Nine-hour Pregnancy

Note: No, I don't know what pregnancy is like, but I read a lot and I've spent time with quite a few pregnant women in my life. This one goes out to my expecting friends and new-mommy friends. It also goes out to the guys at work who wondered what the world would be like if each woman conceived and gave birth to a child in a 4-hour time span.

8 a.m.: Well, that usually doesn't happen before heading to work, but I'm not complaining. Wow, I have so much to do today. It would be great if my head and back and pelvis weren't aching something awful. I knew I should have stayed in bed. Did someone punch my ovaries when I wasn't looking? Yawn. What was I just doing? Oh yeah. I'm hungry, wait, no I'm not. Don't talk to me, I hate you! I'm sorry, I love you. Would anyone notice if I assumed the fetal position under my desk? Am I dying? Oh no. This is happening.

9 a.m.: Boss? I've got to run an errand. Be back soon. I'm paranoid, but I still have to make sure. Seriously? You want to charge me $9 for two of these? Wait, so I pee on this? How does this work? Two. Pink. Lines. TWO. It's wrong, it has to be. There is no way the hormones would show up this quickly. Alright, test two. Seriously? These sticks are faulty. Shouldn't have pounded those Lucky Charms this morning. Bleh, I never want to eat cereal again. Bleeeeehhhh. Imagine, if I wasn't already in this stall. This bathroom smells like a sewer. Got to get out. Just make it back to the car. Everything SMELLS! What is that? This gym sock is rank! Get it away from me. Oh no, more Lucky Charms. Nope, just dry heaves. Yawn. I just need 10 minutes of shut eye before making it back to the office. Zzzz.

10 a.m.: OK, this is real. I haven't digested anything, and it still looks like I had three helpings of pie after Thanksgiving dinner. I need a doctor now! Scheduling appointments is overrated. If this is real, there is a person in me. Ah! Get it out! Wait, don't. Doctor? Please, I think I'm having a baby today. Does anyone have a sandwich? I really need a sandwich people! Extra pickles with an extra large chocolate milkshake. Extra everything. Is the stomach jelly necessary? What is that little flickering thing on the screen? A heart? My body made a heart? ... That's ... that's incredible ...

Ring. Ring. Honey, you're going to be a father in 6 hours. Quick, do everything you ever wanted to do that you haven't already done. No, you can't buy a motorcycle. Go.

11 a.m.: Books, I need books. I need to go to the library! Are there Cliff Notes for this three dozen I'd like to check out? Ugh, shouldn't have eaten that sandwich. Bleeeeh. I'm dizzy, I can't move. Honey, where have you been? Read me books! Cloth diapers? No. Breast feeding? Yes, but how? A breast feeding bra? Weird. I feel terrible. I need ibuprofen. I can't have ibuprofen? Is this a joke? You want to name the baby what? Absolutely not, that name rhymes with a dirty word. Go get me a bushel of oranges and some sweatpants while I rest my eyes. Get these pants off of me, they're digging into my bump.

12 p.m.: Zzzzzzzzzzzz. What? What do you want? Don't touch me! Zzzzzzzzzzzz. Hey Facebook world, we're pregnant! Stay tuned for photos between 4-5 p.m.! So excited to meet our little bundle.

1 p.m.: I'm fat! How do you go to sleep bloated and wake up fat? Quick, go to Sonic and get me the good ice. Don't ask questions, I just need ice in my mouth. Oh, and while you're there get me four of everything. And don't forget the cocoa butter, my skin isn't as elastic-y as I originally imagined. I can feel it. Is that a foot? An elbow? I'm here baby. Can you hear me? Are you as scared as I am?

2 p.m.: What can we use as a makeshift crib? The microwave box? OK, that will do for now. What about clothes! The baby can't come home in a hospital blanket! Ow, ow, ow. I need a back massage. Dig! Dig! Is that as hard as you can do it? Quick, we need to go to the store. Diapers, bottles, booger suckers, onesies, binkies. Do we have time to get the crib? Crap! Babies need car seats, don't they? What did you read about car seats in the books? You don't remember? You didn't bring them with you as a reference? OK, get that one. Why not? I can't walk anymore, put me in one of the motorized scooters. Wait, I have to pee.

