<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577</id><updated>2011-07-11T10:07:11.140-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Aimee Haertel</title><subtitle type='html'>If you don't stand for something you will fall for anything.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>73</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-6598807405074180357</id><published>2010-04-18T09:21:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2010-04-18T09:29:47.485-06:00</updated><title type='text'>How Praying Rests the Weary</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;If I am completely honest, prayer has always been a bit of a struggle for me. Don’t get me wrong, I do it. I pray in the morning, before bed, and before every meal. It’s just a hard concept to fully wrap my head around. I understand that it’s the Father and he wants me to talk to him, but he knows everything anyway. What’s really hard is making all my prayers meaningful. I try to follow the advice in Alma, to pray continually over everything and for everyone, but it’s hard! It’s much easier to just say thank you for my blessings and then present my wish list. But lately, I have really wanted to improve my prayers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was very worried about this semester during Christmas break and had my dad give me a blessing. In it, I was counseled to pray mightily, pray vocally, and to council with the Lord. Prayer was mentioned several times so I knew it was especially important for me at this time in my life. So I made an effort to figure this whole thing out. I studied the prayers given in the scriptures, I looked up talks on prayer, and talked to all my returned missionary friends, but I still felt so weak in that area. I tried earnestly to make my prayers reach higher than my ceiling but I was stuck and it was frustrating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Five weeks into the semester I was completely burned out. My life was flooded with assignments, quizzes, tests, labs, running, weights, hurdles, fliers, office and on call shifts, and keeping my floor quiet during quiet hours left me even more sleep deprived than ever. I was up past midnight finishing homework, up again at 2 to ask my residents to be quiet, and then up early in the morning for my 7:30 class. Finally, I was completely worn out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a less than restful weekend I rolled out of bed and on to my knees. I thought about everything that needed to be done that week and couldn’t help but cry. I really, truly, and honestly, prayed and pled for help to make it through the day. I wasn’t going to be able to do it alone. The next day I had the same experience in the morning. I took some other advice from my blessing, “the atonement covers you fears and concerns.” I told my Heavenly Father of everything that had to be done, what I knew I could do and pleaded, not asked, for his help. All day I found myself praying: before every class, during me test, before lunch, before scripture study, before and after my nap, before and during practice, just anytime I Felt overwhelmed or inadequate I took it to the Lord. I read the talk “Balm of Gilead” by Boyd K. Packer and was touched by the quote, “If you need a transfusion of spiritual strength, then just ask for it. We call that prayer. Prayer is powerful spiritual medicine.” I was beyond worn out, but as the hymn teaches: “Oh, how praying rests the weary!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was able to find rest in my Savior that day. I was treated with the powerful medicine of prayer and made well again. Prayer can and does change the night to day. So, when life gets dark and dreary, don’t forget to pray!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-6598807405074180357?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/6598807405074180357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=6598807405074180357&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/6598807405074180357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/6598807405074180357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2010/04/how-praying-rests-weary.html' title='How Praying Rests the Weary'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-7376892719504794698</id><published>2010-01-30T23:54:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2010-01-30T23:57:38.671-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Shoutout to Pickleville!</title><content type='html'>Pickleville Playhouse is a fun theatre in Bear Lake. Eat a Western Meal before the performance and then enjoy favorite musicals.  They have a few of their own original shows, a new one called The Hanging of El Bandito, which was a huge hit this summer! They will be playing Feb 13th and 15th in Logan. Go check them out at: www.picklevilleplayhouse.com I have seen 3 of their productions and I LOVED all of them. They have great actors and it is a really fun environment.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-7376892719504794698?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/7376892719504794698/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=7376892719504794698&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7376892719504794698'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7376892719504794698'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2010/01/shoutout-to-pickleville.html' title='Shoutout to Pickleville!'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-5597757026238864823</id><published>2009-12-27T16:14:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2009-12-27T16:25:15.791-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Invictus by William Ernest Henley</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;Out of the night that covers me,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;Black as the pit from pole to pole,&lt;br /&gt;I thank whatever gods may be&lt;br /&gt;For my unconquerable soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the fell clutch of circumstance&lt;br /&gt;I have not winced nor cried aloud.&lt;br /&gt;Under the bludgeonings of chance&lt;br /&gt;My head is bloody, but unbowed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beyond this place of wrath and tears&lt;br /&gt;Looms but the Horror of the shade,&lt;br /&gt;And yet the menace of the years&lt;br /&gt;Finds and shall find me unafraid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It matters not how strait the gate,&lt;br /&gt;How charged with punishments the scroll,&lt;br /&gt;I am the master of my fate:&lt;br /&gt;I am the captain of my soul.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF99FF;"&gt;Some background from Wikipedia: "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  font-weight: normal; line-height: 19px; font-family:sans-serif;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000000;"&gt;At the age of 12, Henley became a victim of &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tuberculosis" title="Tuberculosis" style="text-decoration: none; background-image: none; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; -webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-color: initial; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000000;"&gt;tuberculosis&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000000;"&gt; of the bone. In spite of this, in 1867 he successfully passed the &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oxford" title="Oxford" style="text-decoration: none; background-image: none; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; -webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-color: initial; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000000;"&gt;Oxford&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000000;"&gt; local examination as a senior student. His diseased foot had to be amputated directly below the knee; physicians had announced that the only way to save his life was to amputate. Henley persevered and survived with one foot intact. He was discharged in 1875 and was able to lead an active life for nearly 30 years despite his disability. With an artificial foot he lived until the age of 53. The poem was written from a hospital bed."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 19px; font-family:sans-serif;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;(Invictus means 'unconquerable')&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCCFF;"&gt; What a wonderful poem!! We can be acted upon OR we can act. "I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul." It's so easy to be the victim but we need to be proactive. Make your life worth something! We can't change our circumstances, but we can change our attitude about it. That being said, I watched the movie "Invictus" starring Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon, which is how I got interested in this poem. I highly recommend it to everyone!! It has the intensity of sports and some great historical lessons. I suggest brushing up of the apartheid and Nelson Mandela before you see it though. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-5597757026238864823?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/5597757026238864823/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=5597757026238864823&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5597757026238864823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5597757026238864823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/12/invictus-by-william-ernest-henley.html' title='Invictus by William Ernest Henley'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-5063491211597174685</id><published>2009-12-11T12:18:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2009-12-11T14:02:17.200-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunshine On My Shoulders Makes Me Happy</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, I made it through my 3rd semester of college! I'd say It was a very successful one. My grades were: B, A-, A, A, A So I am happy. I was had a great semester, I haven' had too much stress. It's actually been the best time of my life. I've just been really happy and confident.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But then this week happened. I'm not sure what it was because I wasn't that stressed, but I've been working on a shirt and it took SO long. Spending 6 hours a day in th sewing lab doesn't make for a very happy person. So I was just having a crappy few days, my job has been pretty stressful with having to do check outs and no one is ready to check out when they say they will be... the sewing machine was giving me issues, and because I didn't have any time to myself my room was slowly becoming a disaster (I swear I'd be gone all day and I'd come home and it was worse than when I left it). Luckily I have some awesome friends! After his final, Dave came over to tell me how it went and I was fighting with a gathering stitch and the sewing machine and he could tell how frustrated I as and so he offered to vacuum. So he made my bed, folded my blankets while I put away my shoes and coats and then he vacuumed my room while I sewed. Later that night I was on call and feeling really sick, with a headache so Jordan gave me a neck massage and that really helped the headache (that is of course until my residents called me at midnight to come checkout and they hadn't cleaned their room....). So then the next day I woke up in a bad mood, still had a headache and a pessimistic attitude. Again Dave came and saved the day by telling me funny stories, sending funny pictures and then walking with me to the sewing lab. After taking that long walk (it's about a half mile from my apartment) I felt so much better. I think part of my problem is that because of the cold weather (-10 degrees) I haven't been running outside. In fact the only time I'm outside is when the sun is barely up to walk to breakfast. Then I was inside all day and would walk to dinner in the dark. I was getting no fresh air or sunlight. I realize now how important that is. We need to take a break and spend some time in a natural environment. However, if that isn't possible, it's nice to have people like Dave who are like sunshine in our lives!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SyKi8yGV8nI/AAAAAAAAAOo/H2h3LXTnFJs/s1600-h/IMGP0614+-+Copy.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 184px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SyKi8yGV8nI/AAAAAAAAAOo/H2h3LXTnFJs/s200/IMGP0614+-+Copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414068867176985202" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-5063491211597174685?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/5063491211597174685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=5063491211597174685&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5063491211597174685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5063491211597174685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/12/sunshine-on-my-shoulders-makes-me-happy.html' title='Sunshine On My Shoulders Makes Me Happy'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SyKi8yGV8nI/AAAAAAAAAOo/H2h3LXTnFJs/s72-c/IMGP0614+-+Copy.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-8627257370683273260</id><published>2009-12-01T18:56:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2009-12-01T18:58:39.956-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Family Transistions</title><content type='html'>I called and talked to a few of my family members for a paper I had to write for my Marriage and Family Relationships class. The topic of the paper was family transistions. The three presented here are: Marriage, Becoming a Parent, and Having Kids Move Out. I got full credit and the TA's comment was: "Nice paper- I enjoyed it." &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; line-height: 32px; "&gt;Interviewed Jennie Twitchell (sister) on transition to parenthood. Her baby’s name is Mylah.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;Going through the transition of becoming a parent is different than the other transitions because hormones are directly involved. Jennie said that when she got married, she still had her own life, it was just with another person. But when she had her baby, her life became Mylah’s life. When you have a baby, it isn’t your schedule or your wants or your needs anymore. It is all about the baby.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She told me that it is a “funny feeling” with all the new and weird hormones. She expected to have a big overwhelming&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;emotional love from the start, but it was a bit of a disconnect at first. The nurse brings you the child. She thought incredulously, “This is a baby. MY baby.”&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But over the first couple days, her love grew into a way she couldn’t describe. She was in school, which was incredibly stressful. She learned how to deal with sleep deprivation night after night. “Finally there was something important than me.” Before, it was all about getting good grades, but with a baby, the most important thing became being with her. Priorities really changed with the birth of Mylah. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;Jennie says that everything is unexpected. She knew it was going to be hard, but didn’t know exactly what to expect. The most unexpected thing was the frustration. It was really hard to feed Mylah, it always ended up being a two person job, and she didn’t expect to get so upset and angry at a newborn. After feeling that much love it was strange to feel that mad. The other thing that shocked all of us in the family was her suddenly being ok with the color pink. She also started using cutesy words such as “honey” and “little one.