Flashback Friday: Honeypot Notes Edition

Before I got married, I lived in building 4 of an apartment complex called The Glenwood.  We like to call it the Glen-Hood, because it was pretty ghetto inside those apartments. But I digress.  My point is, our building all went to church together (except for the basement floor, they went with another basement floor.  You can't trust the basement dwellers, we had to shun them off on their own.)  Anyways, because we all went to church together, we all attended ward prayer together, every Sunday evening.  After we actually did the singing and praying and spiritual part of the night, it was social hour.  Amidst the socializing, you had the option to leave Honeypot Notes (I think that's what we called them, I could be mistaken, but honey was definitely in the description).  Basically, you took a tiny slip of paper, wrote your message to whomever you wanted, folded it in half, and wrote their name and apartment number on the outside, then flung it in a basket to be delivered. 


Some of these were so awesome, I just had to save them.  Here are some of the first we ever received.  They were all from the same two boys, to our whole apartment.  Kind of random and weird, but so was our friendship with them.

The bottom left one actually does have an explanation--we had a sign hanging in our kitchen that said "I kiss better than I cook."  It was popular among our male callers...

Sometimes we got nice ones.

Sometimes they were just from each other.

 For the record, that first one is NOT from Dan.  It's from my roomie, Katherine.  Long story.  Kind of embarrassing.  So, for now, I'm not sharing haha.  The second is from my roommate Lacey.  We show our affection through arguing (it helps release steam, or something like that.)  When she calls me names, it means she loves me.

As time wore on and the school year progressed, friendships developed and grew closer.  One of my best friends that year was Greg.  He was British, sarcastic, and slightly anti-social, so obviously we made a pretty great pair.  We even dated for a bit...but then I met Dan and the rest is history.  Sorry, Greg, but at least I saved these awesome Honeypot Notes to memorialize our ill-fated friendship!  (Note: We're actually fine, no hard feelings, he left to serve a mission and now he's home and engaged and we've made nice since then.  Hurray, because Greg is great!)

We used to joke that whoever got the most honeypot notes was the most popular...so it kind of became a competition in both our apartments.
I do hope you recognize his rendition of a beloved Pixar film character--we had a girl in our building who resembled her in both looks and personality.  (The planning meetings he's referring to were for a committee we were both on to plan activities/parties for our building.  We're pretty sure the only reason we were assigned to the committee was so that we would actually go to the events haha.)

So long memory lane, until next week.  (Sorry if this bores everyone else, but I love reliving my youth.)

Flashback Friday: Birthday Edition

Since I turned 23 yesterday, birthdays past are on my brain.  Here are a few of my favorites.

My Sweet Sixteen.
It's hard for it not to be a memorable birthday when your friends ambush you before school and forced you into the most ridiculous outfit ever, the main component being a shiny, floor-length, silver dress, accessorized with a fluffy, white feather boa.  And we can't forget the Birthday Princess Crown or the sign pictured below.  What you can't see (or hear) is the jingling bell that alerted everyone to my presence.  Just in case anyone missed that spectacle, my friends had also placed signs all over the school with my picture stating that today was, in fact, my sixteenth birthday.

I was pretty excited to turn sixteen and be (officially) date-able. While I was at BYU, I ran into a friend from my old ward in Florida.  She's a few years younger than me, but she was telling me one of her favorite memories of me occurred the Sunday after my birthday.  I raised my hand in Young Women to say I had an announcement.  What was it?  Just that I wanted to let everyone know I was FINALLY sixteen and would be available for dates.  So, you know, tell your cute brothers and stuff.  I'm kind of embarrassed by that now, but I was bolder in my youth.

Two Decades.
My favorite birthday present I have ever received was a diamond ring.  (It will probably always be my favorite birthday present, that's kind of hard to beat, right?)  I don't have any pictures from that event, but here are some from my "surprise" birthday party my roomie/bff Katherine threw for me. It was supposed to be a surprise, but I kind of already knew what was going on...but it was still one of my favorite birthdays ever!

