I usually measure my days in how many cans of Diet Coke I need to get through it.
"Today was only a 1 can day! It was awesome!"
"Shoot me in the face. 4 can day today."
Today really isn't a 10 can day. But it feels precarious. For the last week I've been feeling a little like I'm barely keeping my head above water.
Not water. Quicksand. Quicksand filled with razor blades. And alligators.
Wow. That got very Tarantino very fast.
Every time I cross something off my big "To-Do List" (I actually have 4 different to-do lists, categorized in Evernote. Thank you Evernote. You keep me sane), I add at least 2 more to it.When I try to relax I feel guilty and when I try to do everything I feel futile.
Between End of Year lesson planning, school check-out, squirrelly excited kids, getting roped into planning half of girls camp, working on a secret surprise for Ed's 50th, required study for my Boston Seminar, research for my 30 page paper, planning for back to back Hawaii and Boston trips, playing on soccer and softball teams, and staying on top of basics like laundry, dishes and exercise.... HELP.
Is this real life? Is this being an adult? Because it SUCKS.
It's not all bad. I have so many awesome things to look forward to - Mitch's Graduation and State Tournament games. It's getting warmer every day. Memorial Day Weekend (maybe in Sunny St. George?). Lagoon Day. School getting out. A trip to Hawaii. My Boston Seminar.
But today with the cozy rain, my cuddly puppy and a to-do list begging to be abandoned - all I'm doing is fantasizing about laying in bed and leisurely reading something that has nothing to do with school, a Masters program, a book club or girls camp.
Instead I'm repeating this mantra. As I drink my 10 cans.
Sorry for another teacher-y post in a row. I'm very pensive and introspective about teaching right now (they call this our "reflection" period after we get out of our "burnout" period which is from about January-March).
I'm including an outfit pic at least (blurry and crappy - taken by my ipad and an app that takes pictures when you clap! haha I'm pathetic) to at least make it slightly less boring to those of you who don't care about junior high stuff. I don't blame you.
I've worn 3 maxis this week. Yikes. They are pretty much sweats so it means I've given up until this cold leaves me alone.
Only a free Diet Coke can give me that goofy grin
Today, a kid came in with our latest map - Asia - and asked if I could put it in our online gradebook before lunch even though it was due last week and was really late. See, he had a REALLY IMPORTANT soccer game after school and his grades weren't good enough to play.
Once again, awesome teaching moment where consequences can and should be used. Praise be to this soccer coach for holding his players accountable. I could kiss him on the cheek.
So I tell this kid that I'll TRYYYYYY but that he shouldn't leave things to the last minute and should never turn in things late and that he owes me big time. I saw the fear in his eyes and I know it worked. This kid will be an A student for me forever.
A couple hours later he was back with an ice cold Diet Coke and a big thanks. Yahtzee.
Moral of the Story: Kids don't realize how little things they do can seriously help them out in the classroom. Bribery, favorites, it's all true and it all works.
Top 5 Teacher Confessions that will Amaze and Help You
If a student is quiet and nice, I subconsciously grade their work easier, because they make my life easier. They can get away with so much more. Sometimes I see really really really good kids texting and I don't bust them on it. I know I should, but I don't want to because I trust them and have a good relationship with them
If a student usually works crazy hard and is perfect, I stop grading their work eventually and just give them 100% on everything to save myself time.
When current work comes in, I have 200+ to grade so I spend about 2 seconds on each one (meaning if it looks good at first glance I usually give it points). When late work comes in I only have like 2 or 3 to look at at a time (meaning I tear it apart and grade hard).
When you come talk to me about your grade, I'm 436x more likely to help you out and get your stuff in. When your mom emails me, especially in a rude way (see earlier post) it makes me want to grade your work so hard and let it sit on my desk for a week. I know that sounds bad. But it's fact.
Kids that bring me Diet Cokes, food, cute notes, compliment me, etc. - well. It's hard not to love them. Emotional bank account, people.
The main idea here is that forming a relationship with a teacher is worthwhile. These are actually universal principles and you should just work hard to make people like you and think you're a good person and your life will automatically get easier. Promise.
Freshman year I was just a little naive zoob. Moving out with one of my high school/ward besties Caroline was an exciting adventure filled with too much Diet Coke and way too many grocery shopping trips. Late nights were glamorous. A "real-life" job was my greatest pride. A Gold's Gym pass was obtained, although working out regularly doesn't counter the constant stream of snacks I pounded. I went to every dance party Facebook and my friends invited me to, because that's the trendy college life I'd seen on the internetz.
