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.

I used to be much dumber...

The cool thing about little sisters is that they remember really dumb things you did when you were 14 years old. And then they remind you about them approximately 7 years later on Monday afternoons while you are sharing lunch, and it is hilarious.

So....

Once upon a time, when I was fourteen years old, I was at a youth dance. Tender, I know. And there was also a boy at this youth dance. Well, there was more than one boy at this dance, thank goodness, but one in particular who was causing me great distress.

You see... he liked me. GASP. How dare he??!! What a travesty! So much angst and drama and emotional pain!!!

Apparently I didn't like him back... not even a little. In fact, I thought he was a weirdy, which is kind of rude of me, even if he kind of was.

So when the rumors began circulating at the youth dance that he was going to come ask me to slow dance in a while, it was like a world-wide CRISIS on my hands. My peaceful life as I knew it was on the brink of collapse, people!!!

His friends came over to my friends, and my friends went over to his friends, begging him not to come ask me because it would be really awkward and I didn't want to dance with him because he was creepy. Oh the stress!

So when the next slow song came on, I was on high alert. Then, my shrieky, over-excitable friends
began to panic as they saw this boy approach me from behind. We did what any group of completely level-headed, logical fourteen year old girls would do:

I dropped to the gym floor and curled up in the fetal position as my friends huddled around me to shield my body. And then he left. And then we ran to the girls bathroom screaming.

So nowadays, whenever I do something really dumb, like sleep through my morning class or watch five hours of youtube videos before starting a paper....

at least I can remember that I used to be much, much, much dumber.

this is so not true. okay, it's a little bit true. ha.

(and hallelujah I didn't hang out with that group of friends much longer. but really... dumb.)

my 21st birthday in vegas

Friday was my 21st birthday. I went to IHOP for breakfast (thank you Ashley for having me sign up for their birthday club a year ago), and the waiter was like: "Woo! You're twenty-one, you should go to Vegassss!"

And I was like: "I am."

I spent my 21st birthday weekend at home in Las Vegas with my family. It got preeeeetttyyy WILD.

Sarah and I drove all afternoon on my birthday and got to our house Friday night and hugged my parents and dog on the driveway and ate dinner and skyped my sister and I blew out my candles on my chocolate cake. I was asleep before midnight.

On Saturday, my mom asked what I wanted to do. I said, "I really want to go to the Clark County Heritage Museum." It was my favorite place ever as a kid. It's pretty much like Disneyland, if Disneyland was a museum that taught you about Southern Nevada and had a bunch of really old, cool houses you could walk through with creepy mannequins in them out in the desert. I LOVED IT AS A CHILD. Even though we'd always go in the summertime when it was a bajillion degrees.

So we hopped in the car and drove down Boulder Highway where the museum still sits! My mom and I wandered through every house, and the memories came a'floodin' back like crazy. I hadn't been there since I was little but I remembered everything. I had crazy flashbacks of being a wee child. Best day ever.

Yup. Still as fun as when I was six. And I'm an adult.I used a slot machine for the first time in my life. An antique slot machine at the museum.
With a penny my mom gave me. Don't worry guys, I'm twenty-one now.

Today, I went to church with my family. Then I took the longest, most beautiful nap, and then ate dinner and my family watched a DVD about Jimmer.

So to sum up, for my 21st birthday in Vegas I: ate a lot of chocolate cake, went to bed early, went to a museum with my mom, went to church, and slept a lot.

Yep. I am a clean-livin' girl all. the. way. It's the best.

Nineties Nostalgia

My childhood ROCKED. Growing up in the nineties was definitely the way to go, especially because of the clothes. I had the best clothes ever as a child. I distinctly remember the intense comfort of neon-colored bike shorts with giant baggy shirts. Also, matching sweat suits.

coordinated sweatsuits. i know what you are thinking...
NO, THESE WERE NOT PAJAMAS.
we wore them places. (minus Sarah's robe)

SO COMFORTABLE. I swear, everything I ever wore was loose fitting. And it was actually cool.

