Once upon a time, I was on a mission. And as the rule goes, you only get 18 months of being on a mission. As I got closer and closer to the end of those 18 months, something funny started happening: everytime I thought of going back home- I got this really horrible sick feeling.
Taiwan had become my home. Companions, my bike, investigators, 6AM alarms, 9 PM curfews, nightly follow-ups with my district leader- this was my life. And the thought of leaving all this to go 'home' and be someone I know longer knew how to be horrified me.
The good news is, as dreadful as it sounded or looked from my view in Taiwan, coming home has actually been quite nice. I always heard horror stories of recently returned missionaries who spent long days trying to belong somewhere, and even longer nights crying themselves to sleep because they couldn't find where that somewhere was. I feared so badly that that would be me.
But sometimes, coming home is wonderful.
Sometimes you have a nice job, with nice people to work with, and nice new students to teach.
Sometimes South Jordan gets another freeway exit and a new temple to visit.
Sometimes cute boys help you move into your new/old home.
Sometimes friendly neighbors invite you to fun events in town.
Sometimes you get to make new friends, and see old friends with new exciting lives.
Sometimes you find a great new flavor of ice cream.
Sometimes your siblings are doing really neat things in their lives.
Sometimes life's new chapter really can be just as lovely as the last one.
And so, as it turns out, home really is where the heart is. So Taiwan and Utah, if you both want to be my home, I won't be mad. I'm just saying.
Here are some more friends who love being home. And singing about it.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Confessions from a Mormon Bachelor Pad
This is a really real blog that you must read.
This post is my personal fave. Blogger Calvin lists pros and cons of marrying his current gf.
Pros- Dark hair, tan, nose doesn't get in the way of kissing
Cons- Big nose, likes trucks
WHAT?!
Who admits this stuff in public? Let's hope the girls never find this puppy.
Uhhhh....
Now that I'm leaving in a matter of weeks,
for some bizarro reason the question of my life has become:
"Laura, are you dating anyone?"
When I respond, that no, I am not dating anyone there's always a follow-up question:
"Really??"
or my personal favorite...
"Why not?"
What do you say to that? What type of answer are they looking for?
I hate dating?
I'm waiting for someone?
I don't like boys?
Boys don't like me?
I'm crazy?
I just never know what to say. So I just make some noises that sound like a response.
For the record: I do in fact like boys.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
A few dreamboats
The Bachelorette has been only been on two times. And I'm already obsessed. My vote's with these 3 boys as they are all equally adorable.
Ed= cute cute and thus far extremely normal.
Not to mention the fact that he looks like Denny from Grey's of old.
Not to mention the fact that he looks like Denny from Grey's of old.
Kiptyn is a total sweetheart despite the name and fact that he has
only ever been the dumper (never the dumpee).... does that count as a red flag?
And finally....
Reid is just beautiful. Trust me, this photo doesn't do him justice.
Homeboy is like a short drink of water. Here's to hoping he
has a long journey with bachelorette, Jillian.
only ever been the dumper (never the dumpee).... does that count as a red flag?
And finally....
Reid is just beautiful. Trust me, this photo doesn't do him justice.
Homeboy is like a short drink of water. Here's to hoping he
has a long journey with bachelorette, Jillian.
Monday, May 25, 2009
No matter what
I will see this man perform before I die.
Sufjan Stevens creates the most heart-achingly beautiful music the world has ever known.
A couple years back, he was touring the west coast. I almost road-tripped to see him but didn't, and have regretted it ever since.
I'm almost positive I cannot die a happy woman without hearing him perform at least one song live. Meaning, I will have no choice but to see him before that tragedy occurs.
Sufjan Stevens creates the most heart-achingly beautiful music the world has ever known.
A couple years back, he was touring the west coast. I almost road-tripped to see him but didn't, and have regretted it ever since.
I'm almost positive I cannot die a happy woman without hearing him perform at least one song live. Meaning, I will have no choice but to see him before that tragedy occurs.
Monday, April 6, 2009
A Library Blog
For some reason, the greater portion of this semester has been spent in BYU’s library. This is actually the first time in my life I’ve been a consistent library goer in all my years at BYU. As miserable as spending the evening in dark and mostly exitless building sounds (and is), there always seem to be a few golden library moments that keep the joy level of these bleak visits fairly tolerable. Here are a few gems from my most recent visit to the dear ole HBLL.
