Sabbath Day Hauntings

We had thousands of bags of candy to give out last night at the mall. I was dressed up in my pink and black"rock star" get-up. The kids started coming at noon. They were really cute. "Twick-o-Tweat!!" By four-o-clock we were out of candy. I felt too bad turning them down and so we decided to start handing out mis-wraps, mint truffles that had other companies' logos on them. I'm pretty sure we weren't supposed to do that. In fact, we decided never to bring it up again. We handed out about 500 of those. Our supervisor had told us yesterday that if we ran out of candy that we were just supposed to stop and tell them we were out. So at 5-o-clock that's just what I did. I went out and took down our orange "Trick-or-Treating Here" signs. But parents got angry. They came in anyway. We told them we were out of candy. They said, "A candy store out of candy?! What about that right there?" They pointed to our jar of unwrapped mint truffles that we hand out as samples. We told them that they weren't wrapped and we felt that that wouldn't be okay. Isn't that breaking the biggest and oldest Halloween Trick-or-Treating rule? They said to shut up and give their kids the candy. And they want one too! Fine! So we started delving out unwrapped mint truffles. I handed the job over to our new 16-year-old employee. My five our stretch of bending over the counter to hand out candy had to end. I pretended to make caramel apples. We were on our last jar of samples when I heard him. Mr. Nasty. He started yelling at Miss Sixteen. He told her that there was a line and that it was horribly rude to hand out one at a time. He tried to grab the jar from her to spill them on the counter. She pulled away and said she couldn't do that. The candy wasn't wrapped. He started yelling at her saying her method of distribution was too slow (as he was holding up the line by stopping long enough to yell at her.) I snapped. I did. I had dealt with rude parents all night. I told that guy that we were doing all we could. That we had taken down out orange signs hours ago. That we had planned for thousands of children but that we were out and making due with what we had for the children. And that he could take his bad attitude right out of my store. He screamed and yelled. Security came. His kids ran away. I prayed that they would be kidnapped and taken to live with somebody who had a soul.

Halloween

Tomorrow is Halloween at Wasatch Elementary. It's the cutest day of the year and a very important one for every teacher's sanity. At least it is for mine. And I think it has saved many a child's life. Oftentimes when a child is being absurdly annoying or defiant often mutter, "You're lucky you're cute right now!" And it's true. I believe that there are certain children who's lives have been spared just because they're cute. Halloween strengthens this childhood defense. Because during those times that I'm at my end, when I think the only thing left is to scream and run away leaving the situation unsolved, I can picture that child in their Halloween costume and laugh a little thus sparing the child's life and years of therapy for both of us.

Last year there was this little hellion of a child. Only six years old but very defiant, uncooperative and rude. Every day was a struggle. Every thing was a struggle. I was ready to snap. But then came along good ol' Halloween to the rescue. The kid showed up with a home-made frog costume created out of a green sweat suit, foam styrofoam balls for eyes on his green hood and even little green felt frog feet strapped to his feet. He came running out to recess. No, he came hopping out to recess (literally) and I laughed so hard I cried. And from that day forward every time he was just about to make me crazy, I pictured him in that frog costume and it seemed that all was right in the world again.

And so I look forward to tomorrow's festivities when the hundreds of children at Wasatch will dress up and parade around the gym in their costumes. But almost as much, I look forward to being able to dress up. I spent almost an hour tonight in Claire's picking out the perfect accessories to go along with my costume. And since it seems that there will be no other opportunity to dress up this year, I have rise to the occasion tomorrow and get all of my Halloween fever relieved during our half day in the first grade at Wasatch Elementary. And maybe, just maybe, when one of my co-workers or student gets frustrated with me they'll picture me in my Halloween costume, give a little giggle and let it slide.

Table for One

I had another long day. I got out of class at 7pm and left from campus to run some errands. I went to University Mall, bought a stopwatch for class and then realized that I hadn't eaten yet that day. So I wandered into the food court, bought a sandwich and sat down to eat it. I was almost done with my meal when I suddenly snapped out of my own thoughts to look around. There were whole families talking and fighting over fries, couples, groups of friends. And I was sitting alone.

And I didn't care. I looked at my watch. I had to hurry.

I finished my sandwich, picked up my things and continued on with my errands.