When I think about it, it makes me weep a little that I have to wear stiff, tight jeans now. :(

Also: overalls. Overalls were cool back then! Like, really cool! And the baggier, the cooler! And jumpers, especially denim jumpers! Anne and I were just discussing this last week. We feel strongly that overalls should make a comeback.

Other fashion items from the nineties: shirts with Disney characters. I think a large majority of my closet consisted of Disney outfit sets--so much swagger.

Did you know that for years (YEARS) I got away with wearing stretchy cotton pants with crazy designs on them to elementary school? It was basically like wearing pajamas. What I wouldn't give to wear nothing but soft cotton pants in ridiculous colors with matching turtle necks.

Yup. this was as comfortable as it looks.

making mud pies in November in SUN DRESSES.
(i miss you Vegas)

And scrunch down socks. And barettes in my hair.

And puff paint shirts. My mother was a saint... she let us make TONS of puff paint shirts.

And on Sundays, we would wear these ridiculously frilly dresses covered in lace with ginormous puffy shoulders. And sometimes my sisters and I would all wear matching church dresses. And white tights---oh heavens, putting on those white church tights on Sundays...

The nineties were definitely the BEST decade for having the funnest childhood clothing.

I MISS MY CHILDHOOD. If you see me wandering Provo wearing stretchy leggings with giant neon green polka dots and a super baggy minnie mouse shirt with barrettes in my hair... do not be alarmed.

I'm reliving the good ol' days...

It's What Sisters Are For.

When we were little, whenever we would drive by the Excalibur Hotel on the strip, I used to tell my little sister that the King and Queen of Las Vegas lived there.

taken from the car last night

She used to believe me.

Bahaha.

Las Vegas Love Letter

Dear Las Vegas, Nevada,

I didn't realize how much I loved you until I left you behind a few years ago. And now, every time I come back to your sandy desert floors and your bright blue mountains, I fall in love with you more and more.

I thought you were pretty normal growing up, but it turns out that most places aren't like you. In fact, you are one-of-a-kind. I didn't realize how special you really were until I was surrounded by people who didn't understand you, and then I became fiercely proud of you, my hometown glory.

(Some people even say I am annoying with my Las Vegas pride. But I don't care. bahaha)


Thanks for always welcoming me back and making me feel right at home as soon as I see your bright lights over the hill, in the middle of the Mohave desert. Thank you for your wonderful people, thank you for your cactus and palm trees, thank you for your dry air, and most of all, thank you for the bluest skies I’ve ever seen in my life.

Love,
Amy the Nevada Girl

caught some iphone pics driving into Nevada, and when we saw the LV lights

PS. Thank you as well for your 65 degree sunny weather in December. I really enjoy going Christmas shopping wearing short sleeves and flip flops. Splendid.

Happy Nevada Day!

Let me make one thing clear: Nevada Day is a big deal to me.

The Silver State was made a part of the Union on October 31st, 1864, and so, growing up, Halloween always had another dimension. It was also Nevada Day! Yes, I grew up getting Halloween off school because of this lovely fact. :)

Nevada is where my heart will always reside. Growing up in Las Vegas made me who I am, and I think it is the best place to live in the world! I love the people of my home state: so down-to-earth and warm-hearted. I love the spirit of the West which inspires the people there. I firmly believe the desert, with its cactus and sagebrush, bright blue mountains and rocky dirt, is so much prettier than anywhere green.



Whenever I get the chance to drive home for a visit (I'm going home for the first time in 3 months in 22 days!), my heart begins to swell as the green trees fade from view, and the landscape slowly turns to desert. And when I come around that corner and see the Las Vegas Valley unfold into view, I feel like my heart is at peace.

Confession: I always sing the Nevada State song when I cross the border as I drive. It is also my favorite singing-in-the-shower song. It's just so darn catchy! Fellow Nevadan peeps know what I'm talking about. Here's a rendition by the Killers (also Nevada natives):

(disregard the large Harry Reid emblazoned upon the video... he already won. although the awkward hug at the end is priceless. and awkward. so awkward.)