It wasn't all bad though. There were BYU football games with some of my best pre-mi friends. Plenty of studying and paper-writing. And obsessing over Mamma Mia!
Glenwood wasn't quite my style (too ward-centric and young) so Winter Semester I moved into Crestwood (private rooms and fewer zoobs). There I met one of my best college friends and the greatest roommate ever, Natalie.
I ruined my summer with History classes and Calculus. Still healing over a breakup and the less than ideal dating life I'd been experiencing at college, I pretty much spent the whole summer studying and watching the original Star Trek series on YouTube. Not my finest hour.
THE AWAKENING
That August changed everything. I decided to snap out of it. Katie and I finally bonded. I met Kami and Marit and started trying again. I cared again. I partied again. I dyed my hair dark a la Zooey Deschanel. The very first night I actually went out again, I met The Beard (at a SINGLE'S WARD ACTIVITY. Semi-embarrassed of this.) I still remember something waking up inside me when I talked with him. It's not something I can articulate. But it was good.
Marit and I hung out with the famous Trumans, met the BYU football team at the airport at midnight after their triumphant Oklahoma win, and started to go to more and more local music shows with my rapidly becoming bestie Tiffany. I bought new clothes, stopped eating crap and started yoga. I began the teaching program at BYU. I really DATED and made new friends in my ward, complex and classes. I was almost the "real" Danica here.
REMEMBERING
The Beard and I grew progressively closer, always circumventing eventual "official" status. Never seeing one another more than MAYBE twice a week. But come March, I was dominating my classes, especially with my Writing in Social Science class and remembering how much I loved English classes and writing. I had made so many friends, dated guys that weren't pre-mi's or complete weirdos, and was on the top of the totem pole at the library. People knew my name. I was finally wearing good clothes. Studying in a desk at the library instead of in my bed with microwave popcorn and The Office open in another window on my laptop. What a little adult I had become. I was more confident in myself and it was clear that The Beard was to play some role in my life. So I didn't run from it, even though we were both leaving for the summer.
We spent nearly every day together before he left, despite the good advice of my sweet and protective friends. We left with a "Have a great summer!" and the slightest potential hope that if we both came back and wanted to do it again, we would. And for real.
Once classes ended, I finally had a summer. No classes. Worked 4 days a week. Spent plenty of time in Mesquite, St. George and at the King Henry pool with Tiffany and Ali. I really grew close to my best friend Eliesa and looked forward to her newly single status and the promise of the greatest summer ever. I spent hours at the pool reading my huge tome of British history, preparing for Wales. I visited Chicago with my family for Brooke's senior trip.
I left Provo with a renewed sense of what this summer meant. I finally had a guy to care about, but I could function without him. I was desperately scared that liking him would ruin my summer without him, but instead I found it to be a pleasant hope to look forward to September. I could be funny. I could be cute. I could be crazy. I could enjoy time alone and time with my friends. I could drive with the windows down blaring Metric and The Eagles all summer long. As I finished a Cocoa Bean run with my office friends, I was just so grateful for my life and so happy to be living.
Wales was amazing. I won't re-hash that for you all. I showed up as the quiet, weird girl that no one knew, because I applied late and took the place of a dropout, not taking the prep class. I finished as everyone's friend, the group clown and "The Girl Who Doesn't Sleep." That's who I am. Deep down. The train had come full circle and I was ready to come home and be somebody. Just in time for my last year at BYU. :)
THE DRAMA OF ADULTHOOD
The Beard and I started dating pretty much immediately. I moved into the Dream Palace and vowed to remain social despite a boyfriend. We went to local shows, parties and threw awesome bonfires. I met Claybe, Shane, Myles, Jordan, Tanner, Myles, and a hundred other friends of Ryan's. I became FHE mom, and actually enjoyed it, despite my complaining. I fell in love with Just Dance. I watched Friday Night Lights, Entourage, Parks n Rec and Chapelle's Show with the Beard every night. We played counselor to our friends. We fought (a little).
