Don't Ever Let Fear Stop You.

Yesterday afternoon, I was sitting in the large dining room of a nursing home, trying to take deep, calming breaths.  It was my second week volunteering there.  Last week, I just showed up with a group from Y-Serve (BYU's service organization) without realizing that the purpose of the visit was to perform something. It's called Utah Healing Arts, in fact. 

Last week I brought nothing.  This week, I brought some piano sheet music.

I sat in the back, trying to breathe deeply through my mouth, trying to forget the funky smell that was in the air, pep talking myself while my fellow BYU students played the guitar, sang, and even hula danced. 

I was the last person to perform.  I stepped up to the grand piano and shakily arranged my music, apologized to the wheelchair-bound crowd for my stage fright, and then began.

I knew the song very well, but my mind was foggy and my fingers were tensed, and I hit wrong note after wrong note.  Awkward pauses and disjointed transitions littered the air as my notes jumbled all over each other.  I just kept playing until the last note, nodded at the applause of wrinkled hands, gave a smile and eagerly sat down.

"Oh well," I thought.  I did my best, and that was okay.  The thing is, I knew I was going to be nervous, and I knew I hadn't practiced that song in a while, but I wanted to do it anyway.  I just wanted to contribute something. And I did!  So it was enough to make me happy.

As we were leaving, I began going around to say goodbye to everyone.  An old man in a wheelchair with a breathing tube in his nose took both of my hands and complimented me on my piano-playing.  Then he looked right at me and said, in a wheezy voice, "Don't EVER let fear stop you from doing something."

So I just wanted to say to that man:  Thank you.  And I will definitely try.

Important Things I Learned on Reading Days

-While working on my math take-home test, I learned that it's super hard to count in my head while listening to "1, 2, 3, 4" by the Plain White T's.

-When I tell myself "I'm going to be at the library by 10 am" I really mean that I'm going to sleep 12 hours straight and arrive on campus at 3 pm. But I feel okay about it because I was REALLY tired. (And, you know, sleep helps with that.)

-A surprising amount of fun can be had with only pretzels and a webcam.


-DrawSomething is a GREAT finals diversion.

-Somehow I am not stressed about my five finals and everything seem very manageable. Probably because last semester I had SEVEN finals. (the scars have not yet healed...)

-Why do finals and moving out always have to be the same week? Those are like the suckiest things that college students have to do regularly. (No worries, I've already started packing a week early).

-Without fail, I always sit by a sniffler at the library. WITHOUT FAIL. Except yesterday when I sat next to a man who kept freaking out at his notebook and whisper-yelling to no one.

I'm pretty sure that being a serial killer in his future.

Utah in the Springtime

Editor's note: these pics are for real. like, fo sho f'realz.


This is the hill south of campus as I was walking to class yesterday at 11 am.




This is the hill south of campus (from the other side) as I was walking home from class at 1:45 pm.

That's less than 3 hours for those of you who failed math.

HOLY WEATHER WHIPLASH.

A few hours later, it was sunny one minute and literally snowing the next while the sun was still shining (!!!!). Utah, you will be the death of me.

My Haters are my Motivators: Bullying and Forgiveness.

warning: this post has no pictures, is super wordy, and really long. proceed!

About a month ago, we talked about bullying in my classroom management class. We began by talking in generalities; the concept of bullying seemed so distant to us as self-assured college adults.

Then, my professor asked us each to write down an experience with bullying--either as the bullied, or the bully--and drop it anonymously in a hat.

As she pulled the slips of paper out and read them, the normally lighthearted, last-class-on-a-Friday-afternoon attitude melted away and faces turned somber as we all returned to the memories of our fragile child-like state, back when we couldn't see our worlds beyond the playground gossip or the sound of lockers slamming.

We listened soberly as my professor read the stories of students in our very class who had endured physical or emotional abuse in school. I looked around. Everyone looked so confident, so adult-like. Surely none of them had been bullied? But they had. Even more difficult was listening to the stories of those who had been bullies themselves and then sorely regretted it.

It made me reflect. I wouldn't say that I was ever a target for bullies, but even so, I was teased just as much as anyone else, maybe more. I remember loving school but hating school at the same time. I remember tears shed in bathroom stalls and painful hours watching the clock so I could escape the prison of popularity contests and endless drama.

I look back, and all that seems so distant. I almost only have the good memories. I'm so grateful to be growing up and growing into myself, no longer worried about "the kids at school." (And if you are still in school, just know that in a few years, "the kids at school" won't even matter to you.)

When I was home for Christmas, I went into a dressing room at the mall. Lo and behold, the dressing room attendant was one of the meanest girls in the 7th grade. She hadn't really "bullied me," but I remember having classes with her and being teased by her. I was scared of her. As she took my shirt and led me to a dressing room, I thought, "Should I be trying to prove something right now? Like, how mature I am now? How I don't have glasses or chicken legs anymore? Should I be acting extra confident, just to show her?" But then I realized I really didn't care about what she thought. She didn't seem to remember me, and she looked like she had fallen on hard times, and I wished the best for her.

IT FELT GREAT.

