Email to Husband

Here's a little glimpse into life right now.

Hello Dominator of Block 3 Exams,

Firstly, I hope you are able to take a huge nap when you get home from the exam. Your body is probably wicked tired right now. 3 hours of sleep x 6 nights = Well I'm not really great with mixed measurement equations, but that roughly equals Not Enough Sleep.

Secondly, this is our theme song for the weekend, so be excited:  

We Are Young

Thirdly, (and unfortunately) we have some grown-up people issues to deal with in the form of the Maxima (aren't they always in the form of the Maxima?!). I started on my way to work this morning and had to turn around before I got as far as the McDonald's on Holcombe due to some very disturbing sounds coming from one of the belts (I think) under the hood. So I am currently using your car (I haven't stalled even once!), and mine is hanging out in the G-briar parking lot being as helpful as the bird terd it is probably being covered with as we speak.

I thought we had a couple of options about where to take the car and when to do it. (You can see said options pictured in a flow chart on my Instagram.) But upon reflection, we really don't. I don't think it is wise or safe to drive the car to Cypress to get it to your parents' mechanic. Plus, even if all goes well, we wouldn't get it back until at least next weekend. And with how much I drive these days, I don't know if that's the best scenario. The Shell guys did a good job last time (as far as we know haha-- I mean I didn't find a dead body in the trunk, and they didn't tell me I needed to replace the non-existent "timing belt"), so I think it would be best if we meet up at the Shell after work and leave my car there. It should make it to Stella Link just fine, but if you have any issues, at least we know we can get it towed through Geico without incurring any expense. (Whereas, if we were to have it towed to Cypress they would charge us our first born child. And depending on how cute our first born is, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be okay with that.) Anyways, what do you think is best?

Fourthly, I love you. Be of good cheer, for I bring you good tidings of a great weekend. Even if it does begin with adult issues that clearly should not be our problem. Doesn't the universe know we just want to be party rockin'?

Love,

Beck

Thank the heavens above it is Friday once again.

The Magic

2010

See those people?

The one on left right is my grandpa-- Edson King Barton. Grandpa Ed. Strong Edson King with a heart the size of Texas and the best hugs in the world.

The one on the right is my grandma-- Ellen Ann Allen.Grandma Ann. Dreamy Ellen Ann with the loveliest silver hair I ever saw and the grace of a queen.

These are remarkable people. And they are full of magic and beautiful things.

When I was little, their backyard was the place I wanted to be most out of anywhere in the whole world. The white stone walls around it were my safe haven. The place where I existed as a princess. The giant cherry tree was my castle, and true love was forever waiting on the other side of the rose garden.

Their living room was like a dream. The afternoon sun would filter through the rosy pink glass and cast its spell on me. I would lie on the green velvet couch and bask in the lazy light and feel the warmth of contentment melt through my little dreamer heart.

There were paintings on the walls that I could stare at for hours (well, minutes, but to a kid...). There was one oil painting depicting a little girl with long, golden braids walking through a dark forest. Illumination came from above her where an angel watched every step she took. I knew at those moments staring up, almost smelling the pines, nearly hearing the crunch of the forest ground beneath me, that that little girl was me and that angel was my namesake, my Aunt Becky, making sure I didn't get lost in the dark.

That home was my little slice of heaven on earth. The place where happiness covered everything and made life sparkle and shine like the fresh dusting of snow that always topped the mountains just beyond the white walls. And I knew that there, in between those white walls, nothing could ever go wrong. And I knew it would be there forever.

I'm all grown up now. I lived in that house, out of the goodness of my grandparents' hearts, sporadically during my days at BYU. And although I can now see that things are not perfect, that tears are sometimes shed in that house, that sickness and sadness and all hard things can touch the lives of the people I love most even inside those walls, I have never been able to deny the magic that is there. It's the magic that Edson King and Ellen Ann have created. It still crackles in the fireplace, even though the logs fake now and the flames turn on with the flip of a switch. It still dances through the curtains with the afternoon sun. It still shines down from Aunt Becky's face where she watches over everyone from her place on the mantle.

And it's there in the way my grandpa looks at my grandma-- like he's never seen anything so beautiful in his life. It's there in the careful way my grandma toasts her husband's gluten free toast in the labeled side of the toaster. It's there hovering above them as they read together side by side before bedtime.

Beauty and magic are all around us. And I'm so glad. But I'm starting to see that nothing beautiful or magic is easy to come by. It's created only through love. Lots of love. I am so grateful for wonderful people like Edson King and Ellen Ann who love and create beauty and share it with the world.



Speaking of magic... it's Friday. (I truly thought it might never come.)

After the Fact

Hey. It's been a while. I would apologize, but the apology would be to me and not to you, really. Because honestly this blog is important to me. More important than I would like to pretend it is. It came into my life at a time I really needed it. And now that I am a little bit stronger and a lotta more busy and a little less needing of it, I am not going to pull a Nanny McPhee and abandon it. No, sir!

Well, I might. But not today.

I would tell you all about our holidays, but I pretty much said it all over here.

