Month: April 2015

Mrs. Cody Yoder

~ Kaitlyn @ Doing Dishes Making Wishes ~ 1 Comment

Do you like that title?

I don’t. Where is MY name? Oh, that’s right! I am married now, and according to the traditional rules of society, I am no longer Miss Kaitlyn Novak. (Remember her? The name I was able to use my whole flipping life? Like 29 years of it?)

Why in the heck do women even get married anymore?

This isn’t about love. Of course I love my husband. It isn’t about disrespect. I respect him too. It is about being an individual in a relationship. Go talk to some married couples, and I will rest my case. With at least one of those couples the whole conversation will go:

“WE think…”

“WE support…”

“WE believe…”

“We don’t like…”

“WE are available…”

Ugh! Get out of each others rear ends! Go find yourselves some different opinions! What do some of you married couples even have to talk about if you already agree with everything that comes out of your spouse’s mouth?!

As far Cody and I go, the two of us have VERY different opinions on pretty much everything. I swear. You name it, we disagree about it. Politics. Food. Religion. Picture frames. The kids. Money. The house. Sports teams. TV shows. Decorative pillows. How to drive. How to sleep. How to breathe. And probably eight hundred other things that aren’t even coming to mind right now. We debate and roll our eyes at each other pretty constantly. It is just what we do. It has been that way for as long as I can remember. I like it that way though. It keeps us both interested and on our toes. I don’t need him to agree with me on everything. It has worked out so far. We challenge each other, and usually end up finding a middle ground that works for both of us.

This was not the case when it came to my name change.

Before the wedding, we briefly discussed it. I said I was going to hyphenate. He said that it would mean a lot to him for me to take his name and blah, blah, blah. I think I muttered a “mmhmm” in a noncommittal way, and avoided the topic after that.

I know. Real mature, Kaitlyn.

Truth is, I don’t get it. The whole name change excitement. I saw a girl I knew from college post a selfie on Facebook literally seconds after saying “I do” with a caption that read:

“You can now address me as Mrs. So and So! (excessive hashtagging and emoticons)”

This post was immediately followed by the “official” name change on her Facebook profile. (What marriage license? What social security office? NOTHING is official until it’s posted on flipping Facebook. NOTHING.) Now her profile reads a completely new name that I won’t remember, because the whole time I knew her with her maiden name. I will probably delete her by accident, because I will see her name pop up on my news feed and not know who the heck she is. Oh well. But it begs me to ask questions:

Why are women so eager to lose their individuality the minute they get married?

Who gets a secret thrill when being called “Mrs. So and So” like their mother-in-law?

Can we still live happily ever after without our husbands overshadowing our own identity?

Cody and I got married last June, despite that vague name change discussion. I wore the dress, said the vows and toasted the champagne.  We came home and resumed our lives. I remember being relieved that we had managed to keep our same daily rhythm after it was over. Prior to getting married, I had been afraid that marriage would upset the happiness we already had. Some of that happiness, at least on my part, came from the independence of not always being identified with my husband. I was just me, not the other half of someone else. I was afraid I was going to lose myself to my marriage. I think the name change was symbolic of that fear. The woman I once was would die the minute we were pronounced as Mr. and Mrs. Yoder.

I remember opening our wedding cards and finding checks made out to “Cody and Kaitlyn Yoder.” I hadn’t run out to change my name the minute the wedding was over, so I endorsed them twice (once as Kaitlyn Yoder and again as Kaitlyn Novak) so that the bank could put the deposit through. The teller cheerily reminded me that all I have to do is bring in my marriage certificate and updated driver’s license next time, and they could take care of the name change for me. That way I wouldn’t run into this problem again. Then finished it off with a “Congratulations, Mrs. Yoder!” and a wink. That poor, bubbly girl. I think I actually scowled at her. I was only two days post-wedding and this crap was starting!? I drove home muttering profanity.

One month after the wedding, joking started on Facebook in regards to the lack of the “official” name change. Cody’s family started asking him why I hadn’t changed my name yet. Friends and family casually brought it up. It was a constant discussion. Some agreed with me. Others didn’t.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is.”

“It’s just a name.”

“It’s just the way things are.”

“I changed my name. It wasn’t hard.”

“I was actually happy to take my husband’s name.”

Well…..La-Di-Da for you.

Of course, Cody thought they all made valid points. Being the (only slightly) stubborn individual I am, I decided then and there during that conversation that I would probably never, ever change my name. I would be Kaitlyn Novak for all eternity. I dug in my heels, and clung to my name for dear life. The rules of society are stupid, and I was not going to be another one of those idiot girls flaunting the fact that I gave myself to a man in holy matrimony. I was one prying question short of a full-on bra burning! Feminism! Equality!