It's really nice to look back and just get over things. So here I go:


Dear boy who said I looked like a sissy because I wore a dress to kindergarten,

We all say silly things when we are in kindergarten. I said many such things. And, you were right, I was a sissy! No hard feelings.
Love, Amy



Dear Girls who used to steal things from my bag in 7th grade art class and ask me inappropriate questions and call me a teachers pet and make fun of me until I got teary eyed,

Yeah. That was pretty mean. You guys weren't even "cool girls," but you just decided to tease me to make yourselves feel good about yourselves when I came into your class in the middle of the year and didn't know anyone. But that's okay. You just didn't have confidence in yourselves. Who does in 7th grade? Luckily, I have more confidence now. I hope you do too.
Love, Amy



Dear Boy who kicked me really hard in the stomach in 5th grade during a soccer game, even though the ball was nowhere near me and then laughed when I was on the ground with the air knocked outta me,

That was harsh. But I wholeheartedly forgive you for it. Even though you were probably the most conceited meathead the fifth grade ever saw. I mean, you thought you were the coolest thing since the Backstreet Boys, every point in your spiky hair was carefully shaped, and your mom brought you Starbucks during lunch. I wondered if you were still the same, so I looked you up on Facebook and you are shirtless and flexing with bottles of vodka in your profile pic. (really, it is borderline hilarious how you are exactly the same). I'm sure the natural course of life will hit you soon, and maybe you will be humbled. Maybe not. But I wish you the best! fo'realz.
Love, Amy


Last but not least:

Dear future students of mine:
I'm trying really hard to learn to be a good teacher, but you should know that I'm not perfect. Sometimes I just skim my readings, sometimes I am late to class, and sometimes I intend to write concise blog posts but instead write posts that fall just short of a novel. But know this: I will create a safe, bully-free environment for you to come to every day. I will teach you to respect each other and I will try to model that with my own actions.
Love, Amy
PS: you're not allowed to call me Amy when I'm a teacher, but since I don't post my last name on my blog, you can just call me Mrs. Fredette for now and we'll call it good.

Overcoming Ignorance.

It's frustrating to me that some people at BYU don't respect elementary education majors.

It was frustrating when someone told me that my future career was nothing but "glorified babysitting." It was also frustrating when someone implied that I was too dumb to understand a joke because I was an elementary ed major.

I once felt pressured by the "smart" majors around me, when someone told me, "YOU validate yourself in your own major." (you know who you are!) I took her advice and try to apply it every day. I want to be a smart, capable, hard-working teacher.

Maybe people just don't understand what an elementary teacher really does. Maybe they only know what they vaguely remember from their elementary school experience years ago. Maybe they only had terrible teachers growing up. Maybe they think that teachers just hand out worksheets and nag the kids to stop talking all day. Maybe they think the hardest part of the job is sharpening pencils.

Maybe they think that because teachers are paid like dirt, teachers are worth dirt.

Maybe they don't realize that teaching is both an art and a science. That teaching is a craft which is perfected over many years of experience. That a great teacher is a storyteller, a debate moderator, a scientist, a counselor, and a democratic leader (not a dictator).

Maybe they don't know that the word "worksheet" will be a forbidden word in my classroom, that my students will spend as much time out of their desks as they will in them. Maybe they don't realize that instead of reading about history from outdated textbooks, my students will act it out, will research it on their own, will debate it and teach each other about it.

Maybe they don't realize that, instead of accepting the crappy conditions of whichever underfunded school I find myself in, I will spend my weekends applying for grants so that my students will have better materials.

Maybe they think that the most time-consuming part of my future job will be un-jamming the copy machine so I can print more worksheets, when really, it will be building a time machine out of cardboard boxes late at night so my students will have something to inspire them as they read about the past.

Maybe they think I'll just yell at the kids to shut up and pray that the clock will go faster so I can go home and watch t.v., when instead I will be praying that my students will succeed, praying that they will feel loved, praying that I will know how to best teach them, every single day.

So when someone insults me because I'm an elementary education major, when someone insinuates that I must not be smart, when someone even just gives me a cocky smirk when I tell them that I want to be a teacher... I will give them the benefit of the doubt, just in case they don't realize the magnitude of my future profession.

But even so, I will pity them, because--even though they might be wealthier some day--they are already more ignorant and inconsiderate than I will ever allow myself to be.

And I will teach their children to know better.

It's Not Easy Being Green.

Oh gosh you guys. I wasn't going to tell this story. It's dumb. But you persuaded me. jerks. jk. but for reals.

I was super nervous for my first drama class, for four reasons.

1. I don't do drama. I'm a drama queen (ha), but I'm no actress.
2. The class is almost four hours long. At night.
3. I have a fear of public speaking /slash/ looking stupid /slash/ looking stupid while public speaking.
4. The ratings for this professor said she makes you get out of your comfort zone.

I like my comfort zone.

So of course when class started and I only knew a couple of people in the room, I was quite tense and ill at ease. I sat there with my fists clenched under my desk, and it didn't help that moments before this class started, I got some bad news that made me quite emotionally unstable. And then it didn't help that I started crying during the opening prayer.

Bad start.

So I sat there, all nervous and awkward-like, and tried desperately to convince myself that I was totally normal and everyone was going to love me, and hey, maybe I'd make a great actress and everyone in this class would be my eventual besties and such. But then, the professor handed out a personality test; you know, the kind where you find out what color you are.

BLUE: nurturers, people-persons, emotionally motivated, etc.
GOLD: organization lovers, those who love structure, go-getters, etc.
GREEN: independent thinkers, competence-driven, math/science type of mind, etc.
ORANGE: very impulsive, love being in the spotlight, very competitive, hate structure, etc.

