standing for something ( i make a fool of myself)

I think I made a fool of myself approximately four hours ago.

See, I'm taking an American Literature class this semester, and today Awesome Crazy Hair American Literature Teacher Who Sort of Intimidates Me But Really I Like Her gave us a quiz, which she then asked me to collect from my fellow students.

I'm good at taking direction. I sort of go into worker bee mode, you know? "Must collect papers. Must collect papers." (meant to be read in a robot voice)

So, I went around the room collecting the papers. Silently. That whole robot voice thing was only in my head. As far as I know.

So I got to this kid who clearly preferred to not be at school at all, let alone taking a quiz in a class on early American literature taught by Smarty Pants Awesome Crazy Hair. He was still writing. He asked me if he could have a few more minutes.

Me. The one who is not the teacher and has no authority whatsoever.

So I sort of gestured towards the teacher. I'd like to think my gesture was able to convey the message that the time allotted for the quiz was actually over along with sincere and heartfelt sympathy for his plight, but I don't think he got that message because he rolled his eyes and made that sighing sound like I had just socked him in the gut and threw his pen down and tossed his paper at me.

Angry at the man. I dig.

I moved on. I stood waiting for the last kid to give me his paper. He didn't ask for a few more minutes like the last kid. He didn't even acknowledge my presence. He just kept on writing.

And I just stood there.

Waiting.

The classroom was silent. I considered turning in the rest of the papers and sitting down. I think that would have been a completely reasonable thing to do.

I didn't, though. I kept on standing there, waiting, for like TWO MINUTES until he finished, looked up, and handed me his paper.

I just, I don't know.....had to.

It was like robot voice just took over, and I had to complete my mission or else I'd explode or something.

MUST COLLECT PAPERS. MUST COLLECT PAPERS.

There was something else, though. It was like I became that obnoxious girl sitting in the front row pointing at the kid who wasn't obeying the rules. Only I wasn't just pointing, I was standing, like a hunting dog, right in front of his desk.

I called Paul and told him what happened. Wow, he said. I would have just sat down.

Geez. Of course I should have sat down. Stupidstupidstupid!

Then I thought great, so now I'm going to be Weird Standing Girl for the rest of the semester.

I sat there for a while, picturing what the rest of the semester would be like as Weird Standing Girl. I was in the middle of visualizing a milk carton being thrown at my head when I thought hey.......WAIT A MINUTE!!! I AM OLD!!!!

I'm a good ten years older than everyone in class with me!!! Old TOTALLY trumps crazy! Old is like the all encompassing adjective, you know? So instead of thinking I'm Weird Standing Girl, maybe they just thought I have a bad case of rheumatism or arthritis or the gout or the vapors, and I had to stand.

I feel so much better now!

Please don't ruin it for me.

hell freezes over (i eat a salad)

I give up.

You win.

Fine.

After twenty nine years of protesting vegetables, I've finally decided that maybe......MAYBE, you're right.

Last week as Paul and I discussed what to have for dinner, I offered to make him a salad. You should have some, he said. He had that tone like he was double dog daring me, and before I knew what was happening I said fine, I'll have some.

Good, he said.

Good, I said.

Then, I started hyperventilating.

As I seasoned the chicken and scrubbed the sweet potatoes, I thought......this is a pickle. A tight spot, to be sure. Could I get out of this? Was there a loophole? Did I say "maybe I'll have some"? That would totally give me an out, and then I could just.........

Geez. There wasn't any loophole. I was going to have to eat a stupid salad.

I placed the lettuce leaves gently on my salad plate. I felt like I was preparing for a funeral. My own funeral. I was going to die of eating salad. At least I could say I'd actually had ranch dressing on vegetables. I found consolation in that idea.

When I had eaten my chicken and sweet potato, I glared at my salad plate.

I hate you, salad.

I hate that you're green, because I really like the color green and I don't want to associate such negative emotions with such a great color, and I hate that you crunch in a weird sort of way, and I hate that I have to eat you to be healthy.

My fork wavered over my salad plate. Technique. What is the proper technique for salad eating? Is it better to mix in the dressing prior to consumption? Mixing was probably best, I decided.

I took a bite.

Nothing. No gag reflex, no vomiting.

I chewed, swallowed.

It was a miracle.

So I guess what I'd like to say is, I'm sorry, salad.

I don't hate you anymore. I will now moderately tolerate you. Also, thank you for not making me gag, or vomit. That was really quite decent of you. I'll remember that when I'm introducing my kids to you.

this is paul's salad. no way am i eating that much green stuff.

this is my salad. i think more than three leaves totally counts as a salad.

me, prior to making up with salad

finishing the last bite (note the telltale puddle of ranch on my plate)okay, i guess it wasn't that bad. apparently i'm not ready to admit that.

the coldest i've ever been

See this, right here? This is not it. This is me, frolicking in California last week. Note how not cold I look.
Paul and I flew out to stop my brothers from killing each other. Okay, not really. We actually flew out to enjoy some quality shenanigans with our families. No conflict resolution was involved. This incident ended peacefully. Some indian burns may have been involved.

A couple days after returning from the land of milk and honey, we drove to D.C. with Kevin and Ryanne and their good friends Sandy and Tim for the inauguration. Mad props to Kevin for this sweet angled shot. I think it captures beautifully our thoughts and emotions at that moment: Andrea- I am so pleased I can feel my feet right now. Paul- I am in no way experiencing hypothermia. Nicely done, Kevin.