Item the first-
This first thing I was lucky enough to witness was the following: A BYU co-ed making a phone call to someone she was clearly in pursuit of. Conversation as follows.
Girl: Do you to see me again tonight?
After I heard 'again', I glanced the time 11:37- a bold question indeed. I listened in horror and braced myself for the letdown.
Girl: (Feigning mock disappointment in order to mask her real disappointment.)
Oh… so that’s how it is.
I gave an audible, “tut, tut, tut,” then made a solemn wish that I was a bartender in a bad chick flick so I could pursue the victim of the denial and say, ‘He’s just not that into you.’ Alas, no such wish occurred and I remained my non-mac-guy self. Saddened by this fact, I pulled out my phone in order to call last night's almost date. I just wanted to leave another thank-you voicemail and ask if he had lost my number or something….
Item the second-
I witnessed a fellow, clearly in college telling someone he was in the ‘libARy.’ I know I’m one to talk about mispronunciation, however… I was under the impression that 'libary' left your vocabulary around the same decade as ‘sherbert’ and ‘Valentime’s day’. Apparently some of us slipped through the cracks.
Item number 3-
As I was taking the elevator upstairs,
(side note 3a: I have absolutely no problem with taking the elevator to travel one floor in the library. You can look at me shamefully as I get off, but please know that I will feel no shame. After climbing the 18 flights of stairs it takes to get to the library, I feel I have done more than my weekly workout requires. For this reason, I am willing to commit to the 9 extra minutes it takes to use the elevator. Besides, I find that the elevator provides me with the perfect opportunity to eat the snacks I just smuggled past the security desk. So go ahead, look at me with curiosity when I step off the elevator. Just know, I will not dignify your quizzical look with a response—mostly because my cheeks are full of the cupcakes I purchased earlier that day.)
Back to the elevator story. So as I was riding the elevator, one floor mind you, I was blessed to enjoy the company of a young couple. The bf was telling the gf that earlier that day, his doctor had prohibited him from participating in 'errands'. She replied with concern about the fact that he had just gone grocery shopping with her. At this point, I quit eavesdropping as my mind had filled up with questions. How does one get a medical excusal from running errands? What sort of doctor provides said excusal? And finally, how will this bf survive without the running of the errands? WHAT WILL HE DO WHEN HE RUNS OUT OF FOOD?
Item the fourth-
As I went to check out my books, I witnessed the most adorable thing ever. The boy took my book, scanned my card, and proceeded to slide my book across the metal box thing. The entire time he hummed to himself. He did not hum the last single from Miss Spears. Rather, he hummed something that sounded like the soundtrack to A River Runs Through It. Mostly it was adorable and made me 100% happy.
Bonus item number 5-
A fun fact. I have an extreme paranoia that my earphones will be too loud and/or not plugged in properly while I am studying and will cause a loud music scene. For this reason, I obsessively take my earphones out and do a test run at least twice an hour.
Aren't bonus items lyke superfun???
So in closing, the library never fails to disappoint. I hope you all have a wonderful time studying for finals over the next few weeks. I will not be joining you during that joyous occasion. Suckas.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Raising Fun
Last Wednesday, my school had an assembly introducing this year’s fundraiser. Thus far, the assemblies at my school have been extraordinarily unimpressive. I sit there with a smile pasted to my face as Ronald McDonald teaches us a rap about avoiding bullies. Afterwards, I try to sell my kids the idea that the 6’3” middle aged man dressed as a clown that just sang to us was, in fact, really cool and that they are the ones with a problem. Not an easy sell, my friends. Not an easy sell. Recently the District Attorney’s office was kind enough to send a balding college graduate and a DVD to teach us all about internet safety. We then watched as our representative from the DA’s office, Mark, interacted with poorly designed CGI characters. With 45 second delays. It went something like this:
Mark: “Webby, what do you think of the group of kids? Don’t they look smart?!”
*Awkwardly long pause while “Webby” stands there.*
Mark: “C’mon Webby, don’t be shy.”
