Bigger is Better and Better is Bigger

First, name the song that line is from. Come on, I know you can do it.

Second, it depends. For example, bigger scoops of ice cream, better. Better beds, bigger. Bigger shoes, worse. Seriously, have you seen the mini-baby Sperry’s? I almost died when I saw them because they were so cute. Big Sperry’s? Eh, kind of dumb looking.

Today I watched someone (who will remain nameless for their protection) buy the largest jar of peanut butter I have ever seen.  Because we all know, when we’re hungry for PB & J, we’re stinkin’ HUNGRY for PB & J. So hungry that we need a can the size of Montana to satisfy that intense craving for the creaminess of smashed up peanuts melded with chemicals. Clearly, we all know that. Also, why buy those tiny little jars that are only big enough for a knife or spoon to fit into the top? I’ll definitely buy one big enough for MY HEAD to fit into. That way I can skip the middle man and just dive right in. That’s the way to go.

If this were Nutella (AKA nectar of the gods) we were talking about, I might understand it a little better. But it’s not. It’s peanut butter. Regardless of its many uses, there is never ever ever ever ever a need to get a can of peanut butter that could hold its own gravitational pull and maybe even a moon or two. That is just slightly excessive.

Now, I do realize that my mom . . .  stink. I wasn’t going to tell you who it was . . . anyway, she had a good reason for buying such a ginormous jar of peanut butter. It was supposed to be a funny gift, but I still couldn’t help wondering what the cashier thought of us as we checked out. Do they live on peanut butter?? This is like a life-time guarantee. You are guaranteed never to need to buy any more peanut butter. EVER. This family is weeeird. He was just jealous of our outrageously sized jar of goodness.

So, all I’m getting at is . . . please don’t buy huge jars of peanut butter while I’m around. It really gets to me. Thanks.

m®

Gifted at Giving

It is better to give than to receive. It's the honest truth. As much fun as it is to open gifts, it's just as much fun to give gifts, especially during the Christmas season. I just have one problem.

I'm a terrible gift-giver.

That is the honest truth. Whenever a birthday comes around, or I go out shopping for Christmas presents, I have a mini seizure as I rack my brain to figure out what in the fat world I'm going to buy for someone. I always go in with that mentality of 'I'll just look around till I find something perfect'. I might as well say, "I'll just wander around aimlessly for a few hours until my feet hurt and my eyes are sore from reading price tags and I get even more convinced that I'm a terrible person because I don't see anything that's just perfect, except for all those things that I want to buy for myself which I can't do."
You can only make so many trips around Wal-mart before the other customers start staring at you in bewilderment. Yes everybody, I know I've passed this aisle 14x . . . I keep hoping it will magically turn into a different aisle full of wonderful gifts right in front of my eyes! Yes, yes, I did notice that it's the Tupperware aisle. You never know what kind of things can happen around airtight containers. You really just never know . . .  

Some people have the knack of gift-giving. I've had several relatives that always got me something surprising, but wonderful. I'm envious of them. I would steal their abilities if I could. I think good gift-giving could technically be considered a superpower, but that's just me. Now that you all know how bad I am at picking out gifts, I'm going to delve into what I think are the three main categories of gifts. This is ... probably useless. However, I feel it my duty to tell you.

Category 1: Useful gifts
These are the gifts that we can always use. It's when you see a need or hear a request and you fill it by giving a gift. Very nice and thoughtful, but at the same time, it's something the person would probably have bought in the future anyway. Not that that's bad. It does save them money and time and they know you were observant when thinking of a gift. This a gift that gives back in the long-term.

Category 2: Funny gifts/Inside jokes gifts
These are the gifts that you will never ever use, but make you laugh anyway. They are good for very close friends (in addition to a real gift is best) and provide much merriment at the moment they are opened. These gifts are not usually long-term, but sometimes the joy of opening such a gift is enough to make it worthwhile.

Category 3: Perfect gifts
These are the gifts that you might never have thought of getting for yourself, but once you see it you know that you are going to love it. LOVE it. They are surprising and usually insightful. In case you didn't guess, I have never been able to give this kind of a gift. But I have received a perfect gift or two. And it's the best. This goes back to the superpower thing.

I'm still struggling to buy the last few gifts for people on my Christmas list, but I just keep on hoping that someday, somehow, when I least expect it . . . I'll find that perfect gift for someone.

Until then, I'll just keep wandering around the Tupperware aisle. 

m(r)

The Graveyard of My Self-Confidence

Whenever I see a bunch of pictures of myself, I always cringe and think, do I really look like that? And we all know that the evil invention of facebook made this problem so much worse, because, well, everyone and their mother can now look at all these pictures. I cringe some more. Then, after the initial cringing is over, there are three possible attitudes that follow. 

Number 1: Denial. I pretend that those were just bad pictures. This is ludicrous, because you would think that out of 30 pictures at least a few would be good. But no. They must all be bad, because I clearly do not look like that. Then I look back at several good pictures of myself to reinforce this. 

