Little Acts of Service

In one of Utah's chilly months (I think it was November) I made Kayla take me to Deseret Book. I had heard David Archuleta was doing a signing there and, of course, thrilled myself with the idea of meeting him. And being the amazing sister that she is, Kayla was willing to stand with me in a line that wrapped all around the building.

We stood outside in the freezing cold for a long time. Neither of us brought coats for some reason. I took probably 2 pictures before my camera died and I blessed Kayla with an explanation of my deep sorrow on that matter. When David Archuleta came, I had a hard time watching excited squealing girls come out of the building while I was still standing in a line that seemed to go on forever. I was still excited, but I was bummed about my camera and trying really hard to warm up my numb fingers.

Kayla and I started talking to the girl in front of us in line. She said she was getting a CD signed for her friend and I admired her dedication. If I was that friend, I would've loved her forever. She was really nice and we talked to her for the rest of the two hours we stood in line.
When we finally got inside, we were happy to be warming up. Our new friend bought us brownie bites and cookies to eat and we saved her spot in line.

That day was unforgettable for two reasons.
1) I met David Archuleta and he signed my magazine and said my name (it sounds even more beautiful when he says it) and looked right at me! *squeal*

and 2) I can never forget the little acts of service we received from that girl in line. We were cold and tired from standing, and she didn't even know us, but just talking to her brightened our day. At stake conference we heard a lot about little acts of service, and this is the day I thought of.

Big things aren't always the things we remember most.

Demoted

That awkward moment
When you have a really good friend.
And they find a different friend
That they can totally relate to.
And you get demoted.

Pointless Memories

I'm absorbed into a sponge of memories. Pointless ones that only make me mournful. Missing people from the past when there's no way to get them back. Regretting decisions that led to sadness. Wishing I could take back things I said in a fight.
I need to work on that.

"A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen." --Edward de Bono

Mom

I was at Kohl's with Kayla. We were looking at the jewelry and trying on rings when my dad called. He said he was taking Mom to the emergency room.
Kayla and I rushed home. Mom and Dad were already gone and I went up to the upstairs bathroom to find enough blood to pass for a murder scene. I've never seen so much blood. We cleaned her clothes along with half the bathroom while we waited for Dad's updates. The whole day didn't really seem real. Everything was blurry and I didn't even know what was going on.
We found out that Mom had emergency surgery to fix the stitching that had broken from her last surgery. She lost 1/3 of her blood.
We visited her in the evening. She was pale and had trouble having enough oxygen. I hated being at the hospital and seeing her like that. I didn't want that image scarred in my brain.

None of it really sank in, though, until two days later. That was when I found out that if my dad had arrived at our house five minutes later than he did, my mom would have bled to death. All day I felt heavy and paralyzed. I didn't tell anyone about it except my closest friends.  That night I called on of my best friends and just sobbed over the phone. I didn't even know how to say how I felt. I had almost lost my mom. And if she had died, I wouldn't have even been there to say goodbye or tell her I loved her.
---------------------------
I love my mom so much. And even though it's impossible for teenagers and moms not to clash every once in a while, we have grown so close. I tell her all of my dreams and my stories. She is a crazy super woman, no joke. She has been Relief Society President and had FOUR jobs all AT THE SAME TIME. Her IQ is like 47 billion. She knows how to do everything and is always willing to teach me. She is amazing and even when I'm having a bad day, deep down I will never forget that. I'm so glad she is here with me and even gladder that my family is sealed together for eternity.

Picky

It is universally known that food is not only needed to keep us alive, but also a huge part of culture around the world. Food is how we experience different parts of the world through a sensory experience. Food is an art practiced everywhere. Food is how we socialize.
And I've never really been able to participate in it.
My parents tried for years to get me to eat normal foods. Their attempts usually ended with vomit all over me/the table and loss in appetite for everyone else. It didn't take them long to discover I had an extremely delicate palate. When I got to a certain age and still wouldn't eat normal food, my dinner every night was a piece of bread, or, if I was feeling adventurous, toast. All of my sisters' friends knew me as the crazy little girl who ate bread for dinner.
Although I've come to like more things over the years, not a lot has changed. I still have a delicate palete, or, as most people like to phrase it, I'm still a picky eater.

I can safely say most human beings like to have something to blame for all of their troubles. And for me, it's always been the fact that I'm a picky eater.
You see, if I wasn't a picky eater I could eat healthier foods.
And if I ate healthier foods I would be healthier.
And if I was healthier I would be thinner.
And if I was thinner I would be prettier.
And if I was prettier I would have more friends.
And if I had more friends more boys would like me.
So basically if I wasn't a picky eater... my life would be awesome.
...Right?
Do you see how flawed this trail of logic is?
I know it's way stupid, but I still find myself thinking it over and over. My mom says I need an "A.N.T. eater" (Automatic Negative Thinking). Like something you can think of to replace negative thoughts. I've been trying to come up with one all week.
But I'm still working on it. That is, accepting myself for who I am.  Besides, there's no point in wishing for things that are impossible.

...Right?

Sometimes.

