2012 (Or Being Cliche)

Well, here I sit.  10:24 New Year's Eve (eastern time that is).  I'm going to cliche blog about my 2012.  Deal or skip it.  No big.  

Conveniently googled picture

Things that happened:

- Megan moved in (this started as insignificant, but ended up awesome)

- Mom surprised me for my birthday (awesome)

- She also bought me lots of fun birthday things while she was in Utah

- My life fell apart (not awesome, also generally this continued for the whole year)

- Went on vacation to Disney World again (good)

- Life continued falling apart (boo)

- Finished my first year of teaching

- Decided to move to Virginia

- Freaked and stressed for a few months about moving to Virginia

- Megan met Gentry (this is not my life, but I think it's significant and important and it's my list so you can deal)

- Generally acted like a huge bitch to the only people in my life that were nice to me (to be fair, this was due to the falling apartness of my life but I still don't get to act like that)

- Had a going away party for myself.  Loved it.  Some people mean a lot to me.

- Went on a going away type date thing with Brittany to Trafalga and Mexican food.  Almost passed out while I was there. Made a fool of self. 

- Moved to Virginia

- Got London

- Got a job

- Teach third grade now

- Still acting like a crazy person

- Planned next Disney vacation (this time with family)

Pretty much the end. 

Boots

On Black Friday I went shopping with my mom and bought a pair of black boots.  They're identical to my most favorite pair of brown boots that broke a few months ago.  I wore them a few times to school and the white house before I realized that I had two different boots. Stop judging me!  They're very similar and I got lots of compliments on them and everything.

A week or so ago I went back to the store to ask if they had the opposite pair tucked away in the back somewhere so I could purchase them.  No luck.

Today I went back with a slightly less ideal plan to find the two types and make my own opposite pair.  Sadly, they're sold out of one of the types.  I decided to just go ahead and buy a black pair of the type they still had and a brown pair to boot.  The sales girl said perhaps the manager would give me a discount.  He scoffed and said maybe if I had brought them back in the box unworn.  Rude.

I walked through the mall a little bit and then turned around.  I figured I would just go on wearing the mismatched pair and return the black ones.  When I got back to the shoe store the manager actually huffed and me and complained under his breath about how I was returning them five minutes after I bought them.  I controlled myself and left.

But here's the problem.  I've had some less than savory customer service interactions in the last several months (the car wash that damaged my brand new car among others).  So, I tell them I'm not coming back and my family won't come back and I'll tell all my friends not to go there...but no one gives a shit.  My dollar doesn't have enough power.  In these giant businesses with multiple branches and tons of customers from miles around, no one cares where I send my dollar or if I ever come back.  And it's kind of obnoxious and disappointing.

The end.  Whine over.

Glee Post-Grad

Guys, I know it's embarrassing or something, but I need to blog about Glee because it's making me have all the feels (not that it takes much these days). Anyway, so I have opinions about this new season and the focus on new characters and everything and I don't always like it.

Also, Kitty is a bitch and I hate her SO much.  More than I ever hated Quinn.  I don't even hate her in the way that you can hate and still find someone an interesting character you want to watch.  I just hate her.

Now, moving on since that's out of my system.

Slaine's duet and super-hero showdown with the Warblers? Help me.

The red-shirted throwback to "Don't Stop Believin'" in the premiere? I love you.

"Some Nights"? Never stop singing forever and ever amen. 

I'm an embarrassment to myself. This is likely no surprise.  Especially if you follow my twitter feed.

The Christmas Story

My sister tells Tori stories before bedtime.  Tori says "Momma, tell me a story about a unicorn" so Heather tells a story about Princess Victoria who saves the unicorn or whatever.  If she wants a story about a shark then Princess Victoria fights a shark and wins.  Last night she wanted a Christmas story.  Here's the exchange.

Tori: Mom, tell me a Christmas story. 

Heather: Ok, I'll tell you the Christmas story.  Once upon a time there was a beautiful girl and her name was Mary.  The Angel came an told her "You're going to have a baby and his name will be Jesus."

Tori: No Mom!  Not Mary's baby Jesus. Toria's baby Jesus. 

Heather: No, it's Mary's baby Jesus. Mary and her husband Joseph traveled a long long time to stay in the inn.  There wasn't any room so they had to stay with the animals.  Then the baby Jesus was born and Mary and Joseph snuggled him.

Tori: No, not Mary.  That's Toria's baby Jesus.  Tori snuggled the baby Jesus.

My sister is building a slightly self-centered child.  It's hilarious. 

A [Really] Short Story

Just for funsies because I haven't blogged in awhile here's a short story I wrote to introduce my kids to realistic fiction tomorrow.  There will be another story (written by a second grader) to go with it and we'll pick out the features of realistic fiction.

Please note: I do not think this is some kind of literary masterpiece or even good, I just needed something to blog.

"Mom! I'm home!" Sophia screamed as the door slammed closed.  

"How many times have I asked you not to slam the door?" was her mother's exhausted reply. 

"Oops!  Sorry Mom!" Sophia answered, mouth already full of chocolate chip cookies (her favorite after school snack). 

It had been a long day and Sophia was glad to be home.  Glad to be away from that meanie Alice.  Most of all she was glad that she wasn't sitting in the principal's office anymore.  Besides, it was Alice that started throwing food in the first place.  Sophia just threw some mashed potatoes back at her...and accidentally hit Mr. Johnson. 

Sophia had had enough trouble for one day.  She would finish her cookies quickly then try and go upstairs to her room - hopefully without having to explain what happened to her mom.  As she swallowed the last bite Sophia grabbed her backpack...and the phone rang. 