Number 2: Acceptance. I say to myself, That's just how it is. I decide to accept that, although I didn't realize it, I look worse than I thought. Then I move on and don't think about it anymore. Because I still have friends who think I'm normal and plus, I have schoolwork and work and many other activities to keep me busy other than worrying about how I look. 

Number 3: Small emotional breakdown. This is where all my self-doubts pop out of thin air and begin pestering me about those pictures. My soul becomes a graveyard for self-confidence. It dies. I feel as though everyone is watching me. I want to wear a huge coat that covers from my chin to the bottom of my toes - except that I would not hide my shoes, because I always think my shoes look nice. Then I furiously grab my planner, write in unhealthy expectations like exercising every night (ha!), look in my email and find all those spam-like emails from some magazine that tells me all about how to eat right over the holidays and read them as if my life depends upon it.  

Then, after several days, I eventually forget all about those pictures, except for the random Exercise! written in my planner. I stare, puzzled, at that entry, wondering why I wrote it in there. Then the moral dilemma overtakes my soul about whether or not I should exercise . . . but let's not get into that.

For the sake of my mental, emotional, and physical health, I think I'll just refrain from looking at pictures of myself from now on. Good? Good. 

m(r)

All I Want for Christmas

Classes are over and the only obstacles looming in the distance are my 6 final exams next week (5 of which are cumulative). I'm tired just thinking about them. I am, in fact, lying in my bed right now thinking about how tired I am. But I have to use the restroom and they are being cleaned at the moment, so I have to wait 10 more minutes before I can even think about going to bed. You probably didn't care to know that, but I'm too tired to go back and erase it. So there it shall stay. So, other than the obvious answer of SLEEP, I'm about to tell you what has me excited about Christmas break. 

1. I get to see my family

I miss them a lot. I'm excited to make a big breakfast with my dad, play Scrabble with my mom, and mess with my little brothers and sisters. I'm ready to be able to help my family out and be there for them and let them be there for me. I want my family. 

2. My house

I haven't been inside my house since January 9th of 2010. That's a stinkin' long time. Much too long. I'm ready to rush into that house like George Bailey, yelling at the top of my lungs about how much I love it. I might even kiss the stair rails. You never know. And seriously, my bed has been missing me somethin' turrible. It called last week to tell me to hurry back. I don't want to disappoint such a loyal bed, especially when its sheets come out of the hope chest and smell like cedar. Oh yeah. 

3. My church

Do  you know that there have been babies born at my church that I have not even seen yet? Do you know how much that grieves my soul? Probably not, but I'm telling you now that my soul is grieved. Believe it. And if that isn't enough, all the babies and toddlers that were my special buds have all grown up! I swear when I left them a year ago, they were still muttering in baby language and now they're in high school! . . . ok. maybe not that much change has happened. But it feels that way. My babies are growing up. *sniff* I will literally walk into church, bypass everything else, and head straight for the nursery. It's where I belong.

Also, I miss all the grown ups that shaped my life as a puny high schooler. I still can't believe how much was invested in my life. I miss them all so much. Lots of hugging going on next Sunday. You can bet on that. 

4. My friends

I miss them. Period. A year is clearly too long to be away. That's all I can say without tearing up or bursting into a sappy Disney song. Hey, don't judge. It's just what I do. 

5. Missouri

It's so pretty. I used to think the weather was weird, but it's perfectly normal compared to the bipolar emotions of Greenville weather. Plus we get snow. So fooey on Greenville and its windy coldness with no snow. I want good ol' MO. 

6. Food

Grits. Amen. My mom's pot roast. Can I get another amen? Grandma's chicken casserole. I'm already salivating. Okay, I will stop talking about food because it's too late to eat anything, even if I could find anything in my room. You can only eat so much Nutella straight from the jar. Don't judge me, it's yummy. Oh yes, I can't wait for homecooked food. 

7. Realization

It still hasn't really sunk in that I actually get to go home after a year away. I think when I walk in my front door, that's when the realization will sink in. It will be a beautiful moment. There may be tears. Also, maybe singing. I can't say for sure. I'll let you know.

Please, Christmas, don't be late. I like punctuality. Thanks. 

m(r)

White Elephant

I'm not sure just who exactly came up with the idea of the white elephant gift exchange. Maybe it was some poor guy that had just gotten a bunch of really bad presents for Christmas, and instead of moping about it, decided to make a game out of giving them away. Very resourceful of him, I think. 

The path of a white elephant gift is quite interesting. Where does it begin? Mine began as something useful. My parents sent me extra batteries for my alarm clock when I went off to college in 2009. However, circumstances being what they were and my carefulness being what it is, I accidentally melted my alarm clock with my clip-on lamp, therefore rendering it useless. Meaning I didn't need batteries for it. So when I pulled out my options for a white elephant gift I saw batteries, crayons, a Speed Racer folder, and hot chocolate. Everyone said, "Take what you'll use the least . . . " And I said, "I don't use any of these things." (Except the crayons. I do use those, but I already had another box of them that was bigger. More selection, you know.) I searched for something that needed double A batteries, but I found nothing but my broken alarm clock. So, thinking that I would be a nice person and take something useful to a party for useless gifts, I wrapped the batteries with masking tape and last week's edition of my university's newspaper. Perfect!