Also, I had an awesome-amazing-super-duper visiting teacher back then.  She always brought delicious treats and was always looking for ways to be my friend in a genuine/non-creepy way.  She left this note on my door.  It was a fairy tale (starring me!), using details that she'd remembered from our visits.  So sweet and almost made me cry.  Made an already spectacular birthday even better.

Twenty-three, you were a pretty monumental year.  I traveled.  I puked (a lot).  I lost one of my best friends.  I survived a wind storm.  I finally learned to like fruit!  I celebrated two years of love and bliss.  I became a mother.   My husband took (and passed!) the Dental Boards...and I survived his absence during the hours and hours of studying.  I welcomed home a missionary and a friend.  I watched my sister begin life as an adult.  I celebrated family, and watched as my priorities and ambitions began to take a slight shift.  I made a whole lot of cookies.  I grew a lot as a person.  But I'm still pretty much flying through life by the seat of my pants.  I don't think I want it any other way. 

Flashback Friday (Late Edition!): The Canyon

(Is it fair to call this Flashback Friday even though it's Saturday?  Probably not, but at least I'm starting it up again!)

 

Above pictures from the cabin this last week.

Driving up the canyon to the cabin got me thinking.  I love the Provo Canyon.  It somehow manages to take my breath away, no matter the time of year.  As we wound our way along the Provo River, watching the waterfalls and trees whiz by, my nostalgia kicked in (as usual.)  I have some pretty good memories in that canyon.  Here are some moments I would love to relive.

We woke up Saturday morning feeling lethargic.  About as hungover as you can feel without actually consuming alcohol the night before.  Our heads ached, and our hearts had whiplash.  So we ran to the car and drove to the refuge of the canyon.  We stopped on a viewpoint at the side of the road, and some cathartic silliness happened.  I always felt like I could take on the world with these girls by my side.  BYU would not have been the same without them.  Pictures circa November 2008.

"The Almost Camping Trip" Circa October, 2007.  

It started out like a good idea.  New friends, quick trip up the canyon, escape from the pressures of college life.  Except it started to rain.  And, oh my, was it ever cold.  So. Cold.  So Ben and Kaleb tried out an anti-rain dance (pictured above).  But apparently it was a wind dance, because after that, the wind started howling.  Yeah, we chickened out and drove back to Provo.  Why is this experience of misery one of my favorites?  Because I feel like it solidified our friendship, if it hadn't been already.  Nothing brings you together like Mother Nature's cruelty.

I don't know what it was about the canyon, but there was something therapeutic about the twists and turns.  It seemed that even if you began the drive feeling like ripping someone's head off..

...you always left a little more at peace with yourself, and with the world.  Whether you achieved that through screaming the lyrics to your favorite song with your best friend, or sitting quietly alone with your thoughts, or running and jumping and laughing off the steam, it happened.  I think Provo Canyon may be my Zen place.

Oooootah!

London's first road trip was a success! I'm always surprised at how well London travels.  Maybe I am going in with low expectations, and when she doesn't scream most of the way I'm in shock.  Dunno, but I'm sure she won't always be such an easy travel companion, so I will enjoy it while I can.  We had lots of fun visiting with family and old college/high school friends.  Although I decided I must officially be old because I feel like this was the first time in my life I wasn't running into people left and right on campus.  And all the students looked young to me.  And plus my little sister goes there now, so I'm clearly an ancient artifact.  I am turning 23 next week, after all. 

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 1&2. Ice cream at the Creamery with Natasha and Auntie Hopey.

3&4. Lunch with the family at Station 22. (Yes, that is a giant corndog Natasha is holding.)

5.  Relaxing at the cabin one morning.

6.  With my Babooshka! AKA Lisa, one of the greatest roommates eva.

7.  Sharon reunion! With my Debo, Catherine Jones, my reason for living.

P.S. Thanks to Grandma Carrie for letting us tag along on her trip!

Home

1.

 Sorry for the absence the past week.  This month has felt like a whirlwind. It seems like we've been going, going, going all month, and as much as I love adventures and parties and family and friends and long road trips and swimming and the movies and the beach and mountains and BYU and hellos and goodbyes and visits and surprises and long lost friends and shopping and trying new things and the cabin and reminiscing...it's nice to be back in my own home and have the opportunity to breathe for a bit.