"Hello" her mother answered the phone. "Yes, this is Mrs. Knight." Sophia continued to sneak toward her room. "Principal Brooks?  Oh no, what happened this time?" Sophia was almost around the corner when her mother did the snap.  The snap that meant "you better come here this instant and not make a sound or you're grounded for a month."  Sophia turned around and walked, feet dragging, toward her mother.  So much for no more trouble. 

I Need to Talk About Politics

Guys, I'm having trouble deciding who to vote for.  I posted a little bit about it on facebook, but I didn't want to get too much into it there.  Here's my problem: both guys are smart, and both have ideas that make sense.

I'll give one example to explain my thoughts, then I'll leave you alone.

Good old Brother Mitt says that keeping the tax rate low for the extremely wealthy helps grow the economy.  I see the logic here.  If the rich have more money they will spend more money.  If they're spending more money on stuff, there have to be more people employed to make this stuff and sell the stuff and pack and ship the stuff.  I know that's grossly simplified, but I get his point. 

Barack says the rich are rich and should definitely pay more taxes.  They can afford it.  That money can be used to help the poor and out of work.  It can be invested in all the things taxes pay for like education (hello, I'm a teacher and this matters to me), and infrastructure  etc.  Also, why should the rich get a break that the poor (who seemingly have no breaks ever) don't? Even the principle of the thing seems backward. Again, I definitely simplified this to a awful level, but I get his point too.  

So, how do I decide?  How do I get past their awful attack adds and the nasty debacle of a debate the other night and choose a candidate?  

Right now, I can't.  So I'll just blog my frustration. 

P.S. Holla to anyone who still reads my blog despite my irregular updates. 

Not My Party, But I Cried

Yesterday was my brother in law's birthday.  None of you really care about that and I'm not going to write a post about all the great things about him or anything.  Boring.

We threw an Avengers themed party for him because he'd never had an awesome party with decorations and we're weird.

There were a few presents, but the best came from this guy.

He is very open with his emotions.

So a few days ago Billy (that's my brother in law) dropped his iPhone and broke it.  Boo.

I made him try on clothes and ask his mom's opinion.  He hates shopping. 

And Gabe thought of a brilliant birthday present.  He gathered up all the money he'd gotten for losing a tooth and a few other things (about 24 dollars) and put it in an envelope.  And gave the whole thing to his daddy to replace his phone so he wouldn't be sad. 

Started football three weeks late and still the best on his team (not an exaggeration). 

I'm a sap and I had a few tears. Billy told him he was entrusting the money to the Bank of Gabe so they could go do a fun boy activity sometime. 

Yes, he is enjoying shark week. 

What a precious kid. 

Home

Hey, guys, I'm home.  I don't have a lot to update you on.  I'm busy spending my time with beautiful children, my new lab mix puppy (London), and perhaps most importantly, my momma.  And, of course, the Olympics.

Oh, and I've started selling cupcakes.  People are raving over them.  Right now I'm doing $15 a dozen and people aren't even blinking an eye.  To be fair, they are damn good cupcakes.  My most popular flavors are definitely my version of "Better Than Whatever" and Raspberry Lemonade (which have been tweaked since I made them in Utah).

I'm still jobless, but I remain hopeful.  I didn't get last year's job until the week school started.  In good news, my test scores seem to be good. (Virginia requires two additional tests in addition to the Praxis test I had to take to get licensed in Utah).  I needed a minimum of 470 (out of 600) on this test called the VCLA and I got 581.  Yeah, I'm bragging.  Booyah.

Look at my dog.

I Love This Picture, Alot

"Ok, look. I don't actually care about your political views (no really, I don't). But if you are a human being, you have to admit that this is adorable. That's the leader of the free world, people. Sitting on a pink giant bouncy ball."


(Quote not mine.)

Going Away Parties Are the Worst

I capitalized all the words in my title.  It's a title and a sentence so get over it.

Before you ask (even though you've already thought it) yeah, I'm in a bad mood right now.  I'm actually blogging because I had this blog thought before the day went to hell.  Not the point of this post, moving on.

Last night I had a going away shin-dig of sorts.  It wasn't big and it wasn't a huge deal, but I'm leaving my life here presumably forever and I kind of wanted to see some people before I went.  It was by no means a perfect party.  Like, there was the awkward beginning part when people showed up and I didn't even know their names and that was strange, but whatevs.  Then it got a little later and became the best part of the week.  People from my old ward showed up (and Preston hung around and he's one of the few people from this ward that I like to tolerate even a little).  I was reminded that people liked my personality sometimes.  It was cool.

Funny but unrelated picture to break up the monotony of text. 

And then an interesting thing happened.  Someone mentioned that I had disappeared.  That it had been about a year since I hung out with any of them or went to a movie night or whatever.  It's true.  Sure I left the ward, but this is Provo and I live three blocks away.  I started thinking and consciously realized how massively depressed I've been for almost a year.  It's not cool to talk about mental illness/issues in public, but I'm doing it.  I'm not saying nothing good happened to me over the past year or that I never had moments of gladness (my mom surprised me for my birthday, remember? And I loved my job so there's that.), but overall it's been kind of a shit-hole of a year.  Probably part of me realized that which is why I'm headed home to Virginia...but that's a different story.

More lulz.

I just wanted to take this time and moment to thank those people who still showed up at my going away party even though I have been horribly absent for a year.  It's not that I didn't like you, I just didn't like anyone or something.  I don't know how it works because I haven't worked it through all the way yet.  But I wasn't forgotten.  A year later, these people still thought enough of me to come spend a few hours and eat my food (I love when people eat my food.  It's my one talent) and laugh with me. Big fat sappy thanks to all of you.  Especially the few of you who made it extra hard to leave.  Which is where the title of this post comes from.  Now I remember that I love these people and still have to leave them anyway.  Dammit.

