Will you be my neighbor?

As you know, we moved at the end of January. Now we occupy a beautiful townhome…and once again we share walls. In our current location, we are connected on one side of the house, sharing garage walls, living room and kitchen walls, a wall in the master bedroom and a backyard. Because of our close proximity, I was anticipating meeting our new neighbors. I have always been blessed with wonderful neighbors who have become dear friends. I already imagined the friendship and trust that would develop between our two families. The landlord informed us that they were a younger couple with no children. Perfect! Just like us!

We moved our things in bit by bit but never saw the neighbors. On February 1st we actually began inhabiting our new home. After about a week, we were surprised that the neighbors still hadn’t come over. After two weeks, we began to wonder if WE were supposed to go over THERE and introduce ourselves. But then we couldn’t figure out how to take over cookies and welcome ourselves to the neighborhood. Once we had been there for a month, we decided it had reached to an awkward point where NEITHER of us could really just knock on the others door and say, “Hi, we are your, um, newish neighbors.”

Not knowing about who lives on the other side of the wall addles my brain; I have morphed into a psycho stalker. My stalking habits include (but are not limited to):
-Peering out blinds when cars pull into the driveway.
-Noting the time and frequency of the garage door going up or the front door being opened.
-Staring at the shared wall in front of my vanity and wondering if someone is sitting in the exact same spot on the other side staring at me.
-Trying to move in complete silence in order to hear if anything is going on in the other townhome.
-Talking to the neighbors as if they can hear me. For example, when I hear their microwave beep asking, “What are you cooking for dinner tonight?”
-Staring at their house every time I pull in, searching for open blinds or lights on or a shadow in a window.
-Randomly screaming as loud I can to see if someone next door comes over in concern or even calls the cops.

In order to abate the frustration at my lack of knowledge of our friends next door, Jacob and I have started hypothesizing about their lives. It began like this:

Me (out of the blue): “I know! Our neighbors are really really Mormon. They will only associate with those of their faith for fear of inviting a bad influence into their lives. Every week at church they wait for their new neighbors to show up so that they can introduce themselves and we can begin sharing casserole recipes. But of course, they haven’t seen us there and therefore assume we are pagan and slaughter animals on an alter! Since we still attend our old ward, they don’t REALIZE we ARE good Mormons and we can still be their friends.”

Jacob: “Nope. They aren’t or they would have been welcoming us to the neighborhood the first time that we pulled up and fellowshipping us when we didn’t show up at church. They have to be Mormon haters who think LDS people are pushy and ‘holier-than-thou’ and don’t want to befriend us for fear we will send the missionaries and visiting teachers over and heart attack their house or leave otherwise ‘inspiring’ gospel messages on their door and cars.”

Me: “But how do they know WE are Mormons unless they introduce themselves and ask? I mean, it’s not like we pulled up with 7 children under the age of 8 or anything.”

Jacob: “Both our vehicles have Madison County license plates. We. Are. Mormon.”

Me: “Oh. Yeah.”

From that point on, one of us randomly throws out a theory about the neighbors. We have come up with some pretty good ones.

-They speak no English. They don’t even know how to say “Hello. We speak no English.”
-They are in the middle of major marital problems and it would be super uncomfortable to introduce themselves; they would have to either pretend like they were a happy couple or say, “Hi, we are the Johnsons and we are contemplating a divorce.” (We never hear them fighting because they fight by giving the silent treatment and leaving nasty notes).
-They grew up watching the Hitchcock movie “The Birds” and developed an uncontrollable terror of feathered creatures. They have heard our birds singing and it sends them into panic attacks to think of knocking on our door.
-They are deaf and would therefore be unable to communicate with us. This is why we never hear any talking or music or movies either (and why they don’t respond to my blood curling screams). We have yet to devise a theory as to why they didn’t drop off cookies with a note explaining their condition.
-They are Nazi sympathizers, have seen from a distance that neither of us have blonde hair and blue eyes, and stay away so as to suppress the urge to release gas into the vents of our house. (Its not that they would mind killing us, they just don’t want to end up in prison.)
-They are hoarders in the extreme and have so much trash piled in their house that there wouldn’t be room to admit us. Also, there is no space in which to bake cookies and Mrs. Neighbor couldn’t bring herself to part with any stationary in order to leave a note.

