30 weeks {frocktober, day 21}

The Arizona mornings dip into the 60's and I'm suddenly all about the scarves, sweaters and boots. I'm a little bit anxious for our trip to North Carolina next week, where I'll actually be able to comfortably add tights to this same ensemble! Maybe even a beanie. I can practically feel the chill against my cheeks, and it absolutely cannot come soon enough.

On Wednesday we hit the 30 week mark. This milestone hit me square in the teeth because I am so not ready to be done with pregnancy yet. I know I still have 10 weeks to go, but that suddenly seems like such a short amount of time. I actually get teary-eyed thinking about it. How weird is that? Even with all of the struggles, pains, and nuisances of pregnancy, I ardently adore having my little boy with me. He's a part of me now in a way that he'll never be again. I know the next part is the good stuff... but I find myself feeling so protective of this time that he and I have shared together. I have him all to myself. It's this strange kind of selfishness that makes me want to cry about having to share him with the world soon.

I think before actually experiencing pregnancy for myself, the overall message I received was that it's a fairly negative experience. From Facebook posts, personal conversations, blogs, etc. Horror stories and the oh just you waits were the majority. To an extent, they still are. Not to say that those horror stories aren't real, because they definitely are - there are women out there who could rival Bella Swan for worst pregnancy ever. I think I have been very lucky, and obviously everything I say is coming from my own experience. I still think it's a shame that we often allow the complaints to permeate the conversation. Maybe we really do just struggle with the changes in our bodies (say goodbye to your figure forever, because you are doomed, lady!) and feel the need to share those things in solidarity, but I want to take a moment to truly appreciate what the last 30 weeks have meant to me. Maybe it's just the pregnancy brain talking, but these are the things I'm going to miss.

I'm going to miss feeling his twirling movements every day, wondering what he's up to and what expressions his face might be making. I'm going to miss the time I get to spend with him that no one else can have (including his 2am dance sessions). I'm going to miss going to bed with my arms wrapped around him, knowing he's safe and protected in there. I'll miss this phase of mystery and dreaming - what will he look like? What will he be like? Soon we'll know for certain, but this time of sweet anticipation is precious all on its own. I'll miss maternity clothes and bump pictures. Feeling the least body conscious I've ever felt, because this belly is supposed to hang out, thankyouverymuch. I'll miss the way Dusty and I spend every night holding hands over my belly, feeling our little one move and talking to him about the future. I won't lie, I'll miss being taken care of. The sweet words, the excitement, the tenderness.

I know that pregnancy can be (and is) a very scary thing for many people, but I have loved every bit of it. Even the sickness (he's healthy and growing!), even the fatigue (all day naps? yes please), even the weird and absurd body changes. And I do mean absurd. I have cried, I have been surprised, I have had to adjust. But lemme tell you, my body is a boss. We just took our first class ("The Art of Breastfeeding") on Wednesday and I think I can say that boobs are boss. Put that on a t-shirt and wear it around town. A woman's body is insane, it's all sci-fi up in here. God is a miraculous creator, isn't He? That's what pregnancy really is. He's just showing off. I'm proud to be a warrior of His handiwork. It's truly extraordinary. Especially because this process is the precursor to welcoming our son into the world. A real human. He is and always will be a part of me, a part of my husband and I. I will cherish this time forever. 30 weeks and counting. Tick, tock.

(I will recant all of these things in 10 weeks when I begin bribing doctors to get this child outta me pronto).

going broke for cat mugs

I actually cannot even try to refer to myself as "frugal" with a straight face. I am not frugal. I never have been. It has been both my burden and my pleasure to spend all of my money when and if I ever get any. Dave Ramsey would judge me. He probably knows, somehow, within his magical stern eyebrows that Caitlin Schanaker is not good at this stuff.

