Another Sparkle in my life:

Tommy

(stud)

Jill

(gorgeous)

Tommy is one of my very favorite cousins.

 He's sweet, super smart, and chalk full of talent. 

I got to know him really well when I lived in California a few summers ago.

I always knew that the girl Tommy ended up with would have to be quite a catch.

...clearly I was correct.

Jill has got to be one of the most stunning brides I've ever had the pleasure of photographing.

It's intimidating to photograph such a lovely couple, in such a lovely setting. I was more nervous during this wedding than I've been in a long time, and afterwards I realized it was because I wanted everything to be absolutely perfect. I'm really intense about photography when it involved people I just love.

So many moments you want to capture on a day like this. 

In fact, I wish I had the ability to use my eyes as lenses to capture every second of this perfect day.

I sure hope I did it justice.

Congratulations, you lovely lovely couple.

I wish you the best of luck in your glittering future,

and love you completely.

Dance Log 2

Ballerinas have lovely backs, don't you think? They're especially apparent when wearing a strappy leotard. Today, as I was standing at the barre (one swan in front of me, and one behind me), I noticed a little something that set me apart from all the other ladies. Curious, I snuck a look at all of the dancers in my class including my warrior teacher.

Yup.

I was the only girl in the class wearing a bra. For a split second, I was a little embarrassed and inwardly scowled at my Italian heritage. ("Why couldn't I be blessed with an "Almost A" cup like everyone else?) Then, as I did some further investigating, I saw that there were a few swans who maybe should have been wearing one. I concluded that I would much rather be supported than not. Then one girl came into the studio late wearing a hot pink sports bra, so I had a friend.

The end. Moving on.


Today's class was a little harder than I would have liked. Remember in Dance Log 1 when I said each day I felt like I was slowly getting better? Yeah. Can I take that back?

Today I couldn't seem to get the right arms with the right legs, and half way through one combination our teacher stopped, and annoyedly started singing, "one of these dancers is different than the other". I felt so sorry for the poor soul who she was talking about, and then, to my great disappointment, found it to be me. I fixed my position, and she smiled and continued the class. Embarrassing much?

Yes.
Much.

I know that things worth accomplishing are rarely easy, but do they have to be humiliating too?

On a happier note, I did notice that I'm not the only girl in the class who doesn't know what on earth is going on. In fact, there was one girl who asked me to go over the combination with her. I felt like I had just received a gold medal that said, "NOT necessarily the worst dancer award". Felt pretty good. I just hope I taught her the right combination. I think I just miss modern dance so much. That's the majority of what I studied at school, and I feel really strongly that I need to return to it.

Ballet is fabulous; in fact, I fully believe it's the foundation of all dance technique, but for me it's too constricting. I miss breathing while I dance, and I miss getting into positions that feel interesting; not necessarily pretty. I miss performing. I miss it so much. A dear friend of mine just started the same modern dance graduate program that I was accepted into over a year ago. My heart just aches when I think about it; I wish so badly I was with her.

Right now though, I have my little Ballet 2 class, and I've got to appreciate the now; all of the things that I'm blessed with right now. And when I stop to take a look at my blessings, they are so incredibly abundant.

Anyway, the moral of the story is that class was a little rough today, but it's going to get better. I promise. I'm going to be like a dance jedi when I finish this class.
And I'm going to do it while wearing a bra.


Thanks for the support friends, and have a lovely Thursday.

Letters to my future children: #3

I was just thinking, kids.

I hope in heaven you're paying good attention to life down here. Dad and I were talking yesterday about some things, and I just wanted to give you a little heads up. There is a little thing called High School here on earth, kids. A time of life that can be used for good or evil. The most important thing about school is learning, right? You'd think so. It seems that kids care more what others think of them, instead of what is really important: getting an education. Sometimes it gets to a point where people stop being themselves because they're trying so hard to be popular, or charming, or whatever it takes for them to be whatever it is that they want to be.

