Resolved.... ish

Yesterday, and actually the last 3 days rank as some of the most unpleasant in my life. That is probably putting it lightly. But yesterday something happened to make me feel better about my decision. And so I cried a little, I called my mom and ranted, I made a good guy-friend come over so I could rant to him, and then I handled the situation as any stable, mature adult 20 year old ought to.

I went to the creamery with Tia and Megan, got tastes of lots of different ice cream flavors because we're cheap and obnoxious, popped popcorn, climbed on the roof, watched Star Wars, and slept out there.

Because I'm balanced like that.

Oh, and in case you were wondering how I handled life until things began resolving yesterday, here's what Tia and I found to do Tuesday night.






Yes, it's a Darth Vader drawn with lipstick and lip-gloss on Megan's door. Pretty much the definition of awesome.

Must. Maintain. Control.

Today marks the beginning of what will arguably be the hardest week of summer term. Making it relatively unscathed to the end of class on Thursday (when I leave to go to Lagoon with my family!) will take determination, focus, hard work, and enough will-power to last a life time. It's not my two midterms I have to take this week. Or the mountain of Music History readings I discovered I have, because apparently taking a week off in summer term gets you 268 pages behind in one text book, and 143 in the other. Ouch! It's not even the nasty paper I have to write about Beethoven that is due tomorrow and is responsible for three of the worst nights sleep of my life.

Today marked the first day of the BYU summer book sale.

*eek!*

I've yet to meet a book I didn't like (at least one that I didn't have shoved down my throat for the purpose of educating me... then I would have some less than stellar examples, but only a few.) As a child when I got in trouble my parents would take away my reading privileges. My siblings had reading listed on their Saturday chores list. My chores list ended with a threat of what would happen to me if I decided to start reading before I was done helping around the house. What can I say, I'm a sucker for books. And it's not my fault either, this is a genetic problem... my Dad is the exact same way. I'm pretty sure I got every ounce of his love of reading.

That said, the summer book sale makes for the hardest week of the summer for me, because each one of those books calls out to me as I pass telling me just how awesome they are and telling me to take them home. And they are all half off. I wandered through the collection of books today, safe in the knowledge that I had not a scrap of money on me. However, they had soooooo many books that I want. I've gotten some real gems in past years, and this year there are tons of amazing options. I found life biographies of so many cool people, Rousseau, Catherine the Great, The Earl of Leicester (the one who supposedly was in love with Elizabeth 1 of England), and Bismark of Germany. Not to mention books on awesome world events, 3 on the French Revolution, one that looked amazing on the war of 1812, a world look at 1688, a portrait of post WWII Germany, and so many others. They also had two books on castles and one book that gave a history of medieval armor. (and you wonder why I'm not a history major... It's a long story, that mostly revolves around that concept that the university has that I ought to graduate in 4 years not 5...)

Walking away from books like that, especially when they were all half off was pure. and. utter. torture.

I was drooling uncontrollably just looking at them. For those of you who've been privileged to see it, I had that same half stupid half dreamy look accompanied by a manic grin that I get when I see pretty flutes, cool historical monuments, or you've guessed it, a book I really, really, really want. Only there were 20 books that I really, really, really want. And I am poor. Sad day.

So I've locked myself in the library with other books, maybe just by being near so many books it will ease the book hunger, but I doubt it. And yes, I'll probably end up buying one book. Because I just can't help it. And they are all of 8 dollars. Now to choose just one...

Mon-@#$&*%@$-day

Mondays have always been real favorites of mine. Oh the joy of the weekend melting into the recognition of things that should have been done on Saturday. I had good intentions this weekend, I made a list of everything I was going to get done, and I crossed off four things. Unfortunately the list had well over ten things, blech.


So what makes a Monday memorable?

How about having your disposal go berserk on you, eat a spoon, and have the switch fall off so you can't turn the thing off or rescue the spoon with out loosing a hand or getting electrocuted.

I've always liked finding out that you have a demon test coming much sooner than you expected.

Or maybe realizing you are on your last pair of clean unmentionables.

Mondays are really fun when you have to do laundry, and accidentally get locked out of your apartment by a roommate... especially when you do laundry in clothes that shouldn't be seen by anyone... things could only get better if those clothes don't keep you very warm and you are stuck out in the cold... if you really want it to be a winner make sure the only roommate you can reach is being siphoned for blood and still has plenty left to fill that bag...