For Reasons

The other day my roommate Megan (who I love and is the bright spot in the aforementioned desperate loneliness) blogged about things she hated and why.  While I agree with some of the things she said (I think roses are overdone too) orange is one of my most favorite colors.  In fact, I have a bright orange t-shirt that I wear about once a week.  It's not that flashy neon orange that's all over Claire's and Forever 21 right now, just a solid bright traffic cone orange shirt. And I love it.

After reading Megan's post I thought about getting offended for approximately half a second, but then I didn't.  You see, Megan is a great human.  She's a nice, quirky girl with opinions and feelings just like everyone else.  Megan just happens to hate orange. And I love orange.  And I love that shirt.  But she wasn't directly attacking it.

Just like I'm not attacking her when I say I hate skinny jeans in all colors on every person no matter their body type or leg length or gender.  Just, no.  Skinny jeans are SO awful in my opinion.  Megan loves skinny jeans.  To her, they are comfy and cute.

JUXTAPOSITION!!!

And that's what this friendship is.  I've been in friendships in the past (many) where I felt the need to like or dislike whatever my friends liked or disliked (I acknowledge this is mostly in my fault).  Oh, your favorite color is fuchsia?  Mine too.  You hate flip-flops?  Same with me. (Both of those are OBVIOUSLY hypothetical examples).  With Megan, though, it's ok that I like orange and she likes skinny jeans and she likes records and I like pop radio and she likes mustaches and I feel kind of pissed that the hipsters have made them so popular because what's the big deal with a hairy lip anyway.  We're insanely different, but we make it work.  And it's nice.

Heartbreak

You've perhaps noticed (and I'm sure it helped that I explicitly mentioned) the somber and subdued tone of my blog posts lately.  Admittedly, they're sometimes fiery and resentful, but none of that happy, silly, laughing stuff for the last few months.  I want to tell you why.  Mostly because I want to admit "out loud" to someone why.

My heart is broken.

Once upon a time I had a best friend for about five years.  I wasn't her best friend, but she was mine.  We did many things together.  It was grand. I found actual moments of happiness which is something hard for me.  Many (but not all) of our interests and ideas matched with one another.  We were the same, but different.

Then something happened.  I honest to goodness don't know what it was, but something happened.  And now, that friendship is gone.  Past.  Over.  I just looked at my text message history yesterday.  There has been zero communication since April 30th.

I suspected and feared the end might have been coming since February 25th when I ate my first birthday cake in years all alone (excepting for my mom and Megan (who didn't even know me then) singing a feeble, but well-meaning wish of happiness) and sobbed for hours.  I was afraid the end was coming, but I clung to what I could in every way I could think to do it.

At times I resorted to drastic and impulsive measures that likely made things worse.

And now, here I sit.  After more than a month with no communication, after a much longer period of pure dread, all alone.

Lonely.

Truly heartbroken.

Lincoln

I don't like to apologize for not blogging, but I will apologize now that I have no funnies to blog lately.  This post is definitely not embarrassing like the previous few, but it's not funny.

Several weeks ago I gave an assignment to my students to explain what they thought the following quote from Abraham Lincoln meant, in their own words.

"In giving freedom to the slave, we assure freedom to the free."

Some of them did quite poorly on this assignment and didn't take it seriously at all.  I did, however, get a few that I thought were poignant and beautiful (all punctuation is theirs).

From Abbie: "What I think it means is that Americans are all ready free, but slaves live in America and are Americans and are not free.  So, if Americans all of them black and white are free, they give freedom to the real America"

From Courtney: "By giving freedom to one race, we are really giving freedom to all man kind, because we are all the same."

And my favorite, from Martin: "I think by giving freedom to the people who were slaves well for example if it was like this umm the slaves were like the ones working and the others were like inside the whole time and never did anything.  So the slaves got freedom and the people who were free had been free to go outside to do work that's is how the frees got way more free by working and not being lazy that is what I think."

Can we talk about this for a minute?  I definitely wasn't looking for this answer, but the concept is absolutely astounding.  To this kid, it's in work that we are made more free.  I'm going to leave you now to interpret as you will.

Beautiful

This is a super embarrassing post.  Apparently I'm full of awful things lately.  Brittany pointed out that I shouldn't care what other people think about my blog posts anyway, so I'm posting it.  

I like the One Direction song What Makes You Beautiful.  It's been on the radio quite a bit recently.  Yesterday I was driving home from a hike and I heard James Blunt's You're Beautiful.  I know the whole world hates that song, but I like it.  These songs made me think of a discussion I had with someone recently (probably Megan) about how it would be miserable to be in a romantic relationship where the person didn't find you more than just averagely attractive.  Even if you boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife honestly loved you it would be kind of terrible to know they only found you averagely attractive.  

My concern with this idea probably goes back to my childhood.  One of my parents' "songs" is Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen.  It's a good song, but it has the line "You ain't a beauty but, hey, you're alright."  As a very young child I thought that meant that my dad didn't think my mom was particularly beautiful.  I was a weird kid.  Lots of issues. 

Do you see my two jumbled paragraphs of avoiding the point of this post?  I guess I'm more ashamed of it than I even realized. Fine, here we go. 