3 p.m.: Why are my feet swollen? I need a foot rub. Seriously? That's all you got? I can't lay, or sit, or stand. Maybe I'll be comfortable if I'm suspended in air. Can you make that happen? Can you set up a crib in 30 minutes? Fine! I didn't think it would hurt to ask. I have to pee again. So, are you ready for this? Well, I told you to do everything you wanted to do before 5 p.m. No, we aren't going to buy more guns. I think my skin is going to rip open. Did you know your baby is in here? Yeah, I don't believe it either. I'm so sleepy, but I can't lay down! I'll never get back up. Give me that jar of pickles.

4 p.m.: I can't stand anymore. If I knew I was going to get huge today, I would have hit the gym a little harder last week. Someone needs to wheel me out of here on a gurney. Ow-ow-ow-ow! It's trying to get out! Doctor, it's time! Expletive. Expletive. Is this happening? I'm not ready. Make it stop. Inhale. Exhale. OK, I got this. Push ... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. It's a girl. She's gorgeous! She has my nose. She is so small and delicate. My Monday miracle. No, we cannot try again tomorrow! I can't take any more time off of work.

Rabbits Lay Eggs?

When I stood to say the pledge of allegiance as a kid, I always glanced over at the two Jehovah's Witnesses in my class, just to make sure they didn't happen to put their hands over their hearts and join us.

I liked both of them. They knew all the answers during difficult math lessons and never got in trouble. During free time, one of them always joined me in piecing together a puzzle of kittens in a basket of yarn. We had done it so many times the picture was beginning to curl up from the cardboard. I never would have suspected that these two innocent, dimpled 8-year-olds would be the rock through my stained glass window. All the magic of my childhood was shattered by one five-word sentence.

"Your mom is Santa Clause," she told me matter-of-factly while smashing a piece of a kitten's paw into a piece of another kitten's head.

Of course, she told me this right after I divulged the Christmas list I sent to Santa the day before. I looked at her and waited for the punchline. And then the unraveling began. I felt the hurt rise from my chest to my cheeks. This was the beginning of the Great Emotional Breakdown of 1998.

Luckily, I was a somewhat logical child. I understood that the imagination was a gift, and I knew believing fostered hope. When I sat down with my mom that night I asked about all of them: the rabbit with the eggs, the fairy that stole teeth and, of course, the fat man with the sack of gifts. When I told her it was the J-dubs that revealed her schemes, she knew there was no backpedaling.  

I wasn't mad at her for lying to me my entire life. I was mad that my world's stock of magic was officially depleted. Life was a grey globe of habit. Mystery and enchantment were things people used to escape the grey. Everything was as it seemed. And yes, I was a deep-thinking third grader. 

Since Mom had the talk with me, she has had to have the talk four more times. I was asked to fib to my youngest sister so that she kept believing. When she finally realized it was all a lie, she was hurt. She felt stupid and betrayed, which made all of us wonder what was more valuable, revealing the truth or encouraging believing. My youngest brother was much like I was. The disappointment was overwhelming. How miserable it is to discover that every Easter and Christmas from now on are nothing more than a few trips to the grocery store and local mall.

What if your three-year-old asks the same questions I had as a third grader? Do you lie then? At what point does the playful tradition of holiday characters become dishonest?

It is especially hilarious to consider the upcoming holiday: Easter. So a massive bunny has a never-ending supply of hard-boiled and plastic eggs to hide all over the Earth? Why would a rabbit prefer to hide eggs as opposed to crunchy vegetables?

How amazing that as children we have so much faith in the world that we buy into this far-fetched Easter story without even beginning to reconsider its validity. In honor of this childish faith that I once had, Dalton and I will hide eggs this year. Not because I have children or intend to invite any over, but because the child in me deserves another go at it. Fueling my imagination may be the healthiest thing I can do for myself at this point. 