I am truly a Nevada girl.

My ancestors founded several towns in Nevada when there was literally NOTHING. My grandmas on both sides grew up in tiny desert Nevada towns back before very many people lived there.

My grandparents on one side met and fell in love in Las Vegas during the 1940s when it was nothing but a dusty little western town with a few hotels and lots of desert. She was a journalist at the only radio station. He was a gunnery instructor stationed there during the war. They fell in love. He proposed. She said no. But don't worry, he tried again later... ;)

Las Vegas is also where my parents fell in love back when she was a school teacher and he had just moved there because Rebel Basketball was doing really well at the time... I mean to get his masters from UNLV.


Thanks for indulging me in my love for my state. And maybe those of you from Nevada celebrated Nevada day with me! I, for one, hugged a cactus, petted a bighorn sheep, and played in some sagebrush for Nevada day.

Just kidding. I just sang the state song all day for everyone I saw. THEY LOVED IT. No one even made fun of me. (this is a lie)

It's just so darn catchy!

Room-Cleaning Gems.

Cleaning out one's room--along with dental appointments and eye exams and errands that have been on the to-do list for months--is one of the special joys of being home from college for a long visit.

You leave the room clean, of course, when you go away to your cute apartment. You may pop in at home every couple of months, pulling items out of the closet to grab a favorite hat to take back, piling last semester's textbooks on the desk, throwing all the things that aren't quite treasure but aren't quite trash into a heap in the corner because you can't decide what to do with them. And then one day you drag home a suitcase and throw it open for a week-and-a-half visit, clothes spilling out haphazardly as somehow the objects occupying the room multiply until you hit the low point: having to carve a path from the door to the bed.

And then you hunker down, and you clean.

That's where I was today. I was itching to clean up the mess, to sort out the piles and to...well, dive headfirst into my childhood.

I've lived in the same room since I was four years old. Despite all the cleaning out and weeding through of it, that room contains my history, and there are always treasures to be found. Every once in a while I get the urge to, not only clean off the floor and clear off the surfaces, but open the cupboards and drawers and begin pulling things out. Each time I embark into a cleaning frenzy, I am able to let go of more things than I could the last time: glittery butterfly clips, broken sea shells I don't remember, spiral notebooks from high school chemistry. And each time, I discover treasures: usually ordinary items, shoved into the drawer years ago, that remind me of who I am.

Today I was reminded of two aspects of my being:

1. I have always loved to write, and...
2. I had a unique downright strange sense of creativity.

Exhibit A.
One summer, I decided to create my own code. I believe I was ten or eleven, and I think it started on a car trip from Utah to Vegas. I gave each letter a symbol and made a chart for it, just like normal kids do when they create a code to write secret messages to their friends.

But then I memorized it. I practiced it so much that I didn't need to look at the chart to know the symbol for each letter. And I could read it. And then I filled a binder with pages of stories written exclusively in my special code.

feel free to use it for all your secret note needs.... it's a pretty sweet code.

binder-ful of stories

more pages

even more pages

The bad news is: I can no longer read this and am way too lazy to decode pages and pages of the stories I wrote. In addition, I am now concerned that I was a more abnormal child than I could have ever imagined.
The good news: If the US Government needs a code to relay secret messages in a time of war, I totes got them covered.

I think I have always been a writer at heart (although usually not in code... thank goodness). When I was in kindergarten or first grade, my mom bought me a little black and white composition notebook, and I filled it with stories: about a bunny who didn't like carrots, a girl who didn't like being the middle child (hmmm), and a girl with a dog named Cookie. As I got older, the tales became much more dramatic, and usually typed on the computer. Most every story included orphans, kidnappings, princesses... and often several elements of a movie I had just watched. (oops) I had plans to be published and famous after writing the next great.... children's chapter book.

Today I discovered the beginning of what could have been a masterpiece. It is entitled, "Anna's Adventure" and by the looks of the handwriting, I think I was about twelve.

Chapter One.