Around Christmas I had a breakdown. I was facing my last semester of BYU, real world life, frustration with my family, boredom in my job, and uncertainty with The Beard. I lost it, you guys. My parents honestly looked terrified watching my sob on the floor like an 8 year old. I didn't even do that when I was an 8 year old. So you can only imagine. I considered running from Ryan. Postponing a semester. Quitting my job. Moving somewhere new. Doing anything else. During this stress I lost 20+ pounds, my hair fell out and my school work pretty much suffocated.
The only things I was sure about were that I didn't want to break up with The Beard; I liked teaching and being in classrooms, even if I hated my education classes; and that the coming 3 months would determine much of the rest of my life, so there was no way I could check out.
REALLY GROWING UP
I decided to stop being a baby and finish strong. I started out attending my final education and history classes regularly. I tried harder at work to be awesome, even though I thought I had reached that threshold. I took better care of "me" as Oprah would say, by trying to send The Beard home before 2 am, reading books I liked, doing homework before cramming stressed me out, etc.
I interviewed a a few schools in the area, and then was quickly offered my current internship position, which came as a merciful blessing in a time of craziness. I felt confident and excited to teach, although a little anxious.
The moment of truth came for The Beard and I, and it was just what we need to both decide we were "all in." After that point, talks about love and marriage and planning just spilled out. I was happier than ever and attending class probably less than ever. As the Dream Palace situation grew crazier, we spent more and more time with our families, and I absolutely fell in love with his. How fun is it to have 4 new sisters?!
I concluded my BYU career by unceremoniously trashing all my notebooks and selling all my textbooks. I moved back home, cut back on work hours and spent all my time wedding planning and hanging with The Beard and Holdaways.
Seven Peaks with Jeanette and Katie, Owls games, and one EFY session later, I was getting married to my best friend!
As far as BYU goes, I considered myself done. I still had to go to some stupid meetings and finish that b*&%# (sorry) of a Teacher Work Sample (a 40+ page portfolio showing that I know how to fake good teachings on paper), but I was pretty much done. Visiting campus made me so grateful for what I had and learned there, but so happy to be at home with my husband and working at an awesome school.
And here I am. Graduating today. LIKE A BOSS.
Thank you, BYU. Thank you apartments and roommates and singles wards. Thank you Study Abroad. Thank you LAO & HBLL. Thank you Mckay School of Education. Thank you to my family for always being there when I had to get away from Provo.
Thank you Beard. You met me at my lowest point and brought me to my highest, with patience all the while. I love you!
And thanks to you, my reader-friends. You endure my long-winded rants, and why? Because you know deep down I love you. I hope to have more and better posts since BYU, school and everything else is easing up on me. :)
I suppose graduation on Friday concludes my BYU career. It's weird. I wanted to go to BYU for forever. It was the only school I applied to. I was so proud and relieved when I got in. My grandpa was a professor there, and all of my Budge cousins went there. It was so prestigious and shiny and wonderful. Oh, the freshman innocence. I still love BYU. I still think it's the best. I bleed blue. But, like any other wonderful thing, there's more than meets the eye.
I spent a lot of time with my butt in an uncomfortable auditorium seat in the SWKT. (Ok. Much less time than I was SUPPOSED to.) I spent even more time in my beloved HBLL. But what I really learned didn't come out of overpriced textbooks or bloated professors.
Roommates suck.
African food smells TERRIBLE. (see above)
You can tell a lot about someone by where they live. Glenwood = carless zoob. Belmont = douche. Alpine Village = stupid, high-maintenance girl. These are generalizations, mind you.
Just because a boy is a Returned Missionary (RM) doesn't mean he is a good guy. This one was probably the most shocking to my naive freshman self. And the most disappointing.
The South End Market, A.K.A. South of the Border, is the closest place to campus to get my Diet Coke contraband.
It is possible to live off Diet Coke. (see above)
My fave study spot is Periodicals. Especially when it's rainy. My most EFFECTIVE study spot is level 1. No windows. No cell service. Only a handful of passersby to distract me. All Asians.
College courses are both easier and harder than I imagined. The actual coursework is not that bad, and the load is doable. What is more difficult is that the distractions grow exponentially. You have complete control of your schedule, laptop and Netflix account. Peril ensues. (see above)
Stay away from English majors. Kick it with the Dance teaching majors. They know what's up.
Sleep is a funny, undefinable thing. It swings from absolutely necessary (9 am on a Monday instead of Doctrine & Covenants) to merely optional (Every time The Beard called me to hang out and we ended up talking until the sun came up. No one tell our future kids that. They'll think it's ok for THEM to do that. And it's not.)