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;The hardest adjustment was learning how to deal with everything while being sleep deprived. After getting only four hours straight she’d say, “I feel like a new person!” It was really difficult learning how to control emotions and have that extra patience while running on little or no sleep. She was so set in her own schedule that it was hard to adjust to Mylah’s schedule. Even now that Mylah is two, there was a day when Jennie wanted to get things done, but Mylah was sick so Jennie had to hold her the entire day. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;The most helpful thing in the transition was not being sick. She actually had mastitis so when she got over that, everything became much easier.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It also helped that her husband was a full time student and didn’t have a full time job. He was around a lot to help with everything. Of course her mother and mother-in-law helped with shopping and keeping the baby calm so Jennie could get some sleep. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;When I asked her what she learned from this, she replied, “You can’t even put words into what you learn, and then you have to sum it all up… there are more important things than school and doing well in it. The importance of human relationships, the importance of a good night’s rest, and patience. I can’t even understand these people who don’t have kids. Having a child is the greatest lesson in being unselfish and in patience and what is actually important in life. I’m not the most important thing in the world. I would rather take than $10 and buy her a toy or something I know she will enjoy than get something I need.” Then she told me, “It doesn’t matter how prepared you are- you can never expect everything or know how you are going to react in every situation. You find out who you really are.” &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;Interviewed Ann Haertel (MOM) on transition of children leaving the home&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;The transition for my mom was a bit easier for her than most parents, she thinks. She feels like she lost each child twice: once temporarily for school or a mission, and then permanently when they got married. The first absence she knew they were coming back. She got used to not having them around, so when they moved out for good, getting married, it was easier to cope with having less and less children around. She compared it to teaching a child how to ride a bike. At first the kid uses training wheels, and that’s living at home until graduation. Then the parents take off the training wheels and hold the bike steady, and that’s like when the kids move out for college or go on a mission, but come back often and even lives there during the summer. Then finally the parent can let go and the child gets married and has their own family. The parent is still around, but they aren’t holding the bike up. The other thing that made the transition easier is that the transitions were positive. The kids were leaving because of school, marriage, and missions, all things our parents taught and encouraged us to do. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;The most unexpected thing about this transition was how hard it is to actually let go. She says that she knew she was attached to her kids, but didn’t realize how attached she really was. She says the hardest adjustment is now cooking for three instead of seven. She doesn’t know how to make small recipes. Luckily, my younger brother has a huge appetite. The absolute worst experience she has had is when my sister’s daughter got really sick and her fever got so high she had a seizure. They live in Houston and my mom couldn’t do anything to help my hysterical sister. It’s times like those when my mom wants everyone to still live in her home. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;It’s been a good transition for her, it helps that even though my one sister lives in Houston, my brother lives 45 minute away, my other sister lives two miles away, and I visit and still live there during the summer. What helps her cope is her knowing that we are still her kids, we didn’t just disappear. She also has two dogs and a cat. Both her and my Dad have been giving them extra attention since I’ve moved out. My mom says it’s good to have the pets because the mothering instincts are still there. “It’s nice to feel like someone still needs you.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;She said that she learned she did her job right. So far, all of her kids have been very happy and successful. She can’t really see how her parenting skills are until after the fact. She is happy that we all turned out so well. I told her not to get too excited since my brother is only 16 and he has plenty of time to mess up that 4.0 of his!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;Interviewed Sherrie Anderson (sister) on transition to being newlywed.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;I’m not sure why I asked her to do this one. I called her at 9:00 PM, she was sick, her two kids were really sick all day, and her brain shuts off at 8:00 so she was a little rusty at first trying to remember all the way back to 2006 when she got married. Eventually she got me some pretty good stuff though. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;Her transition to marriage is one that my other sister and I both envy. Sherrie graduated school in three years, went on a mission, came back and started teaching school. She met her husband who was also a returned missionary in the last year of his master’s program who had a job. They have never struggled financially; he got hired quickly after graduating and moved to Houston into a nice house. I often wondered if her transition was actually as smooth as Jennie and I thought it was. After talking to Sherrie, I found out that it was. She said, “Maybe I just didn’t have any expectations or maybe I just have a faulty memory. I knew it was going to be a challenge, but Lee (husband) is really easy to get along with.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;At first it was difficult to take care of another person, but he was taking care of her too so it all evened out. The hardest part has been combining their rituals. She says that finally after three years, they have a system of doing laundry that keeps both of them happy. When they were first married, they’d do everything together: cooking, grocery shopping, laundry, etc. Because Sherrie wanted to make sure that Lee got things that he liked and present in a way he was familiar with. Another thing was learning how the other communicates. For Lee, “sure” means “YES”. For Sherrie, “sure” means “that’s fine, I don’t really care either way.” It took some time to get used to each other’s “slang”, but it didn’t hurt their relationship in any way. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;Personal leisure activities changed. Instead of going on a long solo run to de-stress, they watch movies together, something neither of them did as often before getting married. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;I asked her what advice she would give to me as I will probably be going through this change in the future. She and her husband said to develop a budget system early and stick to it. Learn how to handle to small things: stay organized, keep up your small space (“If you can’t keep your apartment clean, you will never be able to handle a house”). &lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;One thing she was surprised at was how gradually other men didn’t matter. This was during the dating process, but as their relationship grew, she though less and less about trying to impress people and caring what guys thought of her. “You get to the point where nobody else matters.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;My Thoughts on All This&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;This was really interesting to talk to people about these transitions and get the real story. I liked that I chose family members because I know what I saw from the outside and it was interesting to see the inside, especially with my mom because I see it much more differently than she does. Getting married seems like a very positive thing, my sister had nothing bad to say. Her advice was helpful and I learned that there are ways to be prepared to make it easier. She credited most of the success to having a wonderful husband, so I will be sure to not settle for anything less than that. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;line-height: 200%"&gt;I absolutely love my nieces and nephews and I know that they get sick and they cry, but I love holding them and caring for them. But even though I spend a lot f time with them, I don’t spend all the time with them and it was interesting to see what goes on behind the scenes. Having a baby is very romanticized and I had no idea how hard it is. I can’t imagine being mad at a young child, but now I feel more prepared to deal with whatever emotions come with those crazy hormones. I am now looking forward to having kids move out. My mom presented it to me in a very positive light and as long as I keep a good relationship with my husband, I think it will be a good time. &lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align:justify;line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-8627257370683273260?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/8627257370683273260/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=8627257370683273260&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/8627257370683273260'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/8627257370683273260'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/12/family-transistions.html' title='Family Transistions'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-3182546394971112341</id><published>2009-11-23T21:24:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-23T21:27:05.726-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Recycled Roboto Rockstar</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;Here it is. The moment you have all been waiting for. Well, at least Sherrie has. A few days ago I posted an article about a class project. Well, here was my addition to the fashion show:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SwtgVhMLEBI/AAAAAAAAAOU/vqvPVuaZaS4/s1600/IMGP0571.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SwtgVhMLEBI/AAAAAAAAAOU/vqvPVuaZaS4/s400/IMGP0571.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407521700391358482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SwtgVHIYrTI/AAAAAAAAAOM/dI_ZoogwXlo/s1600/IMGP0572.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SwtgVHIYrTI/AAAAAAAAAOM/dI_ZoogwXlo/s400/IMGP0572.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407521693396151602" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here it is. The moment you have all been waiting for. Well, at least Sherrie has. A few days ago I posted an article about a class project. Well, here was my addition to the fashion show:&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-3182546394971112341?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/3182546394971112341/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=3182546394971112341&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/3182546394971112341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/3182546394971112341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/11/recycled-roboto-rockstar.html' title='Recycled Roboto Rockstar'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SwtgVhMLEBI/AAAAAAAAAOU/vqvPVuaZaS4/s72-c/IMGP0571.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-5032052503107998877</id><published>2009-11-15T22:07:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-15T22:07:55.254-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Smile EVERY DAY!</title><content type='html'>Here, I will help you!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/OVNooKnZHqg&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/OVNooKnZHqg&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-5032052503107998877?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/5032052503107998877/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=5032052503107998877&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5032052503107998877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5032052503107998877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/11/smile-every-day.html' title='Smile EVERY DAY!'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-5284771631365267528</id><published>2009-11-15T20:28:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-15T20:31:43.599-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Refashion: University fashion show features recycled and redesigned items</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SwDHMz2R1eI/AAAAAAAAAOE/XECQ2sitdNs/s1600/mary.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;by Kim Burgess&lt;br /&gt;Published:&lt;br /&gt;Sunday, November 15, 2009 3:32 AM CST&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many people use newspapers to line a birdcage or house train a dog, but what about transforming that old newsprint into a new outfit?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turns out that with a little creativity, the daily paper can look surprisingly fashionable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“It worked perfectly,” said Utah State University journalism major Catherine Meidell, decked out in a skirt made out of pages of The Herald Journal. “We were surprised that newspapers could actually make a shape. It’s a better shape than we thought it was going to be.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meidell’s creation was not the only newspaper garment shown during the first public Recycle and Redesign Fashion Show held Wednesday at USU’s Eccles Conference Center. Another student modeled an entire dress made from copies of the school’s student paper, The Utah Statesman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other designers, who completed the project for an undergraduate Dress and Humanities course, opted to use everything from boxes to candy wrappers and balloons to meet the requirement that their garments be made only from reused materials.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For her project, Family and Consumer Sciences Education sophomore Stephanie HawksMayne decorated a plastic bag skirt and top with an assortment of milk bottle lids and soda can tabs. The design was inspired by over-the-top pop artist Lady Gaga, who is famous for her outrageous style.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I think she has the most amazing clothes ever,” HawksMayne said of the singer. “It’s been so fun. I was able to do my own little fashion and express myself.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plenty of self-expression was also seen on the show’s runway, where the roughly 30 models (the designers and their friends) strutted and shimmied before a large crowd. Tyra Banks would have been proud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides being fun, the show also helped the needy. The admission price was canned food, which was donated to the local food pantry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lindsey Shirley, the instructor for the Dress and Humanities course, said that her class created recycled garments in the past, but this was the first time the show was open to the public.