"Oh Marilla," she exclaimed one Saturday morning, coming dancing in with her arms full of gorgeous boughs, "I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from September to November, wouldn't it? Look at these maple branches. Don't they give you a thrill--several thrills? I'm going to decorate my room with them."

~Anne Shirley

I have some friends!

I should be writing a paper right now about Shakespeare's sonnets, but I have something heavy on the mind. I'm not nervous about this, nor do I have any inkling of trepidation. I am excited to get this OVER WITH. For at least a year, I've had this weird, hard bump on my foot. It was hard to the touch and never really bothered me. However, about 5 months ago I noticed that it was getting a little bit bigger and was causing some mild discomfort if I crossed my feet just right. I went to a podiatrist and he gave me a steroid shot and sent me on my way. The bump, who I've named Steve, went away for the most part and I never gave a second thought to it. About 3 months ago, I noticed Steve coming back full force, and this time he brought a friend, Bill. Bill was lower on my foot and really irritated me. I just decided to live with the discomfort. When Bill started to get red on the outside, I knew it was time to go back to the podiatrist. This time I went to the best podiatrist on the planet, Mark Rogers, who did Rod's reconstructive foot surgery about 9 years ago. The guy is amazing. Anyway, long story short - Steve and Bill are ganglion cysts, caused by a tear in the tendon running along the outside of my foot. I get to have surgery on the 17th of November to rid my body of Steve and Bill. Steve's on my tendon, Bill's on my nerve. Literally. HA! I'll have a nice spot of stitches, and I'm hoping I'll get to watch them remove Steve and Bill from my foot. I'd want to play with them because I'm gross like that, but I'm not counting on it. :)

There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them:
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

His 15 minutes are well past up...

But I cannot get enough of this Antoine Dodson guy. "Hide yo kids, hide yo wives, cuz they're rapin' erbody up in there..." That guy. He's so freaking hilarious! So what should I find today but this little gem. Sorry, people, he's my homeboy. ♪Homeboy, homeboy♫

Oh, man.

I'll consider it getting my electives out of the way, and then some. I've been under the impression that I've had to be considered full-time status at school to be eligible for student loans. Not so.

UGGH.

With that said, I officially have 4 semesters before the necessary evils are done with. I am not going to go balls to the wall like I'd like, but instead I'm going to be a tortoise and win the race at a slow and steady pace. My plan of action?

Semester 1 (Spring 2011): Organic Chemistry and Microbiology and their subsequent labs.
Semester 2 (Summer 2011): Statistics
Semester 3 (Fall 2012): Anatomy and Physiology and their subsequent labs
Semester 4 (Spring 2012, provided the world hasn't ended like most every religious fanatic believes): Pathophysiology

4 semesters, 1 year. Bring it.

The Big One

Lots of pictures. You've been warned.

I was at a gallery a few years ago with my mom, and we saw this painting that was absolutely exquisite. It is, she said, one of her favorites ever. The price tag on this painting? $2,100. Yeah, pocket change, but we weren't feeling spendy that day. Fast forward to about a year ago. I was at Heindselman's in Provo looking at their cross-stitch patterns. (They're not much of a x-stitching store as they are knitting. HUGE on knitting.) I saw a pattern for that very painting that my mother loved so much and decided to go all out and stitch it for her. Let me tell you, it is MAMMOTH. Absolutely ginormous. And... it's all petit point. For those of you who don't know that lingo, let me explain. In a regular cross stitch pattern, you stitch one X over 2 holes, like this:













With petit point, you're stitching 4 stitches to one regular X, like this:














The point of petit point is to make your design look as realistic as possible. I hope I can get this done now that I have immersed and exhausted myself with really simple and basic patterns. Here's what I have done, and how much more I have to go. And for reference, the part that is stitched is just about one 8 1/2 x 11 piece of paper. I am way excited, I love how it's turned out so far, and am ready to hammer this one out!



And here's what the finished product is supposed to look like:

Book

Lucky

I'm lucky to be a mom. Really, truly lucky. Today I took Rachel shopping for a Halloween costume. Everything we liked wound up being way, way, way too short and not something I felt comfortable with spending money on, let alone allowing my daughter to wear. She said that she was just going to cancel Halloween this year because I didn't like anything she liked and wanted to avoid the hassle.

I flat out told her there was no way I was going to let her wear immodest costumes at her age and that I didn't feel like there was anything age appropriate for her to wear, unless she wanted to dress up as a Teletubbie or one of those things from Yo Gabba Gabba. Not likely. I put on my *Religious Mom Hat* and told her that I really feel like Satan just wants girls to wear clothes that make them look like sluts. (Yeah, I used that term.) I told her I was sorry but I couldn't stand behind letting her get any of the costumes we saw.

She turned to me and said, "Mom, God is happy that you are saying that and you shouldn't apologize for saying that. You're a good mom and you're doing what is right."

I started crying. To hear those words come from her mouth made me realize that I'm not a bad mom, and although I struggle with my own spirituality on a daily basis, I'm helping build a foundation for my daughter that is on solid ground.

I am lucky.

Thanks, Olivia.