When it comes to spending, I think I may be straight-up delusional. I have this very naive, happy-go-lucky perspective that money will always find a way. Because as we all know, where there's a will, there's a way, and my will for shopping is fierce. It's not practical shopping, either. It's frivolous and spontaneous. It's the best kind. Because everything is a special occasion and there are always reasons to go all out. Life is all about those excuses. Weekend getaways and ordering way too much food but still getting dessert and buying the extravagantly expensive and useless trinkets at Anthropologie. I have fallen into the trap that I think many young adults fall into: trying to live the way your parents live, despite the fact that it took decades for them to get there. It's why we're all drowning in debt. It's incredibly sad, and also really fun until you have to start paying your loans back. Right out of the gate, I try to usher myself into adulthood by paying extra for guacamole and splurging at World Market and shopping online and impulse-buying rain boots when I live in Arizona and no one can afford this nonsense.

My husband and I joke often that when we don't think twice about paying the extra for guacamole, we'll know we have arrived.

All of this is being written because I have hit a wall today. It's a wall made of cat mugs. A friend sent me a link to the most beautiful cat mugs I have ever seen, and even though we have a house that is taking all of our time and money and a baby coming out of me this year, I want the mugs. All of them. I want to pay the $60 (plus shipping) for a set of cat mugs.

This is my Friday confession. I sat there staring at these beautiful mugs, cursing Anthropologie, trying to justify a way to buy them. I could just buy one; they're $14 each. I could search online for a coupon. But then I would be missing out on the other colors, and look how nicely they look all together? How lovely would they look, purring on my coffee bar? I could bully people into buying me a housewarming gift, a baby gift (babies like mugs, right?), a super early birthday gift...I could set up a gofundme! That's what that site is for now, right? Providing a way for friends and strangers to buy you silly things you can't afford? America.

Closing out of that shopping window was hard. Not in a real-life way, but in a wow, I think I'm going insane kind of way. Obviously this post is silly and this "problem" isn't a problem at all, but the fact remains that I feel stressed and restless over cat mugs. Over not being able to travel anymore. Over all of the things we still have to buy and fix up on the house. Over feeling like we'll never be in that settled, give-me-all-the-guac place in our lives. I have to try to be frugal, to be smart, to be less selfish and less spoiled and more responsible and more everything.

As much as I like to pretend that I'm not that girl going broke for cat mugs, I totally am. I am her and she is me. I just have to calm her down a little bit.

house hunting emotions (as told by troy barnes)

My husband and I have entered into our first house-buying experience, and I'm suddenly realizing I'm not the greatest at handling this kind of exciting, stressful and emotional journey. I've always been a homebody, and the two of us are probably the most sentimental humans in Arizona. We walk into a house that's for sale and we're like, oh well hello there, destiny, thanks for bringing us to our new place of solace and happiness. The problem is, when it's listed way out of our budget or sells before we can make an offer, we might take it a little too hard. It feels personal. Like we've just been betrayed by the very destiny that promised us so much.

I figured Troy Barnes, a character on the TV show Community, was the best man for the job of illustrating our complex emotions of the past few weeks.

We hadn't actually planned on buying a house this early. But we came across a few local properties, and our interest was piqued. The wheels started turning. What if we bought a fixer upper, lived in it for a few years while we fixed it up, then resold it to provide us with enough money to build our own house (which is our ultimate dream)?

We saw the house for the first time a week and a half ago. We knew right away it was the perfect type of dingy, in need of our tender love and care but not too far gone. It was priced low; most of the houses around our city at the same price are half the size. It had only been listed for one day, so we were confident with our offer and waited the necessary 10 days before the bank would tell us we were officially home owners.

But then, over the weekend, our realtor told us that the bank was rejecting all of the offers. There are a total of 3, we found out, so our initial feelings of being the special chosen ones quickly vanished. The bank wanted our highest and our best. We could raise the offer, raise the earnest money, waive the inspection period (or shorten it)...

Our confidence was shaken and we had no idea what to do. The market began rising as we twiddled our thumbs and lost sleep. Even if we raise the offer, will the other offers raise theirs as well? How can we be sure we beat them to the highest bid? Why couldn't this be a personal interview, where we charm The Bank and make them love us? Is there any way I could send The Bank a basket of mini muffins to endear them to us? Is this a sign? And if so, what's it pointing at? Are signs even a thing? 

