Naked Neighbors and Noses (Texting Gone Wrong)

 We all have our texting mishaps. Sometimes I wonder if Hermes invented autocorrect, because there is just SO much opportunity for mayhem (and embarrassment). For example, my autocorrect is quite fond of cuss words, my mother-in-law's email address, and the word "tinnitus". Every so often, it seems to say, "Hey, you haven't used the word "tinnitus" in a sentence lately... so let's just throw it in here for fun... and maybe spice things up with a cuss word or two."

When it first started throwing out the t-word left and right, I had to look up what "tinnitus" meant. But then, in an ironic twist of fate, it has become an occasional symptom of my long haul covid. So I am pretty familiar with that word now. But I still rarely use it in a text: "Hey Annie! Just wanted you to know I am experiencing tinnitus! LOL Mom"

With my current phone, even when I happen to catch the typo in time to correct the word, my autocorrect nemesis says, "No, actually you can't really mean that word... what you really want to say is THIS," and then when I correct it again and say, "No, actually it IS this word," it continues to fight with me for some time. My autocorrect is quite stubborn, I have found. For example, it's still trying to get me to change my daughter Aerin's name, and comes up with all sorts of alternatives. ("That's a stupid name... what you really mean is...Aetinnitus.") 

But those frustrations aside, I have had a few rather spectacularly memorable Texting Fails that I thought I would share.

Several years ago, I served in our ward's Relief Society, with a handful of amazing ladies. We had a weekly "presidency meeting" which consisted of about 45 min of actual church coordination work, and 2 hrs 45 min of our own support group therapy for whatever was going on in our lives that needed to be hashed out. The ladies I worked with were wise and hilarious and insightful and supportive. I miss those meetings.

We were meeting one night, and for a reason I cannot quite recollect, it was at a bit different time or day or format. I was running late (not unusual), and feeling a bit stressed about being late (also not unusual). As I drove through my neighborhood, I saw our beloved fearless leader, the RS president Sheena, and her husband Jake. Part of their fence was down, and they were standing near the downed fence, talking with some neighbors. I couldn't tell if it had been driven through (spoiler: it had) or blown down, but it seemed to be a fairly recent and dramatic occurrence.

Trying to be A Helper, I used my phone's voice recognition to text the others to let them know that I was on my way and Sheena would be late. What I said into my phone was, "Hey I am on my way, but I just saw Sheena. Her fence was down and a bunch of neighbors were gathered around. It looks like she will be awhile." 

But what the text typed out was, "Hey I am on my way, but I just saw Sheena. Her pants were down and a bunch of neighbors were gathered around. It looks like she will be awhile."

Scandalous.

A second text fail had to do with another neighbor. My friend Steff had spent the week at Primary Children's Hospital with her son Charlie. Charlie was having dozens of seizures each day. His autism made things even more difficult, for him and for those trying to help him. It had been a really hard month for Steff, and there didn't seem to be a lot of answers, and my heart hurt for her. I wanted to serve and support, but felt rather helpless. So I prayed for her, Charlie and their family. I know firsthand the power and strength that prayer can bring. But even so, I wanted to do something besides praying. So I sent her a text. Just telling her I was thinking of and praying for Charlie, and that I was happy to help drive kids, drop off meals, or whatever. I ended the text with a row of hearts and praying hands emoji. 

But I made a Classic Blunder. Second only to "Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line."

I did not wear my reading glasses when texting emojis. 

So what Steff actually got was a heartfelt text followed by a row of hearts... and a few rows of noses. 

Yes. 

Noses.

Now in my defense, take a look at these emojis. Same general shape. Same general size. (See my point?)

👃👃👃👃🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Unfortunately, not the same general meaning. 

With all that Steff was shouldering that week, my text would not have been that helpful even with the proper emoji. But rows of noses left her a little puzzled, understandably.

It took me a few days before I realized what I'd done. I was sending her another text, and noticed all of the noses. Steff was gracious, as always, and we laughed. Since then, a few of my friends and sisters will occasionally send me nose emojis, and it always makes me smile. It's our new symbol for "I'm Praying For You," and perhaps, "Yes, You're A Dork, But I Still Love You".

Fast forward a few years. Charlie was once again in the hospital. And things were once again quite heavy for my sweet friend Steff and her husband Matt. In an attempt to be helpful, I got online and ordered a DoorDash gift card to be sent to her via text. From their many DoorDash Gift Card Messages, I selected just a generic one, since they didn't really seem to have anything that said, "I'm So Sorry Charlie's In The Hospital and That They Can't Figure Out These Terrible Seizures and I'm Sure You're Absolutely Exhausted So Perhaps This Can Help You Guys While You're Back and Forth Between Home and Hospital." Nope, no gift cards that said anything like that. 

I'm not quite sure how it happened, but somehow, between the time I selected the appropriate Generic DoorDash e-card, and I paid for said e-card, the layout got switched to a birthday card which read, in big colorful letters, "LET'S CELEBRATE!!"

And that's what got sent. To my friend. Who was exhausted and worried sick, at the hospital.

Not the message I was going for. 

... I'm just gonna blame it on the tinnitus. 

👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃

Waiting For Answers. (Covid 14 months in.) FAQ’s and FYI’s.

 

"Waiting for Answers" by Jenedy Paige

I've had several people ask me why I don’t talk more about being a long hauler, in person or on social media. That surprised me, because I feel like I talk about it incessantly. (Chad and my kids will back me up on this.) So I started about a month ago to try to put thoughts down to paper.

And I have realized 3 Things. 

#1  I am still trying to find that happy medium in between “fake it til’ you make it” and whining. I don’t want to be on either end. With most people, I just assume they don’t want to hear my health complaints or what my oxygen sat rates were that day. But unfortunately, if someone shows more than just polite interest, a switch flips and I go on and on about it. So trying to find the middle ground.

#2  In today’s Age of Outrage, everyone expects the world to see and speak to their pain, in the exact manner most meaningful to them. While being vulnerable and real and open are good and helpful things, individually and as a society, I also worry that we have an unrealistic expectation of what the world’s response should be to that pain. 

It can be isolating and lonely to have something SO BIG, which has turned my life upside down, not be seen or even thought valid by society. To be honest, no one completely understands, although Chad and my kids have the closest glimpse. And that’s not anyone’s fault. It’s just that we all have our unique experiences. Plus, Long Covid is a new and extremely complex thing. 