JDawgs is called of God.
Singles wards are nothing more than the Sacrament in a meat market. The girls that wear their PINK sweats and Uggs on campus all week suddenly look like Wet Seal models come Sunday. And that's not a compliment, ladies.
One day, you'll have more friends that didn't go to your high school than did. And it's kind of weird and great. They have no idea that I wore softball sweats my entire senior year and get tricked into thinking I'm qualified to run a fashion blog.
The Cocoa Bean is the greatest thing that's ever happened to Provo.
A Study Abroad can show you who you are and who you're meant to be. You'll never regret it.
Facebook doesn't make you any cooler than you actually are in real life. Common misconception.
College is amazing. There are parts I actually miss, like the spontaneity, the craziness and the potential for meeting tons and tons of incredible and terrible people. Still, I'm so happy I'm married and out of Provo and away from all of that. It's a chapter that served my book of life well, and I'll never regret it.
On the first day of school I'm having my students write a recipe... for themselves. This is a good way for me to get to know them, as well as providing an opportunity for creativity. We're also making a school-wide effort to increase reading and writing in all disciplines, which I think is a fantastic idea. Everyone, even you. Yes you. College attending or not. You should read and write more. (Hint: it makes you smarter.)
I have a policy of doing each assignment I'm asking my kids to do so that I make sure
A. It isnt ridiculous
B. I have good instructions for them
C. I can answer any questions/prevent problems
Therefore I condensed myself down to a recipe. What is YOUR recipe? Enjoy!
Preheat oven to St. George temperature - 80 degrees Farenheit.
Mix 7 seasons of The Office with 1 Liter of optimism in a mixer.
Add 3 softball games, one at a time. Mix on low.
Add 2 teaspoons of Zombie movies, 1 bag of microwave popcorn and a case of Diet Dr. Pepper. Let sit for 1 weekend.
Form into a short, blonde mass and sprinkle with a handful of classic rock.
Bake for 21 years.
Prepare a frosting of yoga and reading. Spread on when cool.
**Belated Post. My apologies. I was still trying to decide what I was going to do with this Tumblr/Blogger fiasco. I love my blog. I like my Tumblr. I made the executive decision yesterday that this would remain the permanent location for my existential, philosophical detox, while Tumblr will be my spot for my funny links, photos, etc. Facebook is on it's way out, I feel. Who knows. Anyways. Back to a philosophical rant you've all been waiting for.**
Two weeks ago I was an EFY counselor. Some people were surprised, others were less surprised. It was long, exhausting and 100% worth it. Let me tell you why.
Secretly, I've wanted to be an EFY counselor since I went to EFY 50 years ago. {Ok. 4 years ago.} I thought my EFY counselors were rockstars. They were nice, cool, going to college, and were totally outgoing. Not to mention I was greatly impacted by their teaching and bearing of testimony. I knew I would love to do that. I wanted to help youth like they'd helped me.
My first summer of college, I wasn't old enough.
My second summer of college, I went on my Study Abroad instead.
Finally, I had a free summer. No classes, no travel and plenty of perk.
So I applied. In January I had an interview. After some complications with the EFY system, I was finally offered contracts in March, but none that I could accept since my situation changed. I thought I had missed the boat.
Right before Memorial Day, I got an email from EFY asking me if I could fill in for the June 6-11 session in Provo. Yes. I would love to. I hurriedly completed the employment information, read and re-read the handbook and began preparing all my devotionals and lessons. Come Sunday I was excited and well-prepared.
When I showed up for the training session from 3-5, I quickly shrunk to be 2 inches tall. Really. They pounded in our heads how the youth watch our EVERY MOVE, how influential we can be, and how the Lord was relying on us to rescue some of these kids. I felt pretty inadequate. I would have felt much more confident coming right out of high school, when I was meticulous about scripture study, attended every hour of church and had this insatiable need to be the best. Over the past few years I've gotten more lax. I let myself get away with more. I have more fun, and concentrate less on work and spiritual growth. I was truly humbled. I learned a lot in that moment. You can study every scripture reference and conference talk, attend the temple, pray for your kids, and try to be good for 2 weeks straight, but it will never compensate for the righteousness and spiritual power you will gain by consistent good decisions over time. I felt weak and never wanted to feel that way again. Luckily, they tried hard to buoy us up and meeting my awesome Co's - Mike and Amy - made me feel a little better.