I Believe

Yesterday, in the First Grade I was sitting in the back of the classroom hidden by a book case. Fortunately for me the book case didn't block the sound of this conversation between two of the boys in the back row...
Colson: Did you know that Santa Claus is magic?
Jake: Yeah.
C: Cuz he is.
J: I know.
C: No, really. He really is magic.
J: Duh, okay? I know! I even saw him once!
C: No way! Really?
J: Ya, I was asleep on Christmas Eve and Santa Claus climbed through my window because he couldn't get in the house any other way and when he was climbing in my bedroom window he accidentally stepped on my little sister's squeaky toy and it squeaked and it woke me up and I opened my eyes and I saw him! And he looked surprised and scared that I saw him and ran away.
C: WOAH!!! Really?
J: Ya, it was awesome!
C: I can't believe you actually saw the real Santa Claus!
J: I know. It was really cool.
C: Hey, you guys! Everybody! Jake saw the real Santa Claus! He climbed into his bedroom window on Christmas Eve!
Class: Ooh! Aaw! Woah! Cool! Awesome!!

Rah Rah, Ry-Ry!

Today's the Ryster's birthday. The good ol' Buckarama*. And I do mean old. 25. A quarter of a century. Old. I remember when my sister turned 25. And I called her and teased her and made her cry. And she cursed me that one day I too would turn 25. I didn't believe her. But now it's only 2 years away. Okay one year and 2 months. Oh, why did I have to tease her? Why am I cursed to one day become like Ry-Ry? Old. And kind of weird. With imaginable hair. Happy Birthday, Ry-Ry!

*I am not responsible for the contents of this website. It was not thoroughly explored. I pretty much just saw the page that said, "It's not about Buck" and almost died laughing and thought it best to write a blog that would allow me to share it and celebrate the guy's birthday at the same time.

Reassurance

I was running late to work yesterday. Just like most days. Okay. All days. But yesterday I was a bit more late than usual. It's my job to get a little girl off of the school bus in the morning since she can't walk down the steps by herself. I usually make it right before the bus pulls up but yeterday I found myself driving two cars behind the bus which meant I had to really hurry. I pulled into a parking space, grabbed my backpack out of the back seat and made a mad dash towards the parked bus. I was almost there when my backpack suddenly rejected it's load of text books, binders, childrens' reinforcers and trail mix. My water bottle shot off towards the bushes. I took off my backpack and started to pick up my belongings. The bus driver or a peer would help the little girl off the bus. She'd be fine. But I was off to a rough start. But then a little fourth grader who had been playing football with his friends ran over and started helping me pick up.
"Your stuff just fell out?"
"Ya, I guess I didn't zip it up all the way. Thanks for helping."
"No problem. This one time, my cousin gave me his old backpack to use which I thought was really cool until I used it and it had a huge hole in the bottom and all of my stuff dumped out just like yours."
"That stinks."
"Ya, so it's okay. It's really not a big deal. It happens."
I thanked him again for helping me pick up my things and for being so kind and he ran off as quickly as he had come. I smiled. It was cute having a little fourth-grader reassure me. And I wanted to keep him. He could be my little reassurer. That way whenever I did anything stupid he could tell me that it wasn't a big deal and that it could happen to anyone. And whenever I got frustrated he could tell me that I was doing the right thing and could handle it. And when I was pressed for time he could run around and help me pick up the mess I made. And I wouldn't mind keeping him around because he's a cute kid and pretty small so maybe he doesn't eat that much.

Senitheft

Jon Harmon said that I could make up that word senitheft and that it if I said that it meant "stealing from old people" that he would support that. Thanks, Jon. I appreciate that support. You've always been a dear friend to my warped vocabulary.

I chose this title because my parents may very well be senithieves. They've stolen money from me before. They steal money from my little brother and now, I do believe they have moved on to my very old grandmother. The cause for this reasoning are supported by the two following examples.

A) My mother offered me my grandmother's money to pay for school even though I know my grandmother very well and she has never gotten me a gift over the sum of $20. I refused the money trying to prevent senitheft.

