Sunday, February 29, 2004

Little Deal

I made a deal with the weather. It could snow as much as it wanted in February. But as soon as the clock struck twelve turning February into March it had to stop. I thought we understood one another. I wouldn't expect sudden summer and the weather could dump as much snow on me as it wanted during the remainder of the month.

It snowed this weekend. A lot. And it's still snowing. I interpret this to mean one of two things...

1) The weather is Mormon and in keeping with the VT/HT tradition it's doing it's best to keep it's end of the deal and is merely getting rid of all the rest of the snow in the last weekend of the month.


2) It's mocking me.
Little Friend

"I need to talk to you, my little friend."

It was the librarian that had spoken and I looked around at the twenty first-graders that I had led into the library to see who she was addressing. They all stared back at me.

"Hello, little friend." She put her arm around me. "I need to talk to you."

I stood there. Frozen. And stared at her. We were in a room with twenty first-graders and I was the little friend? Still?? She must have caught the meaning in my eyes because then she stammered, "I mean... you're little. Not as little as these guys so I guess you're my little adult friend. Or big little friend. Or little big friend..."

Every once in a while I would love to freeze frame a portion of my day, look at it and say, "This is not my life."

Thursday, February 26, 2004

Good Questions

Growing up my grandmother used to always ask, "What do you think you're doing you little $&#*??"

My mom would ask me, "Were you raised in a barn?"

My sister would ask, "What in the $*#& is the matter with you?"

And My dad would ask, "What's for dinner? Is there dessert?"

I must have heard these questions thousands upon thousands of times and do you know what? I still don't know the answers!

Monday, February 23, 2004

Happy Birthday, Elizabeth!

I love my Liz. It's true.

She makes me happy.

That's all.

Sunday, February 22, 2004


The phone rang last night during Game Night and I jumped up to grab it.

"Hello... is Emily there?"

It was my dad and before I could even say yes or no my left hand shot up to the back of my head to sooth a sudden and very strong headache. The pain was intense, a single tear escaped and I went to hide around the corner.

"It's me, Dad."

As I told him my excuses of why I couldn't talk right then I thought about the headache that had erupted spontaneously. I hung up the phone and went back to my position on the floor for our Nerts game. The headache had left as suddenly as it had appeared as soon as I had hung up the phone.

Hmmm... interesting... a strong correlation perhaps?

My parents are supposed to be calling back soon... I think I'll take some preemptive Excedrin.

There are few things more disturbing than watching the 9th grade Jobs for Kids girl flirt with the weird 4th grade boy you're supposed to be watching on a field trip to Peppermint Place.

Trust me.

And I've seen some pretty disturbing things... (one of them being Pepperming Place itself... I mean, who's idea was it to put those poor employees on display behind glass like the ape exhibit at the zoo anyways??)

Saturday, February 21, 2004

Dear Wayne

I can remember when you were small. It wasn't all that long ago. When your whole ability to communicate was restricted to a few indiscernable sounds and some hand gestures.

There came a time when you realized the vastness of your language barrier. You'd gesture emphatically, point, make noises. When that didn't work, you'd scream and cry and then throw your body onto the ground in complete frustration and anger.

You couldn't tell us what you wanted, what you did that day or how you were feeling. You wanted to tell us and we wanted to know. There was no lack of trying and I can remember wanting to join you in your fits of frustration.

But now you're a young man. You're fluent in ASL and you're pretty dang good at English too. There's still a barrier (we live in two seperate worlds) but it's small.

Lately, though, I've been finding myself wanting to throw fits of frustration again. Because I don't know if any amount of mutual language will ever be enough. Is there any way to make you understand how very much I love you? How much our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ loves you? How much happiness the Gospel brings to my life? How much it can bring to yours?

I feel that I've failed you. I have yet to find a word or hand gesture to express the contents of my heart to you. Which I don't understand. Because you are such a big piece of it. I love you more than I thought it was possible to love anybody. But I can't make you feel.

So I'll just do my best with my primitive sounds and gestures. I'll cry and maybe throw myself down in a fit of frustration. But I won't give up.

Your Little Big Sister
Since I got my car on Thursday during my lunch break, it has been to the following places in the following order...

Taco Bell
Provo Mall (Theater)
Gas Station
Teriyaki Stix
Panda Express
Dairy Queen

Do you see now how vital it is for me to have a car? I need to go now... this list is making me sick...