Tuesdays with Barb

The home smelled of bandages, masked urine and microwave dinners. Walking down the hallway, I heard the muffled sound of static and the 5 o'clock news. I passed a wide window that let me see into a checker-tiled room full of padded tables and exercise equipment. A frail man with wiry, grey hair laid on one of the tables as a woman dressed in white moved his right leg in small, clockwise circles.

I continued walking, passing a few women in wheelchairs who wore pastel colored muumuus. It looked like it was painful for them to simply hold their heads above their necks. The nurses never made eye contact with me or anyone for that matter. Files were stacked high on the nurses' desks next to trays of pills. I turned a corner and headed to the end of another long hallway to the last door on the left. I was scared. I'd never met a person with multiple sclerosis. But when you keep putting one foot in front of the other, your feet make the uncomfortable decisions for you.

"Barbara" was on a shiny plaque outside of her room. I entered quietly and saw that the bed on the left was vacant while the one on the right was surrounded by curtains lined with paper poinsettias. I delicately lifted a curtain to the side and saw a long woman with high cheekbones wearing headphones. She looked up at me with her big eyes and reached up to me with her only mobile arm.

"Hi Barbara, I'm Catherine," I tried hard to pronounce each syllable perfectly so she could understand. I took her hand and said, "I'm going to read to you, is that OK?"

"Ow-ay," she nodded her head. It sounded like she was talking with marbles on her tongue.

The Book of Mormon sat next to her bed and I opened it to the book mark. Barb's bucket list is almost complete. This is the last thing that needs to be crossed off. But what happens when we get to the end of Moroni? Does her life end? What if we don't make it to the end of the book before God takes her back? I found myself beginning to read quickly.

She stopped me. I rolled my chair close to her and she held my hand. Her hand was so soft. She felt the ring on my hand and asked about my husband and if I had any kids. It took a little imagination on my part to string the sounds she made into sentences. She told me that as a younger woman the boys couldn't get enough of her. Yes, Barb told me about her enormous chest, her long, slender legs, and claims she never had to shave. Sure, Barb. She went on and on about the flawless genetics she acquired. I believed her for the most part, seeing as the hair on her head was still thick and a dull, dark brown. I loved her almost immediately.

I don't think I read all of three verses in 1 Nephi before the nurse came in with dinner--canned green beans and a pizza slice cut into square-inch pieces. And before I knew it I was leaving her to eat in the quietude of her dim room.

I've known Barb for 12 days now and I find myself thinking about her every day, wishing I could just sit with her and watch her silently laugh. And I vow to never again claim that I have bad genes.

Why Writing is Hard

I discovered my talent in the 5th grade. My curly-haired, flat-faced teacher Ms. Kolton read a paragraph I wrote about an angry boy to the class. The boy marched up the stairs to his front door, threw his backpack down, clenched his fists, and then the phone rang. He glared at it and thought about throwing it out the window. Now, this is a silly scene that anyone could describe. But my teacher thought I was something special. She signed me up for Talent Academy, a program I attended every Friday instead of going to school.

Since then, people have been placed in my life to look me in the eye and say "Don't ever stop writing. Ever." 

I've found myself in many settings that allowed me to display my talent regularly. It's one of the only things I have confidence in; yet, for some reason I struggle to publish anything, especially on a blog. It was easier for me to spray my emotions all over the Internet as an unmarried college student without a career because nothing was at stake.

Now, if I want to write anything meaningful, it's going to be drawn from my own experience. When I have an idea and want to put fingers to keyboard, my first thought is ... who cares? Why would anyone want to read this? OK, so I post something and don't push it on social media. Well, I might as well write it in a Word document or in my journal, because it isn't impacting anyone. Where is middle ground? How do I write what I really want to write without making myself completely vulnerable? How do I write without saying too much?

It isn't possible for me. Either I write like I mean it, or I don't write at all. 

Oh, and let me not forget to mention that I'm terrified of being one of those people. You know, the ones that I "hide" on Facebook and the ones that write for nothing more than attention. I don't want every post to appear as though I'm shouting, "Look at me! Over here!" 

In a highly hormonal state, I sobbed to Dalton, "What is the point of this? Why do I write? Why can't I be good at something else? Anything else."