While at the gift exchange, it recklessly changed hands several times, as is the nature of the game, eventually ending up in the hands of my pastor's wife. When asked why she picked the batteries over another gift, she said, "Do you know how many of my grandchildren have toys that need double A batteries?" She was quite pleased. And I was quite pleased, because, it is better to give than to receive. Thus, those batteries traveled halfway across the US, sat in a box for over a year, and eventually will be used to power the toys of happy children. 

Isn't that a good ending for such a small object? I think so. 

Wanna know what I got at the exchange?

Toilet paper.

m(r)

For the Love of Footie-Pajamas

I awoke this morning realizing it was first of December, meaning that the month of joy, yuletide, and cheer has entered to clear the fog that accompanies final exams. But to be honest, I wasn't feeling it. To me, it felt like any other day. Fear struck my heart as I heard that whisper inside my head . . .

It's just like any other day. 

My mind began whirring with the scary questions that this phrase prompted. Had I outgrown Christmas just like some kids outgrow their footie pajamas?? Was I destined to become a female version of Scrooge who would yell 'Bah Humbug' and refuse to sing Christmas carols or get a Christmas tree? Would the Christmas season never again excite my soul and bring light into my life and the lives of those around me? Was Christmas gone forever?

I placed a hand to my heart to make sure it was still beating. Okay, clearly it was still thumpin' away and even beating a little faster because of my sympathetic nervous system kicking in. It had, in fact, not turned to stone. Funny. What was wrong with me? I had gone from being the jolly Ghost of Christmas Past to being the scary Ghost of Christmas Future without pausing for the Present.

With these troubling thoughts, I headed off to my first class. As I looked around the campus, fully decorated for Christmas, I struggled to find the warm glow that usually accompanied the Christmas season and thoughts of the Lighting Ceremony where Christmas carols were sung and the Christmas lights brilliantly lit up the area . . . but no glow came. Only my dark shroud of normalcy remained as I trudged on to class with a heavy heart.

Classes came and went; Christmas stayed away. But then I opened the door to the back office where I work. And I immediately yelled, "CHRISTMAS!!!!" For you see, at that moment, when I walked into that place that I love and saw it decorated with Christmas trees and lights, that, my friends,  THAT was the moment that the Christmas spirit of cheer and joy burst from beneath the gloom of everything else around me. It felt great. It felt glorious. I wanted to sing a Christmas song . . . or twelve.

So now I’m sitting doing homework, listening to Christmas carols, and wishing for snow. I’m glad my Christmas spirit appeared, because I don’t want to be Scrooge. Also, I don’t want to accept that I’ve outgrown footie pajamas. And I definitely don’t want to ever outgrow the joy of Christmas, because that is something too special to ever let go.

Oh, Oh, Oh!

It's coming. I can see it in others' faces. I can feel it in the air. My soul is speaking to me and it's saying . . .

THANKSGIVING IS COMING!!

7 hours, 3 classes, 2 tests, and 1 quiz until I get to hit the road. Up until today, I haven't really felt the thrill of break, but it's starting to come over me quickly. The more I say goodbye to people, the more real it becomes and I CAN'T WAIT!!

College can get stressful, just so you know. I feel like a spring that has been slowly pushed farther and farther down until I'm coiled and stressed, but then, Thanksgiving break comes, and all that potential energy (physics term!) that has been building up is about to be released! AHHH!! (I know, I know, too many caps.) Y'all don't really care how excited I am, but I'M REALLY EXCITED!!!!

Okay, I'm settling down now. Mostly because my class is about to start.

I love Thanksgiving!!

m(r)

Potatoes, Dishes, and My Inner Homemaker

Tonight, I found myself standing in a real kitchen cooking real food. It was glorious. It's been so long since I've been able to dig in and actually help make what I was about to eat. Peeling potatoes? A joy! Pounding steaks? A delight! Making brownies? Simply divine.

But what I really enjoyed was washing the dishes afterward. I know, I know. I feel weird even saying that, but, it almost almost felt like I was at home standing at the sink washing my family's dishes for the meal. And that was lovely.

Now trust  me, I didn't normally fall over in a faint of happiness when I had to wash the dishes at home. Here is in fact, a typical scenario . . .

Dad: I want you kids to clean up the kitchen right after dinner.

*all rise*

(Alden looks around at the carnage with his hands on his hips, then takes note of all attendees)

Phillip: Umm, guys? I have to go to the bathroom . . .

Alden: NO. You always have to go to the bathroom right when we start to work.

Phillip: But I really have to go!

Alden: I don't care.

(Phillip runs from the room. Clearly he had to go bad enough to risk all of our wrath)

Austin: We won't see him again for the next 30 min.

All: NERD.

Mareena: Well, we're stuck here doing it anyway, so let's just do it

Alden: We have to make sure we save some stuff for Phillip to do. He would be heartbroken if we didn't.

Spencer: Yeah! Heartbroken.

Alden: Whatever, Spencer. You're such a pest

Spencer: I'm not a pest!!

