Yeah, so I figured out it's probably better to go to bed a little earlier the night before Easter.  Being the oldest of six kids, it's more likely to be woken up bright and early to discover what treats the Easter Bunny has left in the traditional basket from when you were a baby as well as across the entire downstairs to hunt out.
  ~ Do not let me forget:  NO SUGAR THIS ENTIRE WEEK.  After an entire monthful of several birthdays, dates, holidays, school-and-other-induced stress, laziness and just plain feminine cravings, I will die if I eat any more.  Anywho. ~
  Of course, we went to church for a lovely service.  And for dinner the cuzins came over and we partied around on Rachel's bed googling Mormon memes and watching Paige mouth songs obnoxiously humorously.
   Like every year, we took a family Easter photo in front of the church.  Then Mom and I got a little carried away with the camera...

   {I had to put a hand to my mouth so as not to laugh as I watched Sophie pose for the camera like a little pro.  I swear this girl has taken lessons.}

• Spring break is nothing other than fantasticness.  Sleeping in not just till 9 or 9:30 but staying up till who-knows-how-late?  Now that sounds fabulous.  
• My cousin Becca also swung in town with her husband Taylor and absolutely adorable baby Graham.  Oh gosh do I want a baby!  {JK, I so could not handle that, but some day... } He was just so darn cute.   

•  Sleepovers with our from-here cousins Kendall and Paige also meant learning experiences.  Paige learned that you're supposed to not mix the blueberries into the mix till last, otherwise you'll have purple blueberry muffins for your midnight snack. And at 2 AM I learned that I should not trust my dear cuz Paige with my phone, otherwise she'll text guys naughty Pitch Perfect references.  Oh man...I love that girl :)
• Sophie has become increasingly crafty.  She has created books, almost life-sized paper dolls and one day she made a tail and beak to transform herself into a peacock. 

• Olivia was, uh, attacked by a cat.  There literally must have been something wrong with it.  Olivia was just petting Jasmine and this thing literally came outa nowhere.  Poor Livy had three puncture wounds in the jaw, clawmarks on the other side of her neck, clawmarks on her arm, on her chest, on her back.  Her shirt was ripped.  Blood gushed even after she took a shower and held towels to it and cried and cried and cried.  She had to get stitches and the animal control had to come get the psychotic {or psycatic, as I accidentily but appropriately mispronounced it} creature.  This was a week-and-a-half ago and her face still keeps swelling up a little bit.  I will spare you the pictures.
• So a few weeks ago we helped deliver our neighbor's puppies.  But a few days ago our Pippa gave birth to ten {nine survived}.  They were several days early but came out looking like they were a week old.  And seriously, is there even a word to describe the amount of "cute" that radiates from them?  I certainly don't mind staying up till 3 babysitting them while I watch Knight and Day.  And I give credit to good friends who insist on staying up texting me till I go to bed. 

  Like seriously.  How DARE any person suggest that I'm probably that kid who, at the last thirty seconds of class, reminds the teacher to give us the homework she would have otherwise forgotten to assign?  No, no, no.  If the teacher has forgotten, then WHOO-HOO! I can actually have a few hours more of a life that evening!