Thursday, February 19, 2004

Three Years

I went to a meeting today informing me on how to go about getting a post-baccalaureate license in special education teaching. It seemed like a good idea going in. Until she said that it was a three year commitment. Five semesters (45 credits) at BYU and then a two year commitment after that to use it and teach in Utah. That's when I flipped out. It just wasn't for me. I didn't want to be tied down here.

But why?

I thought about that for a long time. Well, not that long. But it seemed like a long time because I don't use my thinking parts very often and I'm apparantly really out of shape. My point is though, I realized that as much as there's nothing holding me here... there's nothing drawing me any place else either. I have no family, nothing to go to and nowhere to be. There isn't anybody looking for me. And so why not commit myself to something? I was planning on commiting myself to graduate school. What's the big deal transferring that commitment to something else?

And so today I printed out the application and started filling it out.

I guess it's finally time to get that Utah license and plates.

Wednesday, February 18, 2004

Twelve Hours

I went into work at 8:30am. I left work at 8:30pm. Twelve Hours.

I'm on day six of the same blasted headache.

As further explored this evening, vagueness and sarcasm seem to be all I've got.

Need I say more?

At least I get my car back tomorrow. Yay!

Tuesday, February 17, 2004

What I Need
(a.k.a. The Cure for my Winter Crankies and All Around Meaness)

Maybe this would help?
* Sunshine
* Sleep
* Excedrin
* A good cry
* A good friend
* Chocolate
* Ice Cream
* Chocolate Ice Cream
* Brownies
* Trees (Pine or Palm)
* My own laugh track
* A hug
* A life plan
* My car
* Any combination of the above

But I'll just settle for a bit of AI, my warm blanket and some hot chocolate. And sleep. I need sleep...

Sunday, February 15, 2004

It's Hard

When the package is this pretty nobody cares about what's inside.


Friday, February 13, 2004

Secret Admirer

Left on my desk yesterday morning was this note scrawled out on a mishapen heart cut out of scratch paper...

To: Miss Hanson
from: ?

All srger,
all honey
honey. You are
my candy
girl. and you
got me wonting

I laughed all day over that thing. And... yep... still laughing...

Tuesday, February 10, 2004

Super Mom

My mom put on her cape again. The last time it happened I was fourteen and I came home from school to find that my familiar blue bedroom had been transformed into a pink nightmare. My mom wanted me to be her little girl. I wanted to move into the shed in our back yard.

And now I am living in a shed. In the back yard of Provo. And my mom's trying to give me advice about being a grown-up. But it sounds a lot like the advice I would give about being married. Or worst, being a grandma. I have no experience and the best thing I can think of is buying a can of pink paint to cover up the mess.
The Place of No Remembrance

I've visited there plenty of times myself. It's nice. Especially in the winter. Palm trees sway, Disney provides the soundtrack and the biggest concern is trying to figure out how you got there. But you don't really care all that much. You're just happy to be there. And even though you know you're forgetting something, you realize that what you're forgetting probably isn't worth remembering anyway. My grandma lives there now. I miss her. A lot. But I understand why she had to go. Sometimes when I visit I never want to leave. But I have to. Grandma, though... she finally saved enough and bought her one-way ticket. She deserves it. She knows she deserves it. And she's happy there in the Place of No Remembrance.

Saturday, February 07, 2004

The Return of Tragedy Two

I have a way with dealing with problems that arise... I just don't deal with them at all. I figure if I downplay it, pretend it's not a big deal, eventually it'll just go away. You'd be surprised at how often that works. But an ingrown toenail doesn't play that game. I finally cracked yesterday and went to the doctor.

As most of my loyal readers know, I'm terrified of doctors. And I mean terrified! Just walking into a clinic and smelling the clinicy smells, makes keeping my lunch down a full time job. This time, however, was much worse because I knew exactly what they were going to have to do to me.

I was early so I sat in the waiting room reading my book trying to keep my mind off the sharp objects and pain that would follow. The receptionist made a phone call. "Hello, Ms. Jones. This is so and so from Dr. Brown's office. I'm just calling to remind you of your appointment for your son's surgery on Wednesday for his ingrown toenail. We'll see you at 2:00."

Surgery?? Well, I didn't like the sound of that! This counts as a minor surgery?? I looked at the exit. But my ride was gone and I knew that I was stuck.

I waited.

The doctor called me back. He told me it was the worst one he's seen. Comforting words. He also promised to give me enough number stuff so I wouldn't have to feel anything. "Promise? Because I don't like shots but I'll gladly take all five if you can promise me that I won't feel anything..."

He promised. He gave me all five shots. And then began. "Woah! You're a big bleeder!" Comforting words.