Austin: Uh, yes. You are.

Spencer: Stoooopp makking fuuuun of me!

(Alden pulls out a dishtowel and proceeds to chase Spencer and Austin around the room, snapping them at every possible opportunity. Dishtowels soon magically appear in the hands of the victims, as they start to retaliate. Yelling and yelping ensues. )

Mareena: WHO JUST HIT ME??!

Spencer: It wasn't me! It wasn't me!

Mareena: Whatever, Spencer. (turns to do more dishes)

Alden: Victory is mine! (swoops in for a final attack, hitting Mareena in the process)

Mareena: That's it! Everyone out! I'll do the kitchen by myself!

Alden: Really?

Austin: Really?

Spencer: What?

Mareena: Get. OUT. If Dad asks what's going on, telling him I wanted to do it all by myself.

Boys: Cool! See ya.

(Boys quickly exit, stage left. Mareena sighs, turning back to the sink and the pile of dishes.)

Ah. It sounds just like Cinderella, doesn't it? Well, except for there was clearly no Prince Charming to be found anywhere. This basic scenario happened many, many times as I was growing up. But to be honest, I enjoyed being the martyr. I got to be alone for a while, plus then I got all the credit for cleaning and didn't have to share any with my marauding brothers. Credit where credit is due, I say.

But tonight, it wasn't quite like that. It's been so long since I'd washed dishes, that it was just rather soothing. I felt very . . . womanly? It felt natural, like maybe, I should belong in a kitchen someday. I liked that feeling. As much as I enjoy accounting and business and all the things related to it, I have a hard time seeing myself tearing up the workplace or climbing the corporate ladder and all that jazz all the time. I'm much too content for that. And it's good to know that after I put in a hard day of work, I could come back to my house and just relax while doing the dishes. So you see, I'm embracing my inner homemaker. I think we'll become good friends.

m(r)

P.S. Just in case you wondered, Phillip usually returned from the bathroom . . . right as I finished cleaning. That kid had perfect timing. He was a wonder.

A Letter

Dear Kind Benefactor, 

I awoke this morning assuming it would be an ordinary Monday, but little did I know that just a few hours into my day, I would receive word of your benevolent action. Even the joy of chocolate chocolate muffins cannot compare to the wonder and gratitude I felt when I opened my email to find that you had deposited money onto my school bill. Even the horrors of General Psychology could not rip off the smile that had spread itself across my face. I must say that I have never wanted to hug someone as much as I did at that moment. Sadly, there was no one around that I really cared to hug.

In all honesty, that email brought tears to my eyes. Maybe you know (or maybe you don't) that I have been praying about my school bill. And I have to tell you, Anonymous Donor, wherever you are and whoever you are, that God used you today at exactly the right time. He used you in my life to help me realize that He is a good God that wants to bless His children and today, I feel blessed. Thank you for that. I have no way to repay you or even properly thank you, but I'll try to pass on the blessing. I thanked the Lord today for the money, for His love, for His goodness, and I thanked him for you as well. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Sincerely,

A grateful college student

P.S. The next time you get a hug from someone, can you pretend it's from me too? Thanks.

m(r)

Going to the Dogs

I visited an animal shelter for the first time today. I held little Labrador puppies that felt like teddy bears, felt a little kitty shred its way through my sweater up and over my shoulder, saw a big black cat named Gibbs - a perfect name because he was definitely the strong silent type, and watched a little girl bond with a puppy. All of that was wonderful and a delightful experience that I would love to do again. 

Then I stepped into the kennels where they kept the dogs that had grown out of the cute puppy stage. These were the dogs that either had never had a home, or that had been in a home but then been taken away or even been sent back to the shelter because they weren't 'the right fit'. There was nothing wrong with them. Sure, they weren't as cute and cuddly as the little puppies in the other room, and maybe they were a little more set in their ways, but they still wanted to be loved. They were so hungry for attention, standing right next to the bars of the kennel, that I couldn't help but stick as many fingers as I could through the space to give them some love. I'm just going to be honest here and tell you that I'm not a dog person. I don't hate them, but I've never felt an intense love for them either. But today? Today I wanted to get down and hug each and everyone one of them. Ringo and Kaleb and Country and Charlie and Iggy and Annabelle and Annie and Lucy and Arnold and Dimples. All of 'em. And yes, I did remember their names. I liked them that much. Their stories were written on their kennels, and if they were made up, then someone has some serious skills at tugging on the heartstrings. It was only by sheer willpower that I left that place without a dog. Also the fact that I didn't have any money. And the fact that we can't have dogs in the dorms. But other than that it was sheer willpower.

So I have decided that if I ever choose to get a dog in the future, I will bypass the pet stores and head straight to the animal shelter. And as much as I love puppies, I will head straight to the grown dogs and find myself a dog that needs someone to take it home and love it. How could you say no to eyes like these?

m®

The Fabulous Four of MG126

I would like you to meet me and my roommates.While some college students love to focus only on studying or hanging out with friends, we cannot be content with that. We're not your average college students. We're privileged to possess certain . . . powers. And with great privilege comes great responsibility. 

