I woke up last weekend to the familiar sound of a coffee pot gurgling. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and rushed out to the kitchen, not daring to believe it to be true.

Sure enough, coffee!

Sweet, delicious, nectar from the gods, COFFEE!!!

“Mom! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEEEEAAAASE tell me that is not decaff watered-down coffee I see brewing!”

“Well… I made it half and half.”

“Half and half?”

“Yes. Half regular and half decaff.”

You might ask why my parents even own a coffee pot in the first place if– as Latter Day Saints–it is not allowed in their “Word of Wisdom”. The answer is simple. Twice a year my family justifies coffee. On Thanksgiving and Christmas… to have with pie… because a small exception like that is OK. Jesus doesn’t mind. Of course we still make two pots most of the time (leaded and unleaded) in case some of the family doesn’t want to walk the line that closely.

But my mother? My sweet, sweet, Mormon mother,  is the mother of all justifiers! She can find a way to make just about anything OK.

“Just let me see the top playing card and I’ll decide if I want to draw or discard.”

“Oh it’s OK if the grandkids have one little piece of candy after they finish their Popsicles.”

“I don’t think having pizza will really effect her lactose intolerance that much. She likes cheese!”

“Your cat wants to be outside. I’m sure she didn’t go too far. Yes, you did tell me not to let her outside, but she was meowing!”

I could go on. But the point is that my mom is freaking adorable for overlooking Jesus and making watered down half caffinated coffee for me.

If that ain’t love, then I don’t know what is!

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Living with the rents, Loved One(s), Story Time

I just did…

Blue eyes, full pouty lips and red hair!

In December of 97, my aunt passed away due to a horrible car accident. She left behind one daughter, my cousin Steph.

Since Steph’s father was never in the picture, she came to live with my family. She was only 12 years old.

As I am sure you can imagine, coming to live with a new family after just loosing your mother was not easy. My sisters and I did our best to include her, even calling her our “kiss-tor” (cousin + sister somehow equals “kiss-tor”).

Through the years we have had our shares of ups and downs and even though we are coming out of a 2+ year down, I have always loved her and wanted the best for her.

Sunday night Steph came over to my parents house and brought along her two beautiful kids. It was the first time I got to meet the adorable 3 month old Treyson.

I will have to get a picture of baby and momma together because it is actually quite comical. You see, Steph is half African American but her children are as white as can be! She laughs and say when she is at the store people think she is their babysitter – not their mother and that apparently she makes a great incubator for children to look exactly like their father!

Man I have missed her and her sense of humor! Here’s hoping I don’t go another 2 years before seeing them again! I hate that I’ve missed so much of my nephews lives.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Emotions get the best of me, Loved One(s)

When I was 18 years old, I move out of my parents house to live with 3 other girls in a two bedroom apartment. Man we had fun! Well… two of us had fun. The other two dry humped their boyfriends and poured our beer down the sink meticulously placing each bottle back in the fridge as a not so subtle disapproving statement of our life choices. But they always made it to church on Sunday, I assume to pray for our heathen souls.

I’m still a little mad about that…

Anyway, I lived with this gaggle of girls not-yet-turned women for 18 months and once the lease was up, I moved to where I knew I would always be welcome–my parents house.

When I left my parents house for the first time, I was their good little Mormon daughter. When I returned back, things had changed. I tried to put up a charade–for fear of disappointing them–that I was still the same spiritually enlightened, “morally clean” person. I even took a church calling to be a primary teacher (though the guilt of being a poser nearly killed me!).

Sadly, after being caught drinking underage by a team of power hungry cops, my cover was blown. My parents told me it was live by their rules or move out! Being the emotional hormone-ridden teen that I was, I understood that to mean they were kicking me out.

Through the years I have moved back home a total of 6 times. SIX! Each time my parents have welcomed me back and each time they have come to except me and my non-Mormon ways more and more. They may not approve of my life style any more today than they did 10 years ago, but they have become more tolerant.

For example, Sunday morning I came home after a sleepover with ED to find my parents in the kitchen with my niece and nephew who they were watching for the weekend. My Mom turns to my five year old niece and smugly says, “Rowan, ask Summer why she wasn’t here to have a sleep over with you last night”, then gives me a small, smart-ass smile.

I love my Mother. Tolerance with a sense of humor … I’ll take that over guilt trips and lectures any day!

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Moving Blows, Story Time

ED was offered FREE tickets to the first University of Utah home game and we had to pass them up. “WHY?” you might scream ask. The answer was, sadly, that I had an online assignment due and ED had massive amounts of anatomy studying to do too. And no it wasn’t MY anatomy he was studying either.

So what does the nerd couple do instead?

FOOTYING!

In case you can’t tell, I have my laptop on my lap and ED has his. The TV is showing the U of U (on low volume) kicking Utah State’s butt. The TV is, of course, directly in front of ED.

Football + Studying = FOOTYING

A way to watch the game and still pass Mass Comm 1500.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

PS – in case you are wondering, U of U won 35 to 17! GO UTES!

Back to School, ED is not Emotionally Disturbed, Nerdom

As many of you know, I am a part time student at the Salt Lake Community College. Fall semester started last week and they had more students enroll than they ever have. The parking lot is ridiculously full, the halls are filled with people on their cell phones, and I’ve never seen the line at the bookstore wrap around the room for two weeks straight.

I suppose the economy is to blame. Everyone has come to the same conclusion I did a year ago: Better get in gear to remain relevant in the market place.

Night school is honestly awesome in spite of the abnormally busy hall ways. Downtown night school is even awesomer! If you enjoy people watching and are bored,  I highly encourage enrolling just to experience the diversity of it all.

Especially the teachers!

I have a teacher this semester that I am absolutely fascinated with. Honestly I can’t take my eyes off of him from the moment he walks in the room. Everything from his tight shirt with the buttons about to pop over his round belly to the white film that looks to be sunscreen not rubbed in all the way to the way he blinks very hard and can ramble off quotes from famous dead people without ever taking a breath.

All of it!

I am mesmerized by him. I can’t say that I pay attention 100 percent of the time to what he is teaching. I am too busy romanticizing the little tid bits of personal information he keeps dropping about himself and trying to figure him out.

No wedding ring. Must be single. Said he is disabled and has been hit by cars. That explains his walk. Has battled cancer. Perhaps skin cancer? That would explain the sunscreen. Father was an accomplished writer who was friends with Einstein? Wait, did I hear him right? Mother would beat him if he had nightmares. Now we are getting super personal! President Lincoln might have been gay? What are we studying again? How can he write that many big words on the board while talking and never looking at notes? I really hope he doesn’t pop a button on his shirt, that could be awkward, for all of us. Seriously, how can he remember so many quotes AND who said them? I can barely remember my debit card pin number.

I’m telling you, I spent an hour and a half talking to myself like this because he is that interesting!

Then there is my public speaking teacher who is from Nigeria. Completely animated and expressive man, but you have to listen carefully to what he is saying because his accent is super thick. Every time he spoke about “context” I would blush because it came out sounding like “cunt-x”.

Two semesters ago I had a communications teacher who had a thick English accent. ED told me his communications teacher was from India. How incredibly interesting that the community college communication instructors are all individuals whose primary language to communicate is not “American” at all!

All this is to say that I really do love being in school. I am completely worn out by the time I get home but the experience is so worth it to me.

Work. School. Homework.

Sleep and repeat.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

PS – please remind me of this post when finals roll around and I am wondering why the hell I decided to go back to school!

Back to School