Do You Have What It Takes?

We just got done talking about MOUNTAIN MEN and GOVERNMENT EXPLORERS at school.  You think you're tough?  Well, have you ever had a bear rip your ear and part of your scalp off and then let your dirty friend with no medical experience sort of sew it back on out in the wilderness?  Probably not, because you're not Jedediah Smith.  Wimp.

What can I say?  Kids love learning about tough people.  And I love teaching them about it.  

Me: "What?  You don't want to do your fractions test?  Jedediah had his ear ripped off and still probably didn't even complain.  Cowboy up."  


(Just kidding, I've never said that--except the "Cowboy Up" part, which they hear almost once a day, but I would sure love to say it.  No worries.  There's always tomorrow.)

After learning about the government explorers the U.S. sent out to map the "wild West," the kids wrote a wanted ad for a newspaper advertising the job.  Here are some of their "Help Wanted" ads:

MAY NOT HAVE THE BEST HOURS.....

Wanted: Explorer.  Tell us how to survive.  Notice: You have to work 24 hours a day 7 days a week.  What?!  

(The kid actually put "What?!" at the end.  Love it.)

Wanted: Government explorer.  Must know how to speak other languages.  Must work full-time, holidays, weekends, and nights.  You need to have a pen and paper.  Must have experience with a job for at least 12 years and need to know how to live alone.  If allergic to anything, not a good job.

Should I know who he is?  Because I don't....

MAY INVOLVE ANIMALS.....

Wanted: Government Explorers.  If you are allergic to bees, horses, or other animals, this may not be the job for you.  Must be willing to work very often.  This includes holidays, late nights, weekends, and more. Must know other languages and agree with Indians.  You will need mapping supplies.

Wanted: Government explorers.  Must be able to tell directions, survive in nature, and map out things.  Must be able to sleep outside and travel and find your way home.  You must be able to defend against bears and other dangerous animals. 

Wanted: Government explorers.  Need: bravery.  Be good with traveling and nature.  Bring supplies for survival.  Be ready for maybe bears, wolves, foxes, or poisonous snakes.  You may go through deserts.

Wanted: Government explorer.  To be a government explorer, you need to be brave, like skin animals without throwing up and kill big animals and shoot big guns. 

MAY REQUIRE KNOWLEDGE OF PLANTS.....

Looking for a job?  Stop by Tough Crowd Corners.  You need an application.  Be able to ride a horse.  Good experience with outdoors.  Your job will be at least four years long.  We will have all the equipment for you.  Be able to make trails.  Big boys who can tell the difference between poison plants and non-poison plants.   

Wanted: Good explorers.  Need to know how to ride a horse, have knowledge about plants, how to make trails, and how to survive in the wild.  Be willing to work for five years straight.  Be tough.  (Picture: “Is that poison ivy?”  “You can do better!!!”)

Yes, Mr. Hammond.  I did find out the hard way what poison ivy is.

I think the funniest part was the differences between the boys and girls.  

WHAT BOYS HAD TO SAY:

Wanted: Government explorers.  Have to be good with directions, know how to make camp fires, or go to the training camp.  If you can crush the odds, defy what your wife has to say and rise to the challenge.  Your name will forever be followed by the words: Mountain Man.

Wanted: Explorers.  Wanted for new government plan.  Two years of training.  Have to do well in wildlife.  Have to have a sense of directions.  Have to know what plants to eat.  Ten year contract.  Men with clingy wives…do not apply. 

Wanted: Someone that has five years of experience.  And please don’t take your wife.  Your job is to be an explorer for 20 years.  You also have to get your own gun.

Boys' Version of Family Exploration

WHAT THE GIRLS HAD TO SAY:

 Wanted: Explorer with three years wildlife experience.  Long 2-3 years, so bring family if needed.  Must know way around.  Know what food to eat that’s not poison.  Have wildlife skills and hunting skills.  Must have your own gun and knife.  Must have fist-aid techniques.  Must know how to build a fire. 

Wanted: Government Explorers.  Someone who is good with the outdoors and with guns, to be able to use a compass, and make trails.  It will take awhile so if you have a family, you will have to miss them or take them with you. 

Girls' version of Family Exploration.
Almost the same...

You got all that?  Your ear could get ripped right off.  Suck it up and sew it back on.  You might get into poison ivy or eat something poisonous, but come on.  You can do better!  You better skin animals without throwing up and be tough enough to leave that clingy wife behind.  If you think you have what it takes, there could be a job for you.

Please apply at Mrs. Montoya's 4th grade class.  A panel of ten-year-old toughness experts will determine if you really have what it takes.  

This is Jedediah Smith.  He thinks you're a wimp.

Cancer, Herpes, and a Root Canal

I love being married.  It's like I have all the same things to do that I always have had, but sometimes, they magically turn up done...without me doing them.  Like my breakfast being made when I go to leave for work, or the laundry being done or the dishes being washed when I get home from work.

Nevertheless, balancing my 32 kids at school, the 3 year old Sunbeams I teach at church, and just the everyday things like, you know, getting dinner made, seems to have thrown me over the edge.  I have been sick more times since meeting Paul than probably all the years I've been away from home...combined.  What is it about change that does that to a person?