So many questions! So much doubt! In the back of our minds we kept telling ourselves that everything will work out either way - if this isn't the house, then we'll move on with our lives and continue saving our money. If it is, then we'll get it...right? 

The Bank is impossible to mind read, unfortunately, but we decided to just do everything available to us. Raise the offer, raise the earnest money, shorten the inspection time. I tried to also send the mini muffins, but they don't like baked goods; they only eat pure gold and our hopes and dreams.

We submitted the new offer this morning. So now we're left to wait again. We'll hopefully know by tomorrow, but while I sit here typing at work it's all just like

and

It's stressful not knowing the future. I know we're not the only human beings with this problem, but it would be so much easier knowing whether or not this is the house. I'm not even sure if there's such a thing as the anything. While I believe God cares about the smallest desires of our hearts, I am not positive that he always tells us direct answers to the decisions we make. Things like where we go to school, or what we have for lunch, or what job we take. Sometimes there are clear answers, but sometimes there aren't. In this time of uncertainty and stress, I have to remember that the future is taken care of whether we're directly lead to purchasing this house or passing it by. We've done everything we can to make it happen, because in our minds it's the house - but dealing with the loss of it will not break us. It will simply be another story to tell.

love is not a triangle

I think my first cognitive experience with a fictional love triangle was in 1998.
All of my fellow 90's-kids will join me in a collective groan when I mention that this love triangle was set in a snowy cabin on a little show called Boy Meets World. The triangle participants? Beloved Topanga Lawrence and brillow-headed Cory Matthews and the forever-after despised Lauren what's-her-face.

I honestly can't even see Linda Cardellini in anything without giving her the stink eye. She destroyed a piece of me I didn't even know existed at age 10. I am forever damaged by her home-wrecking. Unfortunately this plot disaster was not the end of young adult love triangles in TV and literature alike. And I hate it. With a fiery passion that I can scarcely contain.

Here's why:

1. Love Is Not A Triangle.

I won't judge those of you who totally buy into the cheap-ploy that is the love triangle. (Yes, I will).
But love is not a triangle. You cannot be in love with two people at once. And if you say that you can, all that means is that you need to redefine "love". Because there is absolutely no love involved when someone is torn down the middle between two people, leading them both on and completely at a loss about which one to choose. The answer should be neither because both of those peeps deserve better. A love triangle thrives on selfishness and jealousy. It's pathetic and upsetting at best, and downright evil at worst. That's not how love works.


2. People Have More To Offer

A really common story arc is for a girl to be torn between the "good guy" and the "bad guy". Or a guy who is the best friend, who has been there for her for all of time (a.k.a. the "safe" option), and the bad boy who is exciting and usually horrible. She can't decide, she's so confused. Gordo or Smooth Italian Guy, Lizzie? Topher Grace or Tad Hamilton, Rosalee?

The truth is, people don't function in those extremes. People (and yes, that includes teenagers) are complex beings. I have no appreciation for a 17-year-old who has no clue who to choose between a leather-wearing, parents-hating rebel and an argyle-wearing valedictorian. I'm not saying that hormonal teenagers don't date around and have different crushes every week, but don't paint a portrait of a passionate love story with a character who has two opposite choices that they "love" equally. That's not a thing, and it makes me hate everyone.

3. Girl Power

Love triangles are the worst because they completely strip my heroines of their strength and respectability. They play upon a really terrible stereotype of flaky, cruel, mindless, indecisive females. The reason why love triangles so often hang on a woman who is love-struck and dumb is because nobody would believe a man to be that fickle and obnoxious. And if he is, he wouldn't be the hero! A man in that situation is a jerk. You can't have your heroine be a jerk! Do not support this behavior in our fictional representatives.

I want to read about young women who are strong. The way Katniss should have been. Instead of playing on her strengths and bringing out the hear me roar potential in her, the series dribbled her down to a shell of a person who had no social skills, was intent on killing herself, and whose only interesting plot design was whether or not she would choose Gale or Peeta. What a waste.