2.

 Last night when I finally got home from our trip to Utah, I wasn't feeling very well.  I had a bit of a head cold and between the pressure from driving through all the mountains and the twists and turns and bumps and a really big lunch, my stomach just wanted to turn itself inside out.  All I could even think about doing was passing out on my bed (and maybe making a quick trip to the bathroom so my stomach could finish taking care of that whole turning itself inside out thing.)  Dan helped me into bed and brought me some medicine and cough drops with a glass of water, he fed London and played with her until she was ready for bed, he changed her diaper and put her in some jammies and laid her down for bed.  After spending almost a week without him, it's not hard to remember why I love him.  It's so good to be home.
 

3.

1. London playing in the living room.

2. Waking up at the cabin this last week.

3. Bowling with Dan's family.

The Summer of Dan

Do you ever watch Seinfeld?  We love it at our house.  The summer before Dan and I graduated from BYU, he proclaimed it, "The Summer of Dan."  His only responsibilities were one class and his janitorial job at the Marriott Center.  He basically hung out for three months.  He probably watched a lot of Seinfeld (...he definitely played a lot of golf...) I don't really know the details of all he did, because I was busy trying to cram my senior year of college into three and half months.  So I didn't really get to enjoy the original Summer of Dan.

But I get to enjoy this one!  Dan decided to take his Board exam early this summer (as in yesterday!)  That means he doesn't have to study for it anymore.  AND because he'll be starting to do more work in the clinic, he has less class.  Less class means less homework.  Since all this time just freed up, it is officially the Summer of Dan (again)!!

To kick it off this year, we walked over to My Sweet Cupcake. (I need to watch out or I'll become a "regular" over there and end up with my own TLC show about how I'm too fat to move).

Dan and Chocolate-Dipped Banana Cupcake

London wishes she were big enough for cupcakes.  P.S. Like her retro BYU outfit?  It was mine.

Dan decided that the moment after I shoved the rest of my cupcake in my mouth that it was a good time for a photo-op.

Red Velvet Cupcake means you have to lick the cream cheese frosting off your fingers.

Bein' bashful.

A wittle yawn.

 

And in other news, Grammie and Grampie finally got to meet this little one:

What a great pic!

Lovin' my life and my little family right now!  We have a couple of vacations in the works this summer, and I can't wait to see what else the Summer of Dan holds.  Hopefully it involves more cupcakes...

Flashback Friday: Our Blood Runs Blue.

I'm a third generation Cougar.  Saying my family loves BYU might be putting it mildly.  When I was a wee little lass, my father decided to change careers, and this necessitated a return to Provo to pursue a masters degree.  Being avid sports fans, they still tried to attend as many of the games as possible, which resulted in half of my wardrobe looking like this:

When I finally got my chance to go to BYU on my own, I was pumped.  However, my first semester was....a little rough I guess.  I had a hard time adjusting to being on the other side of the country, far from my family and friends, learning in a class room setting (I had been homeschooled for two years), but most of all to the Utah culture.  Don't worry, I got over all the angst by Thanksgiving, and then proceeded to have some of the best years of my life in good ol' P-town.  However, during my few months of wallowing, my parents became concerned that I was missing out on some very important aspects of student life.  Namely, the football games.  So, I received this e-mail from my father.  I printed it out and hung it over my desk, because I loved it so much.  I still have that copy and will treasure it always.  It's just classic.

"Lauren

You are required to go to the Utah game on Saturday.  I will not pay your winter semester tuition unless you go.  I don't care if it is snowing and it's 15 degrees outside.  The Cougars need your support.  This is a critical part of your college experience, not to mention you education and indoctrination.  You see, you may not realize this as it is happening, but you are undergoing a gradual change as you live out your experience in Provo.  At some point in the experience (usually between your sophomore and junior years) your mind and body will experience a strange metamorphosis which will actually cause your blood to turn blue and create an unexplained loathing in your mind for the color red.  Replays of Cougar victories over the red menace from the north will become your most cherished memories.  This change will stay with you for the rest of your life and will firmly ensconce you in front of the television for every televised BYU sporting event (few as they may be depending on where you may live).  This change is not just physical and psychological, but spiritual as well.  [Warning, this is where my father gets slightly sac-religious, so you may want to skip over this next sentence if you are easily offended...but it's kind of funny.]  Once you have been endowed and have the privilege of wearing garments, you will feel inspired to use a blue sharpie to write the name of the Lord's university (in very small, reverent letters) on the tag.  This is entirely appropriate and will serve as a constant reminder to you of the more important things in life.  But if you don't go to the games and get behind the teams, you may not experience this change and my money will have been wasted.  So get your butt out there and wear blue."

