Semicolon P

So...recently, I've found myself turning emoticons into actual words in my every day vocab. The top of my list has to be sadface. I'm not sure when it started, but for some reason I find it more powerful to say "sadface" instead of actually using the sad face icon. Occasionally, I'll throw in the more complicated ones like winkface and winkPface, but mostly it's the simple ones like happyface, sadface, and moneyface. Does this mean I'm feeling nostalgic and reverting back to the time before instant messaging ruled all? Or does it mean texting has now taken over my reality and my worlds a colliding in a Matrixy coma state style of confusion?!

For now, I think it's cute so I'll keep doing it, but one thing is for certain - the moment I start LOLZing out loud instead of actually laughing out loud someone must put me down.

The Miracle of Quinoa

Some time ago I was taking this nutrition class during my lunch break. They provided healthy meals and they were actually delicious. One of my favorites quickly became something I’d never heard of, quinoa pilaf with chicken. Quinoa was like this magical little grain. Not quite rice, pasta or couscous. It was filling, super healthy and it was delicious. I began my hunt for the uncooked grain and I was going to conquer it and change my life. I soon found that it was in fact a health foodie trend and variations of quinoa were everywhere. It was a word of wisdom miracle!

I promptly bought a bag of quinoa with a vow to master the art of the old, but newly famous grain. I put it in my pantry. And there it sat. It wasn’t entirely my fault, for six months I lived in a box. Yeah, it had a kitchen, but you couldn’t actually stand in the kitchen and cook anything. You had stand in the bathroom and reach over with a stick because there wasn’t room enough for both you and food. So my quinoa sat and sat.

Then I moved into a glorious apartment with a wide-open kitchen and lots of counter space low enough for me to not need a stool. I told my mom I was going to cook every day. That was over three months ago.

While cleaning out my pantry a few weeks ago, I came across that bag of quinoa and excitement filled my tummy. Surely it couldn’t still be good. Oh, but it was! This time, I cooked it. I cooked it so good. I eat quinoa like every day now. I make it simple, I make it fancy, I’ve shared it with friends and I’ve enjoyed it alone with my stories. It’s the best – I’m saving money, eating healthy and since I talk to myself while cooking I’m even practicing for Top Chef.

So I’ve just rambled on and on about food. Let’s be honest, it’s the topic that most of us want to talk about all the time. But truthfully, it’s more than just about the food. A long time ago I found something I loved and sought to make it part of my world. However, it didn’t happen over night, in fact I wasn’t even close to diligent about it and most of the time I totally forgot. This miracle food just sat on my shelf, ignored and shamed. Then one day it came back into my life and this time I was ready for it. Everything was in place and we were happily reunited. What a difference it has made.

It was so simple. How many other things in my life are sitting on that shelf waiting to make an impact in my life…other than that box of cream of wheat which we all know is never going to happen – what was I thinking?

It’s probably time to clean out the old life pantry again and make sure I’m not missing any more miracle grains. Hopefully before they expire.

Oh and quinoa, if you haven’t yet, try it. For reals.

Past Blast

Last weekend the BFF and I went to a massive boy band reunion concert to relive our 4th grade dreams. (Thanks L!) It was absolutely amazing and about a thousand times better than I was expecting. After all the New Kids on the Block are not new kids anymore. They sang, they danced and they really looked like they were having a blast. Instead of taking themselves too seriously, it felt as if they truly appreciated the opportunity to give this entertainment business one more go decades later. I found myself rooting for them as we gave homage to the songs that back dropped my early adolescence. For two hours I was transported back in time, a simpler time – no really, things were way easy back then. After the concert L and I talked about the memories that came flooding back. Please Don't Go Girl still gets me every time. It was pretty awesome to relive those crushes for an evening.

About a month ago, I saw a lovely little movie, Midnight in Paris. It was charming, funny and the final message was sweet and poignant. Without giving away too much, it was about not obsessing in the past. Instead we cherish it and use what we have learned to embrace the future. I love that.