More than I want someone to love me or to want to date me or to have a crush on me or whatever, I want someone to honestly look at me some day and tell me I'm beautiful.  There.  I said it.  And it's weird and not something you tell people or blog about.  My mom tells me I look great sometimes.  Megan tells me my hair looks good.  People say that oh, that skirt is awesome.  For me, though, there's some sort of power in that word beautiful.  I know that it's not something that just gets thrown around because it is so strong.  Nobody's casual friend is going to come in and say "Hey, you look really beautiful today" because that has the potential to create a severely uncomfortable situation (probably).  Someday, though, sometime I want to be beautiful.  I want someone to look at me and think that and to say it to me.  

Such an awkward post.  

Growing Up Country

I've found the comments of some of my friends quite perplexing as of late.  One friend on facebook was detailing her freak-out of having seen a mouse in her house.  She left the house immediately, bought traps, and had someone else handle the rest of the situation.  If I remember correctly, she even stayed with friends overnight because she was so freaked out.

Another friend blogged about seeing an enormous beetle in her house and how grateful she was that it wasn't a mouse.

Pro tip: You're more likely to get the mouse if you use peanut butter.  Occasionally mice can make off with the cheese and not get caught. 

Wait, what?  Is this real life?  I think it is.  Perhaps it's because I grew up poor and in the middle of nowhere, but we had some mice in our house.  So we just set traps (they are dirt cheap).  When we heard one snap we'd wait a few minutes for the mouse to completely die then take it outside to the trash.  Last step: set another one.  (It's not like we were dirty people, this was the country).  This is absolutely not a big deal to me.  

Bugs in the house stress me out much more because if you see one, in all likelihood there are hundreds more.  We used to have to set "fly bombs" in our house then leave for the day.  Basically they were aerosol cans of poison that you set around your house and then when you come back after a safe amount of time you have to sweep up all the bugs.  Gross.  Also, damn the fact that there were chicken farms close so we had so many flies. 

Last night at the bonfire I got a splinter in my thumb.  My fingers were too short and stubby to remove it so I asked my roommate to pull it out and she freaked.  Then I pulled out my pocket knife and asked if it would help if she cut the skin on top (it was buried pretty deep).  She was completely done after that.  Luckily Gentry manned up and got it out.  I found another this morning that's even deeper that I'll have to cut to access.  

I can clean a fish and cook like a champ.  I'm not strong enough to skin a deer, but if it's quartered I know how to break it down after that.  A mouse in the house is not a big deal.  I hate wearing shoes.  The bottoms of my feet are tough almost like a hobbit.  I love the smell of campfire.  Give me an old fashioned crank style ice cream maker and I can produce ice cream.  I've spent hours and hand ground pounds upon pounds of deer sausage.  In fact, I know all the different ways to season it depending on the intended use.  I've been squirrel hunting and eaten the result.  (Why do so many of my country tendencies have to do with food?) I don't wait on anyone to help me move furniture or boxes, I can figure out a way to do it on my own.  I say yes ma'am and yes sir on a regular basis.  Minor in home surgeries (splinters, in-grown toe nails, etc) are no big deal.  

Apparently these things aren't normal.  They come from growing up in the country (good old Luray, VA) with expectations.  Kids aren't for playing while adults work, kids are for making the work get done faster.  Maybe that means you carry the deer quarters from the tree where it's strung up to the kitchen where mostly women are cleaning and organizing the meat.  When you get older, you join the women.  Maybe you haul wood or build fires or take care of babies when you're still one.  Maybe you join your dad for a Saturday of activities (probably a trip to the dump and hopefully Tastee Freez).  Maybe you join your mom and weed the garden, pick up rocks, and make some vegetable soup.  It's all part of growing up country.  And I'm glad to have that experience. 

Call Me, Maybe

Parts of this post are probably going to be embarrassing, but I'm still posting it.  Because that's how life is.

A few weeks ago (probably four) Megan and I decided to go to institute.  What was so good to lure us there on a Thursday night?  Carrabba's was catering.  Nom.  Naturally approximately 494,000 people showed up so we were forced to watch the meeting on a television in one of the Relief Society rooms.  Written on the chalkboard were the lyrics to Call Me Maybe with a phone number. Naturally, because I am exceedingly silly and witty, I texted the number "Hey, Maybe."  (Get it?  Really, it's not that funny but it was more interesting than what was going on at institute).

Is she wearing tights or are her legs that pale?

The person on the other end was confused and thought I had the wrong number so I explained that a friend had probably written his/her number on the board with the lyrics and I was a stranger texting.  My new found text friend immediately knew the culprit and chuckled a little.  I found out this stranger's name was Chris and he lived near the chapel, but not in my stake (oh Provo, you crazy place).  

Over the next few days I heard from Chris (via text) a couple of times to tell me that two other people (both dudes) had texted him and our small talk turned into get to know you talk.  We started trying to find someone we both knew or a connection we had, but it proved nearly impossible.  When I found out Chris was a math grad student I asked if he knew my home teacher (who is a math grad student as well).  He didn't, but I realized my mistake a second too late.  Here comes the embarrassing part.  I had given a first and last name of someone I know and am facebook friends with.  And my name is unique.  Now Chris could probably easily find me and then he'd see what I look like and our text flirting would cease and it was nice to flirt with a boy because that doesn't happen in my life.  Listen, I know I'm awkward and weird and that I shouldn't be so insecure, but I am.  I also realize that boys don't do facebook stalking quite the same way as girls do (or as frequently).  

After running across my apartment screaming "Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!" Megan tried to console me, but that didn't work out so well.  So, we started trying to facebook stalk Chris instead.  Chris had mentioned the name of a friend with a unique spelling, so we started with that friend and then looked for friends of that person named Chris (see, girls are great at this).  Megan found one she decided was the guy: a suave looking ginger-kid with a profile picture taken by a photographer friend.  