Especially in reference to YA fiction and literature, I want characters that are smart, engaging, relatable, and revolutionary for our young people. I want to read about young women (and men) who are good. Who struggle, sure, but who are loyal, especially in love. That's what I want out of a love story. Love. Is that so crazy?


4. Today's "Love Triangle" Isn't Even Right

The current teen drug of a love triangle somehow evolved from the original triangle, which was A loves B who loves C. That I can appreciate. There is heartache and unrequited love, which is always compelling and actually realistic. Take The Holiday, for instance. Iris is in love with Jasper, who is in love with somebody else. But he loves to tease her and torment her and stay "friends" because he is a jerk. People who can't decide and have two love interests are jerks. They're unfaithful and miserable fictional morons. Nobody roots for Jasper, amiright?

There are countless examples of brilliant, heart-wrenching stories of unrequited love. I will take the brilliant, tragic Sydney Carton from A Tale of Two Cities any day. I can root for those people, I can emphasize and grieve and cry with those people. I've met those people. I've been those people!

5. It's Lazy Storytelling

You know what stories I love the mostest? The ones that don't utilize lazy, immature plot devices to hook me. Ones that have authentic gumption and content and don't need to throw in frilly sex drama to fill time. I want characters and worlds with real plots and real stories to tell. I guess what I'm saying is that Harry Potter is king. To quote my friend Bonnie,

"You know why Twilight and Hunger Games had love triangles?

Because Harry Potter didn't need one."

Word. Good stories don't need love triangles, which create this weird, perverse, and unhealthy conflict in young people (and middle-aged women). The character core of Harry Potter was even made of two guys and one girl, and there was no triangle-ing. That is fantastic. They were too busy actually living. Growing up, fighting evil, and showcasing bravery, friendship, loyalty, strength, intelligence, fortitude and all of those other great adjectives. Those are heroes, ma friends. 

To sum up: love triangles are the living worst, and they ruin stories. 

I would love to hear your thoughts on love triangles and their prevalence in YA fiction nowadays, and if you adore them I promise I won't hate you... but you won't be able to convince me that they're cool. 

auntie, that's me

Let me just take a second to talk about being an aunt.

I've always known I was going to have kids. Probably a lot of them. I grew up in a family of 4 kids and adored it, and I hope to have a good little nest of children someday because siblings are an absolute blast. There's really nothing like them. My mother-in-law used to tell my husband and his siblings when they were little, "God has chosen you all to be best friends for life." 

And that's really the best way to explain it. It's a wonderful relationship that's unique and lasting. I wrote a post a while back about my lifelong wish to have a sister, but I really wouldn't trade my 3 brothers for anything.

But then there's aunthood. It's kind of a state of being, it's a calling. A calling that's completely out of your control. It's powerful. It redefines your identity. I entered aunthood almost four years ago, when little bebe Abigail was born. She was so cute and pink and big-headed and life-changing. Watching her grow has been...insane. Crazy, brilliant, exciting, scary, shocking, wonderful. It absolutely makes my own life seem so much faster. When you're able to track your own days by the constant changes in a child, you realize how quickly it all goes by. 

I'm just going to be completely honest with you all and say that I don't naturally like kids. I know it's a horrible thing to say, but I also know that I'm not alone. (Please tell me I'm not alone?)

Being around kids doesn't come naturally to me. My husband is the one who is going to be an absolute natural, the one who I think has wanted to have kids since he himself was a child. He has always wanted to be a dad.

Me? Well.
I'm the weird one who is totally fine not to hold the new baby. Who has to restrain myself from disciplining random kids because they're driving me crazy. The one who has really naive and ridiculous views on how to parent because oh boy if that was MY child... I'm the one who talks to children like they're adults because I can't stand baby talk, and because I don't even know how to gush over them. Instead I say things like, "What's shakin'?" or "Sup?"

I'm the girl that never babysat in my teenage years because I'd rather be broke than spend my days with little kids. I know I'm a terrible human. I would normally make jokes about it but it's honestly something that scares me. What if I'm a terrible mom? What if I don't even like my kids? I don't like most kids. It's the truth. I'm really sorry about that, especially if I've side-eyed your kids before.
Which I probably have.

