Do You Ever Feel Like....

Something's missing?? As if you go about your life in the same routine, doing the same things day in and day out, with little change. Sure, you ate Frosted Flakes for breakfast today instead of Cocoa Puffs, but other than that it's all the same old-same old. And every time you try to break out of your routine and do something different-be someone different-you are held back by the sameness of your life. Sometimes don't you just want to throw back your head and yell into that blue abyss we call the sky, and tell the clouds that just once could they let it snow in the middle of July? To have your teachers decide to go outside and play kickball instead of making you take that excruciatingly long test. Where's the spontaneity in life? The little things that catch you off-guard and make you smile. The song that comes on your Ipod that fits your mood like a glove, or getting ten out of ten on a skills test you thought you'd fail in gym class. This mindless routine is not good enough for me, I need more from life! That's why no matter how many times this routine and complete sameness holds me back, I'm going to dare to be different and perhaps slip a little Tabasco sauce in my Kool-Aid.

Change

Change,

The cry of a newborn,

The first snowflake on your nose in December,

Listening to a different radio station.

Change,

Leading your team to victory for the first time,

Forgiving someone you hate,

Tasting something new.

Change,

Making the Youth Council in your town,

Watching a horror movie instead of a chic flick,

Playing the piano in seminary.

Change,

Finally getting those braces off,

Getting a bonus at work,

Winning the Geography Bee.

Change,

Watching your youngest go off to college,

Your father losing his job,

Your first day at a new school.

Change,

Learning you were never good enough,

Going through a divorce,

Being diagnosed with a disease.

Change,

Growing apart from your friends,

Having your favorite show cancelled,

Not achieving your dreams.

Change,

Moving to a new state,

Failing a class,

The death of your companion in life.

Change,

Can be good or bad,

Big or little,

Surprising or planned.

Change is.... inevitable

New Years Resolutions

Yes folks! It's that time again... a time for change! For promising yourself that you will make changes for the better in your life! It's time to make your New Years resolutions! Well, most of you will have already made your goals and may be working on them as I slouch in the old folding chair in front of my computer writing this post. Some of you may be thinking that perhaps you should have made some goals for the new year, but instead you're sitting on your lazy bums watching TV all day. And still others have already given up on your resolutions for this year and are concentrating on keeping the rest of your life together. Because honestly, how many of us really have time to focus on goals? What am I doing this year, you ask? I am working on goals in four categories- intellectual, social, physical, and spiritual. My goals are such that I can accomplish most of them WHILE sitting on my lazy bum watching TV. Lucky me. I dearly hope that I can kept my resolutions this year (hey I've lasted almost a week!), but who knows what delicious cake donuts will be tempting me that I simply can't refuse?! I mean, a girl can only resist so much in life! Studies show that about 92% of Americans don't keep their resolutions, and about 45% give up before the end of January! But don't loose any sleep at night over this, you could still be in the 8% who actually accomplish their goals. And I commend you for that! Bravo! You should give yourself a huge pat on the back for that one! But as for the rest of us? Our lives go on the same as before without hardly a second thought... at least until next New Years.

"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all"

-Emily Dickinson

Childhood Memories

You may call me a copycat, but I have nothing else to blog about, so I decided I will take Celeste's delightful idea of putting you English stories on your blog. The next few blogs will be about the time David Black cut my long brown locks, childhood anecdotes, and my 4th grade romance, respectively. Enjoy!

HAIR!

Practically from our mother's wombs, my next door neighbor and I became best friends. We played together all the time, making up adventures in the fort in my backyard, or having tea parties in his. Then, when I moved 300 feet away from my old house, suddenly there were new places to explore and new things to do! I had a sand box in my backyard and we spent endless afternoons making castles and little mud pies.

One of my favorite things to do with him, however, was play with my Barbie dolls. We would place Barbie accessories all over my room to make it one gigantic Barbie mansion. The Kelly House would be in one corner of my vast closet, the Polly Pocket mall in the other corner. The petting zoo (fully accessorized with a panda bear, monkey, koala bear, and a swan with her baby), rested on top of a pink quilt folded neatly on the edge of my bed. I played the part of the girl dolls, most noteworthy Barbie and her daughter Kelly. My neighbor, David, played the part of Ken and Tommy, my only two boy dolls. We made up stories for their lives and the scandals that happened in them.

I always loved doing the dolls' hair. I would soak it in water and then attempt to comb it and put it in a cute hairdo. I always tried to get David to join me but he, being the boy, was reluctant to do anything that didn't involve blood and guts. One day as I was pleading with him to join me in my daily hair-doing rituals, I came up with a brilliant idea. I had seen my mom cutting my dad's hair a few days before, and I knew where she kept the scissors.

"We should cut the Barbie dolls' hair!" I shrieked, delighted with this plan that surely had been made by a genius.

I was confident that my plan, in all its simplicity, would work perfectly, and that my mom would be so delighted if one so young as I was able to prove her astounding hair cutting skills to her. David quickly agreed to this plan, and we quickly checked to the see if the coast was clear (my mom was working outside) before racing to grab our weapon of choice from where it was carefully placed in my parent's bathroom drawer.

My genius must still have been flowing at high speed because once we returned to my bedroom I proposed an addition to the plan. "Hey, besides cutting the Barbies' hair, do you want to cut mine too?"

David's eyes sparkled as he contemplated this wondrous idea and finally admitted, "That would be cool."

We sat on the blue rug placed carefully on my bathroom floor as he hacked off my hair, just like the lady in my ward did when she cut my hair. The Barbie dolls were pushed aside as this new pastime took their place. I was blissfully ignorant of any consequences that could come from this activity, and only thought of the happy look on my mother's face when I showed her the finished product.