Monday morning began bright and early with breakfast and our business meeting. Obviously I LOVED my enormous bright green and purple EFY tees {sorry BYUStylers...}. Don't worry. I'm not going to give you a day-by-day log of activities. Although it is pretty interesting.
Meeting my girls was awesome. It really alleviated stress when I could just feel love for these great girls and knew it would be easier for me to be better. I had a good mix. They were almost all 16, which intimidates a lot of people, but I just love teenagers. Crazy I know.
The week went super fast. I was exhausted. I never slept more than 5 hours a night and had to be perky and physically energetic all day long. We walked all over campus, and it was alternating between sweltering heat and windy chill several times a day. The schedule was jam packed, because they never want to waste a moment of precious time during the week. Every activity is carefully planned to maximize fun AND spirituality, which, amazingly enough, CAN go hand in hand.
By Thursday (the most spiritual day), I was completely exhausted and the kids were starting to bond. I can't explain how amazing it was to see some of my girls get up and bear their testimonies in front of the big group, and several later in our small devotional. If these kids stick to what they know right now, the next generation of the church is going to be absolutely fine. Again, I was humbled and uplifted by their faith for the future.
Friday's dance was super fun, and the "Taking It Home" afterwards really motivated participants and counselors alike to examine their lives, make the hard and scary improvements that we need to, love others and be better. The coolest thing that I learned was the idea of "practice." {Our director was way into sports analogies, which obviously I loved.} He said we should start practicing being the person we'd like to be in the future. When he put it that way, it sounded realistic and far less daunting than an immediate 180 degree switch. I can do a little practice, can't I?
Following "Passion Patrol" - keeping participants from getting too lovey-dovey and physical (yes it's actually called that) - I did our last devotional and then reported for Lockdown Duty. As the last night, post-dance, when no one wants to say goodnight or goodbye, kids try to sneak out. Therefore, counselors on Lockdown Duty are placed strategically to guard halls and doors. We can't go to bed until we have 1 incident-free hour following kids going to sleep. {Everyone made fun of me all week for sneaking in my Diet Coke. Joke's on them. I was 100% alert during Lockdown. Suckas.}
Thanks to some idiot running around Helaman Halls in a wolf costume, I couldn't go to bed until almost 2 am.
Up at 6 to check my girls out, sad to see them go, and then off to our wrap-up meeting. By 9:30 I was home and climbing into bed.
I slept till 4 pm. Yikes.
It was hard getting no sleep. It was hard walking all over the place with a heavy backpack in the hot and cold. It was hard minding my every individual action to be the best example I could for these kids. It was hard being perky and spiritual every waking minute for 5 days straight. It was hard to not see Ryan.
But so worth it.
It was a small price to pay (....and I was getting paid) for the opportunity to spend time with the most amazing youth in the church. I got to spend literally HOURS in the scriptures. I practiced my teaching and management skills (they need some work). I made friends, danced my heart out, and had a blast.
Don't worry. I'm not turning this into a wedding blog, a place to vent or a glorified to do list. You guys know me better than that. So you can keep reading.
It is a prevalent stereotype (and I feel like an accurate one) that weddings induce crazy stress and infect young girls with the Bridezilla virus. As it courses through her veins, her blood pressure rises. Her resting heart rate jumps. Her pupils dilate. The ringing in her ears can not be identified or halted. Paranoia ensues. And that's it--she's at the mercy of Bridezillitis, to be released no sooner than the day of the wedding.
I've been anxiously anticipating my imminent infection and subsequent mutation. [Unfortunately not cool like X-Men.] I knew that if anyone was prepared with skills of planning, comparing, coordinating, organizing, making rational decisions and creating lists like a BOSS, it was me. But that wouldn't save me. That's not the inoculation. Sooner or later it would hit me.
But it hasn't. It should have. Especially with a 2-month engagement and an empty classroom with my name on it waiting for me immediately afterwards. Especially since I'm the least creative, crafty, design-y person you know or will ever know. Especially since I'm only about half way through planning. Why hasn't it hit me? Why haven't I freaked out? Why am I still a "gush geyser" (as Ryan so lovingly calls me)?
At dinner with our friends last night, they asked how the wedding planning was going. I updated them on our plans and remarked how fun it had been. Everything had been falling into place and I hadn't been stressed at all. I was just excited and happy. Then Becca said something that made so much sense.
