"Oh my goodness! Their steering wheel looks just like our steering wheel!"
- My 7 year old sister.
Free Roblox Robux Hack Generator No Survey 2021
2 years ago
9.29.2010
9.27.2010
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
My younger brother has a wonderful sense of humor. Everything is a joke to him. And often, regardless of whether or not something is truly funny on its own, somehow anything that bounces off Caleb becomes funny.
My family is full of laughter.
When I really get laughing, I have this horrible habit of flailing my arms in this fanning-like motion and hopping around demonstrating my newly intense need to pee. It's quite the scene--believe me. The flailing arms have been a joke in my family since I was little, and my mother often mocks this motion while I do it, which only increases the laughter and intensifies the need to pee.
Once you get us going, the picture is nothing short of this: My laugh dance, Mom's snorts, Grace and Tabitha's loud-mouth quacks, Josh's snickering convulsions, Dad's tears, Sarah's unbridled giggles, Caleb's half muffled chortle, and Camilla's bubbly teehee.
And some jokes never die in our house.
Years and years ago a young man began taking ballet at our local studio with us. His name is Noah, pronounced NO-ay. One of the first times we used his name at home, my mother thought we were saying "no way." Now nearly EVERY TIME someone says "no way," my mother quickly counters with, "Noah doesn't dance anymore!" And then she cracks up into a snorting laugh at her own joke.
But sometimes, humor can be inappropriate. As I said, my brother has a joke for everything, and this does not exclude off-color humor.
Sometimes cultural, stereotypical, and racial humor can be honestly funny, and I may even try to muffle my own chuckle. But that doesn't make them right.
James Willie Jones publicly apologized this week after his outburst earlier this month on a public school bus where he threatened children for bullying his cerebral palsy inflicted daughter. Bullying actions allegedly escalated to the point of hospitalizing the girl due to stress. Jones said the children even threw a condom at her head.
We may think something is funny in private, but the humor we allow to infiltrate our soul will undoubtably infiltrate our society.
Now, don't be too quick to judge me either. I'm not a straight arrow, and I do know how to "take a joke." But I also know how to recognize when something is not a joke.
I'm not trying to be prudish. I'm just asking for us to take a look at our culture, the way our society is slipping.
Mack Bawden, a senior at Copper Hills High School, was spotlighted in an article in today's Deseret News. He was spotlighted because he has done something unique.
Amy Donaldson began her article,
"Mack Bawden wants his best friend, Cameron Judd, to experience everything he does--dances, dates and even the pain of getting up early to train for the Copper Hills cross-country team.
"The problem is that Judd couldn't do any of those things without help.
"The 17-year-old West Jordan boy has cerebral palsy and, were it not for the help of his friends, he'd likely be stuck on the sidelines.
"But sometimes, the kindness of a single person changes everything."
Next time you begin "I shouldn't say this, but..." or "This is horrible, but..." or "This joke is just awful, but..." or any other sentence that leads into your lightly jesting about another's handicap, color, or way of living differently than you do, try to be the exception.
And while we're at it, if we're no longer judging by physical appearance, let's not judge based on what someone might wear over that physical appearance, or the car that might drive that physical body around, because in the end, we're all the same--each having a mother, each wanting to find love and acceptance, each making it through the ups and downs of life.
While the old adage, "Boys will be boys" may work for my younger brother, it doesn't work for the men who need to be men that lead in politics but lack in statesmanship, who represent our religious groups but not our religious ideals, and who have children but fail to understand the meaning of father.
Saturday evening, President Thomas S. Monson, the Prophet and authoritative leader of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, made a worldwide address asking us to see beyond the mortal casings of those we see every day.
And although I more than doubt that our future is one of loving deeds. And I doubt that kind and higher road wont always be so unique as to be make the front page of a newspaper.
But maybe, as the jokes fade and we laugh with people and not at them, we can reach beyond ourselves and touch the soul of another--we can be the "single person [who] changes everything."