There is a wonderful wonderful thing that happens after high school though, kids. It's called graduation. After graduation, a whole world is opened up to you almost overnight, like magic. A world where you come to a realisation that all of those cliques, those people you desperately wanted to be accepted by, the superficial clothing, cars, or electronics you agonized over, all of it; it doesn't matter anymore. What a release it is. I can't tell you how many times I've heard roommates, or classmates, or friends I went to University with who would say, "I wish I would have known when I was in high school how stupid it was to try to be something that I wasn't. How silly it was for me to try so hard to be cool." I find myself thinking that a lot too, especially when I see people I grew up with, who are still stuck in the High School mentality (a true tragedy I hope you kids don't experience).

High School isn't a bad thing, don't get me wrong. It's a time when you start to discover who you are. You make friends, some who will become lifelong pals. You get a taste of pre-adulthood. It's in high school that you will likely get your drivers license. It's in High School that (usually) you decide which University to go to (a university is like a bigger, cooler, more expensive version of high school minus the drama, kids). High School is great.

Maybe it's because I am a girl, but it seems to me that girls struggle alot more with this than boys do.
My dear girls, I hope you know it's ok to be unique. 

In fact, sometimes it's preferred. 

I hope you feel completely comfortable being just you, knowing always, that the most important definition of who you are is a son or daughter of God. As long as you know that first (and second that you have loving parents), I think you're good to go. You'll always be adored. It's taken me 20+ years to notice something remarkable, kiddos. I've noticed that those who are the most comfortable being exactly who they are; those people are loved the most. They are adored because they have the strength to be themselves.

People who are liked

a) appreciate themselves,

b) love others and show their love, and

c) are willing to share, rather than expectant to receive.

I know you're not even here yet, but could you promise to think about something for me? Just think about what an incredible thing it is, just to have the opportunity to be here; to be able to live life, and experience the ride. Don't worry about which store you'll get your clothes, which phone you can't wait to get, or what color car you want. Everything is going to be just fine.

Of course, you'll figure all of this out on your own when you come down to us.

 I just wanted to give you the heads up.


love always and forever,
mom

If the Nephites Didn't Have Dentists...

I shouldn't need one either, right?

This morning I had a dentist appointment. Ever since I was a kid and had to go to Dr. Death located on Major Pain Ave, in Suite Fear, I've been a little apprehensive to go. Gideon (in his obnoxious perfection) brightly told me what a wonderful experience he had yesterday, and assured me that I had absolutely nothing to worry about. I know he means well, but when he says things like that, it really only makes me more uncomfortable.The office is just past our parking lot, so we can easily walk. It's not like I can blame traffic. As I walked up the stairs, I felt like I was walking into the Testing Center at my University, or worse like I was on my way up to heaven to be judged for all of my sins. I kept thinking, "I'm not ready for this! I need more time." I hesitated as I put my hand on the front door of the office, but the secretary had already seen me. It was too late to bolt. I smiled (mouth closed), and filled out the paperwork. As I sat waiting, my stomach tightened more and more, until I felt like I should just go ahead and puke so I could hopefully reschedule.

I know this sounds dramatic, but I'm really not trying to exagurate.

