Life After Surgery

Before I got my appendix out, I was not doing well emotionally.

I'd been down in the dumps basically since Christmas. Then came An Interpersonal Crisis. I try not to share other people's private stuff on the Internet, so all I'm going to say was that I lost someone who, although we had our differences, I thought would always have my back.

Everything felt impossible. I wasn't sure what to do with myself. Like, do you remember the Phineas and Ferb special where Phineas, Ferb, Candace, Isabella, Baljeet, and Buford get stranded on a deserted island? And Phineas is all, "There must be something we can do!" Even though they have literally a rubber band, a couple of trees, an oversized map, and a big fat ox. Which are things that don't seem to work well together, especially in the context of escaping from an isolated island.

That was me. I felt stuck in a terrible situation. When I took stock to see what I could make of things, I felt like I lacked resources and thus lacked recourse. I distracted myself by go-go-going and immersing myself in my calling and trying to help others and such. And hey, at least it seemed like things couldn't get much worse.

But then my appendix had to go and get taken out. And I had to drop everything and face what I was feeling. I don't know your life and I don't know what your lows are like, but my lows now involve a complete emotional breakdown over An Interpersonal Crisis while lying helpless in a hospital bed awaiting an appendectomy, and them lows are pretty low.

BUT ANYWAY WHERE WERE WE?

Oh yeah...surgery.

After I blacked out from the anesthesia, the next thing I remember is trying to take off my oxygen mask.

I was vaguely aware of being in a "recovery room," where there seemed to be rows of hospital beds full of people waking up from surgery. I was one of the people. I tried to pull off my oxygen mask. I also tried to sit up. A new episode of Star vs the Forces of Evil was coming on Saturday, and as I slipped back into consciousness most of my brainpower found itself theorizing about what was going to happen in the episode. Which, obviously, would be waaaay easier if I didn't have a dumb oxygen mask on my face and I could sit up! I attempted to take it off twice before someone just gave up trying to stop me and removed it.

When I was more awake, they wheeled me back to my private room. I was hungry but also nauseated (not a good combination). Even though I was nearing the 24-hour mark of no food in my tum, they wouldn't let me eat anything more substantial than strawberry Jell-O (which admittedly ended up being delicious). Also, I had to get a nurse's help any time I wanted to go to the bathroom. And my stomach was uncomfortably covered with gauze and tape and other things I couldn't see because of the gauze and tape.

They let me go home that night. However. Because the surgeon was back and forth on whether I'd be returning home or staying over, she never got me a prescription for pain meds before releasing me. On the one hand, I don't like narcotics, and it seemed like a bad idea to give me happy pills when I was feeling so low. On the other hand...

Ouch. I did just have my entire stomach cut open in three places. And I was feelin' it.

So there I was, lying on my parents' couch, in terrible physical and emotional pain. People came to see me. They checked up on me and brought me trinkets and treats. If there's one thing I've realized since my Interpersonal Crisis, it's that there's a lot of people who care about me and who will go to great lengths to show it. #blessed. But people aren't interchangeable, and I felt like a huge part of my support system was missing. I didn't know how I would pick everything back up and keep going.

My mom could tell that I was sad and kept asking me what she could do to make me feel better. Um...nothing? Everything was outside of her control.

Finally, though, on my last day off work, she turned to me and said something like, "You were feeling bad before this happened, and now you feel worse. That's normal. You just had major surgery. Things will get better, and you'll feel better, every day."

Guess what? She was right. Physically, I feel much better now. Most of the pain is gone. Emotionally, I feel a little better, too. That pain remains...but things have a way of coming out right. We'll see what happens.

Wautumn

Well, folks, as of yesterday fall is officially here. (It was also Frodo and Bilbo's birthdays.) Fall has been here unofficially for a while. Over the course of about a week, the temperature nose-dived from 80s, 90s every day to the 50s and 40s.

Not that that's super unusual. In Utah, we have a fine tradition of cutting fall time short. However, for the last few years that's usually taken the form of indefinite summer well into October. And I can't lie—I much prefer that to the prospect of early snow. But if it can't be helped, it can't be helped.

In Phineas and Ferb, the boys have summer in winter and call it S'Winter. (In a later season, they also do S'Fall.) What are we going to call winter in fall? Wall? Wautumn? I'm open to suggestions.

Rollercoaster

This post doesn't have anything to do with the Phineas and Ferb episode "Rollercoaster." Although now that I've said that, I'm having deep regrets about my choice of subject matter for the evening. Why do I blog about anything else when I could blog about Phineas and Ferb?! I need to sort out my priorities.

I don't have the hardest life, but I don't have the easiest life either. My life is sort of like that episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender when the fortune teller tells Sokka, "Your future is full of struggle and anguish, most of it self-inflicted." Many of my problems are self-inflicted. It comes of being the type of person my generation commonly refers to as Gryffindors. Gryffindors do things they're afraid of. They do things they know might not turn out well. If anything, they do them because they're afraid of them and know they might not turn out well. If they were more passive, if they tried a little less and cared a little less, Gryffindors' lives would be so much easier.