Anyway, a few weeks ago my being sick reached an all-time high.  My mouth started hurting, my throat started swelling up, and I got a horrible fever somewhere between 100-103 degrees.  When Paul asked me what was wrong I said, "Honey, I think I have cancer."

Something like that, minus the smiling or course.

"Why would you say that?!"

"Paul, I have never been sick this much.  I never get sick.  I have been sick FIVE TIMES this year.  That probably means that something went horribly wrong in my body and I have cancer, and I'm going to die."

"You don't have cancer and you are not going to die."

"How do you know?!"

Because after lying in bed all day with a fever, what else am I to conclude?  A totally healthy person with Viking blood gets sick five times in a row?  There's nothing it could be but cancer or something equally horrible.

And thanks to all the Lurlene McDaniel "Cancer Death Books" I read as a sixth and seventh grader (Six Months to Live, Don't Die My Love! and other equally riveting treasures) I knew exactly how this would play out.  I would be one of those tragic stories--a young woman, only 27, with everything a person could want in life, suddenly diagnosed with some type of lymphoma--when it had just seemed like a cold or flu.  Of course, the biggest tragedy was how horrible I was going to look bald with this big, round face of mine.

I know, you want to run to the library and get it, don't you?

While Paul was able to convince me that I probably didn't have cancer and didn't need to say goodbye to anyone just yet, I was still certain that all the sickness wasn't normal.  So, on Saturday, I dragged myself to a QuickCare...that didn't take my insurance.  I was so exhausted, I went home and took a two hour nap before calling the next place first to make sure they took my insurance before I tried again.  Finding they would take it, I drove myself over, pretty certain now that it was some type of infection that had started in my gums that was causing the fever.

I tried to explain that to the InstaCare folks, but would they even look in my mouth?  No.  They swabbed me for strep, tested me for mono, and told me that I probably needed to "rest and drink more water."  By the time I got to the car, I was hysterical.  "They just charged me $200 to tell me to drink more water!!!"

It is no secret that I hate doctors.  I typically think they are morons (Sorry Brett and Paul).  I feel like I have never had a good experience with a doctor to this point in my life.

It started in elementary school when I was getting horrible earaches.  My mom finally convinced me we should go see a doctor.  After waiting for what seemed like forever in the waiting room, they called me back.  The doctor asked a few questions, looked in my ears, said nothing was wrong, and told me I was probably just cold and should buy some earmuffs.

"What an idiot!"  I thought.  "We paid all this money so he could tell me to wear earmuffs?!"

And that was when I decided that doctors knew nothing.


I have been to the doctor as little as possible from then on, but the times I have had to go have not been any more reassuring.

My greatest fear in going to the doctor is not that there will be something wrong with me.  It's that there won't be anything wrong, and suddenly, I 'll be that same little kid being told to go buy earmuffs.  Which is exactly what happened.  Except this time I was supposed to drink more water.  Which would have made me less mad if they would have at least tried to listen and look at what I told them hurt.

And so, I went home and drank more water and slept some more.  But things didn't get better--they simply got worse.  Monday I stayed home from school and didn't even make sub plans or show up to my important presentation I was supposed to be giving.  I slept until 11:00 am, ate some food, and then went back to bed.  (If you know me, this is all clearly atypical behavior--probably a sign of imminent death.)

By Tuesday, I was able to get into an emergency appointment with a dentist.  After all, the pain was coming from my mouth.  Perhaps they would be more informative and less expensive than another doctor.

Dentist: "It was the top right that you said was hurting you, correct?"
Me: "No, the bottom left."
Dentist: "The bottom left?"
Me: "Yes."
Dentist: "Well then, I have bad news for you.  Because you have problems on the top right."

And so, there in my dental chair, I discovered that I did not have cancer.  I needed a root canal (top right) and I had herpes (bottom left).

"Herpes?!"

"Above the belt herpes!" he said reassuringly when he saw that look on my face that screamed, "But I can't have herpes!  I'm not that kind of person."

Apparently, 70-90% of adults have it and are carriers.  It's the same thing that causes cold sores.  If a person gets too stressed, it can manifest itself.  In my case, the symptoms were high fever, canker sores all over the inside of my mouth and tongue, sore throat, and swollen, bleeding gums.

Delightful.

"So, how do we fix it?" I asked, secretly pleading, "Please give me drugs, please give me drugs."
"Well," he said, pointing to the virus section he was showing me in his dental textbook, "It says here take Ibuprofen.  It'll clear up in 7-14 days."
"I don't have that long," I said.
"Well, the worst part is over," he reassured me.  "But, that bad news is, that top right part of your mouth?  You had a filling fall out and it looks like you now need a root canal."

True Story.

So, I didn't have cancer.  But I did have herpes (and now have the terror of a repeat performance if I ever get stressed again), and I certainly needed root canal--which frankly was nowhere near as horrible as the herpes.  At least they numbed me for the root canal.

Talk about some March Madness.

Now if I can never, ever get stressed again, we should be good to go.
"You were stressed?!" a mom at school asked me.  "What do you have to be stressed about?"
I know.  There is nothing to be stressed about ever again.

