10 Things I Love About Provo:

1. Being reunited with friends that I haven't seen for months

2. Student wards and awkward lessons about eternal marriage

3. School

4. Killer Whale posters

5. Cousin lunches

6. Being just two blocks away from my brothers apartment

7. Always having a social event to attend

8. Coming home from ward prayer exhausted from socializing

9. It's only an hour away from home

10. Personal phone calls from grandma again

Back to School

This morning I set my alarm for 7:30 am so that I would be able to see my little brothers leave the house for their first day of school. Although, it's not my first day of school until next week, both last night and this morning have taken me back and caused me to reflect upon my days of elementary, junior high and high school.

The Sunday before the first day of school has always been my favorite Sunday of the year. It's always full of excitement mixed with anticipation mixed with sadness of seeing yet another summer come to an end. We always have a family night that ends with my dad giving all of us back-to-school fathers blessings and no matter how hard we try to remain calm and collected, the tears always come and an entire box of tissues is consumed. This, the most important part and my favorite part of the night, has remained the same throughout the years. The following is but a distant memory of what took place during my elementary days:

After the tears were wiped and the noses were blown, we would all rush up to our bedrooms and rummage through the sacks of new school clothes to pick out our favorite outfit, the one that would go down in the scrapbooks as our "first-day-of-school outfit." Then it was time for the fashion show. The clothes we had chosen were put on and one by one we would walk down the stairs to see if mom approved. It was at this point in the night that she was cutting our favorite and annual back-to-school treat, peanut butter bars, and before we could eat, our new clothes had to be carefully laid out, ready for the next morning. After our treats were scarfed down, the sponge curlers were rolled into my hair and then it was time to brush our teeth, say our prayers and go to bed. Of course, I laid in bed for what seemed like hours before I could really fall asleep but before I knew it, mom was waking me up for a new school year. Pictures were snapped of us in our new outfits, we met up with all the other neighborhood kids and as tradition has it, all of our mothers walked with us to school to see us off. We lined up on the blacktop with our new class until our teacher beckoned for us to enter the classroom that would be ours for the next nine months. The actual school day was full of disclosures, new crayons and pencils from the teacher and more name games than I knew even existed. That night, after the much anticipated "Back to School Neighborhood BBQ", it was time for bed once again.

And then it was over. The first day of school had come to an end. I miss those days of the traditional 'first day of school.' I was tremendously disappointed last year, when the night before my first day of college went nothing like that and I didn't play a single name game in one of my classes. I guess I'll just have to live vicariously through my brothers in order to have a proper 'first day of school' this year and count today as my day.

What's with all the dead animals?

For some reason, dead animals seem to be a major theme in my life right now:

1. A couple of weeks ago, I was innocently riding my bike along Main Street when suddenly a giant dead rat appeared in the middle of the sidewalk on which I was riding. Luckily, I swerved out of the way just enough to avoid riding over it, but it caused such fright in me that I nearly fell off my bike from hysteria.

2. Because we hate traffic and construction, dad and I have been driving the new Legacy Highway to work lately to avoid the I-15 route. One of our favorite games to play while driving is called "count how many dead animals are on the side of the road" I'm not sure why the number of roadkill is so astronomical on this particular highway, but it makes for a good game, despite how disgusting it really is. Our record is 21 dead animals in just a short, 20 minute drive.

3. We have never had a mouse problem in the thirteen years we have lived in our home. However, ever since the new neighbors, who own close to 17 cats, moved in a few weeks ago we've had a little bit of a problem. It first started when these obnoxious cats started to roam around the neighborhood (note: if you own a cat, keep it to yourself. Not all of your neighbors love your little furball as much as you do) We began finding little tufts of hair all around the yard: Cat hair or mouse hair? Still a mystery. Although the recent discovery of hair gave me a little fright, I was able to stay calm and collected for the most part. It wasn't until little brother, Preston, found a dead mouse in the back yard, that I truly began to fear for my life. Shortly after, he stumbled upon another dead mouse, this time on the driveway, claiming that this one had "guts spilling out everywhere." On top of that, three different neighbors have found a mouse in their house, a mouse in their garage, and mouse poop on their front porch, respectively. I'm not sure if we've always had mice around and now that cats are present we are just starting to find their remains or if these cats are bringing their prey in from outside sources. Either way, I'm not a fan. I've reached the point on the fear scale where I look out the window for a good five minutes before going outside, examining every square inch of my yard for cats or mice, dead or alive. After I decide the coast is clear, I sprint faster than Asafa Powell to the car, slam the doors shut, and push the lock button all in one swift movement. This is a very real fear; I have never been more frightened in my life than I am right now. The majority of my nighttime prayers consist of me pleading that mice wont crawl in my bed and eat my flesh while I sleep.