I know someone who, when I'm wrestling with one ongoing problem or another, advises me to give up. This person says that it's easier to be happy when you don't try or hope for anything because then you never have to be disappointed.

While I understand the logic behind the thought, it's not something I agree with. Life is for being sad just as much as it's for being happy. I don't necessarily like being down, but I do like the sensation of having gone down and then back up again. Like on a rollercoaster (now you understand the post title). On a rollercoaster, you often go down before going back up. And if you embrace the bumps instead of bracing against the bumps, things may go better for you.

In closing, here's another Avatar: The Last Airbender quote.

"I know sometimes it hurts more to hope and it hurts more to care, but you have to promise me that you won't stop caring."

-Katara
Oh, and since I brought it up...

ACTUAL FOOTAGE OF PHINEAS AND FERB ON A ROLLERCOASTER!

And School Comes Along Just to End It

Well, summer's officially over, everyone.

And by officially, I mean unofficially, because in the manner of the calendar it's still summer. But summer vacation is over. On the first day of school, the temperature in Hometown dropped drastically. I swung by my parents' house after ten o'clock p.m., and the lights were out and everyone was asleep. No matter what the calendar says, to all intents and purposes, summer as we think of it is over.

Not that it makes that big of a difference to me. Now that I work all the time, summer has lost a lot of its meaning. Don't get me wrong—I have a super great job that has been a huge blessing to me. But this was only the second summer of my life that I had to work every weekday like a proper adult. I'm still getting used to it.

Conversely, though, I guess it would be just as accurate to say that I have summer vacation all year long as it would be to say that I have no summer vacation. Once work is over for the day, I can pretty much do what I want. No homework...no grades. Responsibilities, yes, but responsibilities that come with the money and the means to fulfill my semi-wildest dreams.

I don't know, guys. Adulthood is weird.

It's All In the Cards

Hi everybody!

Y'all know my obsession with February 3rd. Well, once again, not a lot happened on this year's February 3rd, but I'm hopeful for next year.

Tonight I was looking for a comedic monologue I wrote in high school. Baby Sister wants to use it for an audition, but due to a mishap with the family computer there are no digital copies of it in existence. I have only one print copy, but I'm not sure where it is. So I pulled out my boxes of special things and started looking.

I started keeping a box of special things when I was, oh, maybe four years old. Since my love language is gifts, stuff is important to me, and some stuff I've kept practically my whole life. Inside are pictures from the program when I saw Toy Story on Ice eighteen or nineteen years ago, some notes Viola and I wrote during Anne of Green Gables, letters that Best Friend Boy sent me on his mission, a picture that Shutterbug once drew for me during class, my high school and college graduation announcements, minutes from Relief Society presidency meetings, and these Phineas and Ferb cards, among other things.

Yes, the one on the right does say "nephew" on it. Little Sister gave it to me for my birthday last year. Inside, it begins, "Thanks for being the best nephew I could have ever asked for!!!! You have exceeded my expectations of you." 

Digging a little deeper, I found more store bought cards from various loved ones, but I also found a ton of homemade cards. I found at least one homemade birthday card from each of my younger siblings. There was a hand-drawn Phineas and Ferb card from Baby Brother. A card from Little Sister with a drawing of a birthday cake on it that was probably from when we were both in elementary school. A card from Baby Sister cut in the shape of a dragon egg, from the year that the two of us were into this site where we could hatch virtual dragons. A card made by the notoriously grumpy Little Brother that says, "You are my sunshine!"

And these cards reminded me of something that I sometimes forget. Which is to say, life is hard and it's not fun fifty-two percent of the time. But regardless of those facts, I'm pretty lucky.

Holiday Catch-up

Christmas was most excellent.

On Christmas Eve, my extended family had a dinner and a nativity scene. Blondie Cousin, who is usually quite shy, literally leapt into my arms upon her arrival and took me as her designated slave for the evening.

I served her dinner. She insisted on "picking" her own food. "I wanna pick it!" Among the picked was a bunch of carrots.

Her mom said that Blondie Cousin really liked carrots, but I wouldn't have known because the kid would not eat. She was hyper and excited and climbing all over and under the furniture like a little monkey.

Finally, I said, "Blondie Cousin, if you don't eat your carrots, I'm going to eat them!" And I popped one into my mouth for good measure.

Immediately she climbed into her chair. "Otay! I'll eat my carrots!"

And she did. After eating, it was time to do the nativity. Blondie Cousin cut her foot on the stairs, so I put some Band-Aids on the cut. But she was not satisfied and, as I dressed her in her sheep costume, cried, "More Band-Aid! More Band-Aid!"

After the nativity, she plonked herself onto my lap to watch the 2015 family slideshow. Baby Brother cuddled up on my other side, happy and excited that there was now only one more sleep 'til Christmas!

And what a Christmas it was!