Except maybe doctors.

But let's look on the bright side.
After not being able to eat for so long, at least my pants fit again.

Kids are So Dang Funny

I promised that my next post would include our phenomenal marriage advice from my class.  Don't worry--they wrote us a whole book.  Here are a few of my favorites:

"Do not have too many kids.  It will be hard work.  Go to San Francisco, California and see the Golden Gate Bridge and take a picture for your honeymoon.  Name your first girl Lizzy and name your first boy John."

"You should go on a date and these are some places you should go...Low's Extreme Air Sports, JumpOnIt, Lagoon, Classic Fun Center Roller Skating, do silly string fights, and kiss each other every night and morning."

"Don't do eneything stoopid."

"My advice is to kiss for 10 minutes and name the child Thomas or Cho.
P.S.  Say I love you 100 times."
(It looks like that is a pretty serious kiss, if it leads to a kid named Thomas or Cho.  (Although a white kid named Cho Montoya will only confuse things more.....)

"1. Do not kiss too much or it will get a little wet.
2. Get a good job so you can move into your dream home.
3. Don't get more than 10 kids. It's hard work."

"I think you should get a pet and rock out to awesome music.  Go on a date at least one time a month.  Laugh together.  Have fun together."

"Good advice: Close your eyes when you kiss.  Go to Orange Leaf and Pizza Pie Cafe for dates.  Never drink coffee.  Go to BYU soccer games a lot.  When they say 'Will you marry her?' say yes.  Hug each other a lot."

"Okay, one thing is never name any of your children Julian or Maurice because my brother wanted my neighbor to name their baby boy one of those names because they're famous skiers.  Name your children after me.  And never leave Utah and don't obey the advice like closing your eyes when you kiss."

"Give Miss Waite a good anniversary present.  Get a little dog.  Kiss every day.  Play with your kids.  Don't break up."

"You should buy Paul's dream car and he might give you yours."

"Be alone as long as you can.  Always like BYU.  Have 32 kids and name them after us."

"I think you guys shouldn't fight.  You should share, be happy, get an Audi, and name your kid Jackson.  Go on vacation to Hawaii and Spain.  You should get horses and at least three kids."

"Buy a house with a big swimming pool so we can swim in it.  Get a kitten or cute dog (but not too furry).  P.S. Paul, take Miss Waite on a good date at Texas Road House."

"Have a happy life.  Get a good job.  Use your money for cars--Lamborghini and Bugatti sports cars.  Don't vote for Obama--vote for Mitt Romney.    We should go to a football game together.  Real Salt Lake rocks.  Do not give us homework, especially math."
(How not giving homework to the ten year old who wants to double date with us fits into my marriage I'm still not sure, but I think he may be onto something...)

"I think you should kiss on the lips to end a fight."

"If you have a girl with long, blonde hair, grow it long and braid it for the night and then take it out in the morning."

"You guys should buy a Ferrari and live at the school in Miss Waite's classroom with a dog named Ruffer and name your boy kid Nemo and the girl Nemoent."
(Uh...if we buy a ferrari right now, we WILL be living in the school, for a long, long time....Oh well.  At least we have Ruffer.)

"Be strong.  Share food and never make food together.  It could be bad.  But kiss A LOT.  Every night snuggle."

"Let your kids have a birthday party every year!  Go on a date every week.  Kiss every night."
(Well, looks like our years, weeks, and days are now planned out for us.  Although a party on my kids' birthdays may be a bit much...)

"Dear Paul,
Whenever you get married, promise me that you will never, I say NEVER go through the same thing my great-great-great-great grandpa did.  Because as soon as he started dating and marrying my G-ma, A GIANT SQUID CAME IN AND ATE HIM!  Just kidding!  But really, don't screw up."

"Explore the world.  Stay together.  Have fun."

See, these kids could be family therapists.  Just make sure not to have too many kids, kiss a lot (but not too wet), have a dog, and do fun things.  And of course, whatever you don't don't screw up or be stoopid.  ;)
____________________________________________________________
I went to a wedding one day and got a sub.  While she was there, the kids wrote letters to Santa.  Here are a few gems:

Dear Santy Claus,
I think I should get a big motor bike that says "Ladies Dig My Ride" and I want it to be orange slash blue so I can support BSU.  And I can help someone if they're dying...like I will hurry and ride over there and put them on my motor bike and bring them to the hospital.  The End.

Dear Santa,
These are the things I want to Christmas.  First, I want a gun, because then I can go hunting and I will have protection.  Secondly, I want a ka-bar because without a knife, how can I skin and gut a deer?

Dear Santa,
This is what I want for Christmas:
I like those mini lock things so I can hold my class notes in them because I have way too many scattered in my backpack.
This is what else: I would really like a sister because I have only brothers.
And last but not least, the new American Girl doll Caroline Abbet with more outfit of hers, in the letter I sent you.

Dear Santa,
Hi, what I want for Christmas is...
Well, I don't know what I want.  I doesn't matter.  I want other kids to have a fun Christmas in all other places kids who don't have moms or dads and a lot of other kids.  Christmas is about giving.  I don't care what toy or present.  I just got it in my mind--one of these side purses that me and my mom saw at Target but I want you to make it different--blue or purple but with silver chains to go around your side.