He lowered his eyebrows and squinted at me saying, "Catherine, this isn't you talking. This can't be you."

It was, though. 

Nevertheless, beginning today I am challenging myself. Because I do not want to squander one of the only talents I have, I will write every day for 100 days. Every. day. Whether it's one sentence or 1,000 and whether I'm enraged or ecstatic, depressed or delusional.

Note: I am seeking any and all writing prompts. Send them to me on Facebook or send them to catherinebennett57@gmail.com.

What You're Missing - January

Welcome to the first edition of What You're Missing, where we tell you what we can't get enough of, whether it be a sweet local spot, a product, a restaurant ... you name it. We want you to know what we go bananas about. Dalton will pick five things and I will select an additional five for the sake of balance. No one wants to hear all about Dalton's love for guns and Zombie TV shows, and no one wants to hear all about the "hippie" album I'm listening to on repeat.

1. Vanilla Greek Yogurt: As of recently, Dalton and I have committed to lay off cereal. We still have it around, but we've selected different breakfast items so that we start our days off on the right foot. One day while on a shopping trip Dalton had the urge to buy Greek yogurt, which he hadn't tried before and now eats every morning with raspberry granola. However, he swears by the vanilla flavored Danon Oikos and nothing else. Ever since the holiday food overload ended, he has been requesting things for dinner like Asian lettuce wraps. He is awesome.

2. The Goldbergs: I didn't grow up in the 80s. Actually, I barely missed the cutoff. But from what I know about the 80s, a lot of hilarious cultural elements crossed over into the 90s. Anyway, I've found a nostalgic TV show that is light, relatable and seriously funny. If The Wonder Years and Modern Family had a baby, it might be something like The Goldbergs. Jeff Garlin plays the dad who can't work the VCR and always stakes his pants off at the door when he gets home. The mother is played by Wendi McLendon-Covey who is your traditional "smother," or so she is called. Laced throughout the episodes are all sorts of great 80s references that make you want to jump back in time a few decades.

3. Origins Charcoal Mask: I owe the clogged pores on my nose and cheeks to my more intense workouts. Few things upset me more than looking too closely in the mirror and overreacting about emerging blackheads. Luckily, I can try to prevent it with my favorite charcoal mask. Yes, I look like the Creature from the Black Lagoon with it on, but it doesn't dry my skin out and I don't have to worry about my workouts making zits flare up.

4. Terk Portable Antennae: This month, Dalton has been incredibly grateful for our portable antennae. We don't have cable, so before we got the Terk Antennae Dalton would watch football games by refreshing his phone every five seconds for updates. The antennae was something like $60 and now we get cable for free. Actually, considering how the Niners game turned out on Sunday, I'm not sure it was good that we watched that game. Dalton has been all riled up ever since.

5. Tarahumara: Let me introduce you to one of the best Mexican restaurants I've found to date. When we went to Tarahumara in Midway we sat in the dimly lit bar area next to an impressive salsa bar. They had salsas with ghost peppers to more of a creamy cilantro dip to mango salsa to pico de gallo. By the time we were through with that salsa bar I wasn't sure I'd be able to eat much else. However, I had the tastiest cilantro cream fish tacos, and I really appreciated that they gave me the option to get a salad as my side rather than rice and beans. If you are ever hungry and in Midway you must go.

6. Banana Republic Navy Toggled Sweater: Shopping for clothes is becoming easier and easier for Dalton and me. If we need something, we know we are going to BR. We were cruising around City Creek Mall and popped in BR to check out the sales. Oh, I forgot to mention, we religiously shop at the outlet store in Lehi because I can't justify paying $80 for a button-up. Anyway, Dalton spotted this navy toggled sweater that he was seriously digging. It was WAY too much money, so we walked away empty handed. Then a kind soul bought it for him for Christmas. He figures out how to wear it with half of his work outfits.

7. Frozen Gummy Bears: Dalton and I aren't huge dessert eaters. When I need something to do on Sundays I'll make cookies and end up giving some of them away. I'm content to drink hot chocolate if I'm craving something sweet. However, we recently decided to stick a bag of gummy bears in the freezer and it is becoming a staple freezer item right next to the peas.