Anna was a fun-loving, brave, and spunky girl. So when her father announced he was going to a remote African jungle to collect scientific research, she begged to go. The next thing she knew, she was in a jeep escaping an angry pride of lions. She wondered what she had gotten herself into.

Chapter Two.

"You sleep in the higher hammock. You'll have a better chance of survival," Anna's dad said. They had arrived at their jungle hut finally after they got away from the lions. Anna looked around. Yuck. It was dirty, smelly, hot and mosquito infested. She felt a sting on her leg and looked down. "Dad!" She called, "I was stung by a beetle."
He ran in, then gasped. "It's poisonous!" he yelled. But it was too late. She fell to the floor with a thud.

Chapter Three.

"She's alive!" her dad shrieked. Anna sat up and looked around. She was in a big hut, surrounded by African tribal leaders. "Anna, these people saved your life." She met Chief Poko and the others, then she and her dad left the hut. On the way out, she collided with an American boy her age. "Anna, this is Matt. He helped me carry you here." Anna blushed and smiled. She had found a friend.

Dang. I'm super bummed it ended there. But c'mon. Chased by African lions and stung by a poisonous beetle and saved by a hot American boy all in one PAGE?? This could have been like a safari-themed Twilight.

My Epic Best Friend

Meet Karen.



Karen is probably the most intense person I have ever met. And she is also my best friend from growing up in Las Vegas. We met when we were only four years old. Our moms even put us in the same kindergarten class, and from there we went through every year of public school together. Karen and I bonded over years of primary classes, play dates, Nerf gun wars, Girls Camp memories, calculus assignments, and catapult- building projects.

boom. we built a catapult.

And then we went to different colleges... about 2 hours away from each other. I went to BYU and she chose Utah State. I remember texting her a few weeks into our freshman year and saying, "This is the longest we haven't seen each other since we were four years old!" Sad.

my eighth birthday party.
I believe that, even back then, Karen's motto was "Go big or go home."

Karen and I call each other almost every Sunday to catch up on life. We usually tell very different stories. Mine usually involve news about classes, fun with friends or awkward dates. Karen's usually involve hiking tall mountains, flying helicopters, being hired for scientific research projects, and building villages in Mexico.

She kinda lives life in a big way.

Karen is the kind of girl that takes ridiculous amounts of credit hours (with plans for a Phd) while working three jobs AND playing on the USU women's rugby team. She hikes tall mountains in her free time, parties it up whenever she can and never stops to rest. Basically, she is completely crazy. And she's totally humble about it too.

This past Sunday, instead of a phone call, I got Karen herself, in person! She stayed with me for a couple days on her way through Provo, and we had a rockin' time. We enjoyed walking around campus, eating good food, playing addicting games on my iPhone, going on a Sonic run, and mostly just sitting around and talking. We hadn't seen each other in six months!

tender moments at sonic

Things I learned from Karen this week: you don't actually HAVE to put on your parking brake unless you're on a hill, Sonic Creamslushes are delicious, her car's name is Pierre, and you can actually reserve a pie.

"Um, hi Marie Calendar's... Mine name is Karen and I'd like to reserve a pie." So epic.

Even though we are very different, Karen is a big part of me and I'm a big part of her. I am a huge fan of her epic life, and I will always be cheering her on through her crazy adventures (and praying that she doesn't get eaten by bears or injured too seriously in rugby.)

When she gave her valedictorian speech at our high school graduation in front of hundreds (thousands?) of people, she wasn't even nervous.

Meanwhile, I was so excited and anxious for her that I'm pretty sure I forgot to breathe. I love that girl.

Cousin's Play to Wedding Day!

I am definitely a fan of people getting married, especially when I am invited to the festivities. And especially when there are beautiful decorations to ogle over. And triply especially when delicious food is involved.

Earlier this week, my cousin Melissa tied the knot with her main-man Bryan at the Salt Lake Temple. (to learn more about temples, go here.)

Melissa grew up in Salt Lake. I grew up in Las Vegas. Therefore, we didn't get to hang out a lot. But I remember being pen pals with her for a while when we were little and getting letters from her. When I went to visit Utah, we would play ping pong in Grandma's basement and dress up in old clothes from the 40's.