B) Today when I was talking to my parents trying to decide whether or not to come home for Thanksgiving, my parents offered to let my grandmother pay for the trip. The conversation went as follows... (the phone went back and forth between my parents)
Em: I don't know if I can afford both holidays. And I have stuff to do down here.
Mom: Do you want to come home for Thanksgiving?
Em: Yes, but I don't want it to break me.
Mom: You should come home.
Em: It would be nice.
Dad: Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?
Em: I don't know if I can afford both holidays. And I have stuff to do down here if I can't come home.
Dad: Do you want to come home for Thanksgiving?
Em: Yes, but not if it'll break me.
Dad: Huh, let me talk to your mom.
Em: okay.
Dad: Your mom says that your grandmother says she'll give you the money for the trip if you want to come hom.
Em: Dad...
Dad: What?
Em: Did she really say that?
Dad: Yes...
Em: Dad? Are you sure?
Dad: Well, mom said she said that.
Em: Are you sure we're not stealing from an old lady?
Dad: (laughs) How about you talk to mom and grandma about that?
Em: Okay.
Mom: What?
Em: Are you sure we're not stealing from grandma?
Mom: Yes! You're grandma really wants you to be with the family for Thanksgiving.
Em: Are you sure?
Mom: Want me to ask her again?
Em: Yes.
Mom: (shouts to grandma) Mom? Do you want Emily to come home for Thanksgiving?
Grandma in the background: What?
Mom: Do you want Emily to come home for Thanksgiving?
Grandma: Ya... sure... whatever...
Mom: (to me) Your grandma says she really wants you to come home.
Em: But you didn't mention her paying for it. Does she know that her money's been offered?
Mom: YES! Gosh! (to grandma) Are you willing to help Emily pay for her trip home so she can be with the family for Thanksgiving?
Grandma: Uh...
Mom: So that she can come home and the whole family can be here?
Grandma: Fine! Give her the money!
Mom: (to me) Your grandma says that she really wants you to come home and that she's happy to give you the money.
Em: Huh. It didn't sound like that to me. I have enough in my account right now to cover it so how about I pay for the trip myself and if later I can't afford groceries then I'll call and grandma can help me buy some food. But I think I'll be okay.
Mom: Ya, okay. That'll work.
Grandma from the background: Does she want the money or not? You need me to write a check right now?
Mom: No, I think Emily's going to try and do it herself.
Grandma: Oh, alright...

I may have prevented senitheft this time but I can't always be there to prevent it and now I'm a really poor white girl. D'oh! It's a good thing Seattle is gorgeous. Like Kat.

Drunk and Dialing

My sister called me tonight. My sister hardly ever calls me. So I answered it. She asked me what I was doing. I told her. She asked me again. I told her again. There wasn't anything wrong with the connection. Nope, she was "drunk and dialing." She said that she was just hanging out with the guy she married and decided to get drunk and dial. It's a fun game she plays. See, my sister is much more relaxed and honest when she's drunk. And much slower. She actually has a list of people she calls when she's drunk. And I am now on that list. "Aren't you glad that you're on my drunk and dialing list? See, I'm not like mom and dad who only calls you because they're worried about something. I call because I want to know what you're up to." In all honesty I am glad to be on her drunk and dialing list. Not only is my sister more relaxed and honest and nice, so am I. It was a pleasant conversation, but it's still just a drinking game. Sounds like a quality FHE activity to me!

Female Rage

I was listening to my Female Rage CD today in my car. It's a beautiful outlet that I had almost forgotten about. On my way home I rolled down my window, turned it up and started singing the angry girl songs and thinking to myself, "All men are..." when I looked over at the car to my right and saw him. A nasty older white man in a beat up truck with greasy red hair and an even greasier red mustache. He winked at me and kissed his lips at me and did the upward head nod thing. I turned back to face the front, clenched my steering wheel and sang louder.

Gah!

I sat in the same seat for three hours today. The same seat. There was no moving. I sat there through Sacrament Meeting and Sunday School and Relief Society. My attention span isn't long enough for that. My body can't sit still that long. And so, in Relief Society, when I was less than one hour away from freedom at 5pm and my Relief Society President informed us that there was a Stake Leadership meeting at 6pm and then named off my calling as one that was required to go, my filter was temporarily out of order and I let out an exasperated, "Gah!" I said the quiet part loud. Oops. I thought that maybe nobody heard but the girl in front of me was laughing so hard that she was crying. She looked back at me and through her tears and laughter she said, "I love you!" I don't know that girl's name. But I love her back.