I took the test honestly, and I almost tied for three colors: green (35 points), blue (32 points), and gold (31 points). And I thought it represented me pretty dang well too. You see....

I'm very much a people person with a nurturing emotional side, and I love structure and organization, but on top of all that, I am an independent thinker. I resist just agreeing with people for the sake of agreeing and I refuse to do things that don't make sense to me.

Our professor told us that most the class was probably blue (being nurturing elem. ed majors and all), and gestured to a part of the room for "blues" to congregate. She knowingly predicted that there'd be a few "golds" and a few "oranges" and pointed out their areas as well. But nothing about green. The class began moving excitedly, while I sat there, forgotten.

Then she exclaimed: "Oh! And every once in a while, we'll get ONE green in the class!" and left it at that. I still sat there, panicked. I was a "green."

I raised my hand and told her so. "We have a GREEN!!!!" she exclaimed with excitement, "You will be with me!"

So while the rest of the class bonded with each other and probably became instant besties, I was whisked to a chair in the front of the room, away from all my peers, to talk about my personality with my drama professor.

She talked to me about my "green" aspects, and I told her the things I identified with and didn't identify with. And then, I had to stand up in front of the whole class full of people wondering why I was the only green to explain my "green-ness" (while also strongly emphasizing that I had almost tied with blue and gold so everyone understood I was just like them too and not some total freakazoid.)

It was then that my professor took it upon herself to describe the "typical Green" while I sat there, facing the class:
-doesn't understand emotions.
-would rather spend time with computers than with human interaction.
-may say things like "I am all alone, but don't feel bad for me, because I like to be alone."
-"live long and prosper" (please note she did the Star Trek sign while saying this.)

While she said these things, the whole class of sensitive nurturers just stared at me, their emotionally-motivated, people-loving eyes penetrating my uncaring green soul.

Maybe they weren't judging me, but.. they were totally judging me.

personally, I find the Green Giant very attractive and he's green.
so take that, haters.

Then we talked about what color of people we most identify with and which color we least identify with or struggle getting along with. I sat facing the class while most of them seemed to agree that the color they least understood was GREEN. Some of them even described "green" people they had conflicts with in the past.

Pretty sure they hated me by association at that point.

We spent two hours talking about our colors. It wouldn't have been so bad to be unique. In fact, I might have loved it on a different day when I was feeling more outgoing and less like my emotions would crumble at any point in time into a mess of tears. At the end of class, our professor assured us that we wouldn't have to divide according to our colors again, and that she wouldn't even remember our colors. Then she pointed at me and said, "Except for you, because you're the only GREEN!!"

Next time I have to take a personality test, I am going to lie, cheat and steal my way to be the majority color in the room.

I've also decided to avoid wearing the color green to that class at all costs, even if it falls on St. Patrick's Day, in order to NOT remind my green-prejudiced class that I am the only green. Maybe if I never wear green they'll just forget it all happened and accept me as one of them. I am willing to endure pinching injuries.

Other things that are out for drama class: taking broccoli as a snack, any talk about environmentalism, and grass stains. This just got real.

Sing it Kermit.

(DISCLAIMER: please note that any/all emotional trauma has been resolved by this point through telling this story to many friends and laughing extremely hard. also, my class may not hate me as much as implied (but we'll see for sure next week) (ha). please also note that my newly acquired aversion to the color green, however, is painfully real.)

Library Love

I sat across from a girl in the library today. She was studying chemistry and had a nice smile, which I knew because she showed it to me when I sat down diagonally across the table from her.

I was studying Child Development and blasting the Killers through my headphones and hoping it wasn't loud enough to disturb anyone. (it wasn't, I kept checking)

A nice-looking boy walked over and set his things down directly across from her at the table. I couldn't hear what he said because of the glorious sound of Brandon Flowers in my ears, but I assume he asked her to watch his things. And then he walked away.

I looked up at the girl. She watched him walk away. For a super long time. And then she started smiling like a twitterpated schoolgirl with a hopeful glint in her eye. Aw.

He came back and sat down across from her. They studied, and I studied, and we all just studied like miserable college students during finals week.

But once, they caught each others' eye and then looked down quickly. I watched them out of the corner of my eye, and both were suppressing little smiles as their eyes fixated on their textbooks.

After a while, she got up and left for a few minutes. He watched her walk away. For a super long time. Even after she was out of sight, he sat there and stared at the place she disappeared from with a goofy smile.

It was killing me. I was ready to whisper "Dude, you gotta ask her out. She likes you too, trust me" but then I began questioning my ability to play Cupid without being super awkward. So I decided to sit back and have faith in his smoothness with the ladies.

She came back, and they smiled, and even while my concentration was focused on especially good Killers songs and Vygotsky's zone of proximal development, I couldn't help but notice that there was a tension at our table. Yes. Romantic tension, ladies and gentlemen.

When she started packing up her things a while later, I crossed my fingers under the table of love. C'mon man. C'MON.

She lingered.

.. and smiled at him. He smiled at her, terror in his eyes. But then: action. "What's your name?" he asked. And then: "would you like to go out to lunch with me sometime?" She said yes, numbers were exchanged, and fate was set in motion.

I so appreciated this tender exchange taking place right before my eyes. It helped to alleviate my hopeless screw-finals mentality, and reminded me that sometimes guys really do ask girls out, even if they just forget to ask me sometimes. (bahaha) Have you ever been asked out in a library?