My family is full of laughter.
When I really get laughing, I have this horrible habit of flailing my arms in this fanning-like motion and hopping around demonstrating my newly intense need to pee. It's quite the scene--believe me. The flailing arms have been a joke in my family since I was little, and my mother often mocks this motion while I do it, which only increases the laughter and intensifies the need to pee.
Once you get us going, the picture is nothing short of this: My laugh dance, Mom's snorts, Grace and Tabitha's loud-mouth quacks, Josh's snickering convulsions, Dad's tears, Sarah's unbridled giggles, Caleb's half muffled chortle, and Camilla's bubbly teehee.
And some jokes never die in our house.
Years and years ago a young man began taking ballet at our local studio with us. His name is Noah, pronounced NO-ay. One of the first times we used his name at home, my mother thought we were saying "no way." Now nearly EVERY TIME someone says "no way," my mother quickly counters with, "Noah doesn't dance anymore!" And then she cracks up into a snorting laugh at her own joke.
But sometimes, humor can be inappropriate. As I said, my brother has a joke for everything, and this does not exclude off-color humor.
Sometimes cultural, stereotypical, and racial humor can be honestly funny, and I may even try to muffle my own chuckle. But that doesn't make them right.
James Willie Jones publicly apologized this week after his outburst earlier this month on a public school bus where he threatened children for bullying his cerebral palsy inflicted daughter. Bullying actions allegedly escalated to the point of hospitalizing the girl due to stress. Jones said the children even threw a condom at her head.
We may think something is funny in private, but the humor we allow to infiltrate our soul will undoubtably infiltrate our society.
Now, don't be too quick to judge me either. I'm not a straight arrow, and I do know how to "take a joke." But I also know how to recognize when something is not a joke.
I'm not trying to be prudish. I'm just asking for us to take a look at our culture, the way our society is slipping.
Mack Bawden, a senior at Copper Hills High School, was spotlighted in an article in today's Deseret News. He was spotlighted because he has done something unique.
Amy Donaldson began her article,
"Mack Bawden wants his best friend, Cameron Judd, to experience everything he does--dances, dates and even the pain of getting up early to train for the Copper Hills cross-country team.
"The problem is that Judd couldn't do any of those things without help.
"The 17-year-old West Jordan boy has cerebral palsy and, were it not for the help of his friends, he'd likely be stuck on the sidelines.
"But sometimes, the kindness of a single person changes everything."
 |
| Copper Hills senior Logan Anderson, left, and Mack Bawden push fellow senior Cameron Judd, who has cerebral palsy, in a cross-country meet in Herriman. |
Next time you begin "I shouldn't say this, but..." or "This is horrible, but..." or "This joke is just awful, but..." or any other sentence that leads into your lightly jesting about another's handicap, color, or way of living differently than you do, try to be the exception.
And while we're at it, if we're no longer judging by physical appearance, let's not judge based on what someone might wear over that physical appearance, or the car that might drive that physical body around, because in the end, we're all the same--each having a mother, each wanting to find love and acceptance, each making it through the ups and downs of life.
While the old adage, "Boys will be boys" may work for my younger brother, it doesn't work for the men who need to be men that lead in politics but lack in statesmanship, who represent our religious groups but not our religious ideals, and who have children but fail to understand the meaning of father.
Saturday evening, President Thomas S. Monson, the Prophet and authoritative leader of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, made a worldwide address asking us to see beyond the mortal casings of those we see every day.
And although I more than doubt that our future is one of loving deeds. And I doubt that kind and higher road wont always be so unique as to be make the front page of a newspaper.
But maybe, as the jokes fade and we laugh with people and not at them, we can reach beyond ourselves and touch the soul of another--we can be the "single person [who] changes everything."
Maybe we can make our own way of living "differently."
Maybe we can take the road less travelled by.
9.24.2010
Little Smiles, Litte Toes
Meet my little sisters....
Fan of Times with Tabitha?