Sometimes you have a horrible week.
And your life falls into a pile of ruin.
So you lay in bed.
And you listen to One Direction.

The "F" Word

I was always way bigger than all of my friends. The other girl in this picture, Laura, was my best friend since I was 2 years old. She's a year older than me. But I bet by this picture you couldn't tell.

Luckily the "F" word wasn't really introduced to me during my childhood. (The "F" word being "fat", of course.) Everyone just said I was an early bloomer, which I was. I started to hit puberty in third grade. My hips got a little wider, my thighs filled out even more than they already were, and my mom made me start wearing a bra (which I hated). I grew to my current height around fifth grade. But that being said, there were other early bloomers who didn't look like me.

Little did my developing brain know it was only the introduction to a trial I would struggle with the rest of my life.

And without the 'early bloomer' excuse hanging around anymore, I know what I really am. My friends can tell me I'm beautiful just the way I am, but deep down I know. I've had thinner times and (excuse my language) fatter times. The thinner times never last and the bigger times get bigger every time

They say first impressions are everything... And I really don't want everyone at Timpanogas High School to remember me like this.

I don't want my trademark to be the "F" word.

Cheater Pants

I felt ridiculous practically laying on top of my Earth Systems test.  My free hand covered as much of the answers as it possibly could. Anything to just have one paper--just one--that the answers were ONLY mine, and not copied word for word by the girl next to me. Her and her annoying laugh and attention-starved headset and the fact that she thought we were best friends. It was only about two weeks into the new semester, but I already had her figured out. She was a cheater.
When I got to the end of the test I no longer had enough arm to cover up my paper. There went her curious eyes that could never seem to leave my side of the desk. I watched, extremely irritated, as she quickly wrote down the answer that wasn't covered up by my arm. It was super obvious considering she wrote it down before she answered the five questions before it. I finished the test and turned over the paper before she could see my last answer.

What were the odds that she was seated next to me in every class I had with her? It drove me insane.
Nearing the end of the term it was no secret to anyone that knew me that I did not like that girl. But with only a few class periods left of Term 3, I decided to just wait until we got new seating charts for Term 4.

In the first class I had with her we got to choose our seats. I left her side with lightening speed and moved a few rows up. I was happy for about two seconds before I realized the seat next to me was, moments later, taken by little Miss Cheater Pants.
Of course.
I had a little more hope in my last class of the day when we were being assigned new seats. But once the seating chart was given, you can imagine my horror when I looked up to see her right in front of me. I tried to comfort myself. It's okay, she can't even see you, she's sitting IN FRONT of you.
But it didn't last long. We took a test, and while I was confidently circling A, B, C, or D, someone in front of me wasn't feeling as confident. Big shock. There she went. Her head slowly twitched and then turned. She craned her neck and her eyes locked with my paper. Once she found what she wanted she whipped her head back around as if it never happened.
I will NOT take one more day of this, I said to myself, and sure enough, after the bell rang, I couldn't even force myself to leave. I stood firmly planted on the floor next to my teacher's desk.
"_______'s a cheater," I said matter-of-factly. "She's been cheating off me all semester. Will you please move us apart?"
My understanding teacher said she would and I felt a sense of victory. I don't even care who I sit by next Monday, as long as it isn't her.

People Say

People say that I am fat.

People say that I am ugly.

People talk all day.

I act like I don't care.

I act like it doesn't matter

What they think

Or what they say.

But it does.

And sometimes

I think that I am fat.

And I think that I am ugly.

I think all day.

And it matters what I think.

And it matters what I say.

That's Just How We Are

I promised my brother I would go to his band concert. I didn't come to the first concert of the year and didn't really want to come to the second one. They're super long and half of the time they're setting up chairs. But I did promise him, so, like a devoted sister, I came.
After the concert was over I drifted out into the hall to talk to some of my friends that were in it too. Sam hugged me before I left, like she always does. But this time as I was about to leave I heard another voice. It was one of my guyfriends, the first friend I made in Jr. High. "Do I get a hug, too?" he asked. I gave him a hug and hurried to the car with my family.
Later he and I were talking and I asked him why, after knowing each other for 3 years, we had never hugged until then. After thinking about it a moment he said, "Cause that's just how we are."

Back in February he invited me to go with him and his family to a Vocal Point concert, BYU's acapella men's ensemble. I was excited and said I would.
A few weeks later he and I had an argument. Nothing super serious, but he hurt my feelings. In my distress I told him I wasn't going to the concert with him anymore. We didn't talk about it again.
Last week at school I heard this girl talking about how she was so excited to go to the Vocal Point concert... With him. In my next class I rigidly told him what I had heard.
"You're not mad, are you?" he asked. I could tell he was nervous. I've always hated that he always treats me like a bomb about to explode any minute. I tried to stay completely emotionless and I told him I wasn't. I knew saying anything else about it would be pointless. He would just say I was an overreacting fool because he hadn't actually done anything particularly wrong. All I did was ask him when he invited her to go with him. He said the week after our argument.
Only one week later? That soon? The idea seemed unbelievable. Slightly shattered, I ended the subject.
I can still hardly believe it.

But I guess that's just how we are.