Hero Profile: The Nightingale

Colors: Purple, Teal, Dark Blue


Powers: Flight, the Healing Touch, Love of animals


Sidekick: Tylenol


Her superpower is the Healing Touch. She can eradicate any wound, illness, or disease by placing her hand on the one wounded. She must be touching them or the healing won't happen. She has saved countless lives, including members of our own team, however, she herself is in danger every time she does so. You see, the Nightingale is susceptible to all forms of dirt and germs. Every person she touches to heal invariably transfers germs to her, thus weakening her. The Fab Four has found a few compounds that can repair some of the damage, but even these are only a temporary fix. Still, she courageously places her hands upon the wound, providing comfort and healing wherever she goes. Her one joy besides healing is her sidekick, a puppy named Tylenol. He is her best friend and a lick from his tongue can numb the pain that comes over her after healing. Together, they form a powerful duo to fight with the other members of the Fab Four. 

Her alter ego is still unknown, but those closest to her have known her to spend the day as a nursing student at college. 

Hero Profile: The Sage

Colors: Purple, Red, Heather Green

Powers: Flight, Unlimited Knowledge, Linguistics

Accomplishment: Got contacts

Her superpower is unlimited knowledge. She can learn and remember anything she sees, hears, or experiences. She is a great asset to the Fab 4 as they travel the world, for she knows every language known to mankind, including the ancient, dead languages. Her knowledge knows no bounds and she is forever adding to her store of information, searching for anything that may help fight evil. Her weakness has followed her from childhood, frustrating her, because she has poor eyesight. It may be from reading so many books and studying late into the night, but whatever the reason, it hinders her ability to fight with the team. She still valiantly does her best. Even if she couldn't fight at all, her knowledge still allows her to be a great advantage to the Four.

Her alter ego is still unknown, but those closest to her suspect her to spend the day studying as a missions student

Hero Profile: Dr. Empathy

Colors: Brown, Deep Green, Purple

Powers: Flight, Emotion-Control, Hard Work


Hobby: Science Experiments 


Her superpower is the control of emotions. Angry villains soon become extremely sad or happy when under her gaze. She also possesses the power of love, which can prove eventful when she decides to use it on super villains. Her weakness comes when she uses her power to control the emotions of regular humans, She desires to take the sorrow or grief from them, but it drains her emotions. For every person that is able to turn from grief to joy, Empathy must take on some of that grief. Her team struggles to help her, even offering to let her take some of their happiness to replace the grief of others that has affected her. However, it is her own internal struggle as she decides to forgo personal comfort for the comfort of others. Her powers have consistently helped the Fab Four to gain the upperhand in many dangerous situations. 

Her alter ego is also unknown, but some suspect her of spending her days as a counseling student

Hero Profile: Time Flex


Colors: Purple, Gray, Yellow


Powers: Flight, Time Bending, Talking


Favorite Thing about Being a Super: Cape

Her main superpower is the ability to bend and freeze time. She can put the villains in slow-motion as she whips around them in her cape. Many times, she has frozen time in order to save falling victims or to allow time for her to rescue people from natural disasters. Somewhat annoying to her teammates is the fact that they must also be frozen in time with everyone else, but Flex is working on perfecting her powers, so she can release them from this annoyance. Her weakness comes from her ability, because when you can freeze time, it allows time to procrastinate. Waiting till the last possible second doesn't really matter when she can decide when the last possible second is. However, her powers do help protect the team at times and come in handy when the team needs time to get ready. 

Her alter ego is unknown, but some suspect her to act as an accounting student who procrastinates during the day. 

The Fabulous Four, students during the day, crime-fighters at night. Protecting the world one all-nighter at a time.

I Have Too Much To Say

This is usually true anyway, but today is my mom's birthday (read more about that in the last post) and I want to sit around and tell stories about her. They're all good! Honest.

The Tonsillectomy

It wasn't her tonsils that were removed, they were mine. But she plays a big role in this, because, well, she's my mom. She was the one that used the ice crushing machine thingy to make me slushies all day long. She also found Dole Natural Fruit Juice bars (I can personally attest to their awesomeness) which were one of the only things by throat would allow me to eat. But the thing I will always always always remember will be the night that I was in so much pain I couldn't sleep. She came into the room because she heard my teeth chattering (they do that when I'm in pain. Don't ask why. I don't know the answer. They just do.) She got me out of bed, gave me medicine, and then she read out loud to me for several hours (This is after 12pm, people!) from a Lori Wick book until I fell asleep. That's love.

Nightmares

I was a fraidy-cat as a child. I couldn't watch or hear anything scary and still be able to sleep at night. However, my dad worked nights, so my mom often let me sleep with her so that I would actually sleep. I felt so much better when I was in her bed with her there. I'm not sure she enjoyed it so much, because, I was a mover. She would wake up because she was suffocating from my arm or leg that had been thrown across her throat. But she still let me sleep with her . . . a lot. I'm glad she survived that.