Let me introduce you to the eccentric nut. :)
Playing in the rain:
Sarah as a master chef:
Grace's favorite? Baseball!
...and the rides before the game.
(Her preferred chant to yell at the top of her lungs:
"WE NEED A PITCHER, NOT A BELLY ITCHER!)
And last, but not least!
Camilla!
Checking out the ropes before her first day...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Our favorite things to do together: paint nails (my job), jump on the tramp, go swimming, race Mario Kart, cook fabulous works of art, talk about life, laugh at each other, be the last one to pinch or poke the other, dance (all the time!), simply be together.
Life is always a party with four little sisters!
9.23.2010
In the Wilderness
Wildflowers, marshmallow fingers, crisp mountain air, the lullaby of a rushing stream, a sky full of diamonds, and dancing under the moonlight-- whispers of God's love.
9.21.2010
In the Morning
I have been told, I am in the morning of my life.
A few days ago, at about 10am, I wondered if I existed at the 10am stage of my time here. That particular morning I happened to have slept in. Although this wasn't typical for me, it still made me a little uncomfortable to think that I hadn't done anything with myself beyond showering and, if I was lucky, making myself appear presentable for the day.
In a brief laps of time I reflected on the earlier parts of my life and realized that these too were acts of waking up and getting ready. The typical child spends the majority of their time awake between the ages 5-18 (plus however many years for higher degrees) in school. But why? To learn, yes. But really, in a strictly applicable sense, to prepare for a job, raising a family of their own, etc. Or in other words, to prepare for the rest of their life.
When I turned twenty I went through this time of fixating on the fact that I had potentially concluded a quarter of my life. I felt overwhelmingly old. I know that may sound silly, especially to those significantly beyond their twenties, but it was definitely a reality check moment for me. I have a fairly poor memory, and I could only recall insignificant snippets from here and there of my childhood--an entire quarter of my life pieced together in a few random memories.
My earliest memory: Riding my tricycle around our small apartment complex and feeling as though I'd gotten lost because it took my short, three-year-old legs a lot longer for me to work my way around the building than I anticipated.
I remember my father purchasing me a 25 cent toy from a small candy machine in the hospital while we waited to see my mother and newly born little sister.
My mind swells with my earlier dreams and ideas of the world, as I recall the first time my mother helped me apply the lightest shades of eyeshadow and lipstick, so that I might wear makeup in public.
I can't help but relive the churning stomach and trepidation of auditioning for high school dance team in front of my more popular cheerleader peers.
I chuckle at the memory of moving away to college and realizing I needed to buy my own toilet paper.
And I daily recall the morning only a month ago when I woke up to the traumatic death of my grandmother.
This is a quarter of my life, in so many words.
Just as the beautiful pastel blues, pinks, and yellows of the sunrise fade into the warmth of the afternoon, so too does the novelty and magic of childhood fade into our background of life.
Inevitably, storms come and go unexpectedly or not, and life presses forward until we each hopefully glow in the rays of a brilliant red and purple sunset.
It's hard for me to fully grasp the duration of an entire life--so long and yet so short.
I find myself staring at women only a little older than myself, wondering how I will get there, but recognizing time's unfailing ability to push us forward.
A very eccentric but wise man once told me, the waves never stop moving. He explained how he had sat on the beach one day alone for 10 hours, until he realized the waves never stopped moving.
So it is with our lives. The waves are always beating against us. The water is always changing. Sometimes the liquid can feel cool, refreshing, and brilliant on the shore of a beautiful beach; other times we feel as though we are drowning. Over time, the water refines us, removing blemishes and rough spots. But the waves never stop moving.
I don't know what time it is in your life right now. I don't know what you've done with your minutes already spent. And I don't feel the need to give you some unasked for, cliche piece of advice.
I just want to let you know, I think wrinkles are beautiful.
A few days ago, at about 10am, I wondered if I existed at the 10am stage of my time here. That particular morning I happened to have slept in. Although this wasn't typical for me, it still made me a little uncomfortable to think that I hadn't done anything with myself beyond showering and, if I was lucky, making myself appear presentable for the day.