The months went by. Cody would bring it up on occasion, and then I would promptly unleash an angry diatribe about the oppression of women. (I might have a flair for dramatics.) He would get mad. I would already be mad. It wasn’t pretty. What I had feared was happening. We were losing our happiness to this dumb marriage. I’ll be darned if I was going to lose my name too!

Finally, Cody took a different approach. He asked me to explain the real feelings behind my hesitation to change my name. Once I was finished, he told me he would still like me to be Kaitlyn Yoder someday. He told me how much it would mean to him. Then he told me he would try to understand where I was coming from, and that he was okay with me taking my time. He promised to never bring up my name change again, as long I promised to think about it and tell him if I honestly wasn’t going to be able to go through with it. I remember feeling relieved. We didn’t have to talk about it anymore. I didn’t have to be treated like a science experiment because I got married wanting to live happily ever after with my husband and my maiden name. Seven months after the wedding, we had found our middle ground.

Once I didn’t feel so cornered and pressured, I was able to think about the name change a little more rationally. It would be easier to be identified as a family of four with the same last name. I wouldn’t have to explain any confusion on legal or financial documents. Most importantly, it would make my husband really happy. I didn’t have to lose my sense of self, just my maiden name. I came to terms with it, and I sucked it up. I went to the social security office. I went to the DMV. I went to the bank. I updated my credit cards, library card, insurance cards, gym membership, and whatever the heck else. I made a new email address, because my regular one had my maiden name in it. I practiced my new signature so that I would stop accidentally signing “Kaitlyn Novak” on everything. The cherry on top of this pain in the neck? I changed my Facebook profile name. Because it just isn’t official until it’s Facebook official.

My husband was over the moon, and my kids were pretty excited too. I will never forget the day I taught Avery my new last name, because it was too cute.

“Mommy, now you are Kaitlyn Yoder? Just like I am Avery Yoder? And daddy is Cody Yoder? And Emmy is Emmy Yoder? We are all the same!”

Leave it to my four-year-old to melt my heart over an issue that a few months prior was driving me to lead a feminist movement!

I will never be as thrilled as my college Facebook friend that I changed my name, but I am glad I made the sacrifice. After all, marriage is about sacrifice and compromise. Finding the middle ground where both of you can comfortably stand. It is a good thing Cody and I had plenty of practice debating everything else over the years, otherwise we might not have known how to find our middle ground.

Love,

Mrs. Cody Yoder

The Secret of the Shoes

~ Kaitlyn @ Doing Dishes Making Wishes ~ 1 Comment

shoe closet

There is a little secret that many moms like me are hiding. It seems a little precarious to divulge this certain secret to just anyone. What would our new mom friends think? We keep it to ourselves as we responsibly sip two glasses of wine during dinner and cap off our girls’ night with a big glass of water. We turn up our nose at the group of 21-year-old girls doing shot after shot at the bar on our way out the door at 11:00 PM.

Mom friend: “I meannn…Could you imagine acting like that? That many shots?”

Me: “…….”

Luckily, others jump in with the usual goodbye banter.

“What a late night! (Yawn) So tired!”

“See you next week at preschool registration!”

“Remember to text me that recipe!”

Then we say our goodbyes as we hop into our economical and family friendly vehicles full of empty car seats and cracker crumbs. We drive home and hurry to bed. Why the hurry? Because those kids will be up by 7:00 AM, whether we had a late dinner or not!

I really do feel tired as I walk to my own Ford Edge (Go ahead and laugh! At least it’s not a minivan!) and unlock it. Heck – If I am being honest – I didn’t even want to get dressed, do my hair, put on makeup and go out in the first place. I look at the clock on the dash as I start the engine. (If I can make it home in a half hour and go right to bed, I can still get seven hours of sleep in! Pedal to the medal!)  I drive home and chuckle to myself about this little secret that I keep, because just a few short years ago things at 11:00 PM looked much different for me.

Ready to hear this little secret?

Here goes…..

I was once a Party Girl.

In fact, I was the epitome of Party Girl.

I went out all the time. Every. Single. Night. I knew every bar and every club. I knew the promoters and the owners. I never paid for drinks. I never waited in line. I left my apartment to START the night at 11:00 PM, not to resurface for real life until the sun was coming up. Quite frankly, I can’t tell you how I lived through this madness to see today.

It’s a true miracle that I stand before you!

I have to admit, I looked great during those days. (Which is completely inexplicable considering I had no sleep and no proper nutrition while ingesting immeasurable amounts of alcohol and the *occasional* illegal substance. Chalk it up to youth, I guess!) If you ever were a true Party Girl, you could probably check all of these boxes too:

  • My skin was a uniform shade of tan. (ALL party girls went tanning in the cancer box commonly called a tanning bed. Yep. ALL of them.)
  • My nails freshly manicured and toes freshly pedicured. (This was very important. It is stressful maintaining the Party Girl lifestyle while holding down a job and school. I needed that mani & pedi to unwind, damn it!)
  • My hair always cut in the latest trend with fresh platinum blonde highlights. (I don’t know how I was able to afford this.)
  • My closet was bursting with party dresses, clutch purses, and amazing pairs of high heels. (Again, how did I afford this? Eh, who cares – I looked good right?!)