8. Comedy Sportz: Our good friends urged us to go to an improv comedy club in Provo with them. Honestly, when I first heard the idea, I could only imagine how lame a Provo comedy club could be. People in Provo are funny? No. I was 100 percent wrong, though. At one point in the show I laughed until my eyes began to water. It was just a quirky, different place. It's a pretty intimate setting and there is a large replica of the two old men in the box seats from the Muppets on the wall. There were few areas on the wall that weren't covered by a Ron Burgundy or Napoleon Dynamite cutout. I will be attending this laughter fest again.

9. What the Night Knows by Dean Koontz: When Dalton and I are in the car together for more than 10 minutes we usually pop in an audio book. Our music preferences tend to clash. He likes alternative/classic rock while I like indie/folk rock. I've never really been into Dean Koontz books because I'm a book snob and I like literature that has many layers. However, Dalton loved Koontz's book What the Night Knows; it was the perfect combination between ghost horror and creepy homicide mystery. I will give Koontz one thing, though, he knows how to set a scene. Some of his descriptions gave me the willies.

10. SlmSMART Vanilla Health Shake: Thanks to the company I work for, I started drinking a nutrient-rich protein shake for breakfast every morning that I swear tastes like ice cream when I blend it with ice and a banana. It keeps me going for five hours and I'm always bummed when I have to have something else for breakfast. I started running in December and every time I drink this shake I've noticed my endurance increases.

And this is what you've been missing! Unless you haven't missed these things and you are simply reading this to rejoice with me in the luxuries of modern living.

The Whirlwind: Work, School, Break, Work, School ...

I had this brilliant idea that I would get around to posting every week, but come on guys ... when your job is to WRITE, you just don't feel like doing it anymore when you get home.

Without going into holiday details, I would just like to show you a fun tradition I believe I will keep around until I get sick of it. I hate getting bogged down in holiday goodies, so I hoped others felt the same way I did about this. Instead of commencing holiday baking, I did some holiday blending. Salsa is red and green, you know, Christmas colors, so I thought it would be fitting. And I think it was a good pick-me-up, like a little piece of Mexico in this dreary Utah winter.

As a quick note, we had a wonderful time in Reno for Christmas, even though everyone was puking Christmas day. It was a day filled with animated movies, puzzles, ancient board games and leftover Mexican food. It was Dalton's first Christmas with the Meidell family and he handled it like a champion. Shortly after we arrived back in Utah we celebrated our 2nd wedding anniversary. I still remember thinking he was never going to come home from his mission, and here we are! We spent a beautiful wintry night in Midway at a mansion with swans and deer. We watched movies by the fire at night, had a really fun dinner, saw an ice castle and woke up to a baked apricot scone in the quaint dining area downstairs.

And here are the quick and dirty updates on our lives (more quick, less dirty):

Dalton:

• Just started his second semester in the finance program
• Is also interviewing for summer internships as I pray that he doesn't move away
• Is started to study for the CFA exam (only 38% of those who take it pass) and even received a hefty scholarship to pay for almost all of it. We are so lucky. 
• He's still killin' it at the credit union
• Our primary kids are allowing him to practice his discipline techniques
• He still finds time to take me out on the town
• Oh, and he also finds more time to root on his Niners and hiss at anyone who gets in his way. NFC championship game BABY.

Catherine:

• Still adoring my job at Synergy. I love coming to work with a long to-do list every day. 
• Building up my running endurance. The most I can run is 6 miles. I feel like I hit a wall after that. Mostly, I just hate how time consuming it is! I am opening my door to any tips/advice.
• I'm upping the amount of reading I'm doing. So much to read with so little time is a severely underreaching statement
• I'm still volunteering with hospice. Last night I heard "Hello? Hello?" coming from the bedroom, so I went to see if the patient needed to go to the bathroom. He was sitting on the edge of his bed so I helped him get up. He took three steps and basically backward on me and I was pinned to the bed under his 6'5" body. In addition to the running I've been doing, I need to start weight training so that we both never have to end up in this position.
• Like everyone else, I have lot of side projects, but I wouldn't dream of boring you with the details
• Other than that, I just do my best to support my casanova by making him "real food" and putting the house in order

Speaking of something tasty ...