For a minute, the secretary got up to make a copy, and my eyes flashed to the exit. But no sooner than I could have gotten up to run away, a sweet looking girl popped her head out, and said, "Alyssa"?
I was the only one in the room, but I thought about saying something like, "Nope. That's not me. My name is... Roberta Pumpperstien." Then I could run while she looked for my file. However, in real life, I'm not as brave as I am in my head. I answered (more like whispered) "yes", and followed her into the cave of dentistry. She had me sit on that chair. That awful chair, the one that allows her to make me lie down so she can stare into my mouth with that little light on her head. I've never been abducted by aliens, but that's how I imagine that kind of experience to be like. I tried not to, but a few times I made little wimper noises. She didn't seem to notice. She was too busy poking my gums. In my head, I'm thinking all sorts of things. "Why do they have to touch me?? Why do they have to touch my mouth?! Is nothing sacred? Why do they use those pointy tools that look uncomfortably similar to torture devices? And why do they talk to me when they know I can't talk back? (Ahem, my mouth is full of your tounge poker, and that skinny little mirror. Not to mention my spit.)" My hygentist was telling me stories about patients who fell asleep while she cleaned their teeth. In my head, I'm like, "Lady, I couldn't be more awake, and the people who are falling asleep while you scrape thier mouth are probably under some sort of drug influence. I felt like I had been sitting strapped (of course there are no real straps) into this awful chair, staring at the same ceiling that had a poster on it that said, "Every day is a Gift." Is that supposed to help with the anxiety? It sure didn't help me. I needed something to distract myself from the immense discomfort. I started thinking about places I normally hate that I would rather be than in this chair.

My goal was to reach 5.
Why do I do this to myself?

1. I'd rather be cleaning my stove.
2. I'd rather be scrubbing my tub.
3. I'd rather be touching raw meat. (Eeww.)

-at this point, my hygentist poked me extra hard, and I started thinking harder about my list.

4. I'd rather be pulling weeds. (Ow!) In 90 degree weather!
5. I'd rather be waiting to get my oil changed.

(sigh.) I got through it. There was pleanty more I could have come up with, but I was determined to stop at five. After the hygentist was finished, she brightly told me I had very nice teeth, and the dentist was on his way in. The dentist did a little diddy on my mouth, and I was done. My mouth hurts. And all I want is ice cream.



I was thinking. I bet the Nephites did have dentists. Maybe not a person with a kit of pointy tools, but someone who people would go to for pain in the mouth. And I bet it was no fun. Just sayin.

Sorry for the grouchy post. (I feel like I've been specializing in them lately.)
Everyone have a lovelier Wednesday than me, please!

Dance Log 1

My ballet teacher told our class that it would behoove us to keep a dance log- a journal of our experiences, and our progress. I'm only auditing the class, so it's not like I have anything to turn in, but I thought it would still be a good idea to do it. How can I refuse a suggestion from someone who has a vocabulary including the word "behoove"?

I don't think I've even told you guys about how I got here.
When we first moved to Boise, (about a year ago) I emailed the head of the BSU ballet department (who also founded a local dance company), and gave her a brief background, telling her that I danced on my University company, and I was interested in taking classes, and maybe even dancing on her company if she was looking for more dancers. She suggested I come to the Ballet 3 class, and I showed up bright eyed and bushy tailed, wearing my very best tights. It was a mortifying hour and a half. It became immediately clear that her company was very professional. And it became even clearer that I did not belong in the class. I should have considered myself lucky. She didn't kick me out, or even laugh at me, she just gave me a warm smile, and suggested I perhaps take Ballet 2 to brush up on my technique.

It only took me about a year to gather up the courage to go ahead and register.

When I walked into the first class, I kept repeating to myself that it wouldn't be as bad as Ballet 3; that I wouldn't have to face any of those professional ballerinas, and I would fit in here snug as a bug. Imagine my horror, when I recognized all of the lovely primas, and discovered that Ballet 2 is basically Ballet 3, just with a different class title.


The first day was a disaster for me. I felt like every other girl in the class was a swan. Thin, lovely to look at, and quick at learning combinations. Then there's me, who obviously has eaten ice cream in the last 5 years, and has hair that is most natural when it's in my face. I don't even remember what we did during class. I just remember the teacher, peering at me with her undeniable ballet wisdom, and trying to figure out what position I was in. She had to remind me about fixing my arm technique about 80 times, and I went home with a large lump in my throat. Pacing, I went back and forth between the pros and cons of staying in the class with myself, and later with Gideon.