I have to go to that meeting now...

No Time to Say "Hello!" Goodbye! I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!

I did some calculations the other day. I'm working about 45 hours a week. I'm taking ten credit hours at BYU and putting in around another twelve hours a week in homework.

45
10
12
--
67 hours

This leaves exactly no time for things I want to do, like play with my friends. But I tend to do a bit of that anyway. Which is why I dipped into my sleep time. Which is why I'm always tired. And grumpy. Which will eventually lead me to having no friends. Which will allow me to get more sleep. Which will make me happy and cheerful again (maybe). Which just might cause me to make more friends whom I will play with instead of sleep...

Anyway, my point is, this morning I woke up grumpy and overwhelmed at the thought of all the things I didn't get done this weekend and I just wanted to go home. Or at least just lay there. Uninterrupted. All day. And just as I began to play with the thought my cell phone rang. It was my Relief Society President. Calling to remind me about the Board Meeting at 5pm (which I had conveniently forgotten) and to also tell me that I'm supposed to go to Ward Correlation at 12:45 (and every 3rd Sunday from now on). So I might as well fill the 1:45 - 5pm gap with church. Fine! Fine! I'll go! I'll go to all your meetings and classes. I'll go to work. I'll Visit Teach. I'll magnify my calling and care about the girls and remember their birthdays and call them to ask why they weren't at church. I'll do my homework and take those tests. I'll go to FHE and call my parents. I'll run my errands and pay my bills. I'll find time for my friends and for play. I'll do it! But I get to eat whatever I want and it can't snow!!! Those are my terms.

Out of the Tent

I have the internet now. In my own apartment. And cable too. Which takes away the camp-like atmosphere and the continuous desire to make S'mores and sing campfire songs. And I've missed my Blog. Sometimes things happen that totally stink but before you can get too mad you realize it's going to make a really entertaining blog and suddenly it doesn't seem so bad. Or, on the contrary, something great happens and being able to publish it on the web to really rub it in makes it all the better. Or sometimes you do something cool or embarrasing but there were no witnesses to your experience and writing it down and putting it up on the web for everybody to read seems like the only way to make an experience like that as entertaining as it was meant to be. Well, my friends, I'm not going to lie to you. You've missed a lot of cool stories while I was being kept hostage in my prehistoric cave and there really isn't time to go back and tell each one. So just laugh a little, cry a little, get a bit frustrated, eat some chocolate, feel stressed and eat a s'more on my behalf for the past few weeks...

My Sister's Wedding

Today was the big day. After rehearsal last night, my sister and I drove back to her place and promptly fell asleep. We woke up early this morning, around 7am and began our wedding day adventure which included losing my dress, finding it a half hour later, driving to a small Costco-like place to buy plastic shot glasses, setting up the reception hall, going to her hair appointment and to her make-up appointment, then hurrying to get ready myself before pictures.

I was the Maid of Honor and as I stood there next to my sister as she got married, I tried my best to hold back the tears. She was beautiful. And I really do like David. His love for her was written in his eyes and it was just the reassurance that I needed that this was, in fact, the right thing to do.

Then my eyes glazed over the audience and I realized that I only knew a very small percentage of those in attendance. A handful of family members and about five people from our home ward. That was it. The rest of them were friends from college or work, or people that David knew (including one not-so-attractive SheMan). My sister and I lead completely different lives. This statement was solidified by the presence of three kegs of beer, an open and overflowing bar, disco lights, smoke and 80's music. Our weddings will be as different as our life perspectives. Mine will be a small and quiet ceremony in the temple, the reception will be simple but tactful and maybe even a bit elegant but there certainly will be no strong liquor, no kegs and not even a hint of wine. When I was feeling uncomfortable holding some guy's beer as he hunted for matches, trying to think of new ways to say no to the countless drinks that were offered to me and trying to understand why having three guys holding up upside down over the top of the keg was supposed to make drinking more entertaining, my sister and her husband will be bored out of their mind at my reception.

Tonight, I was only a guest in her life. I was given a one-day-only pass into friendship with my sister. And I loved every minute of it. We're so different and yet so much the same.

As a side note, this whole experience has allowed me to discover a new talent. A reception hall full of drunk people think I'm freaking hillarious when I give Maid of Honor toasts. Seriously, folks... I was a hit!