Of course something that does make a Monday memorable is posting a picture like this as your profile picture:



Such a picture must be posted without saying anything to anyone, and will result in texts, facebook messages, and knowing looks from Stella.

It's even better when the original photo looked like this:



And you all thought I was dating someone... psh... You're all simply too easy...

Inherited from Dad

I've inherited a lot from my Dad, my love for reading, at least half of my height, a love of music, the desire and patience to read every single sign in a museum, and a love for trees.
It's fall here in Utah, but it's just not cutting it for me. Fall is the season where I miss Michigan. I've never seen so many gorgeous colors and the weather is so pretty. At least before the seven month long winter sets in... I've tried explaining to people just what a Utah fall is lacking, but no one gets it. Fall has a certain smell, the air has an edge that hints at the winter to come as it pulls the smell of leaves across your nose before you wrap the scarf around tighter. The trees look like fire dancing between the grass and the sky as every color of red, orange and yellow is present. The trees are everywhere and they are beautiful. There are just no trees here in Utah. I think I need to retreat up into the mountains again to go walk through at least a decent amount of trees. So, for those of you lucky enough to be enjoying a real fall with plentiful trees, leaves and all the beauty that goes with it, go out and take a big deep breath of fall air for me. Cause I really miss that.

A Picture Essay

Today, through pictures... because I don't want to write:



Upon awakening...



Getting ready for the Law Fair at work...



Band Rehearsal... we did breathing exercises... I felt some spit hit my arm... Some brass player was standing behind me doing what brass players do best... blowing and spitting. gross.



Practice rooms. Need I say more?



And now all I really want is:



So I'm outta here.

Happy Birthday to MEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Because I'm turning twenty tomorrow, and am somewhat narcissistic, here is a list of twenty things most of you may not know about me.

1. Putting in contacts makes me sneeze. Not every time, but pretty regularly.
2. I have never been able to do a hand stand, not even under water, which is just pathetic.
3. I am terrified of snakes. It's a borderline phobia, I don't go in reptile houses or anything.
4. I hate cooking chicken. The smell grosses me out, so I never make anything with chicken in it.
5. I was born one month premature, it stunted my growth.
6. I wanted to play the clarinet not the flute. Now I wake up every morning and am incredibly thankful my mom prodded me towards the flute. (No offense clarinet players)
7. I don't actually have anything against my cell phone, I just never remember to bring it with me. There is an odd rumor going around that I am violently opposed to cell phones, when in reality I'm just opposed to cell phones when in the hands of idiots.
8. In kindergarten my favorite animal was the vulture. No joke. I liked them because they kept our roads clean (we lived out in the boonies of Kentucky and there were always nasty dead animals on our road.)
9. As a little kid I loved dinosaurs. I had a dinosaur sleeping bag and everything. My brother had an elephant one. Backwards, huh?
10. I did not go on a single date while I was nineteen. Perhaps twenty will go a little better.
11. I'm mildly allergic to chocolate, but I eat it every two to three weeks hoping that one of these times I won't have a reaction. No luck so far.
12. I don't cry in movies, except for Disney, those ones are just so touching. Truly.
13. One ear turns bright bright red when I am really tired. Just one ear.
14. I got an infection from my wisdom teeth being removed... three months later.
15. When I get the hiccups they are really really reallllllllllllly loud. And physically they hurt a lot.
16. I've never repeated the first letter of a name with anyone I've been on a date with.
17. I have never broken a bone, had a cavity, or had chicken pox.
18. I received four marriage proposals in one day. Boo YA!
19. The longest date I ever went on was ten hours.
20. Senior year of high school I recited all one hundred scripture masteries, in order, from memory. Cause I'm hard core like that.

Yay. Happy Birthday to me.

Goodbye My Friend

Confession, I get really really really attached to inanimate objects.

Exhibit A, my flute. My flute has a name, and I have a tendency to call him by name on regular occasion. Which leads to awkward moments when someone then says, "I didn't know you had a boyfriend" and I have to explain that I was referring to my flute... and then they get this dubious look on their face... that same look you'd probably see if you look in the mirror right... NOW... see that look of concerned speculation. Yeah. I get very very anxious when I don't know exactly where my flute is, and I don't like other people who don't play flute coming too close to him.