For a few moments during the NKOTBSB concert, I felt that urge to go back. If only I could be there again, do it all over or just stay there forever. After the encore, the confetti settled and the lights went up, I returned to 2011 with a heavy sigh. Truth is life is not perfect today and I think sometimes if I could I really would like to do things over. Reminiscing in the 'good ole' times often makes my present heart ache and it takes a moment to remember there is no accounting for the path already taken. There is no telling what could or might have been and most of the time that is the point. Today is today, yesterday is gone and I only have tomorrow. It is with my past, I make the best of my future.

Now, can anyone tell me why there were 14 year olds at this concert? Seriously, I'm really baffled. I have NKOTB shirts older than them.

Rejected

Rejection hurts. It sucks. Bad. Big time. There is nothing new about that.

Recently, however, I have received a new kind of rejection and I have to say, it hurts almost as bad as the boy kind.

I apologize for the shock of news to anyone, don't be mad, I kept my jaw rather tight about it (I know, I know, it's rare, but it's still possible). Due to the bafflement and frustration of the 'are you kidding me's?' this has caused, public release feels necessary and that demands full disclosure. So here it all comes...

I applied to the Marriage and Family Therapy program at BYU last fall. It involved a mix of emotion and was a bit stressful, but overall I was really excited for the possibility of a new career path, one that could open new doors and really bring me a lot of joy. I wasn't delusion, it's a very small program, chances were slim at best. However, I wasn't prepared for the speed at which that rejection notice arrived...via email. That was surprising. After a sigh of disappointed, it was alright. I knew it would be a long shot and I wasn't planning to give up. I have time. Next year, we will try again.

Then...a few days ago I got a letter from the program. What is this, 5 months later? Perhaps someone dropped out and maybe there is still hope! No. It was rejection all over again. This time on official letterhead. I guess this was just the delayed 'official' rejection. I read the first three words and threw it in the trash.

Then...last night, another email. Log into you account to see your application results. I knew it was a trap, but I looked anyway. Sure enough. Rejection #3.

What have I learned from this? When it comes to rejection, one time - swift and thorough is best. For the love, please don't feel the need to send duplicates just in case. Also, it feels good to put rejection in the trash bin.

Yes, it's weird.

This is how it went:
Yes, mom, it's weird.
But no one else has told me it's weird.
Of course not. No one is going to say that to your face. Don't worry, they tell me all the time. I am just the only one who loves you enough to tell you, it's weird.

I'm telling you because I care. Sounds very similar to I'm not letting you go to the beach with your friends because I love you too much. Hm. That's the rub.

Most of the time it's hard to tell someone the cold, brutal truth. We don't want to hurt feelings or crush dreams. Some people don't have a problem with it and blurt out everything that happens to cross their mind at any given point. I find those people are usually wrong and don't have many friends. As humans, most of us do not really want the truth. We want to live in ignorant bliss. I know I do. Unfortunately, it usually doesn't get us very far. We have to face the truth to break our comfortable shell and grow. Despite our highest reasoning skills, we typically need some kind of help with this.

The trick is to be open to that help as well as learn how to offer it to those we care about when they need it. I know I've made the mistake of offering my seasoned, unsolicited, glorious wisdom at times when it was really not appreciated. Offended and appalled I'm not praised for shedding the light, it usually takes me about 36 hours to realize I was saying it for myself and not for the person I claimed to care about. It turns out that the only way to really help is to really care...about the other person.

Love is the foundation. The love of a parent, dear friend or our Savior gently guiding us back on the path we always wanted to be. It's easy to fight this. We have pride to thank for that. However, as we listen to the support and selfless advice of our closest confidants we might just find they are right after all. As difficult as it might be to swallow...

I doubt I'll be able to stop telling my mom my arrogantly naive opinions. The truth is, it was weird. But she really doesn't care and therefore neither should I.

A Perfect Pair

Something shy of nineteen years ago, I walked down the hall into my bedroom to find two blond, pale skinned, diaper clad, midget destructors climbing up my dresser for perhaps the hundredth time. A girl could never successfully hide all her enticing accessories from such a duo. Today, I dropped those very same boys, now speaking full sentences, standing quite a bit taller with shaved faces and looking sharp in dark suits at the Missionary Training Center to begin a two year mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. What a moment! And the memories have flooded in ever since.