As that night went on and Chris and I were still unsuccessful in our attempt to find a mutual acquaintance, he suggested becoming facebook friends.  I freaked out further and under Megan's direction changed my profile picture to something more attractive and less silly.  Turns out that the Chris Megan found was the Chris I had been talking to. 

To my truthful surprise, communication did not end once we became facebook friends.  I met Chris at his ward's softball game later that week and he was friendly and handsome.  Then I went all insecure as the game ended and Megan and I left.  I said something about "Well, I hope to hear from you again" and he acted like it was the most absurd thing anyone had ever said. 

This seems stupid, right?  To be that insecure about yourself that meeting someone in person makes you think they will stop communicating with you?  It's real life.  I'm not exaggerating.  

That weekend Chris and I went to Red Lobster and watched what is probably the most brilliant show on television, Duck Dynasty.  Seriously, that show is a gem.  

After writing this post I was getting a lot of unexpected negative feedback that created drama and further heartbreak in my life.  It was a painful situation.  Chris saw the post and commented that he liked it and that it showed that I was not "fluffy" as some ElEd folks tend to be.  It was a nice respite from all the awfulness.   

This post is getting excessively long so I'll try to sum up the rest quickly.  I found Chris charming and attractive.  He didn't hate me.  We hung out a few more times.  At one point he helped Megan study while I tutored her sister and it was really fun for some reason.  Chris has an amazing ward and fantastic friends that I got to meet at a barbecue and softball game (which was freezing cold despite the fact that it is now the summer).  I don't think I've ever met a more friendly and welcoming group of people.  Chris is a great (and inordinately fun) person.  So there it is.  My fairly embarrassing, but an interesting to tell the blogging world story.  Maybe it seems that I was placing too much hope? pressure? something on this situation.  Not so.  It was just awesome to go on an actual date, to flirt with some guy as not a joke, and to have a fun time.  And in the end? I'm exceedingly lucky because I got a friend out of the situation.  

My Guide To Hiking

Over the last week I've been hiking a few times up rock canyon, and I've learned some things.

Note: the pictures below aren't in order and were taken over Friday and Saturday hiking trips.

Starting your Saturday hike with about a teaspoon of grit and gravel in your shoes is not ok.  You will feel it. Also your socks will get holes.  

Stop and rock hop in the stream whenever you want (just don't get too far from the path because then your mom might get mad). 

Do everything you can to make it to the natural water fountains.  It is the best water on the earth.  To get here, though, you have to man up and stop getting passed by the old man taking an early Saturday morning hike.  That's just embarrassing. (I would pass him, then have to take a break then he would pass me while I was breaking.  Finally I decided to man up, push through the pain, and get far enough past him that it wouldn't happen). 

Hiking on Saturday is just better.  Because on other days you still have life to get back to and things to do, but if you're hiking at 7:30 am on Saturday you can go for three hours and that's fine. 

Make friends with as many dogs as you can. 

Take pictures at the bottom on your shorter hike so you can tell your mom that you got into the grey rocks.  Proceed to at least triple your distance the following day. 

Even though people say not to, realize the benefits of hiking alone: no one will try to talk to you while you're barely able to breathe, you can take a break or go as slow as you want, and you get to pick the playlist. 

Get to the part where the path narrows and there's not as many people. 

Don't pick leaves just because you want to smell them.  They might be poison ivy or poison oak (anybody know if these are poison ivy or oak?).

Catch the sun. 

When you decide to go off the path on Friday so you can get a good picture for your mom, don't tell her.  If the giant rock you're standing on suddenly starts sliding down the mountain just as you were about to go further off the path for a good view, it's time to head back down. 

Don't hike in the shoes you melted the soles off last time you went camping.  You can feel all the rocks. 

Hike at least until you want to keep going and can't bear the idea of turning around.  Only turn around when the path starts splitting too many times and you're afraid you'll get lost.  Also when you get to campsites that got accessed some other way and there are toilets and everything, just give up and turn around because you might feel weird. 

When you see the view of the valley that shows how far you've really come, stop and take a picture because your view will disappear in the trees quite soon. 

If you hike in the morning wear a sweatshirt because it's freaking cold.  Don't take it off when you turn around to go down because there's still not enough sun to give you a tan. 

Spend some time trying to decide if you prefer the burn of hiking in the hot or the freeze of the morning.  Decide you love both. 

Hope that it'll get warm enough in the summer that you can walk in the creek up the mountain because the water looks so inviting. 

Go here.  Refuse to talk about it later, but insist on keeping the picture. 

Post a long blog post so your mom can see all your pictures and realize that you're not dead. 

Try turning your music off on the way back down the mountain.  It's a nice change. And let's be real, there's no way you're getting up there without your music.  You need the motivation. 

Post another picture of the place you're not talking about.  Realize you're obsessed with water pictures.  

Stop near the bottom for a photo of a nice cloud and a view you think your dad will like. Also wish that you could press save on your hike like you do on video games so you don't have to start again at the boring part next time.  

Just generally have a wonderful time and hope you have time and motivation to keep going next week.  

What Men Want

Here's a list of qualities men want in a girl:

• good taste
• obedient
• calm
• fast workers
• good family
• tiny waist
• can produce children (preferably sons)
• soft (what does this even mean?)
• pale
• nice eyes
• adoring of the man's strength
• good cook
• think the guy is perfect

Definitely not on the list:

• smart
• outspoken

Do you know where I got this list?  Believe it or not it wasn't an Elder's Quorum.
I say that mostly in jest, but really I've heard guys say things quite similar to this.

