Enjoy the Ride

This morning, my dear grandmother passed away. She battled cancer for 8 years, fighting the disease with more grace, bravery, and elegance than I ever thought possible. Everyone who knew her was blessed by her love.

Last week, she expressed her desire to live until Thanksgiving, but her rate of decline made it clear that she had days, not months, to live. So we gathered together to celebrate our own Thanksgiving. The meal was not traditional Thanksgiving fare-- We feasted on ham, toss salad, squash, scalloped potatoes, and two types of Jell-o salad. Everyone agreed that it was the best Thanksgiving meal they'd ever had.

After dinner, we gathered in Grandma's room. She had been bedridden for about a month, and unable to stay awake longer than a few minutes. We talked to her, and though she couldn't respond, I know she heard us. Her bedroom felt sacred. I felt the presence of angels in the room. She woke up to take a few bites, then fell back asleep.

Throughout the night, we all took turns sitting with her and holding her hand, having our private moments with Grandma. My dad, who was in Pennsylvania, talked to her on the phone. My cousins and I sang to her. Being there with her and my dear family was the most sacred experience I've ever had.

This morning, Grandma passed away. She was with my grandfather, her eternal companion. I got the call from my aunt at 9:28. Our family gathered once again to comfort each other and make some final arrangements. The love and support of family is a tender mercy of the Lord. Though this is a time of deep sadness, I can't help but thank God for all the many blessings He's given me and my family. It is beautiful and right that my dear grandmother's death should bring us all together.


Life is challenging and heart-breaking, but it is also sweet. In the turmoil of living, it's easy to forget that each person has the ability to create beauty in their own unique way. Our family, drawn closer by greif-- beauty, created from impossible circumstances.

I know I've said that the last two years have been tough, but they've also been filled with the most tender and radient experiences. The feeling you get when you find joy-- even briefly - in the midst of pain is the purest and most sacred feeling. Living, really living, isn't meant to be easy and smooth. It's meant to take you to the lowest of lows, so you can fully appreciate the soaring joys you're destined to experience.

Gordon B. Hinkley, former president of the LDS church, included the following quote in a devotiona he gave at BYU:

Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he's been robbed. The fact is that most putts don't drop. Most beef is tough...Most jobs are more often dull than otherwise...
Life is like an old-time rail journey—delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride.

And I do. Grandma, it was a blessing and a privilege to be your granddaughter. Thank you for your love of beauty, faith in God, and your always-inspiring example of what it means to be a strong, dedicated wife, mother, and grandmother. I miss you terribly, but I know you're no longer suffering, and that your parents and old friends are so excited to have you with them again. I'll see you in about 80 yeas. I love you.

Grandma, Dad, and Me

Here's to enjoying the ride, cinders, ashes, and all.

x,
   m

Glum-Be-Gone List- Part One

In the spirit of posting a glum blog, I thought I'd take some time to put together a list of things that make me feel optimistic, giggly, and like putting on real pants. I'm going to do this in parts because, frankly, I am constantly coming across new things that are awesome.

Micaela's Glum-Be-Gone List- Part One
Ten things to do when you just need to smile.

1. Listen to Here I Am Alive by Yellowcard. I just discovered this band a few days ago and I am totally in love with this song. It's catchy, the lyrics rock, and makes me wanna jam out. Seriously, great message: Here I am, alive.

2. Try to be Ron Swanson. If you haven't seen the show Parks & Recreation, I implore you to get on Netflix, Hulu, or whatever and watch the crap out of this show. It is the best show on TV (tied with Community, of course) and it is 100% worth your while. Parks & Rec follows tireless government worker, Leslie Knope (played by Amy Polher), and her eccentric crew of colleagues as they take care of business in the Parks Department of Pawnee, Indiana. It borrows the "mockumentary" style of The Office and is comedic genius.

Ron Swanson, the manager of the Parks department, is, to put it lightly, thebomb.com (yes, I'm bringing that back.). Ron has a strict policy of hating the system, loving bacon, and being manly as heck. Check out this clip of him explaining the Ron Swanson Pyramid of Greatness to a bunch of ten-year-olds.