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The project was valuable because it taught important design concepts to the 83 students enrolled this semester and sent a message about sustainability, Shirley explained.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“The textile industry is one of the most polluting industries in the world,” she said. “We’re using products that already exist and recreating them in other ways.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SwDHMz2R1eI/AAAAAAAAAOE/XECQ2sitdNs/s400/mary.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404538575734822370" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 172px; " /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "&gt;Junior Mary Ballstaedt exits the runway after showing her "Eating out in Style" design, a dress crafted of paper plates and trash bags, at the Recycle and Redesign Fashion Show at the Eccles Conference Center on Wednesday. (Braden Wolfe / Herald Journal)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"&gt;*I participated in this!*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-5284771631365267528?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/5284771631365267528/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=5284771631365267528&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5284771631365267528'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5284771631365267528'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/11/refashion-university-fashion-show.html' title='Refashion: University fashion show features recycled and redesigned items'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SwDHMz2R1eI/AAAAAAAAAOE/XECQ2sitdNs/s72-c/mary.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-2384773449437304202</id><published>2009-11-12T16:50:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-18T20:50:24.479-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Miracles Happen!!</title><content type='html'>I've been sick this week. I was really sick Monday night and Tuesday. Well, I was supposed to take a test on Tuesday but I spent all Monday sleeping and I was not prepared at all. I wrote an e-mail to my professor asking if I could take the test another time and he agreed! So I will be taking that test on Friday.Today I had a test in Nutrition that I didn't study much for because I was sick. Taking the test I wasn't sure how to feel. I was pretty sure I was doing ok, but my weird way of remembering things was being tested (ex: if a person has big thighs, someone might call them "porky" and pork is a good source of thiamin. Well it turns out that they worked!!!! I got 95% Which was the 6th highest score of the version I had. I am so excited!!! Now we just have to see how tomorrow's test goes... here's what I know: Pregnancy is long and hard, dad's are important, divorce is bad most of the time. Probably I should go study more and stop writing in my blog, huh? (*With the adjusted score my test 99%*)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-2384773449437304202?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/2384773449437304202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=2384773449437304202&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2384773449437304202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2384773449437304202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/11/miracles-happen.html' title='Miracles Happen!!'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-2761997497400660186</id><published>2009-11-08T17:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-08T17:32:27.581-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Shine by The Morning Of</title><content type='html'>I just heard this song and I absolutely love it. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CdJGDy74N3E&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CdJGDy74N3E&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-2761997497400660186?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/2761997497400660186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=2761997497400660186&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2761997497400660186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2761997497400660186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/11/shine-by-morning-of.html' title='Shine by The Morning Of'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-2640041673905087433</id><published>2009-11-07T15:41:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-07T15:46:28.303-07:00</updated><title type='text'>There are good people in this world.</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Cambria, serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Cambria, serif;"&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a name="anc_Today_WeddingDisasters"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Talk about a Halloween nightmare – initially, at least! Teanne Harris' fiance stood her up shortly before their planned Halloween-themed wedding on Oct. 31, 2009. Harris, 34, of Illinois, tried to get her deposit money back from the reception hall, but she was denied because she made her request too close to the date of the event. Crushed, she sat with her mom in the reception hall parking lot – and then she noticed the Asbury Court Retirement Community across the street. In a matter of minutes, an idea was hatched: Instead of hosting a wedding reception, Harris would throw a Happy Halloween party for hundreds of senior citizens.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The party was a huge hit. Harris also donated her bridal bouquet to the retirement community's chapel, and she made her way to Hawaii honeymoon destination on her own. "I say good for her," Mary Eichenfeld, the retirement community's resident services director, told the New York Daily News. "I hope she finds a nice guy who deserves her."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;--------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing"&gt;&lt;a name="anc_Today_WeddingDisasters"&gt;&lt;span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt;mso-border-alt:none windowtext 0in; padding:0in"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;What would you do if you learned your fiance was cheating?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt;mso-border-alt:none windowtext 0in; padding:0in"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How about if you received this news mere weeks before your elaborately planned &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt;mso-border-alt:none windowtext 0in; padding:0in"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;wedding day?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing"&gt;&lt;span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt;mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in;padding:0in"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here’s what Kyle Paxman decided to do: She went ahead with her Vermont reception anyway and turned it into a charity benefit to honor strong women. Money raised from the 2006 event went to the Vermont Children’s Aid Society and CARE US&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-2640041673905087433?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/2640041673905087433/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=2640041673905087433&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2640041673905087433'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2640041673905087433'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/11/there-are-good-people-in-this-world.html' title='There are good people in this world.'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-7395951227303092573</id><published>2009-11-07T12:43:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-07T12:49:05.105-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Name that place at Utah State ANSWERS</title><content type='html'>Thanks Sherrie for trying, Jennie for participating and Vance for looking it up on Google earth. Here are the answers:&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. Statue outside the Animal Science building&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. In front of the Family Life building&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. George Washington's head in front on Old Main&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. Weird sculpture by the 'A'&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5. Flower bed  in front of the flagpoles in between the waterfall and ESLC (or whatever order they go in) building.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6. Bulletin board in front of the Eccles conference center. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7. French Fries on the side of BNR&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8. A bench in front of the business building.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;9. Parking lot by the Merril-Cazier library&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;10. The place where the mountain man once stood. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-7395951227303092573?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/7395951227303092573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=7395951227303092573&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7395951227303092573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7395951227303092573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/11/name-that-place-at-utah-state-answers.html' title='Name that place at Utah State ANSWERS'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-7378069481803395189</id><published>2009-11-03T21:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-03T21:39:04.220-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm In Love With You</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 15px; font-family:tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;font-size:12px;"&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is one of my favorite love songs. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"    style="font-family:tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 15px;font-size:12px;"&gt; &lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/saG3yNfxd6E&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/saG3yNfxd6E&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 15px; font-family:tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;font-size:12px;"&gt;I've been waiting all my life for this morning&lt;br /&gt;Just to wake up next to you holding me&lt;br /&gt;And your head is resting gently on my shoulder&lt;br /&gt;Like you're whispering to me&lt;br /&gt;I'm in love with you&lt;br /&gt;I'm in love with you&lt;br /&gt;So glad I found you&lt;br /&gt;I'm in love with you&lt;br /&gt;When we're leaving dreams and rolling back the covers&lt;br /&gt;All at once we're getting ready for the day&lt;br /&gt;It's when you look at me in the mirror while you're shaving&lt;br /&gt;Before I go on my way, you say&lt;br /&gt;I'm in love with you&lt;br /&gt;I'm in love with you&lt;br /&gt;You're the one I choose&lt;br /&gt;‘Cause I'm in love&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 15px; font-family:tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;font-size:12px;"&gt;Love is joy and love is pain&lt;br /&gt;It's kissing in the rain&lt;br /&gt;It's doing dishes when it's late&lt;br /&gt;Isn't it, baby&lt;br /&gt;It's the art of compromise&lt;br /&gt;It's hellos and long goodbyes&lt;br /&gt;It's the picture of our lives&lt;br /&gt;Isn't it crazy&lt;br /&gt;So I'll call you when I get to where I'm going&lt;br /&gt;And I'll tell everyone we know you said hello&lt;br /&gt;And without fail they'll ask me if I miss you&lt;br /&gt;Of course I do, you know I do&lt;br /&gt;‘Cause I'm in love with you&lt;br /&gt;I'm in love with you&lt;br /&gt;You're the one I choose&lt;br /&gt;I'm in love&lt;br /&gt;I'm in love with you&lt;br /&gt;I'm in love with you&lt;br /&gt;I love you just the same as I did the day&lt;br /&gt;I fell in love with you &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-7378069481803395189?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/7378069481803395189/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=7378069481803395189&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7378069481803395189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7378069481803395189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/11/im-in-love-with-you.html' title='I&apos;m In Love With You'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-2205902115206061031</id><published>2009-11-01T16:45:00.006-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-01T17:31:28.024-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Halloween!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4n_Usj9CI/AAAAAAAAANY/uKWannqlzUI/s1600-h/IMGP0530.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Halloween was very different this year. I ran a 5k at the institute with some of my teammates and the Daves. We (teammates and I) got matching clothes and wore shirts that said "Team Shaniqua" on the front and the back said,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt; "5 workouts, 4 dates, 3 days, 2 ice baths, 1 purpose, 0 showers." What I'm wearing in the pictures below is what we ran in except we had on white t-shirts and cute pink bandannas instead. Haha we thought it was funny. I ran about half of the way with Dave Eldredge who, like anyone else from his high school tried to cut me off...haha I'm kidding. I just gave him a hard time about it. Then I came back and took a nap and did some homework. Then I had to work in the office from 6-12. There was a bag full of candy for the kids that came trick or treating on friday (from married housing) and Jordan and I had a goal to eat it all. We did. A few other staff members ate some too but it was mostly us. It was 11:58 and there were 6 rolls of smarties left and we forced ourselves to eat it. It was SO gross! But we did it. That's about all either of us ate all day. My staff had some great costumes! Here are a few of the pictures:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gRR6oOMI/AAAAAAAAAMo/nGWTqLVKsoo/s1600-h/IMGP0506.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gRR6oOMI/AAAAAAAAAMo/nGWTqLVKsoo/s400/IMGP0506.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399288484502976706" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gmWTpB2I/AAAAAAAAANA/5E-wX7h-MiY/s1600-h/IMGP0520.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gmWTpB2I/AAAAAAAAANA/5E-wX7h-MiY/s400/IMGP0520.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399288846458881890" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gSMxR1HI/AAAAAAAAAM4/MjEg512CnfY/s1600-h/IMGP0516.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gSMxR1HI/AAAAAAAAAM4/MjEg512CnfY/s400/IMGP0516.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399288500301452402" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gQiXn2dI/AAAAAAAAAMY/ZvOaNflXxnA/s1600-h/IMGP0500.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gQiXn2dI/AAAAAAAAAMY/ZvOaNflXxnA/s400/IMGP0500.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399288471739685330" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gRoMglQI/AAAAAAAAAMw/KyqAmwtg4wg/s1600-h/IMGP0508.