And once, we went to a pioneer village and Melissa provoked an angry chicken and then we had to run from it. It made the day memorable.

Mel and I circa 1999. On a horse. In heavy shade.
Big HOLLA to Jess for finding this picture for me! :)

And now, years later, Melissa is a married woman! A funny one at that. A while after she came out of the temple, she said, "I hope you write about this on your blog!!"

Anything for you girl. I mean, we survived that angry chicken together. After we lived through that,I feel like we have to be there for each other.

M + B

Sarah, Jess and I basking in the wedded bliss of the day.

I loved her beautiful, vintage-y dress, and I loved her classy dinner. She has a unique style of her own and I admire that she planned everything to reflect her own tastes.


Isn't it fun to appreciate the different styles and ideas from different weddings? I love it. This is coming from a girl who just spent her Friday night at home watching Say Yes to the Dress and eating chips and salsa. (Shut up, I'm cool...)

Congrats Melissa and Bryan! May your married life together be full of love and happiness, and not too many angry chickens. Although with spunky Mel, you never know.

;)

Hey sis.

I have two sisters. Sisters are great. They’re like best friends that never have to leave your house when everyone’s getting cranky. And they have to put up with you, so you can do pretty much anything and get away with it in the long run. Like run around like a hooligan in your house and dance on tables. And they just don’t judge. Because they already know you’re crazy. No charade!!

I think the best memories of sisterhood come from times where we just were in THAT mood where everything was funny, and usually someone peed their pants. Usually me. Don’t want any undue shame going to my sisters for that.

I loved those rare occasions when one of my sisters would let me jump into her bed with her. Rare, because I was an annoying, over-giggly person to be around in general, but at night especially I would get hyper when people wanted to sleep. My sisters are go-to-bed people. I am a force-your-eyelids -to -stay -open -as -long -as -you -can -manage –with- no -regard -to -consequences person. It’s quite lonely in a family of go-to-bedders. (Not to be confused with bed-wetters.)

But once in a while, one of my sisters would let me climb in their bed with her and whisper-talk the night away. For a while at least, until I got kicked out by my parents. You see, I have a severe giggling problem. And somehow sister’s beds really, really aggravate this severe condition. It’s like an automatic allergic reaction.

Jess was wise beyond her years when she taught me the technique of the “Pillow Smother.” Basically, when I was laughing so hard that the parents were sure to hear and come break up the party, she would make me smash my face into my pillow as hard as I could to smother the sound. The problem was, it would, almost without fail, make me giggle harder and louder. And then we would hear footsteps coming from down the hall, and the door would open, and I would be forced to my own bed.

“PLEASE!! No!! I’ll be good! We’ll be quiet!! I promise I won’t giggle anymore! We’ll go to sleep!!” Pleading and whining was my only hope at this point. And sometimes, it would actually work!!

Obviously, I’d want to stay because there was so much left to talk about sister to sister. Somehow, this always made me crave macaroni and cheese. I’m not even kidding. Jess’s bed has this unexplainable ability to make me want nothing more than a giant bowl of mac’n’cheese. Something deep within my subconscious probably.

“Psst!! Jess! I want mac’n’cheese SOOOO BADDD!!!!” And then we would giggle and the footsteps would come back and I was toast.

And if the footsteps didn’t come back, eventually I would laugh so hard that Jess would push me out of her bed because she was afraid I would pee my pants on her sheets.

That feels like a long time ago. Now the sisters are growing up. Jess finished her masters degree last week and after this summer, she's moving away for a job. Little Sarah is graduating high school pretty soon and leaving the nest. I'm on my way to my college dreams. Somehow, it will never be the same as when we were little, but if I believe in anything, I believe in the beauty of sisters.






'When were little, we stuck together when daddy picked on us and teased us. Now, we stick together when life decides to pick on one of us.

A sister is a better friend than a best friend could ever be. "A sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost." (Marion C. Garretty.)