Pro:

I miss dance, and taking this class allows me to dance.

Cons:

I don't feel like I'm very good at ballet.

I feel (to say the least) chunky.

Being in a class full of professionals is no bueno for my self confidence.

I can't even get my arms right, let alone the rest of my body.

The teacher intimidates me.

My classmates intimidate me.

...I cried after the first class. Isn't the first class the easiest?

It sure seemed like there were more cons than pros.

Gideon thought it better if I just drop the class, sad at seeing my eyes fill up with tears when I told him about the first day. Since I'm technically doing this for fun, he thought I should actually be having fun.

 What logic.

He suggested I find a different class that was enjoyable for me, and brightly asked, "What sounds fun?" In my head I thought, "Hmm.. I like art. I could learn to paint. Or, hey! I did Theater in Junior High, and I liked it. Maybe Theater? I love literature. Maybe I could take a lit class, or join a book club. I've always wanted to learn to play the cello; maybe I could take a beginning cello class. Oh! I want to be a good cook. I should take a culinary arts class!"

The ideas just kept coming, but in the back of my head I kept thinking that even if I took a class that covered painting while cooking, acting and reading, all while playing the cello, I would still really miss dancing.

A large part of me just really really wanted to drop the class, and pretend it had never happened. If I (heaven forbid) ever run into my teacher or one of the dancers at the grocery store, I wanted to just pretend not to recognize them. But I realized something. The reason I didn't want to take this, was because it wasn't an easy situation. I wasn't comfortable. The class scared me; which convinced me all the more that I needed to take it. I decided I just want to prove to myself that I can do things that are intimidating. I can take a ballet class with gorgeous swans, even if I'm just an ugly duckling.

Ugly duckling seems a little too kind. I'd say I'm like a dirty puppy; splashing in the water, and startling the swans. But there's a sign by the water that says, "Puppies Allowed", so I'm staying. The swans will get used to me. Maybe we'll even become friends.

If all I learn through taking this class is humility, I'm all for it. But I know I'll learn more. In three class periods, I've learned more about Ballet Technique than I have in the last four years of dancing. I've learned I respond well to yelling. Plus, it makes me sweat, which I love. It reminds me that I'm alive. PLUS, it's dance. It's not contemporary dance, but it's dance. And I'll take whatever kind of dance I can get.

Today was the third day of class. Each time I show up, I feel like I'm slowly getting better. But more significant is that I feel proud of myself just for trying. Today my teacher made a comment about arms, and then shouted, "Exactly Alyssa!" I felt like running to the center of the studio and doing a river dance of pure joy. (Then I remembered that there are three girls named Alyssa in the class. But I've convinced myself that she was talking to me.) As I walked out of the Morrison center and through campus, it felt so good to know that I could be sitting at home, or in the office right now, but I wasn't. I was walking through the crisp air, red and orange leaves falling into my hair, and my legs sorer than heck from a killer développé combination that our class had to do four times. My cheeks were still rosy from the last exercise across the floor, and I silently practiced my posture and alignment all the way to the car.

I can't wait for Thursday's class.

my canadian.

I know, I know. I've been slacking MAJOR on my 20 people who inspire. There's no excuse. But, if I did have an excuse, it would be that I try to put lots of effort into these posts, and the effort intimidates me more than just writing about my day to day life. But I've put it off too long, and it's time for me to finally write on one of the people I cherish most in the world.

Ladies and Gentlemen: I present to you Brittany Nelson Hill King.

I first met Brittany Nelson Hill in the fateful summer of 2006. I still remember the first time I saw her, I was in the passenger seat of a big truck, and I caught a glimpse of a GORgeous blonde with stunning blue eyes in the parking lot talking to my roommates. I never would have anticipated that she would become one of my dearest friends. It was a rough beginning. Brittany and I didn't get along super great. Since we didn't share a room, I just kinda steered clear of her, and tried not to tick her off every day.