In a brief laps of time I reflected on the earlier parts of my life and realized that these too were acts of waking up and getting ready. The typical child spends the majority of their time awake between the ages 5-18 (plus however many years for higher degrees) in school. But why? To learn, yes. But really, in a strictly applicable sense, to prepare for a job, raising a family of their own, etc. Or in other words, to prepare for the rest of their life.
When I turned twenty I went through this time of fixating on the fact that I had potentially concluded a quarter of my life. I felt overwhelmingly old. I know that may sound silly, especially to those significantly beyond their twenties, but it was definitely a reality check moment for me. I have a fairly poor memory, and I could only recall insignificant snippets from here and there of my childhood--an entire quarter of my life pieced together in a few random memories.
My earliest memory: Riding my tricycle around our small apartment complex and feeling as though I'd gotten lost because it took my short, three-year-old legs a lot longer for me to work my way around the building than I anticipated.
I remember my father purchasing me a 25 cent toy from a small candy machine in the hospital while we waited to see my mother and newly born little sister.
My mind swells with my earlier dreams and ideas of the world, as I recall the first time my mother helped me apply the lightest shades of eyeshadow and lipstick, so that I might wear makeup in public.
I can't help but relive the churning stomach and trepidation of auditioning for high school dance team in front of my more popular cheerleader peers.
I chuckle at the memory of moving away to college and realizing I needed to buy my own toilet paper.
And I daily recall the morning only a month ago when I woke up to the traumatic death of my grandmother.
This is a quarter of my life, in so many words.
Just as the beautiful pastel blues, pinks, and yellows of the sunrise fade into the warmth of the afternoon, so too does the novelty and magic of childhood fade into our background of life.
Inevitably, storms come and go unexpectedly or not, and life presses forward until we each hopefully glow in the rays of a brilliant red and purple sunset.
It's hard for me to fully grasp the duration of an entire life--so long and yet so short.
I find myself staring at women only a little older than myself, wondering how I will get there, but recognizing time's unfailing ability to push us forward.
A very eccentric but wise man once told me, the waves never stop moving. He explained how he had sat on the beach one day alone for 10 hours, until he realized the waves never stopped moving.
So it is with our lives. The waves are always beating against us. The water is always changing. Sometimes the liquid can feel cool, refreshing, and brilliant on the shore of a beautiful beach; other times we feel as though we are drowning. Over time, the water refines us, removing blemishes and rough spots. But the waves never stop moving.
I don't know what time it is in your life right now. I don't know what you've done with your minutes already spent. And I don't feel the need to give you some unasked for, cliche piece of advice.
I just want to let you know, I think wrinkles are beautiful.
Times with Tabitha
"Do you know why it's hot right now even though it's fall time?"
"Why?"
"Because the earth needs to get rid of all its extra hotness before it can become winter."
- My 7 year old sister.
"Why?"
"Because the earth needs to get rid of all its extra hotness before it can become winter."
- My 7 year old sister.
Times with Tabitha
My boy picks up Tabitha's headband and puts it on his head.
"Look, it matches my shirt."
"You can't wear it though; it doesn't match your boyness."
-My 7 year old sister.
"Look, it matches my shirt."
"You can't wear it though; it doesn't match your boyness."
-My 7 year old sister.
9.15.2010
Failing at Life
Have you ever felt this way?
I do. Sometimes.
My entire life I've been obsessed with making to-do lists.
Confession: Sometimes I add things I've already completed to said list just so I can cross it off.
Please tell me I'm not alone in this crazy behavior...
As part of my never-ending lists, I also set an absurd amount of goals. Most of the time the "goals" exist only as fleeting thoughts and therefore are only wishes and not goals. Yet, even the goals that do become real goals by establishing themselves on a flimsy, white page rarely make a difference in my life.
So, I devised a plan to ensure real change, real improvement, and real betterment in my life.