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gRoMglQI/AAAAAAAAAMw/KyqAmwtg4wg/s400/IMGP0508.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399288490483553538" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;Winner of "The Most Hard-Core" AND "Most Unlike Actual Personality" :&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gRR6oOMI/AAAAAAAAAMo/nGWTqLVKsoo/s1600-h/IMGP0506.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4n_Usj9CI/AAAAAAAAANY/uKWannqlzUI/s400/IMGP0530.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399296972104660002" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;Winner of "The Most Desperate" costume:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gmr25mhI/AAAAAAAAANI/1CYhHCESoRc/s1600-h/IMGP0529.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gmr25mhI/AAAAAAAAANI/1CYhHCESoRc/s400/IMGP0529.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399288852243913234" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;The winner of "The Creepiest Costume Ever"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gRKxsNkI/AAAAAAAAAMg/DiYJ70ZTi-I/s1600-h/IMGP0499.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gRKxsNkI/AAAAAAAAAMg/DiYJ70ZTi-I/s400/IMGP0499.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399288482586441282" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#0000EE;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;And the winner of "Aimee's favorite costume" ........................&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gnFe-hgI/AAAAAAAAANQ/BCZziQV93fI/s400/IMGP0535.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399288859122894338" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-2205902115206061031?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/2205902115206061031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=2205902115206061031&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2205902115206061031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2205902115206061031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/11/halloween.html' title='Halloween!'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Su4gRR6oOMI/AAAAAAAAAMo/nGWTqLVKsoo/s72-c/IMGP0506.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-2584149184202997710</id><published>2009-10-31T16:18:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-31T16:20:25.641-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Show Me the True Blooded Aggie From Utah Who Doesn't Love the Spot Where the Sagebrush Grows!</title><content type='html'>Utah State Hey Aggies All the Way!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/4ujFwlC7nu8&amp;amp;color1=0xb1b1b1&amp;amp;color2=0xcfcfcf&amp;amp;feature=player_embedded&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/4ujFwlC7nu8&amp;amp;color1=0xb1b1b1&amp;amp;color2=0xcfcfcf&amp;amp;feature=player_embedded&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Bring it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-2584149184202997710?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/2584149184202997710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=2584149184202997710&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2584149184202997710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2584149184202997710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/10/show-me-true-blooded-aggie-from-utah.html' title='Show Me the True Blooded Aggie From Utah Who Doesn&apos;t Love the Spot Where the Sagebrush Grows!'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-698232267928396809</id><published>2009-10-28T21:59:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T22:31:43.594-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Halloween Questionaire</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;What are you going to be for Halloween? If you have kids, what are you dressing them up as?&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What was your favorite thing you were for Halloween?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What's your favorite part of this holiday?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What is the funniest thing that you remember about Halloween when you were a kid?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What was something you always wanted to dress up as but never got to?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What's your favorite candy?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What is your favorite Halloween/Scary movie?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SukZcRz4H6I/AAAAAAAAAMQ/jKNsb9p9FkY/s1600-h/IMGP0498.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SukZcRz4H6I/AAAAAAAAAMQ/jKNsb9p9FkY/s400/IMGP0498.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397873601988272034" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;    &lt;/span&gt;*It was really cold and I felt really sick and didn't want to go up and change into a real costume so I stayed in my sweats which is what Jordan wears everyday so I decided just to be Jordan for Halloween*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-698232267928396809?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/698232267928396809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=698232267928396809&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/698232267928396809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/698232267928396809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/10/halloween-questionaire.html' title='Halloween Questionaire'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SukZcRz4H6I/AAAAAAAAAMQ/jKNsb9p9FkY/s72-c/IMGP0498.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-2922508164120009968</id><published>2009-10-24T10:41:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-24T10:52:52.781-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Advice from Elder Busche</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  border-collapse: collapse; font-family:'Times New Roman', Times;font-size:14px;"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="border-collapse: separate;   white-space: pre; font-family:Arial, sans-serif;font-size:10px;"&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/snAjZ8mfoYw&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;color1=0x5d1719&amp;amp;color2=0xcd311b"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/snAjZ8mfoYw&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;color1=0x5d1719&amp;amp;color2=0xcd311b" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* Embrace this day with an enthusiastic welcome, no matter how it looks. The covenant with God to which you are true enables you to become enlightened by him, and nothing is impossible for you.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* When you are physically sick, tired, or in despair, steer your thoughts away from yourself and direct them, in gratitude and love, toward God.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* In your life there have to be challenges. They will either bring you closer to God and therefore make you stronger, or they can destroy you. But you make the decision of which road you take.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* First and foremost, you are a spirit child of God. If you neglect to feed your spirit, you will reap unhappiness. Don't permit anything to detract you from this awareness.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* You cannot communicate with God unless you have first sacrificed your self-oriented natural man and have brought yourself into the lower levels of meekness, to become acceptable for the Light of Christ.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* Put all frustrations, hurt feelings, and grumblings into the perspective of your &lt;span class="il"&gt;eternal&lt;/span&gt; hope. Light will flow into your soul.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* Pause to ponder the suffering Christ felt in the Garden of Gethsemane. In the awareness of the depth of gratitude for him, you appreciate every opportunity to show your love for him by diligently serving in his Church.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* God knows that you are not perfect. As you suffer about your imperfections, he will give you comfort and suggestions of where to improve.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* God knows better than you what you need. He always attempts to speak to you. Listen, and follow the uncomfortable suggestions that he makes to us--everything will fall into its place.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* Avoid any fear like your worst enemy, but magnify your fear about the consequences of sin.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* When you cannot love someone, look into that person's eyes long enough to find the hidden rudiments of the child of God in him.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* Never judge anyone. When you accept this, you will be freed. In the case of your own children or subordinates, where you have the responsibility to judge, help them to become their own judges.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* If someone hurts you so much that your feelings seem to choke you, forgive and you will be free again.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* Avoid at all cost any pessimistic, negative, or criticizing thoughts. If you cannot cut them out, they will do you harm. On the road toward salvation, let questions arise but never doubts. If something is wrong, God will give you clarity but never doubts.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* Avoid rush and haste and uncontrolled words. Divine light develops in places of peace and quiet. Be aware of that as you enter places of worship.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* Be not so much concerned about what you do, but do what you do with all your heart, might, and strength. In thoroughness is satisfaction.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* You want to be good and to do good. That is commendable. But the greatest achievement that can be reached in our lives is to be under the complete influence of the Holy Ghost. Then he will teach us what is really good and necessary to do.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* The pain of sacrifice lasts only one moment. It is the fear of the pain of sacrifice that makes you hesitate to do it.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* Be grateful for every opportunity to serve. It helps you more than those you serve.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;* And finally, when you are compelled to give up something or when things that are dear to you are withdrawn from you, know that this is your lesson to be learned right now. But know also that, as you are learning this lesson, God wants to give you something better.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;You can read the whole talk at: &lt;a href="http://speeches.byu.edu/reader/reader.php?id=7908" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(42, 93, 176); "&gt;http://speeches.byu.edu/&lt;wbr&gt;reader/reader.php?id=7908&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-2922508164120009968?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/2922508164120009968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=2922508164120009968&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2922508164120009968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2922508164120009968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/10/advice-from-elder-busche.html' title='Advice from Elder Busche'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-347874398413293738</id><published>2009-10-23T20:24:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-23T20:42:20.730-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Name that place at Utah State!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;There is a prize for whoever can figure out where all these pictures were taken.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJpaD-KfvI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/BgvJ2TJH1sE/s1600-h/IMGP0166.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJpaD-KfvI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/BgvJ2TJH1sE/s320/IMGP0166.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395991200006831858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJpH51UHtI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/RQGpab57LhY/s1600-h/IMGP0165.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJpH51UHtI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/RQGpab57LhY/s320/IMGP0165.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395990888047714002" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJpHoQIHzI/AAAAAAAAAJs/Y0yffsUiZvM/s1600-h/IMGP0164.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJpHoQIHzI/AAAAAAAAAJs/Y0yffsUiZvM/s320/IMGP0164.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395990883328335666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJpG9Oa19I/AAAAAAAAAJk/-aPq7D7QP_8/s1600-h/IMGP0163.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJpG9Oa19I/AAAAAAAAAJk/-aPq7D7QP_8/s320/IMGP0163.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395990871778449362" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJpGTIcx8I/AAAAAAAAAJc/EDTTyyQODu8/s1600-h/IMGP0162.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJpGTIcx8I/AAAAAAAAAJc/EDTTyyQODu8/s320/IMGP0162.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395990860479121346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJpF6JqlvI/AAAAAAAAAJU/GYNgniehJu4/s1600-h/IMGP0160.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJpF6JqlvI/AAAAAAAAAJU/GYNgniehJu4/s320/IMGP0160.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395990853773334258" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJlxBaRRRI/AAAAAAAAAJM/f6OIv80-Hbk/s1600-h/IMGP0161.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJlxBaRRRI/AAAAAAAAAJM/f6OIv80-Hbk/s320/IMGP0161.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395987196409890066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#0000EE;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJlwZo9w9I/AAAAAAAAAI8/wzn5gqleAFQ/s1600-h/IMGP0158.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJlwZo9w9I/AAAAAAAAAI8/wzn5gqleAFQ/s320/IMGP0158.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395987185734108114" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJlwAy4yzI/AAAAAAAAAI0/_gopxZ62hG0/s1600-h/IMGP0157.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJlwAy4yzI/AAAAAAAAAI0/_gopxZ62hG0/s320/IMGP0157.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395987179064838962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJlvsv18PI/AAAAAAAAAIs/isYb6ezmCZc/s1600-h/IMGP0156.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJlvsv18PI/AAAAAAAAAIs/isYb6ezmCZc/s320/IMGP0156.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395987173683359986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-347874398413293738?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/347874398413293738/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=347874398413293738&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/347874398413293738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/347874398413293738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/10/name-that-place-at-utah-state.html' title='Name that place at Utah State!'