Soon enough he had finished cropping my hair to the length and style I had dictated to him before he began his barber tasks. I stood on the green and yellow plastic stool and admired myself in the mirror. I was decked out in striped blue and white overalls over a white t-shirt, but that was not what I was admiring on this fine summer day. It was my hair, beautifully cut so that it was so short that you could practically see my skull in some places, and past my shoulders in other areas.

Unfortunately, we didn't have time to prepare for my grand entrance into society, for at that moment my mom chose to come inside to check on us. I grinned, a few teeth missing, as I twirled for my mom. She, however, did not grin upon seeing the state of my brown locks. She simply asked, "Who did this?"

I pointed to the edge of the big white bathtub, where David was placed, scissors in hand, trying to make himself as small as possible. He saw what I could not at that moment, that this was not something to be grinning about. My mom ripped the scissors from his grasp, told us to sit right there, and immediately left the room. Soon we could hear her talking on the phone to someone, saying things like, "Do you know what your son did?" and, "I don't know how they knew where those scissors were!"

My mom soon came back into the bathroom with orders to send David right home. He walked past her with a sheepish look on his face, without so much as glancing in my direction. As soon as he was gone, my mom flashed her fiery eyes in my direction. I gulped loudly, I had never seen her so angry. She gave me quite a talkin'-to that day, and the spanking my dad gave me when he got back from work still brings back pain whenever I remember it. My mom took me to get my hair fixed (at least, as well as our hair dresser could), and I learned from the many tears shed over the next few days that having a 6 year old cut my hair was probably not the best idea. Still, I'll never forget that warm afternoon with my next door neighbor.

CHILDHOOD STORIES

My favorite joke from my childhood:

Marissa: Knock knock

Dad: Who’s there?

Marissa: Cantaloupe

Dad: Cantaloupe who?

Marissa: Cantaloupe baby, Daddy’s got the car

*****

I didn't start walking until I was about 16 months old, but my sister swears I started talking at around 4 months. Now I don't completely believe that, but I do know I had a very extensive vocabulary at a very young age. During family scripture studies, I would have my own set of scriptures placed in my lap so that I wouldn't feel left out. I would stick my nose straight into the book and loudly proclaim some gibberish as a contribution of my needed few verses. I would then turn the page and continue with my 'reading'. This is how I became the official reader in the family.

*****

My siblings used to teach me to do things when I was little that they thought were funny. Personally, I think it was torture, but they just wanted a good laugh. Whenever we talked about Thanksgiving they would ask me what my favorite thing to do on Thanksgiving was and I would reply by sticking my hands straight up in the air and shouting, “FOOTBALL!”

The most embarrassing thing they did to me, however, was quite terrible. They would ask me, “Where are your cheeks?” My little two-year-old self would slap my hands to my face in glee. Then they would ask me, “Where are your other cheeks?” And I would proudly grab my little bottom, elated that I was able to prove my genius at such a young age.

*****

When I was two, my sister would always take me with her and her friends when they hung out. I called these outings my ‘hot dates’. Most of the time it would be my sister, her boyfriend, and one of her good friends who was my ‘date’. He was half-Japanese and my little eyes had never beheld such gorgeousness. I would always ask my sister when I could go on another hot date with Braden. Usually we went to Dairy Queen where I would chomp on my Dilly Bar while throwing flirtatious glances towards Braden. He always told me that unless someone captured me first, we would get married someday. Although he is now happily married, I still get butterflies every time I hear his name and remember those hot dates at DQ.

*****

It was the summer of 2005, and I was headed out on one of my weekly outings with my sister-in-law and her five boys, Cayden (6 ½), Alex and Drew (almost 5), and Adam and Isaac (8 months). This time McDonald’s was the destination of choice. Once we took our food to our tables the boys and I shoved it down so fast we hardly got the chance to see it. The hamburgers and chicken nuggets were just an after-taste in our childish mouths. The three older boys and I raced towards the empty playground, calling out, “Last one there is a rotten egg!”

It was a great afternoon until disaster struck. Cayden and I were waiting behind Drew to slide down the huge yellow tube slide. After Drew hopped into the slide and careened downwards we realized that he was leaving brown spots in his wake. It took us a few moments before we realized that those brown spots were in fact poo. I gulped loudly. I was NOT going down that slide anymore!

Instead, Cayden and I raced back down the play ground (a different way from that slide), and told my sister-in-law, Alyson, that Drew had pooed all down the slide, and the slide was now full of little brown mush. Drew, on the other hand, was now playing around like nothing had happened. Alyson immediately took hold of Drew and steered him towards the bathroom giving Cayden and I the instructions to go down the slide with wet wipes, cleaning it up. I was beginning to regret ever coming on this little excursion.

The walk to the top of the slide was probably one of the longest in my entire life. I felt as if I was in a funeral procession, and I was the one in the casket. I kept picturing all the grotesque things that could happen on that cursed slide. The feel of the brown matter on my hands, or anywhere for that matter, made me shudder.

When we finally arrived at the slide my face was pale white and my palms were sweaty. My nephew, Cayden, being the boy he is, had no problem whatsoever with the present situation we were faced with. He lowered himself into the slide and looked back at me as if to ask, "Are you coming?" I swallowed hard and placed myself beside him holding the wet wipe out before me to ward off any incoming poo. We slid down the slide, inch by inch, rubbing the disgusting waste off the yellow plastic whenever we ran into it.

By the time we arrived at the bottom, I was ready to forget about this terrible afternoon. Alyson had cleaned up Drew and had taken the infant Isaac's pants (who, let me remind you, was only 8 months and had been born premature), and put them on Drew to keep at least some of his decency. The funny thing is, those shorts were only a little too short on him. After everything had been settled, we quickly left and I was able to go home and forget about that traumatic day, at least until now.