger because if they told me it was nothing, I was planning to head to urgent care until someone found a way to make it stop. I was in this for the long haul.

At the doctor’s office they did the obligatory poking and prodding and I couldn’t hold back the sobbing, but everything looked normal. My IUD was still in place. There was some minor swelling on one side of my abdomen but they couldn’t see an obvious problem.

Then it occurred to me. My back had gone out two weeks earlier. My back rarely goes out. My back always goes out when I get pregnant.

“I’m sure it’s not that,” I said, “But what if it’s that?”

They brought a test. They usually bring a test when I have an appointment at this doctor. I pee on it. They look at it for two minutes while we make small talk and then they see it’s negative and toss it in the trash.

This time the small talk lasted longer. And then the nurse said, “I’m just gonna take this to the lab.”

Crap.

I waited alone in the room. My phone was dead. I thought about charging it so I could call Dan. The Nurse Practitioner came back in and told me we needed to do an ultrasound because I was indeed pregnant but my pain level made it probable that it was a tubal pregnancy.

More poking and prodding. The ultrasound technician found a bulge in one of my tubes and a lot of bleeding. They told me I wasn’t going anywhere for a while because I needed surgery.

At this point I asked someone to plug in my phone so I could call Dan. And Laylee who was home babysitting. And a couple of friends who would have my back. And I cried and cried.

And I couldn’t tell you exactly why.

I wasn’t sad about losing the baby, not really. We hadn’t even been trying to get pregnant. I probably wasn’t REALLY sad that from now on I’d have to write a more complicated medical history on every form I filled out forever. Although that thought did cross my mind. I wasn’t even crying because the pain was still unbearable.

I was just sad. And I was alone.

They wheeled me across the street to the hospital, which was sort of excruciating, every bump like a gut punch, and prepped me and within a couple of hours I was signing a form saying I understood that they may have to take out a bunch of parts I felt fairly attached to. Dan was there when I signed the papers and when they wheeled me back.

And he was waiting for me when I was wheeled out of surgery. Everything went smoothly. But there had been more internal bleeding than expected and they’d had to go in three separate times with the laparoscope to clean everything up.

The good news was I’d kept all my parts. The bad news was I’d lost a scary amount blood and they’d never really found the source of the bleeding.

So I hung out in the hospital for a couple of days, eating bland food and drifting in and out of sleep as narcotics clouded my brain. Apparently, my sense of humor kicks up a notch when I’m under the influence because my nurse said, “You’re pretty funny for someone who tried to die yesterday.”

Friends visited me and watched my kids and Laylee cleaned my house from top to bottom as a surprise. We’re talking laundry, dishes, floors, everything. If sainthood were a thing granted to 13-year-old Mormon girls, she’d be on the list.

The second day they told me they would discharge me that night if my blood count was up and the pregnancy hormones were way down.

Well, the pregnancy hormones weren’t way down and my blood count was actually slightly down again but they said that was probably just because I’d been drinking so much water and they sent me home anyway.

Because they had me in the mother/baby ward, nurses asked me when I’d given birth or congratulated me on my new baby. It didn’t make me sad. We’d never been trying for a baby. It made me grateful I didn’t have to deal with that pain on top of the physical pain I was experiencing. I know women who have had an ectopic pregnancy with a much-wanted baby and my pain wasn’t the same as theirs.

But it was scary being wheeled out to my car to go home, wondering if I was still bleeding inside, knowing I couldn’t get around well or care for myself.

The house was clean and full of flowers from kind friends, friends who had lined up meals for my first few days home. I was on bed rest. Everything hurt and I was weak and dizzy.

But I also felt really grateful, grateful for good doctors and kind friends, grateful for my loving family, but mostly grateful for my amazing body.

It took me being weak and down and incapable of doing nearly anything to realize just how much my body can normally do.

My body is a miracle.