My husband is just as much of a BYU sports fanatic as my parents, if not more so, and our future daughter's wardrobe is already reflecting this.  Here are a few of her most choice outfits for the first few months of life.

Please note that my mother saved the outfit on the left from when I was baby.  Hence the awesome retro blue.

It's hereditary.

Flashback Friday: Big Sister of the Year Award, 2007

My youngest brother is adopted.  He's also 17 years younger than me.  But golly, is he cute.  A month after he joined our family, I left for college.  Since he was still a baby, he got to come with my parents to Utah to drop me off at good ol' BYU.  And then this video happened.

Baby Jack was so thirsty, but we didn't have any formula for him...and for some reason no one thought to put water in his sippy cup.  Someone did have a Diet Coke though, and naturally that made the most sense to give to an 11 month old.  Naturally.  (Sorry the video is sideways, I'm technically challenged and don't know how to fix that.)

My favorite is my Grampie saying in the background, "Jack, it is an acquired taste."  I think he acquired it, because he definitely loves his soda these days.

Flashback Friday: The Society of Sharon

(Note: Although my grandmother's name is Sharon, that is simply coincidence.  A very lucky coincidence.  I wish my real name was Sharon.)

My friends and I...we're kind of weird.  But it's a good, funny weird.  Not a scary, what-on-earth-is-that-person-even-thinking weird.  ...I hope.  Last night I was conversing with my friend Rashelle over facebook about the "good old days" (aka, high school).  Rashelle and I were quite the dynamic duo.  My mother will tell you that means we were always up to no good.  (But our shenanigans nearly always made her laugh.)  I'm not really sure why or when exactly, but one day we started referring to each other as Sharon. It started out as just a joke.  But "Sharon" somehow grew bigger than expected.  Everywhere we went, other people began using it.  One summer at girls camp we got everyone to speak with a British accent and refer to each as Sharon.  People liked it; it somehow made them feel as if they were part of a club.  And in a way, they kind of were.  Sharon had outgrown our childish jokes and become a title of respect and friendship.  We would say whenever anyone acted in a way we rather they didn't, it was because they weren't a Sharon.  We referred to our mothers as "Momma Sharon."  Upon seeing one another, our greeting was always a joyful shout of, "SHARON!  HOW LOVELY TO SEE YOU!!"
When I left for college, Sharon-speak had kind of become a habit.  And it caught on with my roommates, because fortunately, they were fellow Sharons.  I know I had nothing to do with it, they were already swimming in the essence of Sharon.  Sharons aren't made you know, they're born.  You're probably wondering right now if you are grand enough to gain entrance into our wonderful sisterhood.  Well I'll give you some pointers.
You might be a Sharon if:

You love to take awkward candid pictures of people.

You always look sassy for the Mormon Dance. (Ignore the sexy ankles thing.  That's a whole other story.)

You love to make massive amounts of cookies at least weekly.

You're a tourist in your own town.

Fast food is more fun late at night than during the daytime.

You sneak into the kitchen at Girls Camp to eat...Bacon bits.  Or Brownies.  Or whatever you can find.

You can sleep anywhere.

You wield a large spoon.

You look smokin' hawt all the time.  Or at least most of the time.

You can find other Sharons no matter where you live.

Sharons!

You often find yourself with this expression on your face.

Things like this happen at random.

You hold articles of clothing hostage.

When asked to construct a wedding dress out of toilet paper, you come up with the middle look.

You appreciate good lookin' men.

And they appreciate you, even when you look like this.

You are as gangsta as they come.

This post is dedicated to all my fellow Sharons.  This post probably didn't make any sense to anyone except for you.