I also had immeasurable amounts of time to spend on my appearance. I would spend an hour each night just doing my make up. My smokey eye was blended to perfection and cheekbones perfectly contoured. Another hour was spent trying on outfits. Nothing to wear? No problem! Just call a friend over and spend yet another hour trying on her outfits, and she could try on mine! Bonus: Now that we were together, we could start to pre-drink! Oh, and turn that new Britney album on! And turn it waaaay the hell up!

I would always finish off the “getting ready ritual” by selecting a pair of my killer high-heeled shoes. Flats? BLAH! Moms wear flats!

We would finally head out, and I thrived. My witchy little self loved the feeling of walking past the people waiting in line (Sucks for them!) and straight in the door. We danced and did shots. (If I remember correctly, it was infinity amounts of shots. So yes, my mom friend from earlier, I can imagine doing that many shots.) We would eventually be asked to join gentlemen in V.I.P. for champagne. We would accept, then promptly assess the other girls in V.I.P. – who clearly weren’t as “hot” as us. (Chances are we all looked exactly the same….Just tan, blonde bodies filling up the space and giving each other dirty looks so that random guys who could afford to waste money on bottle service felt good about themselves.) Once the night of partying was all said and done, I would make my way home. I would lovingly wipe my shoes with a damp cloth, thank them for making my calves look fabulous, and tuck them back into their spot amongst their siblings on the rack in my closet. Another epic night over.

Ahhhh….The Party Girl life!

If I met my Party Girl self and told her she would be a stay-at-home mom who pops out 2 kids in 3 years, she would probably laugh in disbelief while she trotted off to her next social event. Who would be dumb enough to ruin their life and body having kids?!

Chances are I would also probably punch her. Yep. Right in the stupid, tan face. Good thing my current schedule of awake during the day and asleep at night makes the chances of a nocturnal Party Girl sighting pretty slim.

As time passed, that chapter of my life ended. I assimilated into society as a functioning human being. Over the years of pregnancy and new motherhood, I have given away most of my party clothes without batting an eye. Even now that I have lost the baby weight, those dresses just wouldn’t have looked the same on me. It’s like they belonged to a different girl. I couldn’t part with the shoes though. They were just such great shoes. I kept them all.

11:00 at night is now my bed time. I need my beauty sleep. (Especially now that the births of two children have robbed me of some of the beauty I once beheld.) I hide from the sun like it is a demon dragging me to Hell. SPF 90? Get me some of that! UV rays are the fast track to wrinkles and death! (Which are interchangeable in my mind.) To say I have gone “low maintenance” with my appearance would be an understatement. My current daily beauty regimen takes 5 minutes, and is as follows:

  • Put on leggings and long T-shirt.
  • Put hair in ponytail.
  • Brush teeth.
  • Apply tinted moisturizer, mascara and lip balm.
  • Go about day without giving a second thought to appearance.

Now….A girls’ night out means I might actually spend a half hour getting ready. I will wash and blow dry my hair. I will add some eyeshadow and lip gloss to the above beauty regimen. I will also put on real clothes (Time to bust out the designer skinny jeans!) and perhaps…A pair of my amazing old high heels??? After all – it seems only fair to take them for a spin once in a while. It probably gets pretty boring in the dark closet they currently reside 99.9% of the time.

One of my new mom friends will notice them at dinner and say, “Oh my gosh! I love those heels! Where did you get them?!”

I can just smile with my little Party Girl secret as I answer, “Oh these? They are just an old pair.”

I might even get crazy and order a third glass of wine that night…Because…Well…If the shoe fits….

Where the heck is my fairy godmother?

~ Kaitlyn @ Doing Dishes Making Wishes ~ 7 Comments

If there was ever a chore tdirty-disheshat I hated…And there are many, let me tell you…

I hate doing dishes! H.A.T.E. those dirty D.I.S.H.E.S!!!

Thank the good Lord for dishwashers, and the fact that he saw fit to bestow one of those lovely machines on me! (Actually – I went out and bought one. Then I flat-out REFUSED to move into our current home until my husband had installed it. So maybe I bestowed it on myself. Hallelujah! Amen!)

Seriously. What is worse than cooking a meal for 4 people, sitting down to eat it, and then looking around the kitchen at that mess 3 times a day?!

Oh right, being the one who has to clean it too. I feel you, Cinderella!