3. Eat / stab Jell-O. You guys, I love Jell-O. It's fun to say, fun to eat, and it comes in every fun color you can imagine. It's also fun to attack with a fork if you're super duper pissed off. Avoid the sugarless crap at all costs.

4. Jam out to The Key of Awesome's One Direction parody. I'm pretty sure I watch this at least once a week because it's flipping hilarious. I almost have it memorized-- True story.

Highlight: Let's all point and run! Pointing at stuff is such fun.

5. Walk around Target. My dad and I discovered the magical healing properties of Target in December and we've been going back ever since. I don't know what it is-- the lighting, the sedatives that they [allegedly do not] pump into the air, the sweet smell of consumerism-- but going to Target always makes me feel better about life. I usually don't even buy anything, I just wander around for an hour and think about my life, look at the Barbies, smell the popcorn, and read the first chapter of a few books. And then I feel 67% better than I did before.

Pro tip: Don't go durring the busy hours. My dad and I always go at 10 pm or later. There are almost no people, and the people that are there are not at all like WalMart 10 o'clock-ers (involuntary shudder). They're worn out college students, single older people, and people doing last minute birthday shopping. These are pleasant people to be around when you're feeling icky because they feel kind of icky, too. They aren't judging you. And even if they are, no one you know will be there, so you're safe. Also, Target has a large supply of...

6. Peanut M&M's (Specifically eat them). They are my favorite edible thing in the whole entire world. You guys, colorful chocolate candies with peanuts in the middle. And the peanuts almost make it okay to eat them a lot because it's protein or something.

7. Write strongly-worded and extremely eloquent letters to people that really piss you off, but not sending them. Pretty much explains itself. I always adhere to the following rules:

- No swearing. That defeats the point.
-Use big words just because you can. Suggestions: irrefutably, exemplary, shenanigans, disconcerting, negligence, unscrupulous, etc.
-Always hand-write. No anger letter is valid unless you get to really slam those words down on a real life piece of paper with an honest-to-goodness pen.
- Never ever send it. I'll be honest, I do have one letter I'm saving that I plan to send on my 50th birthday, but I would never send one in the heat of anger. And I'll probably lose that letter by next week.

8. Watch this: 

9. Talk to people who love you. Everyone knows at least one person that can always make them smile, no matter the scenario. Go to that person. Tell them why you feel like crap. Let them work their magic. When you're feeling cruddy, it's not always good to be alone because you'll start wallowing. 

My favorite person to talk to is my dad. Some people love talking to their mom, sibling(s), a close friend, extended family member, or dog. I'm serious about the dog. Dogs understand, don't ask questions, and don't care if your mascara is running.

Here's a picture of me and my dad because we are adorable:

10. Research pygmy elephants or munchkin cats. Because they exists and they are adorable. 

Hope y'all are having a great weekend. Thanks for all the support, you guys. It means a lot. <3

x,

   m

Micaela's Handy Guide to Grieving

I know I've been absent from the blog-o-sphere lately. I've tried to write about ten times, but I haven't been able to force my ideas into something coherent. When I have to force the words, I'm usually not comfortable publishing them on my blog. It's too embarrassing.

I realized that if I don't just write what's on my mind, I'll never get back to blogging, and I really, really like blogging. So forgive me if this isn't my usual sarcastic commentary on human existence.

Pretty much, I have been sad. So incredibly sad that I've had trouble talking, let alone writing.

"But, Micaela, why are you sad?"

You know how some days everything seems to go horribly wrong? You wake up late, can't find your other shoe, staple your finger to your report, stub your toe twice, and before you know it you're in a bathroom stall taking deep breaths and willing yourself not to dissolve into tears.

That, my friends, has pretty much been the last two years of my life. Except instead of stapling myself or stubbing my toe, my parents split up, I had random fainting spells, I moved across the country, and my grandmother is dying. And a lot of other stuff happened that I don't need to talk about. And right now I'm in the proverbial bathroom stall, holding back very literal tears.