The semester ended. I stayed in Rexburg for night classes, and Britt went back to her canadian motherland.

Our apartment manager called me a few weeks before the Fall semester began and informed me that I'd be rooming with Brittany. Like in the same room. Like SLEEPING in the same room. I thought I'd be dead before the end of the semester for sure, but I was wrong. Somewhere between that semester and now, Brittany has become one of my best friends ever.

She went to BYU Jerusalem for a semester, and I just remember missing her like mad, and being so elated when she called me during thanksgiving break to catch up. I love catching up with that girl. Isn't she stunning? I could go all day on how gorgeous this girl is.

Brittany was married last year in the beautiful Cardston Temple. I was able to go support her as a bridesmaid at her gorgeous wedding. It was my first time to be present at a sealing. So special, to be able to witness such a dear friend get married. I'll always be grateful to Brittany and her family for making room for me, and treating me with such love. I was also able to sneak a few photos.

Needless to say, Brittany was a stunning bride.

Jason and Brittany are one of those couples 

who are so gorgeous it causes spontaneous nausea. 

It's kind of disgusting. 

The world will not be prepared for the attractive children that will come from this couple.

I'm so happy I was able to be with Brittany for the last few days she was a single lady (don't break out into the beyonce song, I beg you...).  I loved staying up late and talking about everything we dreamed of and were scared of. It was such a lovely wedding. I was so happy, and so sad all at once. Happy because I know Brittany found the man of her dreams; a guy 110% worthy of her.
Sad, because that meant that she and I wouldn't be roommates again.

Did I mention at the time, I was engaged?

Three weeks after I spent the weekend in beautiful canada for her wedding, 

Brittany was the BEST bridesmaid ever for me.

Brittany is perhaps the most loyal friend I've ever had. She's always willing to give frank advice, and encourages me to do the right thing when I really just want to do the wrong thing. It's like she has this bizarrely accurate canadian radar; she always knows when I need a chat with her, and calls me often. How I miss her. Gideon and I are planning on going up to visit within the next year.

Brit and I have had countless adventures.
She was with me when I got knocked out by the most terrifying icicle in the world.

She laughed, took pictures, and helped me get back into the car. We still laugh about it.

Brittany is a really gorgeous girl physically. She has the MOST PERFECT skin on the face of the planet. Like alabaster. Her eyes are incredible, and I think every day I lived with her (which was over 2 years) someone complimented her fabulous bodacious hair. Brittany taught me how to straighten my hair, and how to apply makeup. I taught her how to physically exert herself through exercise. Good tradeoff.


As flawlessly beautiful as Britt is on the outside, she's incredibly beautiful on the inside.

We used to have late late LATE night discussions, and I would constantly be impressed by her love for the gospel and for her amazing family. We still have lengthy talks on the phone, and soon (hopefully VERY soon), I'll be able to visit her (since it's my turn). Brittany is my favorite canadian person on the face of the planet including Anne of Green Gables (who was basically my idol growing up, and who's movies I can quote word for word).


Our kids are going to be friends, and we're going to always be friends.
She'll always be quite simply, my canadian.

The Sweetest Ultimatum.

So the same thing happens every night before we fall asleep. After saying our prayers, having a scripture study, and switching off the lamp, Gideon cuddles up to me and momentarily begins his adorable snore. When I think he's fallen completely asleep, I try to inch away so that I can breathe. Seconds go by. Then he inches closer. I scoot away a bit more. He follows. Sooner than later, I've got about 1/2 an inch before I go tumbling off the bed. When that happens, I either spend the night in misery, because I'm super uncomfortable on the edge, or I poke gideon and ask that he move over to his side of the bed 

(then the whole procedure starts over).

Anyway.