I finally got to see everyone open the presents I'd been gathering for almost three months. Of course, I got to open presents, too.

As a gift person, I love thoughtful gifts, especially when they are surprises. I got lots of really great surprises from my parents, my siblings, my friends, and Santa Claus. Either I am becoming boring and predictable or my loved ones stepped up their gift game 500%, because it seemed like everyone knew exactly what I wanted. One of the most exciting of these exciting gifts was a ticket from my little sisters to see Caroll Spinney, the Muppeteer behind Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch, do a Q&A live here in Utah! Expect a fun blog post about that.

For New Year's Eve, I went to a party with my family. I felt kind of sick, so I ended up leaving early and rang in the New Year watching Phineas and Ferb in my apartment.

Before I left, I stopped to speak with my mom, who was helping Blondie Cousin get some treats. Blondie Cousin tried some cheesecake, didn't like it, and motioned to Mom that she wanted to try a different cake.

"How about you eat your cookies first?" Mom said, but Blondie Cousin was headed for the cake.

"Blondie Cousin!" I called. "If you don't eat your cookies, I will!"

"Otay!" She ran back to her plate of goodies and bit into a cookie.

"Works like a charm," I said.

There's 104 Days of Summer Vacation

I've written before about how Phineas and Ferb's mission to live summer to its fullest has inspired me to not waste summer.

Last summer, I even had a strategy where I planned one fun activity every Friday all summer long.

Now that I'm an adult out of college, I don't have summer vacation. Every day pretty much bleeds into the next. I miss the magic of summer, which may never come to me again.

BUT. My little brothers and sisters still have summer, and I would be a terrible sister if I didn't help them make it as great as possible.

Here are a few tips on how to summer (yes, I am using it as a verb. Get over it):

Treats: I like food. Like, a lot. Half the fun of life is getting to eat great food. When it comes to treats, you don't always have to spend a lot of money. For example, Arctic Circle has a sale on 79- and 99- cent cones all summer long, every summer. Also, it can be funner and less expensive to make some treats yourself. Storebought lemonade is nice, but homemade, fresh-squeezed lemonade is better. On the flip side, sometimes spending a little more money makes something relatively normal seem special., like ordering delivery rather than picking pizza up from the store yourself.

Timing: When you do something can make the normal seem fantastic. For example, try going to McDonald's at one in the morning or seeing the midnight premiere of a movie. Schoolchildren can't do those things on a normal schoolday, but they can during the summer.

Time-consuming: You can do that super -complicated Star Wars puzzle. You can read for hours or lie outside on the grass and watch clouds. You can play Monopoly for four hours. In the school year, ain't nobody got time for that, but it's summer now. You can slow down. It would surprise you what a novelty relaxation can be.

How do you summer?

Scrumps

In order to avoid completely wasting summer, I have decreed that we (the younger siblings and I) will plan one special activity every Friday.

Said I, "We can call them Phineas and Ferb Fridays!"

Baby Brother wanted to know why.

"Because" pause for dramatic buildup "we know what we're going to do those days!"

I swear that this statement was greeted with the chirruping of crickets, even though we were at Chik-Fil-A, an establishment not known for cricket infestations.

But I digress.

"We could also call them Funtime Fridays," I said, giving up. This name was much more satisfying to the general populace, if the return of normal conversation was any indication.

As part of our first Funtime Friday, we went to see Maleficent.

Why Maleficent? Well, Little Brother has a tendency to get obsessed with things. So many, many things. One thing that he is a little bit more obsessed with than others is Disney, and he's even a little bit more obsessed with Disney villains.

Little Brother was itching to see the movie, and Baby Brother wanted to see it because his big brother did. I had no desire to see it, but I got caught up in the excitement and ended up going anyways.

I walked into the movie theater feeling highly skeptical. The too-dramatic voiceover narration and bizarre background story that had nothing to do with Sleeping Beauty did nothing to appease said skepticism. However, after the baby was born and cursed, things took a turn for the better. I came out feeling suitably impressed.

I was quite disappointed, though, that this remake left out one of the best parts of Sleeping Beauty: the scrumps scene.

For those of you not familiar with Disney movies (did you even have a childhood?), the scrumps scene is where Aurora's dad King Stephan gets together with his old buddy King Hubert aka the father of Aurora's fiancé Phillip. These two kings are excited about their children's impending marriage, so to celebrate they drink a lot of wine and sing the scrumps song.

The scrumps song is played on a lute by a mute minstrel who is also drinking, and it goes like this:

Scrumps
Scrumps
Scruuuumps
And that's pretty much the whole song.

The two kings sing it over and over, getting drunker every time. First they're happy drunk and then they get mad drunk and then they're happy drunk again.

Even though I don't drink and I think we'd all be better off if nobody else drank either, I love the wackiness of this scene. Particularly because of the minstrel, who sneaks a glass or two between each chorus. He ends up getting so tipsy he fills his lute with wine and falls asleep the table, never to be seen in the movie again.

