Lumberjacks

Some people put up fake Christmas trees. Some people put up real Christmas trees. I'm not saying that one is better than the other.....but let's be honest. Real Christmas trees are better than fake ones.

Some people buy real Christmas trees from a lot. Some people chop down their real Christmas tree. Again, I'm not saying that chopping down your own Christmas tree makes you better than other people. But it might. 

This weekend, Kailyn, Caitlin, the Jew, Erin and I ventured over to the far corners of Utah:

That's right. We went to Richfield, Utah.

One-stoplight-town, Farmville, home-on-the-range, we're-from-the-country-and-we-like-it-that-way, Richfield. We made a brief stop at this place:

"Are we going there someday?" "I don't know, you tell me...."

Once we were done there, nothing could stop us from getting to Kailyn's beautiful home! Except for the one stop sign in the town. We met her family, talked up one of our friends to make a good impression on Kailyn's family in his absence, and then took a nap, all of us piled on Kailyn's bed.

When we woke up, something was different. We didn't have facial hair or rough, callused hands, but an unmistakable change had taken place: our nap had turned us into lumberjacks.

There were about 8 trucks in the driveway - Kailyn's family believes in trucks - so we all climbed in and struck out for the mountains.  First, the trucks did the hiking. Eventually, we had to get out and do the rest of the hiking ourselves. K-Mom gave us one piece of advice: "When you bring the tree back to the truck, you'll want to carry it down the mountain, not up the mountain. So go uphill to find it."

Our tree was living in a little patch of ankle-deep snow when we found him. He smiled at us with his soft, sage-colored needles, and even though he was a little bit balding on one side, we felt in our hearts that he was our tree. (Or maybe it was just getting dark and we weren't sure how long it was going to take to chop him down or if we would be able to find another one if we left him.....)

Lumberjacks have riveting conversations while they chop. Here's what ours sounded like:

"Hold that pose, can you just wait there a second?" "Wait the lighting was weird! Take it again." "Why do I have an alien head?" "Now you two together. Smile!" "Are you still holding onto the tree? Because it's probably going to fall soon...." "Did you ever txt him back?" "Perfect! I love this one!" "Can that please not go on facebook?"

In case you couldn't tell, at least 3 of us were on our phones or cameras at any given time.

Sawing down the tree was one thing; getting it down the mountain was a whole 'nother task. A mother of a nother task. Gravity swung on by to help us, but it still took all of our Kailyn and Caitlin and Erin's strength and muscles to bring it to Kailyn's brothers. Then it took about 1/18th of their strength to hoist it off the ground and carry it on their shoulders to the truck.

So what did I learn from all this?

Sometimes, boys are like trees. And you have to climb a mountain to find one that you like. And sometimes, he is a little bit balding on one side, or his needles are a little poiky, or he's stuck in the spot where you found him, on account of his roots or whatever.

Sometimes, you need your friends to help you saw down the tree that you want. Wing-girls are so necessary.

Sometimes, you kind of love the tree the moment you see it. But then you still have to cut it down and find a way to get it back to your apartment.

Sometimes, trees look a lot taller when they are laying in the snow than they do when they are standing in the snow. Sometimes, you notice the same thing about boys.

Sometimes, you see all these people coming down the mountain with their trees, and you think how easy it must have been for them to just pluck their tree from the side of the road. But sometimes you're wrong, because probably they didn't pluck their tree or their boy from the side of the road, and probably they had to go through the same process that you did.

Sometimes, there's a tree that really freakin' wants to be your tree, but he takes his sweet time coming down the mountain and puts up such a fuss about it that you almost leave him there on the dead log that he's hanging onto. But then you don't, because he really is the most beautiful tree you've ever seen, and besides that he is really good company, and you like it when he txts you and comes over and even when he eats your food, so whatever. You'll drag him down the mountain even if it kills annoys you, because let's be honest: the chances that he'll end up flying off the truck on the way back to Provo are looking pretty slim, and you honestly believe that one day he will look beautiful, all decked out in lights and ornaments and popcorn in your apartment, and you'll forget about the sap and the splinters and the bruises, and it will all be worth your stupid day month as a lumberjack.

Here we are putting up our beautiful Teddy:

Cute bum, where ya from?

And here he is, all lit up and beautiful:

Walk of Shame

I am constantly tired these days. Just, always tired.

If I'm watching a movie, I'm falling asleep.

If I'm sitting on my couch, one of my roommates is petting my head and I'm falling asleep.

If I'm eating something, it might as well be Benadryl.

If I'm driving (which I am, 70% of my life), I am alert and dancing ridiculously to "Call Me Maybe," "Everybody Talks," or "Want U Back."

If I am hanging out with my friends, I am trying valiantly to be fun and stay awake, but I sometimes end up accidentally falling asleep in the middle of the conversation. But don't worry, because apparently, my valiant efforts to contribute my two cents to the conversation don't stop when I fall asleep.