Also, I REALLY want some macaroni and cheese now.

The Tale of the Immortal Goldfish

Once upon a time, I was ten years old and a fifth grader at Charlotte Hill Elementary school. We had a harvest festival on an autumn (probably still too hot in Vegas) October day, and I won four goldfish at one of the booths.

My dad took me to Petco and we bought a bowl, some rocks and some fishy food, and I lovingly made a nice home for my little friends.

The days went on, and, as gold fish are known to do, they started dying. Well, three of them did. We had tearful flushing funerals for each one when it was their time to go.

I was left with one, lone goldfish, swimming in a large bowl. And it kept swimming, and swimming and swimming. In fact, it just wouldn't die.

I turned eleven, and then twelve, and then thirteen, and then fourteen and this dang goldfish still kept swimming and swimming around that dang bowl. Every single day. It got bigger and bigger, until it didn't even fit in its little goldfish net!

not my fish, but they all look the same.

It's not that I'm a cruel person, or that I don't value life at every level, but, honestly, goldfish don't provide you with that much joy for having to clean the bowl and drop food pellets in the water every day. We didn't have a very good relationship. In fact, I forgot its name. It didn't even have an official name for most its life! My bad.

I remember going on family trips and leaving the goldfish for a week a time, and coming back to that little survivor, still swimming circles in its bowl. Even starvation could not kill it.

One day, I was cleaning the bowl. I had never gotten around to buying a bigger net, so I scooped up the beast of a fish in the little net to change its bowls. But this day, monster fish had Free Willy on his mind and he flopped out and onto the bathroom floor, flipping and squirming around like.... well... like a fish out of water! (bahaha..ha.. okay sorry)

"Ayyyyeeeeee!!!" I screamed. "Daddddddddd!!!!"

Dad never came. He was outside. I didn't want to touch the slimy thing, so I stood there, paralyzed, as Fishzilla flopped and flopped, and then went still. Looking at the cold, lifeless fish body on the floor, my caring human side took over and I quickly grabbed the fish and threw it into the water.. and watched it float, dead, in the bowl.

Then, like a miracle straight out of the New Testament, Mr. Fishy came to life. And started swimming, and swimming and swimming.

Conclusion: This fish was immortal.

He is still alive today.

Just kidding. He died when I was fifteen. But he lived for five good years! He wasn't immortal, but he had a pretty healthy constitution for a goldfish, wouldn't you say?

R.I.P. Fish with no name. I miss you so much.***

***not really that much.

Bullies and Bravery.

I don't miss high school.

I miss that time period in my life sometimes, I miss my friends from high school that I hardly see, I miss the fun times… but high school itself, I definitely DON'T ever miss… ever.

People in high school were rude. I hate rude people. I hated going to school with bullies and dramatic teenage girls and stuck up spoiled kids and gang members and druggies. I hated how mean kids were to each other and to their teachers. I hated seeing SO many people get made fun of, every single day. In the social pyramid, I wasn't at the top and I wasn't at the bottom, but I was sure glad to get out of there!

High school takes a hit on anyone's confidence. I don't care how brave you are… its hard to feel confident when a bully starts taunting you across a classroom. Its hard to hold your head high when someone puts out their foot to trip you in the cafeteria. It happens. It happened to me. Kids are mean.

College, by comparison, is WONDERFUL. I was in heaven when I first arrived at BYU. I was amazed and energized by the maturity of all the people at college. I waited all my life to come to BYU and it was worth every effort. I loved the campus, full of bright, lively, kind people. Students here are working towards something. They are decent and good people. (for more on why I love BYU, read this.)

Here at college, I've discovered myself, and I feel more confident than ever in who I am. College a wonderful place to figure out who you are without people trying to bring you down.