I think in heaven, rats, cats, mice and dead animals will not be present. What a perfect life that would be!

Go, My Favorite Sports Team, Go

Today was a very long day at work. My cousin who sits in the cubicle next to mine is gone this week on a road trip to South Dakota. My uncle whose office is across the hall from me is spending the week vacationing in New York City. While they are off on holiday, I'm left alone with no one to talk to when entering numbers in the computer no longer holds my interest. I even journeyed to the other side of the floor to visit my dad, but he too had left the office for some important meetings. Today, boredom and the gray walls of my cubicle became my best friend. When this occurs, I unwind my headphones that are wrapped around my iPod and try to drive boredom away by listening to some of my favorite comedian friends. Today was Brian Reagan. While I was listening to this, a memory of my first day of school, junior year of high school came to me and made me smile just a little:Meet the Buick. This was the vehicle that I was so blessed to drive throughout a portion of my high school career. Some of my favorite things about this car were:

1. The dent in the side of the left, backseat door, courtesy of my brothers hip. And the broken seat belt.

2. The fact that I was the only person in the state of Utah under the age of 85 that drove this make and model.

3. The smooth, low ride it provided.

4. The plethora of nicknames it had: the bui, the land yacht, the boat, etc.

5. The thrill I got every time I got in it, hoping and praying that it would still turn on and run properly.

Which brings me to my first day of school, junior year. Because of my summer birthday, this was the first day that I was able to drive to high school. I was ecstatic. Although I didn't have the 'hippest' car at Viewmont High School, it was a car nonetheless and I had the keys. At approximately 7:05 am I said good-bye to my mother and walked out of the house, ready to start a new year of school. I was full of that anticipation and excitement that you get at the start of every school year as I walked to the Buick and unlocked the door. I drove two houses down the street and stopped at Alyssa's house to give her a ride. This was her sophomore year, and the first day she would be attending high school, I'm sure her anticipation was even greater than mine. I laid my hand on the horn to let her know I was outside her house, and as I lifted my hand off the steering wheel, I was shocked by what happened. Normally, the honking stops when pressure is released, however this particular time the honking continued despite the fact that my hand was no longer anywhere near the steering wheel. Yes, the horn in my reliable Buick had stuck. Because I know nothing about cars, I didn't know what to do other than put my hands up in the air, claiming my innocence at what was occurring. Alyssa's entire family walked onto the porch to see what the commotion was, and seeing that I had no control over the situation waved good-bye as Alyssa entered the passenger seat, laughing nervously. I quickly explained that I had no idea what was going on or how to fix it and we both decided that the best thing to do would be to continue on to school and hope that the honking would cease on its own. Did I mention that this honking that was going on was quite loud and a solid stream of blaring noise? It wasn't a "beep beep" every few seconds. It was a continuous "beeeeeeeeeeep" and it took no breaks to breathe.

As we drove through the neighborhood, I hid my face in shame as all of the neighbors peeked their heads out the windows to see who that obnoxious driver was. Eventually we got to Main Street and I wildly underestimated the amount of traffic that would be there. Bumper to bumper traffic. Completely stopped, moving maybe 5 feet every ten minutes. And I had a horn that was letting off a continuous honk. This is the point in the story that I felt like Brian Regan, I felt like yelling, "Go, my favorite sports team, go. Score a goal, unit, basket, point." Instead, I half-joking, mostly seriously, asked Alyssa to get a paper out of my notebook and write in bold letters, "SORRY, I'M NOT HONKING ON PURPOSE" She chose not to, and instead I called my dad in distress, looking for insight on what I should do. His solution was to pull off Main Street somewhere and wait for him to meet me and switch me cars. Our first attempt at this was into a small neighborhood, but when the 93 year old man working in his yard glared at us with annoyance we decided to move locations. We settled on the city Post Office and soon enough my dad met me with his car and we made the swap. I took the parking pass from the Buick and put it in his car and Alyssa and I were well on our way to the public high school. Unfortunately we hadn't planned the car delays into our schedule, and ended up being a good 20 minutes late to the first day of school. That didn't go over well with Mr. Crook, but I sucked up to him enough throughout the remainder of the year that we parted on good terms and he eventually forgot my first impression.