"There are two types of brides. And only two. There are girls who are excited for and preparing for the wedding, and then there are girls who are excited for and preparing for the marriage."
I would say the second is true for me. I'm definitely excited for the wedding and our party is gonna be BOMB. Seriously. You're all invited, obvs. Don't miss it. But we're getting married for the right reasons and the wedding is just means to an end. That's why everything is just a fun addition. THAT'S THE INOCULATION!!!!!
But really. I meant it when I said this wasn't a wedding blog. This was real inspiration stuff. What Becca said reminded me of a catchphrase used by Brother Goodman, my freshman year Mission Prep teacher.
"Why am I doing?"
Grammatically incorrect (sorry Cristina). Yet poignant. He said that we should always ask ourselves "Why am I doing ___?" That's always stuck with me. Our underlying motivation matters, and the thought really does count. Awareness of our motivation protects us from bad decisions, prevents us from wasting our time, and ensures our maximum satisfaction.
I may have this figured out in the wedding prep sphere. But the challenge will be to continue to focus on what matters. In other spheres of my life, I definitely don't have this principle figured out. Why am I at work? Because I have to be. Because I need to get paid. But it should be because I want to help the Library Administration Office. Because I take pride in my work. Because I want to develop good work habits and skills.
Why am I hanging out with my family? Why am I going to church? Why am I drinking so much Diet Coke?
Saturday August 14 was Travel Day! I couldn't believe it. Later that night (although really it would be like 24 hours later) I'd be breathing Utah air and hugging my family. Now, ok. Bear with me. This day was a WHIRLWIND, obviously. I hadn't slept, I was traveling, which is always taxing, and I was crazy excited. Unfortunately, because of all this, I did not write anything down for this day. Even if I did it would probably be incoherent. So I'll try to remember it as best I can. {Number of times Diet Coke is mentioned in this post = 11}
First, to help you understand the relative times and length of my trip, a chart:
The biggest thing I want you to take away from this chart is that I was traveling for over 24 hours. Also, keep in mind that I didn't sleep the night before. And wait. I landed in SLC at 11:30 and didn't get to bed until 8 am? That must be a mistake, right? Well, stay tuned for the thrilling explanation.
So packed and prepared, I jumped into the van with Anna, Anders, Talia and Jessica (other Jessica). Everyone kept asking me if I was tired or felt ok for staying up all night, but honestly I felt fine (I HAD chugged like 3 of my last Diet Cokes. I had to get rid of them somehow). I bid a quick farewell to everyone and clambered out of the van and into the dreary, sketchy bus station covered terminals. It was rainy, slightly cold and the gross, irregular yellow lighting of the terminals combined with my sudden realization that
1. My luggage might be too heavy for the bus requirements 2. All I had for my bus ticket was a printout of payment 3. The monitors did not list a bus leaving for London Heathrow at 7:30 4. Since I threw away my debit card in Preston on accident, all I had was the 30ish pounds and $50 cash on my person, and didn't know if I could buy another bus ticket or taxi for that amount if my bus pass didn't work. 5. Just a general realization of all the things that potentially COULD go wrong on this long and complicated journey home.
Jessica and Talia were supposed to take a bus, but were worried that it wasn't coming or that they hadn't bought the right tickets, so they made the executive decision to run over to the train station and get on the next train to London. Their flight was much earlier than mine and the train only takes about 1.5-2 hours, compared to the 3 hour bus ride. Once they left, around 7:00, I was all alone. Sitting there. Cold and damp. Trying to contain my anxiety. I ended up throwing away some t-shirts, my towel, and my trusty charcoal peacoat (it was falling apart anyways) in an attempt to lighten up my luggage.
The bus came a little late, and wasn't the exact bus number on my ticket. The driver said the schedules change all the time and he had no problem letting me on. Although he did laugh at the weight of my bag and asked me if there was a dead body in it. I climbed on a bus, got a window seat and pulled out a book, but I just wanted to get a nice last look at the UK while I could. I streamed "First Train Home" by Imogen Heap (and other appropriate songs) over and over as I said goodbye to Cardiff, Wales and garbage lining the streets. Excitement filled me, but then I started to crash and wanted to save my food and Diet Coke for when we were closer to London. I'd need to be alert when I got off the bus and had to negotiate multiple terminals. So I set my alarm to wake me up around 10:15 (my mom had been stressing that I would be too tired and sleep through my flight/stops/arrivals), and fell into a superficial, unsatisfying doze. I hate those big buses. They are cold, uncomfortable and cramped. Even for a little short girl like me. Pulling into Heathrow was fantastic. I had consumed my chips and apple, downed my Diet Coke, and was ready to rock.