  Dangers lurk in every corner, they sometimes say.
  The human mind, above all, is the greatest weapon available.
  Perhaps it cannot perform physical violence, locked up all fragile beneath a hard skull and thick hair.  But despite fragility, this structure is highly complex and the center of intellect... the imagination, the creativity, the thinker, the inventor of all things humanly dangerous, the willpower to move the rest of the body to perform these dangerous deeds.
  But perhaps it is not the mind of a genius bomb-rigger or trap-setter that is most lethal.
  No, most dark and dangerous is the mind of the most simple and innocent, that lies and deceives and hurts and hates not those around it, but its very own person.  The mind that should protect it's boy or girl, man or woman, but instead conspires against it.
  A beautiful girl whose looks the other girls at school crave gazes into the mirror and does not see what those others do.  As her eyes behold the sight, the image in the glass distorts itself, a hallucination expanding her tiny waistline, flattening her lovely curves, taunting her in the false belief that she is fat and should go to any expense to guarantee a skinny bod that is in fact already there.  Or maybe as she looks into her reflection, she sees her eyes too small, her nose too long.  Her proportions are perfect in the opinion of anyone else, yet she mourns the fact that no amount of dark makeup or extreme weight-loss methods will change the main structure of her looks.
  Another teen cannot sleep at night, constantly thrashing in the humiliation of an embarrassing event that happened earlier.  Really, hardly anyone noticed, and those who did may have giggled harmlessly for a second before forgetting about the whole thing entirely.  Yet the thought of it torments, twisting the memory to think that everyone was most likely snickering cruelly and now he will be labeled a fool forever.
  The mind naturally seeks patterns.  And even completely unrelated things will be plucked from their place and molded to fit into the puzzle as a confirmation of what a person thinks they should be seeing.
       We as humans seek comfort, security, peace, contentment.  Yet so easily we fall into the traps set by ourselves, ensnared in the nets of irrationality.  Why do we do this?
    A girl squeezes her eyes shut, trying to barricade the tears that sting and the sight of the bottle of pills she is dumping entirely into her cupped palm.  The door is locked, and her head aches with the thoughts that absolutely no person on the face of the planet would miss her hopeless soul anyway. 
   We are all born into the world unique in so many ways.  If only we could clear our heads, could see ourselves in a precise balance between confidence and humility.
   Every.  Person.  Is.  Special.
  If only it didn't take sixty compliments to counteract a single insult.  It's tragic, but way too many people suffer from a pain that, even if sparked by others, flares up in a blaze fueled by their own minds.
  I wish we could just say, "Frick you, everything.  I'm me, myself, and I, and that makes me happy."
  But I guess that's just something we all need to work on.
 And at the same time, we need to remember to help boost others in this same manner of thinking.
  Because certainly not all thoughts are destructive.

You requested a letter. So here it is, loozah. You have been gone for way to long-- so long that you don't technically even deserve this letter-- but I figure by writing it that I have an excuse for not editing my arête essay, so you're lucky to get off the hook. I mean, come on! A day without you is a year without rain. (Wondering what song just popped up on my iPod?) So just imagine the drought we're experiencing here. You see, this is cruel! And not to mention the other times when you have caused me to completely lose my clarity of vision and the stability of my feet, tickled me so hard I couldn't be breathe,  or made people think this good Mormon girl was a druggie cause I get so high off your wonderfulness. Really, boy? Really? It's not even cool. Okay, actually it's so cool I just can't even handle it, which I guess is precisely the problem.  You just got way too much swag for a 5' chick like me. I mean, I'm pretty small, and there's only so much humor and dreaminess and intellect and musicality and spirituality and hawticality such a petite body can take.  I think I'm starting to get on handle on it. But if you add any more loneliness to dat, I think I'll die. Which would suck. So GET YOUR BUTT HOME and be prepped for a tackle. I don't care if you're not sitting on the couch.
Okay, I wrote a letter. You happy now? Now I would've liked to actually be able to find your house and TP you, or be able to FaceTime you, but I know I got my fair share of luck being able to get you, so sI won't beg to stretch my fortunes any more.

  Guess who's gotta stay off the roads now:  Everyone.  No, I'm kidding, but seriously.  This chick has got.  Her.  License.
  I did pretty well on the test.  Even though my fingers were slightly shaky with nervousness, I just gripped the steering wheel tighter and tried to do as well as I could, though it wasn't perfect.  After it was done, my instructor smiled and had me stop in the shade.  He was about to get out of the car, give me my papers, and be done, but then a car pulled out of a parking spot and as a last-second thought he told me to just go ahead and shift back into drive to park in the spot.  Of course it would be on this unnecessary extention of the test that I would be docked two points, parking crooked.  Only me...
  But ladies, and gentlemen-- I passed, and now I am free!

  I think I'm just gonna keep writing stuff on my bucket list.  Because within two days after writing "skiing" on my bucket list, out of 100% coincidence Daddy pulled me aside and said, "Hey, lets have you ditch school and learn how to ski."