*Webby continues to stand and blink.*
Mark: “Sorry kids, Webby’s kinda shy someti-”
*Webby comes to life, just in time to interrupt Mark’s apology for her anti-social behavior.*
Webby: “OH HEEEY KIDS! You all look so smart!”
A similar pattern continued for 30 minutes. And of course, as the unwritten assembly rule requires, we learned a rap at the end. This one taught to us by Clicky, the robot.
As we walked into the gym I tried not to cringe as I saw today’s host, a 50something year-old in a red polo boasting his company’s name. My stomach sank as I realized that for the next half hour, I would have to sit and listen to this man telling us that we needed sell particularly overpriced gift-wrap. My kids, on the other hand, were experiencing an entirely different range of emotions. Their eyes lit up as they noticed the prize table glowering in the front of the gym. As Dan, the fundraiser rep, stepped up to the microphone, a hush fell over the crowd. It became quite obvious that the vast majority of these kids had been waiting for this assembly all year long. Much like most normal people wait for Christmas.
Dan told them that if they listened during the rules, he would show them what prizes they could win. Actually it went more like this:
Dan: “Who wants to see this year’s prizes?!”
Students in crazed reply: “WEEEEEE DOOOOOO!!!!”
Dans: “Okay first I have to tell you some rules. You have to listen to them if you want to see the prizes.”
He then proceeded with the rules: don’t sell door to door, don’t sell to strangers, etc. My kids looked like squirrels that had just downed 5 cappuccinos. Their eyes bulged. They rocked back and forth in their seats. Their feet twisted convulsively. They did not, however, open their mouths. Those they kept pursed in a tight pucker. They knew that if they wanted to see all the marvelous goodies that awaited them, they would have to hold up their end of the bargain.
When that blessed time came, Dan showed him the first incentive. Something you would receive if you could sell at least one item. One item! Anyone could sell one item and receive this certain something. The something was a smencil. This piece of joy is a pencil made entirely out of recycled paper that is scented. ‘Oh kids, they have all sorts of delicious fragrances: coconut, chocolate, cotton candy…’ He quickly added that they were in no way encouraged to eat these smencils. After sufficiently whetting their appetites for rubbish, he continued to explain the other prizes: expensive chocolate bars, backpacks, a calculator that smells like chocolate *also not for eating, kids*, and the grand prize- a blow up chair equipped with speakers. The students eyes glazed over, and for a minute each of them shared the exact same vision: themselves sitting in a cheap black chair listening to garbled punk music, doing their homework with their smencil and choculator. School would never be the same again.
Grateful, I realized there would be no need to sell them the, ‘What you just saw was super kewl. Clicky’s right- chat rooms are nizzzasty’ speech. Dan had already done just that. He had woven these kids a daydream made of recycled paper and imitation coco beans. It was then that I understood my little sister’s fundraising infatuation she had suffered from years ago.
Molly had come home one day from first grade, bursting with the news that the yearly fundraiser had begun. The winner of each grade would receive a Build-a-Bear. She wanted to go out selling now. Right now. She was 6. My mom convinced her to wait until my father got home from work. She spent the waiting time calling distant relatives and tempting them with smoked cheese spread and angel ornaments. Within seconds of my dad’s arrival, she had convinced him to go selling with her. Within minutes, the two of them had hit the streets. This pattern continued each night.
One night, my friend Caitlan was over studying with me. As Molly approached awkwardly, I asked what she wanted. She directed her innocent gaze at Caitlan and began rocking back and forth on her feet, “For school, I’m selling gift wrap and chocolates. Would you like to buy some?” She handed Caitlan the catalog. Caitlan looked at me, “How can anyone say no to that?” I shrugged.
Several weeks later, Molly came home with the stuffed rabbit she had made and dressed like a princess. Apparently, nobody was able to say no. Triscuit still stands proudly on Molly’s dresser.
I used to feel morally opposed to fundraisers. But who can argue with child labor when they get to design their own stuffed friends as a prize? Or lounge luxuriously, sniffing pencils all day? I for one, cannot. Instead, I can only hope the schools continue raising fun.
Mark: “Webby, what do you think of the group of kids? Don’t they look smart?!”