Another side note, a drunk man who can barely stay on the road can find his way home better than me. Why do I know this? Because I had to follow his home.

It's Been Eight Days Since My Last Confession

It's been eight days since I've last written a blog. And so I write eight confessions.

1. In the past three weeks the longest block of sleep I've had is almost seven hours. I am tired.
2. I have already written this blog but it didn't post and now I'm trying to remember what it is that I wrote last time and debating whether it's even worth reposting.
3. I have moved to a new apartment in Provo. And by "moved" I mean that all of my belongings are scattered about the place in no particular order.
4. I drove from Provo to Renton in a little less than fifteen hours. This included over an hour that was wasted looking for a car charger for my brother's cell phone, the traffic in Salt Lake, the traffic in Boise, the four one-lane construction backups and the at least seven stops to satisfy stomaches, bladders and gas tanks. Can we guess how fast we were going when the freeway was clear?
5. Being viciously cut-off by a large semi just in time to be stuck behind him during a very large stretch of road that allowed only one lane of traffic made me think of words my grandmother taught me while playing poker. Then being stuck behind this same semi for almost an hour as he went 45 in a 65 made me grateful my two Deaf passengers never heard what was muttered.
6. My sister gets married in three days and I still need shoes, a hair appointment and a Maid of Honor speech.
7. A recent requirement for me to swallow my pride was more painful than my weeklong struggle with my kidney stone.
8. I miss my Villa friends!!

I confess.

Seventeen

I'm trying to remember what it was like to be seventeen. When I was seventeen I remember thinking that my parents had no idea what it was like even though they claimed they knew exactly what it was like and therefore understood exactly what I was going through. They kept saying, "Hey! I was seventeen once too you know!" I was seventeen once. And I'm only twenty-three now. And already I can't remember what it was like exactly to be seventeen. I realize even more fully now that my parents were full of crap. I'm at a loss of how the seventeen-year-old mind works. I'm at an even greater loss of how the seventeen-year-old male mind works. And so, how is it that I'm supposed to entertain two seventeen-year-old boys? How can I be sure that I'm the coolest big sister that ever existed? How can I make them open up to me and tell me the gory details of their seventeen-year-old existance? How can I be sure that they're making right decisions at home and with their friends? How can I be sure? Oh, gosh. I am so not ready to be a parent! But I'm not. Phew! So maybe we'll stick to Seven Peaks, the mall, Lagoon and making stupid jokes. What else can you do?

Sleeping with the Light On

Most people that know me, know that I'm a huge pansy. Especially when it comes to the cinema. I have a weak stomache for violence. And by a weak stomache, I mean that I get nightmares. Horrible nightmares. And it's not only violence. As a child I was even scared of E.T. (I just didn't trust him. You shouldn't let something that can move his head up and down like that, and can make his finger and belly glow into your house. If those guys in the scary white suits are willing to break into your house to save you from him then maybe you should hand the freaky thing over. And when he left, I wasn't relieved. I just thought he was leaving to get his friends together before coming back to finally turn that glowy finger against us.) And Jurassic Park. Just the idea that somebody could get hurt throws me over the edge. I just can't handle it.

But every once in a while, out of curiosity, I'll gather my bravery and see a scary movie. Alfred Hitchcock made me curious and I've watched several of his films. They gave me nightmares but his movies were pretty and more suspenseful and creepy than violent. And now Mr. Shyamalan evokes that same curiosity. Out of prodding and promises from friends that they'll warn me so I'll never see blood, I have seen The Sixth Sense, Signs, and Unbreakable. And although the first two were scary enough to give me nightmares, I decided to go see The Village.

I spent half of the movie whimpering in Kat's lap. And the first ten minutes home searching all the dark corners of our apartment. And almost two hours watching happy, funny television in hopes that those things would be in my dreams instead of the few scenes I had actually looked up to see between my fingers that were over my eyes during the movie. But even with that "Happy Bedtime Prep" I still had to sleep with my lights on. I had to do what I've done for years when I was too scared to sleep. I went to my happy place. I pictured myself waiting in line at Splash Mountain, getting into the log, wandering through the ride, listening to the happy music, going down the big waterfall and laughing through the splashes and then getting off and moving on to another ride until I fall asleep smiling. I can usually do that and be happy even in the dark. But not last night. Last night I had to sleep with the light on.

