I love kids. I love how content they are with life; they can have no toys and become completely satiated with playing make believe. My RD has some family over for the week, and they brought their three kids and Great Dane Mango. So, with Chase, Alexa, and Sienna, there are a total of six. Right now they're playing "restaurant;" their laughter is enough to make me shut off my iTunes and become completely engrossed in their game.

"Okay, this is a different restaurant. Chase, you're sitting on this side."

"I want fish heads."

"Chase, that's not a drink. Would you like some lemonade?"

"Um...yes!"

"Pretend that on the last time, we paid a lot of money so we're really popular-"

"I want lemonade!"

"-and we're like movie stars and-"

"I want lemonade!"

"Okay Chase, what do you want to eat?"

"Fish heads!"

"I'll take that as a cheeseburger, Ellie, what do you want?"

"Parker, I want pizza!"

"We don't have pizza here Ellie, only cheese burgers and french fries."

"Don't be stupid, we can have whatever we want, we're movie stars."

"STUPID IS A BAD WORD!"

How I long for the days when calling someone stupid was the greatest upset of the day.

Willoughby contacted me today wanting to know what he could do to make us friends again. I told him to quit acting like the victim and left it at that. As some point he wants to come over and make crepes. I don't think he gets the fact that this whole process of being his friend again is difficult for me, after everything that happened. I feel taken advantage of; like I'm some for of entertainment that's best left misunderstood. Things are so much more black and white when left like that, right? If this annoys me so much, why do I oblige him?

Oy vey.

Creator or Terium

"I try not to have things look as if chance had brought them together, but as if they had a necessary bond between them." -Jean-Francois Miller

"The person we bend over backward for and the person that bends over backward for us are never the same...it's a timeless predicament." -Bethany Atchison


Are there ever times in which you wish you could like someone you didn't? Conversely, have you ever wished you could turn off your feelings for someone who has proven time...and time...and time again...that they didn't deserve them?

Honestly, the best way I can put this is: there is a Col. Christopher Brandon, and then there is a John Willoughby. This, of course, makes be the Marianne Dashwood. There have always been a Willoughby to my Brandon, faithfully paired since I ignorantly cannon-balled into the world of dating. And I fear that I will always be a Marianne.

I long to be an Elinor, have her patience, her selflessness, her grace...not to mention her fortune (Hugh Grant, are you kidding me?). And yet by the end of the book I find I miss Marianne's energy, her spunk, her unabashed honesty and passion...I think that's what makes me fear growing up. I'm afraid building up a poised front, biting my tongue and always keeping a graceful outward appearance will leave me drained, not to mention make me appear to be insipid and witless.

But what should I love more? Opportunities for sarcasm and and humor for my own gains, or the people it is generally inflicted upon? Should I consider the process of maturing a stifling of my own personality, or of my own selfishness? Despite Willoughby's continual wrong-doing, should I jump at the chance to be right, or lay down my pride regardless of their transgressions? From the beginning, could it not necessarily not be his fault fully, but mine for letting my guard down so easily, for letting my hope turn into expectancy, for not consulting the One who knows me best?

Who do I serve, God or myself?

Oh, all that I know there's nothing here to run from, and there, everybody here's got somebody to lean on.

Things Needed for a Perfect Birthday (in no specific order):

1) Successful softball home game (thank you Kristin)

2) My mother calling me at exactly 11:52 AM with "YOU ARE NOW OFFICIALLY BORN."

3) Long walk through old-people district in 68º weather/seeing old man on motorcycle with mohawk helmet in said district, and an equally long drive through town (no OP sightings)

4) Free Jamba

5) G-pa and G-ma Mac, for their intense gift-packing (honestly, how many rolls of tape did you use?) and musical voicemail featuring Grandma's beautiful voice, and Grandpa's monotone, 2-second involvement. Timeless.

6) (Fish tacos + Life cereal)/same meal = nirvana

7) Discussion about God that went beyond Bible quotes

8) Justin Spackman. On stage. In my dress.