Only Dad Can Do It

My dad was downstairs with us and he was in a reminiscent mood, so he looked up some old Jimmy Buffett songs that he used to listen to. We were down there, laughing as we listened to Fins and Cheeseburger in Paradise when all the sudden we heard the door to the downstairs open and my mom yelled down, "WHO'S LISTENING TO HEATHEN MUSIC DOWN THERE??!" We all froze mid-laugh. Then my dad yelled back up, "JUST ME, PATTY!" pause. "Oh. Okay then."

The Cleaning Fairy

You know how in the story of the story of the shoemaker and the elves, how the shoemaker goes to bed one night and wakes up to all these newly made pairs of shoes? Well, that's what it was like in my house when we're were going to have company. I would go to bed one night when the house was dirty, and I would awaken to a CLEAN house! It was so magical. But instead of elves, we had . . . my mom.  Someday, I will do that, and when my children jump out of their beds very early the next morning, I will say to them, "The cleaning fairy must have come by last night! I think this means we should all go back to bed for a loooong time..."

Take a Hike

Let it never be said that my mother did not aid my love for books. One day, at a time when we only had one car and my dad had it at work, my mom and I decided to walk to the library to get some books. It's only a short 2.1 mile jaunt and "it's good exercise!". It was also stinkin' hot. But, we were determined to succeed. So we walked all the way down, I think I pulled a muscle, but I was a weakling, so it's okay. We huffed and puffed up that HUGE hill that leads to our library, gratefully allowed the A/C to blast over us once we reached our destination, picked out too many books to logically carry back home, but carried them back anyway. It was awesome. Nothing like good quality time with my momma. 

Hug-Hug

As me and my two older brothers got older and started to have random disagreements, my mom devised a cruel form of torture. She would find us squabbling about something lame. Of course you realize that I was never to blame for such things, I'm sure it was always my brothers. She would have us work it out and then just to clear up all those upset feelings she would say those two dreaded words. Hug-hug. What does this mean? Why, it means that I must subject myself to being hugged by a teenage boy and they had to subject themselves to being hugged by their sister. Disgusting. And if we even started to hesitate she would say, "Don't make me turn it into hug-hug, kiss-kiss..." We would then hug each other quickly. So quickly in fact, it was more like my brothers were just clubbing me in the back with their hands as they reached around me. Anyways, I think it did my mom's heart good to see us at least pretend to show affection for one another. Or maybe it just made her laugh. Watch, now she'll make me hug one of my brothers over Christmas. Ah well, I miss them, so I would give them a hug anyway. 

If someone sees my mom in the next few days, could you give her a hug for me? Thanks. 

m®

A Public Service Announcement

Today is a day of remembrance, a time to grasp the enormous debt of gratitude owed to those who serve and sacrifice, a way to express that gratitude by taking this day, one day a year, to honor them. We remember their service to our country, their sacrifice of their own safety for ours, their loyalty to their comrades, and their love for their country. Soldiers and veterans, I’m thankful for you.

Our country gathers together today to honor veterans, but on this day, my family honors not only our armed forces, but also my mom. Because today is her birthday! My mom, who serves our family, who has sacrificed time, sleep, sanity, energy, and others to keep our family happy, clothed, and fed, who’s loyalty to us has never wavered, and who loves us, even though we’re not all that lovable. My mom, who, even though today is her birthday, is going out of her way to serve others in the church because there is an opportunity. Mom, I’m thankful for you. I love you. I want to be just like you when I grow up. Because I’m not grown-up yet, I promise.

Don’t forget to honor our veterans.

Don’t forget to honor my mom either. Well, technically, I guess that is my job. Oh fine, don’t forget to honor your mom then!

Happy birthday, Momma. I love you bunches.

m®

There's This Girl

She wears a zebra-striped bracelet.

She loves chocolate.

She is a trained librarian.

She loves to laugh.

She plays racquetball like a crazy woman.

She's a good shopper.

She's good at convincing me to buy things that I don't really need but really really want.

She brings brownies for our office on her birthday.

She makes funny faces when she's trying to unjam her stapler.

She names her stapler and other various office tools.

She was the lone commenter on my blog for several months.

She can't touch the ceiling of her dorm. But I love her anyways.

Love you, Dani! I would sing a song to you on the blog, but I don't have the voice of a Disney princess. So I will just mouth the words.

*happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, super Dani, happy birthday to you!*

P.S. She's also a good cook. She makes gooooood brownies

m(r)

Responsibility

Here's what I dislike about having responsible bones in my body: I can't waste time and feel okay about it. 

In my own world, I would not be responsible at all and could therefore sit around doing things with absolutely no productive value and ENJOY it. Also, I would be able to eat chocolate chip cookies all day and not feel sick. And probably I would have the voice of a Disney princess, but not Snow White, of course. Maybe Belle.

However, in this cruel world, as I sit around reading blogs written by strange teenagers that make me laugh, or reading a book that I've read 89,745 times for the 89,746th time, or laughing with the girls next door as I eat another mint Oreo (which are amazing), or write in this blog, I can't really truly enjoy it because I innately know that I should be doing something more productive with my life. Maybe it is because I should be doing something more productive with my life. Aaaaahhh . . . no. That can't be it.