What do you think?

Yesterday as Jacob pulled into the driveway, Mr. Neighbor was taking a picture of the outside of the house. We may or may not have obsessively checked Craigslist ever since to see if they are posting their townhome. If they move, we will be on the new neighbors' doorstep on DAY ONE, cookies in hand.

There's no place like home

We have been in our new house for over a month now. I unpacked my last box two weeks ago. Sometimes I miss my old home. I long for the large jetted tub; there is no comparing the cool brown of my new bedroom walls to the bright turquoise I painted in my old bedroom. Contemplating the spring and the desire to grow, my heart aches at the lack of sunny yard that I have to work with. Then again, my laundry room here makes me giddy; I adore having a bedroom door that I can close (as well as an attached masterbath). I am getting quite used to climbing into a vehicle that has stayed in a toasty garage all night long. Furthermore, being within walking distance to campus has proven a major blessing for my little family.
I struggled with this move more than any we have done before. Perhaps because I poured so much of myself into our little country home. I expected we would be there until Jacob graduated. I painted most of the rooms; I put up flower boxes; we cultivated the garden; we planted a strawberry patch. It was my haven to return to at the end of a long work day. I had to move for Jacob...and I don't regret that. However, the difficulty of the move made me stop and consider, what makes a place feel like home anyway? As we have settled in to our townhome (a complete opposite of our little country house) I realized that this is home to me:

*Everything has a place and everything in its place.
*Books, books, books.
*The bathrooms smelling like clorox and peppermint toilet bowl cleaner.
*Good music playing.
*Walls covered by original art...I only have 1 print! (Most of it is done by my amazing sister in law)
*Camo seemingly appearing in all corners.
*Displayed photographs of us by my beloved little sis Stephanie Wadsworth.
*Birds happily (or noisely) chirping as we walk in and out of the house.
*Oreos in the pantry.
*A guest room all set up (towels and everything) ready for the next Wadsworth to come stay.
*At least one bright colorful wall :)

Also, it's still our haven. As Jacob says, somewhere where he can take off his shoes and unload his pockets...and in so doing, unload some of the outside world and just be comfortable.

For me I keep thinking of the lyrics of "Home" by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros:
"Oh Home. Yes I am home! Home is wherever I am with you."
In the end, this is how I feel. There is no place like home...and there is no place like being with my Jacob.

I {heart} YWs

I made it through my first "New Beginnings" program! Hours of work in planning and decorating and baking paid off when my one girly who isn't a member bore her testimony of prayer. And when all my Laurels gave AMAZING thoughts on values with scriptures, quotes, personal experiences and "audience" participation. And when my beehives (who were terrified) stood up with prepared quotes that they had researched. And when I saw the glowing faces of the girlies that will enter my program this year. And when a less active father shared the love he had for his daughters in putting their faith in this program and seeking out good things in their life. And when I was able to express my love for my girlies.

Our theme was: I {heart} YWs and so everything was decorated with hearts and focused on the first sentence of the YW theme, "We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us, and we love Him."

My laurel class president conducted the meeting which meant that as soon as the decorations were set up, all I had to do was sit back, enjoy and wait for my turn to speak.

Inspiration from my friends Laural and Grace:

"Valuable" cookies

Don't my girlies just glow?

My presidency...me and Elizabeth :)

Being the YW president has been the most challenging calling I have ever had (even more than a missionary!) and I have only been in 6 months! It stretches me on so many levels. I pray that I can continue to be grateful for where I am and that my calling will bless the girls' lives and not just my own.

Next big activity? Girls' Camp.....aaaahhhh.....don't forget to breathe....

Rollercoasters

i dislike rollercoasters. i was the girl who got dragged onto the ride screaming while my dad said, "Stop being a boob."

i don't like waiting in line watching the cart whip into and out of the loading station, hearing screams from the tracks and seeing everyone's hair messed up and their knees weak as they get off at the end of the ride. i despise the anticipation of the climb before the first drop and the feeling of topping the edge before heading down...watching the cars in front careening toward the ground and feeling them pull me into the same descent. i don't enjoy my stomach shooting up into my throat and the not being able to slow down no matter how hard i grip the car or the harness around me. Shooting along completely out of my control with no clue as to what is coming next (drops, corners, loops, twists) feels terrifying to me.