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SuJpaD-KfvI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/BgvJ2TJH1sE/s72-c/IMGP0166.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-6958871517273674100</id><published>2009-10-16T16:57:00.013-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-23T21:21:32.371-06:00</updated><title type='text'>College Year 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;Alrighty, I do not talk to you guys often enough. If I could, I would call all of you every night to hear about your day and tell you about mine. But that just isn't possible all of the time. So I thought I would bring you up to date on my life so far. I'm about half-way into my 2nd year up at USU. I got an e-mail about 2 weeks before I was planning on moving up asking me if I would be an RA. I accepted and moved up 10 days earlier than originally planned. This has been the greatest experience! All my staff is great. Everyone is very helpful, nice, and fun. Here are a few pictures of my staff at Bear Lake. We were missing Jordan and Maddie though :(&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Stj9eEysERI/AAAAAAAAAG0/Pe6Fk6nMIDc/s1600-h/8734_1244641754248_1175517797_747498_3630718_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Stj9eEysERI/AAAAAAAAAG0/Pe6Fk6nMIDc/s200/8734_1244641754248_1175517797_747498_3630718_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393339246900416786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Stj9dgGwU7I/AAAAAAAAAGs/_1MIEJYaio4/s1600-h/8734_1244641674246_1175517797_747496_352003_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Stj9dgGwU7I/AAAAAAAAAGs/_1MIEJYaio4/s200/8734_1244641674246_1175517797_747496_352003_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393339237052470194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Stj9dSkTGbI/AAAAAAAAAGk/MlH9n4Jax9Y/s1600-h/8734_1244640874226_1175517797_747479_7440716_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Stj9dSkTGbI/AAAAAAAAAGk/MlH9n4Jax9Y/s200/8734_1244640874226_1175517797_747479_7440716_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393339233418287538" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Stj9c-162WI/AAAAAAAAAGc/Zhikp9TLMRQ/s1600-h/8734_1244640834225_1175517797_747478_839326_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Stj9c-162WI/AAAAAAAAAGc/Zhikp9TLMRQ/s200/8734_1244640834225_1175517797_747478_839326_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393339228123486562" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;So when I originally got o Logan, all of my classes were journalism classes. Then through some turn of events, me trying to add a few more credits, I completely switched to all Family and Consumer Science classes. I am officially a FCSE (Family and Consumer Science Education) major. That means I will teach the home ec. classes. So far I am loving all my classes. I learn so much and it is practical to every day life. The other day I went to the store and bought patterns and fabric to make pants, a skirt, and a blouse. I did this all by myself and didn't even talk to mom on the phone! I am really excited about these projects. The brown is for pants, green is for the skirt, and the white with pink polka dots is for the shirt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Stj_WC-j8YI/AAAAAAAAAG8/r6i6sHLZDqM/s1600-h/IMGP0349.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Stj_WC-j8YI/AAAAAAAAAG8/r6i6sHLZDqM/s200/IMGP0349.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393341307997647234" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;So besides that I broke up with Jason. If you want the details, give me a call. I've been going on dates with a few guys, but I only have pictures from one date with Dave Payne. He took me to homecoming. It was a decades dance, we were supposed to dress up from our favorite decade. Guess which decade we were from:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkAh3Bm3XI/AAAAAAAAAHM/qFsAYA8iq9o/s1600-h/IMGP0228.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkAh3Bm3XI/AAAAAAAAAHM/qFsAYA8iq9o/s200/IMGP0228.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393342610459254130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkAhAAQrkI/AAAAAAAAAHE/rTguMqUjRJQ/s1600-h/IMGP0227.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkAhAAQrkI/AAAAAAAAAHE/rTguMqUjRJQ/s200/IMGP0227.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393342595689655874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;Yeah, we're really stylin' I know. I have been running a lot too and lately I have been improving a lot. I have a race tomorrow and I am excited to see how it will go. Here are some pictures from Montana:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkBOU3Se2I/AAAAAAAAAHs/mjoZyrcd82g/s1600-h/IMGP0195.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkBOU3Se2I/AAAAAAAAAHs/mjoZyrcd82g/s200/IMGP0195.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393343374383283042" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkBNz44GDI/AAAAAAAAAHk/f6BpXc1vxh4/s1600-h/IMGP0187.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkBNz44GDI/AAAAAAAAAHk/f6BpXc1vxh4/s200/IMGP0187.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393343365531572274" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkBNDYB60I/AAAAAAAAAHc/prumj0IfOi0/s1600-h/IMGP0182.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkBNDYB60I/AAAAAAAAAHc/prumj0IfOi0/s200/IMGP0182.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393343352508902210" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkBMgibu3I/AAAAAAAAAHU/MQ8e1kfpA1w/s1600-h/IMGP0177.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkBMgibu3I/AAAAAAAAAHU/MQ8e1kfpA1w/s200/IMGP0177.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393343343157295986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend Karen and I are very impulsive. One night we died my hair (almost black!) and another we tried waxing our legs. Waxing doesn't really hurt as bad as everyone says but don't go over the same spot twice or else you look like your leg is very bruised. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkBwnXQ__I/AAAAAAAAAH8/jCAldjX2Brk/s1600-h/IMGP0215.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkBwnXQ__I/AAAAAAAAAH8/jCAldjX2Brk/s200/IMGP0215.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393343963464794098" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkBvz_oaII/AAAAAAAAAH0/NXcDBJvNbd4/s1600-h/IMGP0155.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"&gt;&lt;img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkBvz_oaII/AAAAAAAAAH0/NXcDBJvNbd4/s200/IMGP0155.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393343949675456642" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;I love my ward! I am a gospel doctrine teacher. My first lesson went over really well, at least I feel like it did. I had to give a talk the same day! I was the last speaker and had about 2 minutes and so I tried to condense my talk but I already hate talking at the pulpit and I was flustered and nervous so it didn't go over as well. My favorite church experience was Family Day. Mom, Dad, and Josh came up:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkCocgdWrI/AAAAAAAAAIc/RONO5fV8ZKc/s1600-h/IMGP0243.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkCocgdWrI/AAAAAAAAAIc/RONO5fV8ZKc/s200/IMGP0243.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393344922623236786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkCn0bmW7I/AAAAAAAAAIU/p00Bri3VyN4/s1600-h/IMGP0236.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkCn0bmW7I/AAAAAAAAAIU/p00Bri3VyN4/s200/IMGP0236.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393344911865437106" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkCnDRvClI/AAAAAAAAAIM/Gm2pt--gMJo/s1600-h/IMGP0235.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkCnDRvClI/AAAAAAAAAIM/Gm2pt--gMJo/s200/IMGP0235.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393344898670725714" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;We can't forget all the fun I have been having with my roommate from last year, Pam!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkDSgblaSI/AAAAAAAAAIk/8dv0kx0P_qc/s1600-h/IMGP0214.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/StkDSgblaSI/AAAAAAAAAIk/8dv0kx0P_qc/s200/IMGP0214.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393345645231040802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;For some wonderful videos, check out my facebook under my "links" tab!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;Finally, my favorite thing to do here in Logan is tutor at a middle school. On Mondays and Wednesdays I go over for the last hour of the school day and help out in the resource room. I walk around and help the kids with their homework. I'm getting really good at my simple math again! These kids are in the 6th grade and are hilarious. One kid tells me everyday how reading is a waste of his time. When I ask him what isn't a waste of time, he says, "video games." But I am really excited because the first day I tried to get him to read and he refused. I made him get a book and he just stared at it. I told him when I came back he needed to tell me something he learned (it was an animal fact book). He ended up just reading me a sentence I pointed to when I came back. BUT then the next day I was there he actually read and told me things he had learned!! I was so excited. Today, on of my favorites in the class was standing starting at the map on the wall.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;I asked, "Quaid, what are you looking at on the map?" "I'm trying to find an undiscovered island." "Well if it's on a map, wouldn't that mean it's already been discovered?" "Maybe, but I want to find one." "OK, you just keep doing that. I wish you luck on this quest." Then another kid came up and was telling us about the Bermuda triangle. So Quaid realized that in order to discover his island he needed to get lost and then find his way back. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;Being at the school makes me so excited to teach!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;Well, that is my life so far! Feel free to call me and talk!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;Oh, Jordan Allred and I are starting a business selling ugly sweaters. If you have any to donate (especially holiday sweaters!) or would like to purchase some, please contact me (or Jordan, but my guess is that you know me better than you know him). Refer your friends as well. We are Sick Sweaters. We will be posting a website soon.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-6958871517273674100?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/6958871517273674100/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=6958871517273674100&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/6958871517273674100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/6958871517273674100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/10/college-year-2.html' title='College Year 2'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Stj9eEysERI/AAAAAAAAAG0/Pe6Fk6nMIDc/s72-c/8734_1244641754248_1175517797_747498_3630718_n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-4558909226640044312</id><published>2009-10-04T22:17:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-23T21:22:09.138-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Happiness</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;What is happiness? Well to me,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;HAPPINESS IS...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Your brother asking you to come watch his race&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Your niece wrapping her arms around your neck tightly in a hug&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Running down the street with a bandana over your face and big sunglasses while your best friend takes pictures of the whole thing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Standing on people’s doorsteps with a plate of cookies in your hands and a traffic cone on your head&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Your nephew telling you that your mismatched socks, “aren’t pretty.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;When a cute RM winks at you during church&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Chicken pot pie and a brownie for dinner&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Your dad hugging you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Watching your pregnant sister come home with cute clothes for her daughter&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;A baby falling asleep in your arms&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Rain&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;The puppy jumping all over the two-year-old&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Running into the person you like unexpectedly&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;A fun ringtone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Your two-year-old nephew making a book mark for his cousin and holding her hand while doing it&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Quiet Sunday afternoons&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;The warm fuzzy pink bedspread your mom bought just for you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Getting two letters on the same day from your best friends&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Getting an unexpected check in the mail&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Hearing an apology from someone who days earlier announced his hatred towards you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Protective big brothers&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Watching your niece point to your picture and say your name (her version of it at least)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Calling your sister who lives half a country away and talking for hours about anything and everything&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Quoting Brian Regan, Tarzan, and Emperor’s New Groove&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Taking funny pictures and making movies with your younger brother&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Watching a baby cry when his older brother walks away&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Pictures drawn especially for you by your nephew&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Wearing your dad’s horribly ugly sweater from the 70’s&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Going to the DI just to buy the ugliest clothes you can find&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Hand-me-downs from Grandma&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Finally sewing something that looks decent&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;A few hours with a just the sewing machine and your mom&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;A pink and black backpack with your initial on it&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Daydreams&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Waking up to thunder and falling back asleep to the rain hitting the roof&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;The high after a long run&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Getting over something/someone that has been bothering you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;A pretty flower&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Boxes