In twenty or so years when Disney decides to remake Sleeping Beauty once again from the viewpoint of a different character, I'm going to write and send them a screenplay about the tragic backstory of this guy from the scrumps scene and how he's completely misunderstood.

I think I'll call it Minstrel.

Either Or

A good way to get to know someone is to give them two related but different things, and then ask them which one they would prefer and why.

For example, ask them if they prefer

Paper or plastic?

Coke or Pepsi?

Star Wars or Star Trek?

Nancy Drew or the Hardy boys?

Phineas or Ferb?

Killers or killer whales?

The Beatles or beetles?

Euthanasia or youth in Asia?

Everybody knows that you don't really know someone until you ask them these questions. They must be presented to your closest friends, potential spouses, and family members (whom you may disown if you find their answers appalling).

A Defense of Ron and Hermione

Shipping is the politics of internet fandoms.

I don’t mean this shipping:

Or this shipping:

I mean the promotion of a relationship from a series.

For example, I would like Toph from Avatar: The Last Airbender to end up with Sokka. So verily I ship Toph and Sokka aka Tokka.

I also ship Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase from Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Phineas Flynn and Isabella Garcia-Shapiro from Phineas and Ferb. And Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger from Harry Potter.

I don't like to get involved in big discussions about shipping much for the same reasons I don't like to get involved in big discussions about politics. Such discussions tend to make people focus on the wrong things.

However, out of all the fictional things I love, Ron and Hermione's relationship is one I particularly cherish. And so given the current turmoil over J. K. Rowling's statement that she regrets pairing them together, I decided that this time, I will throw in my two cents. Or Knuts, if you will.

People say, "Hermione is too good for Ron. Hermione deserves better."

People. How could you say that?!!!

There aren't any guys better than Ron Weasley. There are guys who are different than Ron, but not better.

I mean, look at the kid's qualities. He's funny. He's a loyal friend. He sticks up for others--Harry, Hermione, Neville. He's obviously brave--he puts his life on the line every June and sometimes more often. And no, Ron's not as academic as Hermione, but he certainly is smart. He's a chess prodigy, for crying out loud. Not to mention that he's tall and athletic.

I don't mean that Ron is flawless. My understanding is that out of the trio, Ron is the one most connected with his own emotions. Hermione filters her emotions through facts and logic. Harry constantly sacrifices his emotions to his noble spirit. Ron, however, does what he feels. That means he can be both incredibly selfish and incredibly selfless. He struggles with this pretty much every single book--but in the end, he always chooses to do the right thing. He always comes through for his friends.

This sums up Ron's character arch nicely:

"Dumbledore knew what he was doing when he gave me the Deluminator, didn’t he? He - well," Ron’s ears turned bright red and he became engrossed in a tuft of grass at his feet, which he prodded with his toe, "he must’ve known I’d run out on you."

"No," Harry corrected him. "He must’ve known you’d always want to come back."

We also must remember that Hermione is super annoying.

Yes, Hermione is brilliant. She's talented. She's a good and loyal friend who means well. And the icing on the cake--she's pretty.

But she's still annoying. She tends to be critical and uptight. Ron knows that. He makes fun of it in Book One especially. But he likes her anyways. He decides that he loves her anyways.

Let me repeat: He knows who she is, her faults as well as her good qualities, and he loves her anyways. And she sees his faults as well as his good qualities, and loves him anyways. Wow. What could be better than that?

Some people desire to pair Harry and Hermione. I understand why. Everyone should end up with someone who really cares about them, and Hermione definitely cares about Harry and vice versa.

Yet we'll never know whether a Harry/Hermione relationship would work out, because it isn't in the books. The books go out of their way to show how platonic Harry and Hermione's friendship is, while Ron and Hermione's is full of chemistry and spark.

That's how the books are written. And the books are over. And Ron and Hermione are together, and no controversial interview quotes can change that.

In another universe, in another version of Harry Potter, Ron and Hermione could have ended up with other people. But that's not the version J. K. Rowling wrote.

She wrote a version in which Ronald Bilius Weasley and Hermione Jean Granger were developed in such a way that it's unthinkable for them to end up with anyone else.

I for one am very happy about it.

ANNOUNCEMENT: I am planning to write a relationship Ask Awkward Mormon Girl for Valentine's Day. So please, leave your love-related questions in the comments, and I will give you splendid advice in return.

Peanut Butter, Rubik's Cubes, and Witchcraft

Aaand now it's time for what you've all been waiting for: another Ask Awkward Mormon Girl post!

•Creamy or crunchy peanut butter? Be honest.

Nutella.

But when Nutella-less, creamy, of course. Creamy peanut butter is the protein source of champions and high ACT scorers.

•How do you know if a guy likes you?

This is an area I have a lot of expertise in, since I am in a relationship of almost nine months.

(With a blog. But still.)

When you get to be a certain age, if a guy likes you, I think that he should just tell you.