Exhibit B, my childhood friend, Suzie, the trusty doll that followed me EVERYWHERE. Not joking, she had a nightgown with a drawstring at the bottom and I used to pull the drawstring tight and drag her behind me everywhere we went. (This lead to much speculation about my future parenting abilities, have no fear, I now realize dragging a kid by the feet isn't such a brilliant idea, usually.) As far as I was concerned Suzie was real, leading to an outburst in the airport when I refused to put her through the x-ray scanner because it might hurt her. Traumatizing. Not just for me either, apparently, because next summer Suzie was conveniently "forgotten". I've long suspected foul play or sabotage, but the guilty conscience has yet to get to my parents. I do remember telling Mom to call the neighbors and tell them to feed Suzie. One month later we returned home and she was okay, after I nursed her back to health for a few days.

As I've gotten older some of the objects I've attached myself to have become more and more trivial (minus my flute). College hasn't helped. I have taken the duct tape oath, and believe firmly that anything can be fixed by duct tape. My alarm clock "fell" off the shelf one morning and broke in half, but the clock still showed the correct time, so what did I do? Tape it back together of course. So now almost two years later it works fine, it is just covered in duct tape. This minor obsession isn't my fault though, sometime go visit my mom and watch her cut cheese... the knife is not the knife it used to be... but it still works, and really really well at that. (Mom, if you ever want a new knife, my offer still holds, I'd be happy to take the old one off your hands.)

Upon my return from France I realized that one of my favorite inanimate objects was gone. It's a cup. Yes, a cup. My favorite cup. It always held the perfect amount of water or juice or milk or whatever I wanted. This cup had been mine since I was nine or ten years old. It was an Easter gift from the Easter Bunny. I used it faithfully until college. When I returned home for Christmas Dad told me to take the cup back with me because no one else would use it because it was mine. (Sadly this mindset only held for my cup, since my room, my bed, and anything else I loved was taken by the younger generation *sob*) So, away to college my cup came. It was so convenient, roommates very quickly realized that cup was mine and I never had to worry about grabbing the wrong one (who can mistake a bright pink Minnie Mouse cup?) About two weeks before I left I noticed something was amiss, and realized that after over ten years of faithful use the cup had started to leak. But, I couldn't throw it away, perhaps duct tape would fix it. Yes, duct tape would do the trick. Apparently though, in my absence it was thrown away, which is probably a good thing, because I never could have... and would have subjected the poor cup to tons of duct tape... and then my water would have tasted like duct tape... and I would have thrown the cup away on a bad note, and after taste... so who ever pitched it did me a favor.

Farewell old friend. I'll miss you.

It's all about perspective...

Most of my life, I've considered myself a morning person. I've come to this conclusion mostly by association. In high school I always had morning Seminary, so, by the time 8am advanced algebra came around I was pretty perky while my friends were still trying to down enough coffee to construct complete sentences. Looking at them with dark circles under their eyes, sniffing coffee like the smell could pull them from their stupor, I knew I must be a morning person.
In my first semester of college my opinion was only strengthened. Most of the time I was the very first person who left my apartment and on my way out the door I saw nary a soul before my first classes. Again, I assumed that because I was out the door at 7:45 and able to walk and eat while frantically reading my english assignment, I knew must be a morning person.
Second semester I moved in with Denise, who would get up around the same time as me and suddenly I realized I may not be quite the chipper morning person I thought I was. I began to realize that I function in the morning, but I really have nothing to say to anyone before about 10am. We worked though though, because Denise wasn't much of a morning person either and we lovingly glared at each other as I slammed doors and she hissed at me while straightened her hair. Eventually after living together long enough we could do accurate morning impressions of each other much to the amusement of our other roommates.
Sophomore year I effectively lived alone so dealing with people in the morning was out. This summer, being unemployed, I stayed up far too late and considered it a major victory if I was out of bed at one in the afternoon. So, that makes this summer up until July moot as far as morning person-ness goes.
Enter Amber Packard my summer roomie in Paris. Amber is perky, very very perky and a decided morning person. I knew this going in and in the first week I didn't think there was much of a problem. Amber got out of bed about forty five minutes before me, got ready and, about half an hour before needing to leave I jumped in the shower and we eventually left. No morning conversation, no singing, no noise. Little did I know, Amber was merely suffering from severe jet lag. About a week and a half into the trip my alarm went off and Amber bounded from bed singing as birds careened through the room and flowers sprung from her every step. In thirty seconds I realized that I was no morning person, not even close. In the morning I wake up and stumble towards the shower after having beat my alarm clock into submission. I don't actually remember much about my mornings until I am rinsing the shampoo out of my hair. Amber sings Disney, dances and giggles reminding me somewhat of a little chipmunk scampering around the room thoroughly excited to see the world.
So, I am now decidedly a night person. Forever more, I relinquish my right to tell people I am a morning person. I function in the morning nothing more and sometimes less. Amber thrives on some mysterious energy that seems to envelope her in the mornings. If someone could figure out how to bottle that stuff and sell it Starbucks would be out of business in three days flat.
Revenge is sweet though, I get my energy burst at night right before she is ready to go to bed. The disgust I feel in the morning is returned in kind at night as I march through our dorm singing General Hathai's March.