Dear Santa,
I loved the presents last year.  I would love to have a dog cause when I can't play with friends I can play with the dog.  So I won't bug my mom to play with my friends.  I can play with the dog instead.  I wouldn't have no other Christmas presents for this year.  P.S.  We might go duck hunting.  The dog would help so we would not have to swim.  The dog could go get it.

Dear Santa,
Thank you for everything you have done and given to me.  I just want to tell you a few things I want.  I don't need or want too much.  Can you please get me some CUTE clothes?  It is not that I need them, but it would be nice to have them!  The second thing is (I want, I don't need) some girl legos.  I really want the vet one and a few others.  The reason I want the girl Legos is because I can play with them with my friends and with my little sister.
That is about it.  I told you I don't want or need stuff.
Now, I want to ask you a few questions.  First, do you have any kids.  Second (this tags along with the first!) do your elves count as your kids?  Third, how is Mrs. Claus?  Fourth, how old is Rudolph?  Fifth, how are the elves?  Sixth, how old are you?  Seventh, how many hours does it take to do every house?  Eighth, how many toys do you have to make?  Ninth, how many years have you been doing this?  Tenth, what is your favorite cookie?  Okay, done with questions.  Please write back before Christmas.  Say Hi to Mrs. Claus for me and the elves and reindeer.  P.S.  I do want some dry erase markers too!

Santa,
You should get me a b.b. gun so I can hunt small game, so I can have the fur and the meat.  And it is fun to shoot for fun.  Shoot targets and it is fun to have a competition with your dad.  That is why I should get a b.b. gun for fun shooting and small game.

Dear Santa,
I want a picture of you, your reindeer, your workshop, and your elves.  Because I've been good this year and I don't know if you exist or not.  If you don't, I probably won't think you're real, cause you won't hear me out for what I wanted this year.  P.S.  Am I on the nice list?

Dear Santa,
What I want for Christmas is lots of duct tape.  Like: red, pink, black, white, camo...all of that times twenty.  Cuz I'll make you bracelets, rings, wallets ("my kind") and...if your boxes get dirty, I will fix them with my black duct tape.  And if you get me more green, I will make you a Christmas tree.

Dear Santa,
For Christmas, I want a salamander.  I think I should have it.  I would take care of it.  I would feed it and give it water.  I would keep it in my room so my mom wouldn't freak out.  I would clean the cage and pet it so it won't get mean.  I would close the lid, so my cats won't get it.  That is why I should get a salamander for Christmas.

So, if anyone has some extra guns, salamanders, or duct tape, send them my way.  Or just let Santa take care of it himself.  :)

Happy Holidays! 

Letters to a Brain Surgeon

I have a tendency, when I get really excited about something, to get a bit...caught up.  Obsessive.  Intense.  I go through phases where something will really interest me and I find every book I can and read up on it.  People who have to be around me get to endure my constant talking about it.  I get online and research it.

I remember this educational phenomenon starting in about fourth grade with horses (what girl doesn't go through a horse phase at some point?) and moving on to the Holocaust and WWII in junior high when I first really started learning about them, and then Abraham and Mary Todd Lincoln in high school.

This past year or two, I found a new person to research (i.e. become obsessed about): Dr. Ben Carson.  Who?  

Ben Carson, famous neurosurgeon.

No, I did not undergo brain surgery.  No, I am not reading up so I can begin the pursuit of a new career (I'm supposed to be putting things in their heads, not taking it out).  No, I am not suddenly interested in science or medicine.

It all started with the $5 movie bin at Wal-Mart.  My mom saw a DVD that looked "uplifting" or "family friendly" or "inspirational"called Gifted Hands.  It didn't appear to be some cheesy Hallmark movie, because it had Cuba Gooding Jr.  Already, what was not to love?!  So, she bought it, took it home, watched it, and then promptly insisted we all watched it so our lives could be changed.

I laughed a little, but one time when I was home, I finally sat down and watched it.  I was in shock as I watched a young, poor, underprivileged boy from a single-parent home go from being the dumbest kid in elementary school, to the world's best and most famous pediatric neurosurgeon.

The teacher in me couldn't resist being utterly moved as I thought of the potential each individual has, and who we each have the power to become.

So, I did what I normally do.  I set out to Google Ben Carson and find out as much as I possibly could. I bought his autobiography.  I bought his children's biography.   I watched online interviews.

Last year, I read the biography to my class.  As we were finishing, I discovered that Ben Carson was actually coming to BYU as the forum speaker.  My class begged to go on a field trip but--considering it was a college forum for BYU students--we compromised (as in--I told them what the plan was) and I took the day off so I could attend, promising I'd take notes for them (which I did).

Ben Carson was just a phenomenal in person as he was in the books.  I was blown away by this man!
And so, we read his book again this year and I let my class write him letters.  They were so fun!  Check out a little of what they had to say to the world's best pediatric neurosurgeon:

Dear Ben Carson,
I think you are a great doctor.  I watch your movie.  I think you are very brave.  You work very hard to save people's lives and I respect that.  If I ever get in a life threatening sichyouwashin (situation) I would want to go to you.