BEHOLD!

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

Whisk up 1/4 cup of soy sauce,  1 1/2 TBS of olive oil, 1/4 cup of lemon juice, 1 chopped up garlic clove (I use the chopped garlic from the jar) and 2 TBS of brown sugar. I substituted 1 TBS of brown sugar for honey. Bake the salmon for 25 minutes basting it every 5 minutes or so with this glaze. 

Easyyyy. Just do it already.

The Bennett's love you and that's that.

Crumpled strips of paper

Laid neatly in front of me were 20 pieces of paper. Four colors--blue, green, yellow, red. Five strips per color. The woman at the front of the small meeting room instructed me to write my five favorite things about nature on the blue papers. Easy. Snowy mountains, waterfalls, Indian paintbrush, warm rain and quiet, fall mornings.

She then instructed me to write my five favorite hobbies on the yellow papers. Easy. Writing, reading, cooking, backpacking and yoga. Now, the green papers. I wrote down my five most prized possessions. Easy. My wedding ring, my baptism scriptures, the letter Dalton had me read before he proposed, my journals and my hard drive that contains all of my pictures, poems and essays.

The red paper strips were left. The woman asked us to think of the five people who meant the most to us and write them down. What? The five people that mean the most? Do I count God and Jesus in this list? What about my siblings? They won't fit! I had to make a decision though, so I wrote Dalton, Mom, Dad, Jesus and God.

The woman conducting the activity was darling. She was the mother of five and a hospice coordinator. I was spending my Friday night doing my last four hours of training required to become a hospice volunteer.

"I'm going to read you a story about you," she said. "For the next 15 minutes, this is your life."

In my new life I felt something in my stomach. It was hard and painful to touch. It got bigger. I denied what I knew it could be, but after telling my husband decided to go to the doctor. This was the beginning. I had to give away one slip of paper. Easy. I'll give away the snowy mountains. I like normal mountains just as well.

You have cancer, she said, you'll start treatment next week. I continued to give away slips of paper throughout my treatment. I easily handed off my wedding ring and most of my hobbies. I gave away the Indian paintbrush and the waterfalls, but kept the quiet mornings. I couldn't give away my photos or the five-page letter Dalton wrote me.

Your illness is terminal, she said. The treatments aren't working. I started to experience moments of panic as I realized I would soon need to leave my journals behind and my photos. I had to crumple up the strip that said "writing," realizing in my last days I wouldn't have the strength to put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. I pressed my lips together, trying not to get emotional, as I crumpled up my journals, photos and the letter Dalton wrote me. I couldn't let go of that quiet fall morning. I felt like letting go of that meant letting go of my connection with Earth. Crumpling that piece of paper up felt like saying goodbye. It felt like accepting death on a smaller scale. I started to understand.

In the end, I crumbled up "Mom" and "Dad" as I took my last breaths, and looked down at the three papers I had left. The hospice woman stood behind me for a moment, reached over my shoulder, took Dalton's name and crumpled it in her hand. I was left with two names "God" and "Jesus." Then, I died.

On my way home I thought about my sadness. Then I remembered my sadness was all for nothing. On the other side of this life I will still have my parents and Dalton. I will take with me my knowledge of this world, and heaven will be more beautiful and surreal than any earthly place in existence.

Most days I can't believe how lucky I am to know this. I believe I will die much like a woman I read about. With her daughters encircling her as she lay in bed, a sweet old woman look up at the corner of the room before she took her last breath. She breathed in and her eyebrows lifted, her mouth dropped open and she smiled wider than her daughters knew she could. Her eyes were filled with ethereal light as she gazed up and then exhaled. Her eyes gently closed. Her daughters believe a beautiful messenger entered the room then to take her home. This old woman knew it was only her beginning.

I'm so excited to share this sacred space with hospice patients as they cope with death in their last days. Whether or not these patients share my beliefs about death, I hope by some miracle I can help a few of them know peace.