And to be fair, I've heard girls say things at least this shallow.  This isn't all on men. 

Mothers Day

I'm going to join the droves of other people and post about Mothers Day.  And you know what?  You can't do anything about it because this is my blog and you're not my real mom.  Also, as a side note, I keep switching between Mother's Day and Mothers Day because I like both.

People I want to thank this Mother's Day.

Misti O'Neal Carbone for being a real life Loreli Gilmore.

Erma O'Neal for being the sweetest grandmother in the world.

Alice Budd for letting me share a birthday (and a name), for giving me good advice, and for hours and hours of card playing.

Katie Facemire Snead for showing me a different way when I was in high school.

Robin Stokes for giving me a hug every time you saw me even when I didn't want anyone to speak to me.

Sister Thatcher for being an inspiration and a guide in my growing up years.  Ditto to Joyce Wilson.

Christina Stommel for asking me if my oil was changed, for driving me places when I needed a ride, for being a beautiful example, for seeking out adventure, and for being a mother figure when I missed mine so badly.

Margaret Wright for giving me the biggest hug in the world before you even knew me freshman year because I missed my own mom so badly.

Heather Wooten for taking care of me when Mom couldn't and devoting every single ounce of herself to her children.

Laurel Budd for telling me that everything is gonna be alright, be strong, believe.  And for crying with me when everything was the worst.

And finally to my own wonderful mother.  She is an inspiration and an amazing human.  I love my momma more than anyone else in the world at this point.  I'm not exaggerating or being silly when I tell you she is my best friend.  She wasn't when I was a kid (because I don't think that's how good parenting works) but now I'd rather talk to her than anyone else most days.  I tell her about boys and friends and we love to shop together (grocery shop or idea shop at Ikea for the most part).  For my birthday she surprised me in my classroom.  It was a beautiful thing and that week was awesome.  When I fought with my friends that week and sobbed for hours she cuddled me and bought me a birthday cake anyway, which we ate almost alone.  For the past several months she's listened to me cry almost every day when my life was SO hard (stop judging me right now, it's been a really bad several months).  She loves my students and lets them call her Momma Budd.  When I was in high school she wrote me a letter and told me how much she loved being a mother and the one greatest regrets of her life was that she wasn't able to stay home with us all the time.  I have no resentment toward her for that because she was/is an amazing mother despite sacrificing her own sleep and time to work overnight shifts picking rocks out of jeans. I could go on for pages about my mother and how wonderful she is, but I won't.  I'll just end by saying, I love you Mom.

Leave No Man Behind

Someone I know tweeted this quote the other day.

No one can give you courage.  No one can thicken your skin.  I will not fail so you can be comfortable.  I will not lose because you can't win.

I'm not going to put who wrote it or who tweeted it because I think both should be embarrassed by it.  This quote is completely and exactly the opposite of motivational.  Also I think it's total bull shit.

Most of the people in this area are extremely religious.  What would Jesus say about this quote?  Because to me this quote says, "Man up and get over yourself because I can't take any time out of stepping on other people during my journey to the top to help my fellow man."

Let's turn our thoughts for a moment to the US military.  When I think abstractly of "getting shit done" I think of the military because they do.  And what is their unofficial motto thing that is in all the cheesy action movies?  Leave no man behind.  Not I won't lose because you can't win, LEAVE NO MAN BEHIND.  Because that's what classy people do.  Because that's what Christ-like people do.  Because that's what anyone who gives a damn about other people in the least does.

So yes.  I'm a fan of the phrase man up.  Sometimes you need to suck it up and move on.  But sometimes you are physically, mentally, and emotionally incapable of taking even one more step on your own and if only someone would help you just a tiny bit you could get up and run towards success with that person.  And then you can both win.  And you will both be better people.  And no one fails.  Is my point coming across?  If I win you don't lose and if you win I don't have to.  We can both win together.

Unless you're an asshole.

Different Place, Different Time

I've been struck a few times over the past little while by the differences in culture between different groups of people regarding simple things.  Two quick examples:

A few weeks ago I got the word "wagon" on Draw Something while playing with my sister.  This is what I drew (or attempted to draw).

Just last night I was playing Draw Something with a Mormon friend of mine.  It quickly became clear that he too got the word "wagon."  Only, this friend drew something that resembled this.

I couldn't help but chuckle as this Mormon culture clashed with my childhood culture (which wasn't filled with Pioneer days and things of that nature like many LDS folks). 

Second example.  Just before Christmas break I had to confiscate at least a half dozen of these from students for playing with them in class (excessively, I might add).  

They're called HexBugs.  Basically these little battery powered bugs scuttle around all over the top of (or in most cases inside) your desk and are fun and actually act a lot like real bugs.  

Not two weeks later I was home for Christmas break talking to my dad about my class.  I told him they sometimes played with toys in their desks while I was teaching (though I didn't tell him what they played with).  Dad started musing about the days when he would bring a woolly bear caterpillar in from recess and keep it in his desk to play with.  

If you tell me that didn't give you a chuckle, you're a liar.  I guess boys will be boys and want to play with bugs during school: only now the bugs are electronic. 

P.S. Do they even have woolly bears in Utah? 