Really today I just wanted to say hello and give you a hug. And tell you, "You is kind. You is smart. You is important."

Yeah, I got The Help for Christmas.

And I wanted to tell you Thank You. Thank you for being you and being wonderful. Thank you for that little message to tell me to keep writing (you know who you are). You possibly saved my life. Well, this little blog's life, anyways.

Until tomorrow.

These Cookies?

These is Luhhhhve Cookies.

I made them because it's Christmas time, and I love you.

I love you because you are a part of me. We've known each other forever.

I might have honked at you and called you a poop-head if you were the one who cut me off on I-15.
I'm sorry about that. I'm a kid under construction. And my paint is still a little wet.

But I do love you. I promise.

My new church calling (volunteer job, to the layperson) is First Counselor in the Young Women's program (which is the organization for the 12-18 year old girls).

I can't even tell you how big my heart smiled when I was asked to volunteer for this job.

But I can show you why I love it.

I know I don't look much older than these girls.

To tell you the truth, I don't feel much older than them.

But even in the short time I've been working with them, I feel like they are helping me to grow up in ways I was afraid I never would. They help me get outside myself--
to pray for things bigger than my own fears and struggles,
to wiggle my toes a little outside of my comfort zone,
to want to be a better self.

Before we decorated our Christmas cookies last night at Young Women's night we talked a little bit about Repentance.

God gave His Son. His Son gave his life. Repentance is the gift that came from the Gift that we celebrate this time of year. That's what I was a-preachin'.

Alina (the other YW counselor) and I talked about how sincere repentance can lead to an increased love for the Savior, for one's self, and for others.
Then we waited for some kind of response.

It didn't look like we were going to get much.

Then one of the girls--just 12 years old--told us that during this past fast Sunday she prayed all day that she would be able to help someone have a wonderful Christmas this year.

I could have kissed her on the head right then and there.

I wanted to cry big fat tears of happiness as I watched the nods of approval from the other girls and the smile that spread across this 12-year-old's face as we told her what a wonderful thing that was to pray for.

Sometimes Goodness seems a little hard to find these days.

Some days I get really worried and overwhelmed and fearful about someday bringing children into a world where there is so much hate and so much violence and so much Wrong that claims to be Right.

But seriously--I look at these girls and think It's going to be alright.

It is, you know? It really is.

Because God gave His Son. 

Because His Son gave his life. 

Because They love us.

And because Shawn Mullins says so in that one song.

You know the one...

Oh my gosh, couldn't you just go to the zoo, look at all the twinkle lights in the penguin exhibit, and hum the chorus of that song over and over again?

Yeah... neither could I...

6/20---To a Degree and It's Fashion Friday

blazer--thrifted/ cardigan & silk tank--shade/ maxi skirt--urban outfitters/ wedge boots-- target/ pearls--assorted

...So I know that I said something in the last post that insinuated *clearly stated* that I would be posting an ornament DIY & Christmas tree tips. Well, here's the thing. I got almost done decking the tree out and decided I hated it. I think I may be over-thinking it, but ya know... when you pay half a benjamin for a live tree, you kind of want it to look good! For real.

In other news, it finally feels like winter here in Houston. Not that I could complain about 80* weather in December. I mean I guess I kind of could. I was sweating profusely on the night I picked up our Christmas tree (but mostly because I refused to leave the house without my purple Christmas-tree-picking beanie, flannel shirt, and boots). But I have to admit that the warmer weather sure saves a lot of time in the mornings when you don't have to dig your car out of the ice and snow (those were the days, huh!).
 But I really really really wanted an excuse to get cozy in my footy pajamas with a steaming mug of homemade hot cocoa.

45* F--- you are just the excuse I was looking for! 

BREAK OUT THE FOOTIES AND MINI MARSHMALLOWS, YO!

 

To Hell in a Hand Basket

Has anyone else noticed the increasing number of links to bullying stories online recently? Many of them featuring children who have committed suicide to escape bullying. Children. 

I want to tell a story right now. And it's not about my brother (that's coming later).


Fortunately I was never a recipient of bullying. I mean, every kid gets pushed or yelled at on the playground at least once, but it was never a recurring issue for me. I honestly don't know why. I went through my awkward stage just like any other person. We moved frequently, so I was often the new kid. I was most often the only Mormon in any school I was attending (with the exception of my little brother). And I cut my own hair. Twice.

But miraculously I managed to slip under the bully radar.

I think I knew I was blessed in this respect. I think maybe I was born knowing that. It may be for that reason that my heart has always ached for those who don't have that kind of luck. Like most of you, I have always been afraid of hurting someone's feelings. I have always wanted to right the wrongs when I saw them. And I have never felt the desire to bully someone.

Well, except this one time.

I remember being in the lunch line in fifth grade. The boy in front of me (we'll call him Adam) was the outsider of the class. Adam and I had a good relationship. He was a really sweet kid. Always smiling. Hair always a little unkempt. Clothes always a little too big. But we were kind of buddies. The kids behind me were not the outsiders of my class. And I was in the middle. Always in the middle. And on that day, I'd had enough of being in the middle.