Why I lurve summer...

* getting up early to go practice means getting out of bed at 9am and picking up my flute by 11am.
* running is totally recreational, and I can go as long or short as I want.
* Summerfest is in two weeks, and I am getting really excited to be a councilor.
* This weekend I'm headed down to Snow for the Flute Festival. I'm so excited to work with Ms. Chesis again, I loved it last year, and hopefully this year will be just as fun.
* HOUSE!
* eating and dance parties with the roomies.
* apartment decorating, music major and art major combined into one room of AWESOME 'nuff said.
* running times vary, but they seem to be later at night.
* the pool is finally open, however it looks sketchy, so for the moment I am warily observing it.
* Naps are observed and taken every day. Without fail.
* I never have to fight for a practice room.
* I READ BOOKS!!! Books that are not text books or required. Currently I'm re-reading an all time favorite by Sharon Kay Penman.

Oooh, and I cut off my hair. I haven't had it this short in years. It's all above my shoulders and the shortest layers are up by my nose. Perhaps I'll post pictures, and perhaps I wont. Feel free to hold your breath and wonder exactly what I look like now. I'll give you a clue though, I'm still the tall one should you need to find me in a crowd.

Happiness

Today I am happy. I just took my second-to-last final and didn't do so shabby. Hopefully by this time tomorrow I will be completely done. WOO HOOO!!!

I'm moving apartments starting tomorrow... and my goal is to clean out all my useless junk. I came to college with a fairly minimal amount, but in the last two years something has happened, and now I think I am that roommate with too much crap. It just keeps multiplying, like bunnies. Actually, the real culprit is my love for printed literature, books, music, you name it, I buy it. Particularly the music. I LOVE buying new music, sort of the same way that most girls love shopping for clothing. Twisted, I know.

Another reason for my absurd amount of happiness right now is the Indian dinner I have planned. I'm trying a new recipe that I got from the guy who owns the little Indian store that I shop at. I'm sort of a anomaly there. Tall, white girl, who actually knows what to do with the abundance of spices and goodness in a little Indian store. Yep. I stick out like a sore thumb. But, the owner takes pity on me, and he gives me cool ideas. The trick is to take enough paper to write down what he has to tell me, which has been problematic. Before giving me the curry recipe he gave me a spinach recipe that I can not remember for the life of me. I guess I'll have to go ask again. And, I bought poppadoms (not sure I spelled it right... sorry). Basically, tomorrow night the roomies and I will be in a Indian goodness induced coma. So excited.

Ooh, and I went on a beautiful run yesterday, in my lovely new shoes. Tia would disagree, but it really was a great run, and I think I may go do it again today. Running is such a funny habit of mine. Two years ago I couldn't run a quarter of a mile, and nothing could have convinced me to do so, now if I don't run a few times a week, I get incredibly cranky. Peculiar.

AND I HAVE OTTER POPS!!! I kinda, sorta, love them. A lot.

Well... I'm gonna go be productive... ish... after all, it is finals week, and sunny, and I am deliriously happy...

Scaredy Cat+ X Files= Very Late Night

It is 1:42 in the morning and I am sitting on the edge of my bed trying to convince myself to go to bed. I'm not procrastinating or doing something retarded, I am trying not to freak out. I don't watch scary movies. I have a hyper-active imagination and so scary movies are never a good idea. Most regular movies are plenty intense for me. I'm that girl who screams when the character jumps out, even when I know it's coming. So, here's a cute little mathematical equation for you:

Creeper in X-Files movie+Nicole+no roommates+late at night= I-think-I-might-wet-the-bed-for-the-first-time-since-I-was-6 level of "scaredness."

This is one of those times where having more roommates would be nice... extremely nice... because I'm officially creaped out. I have now filled my scary movie quota for the rest of my life, and probably will never watch another X-files again... although... nope... I think I'm good. Actually I have no desire to watch anything but Disney for the rest of my life, and even then, those scenes with Scar, well, we may have to edit those out.