But the feelings of isolation I’ve experienced have made me realize how little I understand of other people’s troubles. Long Covid is my HARD. But my neighbor has a different HARD in her life, my co-worker has a different HARD in his life, and so on. And I see them at work or at the grocery store or church, and we smile and greet one another, but I know so little of their personal private battles. I have never lost a child, nor a spouse. I have never been in an abusive marriage. I have never been the victim of racial prejudice. I have never had to declare bankruptcy. The “never have I ever” list goes on and on. So while I can sympathize and mourn with those I encounter who struggle (meaning everyone), I don’t truly understand all that they are carrying, other than that which they choose to share with me. 

It makes me want to hug everyone I see.

Because life can be hard.

#3  For as long as I can remember, writing is how I process. The act of wrangling ideas and feelings and pinning them to paper is therapeutic for me. 

But writing about Long Covid is daunting. It’s just this massive,unwieldy, shape-shifter. In trying to overcome the symptoms of this bewildering disease, I feel like I’ve been wrestling in mud for an eternity, and I’m exhausted and dirty and bleeding. I’ll have a moment where I think I’m close to a takedown, and quicker than anything, I’m suddenly pinned on my back, a mouthful of mud. I punch and kick and wriggle out, but before I can get my feet stabilized, it has me back in a half nelson. 

So it’s hard to catch my breath, let alone process.

But I am learning things on this journey. I shared some spiritual insights in this blog. But I thought I would maybe answer a few basic FAQ’s I get. Read on if you’re curious, bail if you’re not. (Either is okay.)

Frequently Asked Questions

What Symptoms Have You Experienced?  Ugh. After the acute stage of Covid, I have channeled through a very lengthy list of symptoms. I cringe when I start to talk about them, because there are so many, it sounds made up. So here’s a link provided by the CDC and another one by mayo clinic. Some symptoms have gone away completely; some I am managing better; some have gotten worse. 

Starting at about 4 weeks after getting sick, I have cycled through: Bacterial infections, sinus infections, mild pneumonia, loss of smell & taste 2x but came back both times, vertigo, general dizziness, weird insect buzzing in my ears, numbness/tingling in hands & feet, tonsils were huge and infected for 5 months until we removed them, earaches, stomach and intestinal issues, chest tightness and pain, short of breath, crushing fatigue, weird spots on my tongue for a week, occasional brain fog, hand and leg tremors, weird rashes, body aches, joint aches, and a host of fancy words and acronyms that I now understand: dysautanomia, POTS, orthostatic intolerance, hypoxia, PEM, postviral fatigue syndrome, tachycardia, dyspnea, etc.

(See? Told you it sounds made up.)

Another thing to keep in mind. While there are common things they are seeing in Long Haulers, my list of symptoms is going to be different than another person's. Just like one person's bout with the actual Covid illness varies widely from another person's.

What Are Your Symptoms Now? For the past several months, the main concerns are low oxygen levels, being short of breath, exhaustion, flu-like body aches, sporadic chest pain, spastic heartrate that shoots up suddenly (tachycardia), POTS, and PEM (Post Exertional Malaise). I do also have occasional bouts of brain fog, but it's hard to know if that's Covid or Menopause or Age or Me.

What Causes Someone to Become a Long Hauler? There are a lot of studies trying to figure that out. One theory is that these issues are due to my sympathetic nervous system being out of whack. Some scientists have theorized that it's caused by a "maladaptive stress response triggered by the body in response to the initial Covid-19 infection." Basically, that your body gets stuck in that "fight or flight" high alert freakout. Other findings have to do with compromised mitochondrial function, micro-clots in the blood, or damaged nerve fibers. I think this NY Times article does a good job of talking about current theories and findings. But it will likely be outdated by the time I post this.

What’s The Hardest Symptom? The obvious one is the low oxygen. It's the most dangerous one. But I have been doing some respiratory therapy exercises for the past 6 weeks, and - fingers crossed - I am starting to see improvement. I actually think the most difficult thing for me is the PEM. Prior to getting hit with it, I would have heard someone describe PEM, and been cynical. Because it goes against logic and frankly sounds like a lame excuse to be lazy.  So I don’t like to talk about it, even with caring people. But it's a struggle. In normal circumstances, you do a little one day, then a little more the next, and slowly and steadily build on that. But PEM turns that on its head. I keep hearing “pacing, pacing, pacing.” But I don’t know how. If I do too little, I contribute to the deconditioning and weight gain problem. If I do too much, I am in bed and go backwards. PEM doesn’t make logical sense to me, but it keeps biting me in the butt.  

Are You Getting Better? I’ve realized there is only one Socially Appropriate Response to this question, and it is “Why Yes, Yes I Am!!” Any other response, or wavering, is usually met with pep talks, and comments about how I look better, and other attempts to convince me that I just hadn’t realized it but I am indeed much better. It's because people want me to feel better, and are trying to be positive, which I appreciate. But sometimes it doesn’t feel like I am getting better.  

If my husband is nearby when someone asks that question, he has started answering for me. He’ll say, “Yes, she is.” and he’ll remind me about how I used to not be able to drive or really even leave the house, and that I am working more hours, and my throat is healed.

And here’s the thing – he is absolutely 100% right. I am better, in many ways. But because I still regularly feel pretty awful and can’t do the things that I want to do, and because this is still interfering so much with my day-to-day life, and because almost weekly I have to bail on things I planned, it’s sometimes hard to recognize the progress. 

“YES” is not only the Right Answer, but it is a truthful one. It’s just that it’s a baby-steps, one-step-forward-two-steps-back kind of YES. So forgive me if there’s a pause before I answer that question.

But I saw you the other day and you seemed fine? I probably was, in that moment. Because I have hours and even days when I feel decent. (Another indication I’m getting better.) But what most people don’t recognize is that if I am visible and in public, I am having a good moment. You don’t see me or hear from me when I’m not. I go to church, and then come home and crash. I go to the store or the office, and it’s my Activity for the Day. Even on Good Days, I have to rest after any type of excursion. I hope to improve that, but right now that’s how it is. 

Are You Sure this is Related to Covid and not just other viruses and illnesses? Yep. Started with Covid. While some of the early things like sinus infections and ear infections might have just been add-on viruses, none of the issues I am currently dealing with were factors prior to Covid, AND they align with the “most common symptoms” lists in any Long Covid study.

Could You Have Gotten this From the Vaccine? Nope. Symptoms hit 4 months prior to getting vaccinated, and right as I was recovering from Covid. Similar to most people, I felt crummy for a few days after receiving the first two vaccines, but otherwise, the vaccines did not make my symptoms improve or worsen long term. I got the booster, and will happily get any other shots that might give me a chance of getting over this or preventing another bout. 