Dear Mr. Carson,
My fourth grade teacher, Miss Waite, read us the book Gifted Hands.  It was great!  I loved it.  You are so much braver than me!  You are so smart!
How many kids do you have?  I want to meet you so bad.  What is your favorite color?
We are learning so much in school.  Do you learn anything when you are doing Dr. stuff?
I bet you are a wonderful man.  And I bed you do wonderful things too.  And I think I will be much more smarter, once I read a lot more.
Want to be your friend,
_________________

Dear Ben Carson,
My teacher just read the book Gifted Hands!  It was cool!  How are you doing?  You are AWESOME!!!  It is very cool that you did surgery on people whose heads were stuck together!  I hope your family is doing very well.  
P.S.  You are amazing to do those things.  How is your wife?

Dear Ben Carson,
Your book has inspired me to work my hardest in school.  Also to do and choose the right--that if a friend turns me down that person is not a good friend, and just to live your dream, to not stay inside and not have fun.  Go outside and just have fun!  It is good to be active and be healthy.  If you don't use your brain, then start.  

Dear Ben Carson,
Hi, my name is ________.  I really look up to you and meeting you one day.  I am nine and in 4th grade.  We just finished Gifted Hands the day before fall break and I want to be like you, nice.  But I kinda get creeped out because of brains.  So when I grow up, I will be a mom.  I am a Mormon.  It impressed me about you and your thoughts.  I think you are very special.  I liked your biography.  

Dear Ben Carson,
Thanks for all you do.  That must be groce (gross) how you look inside people's brains.  Is it?  How is your family doing?  What are your kids' names?

Dear Ben Carson,
You are an amazing brain surchin (surgeon).  How are your kids?  How's your wife?  Your life has been amazing!  What is your favorite color?  I really look up to you.  I have to go!
From a kid who looks up to you.

Ben...dude, please tell me how dang disgusting it was separating those first two twins.  By the way, I think you SHOULD be a brain surgent (surgeon).  

Dear Ben Carson,
We read the book, Gifted Hands as a class and I loved it.  It was a really good book.  I also watched the movie Gifted Hands.  It's a really good movie.  I watched it with my older sister right after we finished the book in class.  I want to read more books about you.  I don't get how you do brain surgery.  It's so blah.


Dear Ben Carson,
I look up to you and admire you.  I like you "THINK BIG."  You are very smart.  You taught me lots and to follow my dreams.  You are good at being a doctor. 

And there you have it.  A sampling of the best of our letters, coming straight from America's future brain surgeons and rocket scientists and accountants and teachers and vets and moms.

Keep your eyes open.  You just never know when the $5 bin at Wal-Mart might shape the future.  :)

Sometimes, 82nd Time's The Charm

Years ago, before I was thinking about boys or marriage or eternity, a woman told me that I should go out with at least 100 different boys before I got married.  She admitted that she also had been challenged to do that, and--while a hundred had seemed a bit high--she had worked to go out with at least fifty.

At this time, I still had a year or two left before I would even go on my first date (a double date where I went bowling with my brother and one of his friends), but I seemed to think it was a great idea.  I could keep a record of all my dates--first to make sure I went on lots and lots and knew exactly what I wanted when I got married and didn't just run out and marry the first person to come along, and second to have as ammunition in case I ever needed to show my husband all the people I could have married and didn't.  (Don't worry, I wrote that at the beginning of the notebook where I planned to keep track all those years ago.  I know.  I was pretty awesome.)

It didn't hurt that by this time, my grandma had already started in on her "marriage talks," in which (contrary to what you might be expecting) she informed me that college would be full of boys who would think they wanted to get married, but that I should pay no mind.  After all, I had my whole life to be married.  And not that marriage was bad, because it wasn't, BUT....

And so, starting with that funny double date UNO bowling at age sixteen, I began to keep track.  For each "real date" I went on (you know, the kind where the boy knows he is on a date--like he actually asked you using the "date" word and picks you up and pays for you and all that), I wrote down who I went with and what we did.  I listed their age and home state.  I made note of whether or not they'd been a blind date or actually asked me out themselves.

Time passed and the list stretched on.  Every time I would go home to visit my grandparents, my grandma would ask if I was dating someone.  "No," I would reply, a little sadly.  "Good!" she'd say.  "There is plenty of time for that.  Finish your education."

And so I did.  I graduated from college.  I started working.  I watched my list of dates get longer and longer.  I began to think more about quality than quantity.  As time went on, people stopped sighing, "Oh good," when they heard I wasn't dating someone and started saying things like, "You know, it only takes ONE."  (Yes, thank you.  But it still takes one!  I wanted to scream.)  Or, "You know what the problem is?  You're being too picky.  Is that it?  Are you going for the wrong type of guy?  You just need to find someone average.  Nice, but very average."  (Few things are worse than being told that with what you have to offer you are clearly setting your sights too high.  Thanks.  Thanks a lot).