The kids behind me started picking on Adam. I said nothing. He looked at me for a little help. I did nothing. The more he looked at me, the more unfair I felt it was that I was always in the middle. And the more I felt sorry for myself the further away I got from doing the right thing.

Then I opened my big fat mouth. And I did the wrong thing.

I don't remember what I said. It probably wasn't super harsh considering the worse thing I have ever called anyone is a poop head. But it was enough.

Adam looked at me again. He wasn't smiling anymore. "You too?" was all he said.

This is where I could give you a bunch of excuses. There are always excuses for bullies. Insecurity. Bad home life. Didn't eat their Wheaties. Etc. But there really aren't any good excuses. There weren't for me. There aren't for anyone. And at that moment I hated myself. I hated myself because I had no answer I could give him except: Yes, me too. Me too, because I care more about myself than about you.

Epic fail.

I don't know if I ever tried to make it up to Adam. I'm sure I did, because that is the kind of thing that would keep me up at night for a year had I not done anything about it. But even if he forgave me (which I'm sure he did, because he was just that kind of kid) no apology would ever have been quite adequate. I had contributed to the damaging of a precious self-esteem. I realized then and there in the cafeteria line that I never wanted to feel that way again. I never wanted to have that same self-loathing. I never again wanted to see that kind of hurt in someone's eyes. Hurt that I put there. Hurt that so easily could have been prevented.

Now I will say something about my brother, because he's the reason I know things. My little brother had one of the kindest hearts I have ever known. He was small for his age until his Sophomore year of high school. He had ADHD, wasn't the tidiest kid in the universe, and he read dragon books and liked them. But he was my brother, my little buddy, my friend since age 2. And every unkind word said to him was etched in his memory. And I assure you it was never erased. I'm sure those words were the loudest the hour that he left this earth.

Now, I know he is an extreme example, but essentially he is just like anyone else. We all have our weaknesses, and none of us like to be reminded of them, let alone have them rubbed in our faces. Let alone shoved down our throats. And when we are reminded, when we are poked and prodded, we don't easily forget. The bad builds on itself.

Luckily some of us are blessed with the ability to look beyond insults. But so very many of us are not. Some of us, when you peel away a few of our rough outer layers, just aren't that tough. And for some of us, when the bad outweighs the good for too long, there no longer seems to be a way out of it.

I know many of you are probably tired of me talking about stuff like this. But nothing is more important. Every soul is of infinite worth. And if enough of us care, we really can make this world a better place to live in. A better world for our children to go to school in and develop in. Who knows! Maybe they won't all develop complexes.

Maybe.

Listen, I am sure we have all had our moments we aren't proud of. That's what the Atonement is for. That's what forgiveness is all about. I'm not saying we should beat ourselves up forever. I'm just saying that the buck stops here. And after it stops here, we can do something about making improvements. That's all I'm saying, really. 

What do you think is the best way to prevent bullying?

P.S. Tree decorating tips & ornament DIY coming later tonight.

Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

I have a lot of randomness rolling around in my head today.

I haven't been sleeping very well.

I have weird dreams. 

 Not nightmares, so much. I don't wake up screaming or crying or anything. I just feel extremely uncomfortable all the way through them.

Last night in my dream I was walking into a dark kitchen. I saw a small, dark figure dart across the room. And I knew. I knew I had to grab it and find out who or what it was or I would lose. But I didn't want to. I didn't want to so badly that I had to jump on it to keep from running away.

Then I yelled at it, "You're not a ghost!"

When I woke up I realized how very strange it is to see a dark figure in a dark kitchen and to accuse it of not being a ghost. Why would I assume it was trying to disguise itself as a ghost in the first place?

I don't know. I really just don't.

And another thing I don't know is why I woke up so grumpy this morning. No good reason, I'm sure. {I will blame it on the non-ghost, though.} But I was grumpy. So grumpy. And Husband was being the model of niceness, which made it even worse. He even gave me very helpful outfit feedback when putting a decent outfit together seemed to be the most illusive trial of my whole life.

And I just grunted and kicked at the bathroom rug pretty aggressively. Several times.

And while we are on the subject of things I don't know, let me just say that I don't know why they make gumballs that are yellow or green. It's so depressing to have my little sweety-lovin' heart set on a juicy red gumball, put a quarter into one of those big machines, crank it, and then watch a nasty yellow gumball go around and around forever. It taunts me. "I'm coming! I'm coming! I'm coming!" All the way down. I know I don't have to chew it, but it seems against principle, ya know? Plus, how much more depressing is throwing away a gumball after watching it spin around for ages.

And the whole time I'm thinking there goes 1/4 of a perfectly lovely, perfectly large McD's Diet Coke.

Plus, what was a 22-year-old doing at a gumball machine anyways?

Apparently the Kind of 22-Year-Old that would do this...

So depressing.

And now it's 3:00 pm, and I am watching the suite across the hall lock up and head out.

Good thing it's Friday or I might have to put myself in a dark hole with a bunch of dark figures who aren't ghosts and chew a thousand bajillion yellow gumballs. Or something.