I can train for and complete a sprint triathlon or bike 20 miles on a whim. I can run up and down the stairs to read a book to my daughter. I can move laundry from one machine to the other and cook and clean and sit up long enough to eat dinner with my family. I can hike and tour museums and sit through three hours of church meetings every Sunday.

I can wear cute clothes, even pants with a waistband. I can style my hair and wear flattering makeup and shower without passing out or feeling dizzy.

I can plant a garden and carry groceries. I can serve others and hug and carry my children.

My body is a miracle.

I found myself standing in front of a mirror the second day I was home. I had gotten over my fear of quietly bleeding to death after Dan spent a million dollars buying a blood pressure cuff and pulse-ox monitor so I could obsessively monitor my own vitals. And now I was standing in the bathroom about to take a shower.

My three incisions were bruised and painful, my stomach was swollen, and I was un-showered and un-made-up. My skin was pale and my eye circles were dark. And I couldn’t get over how beautiful I was. With all the imperfections, road-weariness, wrinkles, and authentic battle damage, I was beautiful. And I knew I could heal.

My body is a miracle.

And so is yours.

When you’re looking at a less-than-flattering picture of yourself or your hand brushes past that little top of the muffin you wish you didn’t have, remember all the things your body can do, how capable, lovable, beautiful and miraculous you are.

Your flabby tummy is just noise.

Are You Really Going to Let Someone Talk to Your Friend Like That?

May 31, 2016 by Kathryn

friends1 I was recently speaking at a high school. The topic was Drops of Awesome and my mission was to convince the students of two things.

You are so much better than you give yourself credit for.
You can improve who you are and become who you want to be almost instantly, depending on the next tiny choice you make.

The kids were amazing and receptive and the energy was fabulous on a level I’ll remember for the rest of my life. I hope they were as affected as I was.

I started our hour together by telling them about my high school friend who used put-downs as a fun and hilarious relationship building tool, ala – “You’re such a dork! Let’s go get lunch,” or, “Okay Loser, what are we gonna do after school?”

This wore on me and eventually we stopped hanging out. But then I told the girls about a much more destructive friend I made in my young adult years.

She constantly put me down, told me I wasn’t good enough, that my efforts always fell short. When I succeeded she told me it was luck and when I failed, she said I deserved it and she’d always known I was incapable of doing anything well.

As I described this friend to the kids in this high school class, there were several audible gasps.

“That is so mean!” one girl exclaimed.

These teenagers were more than a little horrified that I’d let someone talk to me like that, which is good, because those kind of put-downs are horrible. I should never have let anyone talk to me that way. In fact, I should try to stand up against that kind of negativity whenever I hear it, regardless of who it’s directed at.

What made getting rid of this nasty friend so tricky was that she wasn’t some outside person. It was my own inner voice, holding me back from success, setting me up to fail, kicking me when I was down.

I would say terrible things to myself that I’d never say to a friend or even an enemy. Do any of these sound familiar?

-Of course you’re late. You’re always late.

-No surprise. You made a crappy dinner again.

-I swear you’re the only parent incapable of remembering to turn in a field trip form on time.

-You look so fat today.

Would you ever say things like this to another person?! Would you ever stand back and watch someone say things like this to one of your friends?!

I’d like to think that most everyone would stand up for a friend they saw being treated so poorly. So it’s time to act like your own best friend and stand up when you hear your inner voice spewing garbage like that. (I know we’re getting all kinds of split-personality-ish here but that’s okay. Is it? Yeah, I think so. Okay, I agree.)

So, you toss a box of cereal on the table when you get home from work and tell the kids to eat quickly because you’re already late for baseball.

In your mind you hear, “No surprise. You made crappy dinner again.”

You answer back, “You know what? I made dinner again. I’m feeding the heck out of these kids.”

“But this isn’t healthy. You’re probably the only mom who does this.”