But here's the really beautiful light at the core of this post: being an aunt.
Oh gosh, if becoming a mom is even more transformative than being an aunt, I can't wait to be that woman. Abby opened up a brand new corner of my heart that I didn't even know existed. I now have 5 nieces and nephews, and I love them all so much. Which is the great thing about love - it isn't stingy, it doesn't deplete, it multiplies. Despite my fears about being a mom, not having kids has never been an option for me. My dad once told me that he has always grieved for childless couples who decided when they were young that they never wanted kids and insist they're better off without them - because they'll never truly know. The joy, the transformation, the purpose, the legacy. They couldn't possibly have understood the gravity of their decision when they made it. And maybe they never will - or if they do, it'll be too late.

Even in my short 26 years I've seen career-minded couples devastated by their inability to have children in their late thirties and forties because they thought for sure they didn't want kids, that their lives were too busy and important to have them. I could talk for a long time about what I believe about children (hint: it's in the Bible), and how I think this generation is incredibly selfish (I'm lookin' at myself here too. Hiiii), but of course it's not up to me to make those decisions for other people. And I'll stop myself before this becomes a totally different post. But I absolutely want kids. I don't want to put myself above the future of our family, and what it will be like when I'm 80 to have children and grandchildren surrounding me. People who are literally a part of me. I want to be that old lady surrounded by loved ones.

Abigail is the oldest of my nieces and nephews and is now at the age where I can actually talk to her, and tell her secrets. I can see her eyes light up when she sees pretty clothes and jewelry (I can't even handle the excitement of our future shopping trips together), and I have a front row seat to observe her developing her own tastes and interests. She is a fabulous little creature and I love being close to her.

Being an aunt is the best because:

1. I am a precious one in her life. 
This is an honor, you guys. I'm already in the core of her life, by no merit of my own. I have the power and the blessing of being there for her. There are a few people in every child's life that will always be there as big influencers in their development. The immediate family is first, and then come the outer rings. Friends and extended family. Realizing the preciousness of our relationship, the honored role that I have in her life, is quite humbling and miraculous. It's real and it's for life.

2. There is a deeper connection with my siblings. 
Watching someone become a parent is quite revolutionary. It changes them and changes the relationship, and the fact that they flipped the switch and changed the rest of us into aunts and uncles makes it a much deeper and more meaningful connection. And the rest of us are no longer just siblings; we're a part of this joyous little club of aunts and uncles. We're no longer bonded by just the past, but by the future as well. Those relationships take intention, patience, love, honesty, hard work and understanding. Loving someone's children is like the white stuff in the center of the Oreo. It's important.

3. It is a small taste of parenthood. 
Emphasis on the small. You get real-life examples of what being a parent is like, but you get to leave. You don't have to stick around for the tantrums or the blow-outs. When everyone's sick or exhausted or teething, you can just peace out and go to brunch. Sip that mimosa and chillax. It's a great wake-up call for snobby childless folk who claim to have all of the answers, because parenthood is no joke. It's the real deal. You learn so many lessons by being an outsider looking in. It's enlightening and, for those of us planning to be parents, preparatory.

4. I have a beautiful new friend.
As an aunt, I'm family, but I'm also something else entirely. The calling of being an aunt transcends into an opportunity for real friendship with a child who loves me, looks up to me, and confides in me. I remember being a little girl and having a few young women in my life that I worshiped and adored. I was absolutely fascinated by their lives and wanted to be just like them. I love being on the flip side of that now, watching these kids grow and falling in love with the people they are becoming. I want to be their best friend. In a responsible, auntie-like way, of course.

We always talk about family around the holidays, but I think it’s a great time to dig a little deeper and really examine and appreciate the various roles we have as family members. Brother, sister, father, mother, daughter, son. We all have roles and are irreversibly part of the whole. Family is a beautiful puzzle of imperfect people made to love and support each other. I love that. 

And being an aunt is my favorite thing. 

long distance blows

It's a crazy part of friendship that for any amount of time, there are people in your life who ARE your life. You count on them for absolutely everything. You wonder how often you can spend time with them before it gets weird. You have actual, sit-down conversations with your spouse (or sometimes even just yourself) about the need to slow down and give them some space. Don't be needy. Don't be too intense. Don't be that guy. 