Perhaps it is due to the fact that my parents trained me to have several responsible bones in my body. What responsible bones, you ask? Well . . . 

My head bone. This is also known as the skull, and due to the fact that I once cracked it open as a child, I am now very responsible with my head. I don't use it for anything but schoolwork, and work work, and writing this blog. When I say that I'm hitting my head against something (which I have said in here a few times), I'm being figurative. Which could be called lying by some, but I'm going to call it being figurative since I've learned about figurative language in English class. 

My wrist bone. Ever since my parents and teachers taught me about proper handwriting, I have been ever so careful with this bone of responsibility. It takes notes a LOT. Which helps me to do well in classes. Also, it plays piano which I believe is responsible. 

My finger bone. Oh my. This is perhaps, the most responsible bone in my body. Once, when I was about 5, my dad told me that if I popped my knuckles as a kid, when I was older I would have to pop my knuckles to get my fingers to move. Hence, I do not ever pop my knuckles. EVER. While all others' fingers will someday move only with sounds akin to a popcorn machine, my fingers will glide smoothly through their responsible activities of the day. Thanks Dad! (P.S. I like him a lot :)

My foot bone. This bone is only responsible sometimes. It is responsible mostly in hindsight, after it has been tortured by the irresponsibility of some of my shoes. Sadly, most shoemakers do not think of my feet bones when they make shoes. But after a day of irresponsibility, my foot bone is always very good about being responsible to wear flats the next day. Just so you know, my mom did try very hard to teach me about foot responsibility. But I can't be expected to be perfect, okay?

So now that I've told you all about my responsible bones, you understand that I must now pull myself away from this blog to do something productive with  my life. This way I can banish the guilty feelings that go with wasting time. I don't like feeling guilty. It makes me feel . . . guilty.

m®

Traits of the Tea

I have a roommate who is a missionary kid from Vietnam. So, tonight she pulled out her authentic Vietnamese tea sets and Ar-Ti-So (artichoke) tea and served as our hostess.We sat in a circle with our little tea cups in front of us. They didn't have handles and they were a beautiful pattern of brown/mint green. As she poured the tea, my roommate shared with us the proper etiquette for tea in Vietnam. 

1. The hostess pours the tea of the oldest person/honored guest first.

2. After pouring everyone's tea, the hostess will pour her own and then drink first. 

3. As a younger member of the group, I wait until everyone older than me has taken a drink of tea before I drink. 

4. If I want more tea, I simply finish all the tea in my cup, which signifies to the hostess that I want more tea.

5. When I am finished, I either stand up or leave some tea in my cup, which lets my hostess know that I am finished. If the older members of the group had finished before me, I would have no choice but to be done as soon as they stood. 

It case you didn't catch it, the Vietnamese greatly respect age and experience. They also place emphasis on the serving, as the hostess works hard to ensure she is always serving others before thinking of herself. 

It was nothing like the tea parties of my elementary days, full of cookies and goofy British accents, and having to put enormous amounts of sugar into tea. Instead, our tea was naturally sweet and embodied the desirable qualities displayed through the practice of drinking tea. Respect and humility, when steeped into our lives, release a rich, wonderful flavor that edifies and strengthens all those who come in contact with it. 

I think I'd like to be more like Vietnamese tea. Wouldn't you?

m®

Hillbilly Dragons

There are pigtail braids in my hair. I have freckles on my nose. My body is attired in plaid. Hillbillies have taken over my cardigan-wearin’, accounting-lovin’ soul! But never fear, for it was only for one night that my mild alter ego was transformed into a hoedown queen. Because you see, last night was my stag outing!

You don’t know what a stag outing is?? Oh, the horror! It is a wonderful time where all the girls in your society will all get together and do something amazingly fun. Tonight, we all went out to an apple farm with a corn maze, a hayride, hysterical games, barbeque, and a bonfire with s’mores! Ah man. It was great. We had a testimony/song time around the campfire that was purely lovely and uplifting.

Here’s where I need to confess something terrible. I don’t want to, but I feel like I should be totally honest here. So, here it goes . . .  last year, I didn’t like my society.

Isn’t that terrible?! I’m so ashamed. Not only did I convince myself I didn’t like my society, I also convinced myself that since I didn’t like it, I shouldn’t try to get involved at all. And now I’m seriously regretting. I wasted a whole year of getting to know some really wonderful girls and doing some pretty cool things all because of my stupidity and random preconceived notions.

*hitting head against wall*

So I’m trying to change that. I’ll be running for office next semester (Lord willin’ if the creek don’t rise) going to prayer meeting, volunteering for anything involving my society, and having a glorious time doing it.

So here’s my lesson for the day: If at first you don’t like something (or think you don’t like something . . .), go ahead and try, try it out anyway. You never know when something, or someone, will surprise you. Missing out definitely is not the way to go. Learn from my mistakes! Please. It’s the smartest way to learn, I promise. It’s how I avoided so many spankings as a child. But don’t tell my brothers. It’ll just be our lil’ secret.

I love my Dragon sisters!