Last night, Gideon snuggled up next to me, and wrapped his arms completely around me so there was no escape. I protested, "Gideon, I can't breathe with you so close. Could you move over to your side?" Gideon, still asleep said in a deliriously muffled voice, "No. I'm giving you an ultimatum. Either you get used to sleeping on the edge, or you get used to snuggling with me." Apparently he was very out of it. Laughing out loud, I must have woken him, because he said in a more awake and confused voice, "...what happened?"

Anyway, I just love my husband.

Somedays, no matter how hard I try...

I can't stay grumpy.
(you read that right)

I couldn't sleep last night. Gideon was practically purring, fast asleep, and trying to hug me so tight I hardly could breathe. I tossed and turned, getting grouchier by the minute. I had a strange desire to poke him til he woke up, just so he could be grouchy tossing and turning like me. How evil. So, naturally, when I woke up, I felt like Oscar the grouch, with squinty eyes, and ready to bite anyone who got in my way. But, after Gid got home from teaching his early morning seminary, (did I tell you guys he's teaching early morning seminary?) Gideon brought me a doughnut from his class.

 How could I stay grumpy with such a delightful breakfast? Doughnut + strawberry milk = Alyssa smiling.

That is, until I remembered that I had to go to my ballet class. 

The first day of class (two days ago) was basically a recipe of embarrassment, sauteed with insecurity, a dash of skinny envy, and whipped with modern dance with drawls. It was rough. I had to stifle back tears on my way to the car; not because I hate ballet, but because I really miss dancing with my friends, and I especially miss being on my old company. I get anxiety when I think about going to this class. It mostly is filled with girls who are on a professional company; and that's a real confidence killer. Plus, I'm paying tuition for this class. So I'm kinda feeling like if I'm paying for it, I should be not hating my life. Right?

So as I'm deciding which leotard I should embarrass myself in this morning, I got all Oscar the Grouch again. I had a conversation with myself in my head.

Alyssa I: "Alyssa! Why are you so grouchy? What is your problem??"

Alyssa II: "I don't want to go to this class. I don't even like ballet."

Alyssa I: "Well, the deadline to drop the class is tomorrow. If you're really that miserable, you probably should just drop it, instead of feeling sorry for yourself and moping around."

Alyssa II: "Alyssa, I'm not going to drop a class just because it intimidates the pee out of me, ok?"

Alyssa I: "Well, maybe you should stop being such a baby about it then."

Alyssa II: "Fine. I'm putting my leotard on, ok? Geez, back off."

Does anybody else think I need medication?

Anyway, after I convinced myself to go to class one more time before I decide whether or not to drop it, I went outside. And guess what I saw?

I saw hot air balloons. Not just one, several of them, sailing off in the sky. I stood in the parking lot for a minute and just stared. And then I smiled. How could I be in a grumpy mood when there were hot air balloons sailing above my head? I couldn't.

I went to my class. It was exhausting, but not half as bad as the first day of class. As I was cheerfully walking back to my car, I tried to figure out what made today better than Tuesday's class. I tried really hard not to conclude that it was because of a doughnut, strawberry milk, and a lovely view of hot air balloons, (obviously there was more to it than that) but it was hard not to.

You guys know I'm not always such a horrific grump in the morning, right?
Some people would even describe me as 'chipper'.
But some mornings, I am.
I'm just grumpy.

But this morning, no matter how hard I tried to stay grumpy, I couldn't be.

Moving on...

A dear dear friend of mine, the great Jenny wrote a post on her lovely blog a few weeks ago. It made me think, and I decided to write my own post on the subject. I'm nervous, because this reveals a lot of information about me, and I have a dirty feeling that everyone who reads this will think of me as an immature little girl from now on. Hopefully not, but maybe. Jen's post was about how difficult it is to see ex boyfriends (those ones who previously would insist they'd never get married) happily tie the knot. Most likely to a teenager.

The exact "type" of girl who they would make fun of and jeer at.

And there you are: single, with all sorts of memories at your disposal to analyze and dissect, along with the lovely responsibility (that most women feel they have) of letting go of the embarrassment, betrayal, and rejection that comes with the simple, heartbreaking realization: he found someone else.