Are You Angry with the Person Who Gave You Covid? I don’t know who shared Covid with me, but I’m certain they didn’t have any clue they were doing so. Covid is my enemy. Not people. I think we sometimes forget that.

But what about (fill in the blank of Covid-related offense)…? I repeat. People are not my enemy. Covid is my enemy. Just don’t try to tell me that the last 14 months of my life are made up. (That annoys me.)

Are You Pro-Vaccine?  Yes. However, I am not angry with people who choose NOT to get vaccinated. We each have our unique perspectives and histories, which impact our decisions. I believe the reports that some people have responded poorly to the vaccine. And I respect that others may have other experiences that influence their feelings. I am a strong pro-vaccine advocate, because had I received the vaccine prior to getting sick, evidence indicates I would've had a much lower chance of it triggering Long Covid. And while I respect others’ personal feelings on vaccinations, I do get irritated when they invalidate my experience.

Could Stress Be Doing This To You? Stress lowers our immune system and can bring a host of health issues. But so far, there is no scientific evidence linking stress with a higher chance of getting Long Covid. One study indicated that those who jumped back into a fast-paced routine too quickly after getting Covid appeared to have a higher incidence of Long Covid. So I guess according to that study, being an on-the-go type of personality might have contributed. And as mentioned above, one theory is that my body got stuck in the "fight or flight" mode during Covid. So in that respect, I guess your body’s over-stressed response is a factor.

Were you really sick when you had Covid? No. It felt like the flu or a really bad chest cold. I was never hospitalized. My oxygen stayed between 92-89, which isn’t terrible.

Could Your Weight Be Doing This To You? I gained 20 lbs in one year, which is not healthy for anyone. And the extra weight is certainly adding to my issues. But it is not the root cause.

Could You Just Be Depressed? On hard days I do feel depressed, but luckily, so far, I am not suffering from clinical depression.

Why Aren’t You Getting Over This?  Please ask God, and then let me know.

Are People Getting Cured from Long Covid?  Yes, and no. One study that looked at Long Haulers 18 months out said that 2% reported being back to their pre-covid selves, 22% said they were significantly better than they were at 12 months, 31% said they were slightly better, and the rest said they were worse or the same. My Long Covid clinic mentioned they are starting to see people manage symptoms better and significantly improve between 15-18 months out. So I am praying that I will be in that category. 

Is There a Cure? Not yet. It’s super complicated. But as mentioned, many are seeing their symptoms improve eventually, over time. Also, there are a lot of studies going on right now, and they are starting to see specific differences, for instance, visible differences in the lungs and in the blood between long haulers and those who successfully got over Covid. So I am hopeful that there will be a cure someday. 

Are You Still on Oxygen? Just attempting to wean off this week. Fingers crossed.

What’s The Hardest Thing? Depends upon the moment. But probably three of the top ones would be: 1) Often having to cancel plans despite how much I want to participate in said plans. The lack of control is difficult. 2) The unknown. Not being able to make a linear Recovery Plan, or have a proven cure. 3) PACING.

What Do You Wish People Knew? That I am sorry for whatever HARD thing they are going through in their lives.

And if you read all of that, congratulations, you now have an advanced degree in Long Covid According to Christy.

Becoming Whole - Spiritual Takeaways from Long Covid

Someone Hath Touched Me by Angela Johnsen - ajsculptures.com,

featured in Thanksgiving Point's Light of the World garden

As I think about the last 14 months, it's a bit overwhelming. My life has been turned upside down by Long Covid, and so many things that I took for granted are not possible at the moment. It’s been hard. But I still hold out hope that I will be able to once again enjoy a level of activity and health that I have temporarily lost. 

Like most trials, it has reawakened me to the fact that I do not control my universe. It has driven me to my knees. Praying for health & strength no longer is something that automatically rolls off the tongue. I desperately need both, but even more so, I need discernment, wisdom & guidance. The medical community is still valiantly working to try to understand Long Covid, and no one really knows right now what to do to fix it (although unhelpful advice is plentiful). I know God understands my body and this complicated disease, and I need His direction, to know what I can do on my end to promote health and healing.

Through this process, I have been taught. And I want to record a few of the lessons, so that I can remember them on discouraging days, or even if/when miraculously my life has resumed and I am filled with health and energy once again. So this is more for me than for anyone else who might read it.

“Thy Faith Hath Made Thee Whole” 

I’ve counted 8x when the Savior uses this phrase with people in the scriptures. I have pondered its meaning. I’ve contemplated what those individuals did, and how they exerted their faith, to receive their blessings of healing. I’ve thought about what it means to be declared “whole”. And I have wondered about the delicate balance of having the faith to be healed, along with the submissiveness to say, “Thy Will Be Done” and “But if not…”  

(Sidenote: maybe at some point I will add all of the scriptures and talks I have studied as footnotes in the bottom… but until then, you can search on your own.)

Finding that balance is something that I prayed about prior to the October '21 session of General Conference. I prayed for weeks beforehand that I would find some guidance, and I believe that prayer was answered. Many of the talks spoke to me, enlightened my mind and strengthened my heart, but two stood out in what they had to say about that tricky faith/submissiveness balance: “Remember Thy Suffering Saints” by Elder Anthony Perkins, and “Is There No Balm in Gilead? By Elder Brent Nielson.  

There were several insights I gained, but the most important one was that it's not about having faith in an ACT - in my case, the act of being healed physically from this bewildering, lengthy freakout of my autonomic nervous system. Having faith in God doing exactly what we want Him to do is a recipe for disappointment, and I don’t believe He particularly enjoys being thought of as a vending machine. But having faith in Jesus Christ - in His goodness, His wisdom, His ability to heal us not only physically, but also mentally, emotionally and spiritually, is what the focus should be. And I believe that trust and hope being riveted to HIM is what granted these individuals in the scriptures Godly favor and miracles.

 

“Be of Good Cheer; Thy Sins Be Forgiven Thee”.

I’ve always loved the “Raise the Roof” miracle of Jesus’ ministry. Jesus is teaching in Capernaum. The word’s getting out about Him and He is teaching in a home sardine-packed with people listening. A young paralytic was brought to the house by the very best kind of friends. They brought him to Jesus, to be healed. (That concept touches me.) But they can’t get him through the packed doorway. So being creative and persistent, they went up on the roof, uncovered it, and lowered him down to Jesus.  

Jesus responds by telling the young man his sins were forgiven. That is the first miracle.