Sometimes, I don't even wake up until it is 3 in the morning. And that's when I look around and realize that I was not the only one who just fell asleep where I was, because one of my friends is on the other couch.

When I woke up for real this morning, Kristen was just on her way out.  "You guys are welcome to stay here," she said. "Winnie spent the night, too."

So there we sat, Winnie, Christine and I on Kristen's plush couches, blinking at each other through day-old makeup, trying to remember how we all somehow just fell asleep in the middle of talking the night before.

The walk to Winnie's car was like a walk of shame....."except worse, because we didn't even get any action" (Christine).

Don't worry, we still stopped at the Awful Waffle and had a real cute friends-who-walk-of-shame-together,-graduate-together kinda morning-after breakfast.

 

You can write on the tables there. 

To Teach is To....

....touch a life forever. At least, that's how the saying goes. But one might also finish this statement with any of the following: "To teach is to...."

- go to assemblies. All day, err day.

- make copies upon copies. Sometimes I think all I do is make copies.

- dream about all the things that could go wrong in your classroom. I just had a dream that my headphones at the Listening Center were getting used by student after student, and they just got grosser and waxier and gummier until I awoke with a jolt and a conviction that I needed new headphones.

- observe budding romances.
"Okay, I'm going outside now."
"Okay, um....meet me at....the slide."
"Okay. I'll meet you at the monkey bars."
"Actually, okay. Meet me at that one place for four-square?"
"I'll just be at the swings? Maybe?"
"Well, I'm just coming out now. We can walk together."
"Oh! Okay!"

- observe budding friendships.
"Miss Connor, K is pushing his chair into my desk."
"Miss Connor, M isn't minding her business."
"Miss Connor! I asked him not to and he's still doing it!"
You know these two are going to be BFF one day.

- despair over the rising generation.
"You need to be focusing on your work, I just keep seeing you sharpen your pencil over and over again - "
*flabbergasted* "But Miss Connor, I don't like work! It's not fun, I just don't like it, it's boring!"
"...........I'm sorry, you still need to do it. If I see you sharpening your pencil again, I'm going to take your sharpener away."

- rejoice over the rising generation.
I don't have a quote for this. I just have the world's cutest kids in my class.

- drive. I drive 45 minutes each way. As if this isn't enough, I've also been having dreams that I am driving. Just driving. And getting pulled over. And merging, and accelerating, and braking, and driving.

- file. I never filed before. Now I file anything and everything.

- live my dream. Fo real. In all honesty, I wake up in the morning with a smile on my face. I can't wait to go and see my class. Teaching is everything I ever hoped it would be, and more. So, so much more.

:)

A True Love Story

Girl walks into a bar.

Or a car dealership, whatever. To continue -

The first few rays of the barely-rising sun gleam off her spurs as she steps up to the counter.

"Give me something hard," she says, "I want the strongest thing you've got."

Bartender gulps nervously. "The strongest I've got?" he stammers. "It's barely sun-up. We're serving oatmeal right now and...."

Girl springs across the counter. Bartender finds himself eye-to-eye with the girl, her fingers twisting his collar, the cold mouth of her gun pressed against his head. "I said, I want the strongest thing you got," she says slowly.

"Baby, don't waste your time," comes a voice from the door.

Girl and Bartender snap their faces over to the door, squinting against the sunlight. Girl loosens her grip on Bartender and he slumps to the ground.

"You're gonna tell me what to do?" Girl replies. But she's listening, taking in his silhouette.

"I wouldn't tell you what to do." The figure at the door is back-lit by the sun, but Girl can hear a smile in his voice. He takes a step forward. "But I know what you want," he continues.

"How do you know anything about me?" she asks. He takes another step forward. She swings her arm up, cocking the gun as she aims it at him. "And I'd stay there, if I were you," she advises.

He doesn't even hesitate. He takes another step. "I know what you want, because it describes me perfectly," he says. "I'll give you the moon and stars." He's rugged. His voice slips through pearly-white teeth like honey dripping on the floor.

"What a line," Girl remarks. "Is there a lady in this world who would fall for that?"

"Couldn't say." He takes another step. She's close enough to study the stubble that dots his perfectly cut jaw. "Never had a reason to use it before now," he adds.

"What's the occasion?" she asks.

"Meeting the most perfect girl in the world..." he replies. Her gun clatters to the floor. He slides his hand under her hair, pulling her into his embrace. "...And kissing her," he finishes.

He dips her low. Lips meet. Just outside the saloon, fireworks erupt.

Girl's eyes flutter. "Who are you?" she whispers.

"Lerone," he smiles. "I'm Lerone."

This man and I....we're gonna go far together. 

PS: Is it normal to want to pet your car? And run to the window every hour to make sure he's still there? Or at least to sigh happily and smile at him? Not saying I did those things. Just wondering if that's normal.