   We left on Sunday and drove up to northern AZ to a resort snuggled in forest.  It was late when we got there with the eight of us and some old family friends, so mostly we just hung around.  Outside a hot tub streamed, so we took a dip.  Not before checking off one more thing on my bucket list-- rolling around in the snow in a tankini.  My whole backside was numb.
 On Monday Dad, Rachel, Adam and I got up fairly early with Brian, Tyler, and LeAnne and drove to the ski resort.  Snow blanketed the earth is a quilt of crystals, the sun flickering off the white flakes blindingly.
Since I have never gone skiing before, at first I was wobbling wildly and couldn't step once without falling flat.  But after a half-hour or so I finally caught on and was able to go down the bunny slope, and then the legit one.  It was exhilarating, the wind whipping my face and tugging my hair as I zipped precariously down a mountain.  I vowed never again to go down the biggest slope after having to force Brian to help me down the practically-vertical incline, but hopefully I can get over that eventually.  They had just failed to tell me this slope would be so precarious, and as a first-time skier who isn't all that professional at stopping, it was just a wee bit frightening to see sheer drops that would be my death if I couldn't halt a half-second quick enough.  But aside from that...  I can't wait for the next chance to ski!  Ready for the Y?  I'd say yes.

  Well, this has become so cliche`, but school is hard.  I have lost count the number of times I've stayed up between twelve and two in the morning trying to cram in obnoxious loads of homework.  But what can I say?  No wonder I've gotten behind on blogging.

• Chelsea claims she is going through a "stocking" phase.  She being the one with the license, us other four would constantly find ourselves wondering where our ride had gone, finding out within a few minutes that she was pranking us.  One time we called her and she answered whispering.  As it turns out, she had followed Bryan for several minutes as he walked to the neighborhood over where he got picked up, lingering within a few feet of him, while he had no idea.  She even snapped a few creeper shots from behind and then sent them to him from an anonymous number.  He never found out.  So the next day we decided to tag along. After giving hugs, we pretended to walk out to the parking lot.  We stopped and waited after turning the corner and then, waiting for Chelsea's cue, turned back around and followed him silently.  Before we could make it out of the building, though, he caught us.  "Ah, crap!" we moaned.  "We were gonna try to scare you."  He rolled his eyes walked on, laughing.  But we were not finished.  Again, pretending to go back to Chelsea's car, we swung around and this time more silently followed him outside the building and off the school grounds.  We were almost there when some giggles at his oblivion finally made him glance back.  Oh, that priceless look on his face.  "Have you seriously been following me?"  Pretty much.  But that wasn't even Operation O². With the next day a Friday, we took it to the extremes by following him home in Chelsea's car and chalking his house.  Okay, so first we did this to a few of the other boys' houses, and they were successful.  But in the middle of writing inside jokes and drawing kindergarten-worthy pictures on his driveway in hot pink chalk, the door opened, and he walked out with his two little brothers.  There was no escaping now.  One of his brothers found the hose and sprayed the chalk and me.  So I figured-- what the heck?-- and squirted Bryan on full blast with references to All About Us.  YOLO.

   {Nonquality self-taken car photo.}



     {For his dad.  I begged for Bryan not to get a haircut, but once his parents had decided his-- already short-- hair made him look like a Q-tip, no amount of beggings and pleadings could change their minds.    Sorry bro :P }

   
• So here's one thing I learned in this time of blog neglection.  Don't brag.  Especially about your health, flouting how immune you are to all illness just because you didn't get sick for like seven months during the worst flu season in the U.S. in ten years.  Because then you'll end up getting really sick.
•      One day I came home to this.  How cute, right?  These babies are fighters, born premature and tiny and pink.  But they sure know how to squeal and wriggle around.

• Another day Daddy decided to shave Armani.  He's our Madagascaran Coton de Tulear born in Paris.  When he was a puppy, his nose looked like the shape of a heart, so we almost named him the French word for "kiss," but decided that might make him sound slightly homo and named him Armani instead.  He's definitely not homo, considering how obsessed he is over even the golden retrievers that are six or seven times his size just because they are girls.  Yes, he has even lifted his leg on them and growls furosiously at the male golden as if he thinks he is more than ten pounds.  Okay, he can be pretty sweet though.  I am just glad to say that his haircut ended up looking slightly better than this in the end.   Here he is in flight and looks quite like he has been through horrors.