All I can say is that I'm glad it got weird, even though being apart is now the living worst.

It got weird and that's when things get truly extraordinary. Snowpocalypse sleepovers and Fresh Market picnics, birthday surprises and Mario Party marathons and never-ending group text messages. Weekend trips and late-night stories and new adventures.

It's now officially December which means I'm feeling the feels. The holiday feels. A lot of memories are returning to me of days gone by. Christmas memories from our tiny apartment in Virginia, and of the friends we so dearly miss.

Our friendship with Colinoria (our affectionate nickname for our couple-soulmates Colin and Victoria) was rare. It was fostered under the strangest conditions: living in tiny apartments less than a mile apart while the boys finished up law school. Pre-kids, pre-adulthood, pre-complications. We were in extended college life land. There was work, for sure, and lots of studying. But there was also a lot of play. And through that we were cemented together. Even more so by our uncanny resemblances to one another (me to Colin and Dustin to Victoria). It was straight-up crazy at times, and I think we were all dumbfounded at various points by our great luck at somehow finding each other in this mad world.

Long distance is one of those sucky situations that is often most lamented when it involves romantic couples. But the struggle is real for everyone. Family, friends, loved ones. The world is filled with beautiful people and if you happen to meet kindred spirits on the other side of the country (or world), you're going to have to prepare yourself for the lifelong ache that is long distance. 

Here are my grandiose ideas for surviving a long-distance best friendship:

1. Contact.
This is what group messages are for. Also, these new voice texts have been a life-saver for me because I hate the telephone. But calling is good too. So is FaceTime or Skype. Stay in touch!
(Duh-doy).

2. Gifts.
Maybe you don't have money, but you actually do. You have enough to send something, anything, in the mail. It's important. Maybe more so for a person like me whose love language involves gifts, but it's important nonetheless. Find silly things to send and it maintains those fun little surprises that you were able to create when you lived in the same city. Instead of stopping by with cupcakes, you can send them a letter or a Starbucks card when they're having a rough week. It's a sweet gesture that's inexpensive and incredibly thoughtful, especially when the dominant means of communication today is a never-ending group text (which, as I've already demonstrated, I fully support). Think outside the box.

3. Don't forget the little things.
You lose a lot when you lose the little things. The little things are the tiny threads that begin to pull apart the entire knit sweater of a relationship. They're the ways you used to connect in person because you saw each other almost every day so you shared even the silliest stories with one another. Bring them into your jokes and daily interactions that make you laugh and cry. Tell them about your boss's weird laugh or that super embarrassing doctor visit. Be vulnerable, be real.

4. Reminisce, but not too much.
One of the greatest detriments of long distance is that it naturally prevents growth. Unless you work hard to keep moving forward. Long distance keeps you apart and living in the past, because that's when you were last together. Talking about favorite memories is a wonderful way to connect, but make sure the focus is staying connected to where your lives are going. Walk with them from afar.

5. Have a shared interest.
This summer it was Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson. All four of us read it (and the sequel) and talked about it incessantly. It was such a fun way to participate in something as a group. We used to have weekly TV nights for shows like New Girl and Sleepy Hollow, so having something we can still do "together" is really nice.

6. Visit each other. 
This is the hardest part, because now that we're all working and paying off our student loans, money is tight and time off is sparse. But just like anything else, you make it a priority. You save and you make it happen. It has been six months and two weeks since the four of us were together, and we're beginning to plan the first of many visits! It's probably the most crucial part of a long distance relationship, because you put your money where your priorities are. For a while that top priority will be paying off our debt - but we'll keep fitting money between the cracks to keep this friendship alive.

Because it got weird, and it got great, and it's worth everything.