After an awesome day of looking at historically significant artifacts (dude! we saw the magna carta, for reals!), we thought we'd have our picture taken in front of this pretty white building. Still, not the coldest I've ever been.

So, I guess you have to get up pretty early to be first in line for one of the 21st Century's most anticipated events. Here, smashed up against a lot of happy strangers with some of my favorite people at 6:30 in the morning, I thought......yeah, getting pretty cold.

Uh.......awesome.

This is it. The coldest I've ever been. You can't tell, but here I have on leggings, tights, two pairs of socks, jeans, a tank top, two long sleeve shirts, a turtleneck shirt, a sweatshirt, scarf, hat, gloves and puffy coat, and I am still completely fa-reezing. For seven hours, I jog in place and watch as one of our nation's most historically significant moments unfolds.

I have to admit, as I jog in place and pray that my feet won't fall off, I feel a little guilty. I mean, I've never been a very political person, and I know people who would have jogged in place for much, much longer to have the opportunity I was being afforded.

As I wait for Ryanne to come out of one of the port-a-pottys lined up for what seems like miles, I pace. Got to keep the blood flowing. Foot retention has always been a priority of mine. A woman is walking toward me; I shift my pacing to the right. Still, she's about to run into me, okay, shifting pace to the- oh, wait. She's walking up to me.

She says hello, asks me how I'm doing. It's a cold day, isn't it? Through chattering teeth, I agree. An exciting day, isn't it, I say. She smiles. We're all cold, but we have warm hearts, she says.

I'm not so cold any more.

on fighting ninjas in the jungle

Okay, so if you're in the jungle and have to fight off ninjas using only 3 foods, what would they be?

I thought of this question as I ate my morning cheerios.

The only thing is, I'm not sure why you're in the jungle and how the ninjas got there, but when you're in that sort of a situation, you don't really question, because the point is there are ninjas that you need to fight off, and you're not going to get anywhere just asking yourself why, are you?

Exactly.

I thought chewing gum would be good. All you do is chew up a whole bunch and stick it on the ground, and then all the ninjas are like "hey, we're stuck!" and can't chase after you. Then, you use a turkey like a bowling ball, and just knock the ninjas over.

Paul thought M&Ms would make for a good distraction, and then you use coconuts to knock them out. Reagan thought of coconuts too, but she also thought of using banana peels, which I have to say I considered in all ways brilliant, because that's not only effective, but funny too, and who doesn't appreciate a little humor whilst battling ninjas in the jungle?

Wow. I think I need to go to bed.

the wishbone

So, when I was seven and we went to Utah for Thanksgiving with Grandma Gale, I tore a wishbone with my cousin Amber, and I won.

This meant I got a wish, and I was ready. I'd been ready my whole life, practically. I wished to be......

A princess.

This, of course, meant a fluffy pink dress, (think Glenda the good witch, only a darker pink) tiara, and wand. Supreme executive power wasn't really a concern for me; it was mainly the super kickin' threads and mystical powers I was concerned with.

As I climbed into bed that night, I imagined what it would feel like, being a princess. I pictured myself in the dress. I could feel the pink tulle, that wasn't itchy at all like the tutu I wore for Halloween in kindergarten, because this was magical tulle. I clutched my fingers around the imaginary wand, and pondered what my first magical act would be.

When I woke up, I wasn't different at all. No pink dress, no wand. No tiara. Just me, in my jammies. Resigned to life as a commoner, I went out for breakfast. Grandma made me toast with peanut butter and marshmallow fluff, and I forgot my disappointment.

Tonight in the cab on our way home, I recounted my tale for Paul. I'm sure he's heard the story at least ten times by now, but he listened like it was brand new and said really soft like something kinda sweet and mushy about there being other ways to be a princess that didn't involve the extravagant attire.

Huh. More than one way to be a princess.

I actually don't wish the princess wish anymore. Well, not without some serious wardrobe modifications, and I'm not sure what the rules are on wishes like that. I mean, once it's out there, it's out there, and I don't know if an addendum can be made.

Sometimes, though, I wish to wake up a mother.

I'm not even asking for the fluffy pink dress, wand and tiara. I know it's work. I know it's hard.

I always say I believe that Heavenly Father has a plan for my life. That He knows best, that all will work out for my good. That I will, someday, be a mother.

Do I, though? Do I behave the way I say I believe?

Lately, I have been more and more consumed by fear.

Fear that I won't ever become a mother.

Fear that I will become a mother BECAUSE WHAT ON EARTH AM I GOING TO DO???? I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THIS!!!!

With all that fear, I guess I sort of forgot about faith. The fear just felt so comfortable, you know? I must be afraid for a reason, right?

The other day Miggs told me about when she went cliff jumping, and how she got to the top and was completely terrified. The only thing that got her to jump was seeing all the other people who jumped coming up out of the water, all okay and not dead.

I've been thinking about that, about letting go and believing. Believing that Christ did what I believe He did. That I can let this fear, this sorrow, this pain, go. Believing I can rejoice along with the women becoming mothers, even though my turn hasn't come yet.

Maybe that's a way I can be a mother, right now. Even though it doesn't look quite as I imagined it would.

Tonight, I will lie in bed, and imagine what this will feel like. I'll imagine sadness just sliding off me, feel that slow sweet spreading of joy.

I'll imagine waking up in the morning, waking and feeling that I am exactly as I am meant to be.

death kitty

more animals

written on my desk in music class

flea
bored
tacos
chief banky
Jesus is Lord
I think, therefore I am
New York's finest

Anyone know what a chief banky is?