Even worse, I think, is the realization that you are replaceable.

Reading her post threw me back to several years ago when I was head over heels crazy for a boy in Texas. My friends from Texas may think they know who I'm talking about, but the odds are pretty slim. Few people knew even about my crush on this boy. Let us call him Boots. I feel pretty sure in hindsight that this Boots didn't really notice me as much as I hoped he did. I was still a teenager, and he and I were never exclusive. It's not like he didn't know that I existed; he would sit next to me often in classes or in church and would whisper things in my ear (which I mistakenly took as "I'd like to marry you someday."), and would always go out of his way to crack jokes at me (which I wrongfully took as, "Our kids are going to be really beautiful."). He'd often rest his arm on the back of my chair and would scratch my back (only heaven knows what I took that as), and I would daydream about what our first kiss would be like.

Like I said.
I was a teenager.

I'll never forget the last words Boots said to me before I left to go up to school over 1000 miles away: "hurry back, ok? I'm going to miss you like crazy." He looked at me for a minute, and touched my cheek lightly with the back of his hand, then tapped my nose in the playful way that he would.

My heart skipped a beat, tripped, and fell flat on it's face.

I took a deep breath, got in my car, and drove off as he waved goodbye under the hot Texas sun. I don't know how I even made it home. I was so twitterpated.



The next time I saw Boots, over a year later, he was dating another girl. A girl I remember him describing to me once as someone he'd "never even want to rub shoulders with" when we'd had a discussion on the characteristics of people we would be interested in dating. He had described her as superficial and shallow. Yet, there she was next to him: gorgeous and glowing. I had dated a few boys since last seeing boots, and anticipated that he had a significant other by now, but when I saw him with another girl's arms wrapped around him, I was heartbroken. I wasn't over him, even though there was really nothing to be over. I'm not sure what I expected when I saw him, but it certainly wasn't him casually waving (I'm not sure if he was even directing that wave to me) from across a crowded room at an activity while his gorgeous girlfriend was dragging him out the door. A few weeks later, we ran into each other, and had the most platonic conversation I've ever experienced.

I think I stopped to get myself some pity ice cream on the way home that day.

Sometimes I wish I could time travel back and visit myself at that exact minute in my life. The minute when I sat alone in my car, embarrassed, crying and eating ice cream; wondering if I'd ever get these kind of butterflies from another boy in my life. I would be sure to put on a good outfit, fix my hair, and then I'd knock on the window of my car back in 2004, and ask to sit in the passenger seat. I'd give 18 year old Alyssa a hug, and without revealing too much information (my 18 year old self would never believe that A- I would become a dancer, or B- I would meet my love while I was on a dance company),

 I would assure my 18 year old self that I would get over Boots. 

I probably would leave out a few things. 

Like the fact that it would take me longer than I would've hoped to get over a boy who I'd never so much as held hands with. I'd probably leave out the fact that later, Boots went off the deep end, which would break my heart a little more (something I thought impossible). I'd leave out the fact that to date here in 2010, no one would ever break my heart as badly as Boots did. All of the break ups I experienced after I moved to Idaho were a piece of cake, including when my future husband broke up with me in college. When Gid wanted to go our separate ways, my feelings were hurt, and my pride was especially bruised, but it was a pinprick compared to the sledgehammer of a adolescent girlish infatuation being blown up by the first boy she ever more than liked. Ouch. Thinking about it still stings. But I think that, my first heartache taught me a little about how to be independently strong and confident.

There is a reason it's not possible for me to go back to 2004 to comfort myself in that moment of complete depression (minus the ice cream). And there's a reason that Alyssa in 2020 can't come give me parental advice when I'm going crazy with my future kids (who, if they're anything like their parents will be quite a handful).

This life is all about experiencing things, and the learning and growing that comes with those experiences.