I'm hoping they get married. Because then they could take engagement photos like this one:

via pinterest

ajklsjglkdajdg;... SO CUTE.

Breathing: A How To Guide.

One beautiful thing about Brigham Young University (other than the fact that Jimmer went here and I love him) is that it is built on top of a mountain.

Some say hill... but I say mountain, because hills are cute little green things that you go skipping down singing songs about how they are alive, but mountains are things that make your lungs explode and cause you to want to die.

And so, every BYU student's life consists of trekking up and down these inclines, especially those of us that live down the large hill south of campus. And of course, anyone who ever goes down to the athletic buildings west of campus have to tackle the infamous RB stairs, which look like this:


Oh, so sorry, wrong picture. They just look so similar sometimes! The RB stairs look more like this:


In addition to trekking up and down hills outside, every building has lots of stairs, and elevators are shameful things that everyone will look down upon you for using. (well not really, but kinda)

The point is, unless you are a superior athlete, you experience frequent episodes of breathlessness while traversing this beautiful campus. And that is why I am writing today... to lend support and advice. Because you always seem to be walking amongst non-out-of-breath people who have been walking on level ground when you emerge from a steep ascent like a mountain-climber.

There are several strategies for retaining your composure and cool factor (aka: swagger) while you are desperately out of breath.

1. The "Suff' and Huff":
You mount those last few steps before reaching the top. Your lungs are beginning to burn and you feel the lack of oxygen building in your brain. As your foot reaches the top of the stairs/hill, you begin gasping wildly for air. You walk towards your next class, and see a total hottie approaching. As you pass, you nonchalantly hold your breath and smile. Then as soon as he is out of earshot, you gasp like a fool and breathe as deeply and loudly as possible. You begin to pass someone else and hold your breath, or just breath as quietly as possible. Repeat, until you are breathing normally once again.

social appearance rating: 9... other than the sweat trickling down your brow, you appear totally normal to passers-by!
potential for suffocation: 10.... this is why I have named it the "suff' and then huff."

2. the "Vigorous Nose-Breathing" technique:
This technique is helpful in loud crowds, or in situations where people are mostly pretty far away from you, because it can get pretty loud (you know...). You keep your mouth closed and smile, and try to intake as much air as is humanly possible through your nostrils! Win! An occasional deep breath through the mouth is recommended.

amount of cool factor that remains intact, visually: 87%
amount of cool factor that remains intact, audibly: 0%, because you sound like a wheezing old man.

3. The "Man Those Stairs Made Me Sleepy!" method:
This one is simple: Just cover your mouth and pretend you are yawning like a bear coming out of hibernation while you desperately gasp for air. A bear that yawns for a really long time. Disregard the adrenaline that is pumping through your veins while you feign drowsiness.

success in camouflaging your out-of-shape-ness: high
chance for receiving concern from others that you have narcolepsy: very high

4. The "I Just Really Enjoy Whistling Silently" strategy:
This one is definitely one of my faves... you just purse your lips into whistle formation and breathe deeply. I enjoy it because you have the ability to take deep, life-sustaining breaths, but it keeps your mouth gasping to a minimum.

sustaining life: 5 stars
flirting by looking like your lips are puckered: 8 stars

5. the "I Shamelessly Enjoy Living" mindset:
In this method, you actually disregard what people think of your hot-mess desperate breathing, and decide that you enjoy a regular intake of air, so you just breathe as much air as you need and don't think about how people perceive you.

self-confidence and sensibility score: perfect 10
creativity in breathing technique: a disappointing ZERO.

And lastly,
6. "Exercise So You Are In Shape Enough that You're Not Actually Out of Breath When You Summit Over 100 Stairs."

But that's just crazy talk, so we won't go there.

How We Do Football Games...

BYU football games are an explosion of Cougar pride, time-honored tradition, and blue face paint. The atmosphere in Lavell Edwards Stadium consists of cheers and applause, laughter and despair, booing, chanting and singing. There is an electricity in the air when we win; a cloud of gloom sets in when we lose. If you are a Cougar fan, football games are the place to be.

Saturday night I sat with Sarah and Kirsi at the Utah State game. We sat and chatted about boys, school, friends, funny stories, our weeks. Then we turned to the field and cheered for a brief moment.

we took this awkwardly adorable picture in our matching shirts... holla!

We went to concessions and Sar and I got hot dogs, and we ate them and talked some more. Then we watched the half-time show. The game started up again and we sang to the marching band when they sang "Ohhh ohhh ohh baby!" or whatever that song is called. We cheered a little. Kirs and I started creating our own dance moves to the band and jamming on our own. We talked some more about random things, like nicknames and ice cream. Kirsi found a little football for her car antenna under her seat and it was really exciting. We talked some more about life and laughed a lot.

so. freakin. psyched.

Then we turned and watched the game for the last 5 minutes because it was finally exciting. We stood on our benches and concentrated on each play. We jumped up and down and screamed and crossed our fingers and screamed some more. And then our quarterback came through and one of our receivers caught an awesome pass in the end zone and we won and a bunch of hooligans rushed the field.

carry on, hooligans.

90 percent chat sesh.
10 percent football watching.

And that's how I do football games.

BYU Parking 101

Back in the day before I had a car in Provo, I used to walk... everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Like, really far sometimes. I once walked three miles in 20 degree weather to go to a museum for a homework assignment. I prided myself on my walking abilities, trekking the terrain of campus and the Provo area like an independent soldier, not reliant on a car for anything! Who needs a car to carry a gallon of milk and 4 bags of groceries home?? Pshaw!