I grabbed my luggage, hopped on the underground tram, and stepped out at the appropriate terminal. I was able to quickly check in and deposit my luggage, which was a HUGE relief. My backpack was also full to bursting, and lugging them both around was making my back tighter than a drum. Around 11-11:30, I was through security, located my terminal and sat down with every intention of working on my paper. Luckily, it was like 4 in the morning at home, so no one was online to tempt me with conversation. The people-watching was entertaining enough, though. Finally around 1 pm I decided I wanted to eat, stock up snacks and blow the rest of my soon-to-be-useless pounds. I grabbed lunch, bought gum, Toblerone, water and another Diet Coke to drink when I was about to get off my flight, and headed back to my terminal to await boarding call.
I boarded the plane around 1:45 and popped several Dramamine as the plane was taking off. Goodbye, UK! I'll miss you. And I was out. OUT OUT. Every couple of hours I would wake up for just long enough to look out the window at the ocean, check the time on my seat monitor, maybe sip some water and pass back out again. I was miraculously awake when they came around to serve us dinner. I wasn't super hungry and that food is generally super gross, so I think I just stuck to the rice, cookies and jello. The cute little Indian man next to me offered me his jello before falling back into motionless, soundless sleep again. Best row-mate ever. Before I knew it, I was looking out the window at land. And not just any land. The US of A! I had tears welling up in my eyes. My heart was swelling in my chest. I was really home.
I downed their last round of complimentary Diet Coke and my secret stash of Diet Coke and Toblerone in the last 30 minutes of the flight. By this point I couldn't sit still. And I know what you're thinking, but no, it wasn't because of the chocolate and Diet Coke. Maybe a little. But mostly I was just DYING to use my cell phone. I could TEXT! I could make phone calls! Wow. It had been forever. I hadn't really minded it at all, it had even been nice, in fact. But now I was ready. As the plane touched down and stood idle waiting for an opening, I giggled like a child at the little startup tone of my phone. I sent my first text back in the US:
"Tyrannosaurus Rex!"
You know who you are.
Then the texts to everyone else - "Guess who's back in the US?!" to all my friends and coworkers and "Landed safe!" to my family. When I finally stood and shuffled off the plane, I was herded directly into Customs, which went surprisingly fast. A big, jolly American guy processed me, and asked me about my final destination and teased me while I put away my paperwork. "Well, good luck. And welcome back to the USA!" A high five, and then I emerged in the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport.
American voices on the intercom. My phone buzzing cheerily in my pocket. And then... a vending machine. I happened to glance in it as I walked through the last terminal and what did I see?
Tears welled up in my eyes again. Over CHEEZ-ITS for crying out loud. I was a wreck, clearly. But you don't understand.... one thing (among other things like real Diet Coke, Reese's and Wendy's) they do not have in the UK that I had been DYING for was good cheese crackers. Like Cheez-its. This was America.
The Minneapolis-St. Paul airport is ENORMOUS. Seriously. It's huge. I can't even imagine the Mall of America. It took me almost 25 minutes just to walk to my terminal to make sure I could find it. From there, I called my parents, called my grandmas and updated everyone on my situation. Those were some great conversations. I was loving seeing kids in pro sports jerseys, people talking about Glee, and even a man wearing a Dunder Mifflin t-shirt. It was like Christmas. Everywhere I turned, something thoroughly American! Around 7 or so, I realized I was starving, having eaten nothing but snacks and Diet Coke since London. I decided I was going to find a nice sit down restaurant and eat me some American food and have Diet Cokes delivered to my table, Ed Budge-style. I had seen a Chili's and thought that would be a good safety, but started looking for other options.
And suddenly, there it was. A Cafe Rio-esque MEXICAN RESTAURANT. I practically sprinted in. Did I mention Mexican food is my favorite? Did you know there are literally NO Mexican Restaurants in the UK? The allure of chips and salsa was intoxicating. I sat down, got a REAL Diet Coke (oh how I've missed you), started to tuck into my delicious burrito, but then I looked up. What did I see? What could possibly stop me from devouring my precious Mexican food like a barbarian?