You'd think this would be the end of the story. Oh no my friends, it is not. I was sitting in class and meanwhile my dad somehow got the horn to stop honking. He drove it over to the high school and swapped cars back. I had failed to inform him that the parking pass needed to be swapped back as well, and as a result I ended up with a parking ticket that day. Later that day, I had a tennis tournament and in a hurry to get changed into my uniform, I grabbed my clothes from the car and accidentally bumped the horn on my way out. Because of my time crunch, I didn't even try to get the horn to stop, but instead locked the doors and ran into the girls locker room with the horn blaring in the background. I went off to Salt Lake, carpooling with other team members, and upon my return to Viewmont's parking lot, I found that the continuous honking had killed my battery. Although the honking had ceased, so had the Buick's life, temporarily. After several tries of jumping the car, we eventually revived it and had a smooth ride home. It was the most eventful 'first day of school' I've ever had and needless to say, for the remainder of the year I called Alyssa when I got to her house. I never touched that horn again.

Although the Buick wasn't the hot car that everyone talked about, it had character and I loved it dearly. I shed a tear or two the day that two elderly gentlemen came to take it away to it's retirement home. Sometimes I wish I could return to the days of the Buick, and on those days I just listen to Brian Regan and I am taken back immediately.

A Failed Attempt

I don't like the symphony. Nope, not one bit. When I was a little girl, say 6 or 7, my mom and her best friend had an idea; an idea that they thought would be brilliant. Oh, how they were wrong.

At this time in my life the Utah Symphony had some sort of promotion going on: a children symphony day. The idea was to fool parents into buying a years worth of once-a-month-Saturday afternoon-symphony tickets to a special showing just for kids. My mother, along with hundreds of other mothers along the Wasatch Front, fell for this scheme, honestly believing that it was their duty as mothers to culture their children and force them to gain an appreciation for the symphony.

As a child, Saturdays were precious days. They were the sweet reward I received for making it through another long, painful week of school. I would wake up early, rush down the stairs and join Alex on the couch where were would watch hours of Saturday Morning Cartoons. My personal favorite was Recess, although I thoroughly enjoyed any and all cartoons that were shown those mornings. After I had rotted my brain for an hour or two watching television, I would run down to Alyssa's or Mikelle's with my American Girl Dolls, Felicity under one arm and Addy under the other. There the three of us would play school or camp or any other imaginary game that little girls play with their favorite and most beloved dolls. Sometimes we would take a dinner break and other times we would jump on the trampoline for ten minutes to stretch our legs, but 90% of the day was dedicated to the six American Girl Dolls that we owned collectively. Before I knew it, I was brushing my teeth, my mom was reading me a bedtime story and my cherished Saturday was over.

That is, that's what I did 3 out of the 4 Saturday's of the month. The last Saturday was sacrificed to the Utah Symphony against my will. Where before Saturdays had been a treasure, this Saturday was now the most dreaded day of the month. It was an all day affair; I missed the whole day of American Girl Dolls and Saturday Morning Cartoons. It was a kid's worst nightmare. To top things off, I had to wear a dress and tights. As a seven year old, was there anything worse than wearing a dress and tights on a Saturday? No, there wasn't. So, we all piled in the car, all with a frown on our face, and drove to Abravanel Hall where we met up with Lauri and her children, all sporting that same frown on their faces. And then we sat through what seemed like hours of violins and other string instruments. I'm sure that in order to hold up their end of the bargain the Symphony tried to make it as kid-friendly as possible, but let's be real, how kid-friendly can a symphony be? We did our best to entertain ourselves: I specifically remember Alex and McKay teaching me and Blaire how to make paper airplanes while the music played, so I guess it was good for something. The only pleasant memories I have of going to the symphony was when there was an upcoming holiday; there would always be a man in a bunny suit or dressed up as Santa Clause who would give us a piece of candy. It was that candy that got me through the symphony. Other than the candy and paper airplanes, I hated it. I hated it so much that even now, when I hear the word symphony I cringe just a little.

So, mom and Lauri, it was a good thought. You deserve an A for effort. You did your best to get your children to appreciate the symphony, it just wasn't my thing. Dolls and Cartoons captured my heart long before the harmonic elements of music even had a chance. Maybe years from now I'll mature enough to even entertain the idea of attending the symphony, but until then, I'll consider the Children's Symphony Day a failed attempt.