I'm in the grieving process right now. About twenty times a day, I have to step back and say, "Be gentle with yourself, Micaela." So I am. I sleep more than usual. I don't worry about my pants size. I've stopped trying to force myself to smile. If someone makes me feel "less than," I just avoid spending time with them. I bought sweaters that are both extremely comfortable and mildly fashionable that I wear almost all the time. You guys, I've even started watching Gossip Girl again, marathon style, on Netflix. It's ridiculously therapeutic to watch TV that requires zero brain function. (And, let's be honest, in my head I'm totally dating Nate Archibald.)

But grief is dangerous. Sadness easily morphs into anger, and anger is impulsive, boundless, and self-destructive. When I get mad, I have to sit down and remind myself that I'm grieving, and that anger is just a crude mask for sadness.

I'm learning to ask for help. A hug does wonders, as does a Jell-O cup, going for walks, listening to hymns, talking to my dad on the phone, singing along to Le Mis, doing laundry, wearing sweatpants...

I guess my point here is that it's okay to be sad if you do it in the right way. And you realize when it's gone too far. And you ask for help. And you remember to put on pants and stuff.

Thanks for your understanding. I've gotten so much good feedback from my blog thus far, and seriously, it means so much when people tell me they read/like/acknowledge The Epitome of Snark. If you have any ideas of things I should blog about, hit me up.

x,
   m

p.s.- My readers are seriously the best. <3

The Time I Fell Down A Hill Wearing Hiking Boots

I'm pretty much the queen of hormone-based developmental disproportion. It's almost amazing to me that I can function in a semi-typical way because of the trauma I suffered in puberty. Like I've said before, I didn't hit my growth spurt until the summer before high school. I guess I should admit that I did hit a growth spurt or two before then but they weren't height related. By the tender age of 10, both my nose and my feet had both reached their full adult sizes. The nose thing didn't effect anything but my self-esteem, but the feet... the feet turned out to be an issue.

I was 4'3" (shorter than most 10-year-olds) with size 7.5 feet (that's 9.5 inches of foot). It would be an understatement to say that I had trouble moving. I'm sure I tried not to look like a skinny baby elephant, but at some point I gave up. Other kids played sports durring recess. I spent most of my time on the balance beam because my gigantic feet actually helped me stay on. I quit dance class around this time because I could hardly take 4 steps without falling over, and heaven knows that's not a good basis for dancing.

I think if I'd have hit my growth spurt earlier, I probably would have adjusted to walking and moving normally, but four years of being severely clumsy took their toll. I spent so much time at the nurse's office in middle school that she always kept a bed open for me.

When I started high school, I had pretty much grown into my feet (and almost my nose), but I was still adjusting to being 5 feet tall. I should also mention that all my growth had been solely vertical. I weighed all of 100 pounds and looked like a twig. My movement patterns had not changed since middle school, but now I had longer legs and farther to fall. 

And fall I did. I remember it like it was yesterday. 

It was the first week of high school. I over-slept and had to pack my gym bag at hyper-speed and run to school. I didn't really think anything of it until 6th period rolled around and I had to dress down for gym. I didn't know anyone in my class, and given my track record in past gym classes, I was completely dreading the new level of torture I was sure high school gym teachers would inflict.

In typical Micaela fashion, I got totally lost on the way to class. By the time I found the locker room, only a handful of girls were still changing. I threw my shirt and shorts on in a flurry, but when I reached into my bag to get my sneakers, I found... hiking boots. I had accidentally packed my gigantic, beige hiking boots instead of my sneakers. I was the only person in the room by then, so I put on my boots and trotted myself out into the gym...to find that most of the class was already outside. 