Lets go back to today, 1:03 pm to be exact. I went into my psychology lecture and sat near the back because I was a few minutes late. The boy I sat next to was a standout at BYU, and not in a good way… He had a mullet. A mullet I tell you! A loooong mullet. It was gross. He had a baseball hat cocked to one side and a five 'o'clock shadow covering his forgettable face. His jeans were hanging low and you could sense his arrogance from a mile away. He was sitting by his girlfriend, and they were loud. I'm not innocent of in-class whispering, but this was no whispering. They were having a full on conversation…. And he was vulgar.

It wasn't long before I heard them pointing out people in the class and brutally making fun of them. I was completely shocked. Being at BYU has softened me in the same way high school hardened me. In high school, I was so used to rudeness every day that I ignored those kind of people. Even in one of my seminary classes, I was mocked for being a "goody-two shoes" and my face was a target for spitwads. True story.

But I'm not used to it anymore. I've looked back and thought, surely with the confidence I've acquired, if I were to go back to high-school I could take them! Today was a test of that.

This boy began targeting the freshman boy sitting directly in front of him. He began sticking his head right over the boy's shoulder and reading what he was typing on his laptop while his girlfriend laughed hysterically. The freshman ignored him and didn't let it bother him. But that wasn't what this bully wanted. He tapped the boy and made a rude remark about the clothes he was wearing. This tough freshman boy just shook his head and looked ahead as his bully laughed. Mullet boy was undeterred… he began poking him with his pencil and talking loudly about him inches from his ear as his girlfriend laughed and laughed.

The whole time, I racked my brain, trying to think of some heroic, confident way to react, something to say to set him straight, something that would happen in a teen movie…. something to do to humble this cocky high-school jock archetype who was preying on others in a college lecture hall.

What did I do? I sat there nervously, hoping he wouldn't target me.

I don't mean to besmirch the BYU student body. In four semesters of school here, this boy was the only time I've seen any kind of bullying. The way it shocked me is a sign of how much I take for granted the kindness and maturity of 99 percent of my classmates.

The minutes on the clock slowly ticked by as I sat on the edge of my seat, waiting for class to be over so I could escape the tenseness. As time passed, I remembered. I remembered that this isn't high school. I remembered that I have come so far since I had last faced a bully. I remembered that I have confidence in myself, and that I don't have to be afraid just because of an immature, hairy boy was throwing insults around in a psychology lecture. I felt bad for him for acting so ignorant.

I sat up straight and held my head high until class was over.

What is the point of all this? Did what I write even make sense? I'm not really sure. It was an experience that I wasn't planning on having today but which has been stuck in my mind ever since. I'm still trying to make sense of it all, but what I've come up with so far is this:

True confidence a work in progress.

But above all, what I truly realized today is that I'm so glad I'm not in high school anymore!!

What are your thoughts looking back on high school? What would you do if you faced a bully today? Be honest. Its harder than it seems.

Teenage Dream.

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT:

I am only going to be a teenager for two.... more... weeks....

Actually, LESS than two weeks! Two weeks from today I will be twenty!

Bahhgurslfheithghsl... (<--- that's not German, that's me being angsty about the end of my teenage years.) Most people would be excited about turning twenty, but I am not. I LIKE being a teenager, ok!? It makes me feel young, gives me an excuse to still be a little kid when I want to be, and scares away older boys from dating me, which is sometimes an advantage at BYU. Twenty is like, being an ADULT. What is that?!?!?

Bahh.

I have been a teenager since the day I turned 13 all the way back in seventh grade. I can barely remember what I was like before I turned a teenager! I was just a tiny little deathly shy girl with scrawny little legs who wore gold-rimmed glasses and straight bangs. That's who I was when I turned a teenager. I feel like almost everything that defines who I am today happened since then! Being a teenager is all I know!!

Not only that, but I was a really good teenager! I mean, I'm glad I was good and didn't get into trouble, but did I waste my chance at rebellion?! Should I have been a little more {harmlessly} crazy? I mean, my friends and I had tons of fun times, but did I really take advantage of being a teenager?! Should I have died my hair pink? Worn more outrageous clothing? Broken curfew more often?

HAVE I WASTED MY YOUTH??????????

