Letters I Never Sent: The Replacement Edition

Dear New Student Teacher,

Thanks for letting me stop by the classroom today. I was at the elementary school for an unrelated lecture and couldn't resist looking in on my old class. I know it was a little chaotic when all the kids were storming over and creating the friendliest mob I've ever had the opportunity to be hug-tackled by. But I appreciated it more than you can know (yet).

I want you to know that you have an amazing group of kids in there. They are sweet, brilliant little people and I am so proud of everything they are accomplishing. I know they might seem challenging at first. You've got a lot of behavior management and language issues to work with and the temper tantrums can seem pretty intimidating. That's okay. There are ways to work through everything and I'm sure you'll figure them out. Don't let them see you frustrated, don't worry if you have to through your plans out the window, don't let the exhaustion they'll drive you to stop you from giving them everything you have.

And please, please don't ever underestimate them. The unresponsive kid in the corner is actually a genius; engage him. The kid that refuses to do his work is a budding artist; use that. The little girl who will drive you nuts with her Hermione-ish attitude is going through some things at home; let her tell you about them. The girl that has every answer wrong on the math tests doesn't understand place values; ignore the mandated lectures and let her work with manipulatives. The quiet boy who seems sad just needs to feel important-- dinosaurs help!

The day I left the school, I barely managed to shut my car door before I started crying. That's how much you'll miss them. They'll work their way into your thoughts and you'll wish you could go back and see how they are coming along. I was fortunate enough to get to. But you only really have a few months with them.

Do it right.

They deserve it.

Love,
The Old You

Fever Dreams: Better-than-Winnie-the-Pooh Edition

Yesterday was the last day at work for the Marrieds. The decision to leave was sudden for everyone involved. They made a tough decision and I wish them the best as they travel cross-country to a new city (just as cold as this one) and move on to the next part of their lives.

Come Monday morning I will have an office to myself again. As She-Married will be working online from her apartment, we brainstormed a couple solutions to try to circumvent our eventual death-by-solitude.

1. Conference calls regarding the very important aspects of our lives (such as the massive amount of adorable-ness that is my students and how many people in her new ward have asked her when they are going to start having kids).

2. She's getting a dog. I'm getting one of these!

Teacup Piglet!

I'm going to keep in in a teacup just like that one and carry it around in my purse like I'm Idaho's version of Paris "That's Hot" Hilton. Best of all, I have the permission of our CFO to make it our official office pet (probably because he didn't think I was serious and I told him the alternate was me sitting at the foot of his desk sharing all the things I usually just tell the Marrieds. With enthusiasm.)

All I have to do now is figure out how to get A-Boss to buy it and write off the $3400+ as "office supplies".

Letters I Never Sent: Happy Couple Edition!

Dear Newlyweds in the Row in front of Me,

You guys are cute. Really. From the first day of class I could tell that you two were in L.O.V.E. with dozens of jittery spirit children dancing around your feet in anticipation of that first great water slide, ready to be ushered through life cocooned by the loving arms of their not-quite-graduated-yet parents. How did I know?

Because you announced it.

"We just got back from our honeymoon!"

First day. First thing. And we all cared, because this is BYU and we devote actual church time to celebrating stranger's engagements ("good news minute", anyone?). We're even sincere about it (except for those girls who are secretly seething, wondering why a girl like that could get a man while she remains single. You know who you are.).

You spent the rest of the class period canoodling in the corner, eliciting "awwws" and envy from the people around you. We had a good thing going. You had your space. I had mine. PDA was more "Peripheral Displays of Affection".

So why, today, did you choose to sit directly in front, forcing the poor people behind you to witness some pretty bizarre mating rituals? Canoodling, great. Lingering eye, body scans with accompanying lecherous grins, okay, sure. I was even down with the winking, whispering, and blushing.

But why were you putting pens in your husband's ear? And why was he looking so... pleased... by it?

I'm not mocking you. This is a serious question and I legitimately want to know the answer. I googled "pen in the ear" and you know what I got back? Nothing. This is the same search engine that can bring up brain-melting porn when you type in "deep-fried Chinese fritos"*. No one else thinks it is a turn-on to have a pen shoved in their ear.

In conclusion: WTF.

Much love,
the girl behind you watching you way too closely
(Jayme)

*Unverified. Let's keep it that way.

I know you know that I'm not telling the truth

BYU won the Psych College Campus wars!

You know you're an elementary education major when:

1. You sincerely miss tests but can write a 10-page paper in under an hour.

2. You walk into a religion classroom and aren't sure whether you're feeling the spirit or if your under-stimulated hormones are just screaming "ohmygosh, TESTOSTERONE!"

3. Early morning, 10-class semesters are standard...yet you still can't fit in the guitar class you want to take.

4. Your professors are totally huggable...even when they are laughing in your face about how stressed out/poor/neurotic you are going to be for the rest of your life next few months.

5. You've been offered a free python by Miss. Frizzle.

6. On the first day, you already know the names of all the people in your class, as well as their complete dating history, family, hobbies, and what they wanted to be growing up.

7. Dot dot step slide reverse pedal pedal dot.

8. You have walked out of an institute class on account of poor teaching.

9. Your professors spend half the class period giving detailed explanations about how they taught the other half of the class period.