Here's how it goes:
I have 3 goal. ONLY 3. The first goal will always be what I call my "dailies;" in other words, the religious things I do every single day without fail or change of time (i.e. prayer, scriptures, journal). The second goal is for improvement, something I'd like to work on that will help add to my life. And the third goal is for betterment, eliminating a bad habit that holds me back.
I set my goals and wrote them in my journal.
THEN (that's not all yet), I told a friend. Actually, I told two. I have two very close friends who set their own goals based on this pattern.
I've heard tell that 21 consistent days makes a habit. We must keep our goals, ALL OF THEM COMPLETELY, for 21 straight days. At that time, we reward ourselves for our success. However, 21 days does not mean "the end." We reward ourselves, and then we have the opportunity to start one more goal. It is only at 42 days that we can remove a goal from this required daily routine.
IF, knock on wood, we even so much as forget to complete a single aspect of our three goals, we much sacrifice something (we've agreed on media) for 3 days, as well as start back at day one for your 21 day cycle.
We've named this plan: "Are you good?" We ask each other constantly "Are you good?" as a reminder.
Today is day 18 of that plan.
We are all "good" to varying degrees.
Each of us has had to ask for an exception once. But we also believe in forgiveness. :)
I hadn't intended on telling you the entire structure of the plan, but rather that it's very difficult for me to keep up. I have 3 simple goals, that's all. The first week was cake, but ever since then I've really felt disappointed in both my efforts and their results. I think it's because survival of life has been my priority and improvement thereof has been the afterthought.
All my life I've had to be careful with sentences like: "When this test is over, then I'll be happy." "After these projects I'll be less stressed." "Dang. I forgot to call her last week. When I get on top of all my craziness, I'll have to give her a call."
This week I heard a profound statement:
"We're doing better than we think we are, but we can all do better than we are doing."
-Julie B. Beck
I'm surviving, and therefore failing life.
It's time to take a deep breath, and live.
It's time to think better, do better, and be better.
...but not kill ourselves, cause that's not living either.
I do. Sometimes.
My entire life I've been obsessed with making to-do lists.
Confession: Sometimes I add things I've already completed to said list just so I can cross it off.
Please tell me I'm not alone in this crazy behavior...
As part of my never-ending lists, I also set an absurd amount of goals. Most of the time the "goals" exist only as fleeting thoughts and therefore are only wishes and not goals. Yet, even the goals that do become real goals by establishing themselves on a flimsy, white page rarely make a difference in my life.
So, I devised a plan to ensure real change, real improvement, and real betterment in my life.
Here's how it goes:
I have 3 goal. ONLY 3. The first goal will always be what I call my "dailies;" in other words, the religious things I do every single day without fail or change of time (i.e. prayer, scriptures, journal). The second goal is for improvement, something I'd like to work on that will help add to my life. And the third goal is for betterment, eliminating a bad habit that holds me back.
I set my goals and wrote them in my journal.
THEN (that's not all yet), I told a friend. Actually, I told two. I have two very close friends who set their own goals based on this pattern.
I've heard tell that 21 consistent days makes a habit. We must keep our goals, ALL OF THEM COMPLETELY, for 21 straight days. At that time, we reward ourselves for our success. However, 21 days does not mean "the end." We reward ourselves, and then we have the opportunity to start one more goal. It is only at 42 days that we can remove a goal from this required daily routine.
IF, knock on wood, we even so much as forget to complete a single aspect of our three goals, we much sacrifice something (we've agreed on media) for 3 days, as well as start back at day one for your 21 day cycle.
We've named this plan: "Are you good?" We ask each other constantly "Are you good?" as a reminder.
Today is day 18 of that plan.
We are all "good" to varying degrees.
Each of us has had to ask for an exception once. But we also believe in forgiveness. :)
I hadn't intended on telling you the entire structure of the plan, but rather that it's very difficult for me to keep up. I have 3 simple goals, that's all. The first week was cake, but ever since then I've really felt disappointed in both my efforts and their results. I think it's because survival of life has been my priority and improvement thereof has been the afterthought.