The Pharisees criticize Jesus, telling Him He does not have the power to forgive sins. So as a sign of His power, He tells the young man, “Take up thy bed and walk.” And the young man picks up his bed and runs away, rejoicing, with his friends. The second miracle.

In studying this, I was reminded that Jesus FIRST forgave the young man’s sins. That was the main miracle. I think this was because the Savior wanted to emphasize the fact that the miracle of the Atonement is the most important and wondrous and powerful and eternal and mind-blowing miracle of them all. And I am a recipient of that.

I want Jesus to heal my Long Covid illness. Immediately. But with this story, I was reminded that I experience spiritual healing daily as I repent and am forgiven. I receive spiritual healing each week as I take the sacrament. I partake of God’s grace continuously. It is truly miraculous.  And it is the most important and wonderful healing I could possibly partake in. So I glory and rejoice in that. Regardless of my health.

A therapist author that I love, Wendy Ulrich, quoted the dean of the school of nursing at BYU as saying, “The Lord never promised us 'cure'. He promised us 'healing'.” I'm starting to recognize the difference.

Finding Middle Ground

My sister-in-law sent me the link to a fireside given by Jared Halverson. In this talk, he discussed how the gospel is filled with opposites. He had coined some phrase relating to these opposites, but I forget what it was. The examples he used were: faith and works; mercy and justice; gaining knowledge and being like a child; and so on. He explained that Jesus resides in the center of those opposite virtues. He is the Perfect Balance of all virtues. Yet as humans, we tend to be on the extremes. The example he used was that one person may be really good at speaking truth, but can occasionally be unkind and cruel with their words. Another person may be good at speaking with love, but struggle with being honest. 

A few days after listening to this talk, I was reading my scriptures, and felt impressed that prior to Long Covid, I had been at an extreme. Always busy, always moving, cramming a million things into a single day. There were benefits - I did things that brought me joy and I tried to serve others. I worked hard. I got a lot done in a day. But there were also downsides - to my health, and to my ability to Be Still. I would get hit with gnarly headaches or chronic sinus infections, and realize, “Oh, I need to take better care of myself. I need to sleep more, eat better, etc.” I would do better for a bit. And then as soon as I felt better, I easily slid right back into high gear, 24/7. 

Long Covid has forced me to the other end of the extreme. I am sedentary. I have gained a lot of weight. I am super limited in what I can do in a day. I can’t serve people in ways that I want to. I feel turned inward, with a lot of time and energy spent thinking about my health and evaluating symptoms and “This was a good day…. How do I replicate it?” and “This was a bad day. How do I avoid others like it?” It doesn’t feel good to be this self-absorbed. It feels icky to me. And I often feel frustrated.

In this moment of reflection, the Spirit whispered to me… “You used to be on one extreme. Now you are on the other. Perhaps you can learn important tools from this, so that when you are feeling better (!!!), you can be more in the center.” 

My friend Tami Molen, who is heroic and wise, and who has fought lupus for 3 decades, said to me, “Health problems are a blessing that slows this mortal life down, so that we see and feel those heavenly touches that accompany every day.” I am trying to better recognize those heavenly touches, and pray I can continue to do so.

I am hopeful that some day I will be able to once again bike and hike and take long walks and ski. That I will be able to make plans without it being a 50/50 chance I can pull it off. That I can just feel better overall. But I also hope that if/when that happens, I can better protect my sleep. That I can still take time to be still, meditate, ponder and breathe. That I will take time to sit with my husband and watch a game, because, it turns out, he actually really likes it when I do that rather than running in and out of the room with laundry or the vacuum or other projects. (Who knew?) I hope I can serve people, but also feel okay about saying “No” when needed. 

I hope I can get nearer to the center.

Reaching for Him

Another scripture story I have spent a lot of time studying is the Woman with the Issue of Blood. She is told, “Be of good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole.” I have pondered what she did to be healed. She'd spent 12 years searching for medical answers. (Please oh please let it not be that long for me.) She'd spent all of her money. (It’s definitely becoming clearer how that can happen.) She’d done everything in her power to find healing. It’s not like she just was waiting around, wallowing.

But then she did two things that made the difference. She went where Jesus would be. And she reached for Him. 

Jesus did the healing. That is completely and totally in His power and at His discretion. 

But I, like this woman, can try my hardest to reach for Him.

I also can try to be where I am most likely to feel near to Him. And this isn’t just physical places, like church or the temple, although I do feel near to Him in those places quite often. It has to do with what media I am consuming. The conversations I am having. It has to do with the state of my heart. Since I have been trying to be more aware of this, I notice that there are times that I leave the path where He can be encountered, and go off into a stray alley here or there. Maybe it’s by ruminating too long on someone else’s faults and mistakes. Maybe it’s by getting distracted by things that don’t matter. Regardless, I am starting to be a little more sensitive to recognizing when I’m in an alley, and often have to mentally "walk" myself back to where I can draw near to Him. Where I can touch the hem of his robe. Where I am most likely to experience His miracles and His healing.

Becoming Whole

One definition for whole is “to be complete; entire; unabridged.”  I’m realizing, 14 months into this journey, that I am becoming MORE through this. 

I have recognized that while this is my HARD, everyone I meet has their own HARD they are dealing with, and that I cannot truly understand their private battles. It draws my heart out to others and makes me want to hug everyone I see.

Over the past 14 months, I have been the recipient of so many kindnesses… so much goodness. I have been reminded that despite what the media portrays or incites, the majority of humanity is Good and Kind.

I have realized my absolute and intense need for Jesus to walk this path of life with me. I need Him not only for salvation, but for daily bread.

I have realized that as deeply as I mourn good health, life is still a beautiful gift that I still too often take for granted. My struggle with shallow breathing and low o2 levels has reminded me that the ability to breathe o2 in and co2 out, minute by minute, day by day, year by year, is a miracle and a gift from God.

I have realized that I have been given an opportunity to change. To evolve. To become more Whole.

I hope I can, with His help.

Reverence Does NOT Begin with Me (Can I have an AMEN?) (Part 2)

I was not the ideal Sunday School class attendee as a child. Or as a teenager. It wasn't rebelliousness so much as chattiness. I was A Talker. 

Shocking, but true.

One year around Christmastime, when I was probably in 5th or 6th grade, I was sitting in church next to my older sister Jill. As a bit of background, Jill always peeked and knew what we all were getting for Christmas. I'm pretty darn sure she still peeks. (Hope you hide things well, Doug!) After one year of her showing me everything I was getting for Christmas before the big day, I realized I actually like the surprise and so resisted the urge to peek. 