I've always been a bit of a wimp when it comes to movies. I have vivid memories of running out of the room and hiding for the scary parts, while watching Mr. Rodgers Neighborhood. As I got older this fear hasn't really subsided (not of Mr. Rodgers, of scary movies). This fear has been made even cooler by my "sympathy reaction." In a movie (or real life) when I see someone in pain I show my sympathy in the best way I know how. I pass out. I don't just save this for small occasions either. To date I have passed out in Seminary, at school, and on my poor freshman roommate (Sorry Emily... therapy... with time and therapy...) along with a plethora of close calls. When most girls pass out it isn't too much of a problem... you just chuck the petite blond over your shoulder and get her some air... What are you supposed to do with a 6'2'' girl? I'm not really the type to be easily thrown over a shoulder to be taken outside.

On another semi related tangent... this ranks as another time when having family on the other side of the world is convenient. Had I called my mother at this time last year at 1 in the morning, she would have lovingly threatened my life. It's mid afternoon in China, so instead we had a lovely conversation as she tried to talk sense into me.

*... creeper hibernating freaks don't exist... creeper hibernating freaks don't exist... creeper hibernating freaks don't exist...*

Tia, you are never allowed to let me do this again... oh, and sorry I clawed your arm... and probably woke up all your roomies with my shrieking...

I think I shall sleep with the light on... all of them... at once... and perhaps a crow bar in my hand. *crap, I don't own a crow bar... would a curling iron work... I'm so unprepared*

Mental note to self: buy a crow bar... or anything I could use to fight for my life...

Okay... I can do this... I'm going to post my freak-out session for your reading pleasure... continue to play Mendelssohn, and cuddle up with the teddy-bear that ornaments my bed... He'll keep me safe. If not, I've got my phone right by my bed... and it's loaded? *sigh*

What am I?

Often in examining one's college life, there comes a time to boil down the essence of existance: What a person is really up to. Some students are party animals. Some students are human calculators, these students spend days on end spouting formulas and other bussiness I could never hope to understand. Other students are philosopical beings, their whole lives spent examining the universe and such.
I am of much humbler existance. I am a lung. One big breathing, air-pumping, oxygen-loving organ. My whole existance currently focusing on breathing bigger, better, faster, quieter, you name it. A cold and I'm toast. One of the main reasons I run (minus currently... dumb knee) is because it builds up my lung capacity.
So, I'm headed home and off to bed... so that yet again tomorrow, I can be a lung once again. Woot.

When I am absurdly rich and famous...

Right now I am slaving over an artist bio that I have put off for roughly a month. While I have no problem blabbering on here, I become tongue-tied at the thought of describing myself to random people through a printed program. So, just know, that when I am rich and famous, I will never write my own bio again. I will have minions to do such things. End of story.


Well, actually not. While I have you as a captive audience, I'll rant about a few other things. Like say, the weather, and the madness going on with that. SNOW?!?! On the southwest corner of the HFAC there is a lovely patch of white snow... exactly one week ago, I took a nap there, IN SHORTS AND A TEE-SHIRT! Luckily, I spend most of my time locked in a practice room, so by all relative standards the weather has little impact on me because I never see the sun anyways...

And, speaking of practice rooms... To all you who feel it is your right to take a perfectly good practice room during the middle of the day to belt Broadway to your beloved, think again. While I find you rather annoying late at night, I can live with you, because I know there are an abundance of practice rooms and I can go find another one. During the middle of the day there are no other practice rooms, so I am stuck with you, and the knowledge that you are keeping a real musician from practicing. (That sounds harsh... sorry... but when practice rooms are in short supply it begins to look at lot like lunch time on the savanna.)

Finally, no really, remember that new phone I got? Well, I figured since everyone has a picture of their beloved on their phones, I needed one on mine. So, today in the practice rooms I took the most studly picture of Johnathan... true (and end of) story.

Okay, I lied... I proof read this, and saw that everything in here revolved around music in some form or other... so to prove I have a life, believe it or not, I did go to enrichment tonight... *gasp* I think this is the first enrichment activity I've been to in my entire college career. It wasn't so bad. I just might go again...