I covered my eyes, answered his questions about my life and listened to his life story as well. He's a great guy. But I had a hard time focusing on what he was saying because I was too busy trying not to scream or let my limbs flail. He stopped and asked, "Are you feeling this??" I was. It hurt. A LOT! But apparantly there was nothing he could do about it at that point so he just finished up.

He told me not to walk around too much for the next three days or else my "shoes would fill up with blood." Comforting words.

On the way home I stopped at ShopKo to get Epsom Salt, at Krispy Kreme to get donuts and at Taco Bell to get dinner. I fell asleep around 9:30 amidst wrappers and with the sounds of Nelly making a touchdown on the television. I slept for almost 11 hours.

All better.

Now the tragedy trio is complete! Right??

Thursday, February 05, 2004

Dog Pox

Little Elijah finished reading his book about dogs to me. "Wow, Elijah! You're a good reader! That was a big dog, huh? Do you like dogs?"
"No, I'm allergic."
"Ah, dogs make you sneeze, huh?"
"No. They make me sick."
"I see."
"Ya... and sometimes they give me Chicken Pox!"
"No, wait... Dog Pox! And that's way worse than Chicken Pox!"
"Dog Pox, huh? Sounds serious."
"It is! Trust me, you don't want Dog Pox!"

Wednesday, February 04, 2004


Breaking a nail isn't a big deal. Not a tragedy. But it is when you use that part of your nail to unbutton your pants.

Tuesday, February 03, 2004

Calling Mom

After being in an accident I felt a certain obligation (not desire) to tell my parents. Also, realizing that I wrote a blog about the accident and that at some point Sandy would read it and most likely bring it up in conversation to my mother at some point, I wasn't willing to hear the rantings and ravings that would follow such a breach of etiquette as telling the whole world before my own mother. And so I called her.

"Hi, Mom. I realize it's early there and I hope I didn't wake you. But I just wanted to inform you that I was in an accident last night. Nobody was injured and I have already filed my claim with my insurance company and it will be taken care of shortly."
"Oh, okay. How bad is the car?"
"It's not pretty. But fixable."
"Ya, it's been kind of a bad week."
"Well, like I said I got in a car accident which wasn't really all that enjoyable. And on Thursday a little boy in my first grade class told me that he was being abused at home."
"Oh dear."
"I know. It's all very sad."
"Huh. Anyway, did I tell you about...?"

And she began her regular rantings and my part in the proper mother/daughter etiquette was taken care of. I thought it went rather well. It was clear. Concise. Over.

I thought.

Less than a half hour later I get a call from Julie. Who got a call from Sandy. Who got a call from my mother on her business line. Apparantly my mother found it to be her responsibility to tell the world that I had been in a bad car accident and that she wasn't sure if I was alright or if I knew how to take care of the insurance issue. She sent these poor people into a needless flurry of anxiety and what for? Who knows. The woman is crazy. And to top it off I finally got a call from my father. He asked me what kinds of horrific marks I had seen on the boys arms that I had told my mom about. What marks? I hadn't seen any marks. How did she get such a twisted story out of what I said? I mean, I like making up crap as much as the next girl but there has got to be lines drawn in the twisted game of human mental torment.

I used to feel really bad about not telling my mom anything about my personal life. But now I realize that it doesn't make me a jerk. It makes me a genius.

Monday, February 02, 2004


I got in a car accident tonight. Ya, it was definitely my fault and my car is definitely not pretty. And as sad and pitiful as it all is... I pretty much had it coming.

Because, you see, we all know that tragedies/pains come in threes. So, after Little James told me his heart wrenching story about what happens at home on Thursday, and after I hurt my foot earlier this week and hobbled my way through the weekend, it only made sense that I needed one more kick in the pants to make my tragedy trio complete.

I can only be thankful that nobody was hurt even though my car was full of passengers. That at least it was my car that got injured because it's insured and that I was not because my body is not insured. And that both the officer and the driver of the other car were kind and gracious even though I'm a complete moron and was not in possession of a drivers' license or proof of insurance.

Also, further proof that things are only bound to get better after that point of impact... I did not swear when it happened (even though many of you know that Em behind the wheel is really my grandma who can't help it because she was "raised on a farm") and no tears were shed (even though I'm terrified of police officers and happen to be allergic to car accidents). Also, shortly after I got home I was given pie a la mode, cookies and the taped American Idol from earlier tonight. See? Life is better already now that the Tragic Trio has completed it's vicious cycle.

Hurray for life after the impact!