P.S. We got really cool t-shirts. They have a dragon on them. I like dragons. They’re mythical creatures. Does that make me a nerd?

m®

The Misadventures of a Would-Be Cinderella

Once upon a time, there was a girl whose shoes were too big for her feet. As it began to grow colder outside, she began to wear tights, which only added to the slippery, slidey problem of shoes that were . . . too big. One day, this girl happened upon a set of stairs. She began to climb them confidently, forgetting for a few moments her shoe problems. As she reached the very top step and began to step into the hallway above the stairs, her foot slipped from her shoe, leaving it lying on the 2^nd step. She sighed, for this was a constant problem. She turned to look back and gasped, for there, kneeling on the stairs was a prince! He slowly picked up her shoe as if he was in slow motion and placed it onto her outstretched foot. It slid on easily for it was too big, you see. This was the moment the girl had dreamed of her entire life! For a handsome prince to come and sweep her shoes off her feet. But when it happened, she became so flustered by looking at the top of the prince’s head that she forgot to look up when he stood. Just as quickly as it happened, it was over. The girl was swept away in a crowd, barely having time to squeak out a “thank you” before being pushed down the hallway.  You must know what this means for our young girl. Yes, she did not see the prince. He is somewhere, wandering the land, and she is unable to find him because she doesn’t know what he looks like.

Did you guess?

Yep. This is a true story.

And I’m the clueless young girl, and I still don’t know exactly how it all happened. Why didn’t I just look up? Maybe he’s looking for me! More than likely, he’s not looking at all, just thinking, “I wonder who that random girl was with the weirdly patterned tights and big shoes.”

Sigh

m®

Genius

I often write little snippets of a post when the idea crosses my mind and then write the rest when I have time later in the day. Occasionally a few will get forgotten, meaning that I have a random assortment of, well, randomness. 

I was checking through my old ideas the other day and I came upon a title that looked interesting. All it said was 'Genius'. And that's it. Nothing was written under it, it was simply the title. Now I wonder, what was so genius? Was it a sarcastic use of genius or a creative genius or a genius idea or a straight up person that I met that I thought was a genius?I mean, it must have been good because I was going to write a whole post about it. I'm wracking my brain trying to remember what I was thinking of, but just as an idea formulates in my head, it vanishes. And once again I'm left contemplating this mystery of life.

It's funny how things can seem so important at a moment in time, but looking back, they are so unimportant that they are forgotten. But still.

What was so genius? It's still bugging me.

If anyone has any ideas, let me know.

m(r)

What Time Is It?

Where am I? Why are the lights so bright? Why is everything I'm saying coming out as a question? 

I just looked at the clock. It's 6:30am and I've been up studying for an hour. For you who are reading this early in the morning, that means my alarm went off at 5:30am. Why, you ask? I'm trying to figure that out myself. I think it has something to do with the fact that I went to bed last night very confused with the accounting information that I'm going to be tested over in . . . 3 1/2 hours. 3 1/2 hours that include getting ready, eating breakfast, and taking another test. 

 Excuse me while I go to cry. 

Okay. I'm back. And here's what I know: God is always in control. I got to sleep for several hours last night. My mom loves me. My accounting professor doesn't hate me. I'm wearing a comfy sweatshirt.  Morning breath can be eradicated by brushing my teeth. Grades, while important, are not a life and death situation. I will get through these tests. My birthday is less than two months away. I have fingers to type. I have a brain that can think. I can wear cute shoes today. 

Ya see that? God is in control and He has put way too many blessings in my life for me to drown in anxiety over tests. Victory! I still need to study for my tests though. You know, God can bless studying too.

The lights in this study lounge are very bright. Too bright for this early in the morning. Just so you know. 

m(r)

Doctor?

I think I got a piece o' brain lodged in me head. 

I've been studying for several hours over the same material and it's started to lodge itself into my head. A good thing, I suppose, but painful nonetheless. My dear blog is currently helping me relieve the stress of study, but soon I will have to go back to carefully inserting knowledge into my thick skull. 

I'm actually very pleased with my state of stress right now. Oh, it's not good to be stressed normally, but for me, it is good. Because you see, I haven't felt very stressed this semester and when I don't feel stressed, I don't feel an urgent need to study. And when I don't feel an urgent need to study . . .theee studying, she doesn't a-get a-done-ah.(That was me speaking in Italian in that last phrase...just in case you missed it. You should read it again to get the full effect. Also, you can picture crazy hand gestures and waving, which will help with the full effect.)

So you see, it's good for me to be a teensy bit stressed because it means I will scare myself into studying really hard. Which, while it isn't fun, is very profitable for my GPA. Plus I get more out of the classes that I'm paying for. As one friend put it, Why would you buy a cheeseburger (a class) and then throw it away (skip class, don't study) instead of eating it (being diligent)? I don't know about you, but when I buy myself a double cheeseburger, no ketchup, extra pickles, I do NOT throw it away. I immediately scarf it down as if I haven't eaten in 3 years. If only our classrooms smelled like burgers....

And so ends my study break. It was fun while it lasted, but General Psychology calls to me from the dark recesses of my backpack.

Now I'm craving a double cheeseburger.

m(r)