So, when you find me moping in a corner, most likely eating ice cream and secretly thinking about reading the twilight series (ahem, solely for the purpose of getting my mind off of whatever), remind me about Boots.

I'll probably get a little red when you mention him.

But hopefully, I'll get the point.

Califamily.

Gid and I were able to spend the weekend with family in California for my sweet cousin Tommy's wedding. I know I always say this, but it was a breath of fresh air to get out of Boise. I don't try to make it sound like Boise is claustrophobic; it's not. Boise has been great. But I sure do love to get out whenever I can. Especially when I get to go with Gid. I love seeing my family. Not only was I able to see my Aunt Patti and Uncle Mike (everybody needs an Aunt Patti and Uncle Mike), but I was able to see my Grandma Julie, and my sweet mom, along with other relatives. I just adore my mother. While we were visiting with some of our extended family, one of my uncles said in reference to my mom, "That woman just walks on water." And I thought to myself, "I think she walks on water, and she's my mother..." Like I got to see her in her best and worst moments, and I still think she's the most Christlike person in the world. I just adore her. She's the best mother in the world for me.

Aunt Patti and Uncle Mike were so much fun to be around. Gideon, not used to the heavy dose of awesomeness that one is exposed to being in the Peterson home, was laughing so hard from sunrise to sundown, (especially when me, patti, mom and grandma were getting dinner ready) and I feel confident he got an excellent abdominal work out.

Gid and I were also lucky, because we were able to hit Disneyland on Friday! We made the half hour drive down in my Uncle Mike's beloved porsche with the top down. It was saw-eeet!! And my hair- my hair was bodaciously amazing. We hit all the rides we wanted to, and ate disgustingly expensive disneyland food. We spied on Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty (who was wide awake by the way) signing autographs, and we met a kinda grouchy Mary Poppins who was threatening little girls under her breath. I don't think Julie Andrews would approve, but if I was wearing that heavy of an outfit on that hot of a day, I think I'd be ready to kill everyone before you could say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious too. It was a magical day. We definitely got lost in downtown LA on our way home, and had to stop some policemen to get back on the right freeway, but it was a truly magical day. The only thing that would have made it more magical would have been if I was able to meet Prince Naveen from the Princess and the Frog. I've had a mad crush on him for a few months now. It's ok. I like Gideon more. Like alot more. And we had such a lovely time in the happiest place on earth.  I've got to be honest though: Minnie and Mickey got nothin' on hanging out with my family. The fun we had with family was really the epic part of our trip.

Tommy's wedding was lovely. Classy, elegant, comfortable, and lovely. Isn't it crazy how much family changes in such a short period of time? I hardly recognize my cousin's kids, and I noticed a gorgeous girl while I was photographing the wedding, and then realized she was my cousin Rachel. She's the type who without meaning to, makes you feel like your resume is about the size of a gum wrapper. So accomplished. So gorgeous. And, thats right- related to yours truly. I love my family. I love them so much. Aunt Patti and I cried like babies when my mom had to take off, and then we cried again when I had to go. Patti is one of a kind. She's funny and sweet, smart and accomplished, and can make anyone in the world feel like they are the most important thing ever. Compared to her, I have the personality of a shoe. My Uncle Mike is basically the most charming man on the face of the planet, and watching he and aunt patti joke around with eachother makes me so excited to grow old with my Gid. I was able to spend several weeks with Aunt Patti and Uncle Mike when I was in college, and I had such a marvelous blast with them. So spending time with them, is very similar to being home. I know where the jelly bean stash is. Need I say more?

Everybody needs and Aunt Patti and Uncle Mike. And a sweet tommy. And a gorgeous Rachel. And an funny grandma julie. And a bunch of adorable 1st cousins, once removed. And an undeniably perfect mom. And everyone before, after, in between and throughout.

Oh family. How I miss you. I can't wait till next time.