The more time went, the more people tried to "help," and the longer the list of blind dates got (which actually did wonders for my numbers on the list to 100).  Some of them were very nice.  A few of them I would have dated.  But mostly, they were just other "old" people who were still single too.  Which, really, what more did I need?  I mean, do you see why people thought I was so picky?!  I was single, they were single, I was "old," they were "old"....What more did we need?!  Gosh!

After a few experiences that convinced me I just may be one of those "star shaped tupperware" who didn't have a "type," I was just about resigned to stop altogether and just buy a dog.  (Golden retriever, in case you're wondering.)  It was during that time, that I decided one night to go to yet another activity (I was going alone) at which I decided I would stay approximately ten minutes.  Long enough to convince myself I was a good person for going and not feel guilty, but not so long that I'd actually have to have it get awkward.

As I sat down at a park bench to eat some watermelon, I noticed a new person across from me.  Thinking of my resolve to be better about communicating in person, I sucked it up, took a deep breath, and (after mentally telling myself I was a good person and I could talk to strangers and really, it probably was the right thing to do), introduced myself.

The guy's name was Paul and we must have talked for a few minutes before I gracefully ditched the activity and rushed home to sink back into my safe couch at my own apartment.

I was surprised later that week when Paul called to ask me to a movie (with a big group, of course).  Due to several circumstances that had very little to do with Paul, I decided not to go.  After all, I told my roommates, it wasn't a date.  He didn't specifically ask me.  It was a "group activity."  And if other plans came up, the group would be just fine without me.  I wasn't obligated to go.  (Little did I know at the time, the entire thing had been set up just as a way to get me there.  Sneaky, Paul.  Very sneaky).  And so, I planned not to go.  Until a friend texted me, specifically asking me to come.  "Don't leave me alone.  You have to come."  You know me.  I'm a sucker for that kind of thing.  I never say no.

And so, my roommate and I went.  She sat next to him and talked to him.  I sat by a very nice girl I didn't know.  Right after the movie, my roommate and I jetted out and went home.

However, Paul must have felt like a group movie bridged whatever social gap was needed in order to make it kosher to then ask me on an actual date, because ask me out he did.  It caught me off guard when he asked me to come over.  I told him I could only stay an hour.
Which is exactly what I did.
("She hates me," he thought.)

I guess he decided I was worth one more chance, so he texted me one day from work to see if I would drive down to the Manti Pageant with him that night ("It is a long way to drive alone").  Of course, it was a day I didn't have my phone, so I didn't get the message until nearly six o'clock that night.  Feeling a little guilty (mixed with panicked at the idea of spending hours trapped in a car with someone I barely knew), I simply texted back, "Sorry, I just got your text.  Have you left yet?"  which he took to mean, "YES!  I would love to go on a date with you!  I am ready whenever you are!" and he responded, "Great!  I'll swing by and pick you up after work."  ("What am I supposed to do?  I never even said I would go!"  I yelled to my roommates.  "Talk about 'assume the sale!'")

I figured that three hours in a car with someone would either seal the deal that I should never see him again or give me a pretty good sign that they at least there was potential.  And so, after a well-more-than-three hour date that included lots of "adventures" (calling my mom, for instance--like I said...I'm pretty awesome), I actually wanted to see him again.  As surprised as I was right then in my life, it was a pretty good surprise.

And so I did see him again.  From then on I saw or talked to him every day.  For hours.  We talked about everything from our families to our favorite books to stupid things we had done as kids to religion to politics to education to medicine to the fact that I'm cheaper than a dollar store to what makes us laugh.  And we had fun.  We went geocaching and to new restaurants and to plays and watched football and cooked and went kayaking and went to a rodeo and ate an elephant ear and watched a meteor shower, and hiked and mostly just enjoyed the fact that it was summer.

Gradually, throughout this whole thing, I realized that something was different about this experience.  When I was with Paul, I was still me.  My real self.    And I found there was someone on the planet who liked that.  Who liked me.  Not only that, but I found I could be with him and not get tired of him.  I had someone I could tell anything to.  I'd found someone who took care of me and made me want to be better.
(I'm sorry.  For those of you who get ill and tend to throw up in your mouths, I'll stop.  I really will.  Believe me, I know.  Sometimes there are few things grosser than love.  Bleh!)

So, one night we started talking about the M word.  You know...The M word?!  Yep.  And I decided (after a few weeks of thinking it over) that I really did want to marry this boy and keep him around forever.

"That was fast!"  people always say.

Yes.
Yes it was.
Very fast.
WAY faster than he originally expected.
Faster than even I expected
(and I was pretty sure I'd seen enough to know it when I saw it).


But as I began to panic (while thinking about what everyone would say), I realized something about myself.  In the almost decade since I left high school, I have lived in 3 states and 2 foreign countries.  I have worked in 8 very different jobs.  I have lived in 14 different apartments, had 54 incredible roommates, and been out with 82 different boys (Sigh.  I guess I never did quite make it to 100.  Oh well).

I would say, based on my experiences, I have gotten the chance to know myself and what does (and doesn't) work for me pretty well over the last nine years.  (Not that everyone needs to take nine years of soul searching, but I guess that was the way I had to do things...)