Summer Memories

Last night I was at ward prayer writing a  nice note to someone when a smell hit me.  I couldn't place it at all, but I was overwhelmed with nostalgia.  It smelled fresh like summer and playing outside and camping in the backyard while Dad told the mayonnaise man story (maybe I'll tell you sometime, it's terrifying).  Not knowing what the smell was frustrating so I wondered allowed what it was, "Something smells like summer."  My home teacher Preston answered simply, "It's mint" as he grabbed a leaf from the flower bed and handed it to me.  I held the leaf up close to my face and inhaled deeply.  There it was.  Mint.  Summertime.  Memories.

My mom always grew mint (still does) under the spigot on the outside of our house.  I don't know how mint does it, but it grows all summer long.  When we were really young my sisters and I would pick it to make "wilderness stew" to go with our elaborate outdoor camping games (not that we would have eaten it as the other ingredients included rocks, sticks, grass, mud, and dandelions).  My grandmother dries her mint and boils it for tea all summer long.  Every time we turn on the hose the water splashes into the mint and the aroma is released.  Smelling that little mint leaf last night I was overwhelmed by these memories and taken back to a time that was simpler and in many ways happier; a time of family and neon green shorts and drinking from the hose.

Preston grabbed a piece of rosemary soon after and as I smelled that piece I remembered the herb-stuffed pork loin Mom tried (and succeeded at) making five or six years ago when she started growing lots of herbs in her garden.

I know that studies show smells bring back memories faster than pretty much any other sense, but I was not prepared to be taken back so dramatically and immediately from last night to my childhood.  The experience was a welcome (albeit brief) escape from unfriendly reality.

An Important Clarification

I think it was clear in my last post, but possibly not so I want to add it here.  I don't believe Anna, Jane, or Mary in the situation below to be bad people in any way shape or form.  I don't want it to come across like poor Anna, if only Jane and/or Mary did their duty as Mormons and friends then everything would be ok.  It's not like that.  People react to situations differently and I just wanted to address some thinking that seems to be prevalent in this culture.  

Thanks, all.  Also I certainly appreciate the thoughtful comments that have already been left on the previous post. 

On Religion

The LDS Church is losing YSA (that's young single adult, for those less informed) members at a rapid rate.  I've seen some sources refer to the loss as "bleeding" or even "hemorrhaging" members from this demographic.  Here's a link to just one article that quotes Elder Marlin Jensen in case you're not believing me: article.

I want to share with you a conversation I was privy to awhile ago that I think exposes some of the reasons these members are leaving at such a rapid rate.  All names are changed (and some context) to protect the innocent.

Mary, Jane, and Anna are girls in their early twenties living in Provo.  The three had been having another conversation that eventually led to the topic of religion.  Anna is on the outside edge of current Mormonism and has been struggling to find her faith for 18 months or so and is instead finding more questions than answers.

When the topic of Proposition 8 comes up Anna mentions that the Church should not have, in her opinion, gotten involved in campaigning against it and that she doesn't care if gays get married or not.  Mary is quiet, Jane is vocal.  Jane says that the prophet (and apostles) should be followed exactly and they stood so adamantly and specifically against it that she can't help but following.  Mary expresses her belief that it doesn't matter much whether gays get married or not citing this graph.

Where then, queries Jane, do you draw the line and decide you will and won't listen to the prophets?  Questioning can lead to too much questioning, she warns, and you should follow with exactness.  Anna is interested and expresses her frustration with that sentiment as as a reason she can't realign with the church.  Where can someone like Anna discuss her problems?  Go to the scriptures says Jane.  What about things the scriptures don't address?  Jane suggests talking to the bishop.  Anna expresses her frustration that these roads lead to few actual answers and mostly ideas of "pray more often."  

The conversation gets more heated, though not argumentative.  Anna brings up topics that bother her (which I won't site here lest it bring up questions for someone that doesn't want them) and Jane responds to some.  Most often with ideas about following the prophets and just staying aligned until we know more and how things are uncertain.  Anna compares blindly following that strictly to "drinking poison kool-aid" a la Jim Jones, but to a lesser degree.  Mary chimes in and says it's different because the prophets will never ask someone to drink poison kool-aid.  Anna asks how she can be sure.  Both Jane and Mary affirm that men led by God wouldn't do something like that. 

Anna again goes back to the questions in the church's past that seem strange and asks about the prophets and apostles being human and where the line of human error is drawn.  The conversation is getting more heated and Mary is visibly frustrated.  Anna turns to Jane and says that the conversation should probably stop as Mary is getting offended (these three are friends, remember?).  Mary asks what Anna expects when she attacks her beliefs and shoots them down left and right.  The situation deteriorates from there. 

Here's an unrelated picture of a basset hound puppy to break up the monotony of the text. 

There's the story.  Not many specific details, I know, but enough for you to follow my line of thought...I think.  So, we have these three girls.  Anna, the "struggler" and Jane and Mary the "in line with the standards and beliefs of the church" members.  All three living in the Provo bubble of Mormondom.  None of the girls are breaking any major church rules or commandments (I mean, who doesn't break some rule at some point by listening to a song they shouldn't or whatever.  No one is perfect).  

I think the point of this is my desire to highlight Anna's predicament.  In this conversation she is among friends trying to honestly discuss religion.  The reason Anna chooses to push and ask Mary and Jane her questions is not to try and sway them or to attack their beliefs, but to have someone push back on her.  There is no forum for that.  Anna can go to the Church that is not very specific on many many things and frowns on questioning or can look to sources on the internet which are predominantly written by ex-Mormons trying to draw others away.  When Anna tried to have this conversation with her friends at least one of them was offended and got defensive at Anna's apparent attack on her beliefs.  