Another Piece of Plastic

Today I got another piece of plastic to add to my ever growing collection of plastic cards in my wallet. Each one reminding me of my ever growing responsibilities as an adult every time I open it up. There's the debit card, the credit card, the student ID (reminding me about tuition. d'oh!), my phone card, my Smith's card and now... my Costco card.

The Costco card was a gift from my parents so all I had to do was go up to the membership desk, give them an address and business name, pose for a quick picture and wait for them to hand me my year-long pass into this Grownup Disneyland.

I wandered in and out of the isles looking at all the wonderful things this warehouse had in store for me. If I had money. I tried to think of something I needed. But everything I thought of didn't require so much of it that buying it in bulk was necessary. I watched mothers wrestle their children back into their carts and hiss the word NO with such force that even I was tempted to put the few items I had picked up back on the shelf.

I wandered over to the Costco optometrist who with one quick movement fixed the glasses that had been hanging on my face crookedly since Christmas when my brother sat on them. And she fixed them for free. And gave me a big smile.

I ate a whole meal at their little food nook for $1.91.

On my way out, I filled my gas tank up with Costco gas for $1.79/gallon. Quite the steal!

Yes, yes... I think I like my new Costco life. Even though I feel like I've been playing dress-up all morning. Just pretending to be an adult for a little while. But every time I open my wallet, there they are. The shiny plastic cards of reality.

Binge Drinking

I went on a five-day drinking frenzy. I drank gallons upon gallons of water. Why? To pass a 2.1mm Kidney Stone.

It all started early Monday morning when a sharp pain woke me up around 5:45am. Yes, my kidney woke me up at 5:45 am on a day that I didn't have to be to work until 1pm. So already my kidney had declared war.

I writhed in pain on my living room floor armed with a water bottle, my cell phone, a big bowl and some tears. I thought it'd go away. It didn't. I feared appendicitis and so I did the mature thing to do. I called my dad. I woke him up at 5am Seattle time. I cried and in choppy language told him the problem. He told me to wake up Kat. I hung up and called for Kat.

We called Anna, our nurse next door. She poked me and told me that she thought it was kidney stones. Kat and Anna told me I had to go to the ER.

I have a phobia of hospitals, doctors and needles. I had been in this particular ER several times before but this would be the first time I'd be going in for me.

It took two nurses and four stab wounds before they were finally able to get an IV into the crook in my left elbow. I didn't think anything was worth an IV. Morphine made it worth it. And that stuff they gave me to take away my nausea made it worth it. And the extra morphine they gave me made it worth it too. I spent most of the 5 hours I was in the hospital asleep. But when I was awake I used sarcasm for my self-defense.

A few fun moments in the ER:
Number One
doctor: It's probably kidney stones.
nurse: All the women I've talked to who have been through child birth and have had kidney stones all say that kidney stones are more painful.
me: Thanks. That helps.
nurse: (blank stare)
me: It doesn't seem fair. I mean, at least the pains of child birth are rewarded with a cute baby. Kat, after I pass this kidney stone, can we get a puppy? It only seems right.

Number Two
nurse: Oh, my. Have you been given anything for your nausea yet?
me: I have this bucket. (I point to the bowl I brought from home.)
nurse: (laughs) No, I mean medicine. Have they put anything in your IV to make your nausea go away?
me: You can do that?? Bring it.

They said it would take a few hours to a few days to pass the stone, told me a drink a lot of water and said that pain killers would be my best friend. Comforting words.

I went home, drank and drank until our tap begged for mercy, and writhed in pain for three days until Thursday when I went in for a CT scan. It gave us three pieces of vital information. 1) The stone is 2.1mm in size. Just small enough for me to pass on my own. 2) It was stuck on my hip bone and would need a lot more water and time to help it on it's journey. 3) It had friends.

Good news: Today I felt a lot better after around 11am. I was able to eat a salad and two pieces of garlic bread in one sitting. I only had to take pain medicine three times. I was able to sit up more than lie down. I was able to sleep comfortably for the first time since Saturday night.

Benefits of week-long war with kidneys: I now know the ins and outs of daytime television. Bishop said I passed the Mom Test. I now know that I'm not allergic to Lortab or Morphine. I know all about the urinary tract. I know that I can depend on my friends, my ward and my bishop. I also now know that I can survive the at least three others that are on their way...