And so, call me crazy, but for whatever reason, this time it's just different.  Anyone who can get me to say the word "marriage" is living proof that something is different--in a very good way.  I'm not scared anymore.  I don't want to throw up at the thought of love.

So, that being said, how did he propose?  Well, (for those of you starting to feel like that pumpkin, skip this part and be done) he had told me he was working until 9:00 pm all week long.  Knowing that, I had made other plans.  The night he proposed, I stayed at work until 6:30 pm and caught up on all my piles of grading.  I came home long enough to have a little to eat and was on my way out again when his roommate knocked on the door and delivered a card.  It was a note from Paul, explaining that he knew we wouldn't get to see each other much this week, so he had a surprise for me.  It was obvious it was some type of scavenger hunt.

Now, any NORMAL person would have thought, "Fun!"  and gone to find the first clue.  Instead, I exclaimed to my roommates (who apparently knew what was going on), "I'm supposed to be meeting my friend for Institute.  Should I go?  Oh...but what if he's proposing?!  I didn't even get ready today.  I'm in ugly teacher pants!  If he is proposing, there could be someone in the bushes taking pictures!!!"

I ran upstairs, changed clothes, tried to fix my hair and makeup, and threw in a load of laundry (Sure, why not?  As long as I was near the washing machine...)

THEN, I went on the scavenger hunt.  It led me to all our spots--where we first met, our first date, where we had our first kiss, the spot we first said "I love you" (thank goodness he didn't propose there!  The place was crawling with jr. high kids who were doing some type of service project), and ended at the place we went to see a play for my birthday.

It was an outdoor amphitheater, and as I approached it in the darkness, all I could see was the glow of candles.  I began to walk up the stone steps lined with candles and when I got to the top, saw a balcony with lights, a table set beautifully, and flowers.  Music was playing and--of course--Paul was there.

I won't go into all the details, but it included what every good proposal should: a good down-on-one-knee asking, complete with a ring (Not just any ring.  THE ring.  The one I really, really, really wanted.  The one with my grandma's diamond in the middle.  The one I have had at least two nightmares about not getting.  The one that I had to look at before I told him that I would marry him.  Ooops...).

The best part is that the diamond is from the grandma from the beginning
of the story who wanted me to find myself and then get married.
Once I finished college.  I think she'd be proud.  :) 

It didn't hurt that there was some food involved, and that the chicken was not only stuffed, but also wrapped in bacon.  ("Bacon?!  I LOVE bacon!")

So, there amid the trees and flowers and stars and music and perfect weather and three hundred candles, I said yes.

After all....
Sometimes 82nd time's the charm.  :)

Mawwige is what bwings us togevah today

My new class is great.  They seem to be fairly well behaved--although it is still the first week and the newness of everything is probably still on my side.  Unlike other classes, they seem to be able to read longer, work more quietly, and fall into routines faster.  YAY!

It always takes awhile at the beginning of the year to start figuring out the personality of each class.  A few years ago, my students were really, really funny and joked all the time (which was only good some of the time), but the next year they were so innocent and oblivious, I had to explain all jokes to them, which took out all the fun.

Some classes have cared whether or not I have a social life and some seem oblivious to the fact that I don't live at school (What?!  Teachers have a life???).  Some become obsessed partway through the year with trying to find me a boyfriend or get me married off.  Some just hope I never get married and stay an old, single teacher forever.

While some classes have been very intrigued to know about my social life, I've never had a class start in on me the first week of school the way they have this year.  Here are some gems from Week 1:

"I want Miss Waite to marry a smart, handsome boy who is her age, her height, and really loving to people.  If there were a guy like that, Miss Waite would totally marry him."
-Journal entry of a girl in my class

"Maybe Miss Waite should stop going to receptions and get married herself.  Like, seriously."
-Journal entry of a boy in my class who knew I would be attending two wedding receptions in one weekend.

"You should marry someone really smart and really handsome who does his chores."
-Girl in my class

Ella: Miss Waite, how old are you?
Me: Twenty-seven
Ella: Twenty-seven?!!!  You need to get married!
Me: Um...yes....
Other girl in class: Do you at least have a boyfriend?!
Me: (long pause as I consider the consequences of any response I may give) Yes...
Other girl in class: Oh good!  Will you please marry him this year and then invite me to the wedding?  I mean, not the temple part, but all the rest?!
Me:  Uh...wouldn't that be fun?  Oh look!  I think the lunch line is moving!

It just makes me laugh.  I mean, if you are as OLD as I am (Twenty-SEVEN?!), you should probably have or be looking for a nice, short, equally-old boy who does his chores (that's always a good thing!), is nice to other people, and wants a bunch of fourth graders at his wedding.  At least now I know what I'm looking for.  What a relief!  :)

I'm bAAAAck!

In keeping with the past trends of giving up on blogging during the summer (although it's probably only because I am actually out having fun for once rather than inside blogging), I am now back.  Yes.  Back.  Blogging.  Because school has once again started and I am left to look back on summer and just write about it rather than live it.
Sigh....