What, then, is Anna to do?  Where is she to go?  She's in the Provo bubble with not very many people to talk to about the situation and some serious issues to be worked out.  Here's my point.  No one is looking after this group of young adults: not their bishops, not their friends, not their families, no one.  So they're left alone.  What happens when they're left alone?  They feel alienated and leave the church that they don't see as caring for them or providing answers to their questions; they leave the church of their childhood.  And that's just sad.  

I know you love my random breaking up the monotony pictures. 

My recommendation?  When your friends let you know they have questions or they don't believe in God or they're struggling with the idea of following the prophet then love them.  Love them so much they might die of so much love.  And don't be easy on them.  Push.  Ask what they believe and why they believe it.  Get them to defend their belief or disbelief.  Don't smother them, of course.  Don't push when they're in a state of irritation.  Similarly, don't avoid the topic of religion.  Not talking about Jesus just because they're in the room or not praying at a meal they're invited to is probably not helpful.  It doesn't show that religion is important to you and sets no example for the Anna's in the world.  Lastly, try and be kind and understanding to these people.  Know that in most cases they're not people looking for a reason to be wicked or a way to justify their sins.  Most likely something bad happened to them or in their life and it made them question and they got lost.  Help them back, don't leave them in the cold.  There's no one else out there to take care of the Anna's in your life if you don't do it.  If the Marys and the Janes don't come forward then it's likely that no one will and most of the Annas will be lost. 

On Anger

*Note: I wrote and rewrote this post several times and it was originally much more lengthy, but I just wanted to get to the point, thus you have this condensed post.

I want to let you know up front (for those Mormons who read my blog) that I've been planning this post in my head for probably 24 hours or so and it's pure coincidence that this topic was brought up somewhat this morning.

Moving on.  I've been thinking about anger a lot over the last few days.  Anger and hot-tempers run in my family. We're grudge holders and yellers and silent-treatment givers and at times hitters. I know all about anger.

Sometimes you're angry and you have good reason.  This is called being justified in your anger.  I've been sitting around angry, in a way I feel is justified, for weeks.  In my mind people have done things directly against me and I have the right to be angry.

And you know what? You (I) can do that.  I'm fine if you (I) do that, I feel like it's a reasonable thing to do, but here's the thing.  You're only hurting yourself.  Nobody actually gives a shit if you're angry.  So do it.  Sit there and be angry because you deserve to be and people are mean to you.  But realize you're going to be sitting there all alone and no one is going to come to realize they've been mean and apologize.

My new found knowledge?  Just let it go.  Fake it 'til you make it if you need to, but show that meanness or whatever isn't going to destroy your life.  Keep being nice to the people that are hurting you and then maybe they'll stop hurting you.

Life Choices

When I was a senior in high school I decided to be a teacher.  When I was a freshman in college I decided to teach elementary school.  I haven't yet ruled out the possibility that I will teach high school some day, but I know that I made the right career choice.

My job is so stressful.  I'm not kidding.  Somedays I hope that no one over the age of eleven will even speak to me.  I spend personal time and money on making things the best I possibly can for my fifth grade students.  Doesn't matter, because I love them and my job is fulfilling.

Seriously.  I get up and want to go to work in the morning.  Now, don't confuse me and think I mean that I never want to stay in my bed because I'm exhausted.  I love staying in my bed.  I enjoy the days I get to sleep in.  But I never leave my job and think how much I hate it.  And school is the only thing that's awesome.

When I'm stressed and/or my life is in disarray, school is the only time I can let go and be happy.  Right now pretty much all the things in my life are a big freaking disaster and I cry all the days, but school is great.  My kids make me legitimately happy even when they're being brats.

And THAT is how you know you chose the right career path.  When your job is the part of the day you love the most, that's what you should be doing.

No fanfare. The end.

Two Tales from School

I have a lovely student named M----- in my fifth grade class.  It's kind of obvious that he's the studly one in the class (at least half of my girls have admitted to me that they have a crush on him) and he's and overall nice, smart kid.  I wanted to share two quick stories that kind of show M-----'s personality.

One: I had a student named A----- in my class (she has since moved).  A----- and M----- were "going out" for awhile.  No, I still don't know (and didn't know when I was 10) what exactly that entails except that A----- was M-----'s girlfriend and all the girls were jealous.  Good thing about it was that A----- was a very friendly girl so all the others still liked her.  On her last day right before she left there was a somber mood in the classroom as everyone said goodbye.  Right as she was walking out M----- called to me "Hey, Miss Budd, listen to this!  Bye A-----, I love you."  You can mock the kid if you want (though don't do it around me because I might punch you in the face), but in his precious little 11 year old heart he did (does) love this girl and went out on a limb to tell her so.  It was extremely precious and I had to try not to tear up.  No, I don't think they'll continue to see each other or grow up and get married, but for now he loved her and that's enough.

Two: Last week was the week from hell aka parent teacher conferences.  Don't get me wrong, I love to meet with and talk to the parents but I spent two evenings at the school until almost 8 o'clock which makes for very long and tiring days.  M----- was my very last conference and came with both his parents and both of his step-parents.  You could tell he was really feeling the pressure (and I joked that I could go get his reading teacher if he wanted just to add to it).  In March the fifth graders have maturation (sex ed) and I had to get parents to sign the forms.  M-----'s dad turned and looked at him and asked if he wanted to go.  M----- said he didn't care.  His step-mom asked if he knew what it was about and M----- said without thinking, "Yeah, penis."  He then proceeded to bury his head under the table and groan and be embarrassed.  "Oh my gosh, why did I say that in front of my teacher?"  I had to try hard not to laugh (and maybe did a little).  The next day he mentioned two or three more times how horrified he was and apologized.

You know what?  I kind of like being a fifth grade teacher.