I don't think I've ever been as excited to make my list of New Year's goals as I am this year. I think my excitement has much to do with the fact that I wrote last year's goals in the front of my planner and then referred back to them nearly once a week during 2009, if I got bored in church. So my goals actually meant something all year long AND kept me entertained in sacrament meeting.
The weekly review kept me on track: here I am at the end of the year with a completed master's thesis, a large number of lit journal rejection slips, and a stack of family history papers completely updated.
Weekly review also helped me revise some goals along the way: in July, after we found out I was pregnant, I had to cross out "lose 25 pounds" and replace it with "have a baby."
In some cases, weekly goal review didn't help me much: turns out, I'm still an inconsistent blogger and a crappy visiting teacher. If you've got any tips on how to get better at either of these, I'm open for suggestions.
Until then, I'm off to finish making my list for 2010. By this time next year, you'll be surprised by how many push-ups I can do.
ready for a new list
the 12 days of christmas, truncated and backwards (or, some christmas #'s that make us happy):
3. Our third Christmas as the Wests. (Also, our last Christmas before the Wests become a family of 3 and not 2.)
2. The second annual Christmas Eve family variety show.
Instead of drawing names to give presents to cousins, we put together a little talent show on Christmas Eve. I like this new tradition; instead of thinking about what everybody wants and what we have to buy, we get to appreciate who everybody is and what's been important to them in the last year.
This year, we listened to musical performances and written thoughts, saw artwork and fancy cupcakes, watched a yo-yo show, etc. I showed off some needle-felted crafts I made and C. showed off his muscles by doing push-ups.
1. One move, 35 miles up the road.
If you must move, I recommend doing so at Christmas time. We have boxes and boxes of books to open once we finally set up our bookshelves. We like the books we have, so opening them up later will feel like opening presents.
Also, if you must move at Christmas time, I recommend setting up decorations first—before unpacking anything else. Now, if I could only find some socks.
wish him luck on his toughest final
My finals this semester seem a little more reasonable than my husband's. I'll hand in a written portfolio at the end of the week while he'll have to regurgitate massive chunks of information—one of which is this little instruction I encountered on his study guide while quizzing him for his chemistry final:
"Know what hormones are and in general terms how they act."
Really? I can't help but feel that the study guide's a little vague. And absurd. Surely it can't mean ALL hormones? Especially when that's just a single bullet point on a three-page study guide. Right?
Personally, I think C. should receive 100% for that section of the test before he even shows up for the final tomorrow. I mean, he lives with a pregnant woman. He certainly knows what hormones are and EXACTLY how they act.
making peace with provo
Six years ago, I thought I was moving away from Provo for good. I couldn't WAIT. I packed up fast and by the time I hit the freeway entrance, I was flying. I almost shouted out the window: see ya', suckas! And I was never coming back.
Then the universe laughed at me and sent me to Provo again two years later.
Good thing it did, too. When I lived here the first time, I worked and spent most of my free time in a different city, while spending the rest of my time rolling my eyes at Provo stereotypes.
Not until the second time around did I discover that this supposedly boring, stifling city is home to some of the most interesting, intelligent, wonderful people I've ever met. I know they didn't hide from me before; I just never bothered to look for them back in the day.
On Saturday, I'll move away from Provo again—this time, in a very different mood. I'm thrilled about our new place for so many reasons (can we say washer and dryer?). But I now know that I'll miss the apartment and the streets and the campus and especially the people who have made me feel so at home here.
Goodbye, Provo. Goodbye, little house under the stairs.
And to all you suckers who ARE sticking around this good little town: you can't get rid of me that easily. I'm not saying goodbye for good. I've made my peace with Provo and she says I can come to visit.
Tomato Christmas
We have drinken (drunk. K goes crazy when I use that word) a lot of eggnog lately. I even put it on my cereal.
Today I had a Christmas Miracle. I accidentally deleted all of my iTunes music, because I'm kind of an idiot. I was making a picture in photoshop, and it said that I needed more room on my hard drive. So I started deleting things like crazy. The next time I turned on iTunes, all of my songs had !'s next to them.
I wrote Apple and begged for forgiveness. A girl named Sarah wrote back an hour later and said that I could download everything again. Hooray!
Which brings me to a thought: I think once you buy a song or a movie, you should own it forever. If a new form of holding the song or movie develops (blu-ray, laserdisk, etc.), then you shouldn't have to buy it again, you should just get it for free. Okay, maybe the company wouldn't be required to send you a brand new dvd, but you should forever have rights to the data, so you could burn a new copy on whatever newly developed format. A lot of companies keep track of your purchases for a long time, so if your kid decides to put your dvds in the oven, you should be able to just download it again. That would be a real Christmas miracle.
Well, that's enough for utopian dreams. Merry Christmas.
p.s., I made a Christmas playlist, you can find it on the sidebar.
you may now call me Master Nerd
Last night, I sat at a big conference table with three of my amazing professors and talked about the classes I've taken and the stories I've written.
Of course, they didn't ask any of the questions I thought they might. And I didn't get to say most of the things I had hoped I would be able to. And when they asked how my reading influenced my writing, the mental list I'd made of books I wanted to talk about went entirely blank. But we had an interesting conversation, and they didn't hesitate to tell me that I passed my thesis defense. Perhaps they were swayed by the muhammara that I made them.
the depth of our gratitude equals the depth of our understanding
All growing up, I knew my dad was a good guy. He encouraged my writing, came to my ballet recitals, and on and on. But I don't think I really appreciated who he was until I grew up enough to move to another hemisphere by myself for a while.
For the first 21 years of my life, my dad was just my dad. He was just a guy who dropped anything to help me with my math and Spanish homework. And after high school, he was just a guy willing to stay up half the night to talk me out of marrying boys who weren't good for me (without letting on that he was doing just that).
Before I went away, I didn't know that so few men are as smart and dedicated and thoughtful as my dad. All the distance I got when I left helped me to understand.
Sometimes, after we leave my parents' house, C. teases me: "It really took you 21 years?" Yeah, I think it did. I'm glad I finally figured it out. Thanks, Dad, for being born and for being so much better than I understood you were for so long.
Fortune Cookie
We can't wait for our little girl to come. With baby on the brain, guess how we interpreted this fortune cookie—
K is well, though she worries whether she's doing anything wrong. I asked her if she was drinking, smoking, or shooting up heroin.
"No." She said.
"Then you're probably not doing anything wrong."
Here's to 22 weeks.
out of the woods
Whew! Gummi Bear gave us a little scare this past week—appropriately timed for Halloween. We got a little worried that she was already trying to join us, and it's far too soon.
I went to the doctor, took my medicine, stayed in bed, flaked out on my classes, and told my students to not even think about asking me when I would finish grading their papers. I talked Baby Gummi into waiting until March. She seems cool with it.
I think she's just excited to get here. Let's hope she's equally excited to embrace sleeping through the night and potty training.