I could see the last group of laggers disappearing out the far door, towards the soccer field. I tried to fast walk and catch up to them, but my huge boots made embarrassing clomping noises on the wood floor. I trailed the group at a safe distance, figuring I could catch up just before we joined the rest of the class. I'd forgotten, however, that the soccer field was at the bottom of an incredibly steep hill.* The rest of the class was already there. One of the gym teachers blew her whistle and shouted at us to hurry up. The group in front of me started to run, menuvering the steep hill at incredible speeds, and looking exceedingly cool while doing it. "I can do that," I thought. 

I coached myself to a light jog, boots pounding the ground, and began to descend the hill. 

"This isn't too hard," I thought. "I look cool," I thought. "These boots give me traction," I thought. And then...

"I'm flying." The weight of my boots made me forget to lift one of my feet. My body suddenly called on it's years of dance training, coaxing my feet into a perfect 5th position, which turned out to not be conducive to running. I contorted like some kind of human pretzel, head over heels, as I tumbled the remaining 10 feet down the hill. I swear, at one point I had about three feet of air. 

Finally, the falling stopped. A teacher rushed over to make sure I was okay. I was, until I realized that I had just fallen down a hill wearing comedically large shoes in front of at least 30 people. Everyone was staring at me. Someone laughed, someone else laughed, then a lot of people laughed. I wanted to melt, like the Wicked Witch of the West, leaving only the cursed boots. I had a good cry about it when I got home. 

I like to think I've gotten a little more coordinated since 9th grade, but the truth is I've learned to take myself less seriously. I still fall down all the time. I trip getting onto the shuttle at least twice a week. I'm constantly banging my knees against everything. I got a second-degree burn making a grilled cheese sandwich. Heck, I walked straight into a tree today! This stuff is funny. And if I think it' funny, I can only hope someone else is thinking, "Dang, that girl walked into a tree. That's hilarious." and not, "What on earth is wrong with that spaz-machine?"Because if walking into a tree made someone else smile, even at my expense, it wasn't all bad, was it?

People say learning to love yourself is one of the most important things you should do in life. And, yeah, that's fine and all, but learning to laugh at yourself... I find that more important. Laughing at yourself means you forgive yourself for being a total idiot, and if that isn't love, I don't know what is. 

Here's to another week of hurting myself in humorous ways.

x,

   m

*To those of you who will argue that the hill wasn't that steep: This is MY blog, MY story, and MY injured pride. So shush. 

Sorry I'm Not Emma Watson

I've realized that a lot of my blogging has focused on the past, so this is just going to be an update on some thoughts I'm having. Because I know you're all super curious.

"Is the whole shuttle playing a joke on me?"

I live in "on-campus housing," which is funny because I'm actually about a mile from the outskirts of campus, so I take a shuttle to and from campus most days. I'm not gonna lie, I kinda love being off-campus, and I kinda love the shuttle.

It's a pretty classic set up--seats along the wall, bars on the ceiling for standing riders-- and it's almost always crazy full. It literally makes my day when I get an actual, sitting-down seat. Those of you who have seen me try to do anything involving balance (including walking) know that I am not gifted in that area. Standing on the bus is torture in my mind. I cling to the bar so tightly that my hand is usually numb by the time I get off. My whole arm gets tingly. I've fallen on people a few times. It's bad.

But on the occasions that I'm seated, I experience another phenomenon more strange than my inability to balance. With few exceptions, people don't sit next to me. They would rather stand and have their arm yanked off when the shuttle goes over speed bumps than place their behinds on a seat adjacent to me. Today, for example, two guys opted to stand rather than taking the seats by me. Do I smell bad? Is there something going on that I don't know about? Am I scary? And yeah, there have been brave souls who take the seats next to me, but those seats are always the last two open. You guys, I don't even know what to make of that. I would rather sit by the scariest, most intimidating person at BYU every time I ride the shuttle than stand. I'd rather sit next to pretty much anyone than stand. This may be a result of my balance issues, but I'm pretty sure most people prefer sitting to standing.

Times like that make me think, "Jeeze, sorry I'm not Emma Watson."

"Why can't I just be Emma Watson?"