And so I digress….CK 8

Welcome to my blog! It is a special little slice of the internet that leads you right into my sarcastic brain. I’m Kaitlyn, the stay-at-home mom of 2 beautiful and super-silly girls and wife to a pretty darn good-looking yet completely maddening man. After sharing little bits of my daily life on Facebook, random people started asking me if I had a blog. When they found out I didn’t have one, their response usually went something like:

“OMG! You have to start a blog! Your life is hilarious!”

Ummm….thank you? I’m glad the mundane details of my life desperately shared on a social networking site in a shameless attempt to get some adult interaction (How many likes?!) during the long, lonely day have acquaintances of mine so darn entertained! Adult interaction achieved! Soooo…Here I am…Starting said blog. Yikes. I am totally new to the blogging world, and I have no idea what the heck I am doing. I normally get annoyed by all the “Mommy Blogs” out there, so I am sincerely hoping this will not be one of those! Feedback welcome – but please be nice! Constructive criticism, people!

A little bit about me:

I am currently a stay-at-home mom, but I certainly do not aspire to that as my only life purpose. Quite frankly, if I had to do this for the rest of my life I would end up in the nuthouse. It was a horrific adjustment period to become a stay-at-home mom. The feminist in me screamed and clawed to escape her 1950’s suppression! I absolutely HATED financially relying on someone else. I hated living on a budget. I hated having little to no contact with the outside world. I hated being the maid, cook, nurse, and secretary. I didn’t get a college degree so that I could decorate our house with budget-friendly decor and clean the toilets! I joked that I should be called Cinderella. When was my fairy godmother coming along to wave her magic wand so I could begin my dream career and escape this never-ending cycle of cooking and cleaning? My old self hid in the depths of my subconscious while I halfheartedly tried my hand at cooking dinner and folding laundry. She begrudgingly emerged, accepting the inevitable, after a little talk with my grandmother. My lovely Grammy departed some useful and harsh words of life wisdom on me that day. I am paraphrasing, but will never forget the gist of it. It went something like this:

“Katie, you have made the decision to stay home for the benefit of that baby. This IS your everyday life now. You could continue to be miserable, or you could embrace it. When you wake up every morning you need to tell yourself that YOU are the one who can make your daughter’s life what it is. YOU need to make her meals and keep the house clean. Nobody else is going to come do your dishes or fold your laundry while you sit here and whine. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s below you, because your baby needs you now. YOU are the one who has control of that household, so you better start running it. I love you, and I want to see you happy. Being happy in life is a choice, Katie. Be happy to be home with your family.”

Boom. Just like that. The way to admonish my misery in one little sentence: “Choose to be happy.”

Mind. Blown.

Believe it or not, I instantly felt better! I didn’t need a fairy godmother, just a suck-it-up-buttercup pep talk from my grandmother. Needless to say, that snapped me right back to reality. I woke up the next day and embraced my current situation. I have been trying to make the best of things ever since. Organizing, cleaning, reading stories, cooking, setting routines, scheduling play dates, singing nursery rhymes, administering time outs, checking fevers, decorating the house, grocery shopping and gardening right with the best of them. Some moms would want nothing more than to be home raising their kids, and I was lucky enough to be living their dream! I have learned to love being home right now. I have been there for each and every first moment. I have been the one to kiss every boo boo. I have been the one to teach our daughters their ABC’s, 123’s, shapes, colors, manners and essentially all they know about the world. I know where every single thing in this house is, because I am the one who put it there. Organization has become my middle flipping name. I have embraced my inner-Martha, and she is good friends with my inner-feminist. They get along really well now, in fact! This household works because I make it work, damn it! I am woman, hear me roar!

I have made this sacrifice for the good of my family, and I firmly believe it was the right choice for us – Even though it probably wasn’t the right choice for the old me. Once my youngest daughter is in school full-time, (Only four more years!) I can resume the pursuit of my dreams and start granting some of my own wishes! Because who needs a fairy godmother to grant wishes when you know you can do it yourself?! I am already on the way there, despite this whole stay-home-mom detour. I have a B.S. in Kinesiology from Northern Illinois University (Goooo Huskies!) with an emphasis in Preventative and Rehabilitative Exercise Science. I tell you this because it is something I am proud of, something that defines me, and something that will be guiding me to bigger and better things. Hence the “wishes” while I do my dishes:

Oh! Medical school, how I wish to someday attend thee!

Oh! Career of my Cardiology dreams, how I wish to someday attain thee!

I joke about making wishes, but I truly believe that you get nothing out of just wishing upon a star. (Disney be damned with its fairytale lies and happily ever after deception!) Good things don’t come to those who wait, they come to those who work for them! Right now I am channeling all my energy into making my home the best it can be for my kids, but keeping these wishes simmering on the back burner of the stove helps get me through the everyday tasks. I allow myself to stir this pot while I gaze out the kitchen window, spending (God only knows how much!) time – you guessed it – doing the dishes.

🙂 Kaitlyn

P.S. Are you a mom too? You might enjoy reading this post!