A Good Idea....

Getting packed for the mission was disappointing for one reason only. Not because it was a reminder that I was leaving my family (and future family) for a year and a half. Not because I had packed into other boxes, reminders of what my joyful life had been for the previos 22 years.

THIS was the reason it was disappointing:

I spent $1000 dollars on new clothes that I didn't really like. Don't get me wrong, I was never once, a day in my mission, a frumpy missionary. I made an oath that I wouldn't be and I wasn't. This oath wasn't driven by vanity. It was driven by self-respect, and respect for the message I bore.

But the point is this: I made hundred dollar purchases on skirts that I did not want to immediately model for my mother and best friends when I got home from the store. And the shoes I bought--- there was no temptation to don them before the appropriate date. I never once lovingly opened my closet to look, and touch gently the new clothes that in just a few days would turn other's heads in admiration. That was not the nature of those clothes. Those clothes were professional. They were tidy. They were modest. And they were FRIGHTFULLY practical.

So, after all that spending, I decided against spending more on things like pajamas.They weren't going to be seen by anyone but roommates anyway. So I just took 2 pairs of drawstring flannels that had been purchased by my mother at the beginning of my freshman year of college. Make do...Remember? (Note: I left on my mission the middle of my senior year of college.)

While living with 5 other sister missionaries in Connecticut, Christmas was quickly approaching. We decided to draw names and give each other a small gift. Unbeknown to myself, my flannels had apparently hit rock bottom. I was made aware of this when, for Christmas, I was given the cutest pair of apple jammie bottoms I had ever seen. Attached was a note that said simply, "Now you can get rid of those nappy things you wear to bed every night." The epiphany was immediate. She was right. Those things were disgusting and I had just been ignoring it.

To make a long story short, let's just say that this entire scenario has repeated itself again this week. With I in my nappy jammie bottoms, and Paul in his let-me-make-her-life-better-attitude. I came home last Monday, to new, wonderfully comfortable pajama bottoms.

And here, finally, is the good idea. Paul, himself, dons some pretty sick flannels. The kind you can't wear anywhere but your own bedroom because the placement of their holes would make other people blush (or tell crude jokes. We do have 7 brothers between the two of us.) And FOR-THE-FIRST-TIME-EVER, I will be the Nappy Pajama-Bottom Rescuer. I will lay those sad puppies to rest. Wish me luck--I am going shopping!

Discovery Part 1

I've come to terms with the idea that I live by the motto "Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without," without even thinking about it. Perhaps it's a survival mode left over from those college days of $3.17 in the bank account for two weeks. I'm not sure of the roots, but when others ask what do you think needs improvement, we have this money over here? or even just What do you need for such and such? I really struggle. I've spent no time figuring out what I need that could make something better. My energies have all been focused on what on earth can I do with this that I have right here?

They gave me $560 to spend in my classroom my first year. (Half year, really.) WHAT IN THE HECK DO I DO WITH THIS? I don't have a clue what I'm doing here and you expect me to tell you what supplies I need to DO it?

Finally---after much deliberation---I realized I could use an easel that actually held things up off the ground, Instead of that thing I used to lean other things against. Awkwardly. If they weren't too heavy. But in my haste to spends the funds at the end of the year, I ordered the most expensive easel that probably ever existed. I ordered an easel that probably could have doubled as a major support beam. When the monstrous box marked "EASEL" showed up in my classroom, I left it alone for weeks, afraid to confront the beast, overwhelmed by this over-sized commitment. Where was I going to put that? It became the proverbially ignored elephant in the room in an sort of literal way.

When finally, I had the emotional energy to confront the problem, I found that I had purchased with that precious money, no major support beam. Nor did I have the easel of all easels worthy of displaying the art of the Masters. No. No, I did not. But I did have SIX identical CRAPPY easels.

The point of all this being that I had spent months getting along just fine with or without that blasted easel and this, I feel, is a good thing. But I also see as a good thing, the ability to look around at a situation and say hey, if we do this, we can make this other thing over here, so much better, then find a way to make that happen. So I've been working on that and I find it's working for me.

My principal suggested incorporating a program that important training would be given monthly. The only catch was that many of the teachers would have to get a substitute on the same day once a month. The former me would have said, "Okay. I'll make that work." But the growing me thought about it, developed an opinion, shared that opinion, and found myself changing the course of the outcome. Maybe this comes naturally to many of you, but this is progress for me. I am finding a voice. Troubleshooting. Purposefully allocating resources instead of wasting them on 6 easels (which just take up space in my closet right now. 2 years later.) I see this as a process of moderation. "Moderation in all things" That's what they say. I'm getting the hang of that one too.

Second Rehersal

It's tricky for me to write this blog. I've read from bloggers that one should not blog about blogging. I even have this creepy feeling that I am supposed to be linking the word "blogging" to the person/ post where I read that. But I am going to claim the novice role and this is why: I am not entirely sure what the purpose of my blog is yet (hence the hesitancy to share with others...where there is no vision the blogs perish...I don't want others to watch a part of me perish. I don't feel that makes me unique.) Is this a journal? Is this where I develop the writer in me that at times has expressed a desire to stand and then is politely sat back down as the rest of my life demands all my time and attention? WHAT AM I TRYING TO MAKE HERE?!?!? Is it a memoir? Is it all of those things and how much of each? WHO IS MY AUDIENCE?

These questions plague me, and that is why no one knows about my internet experiment except my Mom and Paul. I have no true secrets. I mean that. There's not a thing about me that I haven't at least attempted to express to either or both of those people. Like many others, I simply don't process without speaking. (That's also very UNLIKE many others, I have come to learn. For example: Paul. Opposites do attract. How on earth would I have the time to process if Paul spent all day talking? Really. We're a perfect match.)

So for now, Paul and Mom, you are my audience. I am allowed to mess up my lines in front of you. Immediately I feel relief. These are rehearsals and Mom and Paul are watching as I develop this character that I will be for this blog...this seems so true to real life. And so we go.

On a day when profoundness evades me...

True confessions?
1. I have no plans to show this to anyone until I've decided if it will stick or not. Nothing seems to compare with the feelings of visiting an unwanted blog...especially one that had potential.
2. I made sure that profoundness was actually a word. Paul and I make up words to amuse ourselves. The more suffixes the better (so long as its actual meaning can be inferred/deduced---or deducified for those of you who were wondering what I meant) and truthfully, I sometimes forget which words are real and which are the fruits of humorous conversation.
3. I don't know if I can post pics of my students, but I really want to because they are the type of people a person really should know. You know, the kind who love you, find you hysterical, love everything you love, and think it's a treat to have lunch with you. Who wouldn't want that? Who doesn't NEED that?
4. When I titled the entry, I thought I had nothing to say. But now, I think maybe I did. And so we go...