I can remember sitting at our kitchen table hearing the news of two more boys soon to join our family. I remember banging my head on the table, bursting into tears and begging they be sisters instead. It was the worst news ever for a 10 year old girl with already two highly irritating younger brothers. I couldn't bear it. Then I remember the day they were born and seeing their adorable, tiny bodies with color coded socks so we could tell them apart. I remember the heartache when only a few months later they were both miserably covered with painful red bumps from chicken pox leaving us with no way to console them. I remember dressing them up for my famous skits, changing diapers, sewing tiny costumes, showing them off at church and bragging to all my friends that I had the most adorable identical twin brothers in the world. It didn't take long to see that these two happy boys completed our family perfectly. I was so proud to be the oldest sister, to have four charming and practically all identical brothers.

I remember years later returning home after college and watching them endure the horrors of middle school. I was there to see them quickly become athletes, find success and popularity with friends, teachers and basically anyone they met. I went to as many football games as possible where they would always nod to us from the field just because they knew we loved it so much. I gave my sisterly advice on everything (especially when it was least desired), and perhaps spoiled them a bit along the way.

I remember just two months ago when they received calls to serve full-time missions for the church. I remember the excitement in their voice as they each read out loud their assignments. Uttica, New York and Las Vegas, Nevada. So soon, they would be off. It had come so fast. I remember the setting apart just days ago and a precious reminder of their special bond and the strength they would find within it.

Indeed, they have always a inseparable pair. Their personalities could not be more different and yet, the chemistry is so clear. There is no wonder they were able to plan such precise attacks on my possessions. Their secret modes of communication were always impenetrable by the rest of us. Not only have they parted from the rest of the family today, but they have parted from each other for the first time in 19 years. I have no doubt they with notice the absence, but I also have no doubt they will somehow support each other more than anyone else could manage to try.

After prying my poor, sobbing mother away from their jugulars, I watched the pair walk off into the Mormon sunset. My heart swelled with mixed joy and sadness. The tinge of pain was quickly overshadowed with pure respect. How proud I am still nineteen years later to have watched these boys grow and now serve the Lord. No longer saddened to be the only sister, I am grateful to have not just two, but four wonderful brothers who with their glowing personalities and unquestionable faith have always been such precious examples to me. No longer are they destroying my life with their diaper raids, but standing as willing missionaries called of God to bless people across the nation. What a perfect pair, always united by blood, faith and a little something special. Today they divide and they shall conquer.

Cosmic Irony

Despite my ever frustrating inability to properly understand and use the word “ironic,” (Alanis really ruined that for everyone) I have been presented with a proper application. I think. I Googled it to make sure. My friends say if it is on the internet, it’s true. So behold, I present a truth of cosmic irony.

Cosmic irony: taunting from the universe. Example: You work for the Department of Middle Eastern Studies and are granted a week long tripcation touring the country of Egypt. For free. While also getting paid. However, not barely a month prior to departure, the country breaks out into the largest, longest and most organized revolution of modern history. After weeks of unfortunate and unnecessary violence, the stubborn president remains unmoved. You wait, you hope but alas, nothing improves. This guy does not give up easy and the trip remains in limbo. Finally, the call must be made and the airline pulls all flights scheduled over the next month as a result of the volatile situation. Not barely 36 hours after your tickets are canceled, the president finally steps down and thus begins the return of peace to Egypt. Thirty-six hours.

Really?! Come on!

In my egocentric world, it feels a bit like the fates must be having quite the laugh at my expense right now. Some (my mom) call it a sign to stay the heck out. Regardless of karma, luck, fate, destiny or apocalypses I will not be walking like an Egyptian any time soon.

On the upside, it looks like democracy has found its way into another country, possibly cracking open the door for missionary work (fingers crossed). Also, now I can say it took a revolution to keep me out of Egypt. Trust me, it's ironic.