9) Bethany allowing me to be ridiculously stubborn in waiting a good fifteen minutes in the car for my parking spot to reopen.

10) Walking in on Caitlyn, Christine (and cousins), Beth, and Eric blowing up balloons for my room, then being texted an hour later to let me know it was safe to come back up.


God has surely blessed me with every good thing. Thank you to everyone involved, mentioned or not.

Well I ain't saying I'm innocent, in fact the reverse...but if your heading to the grave, don't blame the hearse.

Is it bad that I'm not even looking forward to my birthday?

I can't really place why...I guess for the same reasons I don't look forward to Thanksgiving or Christmas...there's this huge build up and then poof, it's done. I enjoy the building up to an event; somehow is seems so much more fun than the actual holiday itself.

Think about it: Thanksgiving generally begins as soon as November rolls around, Christmas typically starts as soon as Thanksgiving dinner is done. We become so wrapped up in the anticipation and preparation, the original celebration becomes an excuse to stop doing anything, or carrying it out becomes rushed and seen as a chore. Any joy, any...spontaneity, is sapped in a sense of duty.

I'm not trying to be pessimistic, but I guess I haven't been in the best of moods since I got back from the DR anyway. Don't get me wrong, having been there made me more patriotic than I ever thought I'd be (that is, at all). But being there made me feel significant, gave me a purpose, created goals that weren't too far out of reach or intimidating. Being back, it's been difficult to feel any of that at all with the new onslaught of papers, projects, speeches, the demand for missions work hours to be completed, and events that are all, coincidentally falling around the same day I generally celebrate the expulsion of infant me from my mother's uterus.

Perfect ending: Jordan just ran out of the bathroom and shot me dead with his Nerf gun. Brilliant.

You told us of your new life there; you got someone comin' around, gluing tinsel to your crown...

I realized something about myself today. As far back as I can remember, I have never really had to try for anything. Not to sound priggish, but it's true. Somehow, I am one of few people of whom success comes naturally. Even if there was the occasional instance in which something was particularly difficult, I've always decided against trying harder, or had no problem realizing it just wasn't an interest of mine, and by some luck, I did fine all the more for it. Until now.

This semester, I'm taking a class entitled Christian Theology. Now, coming from where I do, and knowing Christianity only by experience, and less by logic, the chance at enveloping oneself in deep, theological discussion was something to be excited about. The professor pumped us up by stating that, "It is not God we're putting under a microscope, but rather, our own faith being analyzed. Be prepared to go under fire."

And I was. I was, that is, until I returned from my resume-pristine, Christian-polished missions trip to the DR and checked my midterm grades.

D.

I got a D.

Pride, meet Toilet.

Immediately, I e-mailed the professor. Surely, by some slight human error, he mixed my grade with another student's? Had I not just got done talking with someone proudly declaring they did half the homework assignments, and still received a B? I had gotten full marks on every reading reflection, even checked my midterm paper with several Biblical studies majors to make sure it was theologically sound. I let my guard down and prepared for this class. So how could I have possibly received so little as a D?

And then he responded:

"I will definitely help you as much as you need and I am able - while being fair to everyone or course. I will hand back papers tomorrow, you can analyze and evaluate the comments for a day or so and then we can get together and make a plan for the next paper. Whatever you do, don't panic. We still have time and more assignments and can bring things up. Please don't worry. Become motivated and really get committed to making it better but don't panic.

C U 2moro.

Dr C"

Don't panic.

Hadn't I read that in a book somewhere? Yes, yes I have...but in that book, the Earth explodes in the beginning.

Needless to say, I was less than enthused with my answer. But as I pondered it more throughout the morning, the more I became okay with it. Don't panic. Everything's going to be fine. So I have to try for once...God forbid you care enough to put for a bit of effort...Did you die? Will your friends and family abandon you just because you suck in one class?

...

I'm looking for a "no" here, in case you're wondering.