filled with your childhood artwork and poetry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;A scarf for every day of the month&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Good smelling shampoo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Clear skies&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;A grandmother’s cooking&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;A good grade on a test you studied hard for&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Cool autumn nights&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Laughing with the bishop’s wife&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Sitting down at the piano and being able to play a song you haven’t attempted in a few years&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;A clean, bright room&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Laughing until your side hurts&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Spraying a good smelling air freshener&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;A good hair day&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;A cute hat&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Waking up before your alarm feeling happy and refreshed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Putting together photo albums&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Singing at the top of your lungs along with the radio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Karaoke with your little brother or sister who has bronchitis&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Spinning around in circles in the rain&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Dad’s waffles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Seeing someone help another person&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;A warm coat in the winter&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;The smell of freshly cut dewy grass on a summer morning&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Swinging&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Playing on the teeter-totters when you’re over the age of 6&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;Hearing a cute love song&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;A smile that won’t go away&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Ssl0qQLjbuI/AAAAAAAAAGU/eRudvEyzgqI/s1600-h/IMGP0326.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="text-align: right;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Ssl0qQLjbuI/AAAAAAAAAGU/eRudvEyzgqI/s200/IMGP0326.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388966698372263650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Ssl0pyKnvlI/AAAAAAAAAGM/E8uWwbqCbks/s1600-h/IMGP0321.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Ssl0pyKnvlI/AAAAAAAAAGM/E8uWwbqCbks/s200/IMGP0321.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388966690315288146" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Ssl0pWuJKDI/AAAAAAAAAGE/XbKeo-VT6VQ/s1600-h/IMGP0311.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Ssl0pWuJKDI/AAAAAAAAAGE/XbKeo-VT6VQ/s200/IMGP0311.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388966682948085810" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Ssl0oi0VPvI/AAAAAAAAAF8/GIpgh8f4tPs/s1600-h/J4.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Ssl0oi0VPvI/AAAAAAAAAF8/GIpgh8f4tPs/s200/J4.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388966669015400178" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF6666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';color:#FF6666;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-4558909226640044312?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/4558909226640044312/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=4558909226640044312&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4558909226640044312'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4558909226640044312'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/10/happiness.html' title='Happiness'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/Ssl0qQLjbuI/AAAAAAAAAGU/eRudvEyzgqI/s72-c/IMGP0326.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-9011718672280949731</id><published>2009-07-21T18:44:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T09:04:33.948-06:00</updated><title type='text'>In-Laws</title><content type='html'>As I get older, pushing 20 (and unmarried, which means I’m becoming more and more useless to the Mormon community, my friend informed me last night), I have several friends getting engaged and one thing that comes up is the boy’s family, especially parents. So far, my friends love the family and the family loves them. However, only a few of my friends are that close to marriage and from the entire semester I took Stats a few numbers does not mean fact.   I also hear of all these scary stories of girl and mother-in-law not getting along. In fact, I even listened to a woman in my ward go off about how much she didn’t like her son’s current girlfriend. I don’t know the girl but after hearing the mother’s point of view, I feel her reasons are warranted. But what about the girl’s point of view? She can’t be that bad if her dear son likes her enough to take her out all the time and introduce her to people as “my girlfriend,” right? Moms, do you not trust that your sons can pick out  good enough girls? If you are as amazing as your sons say you are, then didn’t you teach your sons well enough to find at least a half-way decent girl? And girls, this woman raised your wonderful husband to be the man he is today. She can’t be a wicked witch if he is what came from her home.  Anyway, that’s just my feeling on mothers who don’t like their daughters-in-law and vice-versa. If my mother-on-law didn’t like me… I don’t know what I do! I think I feel like Elle Woods when Warner breaks up with her: “You’re breaking up with me because you think your parents won’t like me? Everybody likes me!”  That’s how I’d react if my husband’s parents weren’t very fond of me. Anyway, what I really wanted to get at is, what if we could pick our in-laws? I watch King of Queens and Everybody Loves Raymond quite often with my mom. In King of Queens, Carrie’s father Arthur lives with her and her husband. His role in minor (as opposed to Marie Borone in Everybody Loves Raymond) but hilarious. The quirky father-in-law  lives in their basement and makes things a little bit weird. In today’s episode, Carrie uses the Monday off of work to deep clean the kitchen. She has a pile of broken rubber bands to be thrown away. Her father comes up and asks why she’s not at work and she explains it’s a holiday. “Oh, good, I could use a break!” (For those of you who have never seen this show, he doesn’t do anything…). Then he spies the pile of broken rubber bands and insists that if she tied the ends together they’d be “as good as new.” Frustrated, he grabs the pile and walks back down stairs frustrated while muttering, “so much for a day off!” Now THAT is the type of father-in-law I could live with. He doesn’t bother his daughter and her husband much and is so weird, you can’t help but laugh. Let’s now juxtapose this to the infamous Marie Barone. I watch this show and pray that my mother-in-law isn’t as judgmental, clueless, overbearing, or intrusive as she is. A favorite quote from her to Debra (the daughter-in-law) is: “Debra Barone: A clean house is not the most important thing in the world. Marie Barone: You know who says that? A messy person.” I think I would want to die if anyone told me that. So I got to thinking, if I could choose my in-laws, who would it be? Now, I understand I do have some choice in the matter but I’m not going to marry just anybody because I like his parents. However, if someone’s parents loathe me to the point of trying to poison me, thank goodness I don’t have food allergies like in Monster-in-Law, I might have to pass on that guy. I thought I would do an internet search of famous parents and in laws. I found a poll of who you wouldn’t want as a parent. The results were: (starting with least wanted: Dina Lohan (Lindsay Lohan’s mom), Sarah Palin, Lynne Speares (honestly, I’d rather have Sarah Palin than Mrs. Spears, Britney Spears’ mom), Sharon Osborne (really, this wasn’t the least liked?), then Cathy Hilton (her daughter is famous for making homemade videos. And not the cute ones like Josh and I made). So I guess I couldn’t do worse than these five. Other famous TV moms included people live June Cleaver from Leave it to Beaver, Carol Brady (Brady Bunch), Clair Huxtable (Cosby Show), Maggie Seaver (Growing Pains), Becky Katsopolis (Full House), Kirsten Cohen (The O.C), oh and I can’t forget Regina’s mom in Mean Girls (Cady asks if there’s alcohol in the drinks, “Oh no of course not! What kind of a mother do you think I am? Why? Do you want some? Because I prefer you drink in the house). There are a ton more mothers, but I don’t see the point in listing them all. There’s a basic stereotypical mother shown on TV based on the era. The Cleavers and Brady’s were raised by soft spoken, always sweet and happy, perfect homemakers. Even Amy Matthews from Boy Meets World never raised her voice or took a step outside that house. More recent mothers like Kirsten Cohen are hardworking mothers who have a full time job and raise a perfect family as well as being the perfect homemaker. So basically, I’d take any of these mothers as my mother-in-law. Except Marie of course.  It’s just too bad that no woman in the world is like that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, I can’t pick my husband’s parents and parents, you can’t (and shouldn’t) pick the person your child marries. Fortunately, we can control our thoughts and actions. So if you ever feel like you’d rather die than go over for Thanksgiving, go watch a few episodes of Everybody Loves Raymond. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And to the parents of my husband: remember that  I will have control of when you get to see your grandkids (and since they’ll be receiving half my genes they are going to be ADORABLE) and you will at some point probably have to live with me or I will choose your nursing home. Just keep that in mind ;). But I’m sure I will have no problems because like Elle Woods, “everybody likes me!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur vs. Doug (a series of clips)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="445" height="364"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/muXx_YV794M&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x402061&amp;color2=0x9461ca&amp;border=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/muXx_YV794M&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x402061&amp;color2=0x9461ca&amp;border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-9011718672280949731?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/9011718672280949731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=9011718672280949731&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/9011718672280949731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/9011718672280949731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/07/in-laws.html' title='In-Laws'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-5512356259906030617</id><published>2009-05-30T22:39:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-30T22:39:41.585-06:00</updated><title type='text'>If you need a laugh, read this!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size: 11px; font-family: tahoma,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Franklin Gothic Book;color:#0000ff;"&gt;We can use a little humor today.............&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sensible Observations&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) When I die, I want to die like my grandfather--who died&lt;br /&gt;peacefully in his sleep. Not screaming like all the&lt;br /&gt;passengers in his car."&lt;br /&gt;--Author Unknown&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) Advice for the day: If you have a lot of tension and you&lt;br /&gt;get a headache, do what it says on the aspirin bottle:&lt;br /&gt;"Take two aspirin" and "Keep away from children."&lt;br /&gt;--Author Unknown&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) "Oh, you hate your job? Why didn't you say so?&lt;br /&gt;There's a support group for that.  It's called EVERYBODY, and they meet at&lt;br /&gt;the bar."&lt;br /&gt;--Drew Carey&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) "The problem with the designated driver program, it's&lt;br /&gt;not a desirable job, but if you ever get sucked into doing it, have fun with&lt;br /&gt;it. At the end of the night, drop them off at the wrong house."&lt;br /&gt;--Jeff  Foxworthy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) "If a woman has to choose between catching a fly ball&lt;br /&gt;and saving an infant's life, she will choose to save the&lt;br /&gt;infant's life without even considering if there is a man on base."&lt;br /&gt;--Dave Barry&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6) "Relationships are hard. It's like a full time job, and we should treat&lt;br /&gt;it like one. If your boyfriend or girlfriend wants to leave you, they should&lt;br /&gt;give you two weeks' notice.  There should be severance pay, the day before&lt;br /&gt;they leave you, they should have to find you a temp."&lt;br /&gt;--Bob Ettinger&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7) "My Mom said she learned how to swim when someone took her out in the&lt;br /&gt;lake and threw her off the boat. I said,&lt;br /&gt;'Mom, they weren't trying to teach you how to swim.'"&lt;br /&gt;--Paula Poundstone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8) "A study in the Washington Post says that women have&lt;br /&gt;better verbal skills than men. I just want to say to the authors of that&lt;br /&gt;study:  "Duh."&lt;br /&gt;--Conan O'Brien&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9) "Why does Sea World have a seafood restaurant?? I'm&lt;br /&gt;halfway through my fish burger and I realize, Oh my God....&lt;br /&gt;I could be eating a slow learner."&lt;br /&gt;--Lynda Montgomery&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10) "I think that's how Chicago got started. Bunch of people in New York&lt;br /&gt;said, 'Gee, I'm enjoying the crime and the poverty, but it just isn't cold&lt;br /&gt;enough.  Let's go west.'"&lt;br /&gt;--Richard Jeni&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11) "If life were fair, Elvis would be alive and all the&lt;br /&gt;impersonators would be dead."&lt;br /&gt;--Johnny Carson&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12) "Sometimes I think war is God's way of teaching us geography."&lt;br /&gt;--Paul Rodriguez&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13) "My parents didn't want to move to Florida, but they turned sixty and&lt;br /&gt;that's the law."&lt;br /&gt;--Jerry Seinfeld&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14) "Remember in elementary school, you were told that in&lt;br /&gt;case of fire you have to line up quietly in a single file line&lt;br /&gt;from smallest  to tallest. What is the logic in that?  What, do tall people&lt;br /&gt;burn slower?"&lt;br /&gt;--Warren Hutcherson&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15) "Bigamy is having one wife/husband too many.  Monogamy is the same."&lt;br /&gt;--Oscar Wilde&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16) "Suppose you were an idiot. And suppose you were a&lt;br /&gt;member of Congress.. But I repeat myself."