Luckily, 'tis not too late. I have two weeks. :)

I am dedicating the next thirteen days to living up my last chance at being a teenager!! I started today, by getting feather hair extensions put in my hair. Ok, so its not that crazy and they look subtle, but one of them is purple! So yeah! Rebellion all over that!

library shot! Classy, no? what is going on with my lips?!

My good friend Tatiana put them in for me! She was my next door neighbor in the dorm last year, and we have lived through a lot together... mice infestations, cleaning checks, sharing cooking supplies... we're tight. So when I heard she was doing feather hair extensions I was all on that! If you're in the Provo area and interested, go here.

i lack the ability to make non-deformed peace signs. I apologize.

Here's where you come in, loyal blog readers, friends, family, blog stalkers and strangers alike... I ask you for your suggestions:

What are some things I can do these next two weeks to fully live out my teenage dream!?!?!

My Christmas Wasn't White and I liked it that way!

Sorry to leave you hanging on a depressed note there folks! My little sister said all week she's been opening my blog and it was depressing her to see the same, unhappy post. I feel bad. As if anyone else was checking my blog this week instead of hanging ornaments and sipping cocoa...

Ha. Ha. Ho Ho Ho.

But seriously, things have been going A-OK with me these days. Being home is the best. I think it takes being away for a long time to appreciate the little things:

Free food. And LOTs of it. Ohhhhhhh yeah, HAPPY Amy!!

Free laundry. Excellent. No quarters required. No dragging laundry baskets down icy steps.

No school. My brain appreciates this. It is still recuperating from the tragedy of finals week.

Old friends. Who knows you better than the people you grew up with? And you can make them help you wrap Christmas presents! Its a great arrangement.

NO SNOW. I think that says it all. No wait. Also: SHORT SLEEVES. Yup. Be jellz..

And most of all: FAMILY!!! Being around family is pretty entertaining because they have to love you no matter how many sugar cookies you eat and no matter how many giggling fits you get into once the sugar kicks in. Fantastic.

My mom decided to kick off an annual Christmas Eve nativity play this year with our family. Its gonna be really special years down the road when there are grandkids to dress up and a big family gathered together. This year, it was..... humble..

..And... we don't have enough men to pull off a nativity yet..

My dad already had a wise man costume he was pretty proud of from a nativity play at the church. He was set on wearing it.

My mom decided Jess would be the angel since shes the oldest.

Sarah was going to be Mary.

"Who do I get to be?" I asked innocently.

"Joseph."

I knew it.

The dog was the shepard. I'm not kidding.

Its okay, I know my family still loves me. Even though they didn't choose me to be a beautiful, glowing angel in a long white dress, I'm cool with it. Even though I didn't get to hold a doll wrapped in swaddling clothes and act as the holy virgin mother, I know I'm still appreciated. Even though I had to put my hair back and dress like a man, my feelings are not hurt.....


*sob*



I'm kidding. Who wouldn't want to cross-dress on Christmas Eve? It is hilarious! And so much more memorable.

Best Joseph EVER.

In short:

I love my hilarious family, and...

MERRY CHRISTMAS GANGSTAS!!!

The Science of Syrup

Right now I am trying to read my science textbook. Its not going so hot for me. The fun kind of science is the kind my dad does.

My dad is a self proclaimed "scientist." And I am his trusty assistant. Together (and with the family) we have worked on countless school science projects, taken apart old TVs and answering machines and performed many experiments to answer our curiosities.

But many years ago, we had an experiment go horribly wrong.

The experiment seemed simple enough. We were curious about ants, and how fast they could come to food. So we went out in the backyard and laid down a paper plate filled with maple syrup. Being scientific and such, we decided to start a timer and then come back every few minutes until the ants arrived.

We went in the house, and when we came out a couple minutes later, we had our conclusion.

Dogs are faster than ants.

And our dog was standing there with a plate of maple syrup completely stuck to her little flat face. Get that image in your mind real good.

Poor Candy dog. She has had a lot of traumatic experiences in her life.

RUDE!!

I wish I was doing the fun kind of science right now.

But I think Candy prefers the textbook method.