But as soon as Jill realized that I didn't actually want to know what Santa was bringing, the more intently she wanted to tell me. She would chase me around the house yelling out gifts while I ran away, hands over my ears, screaming at the top of my lungs, "I CAN'T HEAR YOU! I CAN'T HEAR YOU! LALALALALALALA!" 

It became a thing.

What does this have to do with church? Well, Jill decided sacrament meeting was the perfect time to pounce. I'm sure she planned this. So in the middle of the meeting, she leaned over, and told me, "I am giving you a gold stretchy belt for Christmas." My reaction was immediate. "NOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed. Loudly.

Oops.

It wasn't that I was unhappy with the present. I was unhappy that the surprise had been spoiled.

My Dad, who was sitting up on the stand, glared at us. My Mom, who was sitting a few kids away from us, glared. The rest of the congregation stared with curiosity, wondering what I so vehemently disagreed with in the meeting. And Jill laughed and laughed.

Almost as hard as she laughed the time I fell down, sprawled flat, in the middle of the busy church foyer, as a teenager. Whenever we bring that particular incident up, Jill is quick to add that she got in trouble for laughing at me and it wasn't fair because after all who wouldn't laugh at a person (in a dress I might add) falling flat in the middle of a crowd. 

So Personal Memo to Jill: I forgive you for laughing -- I likely would have too, had I not been the one flopped awkwardly across the burnt orange foyer carpet  -- and I'm sorry you got in trouble. But I still don't want to know what you are giving me for Christmas this year.

In addition to causing occasional distractions through the years, I also was a very giggly kid. Up through high school, I was always nervous to pray publicly, because often I would erupt in giggles. Nerves? Silliness? Immaturity? Doomed to be a Heathen? I'm not sure. But it has unfortunately continued, decades after adolescence. 

There was the time, not too long ago, when I, along with the other members of our Stake Relief Society presidency, were meeting with our Stake President and one of the high councilors. 

Our RS presidency had actually met earlier that night, and there had been a lot of laughter. I had shared how I wore two different shoes that day and didn't notice it until around 3 pm. (Not that unusual of a wardrobe malfunction, actually rather ho-hum, which you already know if you've read my past blog posts. But it did take an extraordinarily long time for me to figure it out.)  It is at that point in my conversation with Susan, Tracy, and Regina that an infamous exchange happened. 

I said, "I really need a wardrobe consultant. Or a professional dresser. Or even just someone to stand sentry and tell me when my clothes are on inside out or my shoes don't match." 

My sassy pal Susan said, "Christy! You have one! It's called a mirror... USE IT!" 

That set us off and we laughed until we cried. At the end of the meeting, Susan made the mistake to ask me to pray. It did not go well. I burst into laughter halfway in and couldn't finish.

I've gotta believe that God just sort of rolls his eyes and goes with it. He knows me too well to be shocked by my occasional lack of piety. But I do feel a little bad about it. I mean, I'm attempting to talk with God, my Heavenly Father, and that should, in theory, generate respect, reverence, awe and gratitude.

So my laughing attack was a Prayer Fail. But we moved on to the next meeting with the Stake President. And then my heart sank when he asked me to pray, "to start off our meeting with the right spirit." I was pretty sure I couldn't contribute to that goal. I still had spillover giggles. I knew I would break. And I wasn't sure how God would feel about two botched prayers.

My stake president was and is such a wonderful man. I enjoyed a very warm relationship with him. But by nature he skews pretty solemn; pretty serious. I knew he wouldn't appreciate a prayer meltdown.

So I said to him, "I'm sorry President, but apparently, tonight I reverted back to junior high school, and I had a complete giggle attack during the last prayer I attempted. You might want to ask someone else." 

He looked at me and flatly said, "Well, here's your chance to redeem yourself."

Alrightythen.

So I started. And within about 3 or 4 words I snort-giggled and just sat there, silently and inanely laughing, tears streaming down my face. I didn't want to laugh, but I couldn't help it. I was loopy.

So I opened my eyes to just Call It, throw in the prayer towel, and tell him to ask someone more mature to "start us off in the right Spirit." But as I cracked my eyes open, I saw that he was Not Amused. He sat there with his eyes closed and his arms folded and an expression hinting that a Time Out was not out of the question. It immediately generated the desired Scared Straight reaction in me, and terrified, I was able to quickly sober up and finish the prayer. Probably not one of my best or most heartfelt, but I got through the rest of the prayer without losing it. 

I wondered if we'd all have a little chuckle about it afterwards. But I was wrong. "Okay, let's begin. What's first on your agenda," he said, all business. 

I was quite reverent for the rest of that meeting.

A few months later, Chad was in a meeting with the same Stake President. It was a meeting with all of the women and men leaders in the stake, to be exact. 

Quick background here, to set the stage. Chad likes to go to sleep watching TV.  Conversely, I can't sleep if there is a show on, even if I have absolutely zero interest in it. Eyes closed, I will still follow the plot and the dialogue and stay awake doing so, whether I want to or not. So we never have a television in our bedroom. As a result, Chad watches shows on his phone as he goes to sleep. You'd think his choice might be something relatively calming, like sportscaster voiceovers of a golf game. But no, he tends to watch shows like NCIS. Nothing like a little serial killer intrigue to send you off to sweet dreams. 

He'd fallen asleep watching NCIS the night before, and I guess the show was just "sleeping" on his phone. Because as the meeting started, he signed into his phone in order to put it on silent, but it instantly went to the show. And it just so happened that the part of the show it went to involved one of the characters calling out, "IT'S THE WHOLE DAMN LIST!" 

So that rang out loud and clear. Then, as Chad tried to mute and dismiss the show, it got stuck there, due to spotty internet. So it just kept repeating, "IT'S THE WHOLE DAMN LIST!" over and over as he mumbled and fumbled.

He glanced at the Stake President, who was once again Not Amused. In fact, no one in the room cracked a joke or a smile, although Chad says there appeared to be a few quiet snickers disguised as coughs. 

"Can't....... Get......... Phone.......To........Turn..........Off," Chad sheepishly said as his phone continued to throw out the swears. 

"Let's begin our meeting." was the response. Apparently our stake president was a fan of "Don't Reward Bad Behavior By Acknowledging It." 

Coincidentally? Or not? Chad was released from his stake young men's calling the next month. I stayed in for a bit longer, but it was definitely not because I positively contributed to "starting the meeting off in the right spirit".