&lt;br /&gt;--Mark Twain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17) "Our bombs are smarter than the average high school student.  At least&lt;br /&gt;they can find Afghanistan."&lt;br /&gt;--A. Whitney Brown&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18) "You can say any foolish thing to a dog, and the dog will give you a&lt;br /&gt;look that says,  'My God, you're right!  I never would've thought of that!'"&lt;br /&gt;--Dave Barry&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19) Do you know why they call it "PMS"?&lt;br /&gt;Because "Mad Cow Disease" was taken.&lt;br /&gt;--Unknown, presumed deceased&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20) "Everybody's got to believe in something.  I believe I'll have another&lt;br /&gt;beer."&lt;br /&gt;- W. C. Fields&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-5512356259906030617?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/5512356259906030617/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=5512356259906030617&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5512356259906030617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5512356259906030617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/05/if-you-need-laugh-read-this.html' title='If you need a laugh, read this!'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-2359846439423460086</id><published>2009-05-25T21:47:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-25T21:49:15.310-06:00</updated><title type='text'>An Interesting Parable</title><content type='html'>I was reading in Luke 16 and I came across a very confusing parable. So I decided to look up talks and articles to see if anyone had addressed this parable (after Dad was confused too) and here's what I came up with. It is very good advice!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="citation"&gt;Tsung-Ting Yang,           “Parables of Jesus: The Unjust Steward,”       &lt;i&gt;Ensign&lt;/i&gt;,   Jul 2003,  28–31&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p class="intro"&gt;We must learn to follow the example of those who plan ahead to provide financially for themselves.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="5"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;The parable of the unjust steward is about a business manager who manipulates his employer’s debts. I have wondered many times why the Savior ever gave it. Some people have even read it and wondered if He was justifying or excusing unethical behavior. It is a curious parable, but one that is also rich with truth, including teachings that show us how to make our way financially in this world.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="6"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;h2&gt;A Shrewd but Unjust Steward&lt;/h2&gt; &lt;a name="7"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Jesus taught almost half of His parables while traveling the countryside on His way to Jerusalem for His last Feast of Tabernacles. The good Samaritan, the rich fool, and the unjust judge are but a few of the characters featured in them. One of the most unusual people He spoke about was an unjust steward. Jesus spoke of him to a gathering of His disciples not long after giving the parable of the prodigal, or wasteful, son (see &lt;a href="http://scriptures.lds.org/luke/15/11-150#11" onclick="newWindow('http://scriptures.lds.org/luke/15//11-150#11')" target="contentWindow" class="scriptureRef"&gt;Luke 15:11–16:1&lt;/a&gt;).&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="8"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;The Savior began, “There was a certain rich man, which had a steward; and the same was accused unto him that he had wasted his goods” (&lt;a href="http://scriptures.lds.org/luke/16/1#1" onclick="newWindow('http://scriptures.lds.org/luke/16//1#1')" target="contentWindow" class="scriptureRef"&gt;Luke 16:1&lt;/a&gt;). The steward was a manager who handled the business affairs of an owner. And apparently, someone had reported the steward’s reckless squandering of his master’s property.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="9"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;The rich man had many business holdings, including assets based on what people owed him. He sent word to his steward to prepare a report on how his businesses were going. This made the steward very nervous, for he feared he would be fired when the master found out what he was doing. He said to himself: “What shall I do? for my lord taketh away from me the stewardship: I cannot dig; to beg I am ashamed” (&lt;a href="http://scriptures.lds.org/luke/16/3#3" onclick="newWindow('http://scriptures.lds.org/luke/16//3#3')" target="contentWindow" class="scriptureRef"&gt;Luke 16:3&lt;/a&gt;).&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="10"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;So the steward devised a plan to ensure he would not be left destitute. He decided to use his position of trust to negotiate some business deals for his own benefit. He offered to discount the debts of his master’s business partners in return for their friendship and generous future considerations for himself. They happily agreed, for the discounts the steward was offering were up to 50 percent!&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="11"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Now comes the curious part of the parable: “And the lord [the rich man] commended the unjust steward, because he had done wisely” (&lt;a href="http://scriptures.lds.org/luke/16/8#8" onclick="newWindow('http://scriptures.lds.org/luke/16//8#8')" target="contentWindow" class="scriptureRef"&gt;Luke 16:8&lt;/a&gt;). Was the steward giving away what really belonged to his master, or was he forgiving interest payments his master did not have the right to charge under the law of Moses? In Jesus’ day owners sometimes overcharged debtors, so the discounts the steward gave could have simply returned the debts to their original amounts. This approach would have satisfied the rich man and gained the favor of the debtors. But whatever the steward did, the Savior described his actions as “unjust,” or morally wrong, for the Lord does not excuse sin for any reason (see &lt;a href="http://scriptures.lds.org/dc/1/31#31" onclick="newWindow('http://scriptures.lds.org/dc/1//31#31')" target="contentWindow" class="scriptureRef"&gt;D&amp;amp;C 1:31&lt;/a&gt;). It is essential we realize that in the parable it was the rich man—not the Savior—who commended the steward.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="12"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;h2&gt;Financial Principles to Live By&lt;/h2&gt; &lt;a name="13"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;After telling the parable, Jesus explained some points that were important to Him.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="14"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt; &lt;em&gt;1. Those who are spiritually strong need to give proper attention to the temporal affairs in their lives.&lt;/em&gt; “For the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the children of light” (&lt;a href="http://scriptures.lds.org/luke/16/8#8" onclick="newWindow('http://scriptures.lds.org/luke/16//8#8')" target="contentWindow" class="scriptureRef"&gt;Luke 16:8&lt;/a&gt;).&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="15"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt; &lt;em&gt;2. When possible the righteous should be friends, not enemies, with people in positions of authority or wealth, for someday those friends may assist the righteous and the kingdom of God.&lt;/em&gt; “Make to yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness; that, when ye fail, they may receive you into everlasting habitations” (&lt;a href="http://scriptures.lds.org/luke/16/9#9" onclick="newWindow('http://scriptures.lds.org/luke/16//9#9')" target="contentWindow" class="scriptureRef"&gt;Luke 16:9&lt;/a&gt;; see &lt;a href="http://scriptures.lds.org/dc/82/22#22" onclick="newWindow('http://scriptures.lds.org/dc/82//22#22')" target="contentWindow" class="scriptureRef"&gt;D&amp;amp;C 82:22&lt;/a&gt;).&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="16"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt; &lt;em&gt;3. Those who wisely manage their &lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;temporal affairs are more likely to also wisely manage their spiritual affairs.&lt;/em&gt; “He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much. … And if ye have not been faithful in that which is another man’s, who shall give you that which is your own?” (&lt;a href="http://scriptures.lds.org/luke/16/10,12#10" onclick="newWindow('http://scriptures.lds.org/luke/16//10,12#10')" target="contentWindow" class="scriptureRef"&gt;Luke 16:10, 12&lt;/a&gt;; see &lt;a href="http://scriptures.lds.org/dc/51/19#19" onclick="newWindow('http://scriptures.lds.org/dc/51//19#19')" target="contentWindow" class="scriptureRef"&gt;D&amp;amp;C 51:19&lt;/a&gt;).&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="17"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt; &lt;em&gt;4. Obedience to God is much more important than making money.&lt;/em&gt; “Ye cannot serve God and mammon” (&lt;a href="http://scriptures.lds.org/luke/16/13#13" onclick="newWindow('http://scriptures.lds.org/luke/16//13#13')" target="contentWindow" class="scriptureRef"&gt;Luke 16:13&lt;/a&gt;; see &lt;a href="http://scriptures.lds.org/dc/56/16-17#16" onclick="newWindow('http://scriptures.lds.org/dc/56//16-17#16')" target="contentWindow" class="scriptureRef"&gt;D&amp;amp;C 56:16–17&lt;/a&gt;).&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="18"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;My life has been abundantly blessed by my living these four principles. I share with you two stories—one that relates to friendship with people not of our faith, the other with obedience to God—even when it might cost us great sums of money.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="19"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;h2&gt;Be Friends, Not Enemies&lt;/h2&gt; &lt;a name="20"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;I was converted in 1973 at the age of 24. I was single and living with my parents. As is traditional in Taiwan, my parents believed in Buddhism and wanted all their children to follow their religion. Before I learned about the Church I did not live the Word of Wisdom. I quit smoking and drinking the day I decided to be an investigator. It was not easy, but the desire to smoke and drink was burned out of me by the Holy Ghost.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="21"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;When my mother found out I had attended the Latter-day Saint Church, she was very angry. It was very difficult to choose between respecting my parents and following the Savior. I did everything I could to maintain a good and respectful relationship with my parents, while living my new religion.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="22"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Three years after my baptism, I was called as a bishop. One year later I had the privilege of traveling to Salt Lake City to attend general conference. In those days imported cigarettes and wine were very expensive in Taiwan. My father asked me to buy some American cigarettes and wine for him on my trip. I told him I couldn’t. He was very upset and complained to my mother. I still remember her wise comment: “Your son is a bishop, and his religion does not allow him to smoke and drink. Asking him to carry cigarettes and wine for you would be like asking a Buddhist monk to carry a pig’s head through a street market.” My father said nothing after that because he knew that Buddhist monks are vegetarians and are highly respected in Chinese society. They would never carry a pig’s head in public.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="23"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;My mother passed away several years ago. She did not want to change her religion, but she taught me wisdom I will never forget. She used her position of authority to help me with my father’s request in a way that I could not have done for myself.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="24"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;h2&gt;Obedience to God&lt;/h2&gt; &lt;a name="25"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;In the 1970s the manufacturing business in Taiwan was booming. We were exporting all kinds of products all over the world. I was a manager in the exporting department of a small private factory. Most manufacturing plants in Taiwan required their employees to work on Sunday. I told my boss I could not work on Sundays because I needed to observe the Sabbath day. He was Buddhist and didn’t understand much about my religion, but he respected me and I didn’t have to work on Sundays. I worked very hard during the week to compensate for my absence on Sundays.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="26"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Our export business prospered; sales increased tremendously every year. Finally, we built a beautiful new factory, and the entire company decided to work Monday through mid-Saturday. Today most companies in Taiwan don’t work on either Saturday or Sunday.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="27"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;I know that the Lord will bless us when we put obedience to God ahead of making money. I also know that it is very important to work diligently to prove to those in worldly positions that we are living our religion.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="28"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;h2&gt;Providing Financially for Ourselves and Our Families&lt;/h2&gt; &lt;a name="29"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;From the parable of the unjust steward, we realize we must learn how to use properly the worldly things God has entrusted to our care. Elder James E. Talmage (1862–1933) wrote:&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="30"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“Worldly-minded men do not neglect provision for their future years, … while the ‘children of light,’ or those who believe spiritual wealth to be above all earthly possessions, are less energetic, prudent, or wise. … &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="31"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“… Emulate the unjust steward and the lovers of mammon [money], not in their dishonesty, cupidity, and miserly hoarding of the wealth that is at best transitory, but in their zeal, forethought, and provision for the future.”&lt;a class="footnote" href="http://lds.org/ldsorg/v/index.jsp?vgnextoid=2354fccf2b7db010VgnVCM1000004d82620aRCRD&amp;amp;locale=0&amp;amp;sourceId=70ab74536cf0c010VgnVCM1000004d82620a____&amp;amp;hideNav=1#footnote1"&gt; 1&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="32"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;I no longer wonder why the Savior gave this parable. It reminds me of principles that continue to bless me and my family. I am thankful that the Lord’s parables not only contain great spiritual concepts but also provide very practical advice for achieving financial success within the teachings of His glorious gospel.