Now I have a car. And so I drive pretty much everywhere.

Fact: it is easier.

Fact: I am now lazier.

For example. As you may have heard, I am taking a PE-teaching class this semester, which means class in the athletic building all the way up the hill, across campus and down the mountainside. It is really far from my apartment, which didn't used to phase me when I had class there back when I was a pedestrian warrior... but now?

I drive.

Please see the visual representation for further explanation.


It only makes sense.

Problem: The parking lots fill up by 8 am. So I usually drive over before 8 to park and then do homework until my 9 am class. Yesterday, however, after abusing the snooze button on my alarm clock, I found myself waking up with a gasp at 8:40 am.

It was the moment of truth. Do I accept the fact that there will be no parking and run straight to class since it will take me at least 20 minutes to walk there?

Or do I spend ten minutes brushing my teeth and putting on mascara and then drive over there, refusing to believe that there WILL be no parking. Not a maybe. A definite.

My life policy involves living in denial, so of course I drove. Yay!! I compiled the events that ensued into a BYU Parking 101 tutorial:

Step One: Pray that you will find a parking spot quickly so that you will be on time to class.

Step Two: See a dozen other cars circling the lot.

Step Three: Convince yourself that you are somehow superior to them and will somehow find a spot even though it is obvious that none of them can.

Step Four: Drive down each row of cars.

Step Five: Drive down each row of cars again, super fast.

Step Six: Freak out a little because it is now 9 am.

Step Seven: Almost get clipped by another car who whipped around a corner.

Step Eight: See a car two aisles away backing out. Punch the gas pedal and zoom over there, only to see the spot taken by a closer car.

Step Nine: See a man walking from the buildings to the parking lot.

Step Ten: Moment of truth. Your pride? Or getting to class sometime this century?

Step Eleven: Decision made.

Step Twelve: Begin creepily following said man in your car.

Step Thirteen: Look away casually when he repeatedly glances back at you looking creeped out and annoyed.

Step Fourteen. Continue driving slowly behind the man as he walks as if driving at 3 miles per hour directly behind him is purely by chance.

Step Fifteen: The target car has been reached. Aggressive blinker maneuver!!!

Step Sixteen: Endure dirty look as he pulls out. PARK IN SPOT. Shriek with joy.

Step Seventeen: Bolt from car because you are now eight minutes late to class.

As you can see, parking at BYU after 8 am is a vicious and cutthroat procedure. If you try it, I strongly urge you to follow my patented 17 step program to help you find the spot of your dreams.

I more strongly urge you to wake up early so you don't have to attend class with bedhead. I even more strongly urge you to forgo driving when possible and just walk to class because:

a) it is good for your health.
b) it is good for the environment, and
c) you will receive less dirty looks from men after stalking them in your car.

I hope you've learned something.

Why Blogging Has Become a Low Priority...

These days, my life is looking like this, pretty much every day:

7 am: wake up after sleeping a mere 4-5 hours because I was doing homework into the night.

8 am: class. don't forget to take your daily morning slim fast can, or else you will starve.

8:15 am: receive 3 new homework assignments for the next class.

11 am: get out of class. do homework.

noon: eat lunch. go to some lab or another to do some crazy project. type up the essay that's due that you didn't get to. print out posters for teaching and laminate them. Hurry and do some reading because there is going to be a quiz on it. write some lesson plans.

2-ish: more class. receive at least 3 more homework assignments.

4 pm: get out of class. realize I am so hungry I may perish. then go to next class.

4 pm til 7 pm: go to more class. stomach rumbles so loud many presume a t-rex is at large. receive more homework.

7 pm: go to apartment. consume large quantities of food. or go to wendy's and consume large quantities of food there because you haven't actually been grocery shopping in 2 weeks and you ran out of cheerios which was basically all you ate anyways.

8 pm: do homework.

9 pm: do more homework.

10 pm: do some more homework.

11 pm: read a 40 page reading assignment that takes 2 hours and write an essay on it. (if only you could see the future, you would know the professor would choose not to collect it.

1 am: do more homework. make a pb&j sandwich for tomorrow, even though you know it will only get mashed in your backpack and you will likely throw it away without eating it. shame.

2 am: collapse from exhaustion into bed.

7 am: repeat.

Did I mention that I am taking 7 classes right now? They are kicking my trash. I plan to either continue this daily routine until:

a) I die,
b) my professors develop a sense of mercy, or
c) Jimmer decides to marry me and I drop out of school because I'm going to be a rich NBA wife.

All good options.

PS. Tomorrow I am teaching a 2nd grade PE class. Got my whistle and my cute laminated signs and CD of exercise songs. Lets hope I get some sleep tonight, because otherwise I feel bad for those second graders. I may curl up on the floor while they do jumping jacks. JK!
PPS: I included "Getcha Head in the Game" from High School Musical on my CD. Duh. How could I not pay tribute to my workout inspiration, Troy Bolton? The kids will love it.
PPPS. Do kids these days still like High School Musical? Oh dear.

I love school.

Today was the first day back to school. Kinda. Except that I was in school 2 weeks ago too. But nonetheless, today was the big she-bang. It was the day that everyone returned to BYU with their freshly printed schedules, wore their cutest outfits, and wandered around campus hoping to find their new classes... eventually.