Long distance blows. (But it's worth it).

the curse of the telephone {frocktober, day 20}

Dress (remixed 1, 2): Ruche, Sweater (remixed): LOFT

Earlier this week I read this article about having a serious phone phobia and I was literally grinning like a fool because I'm not alone in the world. Granted, I already knew that, because this whole strange phobia/disease is fairly rampant in my immediate family. We're pretty terrible at communicating. We always joke that we're on a "need to know basis" and, apparently, nobody needs to know. 

I'm not sure where my telephonitis stems from or when it started, but I'm fairly certain it's a parasitic fear virus that only gets worse as time goes on.

I have memories of talking on my super awesome land-line phone (which was purple and glittery and from Limited Too) as a kid with a few close friends, sometimes for quite a long time. When we got wireless home phones I remember walking round and round the kitchen island, avoiding the cracks in the tile, in a strange rhythmic nervous tick of conversational movement.

Then I remember, in 8th grade, talking to boys on the phone and feeling as if I was having an out-of-body experience. I would sweat, and babble, and say all kinds of absurd things and hang up feeling exhausted and completely baffled by my behavior. Even then I recognized it as a kind of teenage angst, but now I wonder if it was just the early stages of phone aversion. 

I count myself blessed that I was able to pretty seamlessly make the transition from growing phone-hater to rabid texter. Cell phones became more and more common once I hit high school, and I was always the fastest texter on the block. Clickety click clickety click. My friends were in awestruck wonder (superb annoyance) at my ungodly skills. The reason for my lightening fingers?

Please don't make me call this person see how fast I can text it's way better so much better so much faster see look I'm already done!

Like Rachel, the author of that article, I have observed myself suffering from this odd crippling social flaw for years and I wonder why. Why am I like this? When did it start? What is the root of the problem?

Rachel has hypothesized her own root as this:

I simply want to see who I’m talking to, and I can’t on the phone. I can’t tell if they’re enjoying the conversation, or amused by my stories, or simply interested in anything I have to say. For all I know they've muted their end and are busy eating a sandwich.

It's an acute observation to point out that we want (maybe even need) feedback when we're communicating with others, whether it's a smile or a nod or just simple rapt eye contact. Perhaps that's one of the issues I have with the phone, too, but I think I've identified an even deeper part of this phobia puzzle for myself.

I am not comfortable communicating at all. 

Ever. If it involves another human that is actually responding to me, I seize up. I'm not saying I'm incapable of having fun with other people or with talking to others, because I definitely can. I love people! But I'm a grade A interrupter and I think part of it is because in lively conversation I'm always nervous. I start speaking too loudly or I speak harsher than I mean to. I blurt things out or I try to hide my true feelings. I try too hard to make people laugh, or I get too worked up trying to explain something (like why I hate the himym finale.) I'm not comfortable communicating. I'm not very good at it. It's difficult for me.
A phone call is the absolute worst representation of this because there is the added silence and pressure to speak, and that unknowable black hole on the other end that holds another person that, as she pointed out, may or may not be understanding or appreciating my words. It's incredibly frightening and frustrating. I think I have a hard enough time speaking face to face as it is. I struggle with representing my true self to others. Even to my husband who arguably knows me better than anyone else, I sometimes struggle to efficiently and honestly communicate what I'm feeling.
I always fear I'm messing up what I really want to say, which is why I find writing, blogging, texting, etc. so much easier and more freeing.
It's absolutely tied to self-doubt and insecurity, which didn't really start showing up until I was around 11 or 12, which is when this phone phobia really started.

It's the same reason I abhor confrontation, and I love cats, and I hate talking on the telephone. I am practically a born hermit.

Having said all of this, I do think I am getting better. (Getting even better is on my to do list). I simply have to bolster myself up in order to endure these encounters. I live so deeply inside my own head that I just have to work much harder to communicate enthusiastically and bravely, whether in-person or {gulp} on that blasted telephone. I recognize it as a weakness, and I know the only true cure is a giant Starbucks and a crown of resolution on my head and on my heart. I don't want to be unable to communicate with my friends, and I don't want to lose that age of connection to people in favor of Facebook and texting, because that truly isn't enough. It isn't real. I want to find my 10-year-old girl within that was alright to talk about nothing and everything with no doors barred.

I'll send you a text when I've found her.