“I’m positive I’m not the only mom who does this and that doesn’t really matter anyway. This isn’t how we ALWAYS eat. This is called baseball season. While I’m on the bleachers, I’m going to make a list of all the awesome meals I have made in the past and that I plan to make again when life gets back to normal. And for now, I’m going to feel good that I remembered to buy cereal. Also, I’m about to be sitting on the bleachers again for three hours. D to the ANG! I’m the nicest mom ever.”

Do a few things for me this week, precious please.

Notice when you’re being a jerk to yourself.
Fight back.
Don’t let anyone talk to your friend like that.
Eat some cereal for dinner so I can feel better about myself.

friends1

Sunburnt

May 22, 2016 by Kathryn

**Originally posted on Deseret Book’s Time Out For Women Blog January 2013**

Sunbeams are warm and lovely, vibrant and life-giving. But if you get too close, they will incinerate you.

This was my line of thinking as I drove away from church last Sunday after my first week teaching a room full of Sunbeams with my husband Dan. Our new calling is to teach the three-year-olds at church, including my sweet, occasionally potty-trained daughter “Wanda”.

We taught them that they were children of God. We also taught them to sit in their chairs for the lesson and for sharing time, that dresses should be used to cover our bodies, not our heads, and OH-FOR-THE-LOVE-if-two-of-you-sit-still-at-the-same-time-for-30-seconds-I-will-buy-you-all-a-pony.

That’s what we taught them.

What they learned was – Sister and Brother Thompson love us, sharing time is long, and moving up to big kid primary is a lot like getting kicked out of the Garden of Eden. One week you’re playing with cars and trucks and snacking it up in luxury, and the next you get to follow up sacrament meeting with an hour sitting in hard chairs in a huge room full of big people, followed by another hour orbiting hard chairs in a prison cell with two crazy dancing grownups waving pictures from the gospel art picture kit. HUZZAH! By the sweat of their brows, indeed. Big kid primary is hard work. For everyone.

And it’s a big change from the Young Women organization, where I’ve been serving for the past six years. I like to think of it as mini Relief Society, only better. You get to teach them the gospel and they actually learn it. There’s something amazing about being part of their lives right at the time that they’re deciding who they are and what they really believe. Also, in the Mia Maid class, the girls are loving and sweet and they notice everything about you.

“Sister Thompson! Did you do something different with your hair? I love it! That is the cutest dress. Where did you get it? OhMyGoshYourEarringsAreSoFUN!”

In primary they notice things about you too.

Halfway through sharing time I noticed one little boy staring up at me intently. He was stroking the hair on my arm.

“Sister Thompson?” he asked.

“Yes, honey?”

“Why do you have so much hair on your arms?”

“It keeps me warm, I guess.” He looked unconvinced, squinting his eyes suspiciously.

“No. I think it’s because you’re gonna grow up to be a daddy.” He then reached down and plucked one of the hairs from my arm. And then another. I didn’t scream. I didn’t even tear up.

With the Young Women, I’m a fashion maven. In sunbeams, I’m a Yeti with man arms. Oh, how far we fall.

The class pretty much ate us for lunch. There was crying, yelling, jungle-gyming it all over the chairs, kids lying on the floor moaning, refusing to participate. It was amazing.

But I refuse to give in. Dan and I brought our four man-arms home, rolled up our sleeves and got to work. We have a plan. We have activities. We have stories. We have cheddar bunnies, and scarves that can be used for dancing or tying people to chairs. We spent this Saturday night preparing and packing the bag and then repreparing and then repacking the bag. We were almost ready.

And then I remembered that I’d planned on printing out pictures we’d taken of each of the kids to use in our lesson tomorrow. So, I pulled them up in Photoshop and…

Look at their FACES! Look again. For realz. I cannot stand the cuteness. It cannot be stood for.

Yes. I have the best calling. Ever. Sunday may be total chaos and the only thing they learn might be that we love them. But that’s okay. We will sing and play and look into those little faces and know that we’re doing a good work. And we will wear long sleeves. And carry hand sanitizer.

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