So there was time for more prayer mishaps. 

One time my RS presidency members and I were having a training meeting with one of the wards in our stake. The training was in the evening, and it was always a challenge to get home from work, get changed, and make it on time. So I rushed into the meeting, a bit flustered, late as usual. It had been A Day. They'd waited for me. So we began the meeting and were chatting a bit, getting to know the other ladies. Then Susan asked, "Okay, Tracy, why don't you give us the spiritual thought for tonight." 

I interrupted, "Shouldn't we pray first?"

"What?" Susan asked with confusion.

"Shouldn't we say the opening prayer before Tracy's spiritual thought?"

It got quiet.

"Christy... we just said the prayer 2 minutes ago. And in fact, you chimed in with "Amen". 

Oops. Obviously I had not been very focused during the prayer.

Tracy's spiritual thought for the night was on Reverence, and The Importance of Listening to Prayers. And Not Giggling During Them. And Not Screaming NOOOOOO During Church, or Broadcasting Cuss Words In Stake Executive Planning Meetings. And Not Falling Flat in the Foyer.  

Actually, it wasn't. But it should have been. Because she then would have covered the Whole Damn List.

Reverence Does NOT Begin with Me. (Part 1)

(What Sunshine, Dinosaurs, and Potatoes Have In Common.)

I have attended church regularly throughout my life. I'm actually in a point in life where I love going to church. I no longer have to wrestle unruly toddlers or soothe cranky babies, I no longer have to pick up spilled crayons from under the pew or try to locate a child's lost shoe that has inexplicably disappeared sometime in the past 45 minutes. (PSA to Mothers of Young Children: IT GETS BETTER.) Being at church helps me rejoice in Jesus, motivates me to be better, and knits my heart to my ward (congregation) family. And most days, it fills my soul bucket. 

But reverence has been a bit of a problem my entire life. And sadly, I'm not really growing out of that.

For much of the past 10 years, I have served in Relief Society, which is the women's organization. First on a ward level, and then representing 12 wards on the stake level. I loved loved LOVED the women that I got to work and interact with in this calling. Amazing women! Rubbing shoulders with, and learning from them was a great blessing. However, I really should always be relegated to the sidelines and not front and center. Because things just tend to go south when I am in the spotlight.

Case in point. There was the time I was conducting a meeting, and it was the first time we had all met together as a ward. (During my four years in the ward RS presidency, we changed boundaries 3x, so 4 different configurations.) Anyway, as it was our first time meeting together, a large portion of these women had not yet been introduced to me or to my Christy Moments. 

I started off with a rah-rah (but sincere) speech about how excited we were as a presidency to get to know everyone, and how grateful we were for the opportunity to love & serve & learn from them. I then announced the rest of the agenda:

"We'll have an opening prayer by (name). And then our opening hymn will be page 227,"There is Sunshine in My Hole." 

Except the name of the song is "There is Sunshine in My Soul." (Not to be confused with hole.)

It might have slid by with only a handful of people noticing. But then my pal Emily, who was the 2nd counselor, incredulously called out from her seat, "Did you just say 'Sunshine in my HOLE'?" And things went downhill from there.

I told my family about the faux pas, and because we all have the sense of humor of a 3rd grader, we laughed and laughed. My nieces and nephews got in on the joke. My brother Spencer alone told 3 or 4 dozen of his closest friends. 

So now I have ruined that hymn for at least 95 people. And by sharing it on my blog, I've probably hit 100. I actually feel a little bad about that. But giggles and craned heads ensue whenever any of us are in a meeting and they start singing that song. And my phone blows up with texts whenever the Tab Choir sings it. 

I think I'll have everyone sing that at my funeral. It only seems appropriate.

But for the record, if we find that "There is Sunshine In My Soul" doesn't make the cut for the New Hymnbook, you can blame me.

I think during that very same RS meeting (or one right around that same time period), I had another Christy Moment. I was holding a tupperware container filled with 100 tiny little slips of paper. Sheena, our fearless president (whom I adore), had painstakingly written every single woman's name on an individual slip of paper.  Each week, we would draw a name from the bowl, and that sister would take some time to tell everyone about herself the following week via the "Friendship Basket".

I was holding the container in preparation for that week's drawing, and I'm not sure exactly what happened. But suddenly, the bowl went flying, and all of those little papers went flying into the air. They then slowly drifted down, like a ticker tape confetti parade, right in church. And I found myself on my hands and knees, in front of everyone, picking up every last scrap of paper and wishing we had used a different method of choosing people. And Sheena was wishing she had used a different method of picking a 1st Counselor.   

I'm sure the Stake RS President could relate with Sheena. When I was called into the Stake RS Presidency, the poor president, my pal Susan, had no idea what she was in for... at least until one of our very first meetings. I thought I should warn the presidency of a few of my limitations. As a way of introduction, I told these ladies, "So I am really good at helping set up or clean up or anything else you might need me to do. But I am TERRIBLE at planning activities or events. For instance, I wouldn't have the slightest clue of how many pans of funeral potatoes would be required to serve 100 people."

Well, that's what I meant to say.

Instead, I said, "For instance, I wouldn't have any idea of how many baked potatoes would be required to serve 100 people."

There was a pregnant pause, the other three ladies looked at me in confusion, and my pal Julie said, "Um.... wouldn't that be 100 potatoes?"

Noted.

And now you (and I) know. 100 potatoes for 100 people. Go figure.

Speaking of Julie, she's one of those people that I really cannot sit near -- (Or within eyeshot. Or within earshot. Or really within a mile. ) -- during an event requiring a serious or reverent or professional tone. (Read: No Giggling Allowed.) So that was often problematic, as most of our interactions together happened to be during church meetings. 

One time we were visiting with the presidency of a ward in our stake. While driving to make some visits, somehow the topic came around to my dear friends Kaleigh and Taylor who have a pet snapping turtle. Except my mind completely went blank, and for whatever reason, it could not pull up the phrase "snapping turtle."

"They have the COOLEST pet," I said, "It's a ----shoot.... what is the name...I'm spacing it.... "

And then, trying to narrow things down, I said thoughtfully, "Hmmmm.... It's not a dinosaur...."

Noted.

Julie immediately said, "Well I would hope not!" She then said, straight-faced, "I'm so glad you clarified that though. Because "dinosaur" was at the very top of my list of Possible Pets your friends might have. So it's a good thing we got that crossed off the list, because that's one of the first pets I would've guessed"

We then laughed until we cried. For the next 1.5 hours. 