Baseball.
There was a TV in the restaurant. On that TV was a baseball game. It was just a Twins game, but still. America's pastime. Not cricket. Not golf. Not soccer. BASEBALL. At this point I really started to cry. It was just too much. So here I was, sitting in this airport restaurant by myself, a mouth full of steaming delicious rice, beans and pico, staring up at a baseball game, with tears escaping from my tired eyes.
GOD BLESS AMERICA.
When I pulled myself together, eliminated my burrito, cashed a few more Diet Cokes and watched the last couple innings of the game, I headed all the way back to my terminal. I tried to work on my paper and got some done, but ultimately just wanted to text and talk. I boarded my plane around 9 and soon we were en route to Salt Lake City! The flight was a little under 3 hours long, and while I slept for a good hour at the start, I spent the remainder staring out the window, listening to my ipod, and day dreaming (well, night-flight dreaming) about seeing my parents and siblings, the boy, my friends, my office, grandmas, everyone! I fantasized about my comfy, dark bedroom at home and how I would sleep for an entire 24 hours once I got home. After I took a luxurious shower, of course. I finished touching up my makeup as we flew in sight of Salt Lake City. I know this will sound ridiculous, but as I saw the city lights my heart started to pound, and once I caught view of the Salt Lake Temple, I was flooded with the Spirit. Again, my eyes welled up with tears and I had to fix my eyeliner. Worth it.
I stood in line to get out of the plane, bouncing on the balls of my feet. The guy riding next to me laughed and said "Don't worry. The airport isn't going anywhere." Not funny, random guy. You don't know that. Seeing the familiar terminals of the Salt Lake Airport was awesome. I quickly swerved in and out of passengers to make it to the open floor, and then jogged to the escalator to baggage claim. As I descended below the overhanging beams, I caught sight of my mom and dad, waiting for me. Biggest smile ever. I ran over to them, dropped my backpack and jumped up into my dad's arms. I'm such a daddy's girl. Me and my mom were emotional and excited. I love them so much. My dad grabbed my bad and we headed out to the car. Mitch ran out and hugged me as we walked up and I was having such a hard time holding the tears back from my laughter. I jumped in the car to find my adorable little Blade! I think I missed him even more than my friends and family because I couldn't talk to him.
It was so bizarre to sit in a nice, leather-interior Audi that didn't smell of wetness and feet. The backseat was this enormous expanse of open space, and WE WERE DRIVING ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD! There were no roundabouts, no fields filled with sheep. Just billboard after billboard, and exit after exit populated by Wendy's and Texacos. I told them funny stories and answered their questions, meanwhile texting all my friends. My now-boyfriend Ryan and a few of our friends were hanging out and wanted me to come say hi. It was midnight, I was with my parents, exhausted, and hadn't been home in 6 weeks. So naturally I decide that's a good idea. Clearly I like this kid. My parents drop me off in Orem, bewildered, no doubt. We pull up next to my friends, I say thanks and goodbye to my family, and jump out, excited to see the guy in the white v-neck walking towards me with a big smile on his face. He picked me up with a huge hug and a "Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!! I missed you." I'm pretty sure my heart melted. Enough of that embarrassing gushiness.
I said hi to our other friends and we all hung out and talked for a while. Finally, they decided to go up to Kader's "Le Cabin" and watch a movie. It was close to 1 am at this point, so I thought I should go home. Turns out, Ryan's car was parked at someone's house, and it would be a huge pain to have to go get it. Plus I was having a great time. I shot my parents a text to say that I'd just come home in the morning and to go ahead and go to bed, and we piled into Kader's car and headed to Le Cabin. We watched Smokey and the Bandit, which was awesome, and hung out until about 8 am when I figured it was safe to head out to Mapleton without waking anybody up.
I got home, went inside and went straight down into my room. As I opened the door and flipped on the light, the best surprise ever greeted me. A HUGE new bed and cute bedding.
Well, now I feel completely worthless.
My parents had bought a nice new bed to suprise me and welcome me home with. And I didn't even come home until 8 in the morning! Worst daughter ever. I ran upstairs and thanked them, apologizing for not coming home with them. They rolled their eyes and laughed. They're used to me being inconsiderate and making decisions under the influence of fatigue, apparently.
And then. THEN, I went to bed. That bed was a celestial cloud of dreaming glory. I slept till 4 or 5. I can't remember. But it was delightful.