10. You still get excited about Book Orders.

*I am now required by law professors to write in my blog three to four times a week. Inanity is guaranteed.

Ring my doorbell! HIS doorbell will give you a rash.

"Next time I tell you I want to make everyone their Christmas presents, just grab me by the scruff of my neck, rub my nose in the dirt, and say 'NO'."

--Text from me to Elly

Nat-chan

Stitch-Witch

Mrs. David Bowie

To be continued...

Bailey

Earlier today I had a voice-mail on my cell phone. It was a few seconds of frantic barking followed by my mother's voice saying "You're going to be alright" over and over again before it petered off into tears. The message ended there. I immediately called my mom and found out that a car had hit our dog, Bailey.

Bailey

She survived the impact but her broken rib punctured her lung. As of tonight, she's at the vet's in a little oxygen-infused enclosure, wrapped up in bandages and drugged out of her mind (though she can still find it in her to try to crawl through the petting hole and let out a constant stream of pained yips). The vet says that there isn't anything they can do except wait and see if she pulls through (about a 50/50 chance).

As I was driving back to my apartment, I kept thinking: Alright, Life. I get it. You are so much bigger and meaner than I could ever hope to be. Now please stop shitting on my face.

(I apologize for the language. My inner-self and I are still working on the cussing issue).

My little sister said, "God, if you let Bailey live, I will never do anything wrong again."

My mom said, "Good things never happen to good people."

The thing is, I don't believe that's how it works. As elementary as it is, life only consists of two types of circumstances: the ones you can control and the ones you can't. Being a good person has to be a reward on its own because it is no guarantee of anything good coming your way. I believe in blessings and I believe that our Heavenly Father wants us to be happy, but between teaching us and letting us be blissfully stagnant, we've already chosen to learn. You can control your actions and do the things that will lead to the kinds of consequences that you desire. But there is still a realm of things that may fall on you for the better or worse and where what you deserve is supplanted by what you are given.

And if that's really part of Heavenly Father's Plan, then that has to be okay. Maybe the real blessing is that sometimes, even rarely, we do get to choose, that we aren't stuck with just being acted upon, that we get even an iota of influence in the dealings in our lives. That even when things are spiraling out of control, I can look around and say "This is how this happened. A affected B and C happened and now I'm going to do D". Even if I don't understand the "why" behind it all, I have the faith to say "Okay. I'll take it and I'll work with it".

I don't need things to be better. I just need them to go forward.

"Our God will deliver us from ridicule and persecution, but if not. . . . Our God will deliver us from sickness and disease, but if not . . . . He will deliver us from loneliness, depression, or fear, but if not. . . . Our God will deliver us from threats, accusations, and insecurity, but if not. . . . He will deliver us from death or impairment of loved ones, but if not, . . . we will trust in the Lord.

Our God will see that we receive justice and fairness, but if not. . . . He will make sure that we are loved and recognized, but if not. . . . We will receive a perfect companion and righteous and obedient children, but if not, . . . we will have faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, knowing that if we do all we can do, we will, in His time and in His way, be delivered and receive all that He has."
-Elder Dennis E. Simmons of the Quorum of the Seventy

Update: Bailey is fine! She's all bandaged up and is getting spoiled silly :)

Bullets Dodged: 2

"Wanna buy a magazine? ...Wanna have sex?"

I love men. I do.

I love the way they smell, and when their hair is just long enough to really run my fingers through, and how they take charge, and get flustered, that no matter what size they are they are perfect for cuddling with. I love that they will never understand my mismatched fuzzy socks, how they want to fix things, how rough their hands are, and their three day face stubble. I love their deep voices and the way they act more than they talk.

I'm grateful for the amazing men in my life that show me what a real man looks like.

Because we are getting lazy. Men and women alike have cultivated so much liberty that it has grown wild, trampling over decency and respect, and breeding like bunnies to create the social evolutionary beasts of entitlement and self-importance.

This particular race of bunny is called "Youtube Comments"

It appears that some of these rabid bunnies have infected a few of the men in my area. I present to you: Bullet #2.

The salesman came into my life via my roommate, who let him in for a "glass of water" (always a ruse girls. Always.). Thinking he was a friend of hers, I wasn't weirded out when he called me beautiful and we started talking. He played the "I'm in Utah and I know what you want to hear" card and said he was talking to missionaries and wanted to be baptized. We made a few jokes, and he got down to business. He mentioned that he was selling subscriptions to magazine, my inner eyes rolled, but I let him do his thing. Then I told him no.

Stage 1: Boy. Loses. His. Mind.

He started talking about how much money he would make if we said yes, then how the program really worked, then how the college kids around here are (expletives). He started swearing and my roommate left to go back to her room.

Stage 2: Sanity travels southward.

As soon as she left, Salesman started talking again about how beautiful I am. How pretty my lips are. How much he wants to kiss them. Do I drink alcohol? Do I like black men? Have I ever been with a black man before? Am I a virgin? Can he have my number? No, really, I'm a virgin? Can he change that?

Stage 3: Boy gets booted out of the apartment.

And thank goodness he left fairly easy because I was two seconds from calling Mexules over to come help me.

Is there a lesson here? Sure. Being a salesman and asking a potential buyer for sex makes you a prostitute.