*Awkwardly long pause while “Webby” stands there.*
Mark: “C’mon Webby, don’t be shy.”
*Webby continues to stand and blink.*
Mark: “Sorry kids, Webby’s kinda shy someti-”
*Webby comes to life, just in time to interrupt Mark’s apology for her anti-social behavior.*
Webby: “OH HEEEY KIDS! You all look so smart!”
A similar pattern continued for 30 minutes. And of course, as the unwritten assembly rule requires, we learned a rap at the end. This one taught to us by Clicky, the robot.
As we walked into the gym I tried not to cringe as I saw today’s host, a 50something year-old in a red polo boasting his company’s name. My stomach sank as I realized that for the next half hour, I would have to sit and listen to this man telling us that we needed sell particularly overpriced gift-wrap. My kids, on the other hand, were experiencing an entirely different range of emotions. Their eyes lit up as they noticed the prize table glowering in the front of the gym. As Dan, the fundraiser rep, stepped up to the microphone, a hush fell over the crowd. It became quite obvious that the vast majority of these kids had been waiting for this assembly all year long. Much like most normal people wait for Christmas.
Dan told them that if they listened during the rules, he would show them what prizes they could win. Actually it went more like this:
Dan: “Who wants to see this year’s prizes?!”
Students in crazed reply: “WEEEEEE DOOOOOO!!!!”
Dans: “Okay first I have to tell you some rules. You have to listen to them if you want to see the prizes.”
He then proceeded with the rules: don’t sell door to door, don’t sell to strangers, etc. My kids looked like squirrels that had just downed 5 cappuccinos. Their eyes bulged. They rocked back and forth in their seats. Their feet twisted convulsively. They did not, however, open their mouths. Those they kept pursed in a tight pucker. They knew that if they wanted to see all the marvelous goodies that awaited them, they would have to hold up their end of the bargain.
When that blessed time came, Dan showed him the first incentive. Something you would receive if you could sell at least one item. One item! Anyone could sell one item and receive this certain something. The something was a smencil. This piece of joy is a pencil made entirely out of recycled paper that is scented. ‘Oh kids, they have all sorts of delicious fragrances: coconut, chocolate, cotton candy…’ He quickly added that they were in no way encouraged to eat these smencils. After sufficiently whetting their appetites for rubbish, he continued to explain the other prizes: expensive chocolate bars, backpacks, a calculator that smells like chocolate *also not for eating, kids*, and the grand prize- a blow up chair equipped with speakers. The students eyes glazed over, and for a minute each of them shared the exact same vision: themselves sitting in a cheap black chair listening to garbled punk music, doing their homework with their smencil and choculator. School would never be the same again.
Grateful, I realized there would be no need to sell them the, ‘What you just saw was super kewl. Clicky’s right- chat rooms are nizzzasty’ speech. Dan had already done just that. He had woven these kids a daydream made of recycled paper and imitation coco beans. It was then that I understood my little sister’s fundraising infatuation she had suffered from years ago.
Molly had come home one day from first grade, bursting with the news that the yearly fundraiser had begun. The winner of each grade would receive a Build-a-Bear. She wanted to go out selling now. Right now. She was 6. My mom convinced her to wait until my father got home from work. She spent the waiting time calling distant relatives and tempting them with smoked cheese spread and angel ornaments. Within seconds of my dad’s arrival, she had convinced him to go selling with her. Within minutes, the two of them had hit the streets. This pattern continued each night.
One night, my friend Caitlan was over studying with me. As Molly approached awkwardly, I asked what she wanted. She directed her innocent gaze at Caitlan and began rocking back and forth on her feet, “For school, I’m selling gift wrap and chocolates. Would you like to buy some?” She handed Caitlan the catalog. Caitlan looked at me, “How can anyone say no to that?” I shrugged.
Several weeks later, Molly came home with the stuffed rabbit she had made and dressed like a princess. Apparently, nobody was able to say no. Triscuit still stands proudly on Molly’s dresser.
I used to feel morally opposed to fundraisers. But who can argue with child labor when they get to design their own stuffed friends as a prize? Or lounge luxuriously, sniffing pencils all day? I for one, cannot. Instead, I can only hope the schools continue raising fun.
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