Congraduations!

"Congraduations!" my mom said to me last Friday. Everyone knows that the greatest compliment one can pay is to repeat something you've said to others. I've already repeated this clever salutation several times as occasion requires, and with great results, I might add. (p.s. Eirene read this and informed me that I had spelled congratulations wrong. It's a pun, guys...get it? Graduation?? Congraduation??)

So, I finally finished.

You might wonder to yourself that "my goodness, it has been nearly seven years since she graduated (or...left) highschool!" True, true. But in my defense I did take two years off for the mission, so it was merely a healthy five-year graduation plan. I won't mention that I spent more than one summer cramming in more school, to "speed-up the process." I will also not mention (or dwell on) the fact that I began in English, switched to Music, dabbled in Interior Design, experimented with Communications, bored myself to tears for an entire semester in *Therapeutic Recreation of all things, and then faced the inevitable, and realized that my home was, and always will be, in English.

Ah, yes...English. The major that homes the eccentric, the eclectic, the impractical, the analytical, the wanderers, the rebels, the pre-law students, and me. I've always felt myself to be on the outside of this deep, brooding community of students; I yearned to banter as they did, to extract absurd and/or insightful meanings from the texts, to confidently throw around literary terms terms such as "farce," "nemesis," "hyperbole," and the like. I was intimidated by the depth I could never quite penetrate. Until of course, I committed myself to join them. When I finally stopped fooling around and embraced my inner English Major, I settled in comfortably with the "impenetrable" crowd. My last year was spent making up for the lost time; I bantered triumphantly with the best of them. One of my professors (I won't publish his name to protect his BYU behind) affectionately called me a smart *ss.

So I may not really know what I want to be when I grow up... I may not really have any marketable skills... I may even take a job that pays 8.00 dollars an hour and has nothing to do with my major...

But dang-it, I enjoyed every minute of my education.


*I do NOT wish to offend any of you who are affiliated with Therapeutic Recreation. It is by all accounts very respectable, and for the many compelling reasons I was drawn to it. I was, unfortunately, hypnotized by the mission into believing that I had the enthusiasm and compassion that would naturally be required to excel in that major, hence the hasty return to English.

The Clean Team

This is one of the many reasons why my dad is a true champ:

He can remodel the house, study his scriptures AND take a nap all at once.

Pretty good, eh? Allan and I went to my home this last weekend to help paint and do some last minute things before the carpeters come on Wednesday (My parents are renovating our house in Roosevelt, so they can move to Monticello). My dad was sporting some classic dad-jeans, a studly tool belt, and of course, an enormous grin. In this remodeling uniform he was bustling around the house from one job to another. Sometime around mid-morning I noticed him fixing a door frame, and the next moment I found him fast asleep atop a pile of tiles with his scriptures set out before him. Classic. (In his defense, he did manage a good study by the time he was done, I believe).

Some of you know that I once sported a hefty tool belt of my own. For a semester at Ricks College I worked in construction (cabeling), and ever since then I have felt a truly gratifying sense of accomplishment and satisfaction when handling a powertool, etc. I get this overly confident attitude like I know what I'm doing, and just sort of get my hands dirty and boss people around. This weekend was no different. I was the first to use the ultra-cool commercial paint-sprayer—I blasted the high-powered machine, and inhaled more paint than it takes to paint the Golden Gate Bridge, I'm pretty sure.

There aren't very many things that I enjoy more than working with my family; ever since I was young, and my mom christened us the "clean team," I've enjoyed the togetherness of working as a family. A real family "workforce" (a term we've recently used to describe ourselves) is always characterized by food (my mom always whips something tasty up), music (traditionally it was always Michael Jackson, but we've since spread our wings), and good humor (we're really an entertaining bunch, you know).

Now I'll bet all of you want to join a "clean team." You have a couple of options: A) Join ours--we're always accepting new applications, or B) Start one of your own—the really good ones come with a tee-shirt (mine said #4 on the back).

Go! Fight! .....Clean!

To cut, or not to cut?

Disclaimer: I'm terribly sorry to all those who have come here hoping to see pictures of Josie, or read something really deep. This is a vain and worldly post, and if you can't handle that, don't read it.

Alright, girls--Who's with me?

I'm feeling the itch to cut my hair. Let me give you my personal hair history, so you can give me informed advice. I don't want anyone to make any hasty decisions. During my mission I let all my blonde hi-lights finally grow out, and so I'm a true-blue(er...brown) brunette. My Repunzel locks are way longer than ever, and I've been sporting bangs (real short and longer swoopy ones) for almost 3 years now. Also since the mission I have embraced my natural wave, and more often than not let it air dry and just slap some product in. So I'm feeling a bit pioneerish lately, because my hair is so ridiculously "all-naturAL baby." I've discovered that layers are really the ticket for my wave, and also I've been desiring to let my bangs finally grow out, although I'm not opposed to keeping them. I think Allan likes me better without them, but he thinks I'm hot no matter what, so it doesn't really matter...;) Heh heh.. SO, here is me now:

Here's my hair straightened, but honestly girls, I get around to straightening it every couple weeks is all.

Usually it looks more like this. "All naturAL" comes to mind again. (-Creed from The Office)

And here are some ideas. Some of these pictures are really lame and straight from those ridiculous hair magazines, but I'm looking to you to catch the vision, girls.

Edgy, I know. Obviously I'm not going to be taking the time to straighten and texturize like this, but "look harder" (Lion King anyone?) I like the length and layers...

She is so sultry looking. So kinda the same as the first but a bit shorter and with bangs...

So cute. A little Pixie cut. Hey, I am NOT afraid to go this short.

I think I just dig the way her hair is done here...

This is my hottie little sister-in-law Melissa. Gorgeous, right? She's sporting this longer blunt cut. I do like this length on me, I think...

So? What do you think? I need all of your wisdom, folks. Tell me if you think I'm not quite eclectic enough to handle some or any of these cuts, I can handle it. "This is for posterity's sake, so...try to be honest." *See my poll on the top right column.

Man, I'm really on a movie quoting roll today.

He hoped they'd call him on a mission...

And they did. Where to?

Atlanta, Georgia, that's where.

It's really one of the most exciting moments of your life as you tear open the envelope and read "you have been hereby called to serve in the________ mission." I remember that moment for me was in the parking lot of the ER. It was about 1:30 a.m., I had driven all the way home to Roosy from Provo to open it with the fam damily, and once I arrived we all headed down to the hospital where Dad was working the ER shift. Buenos Aires, Argentina!!! Disregarding however much my older siblings valued their rest, I called them all that moment. Mission calls don't wait 'til morning.

This time around with Peter, we were all listening on the phone as he tore it open and read it to us all. I'm pretty sure I was as excited as he was. And I totally called it, folks. I said either Asia or Stateside. Ok, ok, I know that's a bit broad, but I was right, wasn't I? And we even used to live there! He was like two or something, but still.

Missions are great—and hard. For both those who serve, and those wait. I'm always so glad when a family member sets out to serve the Lord, but there's always a selfish corner in my heart yearning for them to stay. I mean, who is going to play the bongo drums for us now? And fix our computer? And laugh at all our jokes? Not Peter, that's who.

So while I know it will be the most important and hard and wonderful two years of his young life...

I'm sure gonna miss him.