• We now have Rachel and her stupid sciene project to blame for the fact that we can never clean the bathroom without Mom coming in with the blacklight to make sure every surface is 100% clear of of glowing bacteria again. 

Don't you just love speaking in front of hundreds of people.  Well, I don't.  But that didn't prevent me from having to give a talk in church yesterday, the topic being gratitude...Skipping introductions and fancy endings, I do hope that this is a good opinion of such a graceful word, gratitude...











So now, I must say that I am grateful to be a member of the Church. I am grateful for the courage of those fight for freedom and goodness.  I am grateful for family and friends who so graciously support me.  I am grateful for a roof over my head, food to eat, an education.  And most of all, I am thankful for the One who created this beautiful earth and then died that we might be saved. 

 
   With this in mind, lately I've become a little sick of this thing called judging.
     According to Dictionary.com, the word judgment means "the forming of an opinion, estimate, notion, or conclusion, as from circumstances presented to the mind" and, as it is applied to every day life, it can really make huge impacts.
   Judgement can be good and it can be bad.
  Throughout the course of history, people have fought against the bad kind of judgement.  It has only been within the past few decades that, in the U.S., non-white people and women in general have began to have more equalities.
  Is this always what judgement is?
   For one thing, there is a difference between "for-the-moment" judging and "permanent" judging.  If you're a teenage girl walking alone at night and a guy pulls up-- say, a super huge muscular guy with some tats and shades hiding his eyes in a big ghetto car blasting raunchy music-- catcalling out to you and waves you over, who knows?  Maybe in reality he is this super nice guy, you're best friend's dad, president of Save the Children Organization, whatever.
   It would be nice of you to assume this.
   However, you don't know.  And in this moment of you being the good, positively-judging girl standing inches from his car, you might not realize that perhaps he is really the top-of-the-hit-list kidnapping serial murderer who has been spying on you for the past year and is now about to reach out and slam you're head unconscious against the frame and drag you inside the car to never see sunlight again.
  Of course, this would not be so nice of you to assume.
  However, in this tiny moment, this is a judgement you must place.  Because if this one in a millionth chance is true, you're dead.  I mean, it's happened before, and I highly doubt the little kid who disappeared thought the nice old man in the ice cream truck was anything but nice.
  Tomorrow, you're best friend might introduce the man with the shades as her dad.  Or you will see his picture on the local newspaper with an award for having raised $10 grand for the children in Africa.   Then you might call it safe to drop the earlier judgements you made standing outside his car.
  You made those judgements as split-second guessing for safety's sake.
  Now, you have the chance to get to know him, to judge him for who he really is.
  In other situations, however, I've found judging to be absolutely not okay.  It is long-term, and if used negatively, it can hurt.   
  Really, I doubt it will save you life to assume that the new girl walking into class is a slut.  I doubt avoiding so-and-so because he said that she said that her cousin said that so-and-so talks to that one guy is going to prevent you from a dying horrible death either.
  So, don't judge.
  I've noticed that in this town we have a lot of stereotypes.  As a Mormon, I feel guilty by association because other Mormons I know seem to think that just because someone is/isn't Mormon they are automatically a perfect/wicked person.  The funny thing is, this kind of judgement is totally contradicting what my church stands for.
  Though, on the contrary, one of my own ancestors suffered the difficulties of having to cross from Denmark to America and then from the East Coast to Utah, losing family to begin with and then being cheated along the way all because he was Mormon. {long story}
  No, I will not base my judgements of someone on their race, their religion, their rumors.  Instead, I will develop opinions of someone off of what they do and when I talk to them, finding who they are inside.  I must hear the whole story and be a good listener when they talk to me because, even though others might whisper stories of what happened at one time or another, people always have the ability change or at the very least the right to explain themselves.  Just like matter can't be created nor destroyed, issues usually don't evolve out of nothing.  There is almost always a reason, whether it is good or bad.
  I pity celebrities who are forced under a molecular microscope.
  Maybe I disagree with people's values.  Maybe I really, really do not like with what they are doing.  But unless they threaten the practice of my own values, would it be better at times to remember that maybe they were raised under/have faced different circumstances?