That doesn't mean that he will. But he should. And if you like him, you should tell him too. If people would just be honest with one another, like seventy-two percent of the problems in the world would disappear overnight.

If all else fails, just, like, steal his diary or something.

•How do you lose a stalker?

Stay away from cornfields.

•How do you work without getting bored?

Find a job that you love. Because when you love something, you will never get bored of it.

Just kidding. I get bored of stuff that I love all the time. Except not hobbits. I never tire of hobbits.

What you need to do is spice up your relationship with your work.

Remember how wonderful everything was when you first got together? Recreate that old spark by dressing up for the time you spend together.

Buy small gifts for your job. Bring it chocolates and its favorite flowers.

Write nice notes for your job and put it in its sack lunches. If you don't make sack lunches for your job, now is the time to start. The more effort you put into the relationship, the more you will get out of it.

• How do you choose a present for your mom?

Don't buy her a loufa.

Thanks to everyone for submitting these questions! Now I will answer the ones I was sent by you-know-who.

Dear awkward mormon girl,
Please answer the following questions:

•Have you ever solved a rubix cube before?

A few years ago, Baby Brother purchased a Rubik's cube for me for my birthday. He often came to my room to play with it. Eventually, he broke it.

He then brought me another Rubik's cube and brought it to my room. Because I am not a genius-child like him, he knew I would not know that it was for me unless he made it very, very clear. So he put a sticky note on it that said, "To Awkward Mormon Girl from Baby Brother."

Also one that said, "New Rubix cube" because people who are not genius children can't identify objects unless they are labeled.

Now he comes to my room every day and asks me when I'm going to mix the Rubik's cube up. I don't want to mix it up because I know, from years of experience, that I will never be able to solve it, and I think it's beautiful the way it is.

Which is a long way of saying no, I have never solved a Rubik's cube. But Baby Brother probably has. In less than a minute. Simply by looking at it.

If not, please attempt to solve one during a commercial break the next time you watch t.v.

You first.

•What is your favorite type of fence? This is my go to question when I'm getting to know people, and I'm curious to know yours.

My go-to question when I'm getting to know people is "What is your blood type?" But to each their own.

I like picket fences. Because "picket" is fun to say. It's like a hobbit name or something. Picket Baggins.

•If I had 26 Cheetos and gave Tinkerbell 37 cosmic brownies, how many sour cream buckets would Rafiki leave on our doorstep?

None. But Phineas and Ferb would put half a gallon of ice cream on the roof.

•How did your attempt at the rubix cube go?

As well as my attempt to win an Oscar. Both are imaginary.

P.s. If you solve a rubix cube during commercial break, you probably didn't actually.

You know me so well.

After asking me these questions, Little Sister sent me another message on my iPod.

Little Sister: Did you get these messages? Because for some reason I'm getting them on my iPod.

Little Sister: Bad iPod.

Little Sister: Technology confuses me.

Me: Oh, I'm getting them all right.

All of a sudden, a message that I had not typed appeared on my side of the screen.

Little Sister on my account: Oooh is this sent from your account?

Me: What is this stop it.

Little Sister on her account: Woah. I'm like in two places at once!

Me: Devilry. Witchcraft.

Little Sister on my account: I'm not actually sure how I'm doing this...

Little Sister on her account: Okay goodnight hahahahha.

Me: Goodnight. Tomorrow we will burn you at the stake.

Little Sister on her account: You will think you are burning me.

Little Sister on my account: But it will actually be you. ;)

Little Sister on her account: Tehehehehhehemuahahahahahha.

Me: ...I am way more creeped out right now than I should be.

I (Don't) Wanna Hold Your Hand

Baby Brother is now a year older.

First off, I just want to take a moment and show off this amazing Perry the Platypus cake that Mom and Baby Sister made for him.

Second off, I'm proud to tell you that for his birthday Baby Brother received a Perry the Playpus t-shirt, a Perry the Platypus football, a Phineas and Ferb roller coaster set, and a stuffed platypus exactly like the stuffed platypus I wanted for my birthday two years ago except I asked for a blue one and he asked for a white. Clearly Baby Brother is a man after my own heart.

Lastly, I feel the need to express how much I hate it when Baby Brother gets older. Well, perhaps hate is the wrong word. I'm happy to celebrate each new year I've spent with him. I like him almost as much as I like Phineas and Ferb and/or hobbits.

I, however, very strongly dislike some of the things that stack up with each year that passes. Baby Brother gets taller. More sarcastic. He becomes more of a brother and less of a baby.

I don't feel entirely ready for that, but the metamorphosis is as inevitable as the tide. As inevitable as the end of summer. As inevitable as everything changing when the Fire Nation attacks.

I can try to fight it, though.

When I took Baby Brother to Target to look for a birthday present, he kept not holding my hand. Even a few months ago he held my hand all the time. At Disneyland he hardly let go of it. He would just step up beside me and grab my hand, and life was good. Just weeks later, however, not only would he not grab my hand, as soon as I tried to hold his he'd twist out of it within moments.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Baby Brother. You have to hold my hand. Otherwise I might lose you in this Target. Then you'll be stuck here. Then the next time I come, I might have forgotten about you and I won't recognize you. And then you'll never get home.