The morning began with a brisk walk all the way up the hill and then across campus, down the RB stairs (aka the stairs of death) and into the field house. I had to wander into a random office to ask where the annex was, since it wasn't on any of the maps, and then once I got to the annex and met up with a group of classmates, a girl from our class came and told us that we were meeting in a computer lab upstairs. So we walked through the gym, up some bleachers, around a corner, up some stairs, around another corner, down some different stairs, and into a classroom.

I would have NEVER found that room on my own. In fact, I couldn't even find my way out of the building from that room. Yikes.

We learned about how to implement a discipline plan while teaching, and we were assigned the schools we are going to teach at this semester (Spanish Fork, Utah, here I come!). After class I trekked back up the stairs of death and met up with Sarah, my little sister, on her first day of college!

We went and got lunch together. Mine cost 43 cents. That's right. I finally filled up my bagel card babyyy!! Buy ten bagels, and the eleventh is free! (I only paid for the strawberry cream cheese. totally essential.) I love you BYU.



We ended up running into a girl that I actually wrote about on this blog before I knew her. She recognized me and it was fun to officially meet! And not in an elevator this time while I was struggling with a box. (Shoutout to Brooke!)

I went to my afternoon class, and the teacher said we can text him on his cell phone if we have questions and he'll respond. He talked to us about becoming excellent teachers. I accidentally fell asleep. But it was great.

In the girl's bathroom after class, a girl found an iPhone that someone left in a stall. There was a big group discussion about what to do to help the owner get her phone back the fastest. If we left it there, would she come back right away looking for it? Or would someone steal it later? Would she think to look in lost and found right away? The conclusion: call the phone owner's mom and tell her that her daughter's phone will be in lost and found. It made me smile that people here are so kind and helpful.

I love school so much. I love the feeling of progression. I love this campus. It feels like my second home. I love that after two years here, I see someone I know almost every few minutes. I love the fact that I am becoming a teacher. (Ahhhh).

guess who I ran into as I was writing this very post??!!!
only my former roomie and personal hero, Ashley! she's a gem.

But what I really, really love is FREE BAGELS.

hallelujah amen.

Smiling at its best.

I spent last night at the library working on a research paper. Not my preferred method to pass a beautiful August evening. I was walking across campus to the library just as dusk set in, thinking about my day and my life: the things that are going great, the things that are going not-so-great, and everything in between.

As I was walking, I noticed a man walking beside me.

He was Hispanic and very short, probably no taller than five feet, wearing a crisp red gingham shirt. He was probably about thirty-five. And he was smiling. He had the most sincere, happy smile I think I've seen in years brightening his entire face.

So I smiled back.

He said in a very heavy accent, "What a nice night it is!"

"Yeah, it really is!" I said. We talked about the weather a bit.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"Las Vegas."

"Ohhhh! Nevada!!! Wow!!" he said in strained English, his cute smile getting even bigger.

"Yeah! Where are you from?"

"Peru."

"Wow, that's really cool!" I said, and we talked about Peru for a minute.

"How long have you been here?" my new friend asked as we walked.

"Two years," I answered.

"Ahh! You're twenty?!? How exciting!!" he asked with great energy.

"Yeah!" I said, feeling kind of excited for myself about being twenty. His joy was contagious.

"When is your birthday!??!" he asked, happily as ever.

"February."

"Wow! So SOON! So exciting!!" he said. I couldn't help but burst out laughing at his eagerness that my birthday was seven months away. He laughed too.

We kept walking and talking, and he told me that he is at BYU for a few months to learn English, and that he owns an insurance company in Peru. I think he was talking to me to practice his English. I could mostly understand him, but some words were swallowed up in his heavy Peruvian accent, and I couldn't comprehend. He kept the huge grin on his face the whole time we talked. He was a happy man.

He asked about my major and I told him that I'm studying elementary education-- to be a teacher. He said, "Ohhh wow!!! Good luck with the kids!!"

We walked all the way into the library together and when we came to the stairs I said, "It was so nice meeting you! Your English sounds great!"

He said, "Thanks! Your English sounds great too!"

He made me so happy to be twenty, happy to be at BYU, happy to live in America, and happy to be me.

I couldn't stop smiling.

EFY is turning me into a crotchety woman.

There's this youth camp program at BYU called "Especially For Youth" (EFY) that brings thousands of teenagers to campus every week. They are EVERWHERE. Everywhere, I tell you. Sometimes I get really scared when I am walking to class and almost get stampeded by a crowd of youngin's.

unbelievably tender EFY picture from the EFY website...

Many more valiant souls love the EFY kids' presence. People like my tender roommate Ashley. She is nicer than me. She actually likes teenagers. She used to be an EFY counselor. She wants to teach high school for goodness sake. I admire that.

But I didn't even like teenagers when I WAS a teenager (six months ago baha). But now that I am the ripe old age of 20, I am a crotchety old woman. Ok, I'm just being dramatic. I do like teenagers. I just don't like obnoxious people of any age. Allow me to tell you a story:

Last week, I got a headache when I was at school in between classes. So I went to my favorite napping hallway on campus, a secluded hallway in the wilk with dim lighting and plentiful soft benches, with plans to nap that sucker away if I could.

It began well. I positioned my backpack as a pillow, curled up with my back to the open hallway and started to drift off into dreams of a headache-free life.