All my life I've had to be careful with sentences like: "When this test is over, then I'll be happy." "After these projects I'll be less stressed." "Dang. I forgot to call her last week. When I get on top of all my craziness, I'll have to give her a call."
This week I heard a profound statement:
"We're doing better than we think we are, but we can all do better than we are doing."
-Julie B. Beck
I'm surviving, and therefore failing life.
It's time to take a deep breath, and live.
It's time to think better, do better, and be better.
...but not kill ourselves, cause that's not living either.
9.14.2010
Falling in Love with my Hands
I've started taking sign language interpreting classes again.
On the drive home from my first class I couldn't help but smile. I even laughed--out loud.
I felt the cellophane wrapped tightly around my heart rip. I felt the dirty glass I had seen the world through let in a little more sunshine. I felt. The numbness melted ever so slightly.
This is right.
9.07.2010
Times with Tabitha
"Today at ballet we learned Susan's Balance Basics:
First you put your ears over your shoulders. Then you put your shoulders over your hips. Then you put your hips over your toes. And then you keep your bum in. And last you pull in your abominable muscles."
-My 7 year old sister.
First you put your ears over your shoulders. Then you put your shoulders over your hips. Then you put your hips over your toes. And then you keep your bum in. And last you pull in your abominable muscles."
-My 7 year old sister.
9.03.2010
The Deepest, Most True Kind of Love
{I want it}
May I fall in love one day, and never fall out again.
May I fall in love one day, and never fall out again.
Danny & Annie from StoryCorps on Vimeo.
9.02.2010
4-wheel Excursions with George Clooney
I'm a secret agent.... on the bad team.
After many daring tricks and stunts, I distract the other party and we all escape successfully. However, (oh no!) somehow in the thick of things I get separated from my team. A small piece of paper floats down out of nowhere with a clue. Easy. I know exactly where they've run off to. I grab an apple for the long journey and take off. Before I know it... I'm wearing a long, black, flowy evening gown.
Swish pan!
I'm walking slowly on a ledge with flowy dress flowing, tossing said apple in hand.
Shot opens wide to reveal my crew revving the engines of their oversized ATVs. I throw the apple to none other than George Clooney, my secret evil lover.
I jump on the back of his bike and we tear through the hot desert sands that surround us.
Don't you wish you were in my dreams too?
9.01.2010
Times with Tabitha
Tabitha held the door open for me as I came in. She immediately switched into the role of a hotel manager, welcoming me to the hotel. Explaining to me where I will be staying, she directed me to my bedroom:
"Just go down the stairs and turn left."
"You mean 'turn right'?"
"No! Turn.... oh, wait. Yeah, turn right. Here is a Poptart you can eat. If you want to watch some shows go down the stairs and turn right."
"You mean 'left,' not right?"
(smacks herself in the forehead....)
"Oh! Yeah! I mean left."
(sigh)
She pauses.
Then adds:
"Wow, Anna. You're so good at that left-right thing."
And promptly leaves the room.
-My 7 year old sister.
September the First
I've recently started a new goal program with a friend. It's not an incredibly complex system, but it helps us both stay on track.
At the beginning of every school year and the start of every calendar year my mom says the same thing: "This is the year." I'm not in school any more (weird), and it's not the time of New Year's resolutions, but I really feel "this is the year."
Recently I've had several opportunities to sneak out and lounge quietly in the sun with my novel. I feel like a mother looking for 5 minutes peace as I carefully open the door and close it silently behind me. But yesterday felt extra special. I was met on the front porch by the kiss of fall, as the chill of the season rode in with the breeze. I felt life rush in me. "This is the year."
Times with Tabitha
While looking at pictures from just a little bit ago, Tabitha pointed to a picture of me and said,
"Anna, that totally looks like you right now."
-My 7 year old sister.
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