BABY BROTHER: You go to Target, like, every week. You won't forget about me in a week.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Well, maybe I won't go for a few months. It could happen.

BABY BROTHER: That seems unlikely.

My pride was severely wounded because a) What kind of genius-child says "that seems unlikely" at this age? Baby Brother, that's who, and with snarkiness while he's at it and b) He still didn't want to hold my hand.

Fine, genius-child I thought. I'll just hold my own hand!

It was not a fulfilling experience.

To Sting or Not to Sting

Disneyland is always an adventure.

Sometimes when I tell people about the five-day park-hopper passes my family buys, they say, "Five days? How can you spend five days at the same amusement park?"

I can spend five days or more at Disneyland because Disneyland isn't misnamed. Unlike other amusement parks, it truly is a land, a world of its own, a small country.

When I was in Europe, I only spent a few days apiece in Germany and Austria, and I didn't even begin to experience what those countries had to offer. I stayed over a week in Italy and still only began to make her acquaintance. Well, it's the same thing with Disneyland. I've never come close to doing all there that I want to do, and I doubt I ever will.

This time was my first time actually going inside Sleeping Beauty's castle. There's this cute display within that tells the story of Sleeping Beauty in a style I can best describe as pop-up book. Like, it's all in pictures but the pictures have depth and moving parts and little surprises.

It was awesome. Awesome enough that for a moment I actually saw some value in being a Disney princess. But that only lasted for that moment because then swords!

The Castle Heraldry Shoppe beckoned right outside the castle's doors. Going inside, I saw a flipping sweet pirate sword. And a flipping sweet model of Peter Pevensie's sword from Chronicles of Narnia. And some flipping sweet Greek daggers and Roman gladiuses like the kind they use in Percy Jackson.

I was suitably impressed. I love swords. I have a collection of short swords/daggers that I've purchased over the years at the Utah Shakespeare Festival. Granted, most of the swords had nothing to do Disney properties, but I was not complaining at all. When it comes to movies featuring awesome swords, Disney leaves a little something to be desired. Disneyland, however, always surpasses my wildest dreams. Again--swords.

I saw lots of swords that I liked, but I didn't buy any. And I was happy about that. See, before the trip started I decided I could spend only x amount of money on souvenirs. This is what we adults call a budget. And yes, I am an adult. I do still have some growing up to do, but overall I'm about there. I mean, I rip off my own Band-Aids. If that's not adulthood, I don't know what is.

Being as adult as I am, I knew I had to stick to my budget. Most of the swords exceeded that budget. The ones that didn't, I did not want enough to feel justified in spending so much money.

"Wow, look how mature we are!" I said to myself. Then I high-fived myself. It's way easier than high-fiving someone else, just lonelier.

Then I saw it.

Sting.

Sting the sword.

Sting the sword that belonged to Bilbo Baggins.

Sting the sword that also belonged to Frodo Baggins.

They say love at first sight doesn't exist. They say that the only emotion that can exist at first sight is lust.

There may be something to that. 'Cause the moment I saw that sword, I wanted it.

My internal dialogue went something like this:

ME: I want that sword.

ALSO ME: It costs more than our budget.

ME: It's Bilbo's sword.

ALSO ME: It's twenty-five percent over our budget.

ME: It's Frodo's sword!

ALSO ME: Plus shipping.

ME: It's Sting!!!

ALSO ME: It's backordered twelve weeks!

ME: Sting is so shiiiiny. I love it.

ALSO ME: What would you even do with it?

ME: It loves me.

ALSO ME: It's an inanimate object.

ME: I want it. I need it.

ALSO ME: That sword is the equivalent of x amount of hours at work. Think about this. Pretend that you worked x amount of hours, and your boss said, "I'm not paying you today, but I will give you this exact replica of a hobbit's sword instead." Would you be okay with that?

ME: Yes.

ALSO ME: You're ruining my logic.

ME: I wants it. I loves it. My preciousssss.

Only discipline gained from ripping infinite amounts of Band-Aids from my epidermis aided me in leaving the Castle Heraldry Shoppe without becoming the brand-new owner of that beautiful replica of beautiful Sting. It was quite painful, but the further away from the store I went, the more I was free from the blade's spell, and the happier I was that I had behaved in an adult manner.

Instead I bought myself a Phineas and Ferb t-shirt that says, "I Know What We're Going to Do Today!" and a Precious Moments Mulan. Because even adults need shirts with cartoon characters on them and Disney Princess dolls.

I Know What We're Gonna Do Today!

So many false hopes. So many vain expectations. So many crushed dreams result from this fickle season that occurs each year between May and September.