Perhaps if i enjoyed rollercoasters a bit more, i would enjoy life a bit more too.

How do you measure a year in a life?

February 1st marks our one year mark of moving to Pocatello. I have been commuting up to Rexburg for a whole year. That averages to about 720 hours commuting this past year. In other words:

30 days of travel time. ONE WHOLE MONTH of my year was spent commuting. WoW! Interesting. So I started tallying. Here are some figures that "measure" our last year.

11 books read out loud

5 new addictions*

2 moves

49 nights apart

1 promotion

20 blog posts (including this one)

10 trips**

0 pregnancies

3 callings

44 school credits

9 rooms redecorated (not all of them were in my house)

3 dead goldfish

1 live goldfish

8 new pairs of shoes

48 trips to Taco Bell

6 neighborhood parties

1 surgery


*Jake: Katy Perry, grilling. Me: Glee, gardening. Both of us: our iPhones.
**Vegas x3, Texas, Seattle, SLC x3, camping x2



1 regret: I didn't count (or write down) the books that I have read. I plan on rectifying that in this coming year.

This isn't a real post...

...this is just me wanting to share something with you that makes me happy. Shel Silverstein's poetry. Did you know that he published a new book of poems in 2011 called "Every Thing On It"? I got a copy from Jacob for Christmas. I feel like this book is naughtier than ever! But it's also a lot more open and serious than ever too...in a Silverstein sort of way. Some of my favorites I can't share because they just don't make sense without the images, but I encourage all of you to buy and enjoy this book. Here is a taste:

"School"

Rain and hail,
Cold and snow
Are good excuses not to go.

"Happy Ending?"

There are no happy endings.
Endings are the saddest part,
So just give me a happy middle
And a very happy start.

"The Game"

I'm glad you came.
Let's play a game
Called Crook and Police Dog Rover.
I bite your eye,
And now you die,
And now the game is over.

"Don't Change On My Account"

If you're sloppy, that's just fine.
If you're moody, I won't mind.
If you're fat, that's fine with me.
If you're skinny, let it be.
If you're bossy, that's all right.
If you're nasty, I won't fight.
If you're rough, well that's just you.
If you're mean, that's all right too.
Whatever you are is all okay.
I don't like you anyway.

"Liar, Liar"

"Liar, liar, your pants are on fire,
Your nose is as long as a telephone wire."
That's what they told me when I was a tot,
But now I am older,
My nose ain't no longer,
My pants ain't no hotter...
And I still lie a lot.

and my favorite...

"Underface"

Underneath my outside face
There's a face that none can see.
A little less smiley,
A little less sure,
But a whole lot more like me.

He opens the book with the following poem which, to me, defines him as an author. What a legacy. Thank you, Shel, for your brilliance.


"Years From Now"

Although I cannot see your face
As you flip these poems awhile,
Somewhere from some far-off place
I hear you laughing--and I smile.

Oh, Life

Want to know what I have discovered? You never know what's REALLY going on in people's lives. How quick we are to judge based on what we see and how wrong we usually are. Behind beautiful pictures, positive status updates and smarmy blog posts, everyone is facing their inner demons. We don't know what they are. We can't say that they are harder or easier than our own; each person at some point will be pushed to their very breaking point. This is life, I suppose.

I follow a somewhat (ok...extremely) irreverent blogger (with a pretty dirty mouth) named The Bloggess. (Don't link to her if you aren't prepared to see rude language). Why do I follow her? Beside the fact that I think she is a brilliant and witty writer, I have come to love her optimistic pessimism. Her latest post really hit home for me. Here is a sample of it:


"I see a girl intent on enjoying the sun while it still shines, smiling vehemently, indignantly, and entirely celebrating a shining perfect moment even as alligators swim underneath. Victor said she seemed oblivious, but she’s not. She knows the alligator is there.

The alligators are always there.

They remind her to smile and enjoy those perfect moments whenever they arise, because life without fear is not a life fully appreciated. She smiles – not because she’s unaware of the alligators – but because she’s aware of them and because she knows how wonderful it feels when they release their jaws from your ankles."




May the Gods bless us all to keep balanced, to enjoy the sun, to acknowledge the alligators in our life, but smile anyway. And may we understand that everyone is doing the exact same balancing act we are...in their own way with their own alligators.