I love Emma Watson, and even though I try to avoid obsessing over celebrities, I'm a little bit obsessed with her. She's gorgeous, talented, funny, and smart as heck... and let's be real, she's British. Every outfit she wears, haircut she gets, thing she says, and movie she makes send me into a kind of reflection on my life. I mean, she's so... cool. She was in Harry Potter. She's totally nice. People sit next to her when she rides the shuttle.*

I think she kinda represents who younger-me thought I would be by my age, and right now the only thing that I've achieved is having Emma's haircut. So that's something, at least.

"Holy crud, does Fuze juice actually have milk in it?!"

Yes, it really does. Time to take some Lact-Aid.

Anyway, hope y'all had a good week! Happy weekend. :)

x,
  m

*I could not confirm that Emma rides a shuttle, but if she did, people would totally sit by her.

I Kissed the Backstreet Boys (And Why I Miss Being Five)

I can remember being five surprisingly clearly. I woke up at 7am, just because I wanted to. I went to bed at 8 just because Mom said that was bedtime. I was told what to wear, given food on demand, and never had to worry what I looked like in a bathing suit. School consisted of doing elaborate finger-paintings and learning the difference between the letter "r" and the letter "f" (I still struggle with that) and, in my case, being all five of the Backstreet Boys' girlfriend (more on that later).

Aside from my unusual boyfriend situation, life was simple. But, like most kids, I spent a good amount of time trying to act like a grown-up. I remember thinking that the best day of my life would be when I got my first pair of high heels to wear to church, but now that I have heels, I hate wearing them. Like most things we dream about doing as kids, they hurt more than expected. People see you and think, "Huh, she looks taller than usual," but never really notice why, because high heels are something everyone wears. You don't get a medal for not falling down, you don't get a certificate of maturity, you just get new shoes to hobble around in. They're awkward and uncomfortable and make you feel stupid for a while. Eventually, wearing heels is standard, and you never think anything about it.

I also spent a good deal of my time planning my wedding. When I was five, I was pretty convinced that I was going to marry one of the five boys who made up our schools "Backstreet Boys." I once asked if I, too, could be a Backstreet Boy, but I was turned down on account of being a girl. They instead offered me the position of "girlfriend." I realize now that I was more of a skanky groupie than anyone's girlfriend, but I enjoyed the position immensely. I'm pretty sure that I at least hugged all five of them, and I know for a fact that I kissed at least two of them.* I was so excited to grow up and have real boyfriends and get married.

Well, in Mormon tradition, you're supposed to wait until you're 16 before you start dating. While I may or may not have breached that rule, I was 16 when I got my first real boyfriend (let's call him A). The first month we were dating, I found a way to work "boyfriend" into almost every conversation. I'm pretty sure my friends were all ready to kill me.

It was everything I hoped it would be-- going to the movies, making cookies, getting ice cream- and we were together for two years. It was a fairytale, until it came time for us to decide on colleges. Our plan was to go to school together, continue dating, and maybe eventually get married. But fate had other plans. I woke up one morning with the distinct impression that I needed to go to Brigham Young University. We broke up that day. Much like the afore mentioned high heels, I had underestimated the amount of pain that a "grown-up" relationship could cause. It sucked. He was my best friend, and I was suddenly alone.

But what I failed to realize at the time (and what no one thinks about when they're five) is that life goes on. When you're five, it seems like everything's a straight shot. Growing up is complicated, painful, and dangerous. But it is also exciting, beautiful, and natural. It's a good thing. It is right. I made one of my best friends after breaking up with A. I moved across the country. I met new people. I changed more in the course of three months than I ever have in my life.

So yeah, sometimes I miss the simplicity of being five, but when it comes right down to it, I'm so blessed to have these chances to grow and learn about myself.

Also, my roommate and I regularly build pillow forts and give ourselves fake tattoos. So really, you can act like a kid at any age. Keep that in mind.

x,
   m


*In fact, I remember my "first" kiss in almost disgusting detail. I won't go into specifics, but I vividly remember thinking, "This is so gross. I'm never kissing anyone again." But then I kissed another boy the next week. I sure was a skank.