Throughout the rest of our meeting, we were completely and utterly useless. We would pull it together only to snort-explode back into tears & laughter. (#sorrySusan)

It's apparently one of those "you had to be there" moments. Because even recently, years after the fact, we were trying to tell Julie's husband about it, and we both were laughing so hard we could hardly get the words out. And for some absurd reason, he was NOT crying and gasping for air and looking for the nearest restroom.

Just know if you ever need to break me, simply whisper to me, "It's NOT a dinosaur..." and I will come completely undone.

Speaking of breaks, it's probably time for one. While it would be nice if these were my only Major Church Reverence Breakdown Incidents, they are not. So stay tuned for Part 2. 

Seven Seconds, and Naked Cartwheels.

First, I would like to make something perfectly clear. I have never done a cartwheel, naked, in front of the TV. But Chad's family thought for years that I had. 

We'll get to that later.

My parents really liked sports. Particularly BYU sports and any game their child happened to be playing at the time. I would occasionally inwardly squirm at my mom's loud commentary on how she 'didn't know why the coach insists on playing that kid, he always misses his shots.'  Or my Dad holding his eyeglasses up and hollering to the ref, "Need these?"  But in a warped, "I've Become My Parents" twist, to my embarrassment, when watching my kids play ball, the Peppy Parent would come out and I'd find myself a-hollering. 

Usually it wasn't at the refs. It was just a constant stream of Helpful Tips to the Team, as if they might forget to BOX OUT or play DEFENSE if I didn't yell it. (#you'rewelcome)

I have a difficult enough time remembering the appropriate order of things (Think First. Speak Second.) in normal day-to-day life. But when my kids were playing sports, it was worse than normal.

My sideline chatter often got me in trouble. One that I still feel bad about, years later, is that time when Chad filmed our daughter Aerin's high school basketball game. And gave a version to the coach WITH audio. I do not know what I said, but I must have had some less-than-Christlike-commentary, based upon the coldness that the coach and some of his parent friends exhibited afterwards.  My weak excuse is that she was my first and I got better at not being an obnoxious parent with subsequent years and children. But still. It makes me sad that I said anything unkind, and I cannot laugh about it.

However, there are other incidents that we laugh a lot about, which have become part of our oft-repeated Family Lore. 

Like the time I was watching Morgan play on a comp basketball team. We were in a high school gym that had the scoreboard made up of the red bulb lights. We were at a weird angle to the scoreboard, and it was difficult to see. At least that's the excuse I use to make myself feel a bit better.

At the end of the game, I looked at the scoreboard clock, and the time was running out. There were only 7 seconds remaining. Yet our team was just nonchalantly dribbling the ball down the court. Obviously they were not paying attention to the timeclock. In the Helpful Tips Fan Mode referenced above, I screamed at the top of my lungs, "SEVEN SECONDS!!!"

My daughter Aerin, who was sitting next to me, turned and said, exasperated, "Until What??!!" A few others in front of me turned and looked at me with curiousity. 

It was at that point that Aerin showed me that there was something like 8 minutes and 7 seconds left. Not 7 seconds. And it was not even close to the end of the game. I'm not sure why I was so confused. Part of me wanted to yell an addendum like, "SEVEN SECONDS.....UNTIL YOU HAVE 8 MINUTES LEFT...... AND BY THE WAY, DON'T FORGET TO BOX OUT!"  

But for once in my life I stayed quiet. 

I was quite reverent, in fact, for the rest of that game. (#Reverencebeginswithme) (Except for when it doesn't.)

In another stellar Fan moment, I was watching Aerin play high school basketball. Our school, Lehi, was playing Grantsville. At the beginning of the game, when they lined up for the Tip Off, the dreaded Peppy Parent came out, and I yelled encouragingly, "ALRIGHT, LET'S GO ALTA!!!"

Alta is the high school I attended, something like 25 yrs earlier. 

Apparently once a Hawk, always a Hawk.

Because I had picked a time for my outburst when the gym was relatively quiet, and then there was a slight delay in the jump ball, it kind of echoed throughout the gym. Lots of people seemed to hear it. There was a pregnant pause as people processed the fact that I was cheering for a team that was NOT actually playing this match. But then one by one, heads turned to look at me. It was like the wave, only with heads turning, row by row, up the bleachers to where I sat. 

Had I been smart, I would have turned and looked behind me, at the idiot cheering for a random unrelated team. But I think I have already proved that my brain was not razor sharp that day.

After that, my kids often chose to sit with friends at the games. Or strangers. Or the opposite team. Or the opposite team's band. Just as long as it distanced them from their mom. (#sorrykids) 

Chad is a big sports fan. Particularly football and basketball. He played football for a year in college. He's coached little league for all but 2 of the past 20 years. Chad is also a very FOCUSED person. I learned back in high school that it was not a good idea to try to have any sort of a conversation with him on Game Day. In college, I learned to not expect interaction for the entire week leading up to a game. And after we were married, I learned that the same passion and focus he had when he played was now just directed at watching the college football game on the TV screen.

Shortly after we were married, while poking fun at his obsession and laser focus, I told his family that when a college football game was on the TV, I could do a cartwheel naked and he would simply tell me that I was blocking the screen. I was speaking theoretically. It was an exaggeration, of course. At least I meant it to be. I never actually tested the theory. 

Because I'm just not that good at cartwheels.  

But his family took me literally. And for years, they thought I made a practice of cartwheeling around our tiny duplex buck naked. And that Chad simply took no notice. I think they were a bit disappointed when, years later, that little myth was cleared up. (Perhaps Chad was a little disappointed as well.) 

Although whether he would have noticed or not is still up in the air.

However, my expectations for Chad's undivided attention have mellowed through the years. I try to keep the interruptions to a minimum when he's watching a big game. (Which in our world means 75 interruptions instead of 7500. #you'rewelcomedear)  

And every so often, I'll join him on the couch to watch the big game. And to remind the football team to BOX OUT.  

"My, don't you look (pause).. SPARKLY?" (Makeup Mishaps, Part 2)

So now it's time for a continuation of Beauty Blunders by yours truly, Part 2 of our Makeup Mishaps series. Some of these unfortunate events are due to plain old dumb luck. Others had more to do with dumb choices. 

For instance, it's completely my fault that I turned into Quasimodo one fateful evening.

I was experimenting with essential oils, having heard much about their Magical Cure All Properties. I had been struggling with an illness -- I'm gonna guess sinus infection because historically that was my main nemesis. My kind friend Sheena lent me some of her essential oils to help me get over it.