That's right, I'm talking about summer. Every year when school gets out, I'm all, "Oh my gosh! Summer! Free time! Stuff I can do! Books I can read! Places to go! People to see! Time to sleep and to work and to sleep and to eat and to sleep! I CAN DO ANYTHING!"

*cue theme song* (Because I definitely have a theme song. I just don't know what it is yet.)

And to sweeten the deal, now I'm in college. Which means I have college summer. Which means I have a whole extra month of DOING ANYTHING.

ANYTHING.

Except we're more than a month into summer now and I have done NOTHING. Well, that's a slight exaggeration. I've done some things. But as usual, summer isn't anything like my fantasies built it up to be.

Last summer is on my list of the Top Five Most Productive Summers Awkward Mormon Girl has ever experienced, and I still spent like ten percent or more of it watching Netflix.

I watched Fraggle Rock, arguably the best show ever. I watched Lalaloopsy Land, arguably the worst show ever. Particularly I watched a lot of Phineas and Ferb.

See, Phineas and Ferb is about two brothers who decide to do one amazing thing every day all summer long. Also, they have a platypus. And Ferb has green hair. And a British accent. Basically, this show has everything going for it.

Every time I watch an episode it almost brings me to tears with its wonderfulness. I just come away feeling so inspired. I hear Phineas say, "Ferb, I know what we're gonna do today!" and I watch Phineas and Ferb build a rocket ship or give a monkey a shower, and I'm just all, "Yeah, Phineas. Yeah, Ferb. I want to do amazing things with my summer, too!"

And then I'm like, "Or I could just live vicariously through you." And then I watch another sixteen and a half episodes, including the one where they sing about how glad they are that they aren't spending their summer sitting around watching TV.

Phineas and Ferb is tricky like that.

Once again, I entered into summer this year with a determination to not waste it. And once again, I've had a very hard time doing just that thing.

For example, the other day I hit my snooze button twice, but I still managed to get up before seven-thirty. I was productive for several hours Then everything took a nose dive when I ate ice cream and watched Psych until I was brain dead.

I realized that watching so much Psych maybe falls under the category of "wasting summer," so I decided to be productive and make a dessert that requires boiling tin cans of sweetened condensed milk for three hours. And when I say tin cans, I mean tin cans. Like, the sweetened condensed milk is still in the cans. And you peel the labels off the cans and stick them in a pot of water and wait for it to boil. And then everyone in your house walks in and says, "Why are there tin cans in this pot of water on the stove?" And then you're like, "Don't judge me."

It's super weird. Also, not that effective. 'Cause apparently water has problems with getting hot enough to boil with cans of sweetened condensed milk in it. It takes way more than three hours for the water to actually boil for three hours. When it does actually boil, the water bubbles up around the cans like they're geysers or something, and then the cans rattle against the pot. They sound like dry bones. Or like an explosion waiting to happen. Something unpleasant, anyways.

I sat on the kitchen floor, eating more ice cream and listening to the cans rattle and watching Youtube videos by Rhett and Link on my iPod. After five hours of waiting for the water to boil for three hours, I realized I was once again wasting my summer. So I recruited my father to keep an eye on the cans and went running.

"Tomorrow," I said to myself as I ran off all the ice cream. "Tomorrow, I will do everything."

And so the next day I hit the snooze button three times and got up before nine. It took me about an hour to coax Little Sister to watch a movie with me, some two hours to watch the movie, and then like thirty seconds after that for me to revert back to sitting around, watching TV and reading teen romances and eating ice cream. That is all I did before heading to work at five o'clock that night.

Once I'd returned, I was forced to once again conclude that I was wasting summer. I needed to do something productive, and fast.

I was hastily trying to finish the special desserts I'd started the day before when Baby Sister came home in a blaze of summer sunshine and glory.

BABY SISTER: School's out! I'm going to have SO much time on my hands now. Awkward Mormon Girl, we should hang out all the time.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (perks up) Want to hang out right now?

BABY SISTER: Uh.... no.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (perks down)

BABY SISTER: But you know what we should totally do one of these days? Go to Disneyland. Like, really soon.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Okay. Let's do it.

And that is the (mostly) true story of how I recently spent an entire week at Disneyland.

Meditation

It all started when I was looking for an easy class.

An easy class, something not too difficult and that would require zero skillz. Something that wouldn't exhaust me. Something, perhaps, even... fun.

With these requirements in mind I ruled out class after class until finally, I settled on a class on meditation. I figured it would be easy. I figured it would require zero skillz. I figured that meditating would probably be a lot like sleeping, and if sleeping isn't fun, I don't know what is.

News flash. Meditation isn't like sleeping. Meditation is hard.

The meditation teacher would be like, "Listen to yourself breathing. Can you feel your lungs?"

And I would be like, "Yes. Can we sleep now?" Except only in my head. Because meditation time isn't talking time. It's quiet time. Even I know that.

And the teacher would be like, "Focus on your breathing! Feel the air enter and exit through your nostrils. Feel it fill you! Feel it leave!"