Time passed, and I began to become aware of something going on. The grogginess lifted, and I realized that I was surrounded by hundreds of teenage EFY kids pushing through the hallway next to me. I laid there with my eyes closed, confusion settled deep in my brain, hoping that if I didn't move no one would notice me.

"WAKE UP GIRL!" came a puberty-laden shout inches from my ear.

"He he... hehe... she's sleeping..."

"Dude, we should, like, go shake her or something. haha."

Poke. Poke. Poke.

I tensed. Was someone REALLY poking me right now???? Oh no he didn't.

If I had a hose, I would have gone to town.

Today, an EFY counselor yelled at me for going down a restricted hallway until I told him,"I'm not an EFY kid... I'm a BYU student." Slow down, homeboy.

EFY is a great program, I love it. I love BYU. I love teenagers. I love campus. I love the world.

It's just the punks in general that I could really do without. Maybe I should get a cane to wave at them? It'd really be fitting for a spinster like me. baha.

Amy's Riveting "Bandaid" Metaphor.

The rumors are true. I'm back in Utah. The long-awaited for day arrived, a week ago, to move back to my beloved Provo. But it meant moving away from my even-more-beloved Las Vegas.

The day after I arrived, I was talking to one of my best friends on the phone and we agreed: one of the hardest things about college is transition. You never want to leave where you are. You don't want to leave college life when its time to go home for a while. And then you don't want to leave home when its time to go to college for a while. But it's so good for you to go through that. You learn to make home wherever you are. You learn to make your friends your family when you don't get to see your family anymore.

And then I came up with the metaphor: leaving home is like ripping off a bandaid. (Sorry is that gross? Too bad, its my blog baha) You have to do it sometime. Its healthy for you to take off (otherwise your skin gets all pruny... yuck). There comes a time when it has to happen. You know its gonna sting a little, and it does, but then you are okay. And then you are totes glad you ripped off the bandaid!

And on your first ever solo six hour drive to Provo, you see a guy hitchhiking right next to a "Prison Nearby, Don't Pick Up Hitchhikers" sign. And then you see a lady walking a pig on a leash by the side of the freeway. A PIG!!!! And you jam to some awesome mix CDs that your friends made you. And you move into your apartment with only the few belongings that you packed into your little sedan. (okay, not that few...)

ready to hit the road... wearing a Jimmer shirt, duh!
I Jimmered that drive.

And then you accidentally drop your phone down a staircase on Father's day and it smashes. And you cry. And then you get an even better phone. And you start your classes and you freakin' LOVE them. And then you really don't feel well for an entire week... so you cry. But you realize that you have friends here and you love all the opportunities before you. And you are comfortable in your home away from home, and you love it. And you're happy you ripped off that bandaid.

That metaphor got a little out of control there. I apologize.

But for the record, I really did see a lady walking a pig on a leash.

And that is all I have to say.

Psych!! -ology.

I'm kind of competitive.

I say kind of, because it really just comes and goes. Some days, I don't get too upset if I win or lose a game of ping pong or scrabble, but other days, I will flip out if I lose. Sometimes I even make up random challenges for myself. Kind of psychotic? Who knows.

Speaking of psychotic, I'm in a psychology class right now (last general to finish, holla!) and this morning I had to go participate in a 2 hour research study for credit in the class. I dragged my sorry little butt out of bed and walked to the lovely Taylor Building up the road, sniffling all the way with the cold that is slowly, but surely, coming on. (Who thought it was okay for it to snow in April, anyways?)

I couldn't have cared less about this study. Really.

this picture makes me crave smoothies.

I walked in, and after being sent to different parts of the building by misinformed secretaries, I went into a room with a researcher and filled out an hour-long questionnaire on a computer that made me over-analyze every aspect of myself and wonder if I was, in fact, more a terrible person than I ever thought.

Have you ever lied to someone? Uhh.. yes...
Have you ever done something you knew was wrong? ......Shoot. Yes.
Have you ever become so angry that you yelled? .... yup....
Have you ever done something that later filled you with guilt? Ok, ok! I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON, I get it!!

Then I watched a ten minute video of fish swimming around in the ocean. I think it was supposed to be relaxing, but I spent the entire time wondering if it was a trick and a shark was going to pop on screen and scare the heck out of me.

Then, the researcher explained that he was going to play audio of a string of numbers, and I had to add them in groups of two as it went along, adding the newest number to the number before it and so on. Its harder than it seems peeps.

2.. 5...(seven!)..3...(eight!). 4...(seven!).. 2...(six!)..9..(eleven!)..5..(fourteen!)...7... (twelve!)..

But all in my head. Each run through was going to get faster and faster, until I barely had time to speak in between numbers. Also, he was going to take my blood pressure after each trial, and he told me the study was to research stress and pressure to achieve or something like that.

Something clicked inside me (maybe it was the dayquil?), and I decided I was going to beast this freaking study and WIN it.

So, using my ten fingers and every cell of math ability in my brain, I pounced on every single math test, yelling out numbers and and frantically trying to remember the number that came before the one I just said. I messed up a lot, but I kept going, desperate to prove that I was a math genius.

Then, as he took my blood pressure, I tried to magically bring my blood pressure down through the powers of my mind and through deep breathing.

I just HAD to win the low-blood-pressure-high-math-ability challenge!

I felt like I did pretty well, and wondered when I would find out if I won or not. Then I walked out and realized: You cannot win a psychology study.