It has been a good summer, a rill good summer.  (<--say accent.="accent." an="an" ecause="ecause" half="half" i="i" idaho="idaho" m="m" my="my" nbsp="nbsp" over="over" p="p" part="part" pretty="pretty" s="s" spent="spent" summer="summer" sure.="sure." that="that" where="where" with="with">
What did I spend it doing?
Well, I took kayaking lessons with my dad.  We went up near Sun Valley and learned how to river kayak, which was incredibly fun.  Except for when I slipped and got a bruise that I still have traces of almost three months later.  Nevertheless, I kayaked.  I kayaked!  Far, far away from the land.  AHOY!

On a less fun note, I also moved apartments.  Again.  After I swore I would stop doing it.  And right after, I swore once more I will never, ever do it again.  (And we all know it's a lie.)  You may wonder, if I claim to hate packing up all my junk and cleaning out every single drawer and baseboard and selling furniture I can't take with me bothers me so much, then why do I keep doing it--every year?

Really, it came down to the fact that my roommates were moving out and I figured I could either take my chances with two new people (who may or may not be crazy), or just move in with people I already know and like.  I don't know about you, but after over 50 roommates (very few of which were crazy, by the way, so maybe it shouldn't have been that big a concern), I decided not to take my chances and just live with people I liked.  There are enough things in life to stress about without worrying about that one.

The best part of the move was that my home teacher has an enormous "creeper van" that was able to hold WAY more than any truck we could've used to move.  Thank you, Tim.

No, we did not offer any small children candy.  But we could have.  Oh, we could have.

One of the bummers of moving (besides no longer living with Karen and Caitlyn) is that now I no longer live next to the Provo Chief of Police.  Although we don't still share a wall, don't you worry.  I have his card next to my bed...just in case I need anything.  :)

I know I joked about it earlier, but I really did spend probably at least three or four weeks of the summer in Idaho.  It was so nice to just be home!  These visits weren't my typical summer visits, however.  Part of the time I helped my mom do some home projects--like paint the living room, kitchen, and dining room, get new curtains, do some family history, and work on other projects.  The rest of the time, we worked on cleaning out my grandma's house.  (My grandma passed away this summer.)   Talk about a proooooo-ject!  Whew!  I mean, I know it's good to be prepared, but we have enough bows to outfit Christmas gifts into 2050, I'm fairly sure.  And if one bottle of hydrogen peroxide is good, twenty would be better, right?  Just in case.  Our most incredible find as we cleaned was vegetable jell-o.  Yep.  Jell-o.  Flavored like vegetables.  Apparently, back in the day, they would make it with ham chunks and chopped veggies in it.   Mmmmmm.....Delish.

I'm getting more and more tempted to find that box and make it!

Vegetable Jell-o Pie.  With mayo, perhaps???

Please tell me how this ever stopped being sold!

I went to Seven Peaks once--with the fear that I would just start walking around in my swimming suit and hear a "Miss Waite?!!"  Don't worry.  It totally happened.  I never know if it's more awkward for me or them.  Nevertheless, I didn't mind getting a little sun.

There were a lot of other fun things this summer--going to the rodeo in Idaho and then having an elephant ear after (my heart is still recovering from the combination of deep fat fried goodness slathered in butter, honey, and sugar), going to a Rodney Atkins concert, and celebrating my 27th birthday--which was full of exciting surprises (including breakfast, flaming food at dinner, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat at an outdoor theater, and a surprise party).

Here I am with Mr. Rodeo-Attending-Elephant-Ear-Eating-
Concert-Going-Birthday-Planner himself!
Proof that getting older isn't ALWAYS traumatizing...

Teachers can't resist doing some school stuff during the summer (I know, it's just too fun to give up for two and a half months) so a week of summer involved "Team Collaboration" where all the 4th grade teachers in my school (six, to be exact), got together and planned out week-by-week, subject-by-subject what we are going to do this year.  I was SOOOO happy to have a plan that it was worth all five days I gave up.

The summer ended with a surprise red-eye flight to North Carolina and one of my best friends getting engaged.  The Friday before school started I went to work, went to my cousin's wedding reception, and then went to the airport where I caught a red-eye, and I ended up in Raleigh, North Carolina the next morning.  Wade, my friend's boyfriend, picked me up and I went with him to help plan the engagement.  Although I, Western girl that I am, forgot all about the humidity and spent the day dripping with sweat (what was I thinking taking an outfit that required a cardigan?  For the love!), Duke Gardens was a perfect place to get engaged.  Thank goodness I was there to ask the couple under the pre-designated willow tree to please move...someone was about to propose.  Thank goodness also that they struck a deal with me and moved (on the condition they could watch the whole thing).  Thank goodness ultimately, that when Wade and Krissy did make it to the tree, he did get down on one knee and she did said yes.  (I will probably tell the whole story in another post, but suffice it to say, it was a happy, happy occasion.)  I flew back Sunday night, got home at 1:00 am, and was at work by 7:30 the next morning.  I met 32 of the 33 parents and students that Monday, went to a funeral, and then started school Tuesday.

I love my job.  I love my life.  I love that I got a whole summer full of family and fun and co-workers and kayaks and sunshine and friendship and love and yes, even vegetable jell-o.

Happy New School Year!