And I would be like, "I feel it, man, I feel it." And I would be pretty pleased with myself for about thirty seconds until the teacher said that the breath was all we could think about for twenty minutes. No distractions. No thinking about what we were going to eat for lunch or our recent friendship entanglements. No thinking about our favorite television shows. No nothing.

"If you do think about something else," the teacher said, "the breath will bring you back. You will remember the breath and then you will let the distraction go. It will float away like a ship on a passing sea."

"Passing sea," I said to myself. "Got it." I settled in to meditate.

I breathed in. I breathed out. I felt my lungs expanding and contracting and felt my breath in my nostrils. Pretty soon, though, I was thinking about missionaries coming home and cooking dinner and the book I'd read the night before and alligators and Phineas and Ferb. Theoretically the breath would have been able to bring me back and then I could have sent all my distractions shipping down that sea. The problem was, in order for the breath bring me back, I had to remember I was supposed to be thinking about the breath. Unfortunately, I was way too far gone for that. If remembering breathing was a place in North America, my thoughts were somewhere off the coast of Australia, frolicking with some marsupials.

Thus I learned the truth. Meditation isn't easy. Meditation does require skillz. Meditation is perhaps not as fun as sleeping.

It is, however, very useful.

After the meditation session the teacher went on to bring out all these slides about brain activity. Over the course of the class, we learned about how meditation can affect the brain.

The top way meditation affects the brain? It helps you become an adult.

Allow me to explain in laymen's terms. When something upsetting happens to you, be it a bear attack or a suspicion that your crush likes someone else, it wires a response in a place in the brain called the amygdala. The amygdala sends all these signals to your hormonal centers, telling you to freak out. So you freak out, and you initially freak out just as much as about the crush thing as you would about a bear attack.

There are, of course, other parts of the brain that realize that your crush not liking you is not as big of a deal as the bear attack. These are the inhibitory parts of the brain. Their job is basically to keep you from being a fool. When they realize that you're freaking out over something that doesn't put you in actual danger, they help you to stop freaking out. However, the connections to those parts of the brain aren't as strong, especially in generally anxious people. Or people who are young. Or people who are young and anxious aka teenagers and college students.

When a person meditates, the inhibitory parts of the brain activate. They get exercised, and they become easier to use. This helps meditators to consciously shut down overactive emotional responses, if not react more moderately in the first place.

As soon as the teacher told us this, I could almost feel my ears twitching. Having emotional responses that don't overwhelm=maturity=being a real adult and not someone who has the age requirements of an adult but is otherwise a fraud.

Okay, okay, I'm not exactly a fraud. It's not like I'm totally irresponsible or anything. It's just that sometimes I experience strong emotions. As I've gotten older and older, I've become better at dealing with them in adult ways. In some instances, though, they seem too strong for me. And then a tsunami of feelings sweeps over me. And sometimes I do things I regret or act in a way that does not befit my true self. Which is not pleasant, but which becomes a bigger problem when people I care about get dragged into that tsunami.

If meditation could help, then I would meditate my face off.

Every day. Twenty minutes of sitting still and 'being mindful." I was supposed to only think about the now.

"Note the now," the teacher would say. "Breath in, breath out. Feel the breath. Feel the carpet beneath your feet."

One breath, two breath. It feels scratchy. Three breath...

"Feel your heartbeat."

What color is this carpet? Isn't it... ah, no! Breathing. That's all. Six breath. Seven breath. Just the now.

"What do you hear?"

I hear -ten breath. Eleven- a dog barking.

"Hear the sound. Don't think about where it's coming from. Just hear it."

 I mean... I hear barking. Well, if I'm just hearing it maybe I shouldn't put a name to it...

"Feel the breath."

So... I hear a noise... and it sounds like... that.

"Don't name sounds. Just follow them.

...what does that even mean?

"What are the distractions that come into your mind?"

Do I listen to what she's saying, or just follow it? If I'm focusing on what she's saying, can I really be mindful?

"What distractions are coming into your mind?"

Does interpreting her words take away from the now?

"Just let them go by."

...the now... after this I can get lunch.

"Let them float away."

Tacos. Homework, baklava, workplace policies.

"They are not part of you. They just are."

That one time senior year when the band went to Disneyland and we got to go in the back of Toon Town and everyone had a Disney crown and mine had Tinker Bell on it... ahhhh. NO. Why aren't we being mindful, brain?! We're supposed to be maturing!

"If you can't focus, don't judge yourself," said the teacher. "Just love yourself. Go back to the breath. It will bring you back to mindfulness."

Yes. Yes. The breath will bring me back. Let's count the breaths. One, two, three... hmmm, Pinterest recipes....

And so it went. Every time I meditated, at the end of the session I always found myself spaced out for the last five minutes or so. Instead of exercising the inhibitory parts of my mind and learning to de-tsunami-ize my emotions, I was thinking about Christmas or examining my biceps or singing a Beatles song in my head.

...I'm never going to become a real adult, am I?