But where's my puppy??

Home Sick
 
I can only remember being "homesick" three times in my life. 
1)  The first time was when I moved a thousand miles away from the only home I'd ever known to go to college.  But it wasn't the typical freshman homesickness.  I didn't miss my family, really.  I didn't yearn to be within those walls.  I didn't miss my bed.  I didn't miss those chats with mom.  I had never really had that anyway.  I missed my friends.  My home ward.  The kids I babysat.  My youth leaders.  That was the "home" I missed so much that I didn't eat for the first three months of college life. 
2)  The second time I was "homesick" was the fall of my Junior year of college.  I had spent the summer living in the Faerbers' basement and had spent almost every night rocking their precious baby to sleep.  There was almost always at least one extra little body in my bed.  There was always a cute face, a cute remark and childish games to play.  There was a safe place to come home to every night.  And I ate up the luxury of always having Julie to talk to.  Even though I knew they weren't my family and that it wasn't my real home, it was nice to pretend for a while.  And leaving was hard.  I still remember looking in on each of the four children as they slept, kissing them goodbye and then being grateful that Julie hadn't woken up to say goodbye to me so that she didn't have to witness my shameless tears as I wheeled my luggage out of their front door.  I cried myself to sleep for three weeks missing my dear friend and her beautiful babies.
3)  The third, and most recent time I felt that same heavy feeling of homesickness was Tuesday night as I drove off after dropping Shelby off at the resort in Park City.  We had spent over 24 hours together but it still didn't seem like enough time.  She had slept over at my place.  She went to work with me and I introduced her to my co-workers and students as my niece.  And I didn't feel like I was lying.  And we went to McDonalds and went swimming and got ice cream and went to the park and watched a movie and ate Taco Bell and played dress-up and sang Disney songs together until she fell asleep in the front seat of my car as I wound in and out through the curvy canyon roads on the way to Park City.  And I found myself again looking down on the now five Faerber children as they slept and kissing them goodbye and not being able to hold back the tears as I drove away and slid through the canyon roads and being so grateful for the time I was able to spend with them and hoping so much that they knew how much I loved them.  But missing them so much already that even though it was 2am when I got home and I was tired from playing hard, I still tossed and turned for hours before finally falling asleep.  And only found comfort in knowing that I could still call Julie.  And that I would be in WA again next month for another Faerber fix.  And understanding that sicknesses come and go with the seasons but relationships with people you love can survive any type of weather. 

I just feel a little home sick... and hungry.  Mostly hungry.

Chocolate and Shrek
 
So I started my first day at the little chocolate shop.  I loved it!  I'm pretty sure I was trained by an eighteen year old.  She would intermittingly stop to comment on a cute guy that she sees walk by every day, on the creepy guy that works at some chicken restaurant in the mall, about the things in the store she has broken, eaten or given away and about how she only got this job because her sister is the supervisor.  My co-worker was funny.  But the customers were hillarious. 
Customer:  How much is this?
Me:  $9.00.  There's a tag right there in front of it.
Customer:  Oh, how much is this?
Me:  $12.95/lb.  It's right there on the tag
Customer:  Alright.  How much is this?
 
Customer:  (In rude tone) How much is this?
Me:  $12.95/lb.  $13.50 if you want it in a box.
Customer:  Well, how many chocolates is that?
Me:  24
Customer:  And why is the box more?  Is there something special about the box?  Can I eat the box?
Me:  No (but I do have a few ideas about what you can do with that box...)
 
And then I came home.  And I went to the "pool" party at the Villa.  Except the pool was full of acid and could not be swum in.  But I went inside and they were watching Shrek on the big screen.  I saw my Chris on the couch facing the screen so I walked over to him, put my hands on his shoulders, massaged a bit, then leaned down and asked, "So... how you doin'?"  And then he leaned up to where our faces were almost touching to say he was good.  Except at that moment we both realized that we didn't know eachother.  So I said, "Oh, good."  And then walked away to find Kat who informed me that Chris was at the movies with Leah.  Information that would have been helpful to me five minutes ago!  How many times do I have to make mistakes like this before I start making people show me ID before I say hello to them?