Family

My mom stood at the microphone, in front of tables full of candles, sunflowers, and empty plates spotted by bar-b-que sauce, surrounded by people as I and my husband of a whole 30 minutes stood at the back of the room. She gave out some incredibly deserved thank-you's, then launched into a story. My brow furrowed as her monologue veered toward bride prices and selling daughters, and I cast wary glances at the faces around me, wondering where this all was going. Then her story came full circle with the declaration that "I'm not selling my daughter, I'm buying a son!"

In that moment, her words brought tears to my eyes and made me grin at the man holding my hand (the bought son in question).

In the weeks following that day, her pronouncement has morphed and expanded in my mind as I have realized more fully what being married to this man really means.

She bought a son, and I gained a family.

I am pulled in by twice as many arms that open up for a tight hug when they haven't seen me in a while.

I am congratulated by double the cheering squad when I complete my first shift as an independent nurse.

I am part of a new group text, through which I am included in planning family activities and get to share in each of our small daily victories.

In my kitchen sits a whole book of new recipes, each with stories and faces to go along with their rich flavors.

I have a quilt stitched together by hands full of care.

Traditions spanning decades are now widened to include me.

Scattered across the country, I have new people offering their homes and beds and kitchen tables in open invitations.

When people talk about marriage, they talk about the unique bond between two people, about living life with your best friend, about partnership and trust and love - and believe me, I have all that in greater measure than I could have imagined.

But the part that surprised me the most was gaining a family. In all the warmth and fullness of the word, with enthusiasm and impatience, not taking the place of but augmenting my own - I have gained a family.

A week ago, we hosted both sides of our family for Thanksgiving. After finishing our seam-popping meal of fondue, my mom ushered us out to go for a walk around the neighborhood - all of us, the two newlyweds, all four parents, both big sisters, and a boyfriend to boot. Joking and laughing, we felt more comfortable together than expected, given the short length of time since we had all first met. We meandered down the sidewalk in clumps, pointing out the first few houses that had already put up Christmas lights, while my eyes swam with tears and my heart felt ready to burst with sheer joy.

My marriage has doubled my family, and I am so grateful.

How to be a Camp Nurse: A step by step guide

1) Pass meds.

2) Pass meds at every meal.

3) Also at snack time, and whenever they are requested.

4) Always pass meds.

5) Do everyone's laundry. This makes sense, because you have access to the only washing machine, but it also will take forever because the machine is ancient. Be startled by a sound akin to a dying mouse trying to take flight. Realize it's the ancient washing machine. Become so used to the this horrid sound that it is almost comforting.

6) Sweep the floor in the first aid station. Get it into the dust pan fast before your "dirt" pile crawls away.

7) Forget to warn new guests about the washing machine sound. Freak them out.

8) Tell yourself that you will walk up the hill for every meal (refer to #2), because it's good for your muscles. You know that there are golf carts, but you will not use them.

9) Carry your first aid kit everywhere you go, because if kids see the nurse, they will become sick or injured immediately. Fact.

10) Sign out a golf cart just this once, cuz you have a lot of meds to carry (refer to #1) and you're tired. But its just for this one time.

11) Try to ward off the "summer staff cold" by encouraging rest and hydration and pumping the counselors full of vitamin C drops.

12) Fail. Attempt to push the counselors through the rest of the week on cold-buster pills and orange juice while they continue to be in charge of 10 kids for 24 hours a day. Wash your hands incessantly, because the nurse cannot get sick.

13) Sign out a golf cart because you might have to run back down the hill for something quick.

14) See a camper with allergy symptoms. Find out that they are allergic to cats. Find out they have just been cuddling the camp cat. Try not to roll your eyes. Medicate the allergies and encourage them not to touch the cat. Know that they will still touch the cat.

15) Fawn over the tiniest campers. Plot to lure them home with you. Recognize this is very illegal and illogical, but they are just SO CUTE.

16) Sign out a golf cart because your knee hurts.

17) Eat the same exact meals at the same exact times on the same exact days for 7 weeks in a row. Begin to hate chicken.

18) Wonder how many shapes of breaded chicken exist at the mysterious bulk freezer supply store where camp food comes from. Crave fresh fruit.

19) Sign out a golf cart because you're the only nurse at camp this week and you need to be everywhere.

20) See a camper for a headache. Realize it is actually homesickness.

21) See a camper for a stomach ache. Realize it is actually homesickness.

22) See a camper who is dizzy. Realize it is actually homesickness. Marvel at the connection between body and spirit. Send them to bed.

23) Sign out a golf cart because you've given up on making yourself walk. Fail to return it for a full 24 hours.

24) Evaluate a camper who has fallen while hiking. Practice your calm nurse face while you clean up a lot of blood and wonder if they need stitches.

25) Remove tick from camper.

26) Google what Lyme's disease looks like. Realize it looks like literally anything, and sometimes nothing at all. Become paranoid about ticks.

27) Try not to take on a motherly sense of personal responsibility for every camper and staff member. Fail.

28) Drive a golf cart everywhere.

29) Receive great appreciation from the other staff. Chuckle because you secretly have the chillest job on camp.

30) Pass meds.

On Self Reliance and the Lack Thereof

I stood in my kitchen and stared at the plate in front of me. I had managed to ditch my crutches and use the counters to boost myself to the fridge and back in order to assemble a sandwich, but now I had reached a more difficult step: getting the sandwich to the table. You see, crutches require that you hold on the the handles to propel yourself. The fact that I was still using two crutches meant that I was left with zero hands with which to hold the plate. I was stuck.

After puzzling for a bit, I picked up the plate with one hand and used my armpit to squeeze the crutch on that side so that I could lift it when I took a step. I turned and made it about three paces in this limping, uneven, almost-gait before I was blocked by one of my roommates.

"Mariah. Stop it. Give me the plate."

She had been sitting in the next room over the entire time, an open doorway the only thing separating us. Despite this nearness, it had never occurred to me that asking her to carry my plate was an option. I assumed that the only way to accomplish the task was to do it on my own. 

That's ridiculous.

The fact that I was on crutches made the lesson that much more pointed, but the moral of the story continues even now that I have two (almost) fully functioning legs. Independence is a good thing, a goal to strive for. But, while it is needed, it should not be the ultimate objective of my actions. Sometimes I need help.

I needed help to carry my plate to the table when I was on crutches.

I needed help to study for exams through nursing school.

I needed help to find calm and peace the night before I took State Nursing Boards.

I will need help to move into my new home.

I will need help to plan my wedding.

I will need help for the rest of my life. And there is nothing wrong with that.

In fact, I would venture to say that we are wired to need help. We are not solitary creatures. While complete dependence on another is not healthy, isolating myself from any assistance whatsoever is also unhealthy. Relationship, support, encouragement - I need all of these things. 

But I'm still learning. Learning to not only accept help when it is offered, but (and this is even harder) to ask for help when I need it. 

I can't do this by myself, and that's okay.