Calling China

So, my phone is freaking out. I was trying to talk to my mom and suddenly I could hear her but she couldn't hear me. Ugh. Something must be wrong with the satellites, probably more space garbage bashing things around in the solar system (wrecking nature in earth hasn't been quite enough, so now we're on to space garbage).
I thought I'd take a moment to tell you what it's like to live on opposite ends of the world from family. There's a fourteen hour time difference from here to China, so my family and I spend more time in different days than we do in the same day. As I am getting up in the morning, they all are headed to bed. On any given afternoon/evening I can call my family to see what tomorrow is like and if I really want to bother with getting up the next morning. It's like weather forecasting, but way cooler.
The weirdest was first figuring out when to call. I never knew exactly what time it was and I was always afraid of waking them up. Then when I finally did call I got weird looks from those around me as I asked "When is it?" or "What time are you?" Luckily we've moved past this stage.
Now partway through a Saturday afternoon I call them to say "good morning," eliciting about the same weird looks, but I feel less crazy, so it's okay. Actually, it's really cool having them over there. I talk to my mom more now than I did when they were in the states because as I am leaving campus at night, she's eating lunch. I've also been able to see really cool stuff I'd never get to see otherwise, and I've gained a new appreciation for a culture I never really had known much about. So, while sometime it's weird, and satellites fail and phones give out, actually, I really like having them over there and wouldn't change a thing.

Actually, I'm not "doing nothing"

Today I did something I haven't done in far too long. I found a book, sat down, and began to read. It was glorious, fabulous, and terrific all lumped into one freaking awesome moment of reading bliss. Then you came along; you know who you are. You had the audacity to assume that because I was sitting by myself, holding three hundred pages of typed goodness, I was horrendously lonely/miserable/bored-out-of-my-mind. I wasn't. I really didn't want to engage in conversation. I was in my own world, and I can promise you that nothing you had to say was as fascinating as what was going on in my book. You cannot compare to the intrigues of the Elizabethan court. The sooner you accept this, the better.
I do not read because I'm bored, or simply lacking something better to. Reading is that better thing. You can keep The Office, House, and American Idol, I'll stick to my books. They've been my constant friends since I was six and I see no reason to abandon them now. So, as grateful as I am that you took a moment out of your day to be friendly/witty/uber annoying, please, next time, LET ME READ!

I could blog about....

... how I want to do nothing but sleep. Or how I relived my childhood this week as Jana and I watched Star Wars. I could tell you about feeling displaced homesickness. Perhaps you want to know about the number of hours I spend with my flute, and what that does to the rest of my life. Maybe the ulcers that Dictation is giving me could be an interesting topic. Or the words of wisdom my mother gave me as I called panicking on Tuesday. There's the laundry I have to do, but don't want to touch. And I keep thinking about how beautiful Provo looked this morning as I left the temple. I bet you've never realized how hard it is to get a practice room, especially on a Friday afternoon. But it all worked out 'cause I got to see some good friends this afternoon (instead of practicing). I've also started to run once again.

In my flute lesson on Wednesday a opera singer from The Met dropped in to see Dr. C. That was crazy, he's apparently one of the most famous LDS opera singers, ever. I don't really have time to blog, so I can't tell you how much I hate the new facebook lay out. I won't even take time to tell you how irritated I was when my teacher didn't show for my test this morning. I can't describe to you how anxious I am for summer, or how tired I am of school. Even though I feel like drifting off right now, I know I can't take time for a nap.

And time, it's such an interesting thing. I wish I could describe to you how long a single day feels, until about 9 at night when I look back on all that I've accomplished. You'd never believe how good it feels at 9pm as I am looking back, even if I did feel like spending paragraphs on it.


I have so much to tell you, but so little time. I think I need Dumbledore's pensive, because the thoughts in my mind are swimming so fast it's almost dizzying...

Dear Mom,

Yesterday I had an interesting experience. I was at my flute teachers and we got talking about height. She made the comment that when she was younger she always wished that she was shorter. This struck me because I was hard pressed to find a time in my life where I really wished that I was shorter. I began to wonder what the difference is. I've heard lots of girls who are tall talk about how they wish they had stopped growing sooner, but I've never really been one of them. Being tall is my thing. I love it. Then I realized that the difference is in how you brought me up.
Thank you for teaching me that it's okay to be taller than all the other kids. Thanks for telling me over and over in seventh grade that I need to stand up tall and be proud of my height. You showed me how to be tall with out looking weird. People tell me over and over that they never realize how tall I actually am until they come right up next to me. They always comment that really tall girls often look "lurpy" but I don't, so that's why I seem more "normal." Thanks for teaching me how to feel comfortable with who I am.
Love you lots!
Nicole