One warning her husband gave me, when delivering the oils, which I did not fully appreciate at the time, was "Hey, don't get the oregano in your eye." Well, duh. Why would I put oregano in my eye, for heaven's sake?

Except somehow it got on my fingers. And then I rubbed my left eye. And then all heck broke loose.

It hurt. It mushroomed and swelled up like Quasimodo's eye. It was red and tender and huge and spectacularly noticeable. And it successfully completely distracted me from my illness. Because hey, what's a sinus infection compared to walking around looking like an animated character? My kids were greatly entertained and noticeably impressed. (In fact, "Remember That Time Mom Put Oregano In Her Eye?" still comes up quite frequently.)

Fortunately, by the next day, my eye was still raw and dark pink, but the swelling had gone down and my eye was no longer on the verge of bursting from its socket. Narrowly escaping being awarded Best Halloween Disguise in the middle of springtime. 

However, I had a bout with Bell's Palsy that was not as short-lived nor as humorous. I awoke one day feeling like part of my face was numb. I had been fighting a - yep - sinus infection. So I thought the infection was extending from my sinus cavities into my face. I took some decongestant and soldiered on through the day.

Until midafternoon, when I was chatting briefly with my neighbor and good pal Emily. Emily is quite blunt. I adore Emily. She said, "What in the WORLD is wrong with your face, Christy?" (Never a good thing to be asked, by the way.) I told her my hypothesis and brushed it off, and she said, "Ummmm. I think not. Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

(Sidenote: Why do people keep asking me that?)

The answer was, of course, NO.

So I went inside and looked in the mirror, and my face was sagging as if I had suffered a stroke. It was quite terrifying.

Fortunately, it was Bell's Palsy and not a stroke. I wish I could make jokes about Bell's Palsy, but I can't. It was scary and freaky and humbling. I learned that I have a lot more vanity than I realized, and that my desire to interact with the human race was negatively impacted by my insecurity over how "deformed" I felt. It's easy to joke about being an animated character when that look only lasts 12 hours. When the outcome and the recovery is uncertain, it is much more troubling.

I also learned that eating from a spoon or using a straw without drooling and dribbling were amazing skills I've taken for granted since I had mastered them at 18 months old.

I realized that my sagging mouth was much less noticeable if I didn't smile. So I tried determinedly, when I was required to be in public, to Not Smile at People. But it quickly became apparent that my basic instinct is to be a Smiler. Even when I am worried.

There are worse things, I know. But it was funny how hard I worked to master the "I'm-not-mad-at-you-although-I'm-not-smiling" Pleasantly Somber expression. I never did quite get it down.

Fortunately, my Bell's Palsy gradually got better within about 2 weeks. I was one of the lucky ones. I know it doesn't work that way for many. It can last a long time or it can come back from time to time. Blessedly, that has not been the case for me.

Full vulnerability disclosure here. I have never felt particularly pretty. I am, and have been, surrounded by so many gorgeous women - friends, family, roommates, etc. But I was always more of the Buddy type. Not hideous, but nothing to garner a second glance. I also never felt I was particularly wrapped up in my appearance. After all, people have to remind me to look in mirrors. But here's the thing. Bell's Palsy did impact my confidence. It squashed my desire to be around people. It turned me INWARD, worrying about what people were thinking, instead of OUTWARD, listening and loving and supporting others. Was it vanity? The effects of internalizing societal messages about beauty and worth? I am not sure. But it was sobering to realize how much it impacted my interactions with others. 

A much less traumatic and introspection-generating Face Fail happened a year or two ago. I made the foolish mistake of purchasing some glittery eye shadow. My daughters Aerin and Annie occasionally wear a copperish glittery shadow, and it looks really nice on their tan skin, and is suitably subtle. So I thought I would try, although we have completely different skin tones. (Fun Fact: Ogden Family DNA is very dominant. Which I think is a great thing.)

The girl at the Avon shop recommended the shadow, but added the disclaimer that it could get pretty glittery. She said that she had found, ironically, that the more shadow she applied, the more it became about color and not just glitter. She also said the more you rubbed the shadow to blend it, the more glittery it became.

So the fact that the Avon girl felt she needed to give me a few tips probably should have "tipped" me off that this product was not for a makeup novice like me. But I didn't grasp that.

Until the fine Sunday morning I decided to try it.

It didn't go well.

There was glitter everywhere. So I applied more shadow. And then more. But rather than subduing things, it just seemed to spread the glitter, amoeba-like, across my face. Glitter was on my forehead. On my cheeks. Above and under my eyes. Everywhere. It was a disaster.

So I called it. I scrubbed my face with soap and water for a total makeup redo, without the glitter eyeshadow. But even with washing my face, the glitter didn't come off.

Anyone who has ever made the irreversible choice of allowing glitter in their house - be it a craft project, a valentine, a non-Quasimodo Halloween costume, or whatever - realizes the Incredible Staying Power of Glitter. 

I've decided glitter is the cockroach of makeup. It quickly multiplies, and Just. Won't. Die.

So on that fateful Glitter Sunday, I took a washcloth to my face a second time. And then gave up, because I was going to be late for church.

"It's not that noticeable," Chad lied.

The first friend I saw greeted me with, "My, aren't you (pause) 'sparkly' today?"

Yes, yes I am. Thanks for noticing.

To make matters worse, Chad & I were substitute teachers for the 16-18 yr old Sunday School class that day. Which is the greatest class in the world to teach, but they weren't about to let me get away without mentioning my glitter bomb makeup.

"What's with all the glitter?" one girl asked. I sheepishly tried to explain, then just kind of trailed off, ending by lamely blaming the Avon store lady for telling me to put more shadow on for less glitter.

"It was too glittery, so you put MORE on?" the girl asked, completely baffled. "WHY would you do that?" I feebly tried to answer. But she was just so puzzled, she kept asking, "But I don't get it. WHY would you put more on?"

Because I'm an idiot, Olivia. That's why. 

I came home and washed my face again, and here is what it looked like after 3 different washings.

Glitter 1, Christy 0.

Perhaps you are like my daughters and can pull of glittery eyeshadow without looking like you lost a fight with a preschool Valentines Day project. But I learned, without question, that I do not possess that skill.

So here are my Beauty Tips for today:

#1    Don't put oregano in your eye. Ever. (Unless you are aspiring to win the office Halloween costume contest.)

#2    Stay far away from glitter makeup. (Even if you're aspiring to win the office Halloween costume contest.)

#3    If you get Bell's Palsy, just go ahead and smile.