This is a fact.

But I still kind of want to practice that math thing and go try again to see if I do better.

Well, I better head to class. I hope I win the stepping on every leaf challenge as I walk. Don't get in my way fools.

March Sadness

Lesson learned: when you are about to watch an intense basketball game, don't eat five slices of pizza and who knows how many pieces of crazy bread because when it comes down to the final seconds and they are tied, and you are jumping up and down and screaming your heart out, you will end up on your friend's apartment's floor, rolling and moaning in pain.

Even though tonight's game didn't end the way I wanted it to, it was still a great night. BYU was amazing as usual, and it could have gone either way. We even went into over time, and we got to see Jimmer hit some three-pointers from a mile away.

And even though we lost, we made it to the Sweet Sixteen, and that's pretty awesome.

And even though we lost, I watched Jimmer's last game in the company of some of my best girl friends, and it was actually pretty funny how loud we were screaming and how much we were jumping and hyperventilating.

After the game, I felt pretty crushed, and I just wanted to cry, but I couldn't. So laid on the couch and made Ashley tell me sad things so I could get a little cry going and let out my repressed emotions. All I mustered was a mere eye glisten, but it helped.

Group therapy is very useful in these types of situations.

And even though we lost, Jimmer still looked pretty hot with his chin bandage on.

Sweet Sixteen!!!

I was prepared for heartbreak tonight, a pint of Ben and Jerry's tucked away in the freezer.

But I didn't need it!!

BYU 89. Gonzaga 67.

BYU is headed to New Orleans for the Sweet Sixteen baby!!!

I'm so happy. Maybe my happiness shouldn't be so invested in BYU Basketball??




.........Nahh.

Happy March Madness!

Embarrassment Quota: Met.

I think the universe has daily quota for my embarrassing moments. The quota almost always gets filled. And that's okay because I learn to laugh about these moments.

Today, however, was very impressive. I believe I have met my quota all within five minutes! New record.

I was hurrying down the JFSB stairs to my psychology class, and immediately it came to my attention that my calf muscles were about to explode. This is because I have taken up a new fitness routine which includes going running up hilly roads. Each step down that loooong stair case caused me to want to scream out in pain, but instead I managed to let out little squeaks instead. Picture me awkwardly waddling down a ridiculous flight of stairs, squeaking like a deranged baby animal with each step. It was cute.

Then, I rushed into my class to find that the clicker quiz had already began. So I threw down my backpack to pull out my iClicker... and a bunch of tampons came out with it. Smooth, Amy, smooth.

So then I decided to just stand in the back of the lecture hall to take the clicker quiz, lest anything awkward happen while climbing over people to a seat. Suddenly, exhaustion overcame me from my descent down the stairs. I decided to lean back against the wall.

Suddenly, the classroom fell into darkness. Murmurs began as all the students began to wonder why it was suddenly pitch black.

"Hmmm," I thought. "What an interesting time for the teacher to decide to turn off the lights."

"Hey!" A girl in the back row nudged me. "You're leaning against the light switch!"

Indeed I was.

I'm on a roll today. Happy Friday, folks!

I LOVE BYU.

You may or may not have heard about BYU in the national news this week.... Our basketball team is currently ranked third in the nation. On Monday, the day this ranking came out, one of our best players came forward on his own and confessed to breaking the honor code, and was dismissed from the team for the season. This caused an uproar in the national media over BYU's "outdated," "unfair" honor code. Many people were outraged and mocked BYU for it. Many others praised BYU for valuing integrity in this world of crumbling morals, a world where certain teams allow domestic abusers and criminals to play for their teams (ahem, UNLV). At BYU, honor means something. At BYU, we don't just talk the talk, we stand by our principles, no matter what may happen to the scoreboard.

Basketball right now is HUGE. It is the best team BYU has ever had. They had/have the potential to make it all the way in the NCAA tournament. To lose one of our key players at this point is unheard of. Some ask, why not postpone his dismissal just a FEW weeks? Because that's not what's important here. Basketball does not come in front of our values, even when it's painful.

Some say, why don't they just forgive him? They have. We still love him. We miss him. They players see him as a brother. They had him sitting on the bench with them on Saturday. They let him help cut down the net when they won the championship title. He is forgiven, but there are also consequences. Players agreed when they came here to keep certain standards to be able to play on the team.

I had some Facebook friends post derogatory things about BYU this week. I'm not much of a fan of Facebook confrontations but I had to stand by my school. I ended up being attacked for my standards by certain people online, and sworn at and mocked.

I want to state as clearly as possible: I AM PROUD TO BE A BYU STUDENT. And I always will be.

One of the arguments against me was: A) BYU students aren't allowed to have fun and B) We aren't allowed to watch Youtube. To disprove both of those claims, I present you a gem from the game yesterday.



The entire student section surprised the Marriott Center with a dance and it was SO MUCH FUN. And its on Youtube. Boo yah. Do you see me?


Here's a wider angle:



I may or may not have teared up when Jimmer and Jackson left the court for the very last time of their senior season yesterday. They are my heroes. They are great players, and great guys.

When I first came to BYU, I knew it was a good school and I liked it here. But inevitably, as I take classes, and meet more people and am surrounded by the amazing atmosphere of this campus, I love it more each day. My heart bursts with pride for BYU!

JIMMER.
One word to sum up this year.

GO COUGS! And good luck boys in the tournament!