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="33"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;[illustration] Illustration by Daniel Lewis&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="34"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;[photo] Photograph by Welden C. Andersen&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div class="footnotes"&gt; &lt;h3&gt;Notes&lt;/h3&gt; &lt;a name="footnote1"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;div id="footnote1"&gt; &lt;a name="36"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;1. &lt;em&gt;Jesus the Christ,&lt;/em&gt; 3rd ed. (1916), 463–64.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div class="footnotes"&gt; &lt;h3&gt;Notes&lt;/h3&gt; &lt;a name="footnote00000"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;div id="footnote00000"&gt; &lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;a name="37"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Elder Tsung-Ting Yang is an Area Authority Seventy serving in the Asia Area.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-2359846439423460086?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/2359846439423460086/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=2359846439423460086&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2359846439423460086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2359846439423460086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/05/interesting-parable.html' title='An Interesting Parable'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-2992773031564403206</id><published>2009-05-24T21:39:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-24T21:39:59.082-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Second Chance</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="citation"&gt;Iris Syndergaard,           “Second Chance,”       &lt;i&gt;Ensign&lt;/i&gt;,   Apr 1974,  22–25&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p class="intro"&gt;A police officer strode up the walk of the gray house. She didn’t hear what the officer said, but she saw the woman’s face draw downward in shock.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="4"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;As Karla walked along the tree-lined street where she and her family had lived for the past ten years, she felt happy and contented. She loved this quiet neighborhood and the security it offered her. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="5"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;The street she walked along was lined with houses which varied in style, but each looked happily lived in, comfortably maintained. As much smug as snug, thought Karla, pleased with her realization that she knew the families in every dwelling. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="6"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Then she remembered the one exception. As she neared a bungalow-style house recently painted gray, Karla’s contentment was nudged by a feeling of guilt. All she knew about the woman who lived there was that she was not a Latter-day Saint and, from the looks of her yard, she was a perfectionist. The lawn was a cool, sheared carpet, each shrub was precisely trimmed, and beds of flowers flaunted their autumn brilliance in weedless rows. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="7"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Uneasily, Karla wondered whether this perfection came from a need for a perfectly maintained yard or a way to occupy many empty hours. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="8"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;If the woman who lives there, thought Karla, was a member of the Church, she wouldn’t have so much spare time, then came the painful second thought, and if she were LDS, I’d know her. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="9"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Karla consoled herself by remembering that at least a dozen times during the last few months she had made plans to visit the family. The trouble was she had so much to do. With three teenagers still at home, a son in the mission field who expected weekly letters and hoped for an occasional package, she was involved enough in her role as wife and mother. In addition, there were her responsibilities as stake organist, and she felt a real need for her twice-weekly class in oil painting. Besides, she made monthly calls to many homes as a Relief Society visiting teacher. When did she have time for extra visits? &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="10"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Just as Karla reached the edge of her neighbor’s neatly kept yard, a police car swung around the corner and stopped in front of it. An officer got out and strode up the walk. Karla stopped as he rapped on the door. His back was to her so she didn’t hear what the officer said to the woman who opened it, but she saw her face draw downward in shock, heard her say, “Come in. I’ll call my husband.” Then the officer stepped inside and the door closed with a muffled thump. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="11"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Karla walked on, turning to look back every few steps, but she had reached her own driveway before the pair came out of the house. The officer, with his hand under the woman’s elbow, helped her into the patrol car. He walked around the car, got behind the wheel, and they sped away. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="12"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Karla could hardly wait for her husband to get home that afternoon. She met him at the door. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="13"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“Paul, do you know who lives in that gray house up the street, the one west of Blakes?” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="14"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;He looked at her in surprise. “The Henrys. Their boy got hurt this afternoon. How did you know about it?” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="15"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“I didn’t. I just knew something was wrong because I saw a police car drive up and take Mrs.—Henry, is it?—away. What happened?” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="16"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Paul went into his study and Karla followed, impatient, but knowing her husband would tell her in his own good time. A high school principal, he felt patience to be an essential virtue and since he often chided her for “chafing at the bit,” Karla managed to remain quiet while Paul put his briefcase down and loosened his tie. Only then did he answer her question. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="17"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“We started having trouble with Pete Henry,” he said, “after about his first six months in our school last year; in the first week of school this year, he started trading blows with another junior right in a classroom. Then today Pete stole a car from the school parking lot and rammed it into a bridge abutment.” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="18"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“Oh, no! Was he badly hurt?” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="19"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Paul took off his tie and hung it on a rack. “I called the hospital just before I left the school. Pete has a concussion and a broken collarbone, but he’ll be okay.” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="20"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Karla said, “Well, that’s certainly a relief. I’ll run up to see Mrs. Henry after supper. There must be something I can do.” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="21"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“Good idea.” Paul put his arm around her shoulders as they left the study together. “I’m sure Mrs. Henry would be glad to have a sympathetic ear.” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="22"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;But before Karla had a chance to start preparing dinner, Elayne came home to announce that she had to go right back to the high school for play tryouts, and her blue skirt would have to be hemmed. After a dinner that was later than usual, while Karla helped 13-year-old Janie with the dishes, she remembered she must make several telephone calls about the luncheon she and four other sisters were to serve at Relief Society the next day. Before Karla was aware of the time it was 10:00. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="23"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“I won’t bother Mrs. Henry this late,” she told Paul as she reached for a comfortable robe. “I’ll go first thing in the morning.” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="24"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;She did get up a half hour earlier than usual, fully intending to visit Mrs. Henry right after breakfast, but before the two girls and Paul, Jr., left for school the phone rang. Helen Frisbee couldn’t find the vase that was to be used as part of the table decorations for the luncheon, and by the time Karla located one of her own, she barely had time to bundle things into her car and leave for the luncheon. She did remember, however, to look up the street toward the Henry’s house as she drove off in the opposite direction. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="25"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;With no work done at home, she didn’t have time to visit a troubled neighbor after Relief Society. Next morning, however, as she backed her car out to go shopping, Karla decided to drive by the Henry’s house, but the drapes were drawn and no car was in the driveway, so she went right on by. “I’ll go up this evening,” she told herself. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="26"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;But her good intentions to visit a concerned mother slipped Karla’s mind completely until a morning ten days later when she received a phone call to remind her of the ward potluck dinner on Friday evening. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="27"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“If you know someone in your neighborhood who’d like to come, please invite them,” the caller said. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="28"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;After she hung up, Karla thought, maybe the Henrys would enjoy the dinner. I’ll go this minute before something comes up to stop me again. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="29"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;She pulled a brush through her short hair and hurried out. From the sidewalk she could see the Henry’s house with a moving van backed into the driveway. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="30"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“Oh, dear, they’re leaving!” Karla stood, undecided, then thought, well, since I’ve already started I might as well keep on going. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="31"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;She approached the front entrance and knocked lightly on the partly opened door. A woman who stood in the middle of the room turned. No curiosity about her visitor showed on the middle-aged face topped by orderly, graying hair. In fact, Karla felt she had never seen an expression so deliberately blank. She had to force a smile of her own to greet the woman who took a disinterested step forward. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="32"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Quickly Karla explained, “I’m Karla Dallas from down the street. I meant to come sooner. Now it looks as if you’re leaving. I’m sorry.” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="33"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;The woman’s lips stretched in a movement that was more grimace than smile, and Karla, uncomfortable, stumbled as she crossed the threshold when Mrs. Henry gestured her inside. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="34"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Muttering, “Sorry,” Karla flushed, trying not to appear too conscious of the boxes cluttering a room emptied of almost everything else. She asked, “Is Pete—is he all right—from his accident, I mean?” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="35"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;The woman’s eyebrows lifted as if she were thinking, “You knew about that?” but aloud she said, “Yes, he is. Thank you.” After a slight pause she added, “I’d ask you to sit down, but as you can see, things are—disorderly.” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="36"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Karla glanced quickly at the pictureless walls and a floor where a rug must have been recently because the edges around the room were polished to a glossy shine. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="37"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Abruptly the woman who faced her began to speak. It sounded to Karla as though the words that rushed out had been saved for an endless time, waiting to be used. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="38"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“We lived in this house for more than a year. About five years ago Al and I came through this town on vacation and we never forgot how friendly it looked, so last year he got a transfer and we came here. We thought we’d be welcome, and we hoped to find a good moral atmosphere for Peter, not like the place we came from. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="39"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“Each morning I got up and cleaned this house so carefully, especially in here, and each evening my husband would say, ‘Arlene, why knock yourself out? Nobody ever sees this place but you and me and Pete. He could care less, and I’d rather see you rested,’ and then I’d say to him, ‘Just wait and see, Al. Any day now one of my neighbors will stop by to introduce herself and I wouldn’t want a new friend to see my house untidy, would I?’ ” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="40"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Her fingers clasped tightly together, she nodded her head to indicate the bare disorder of the room they stood in. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="41"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“I had this place fixed so nice,” she said, “right up till yesterday—” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="42"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Karla said, “Mrs. Henry—” but the other woman didn’t seem to notice the interruption. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="43"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“Nothing has turned out the way we’d hoped it would,” she went on. “The kind of friends we wanted for Pete wouldn’t have anything to do with him. He just wasn’t accepted here for some reason. Neither was I.” Mrs. Henry’s fingers twisted together. “Oh, the long hours, the days to be filled! I’ve never known such loneliness. Day after day I’ve watched other women drive up and down this street with time for everything in the world, it seemed to me, except friendship.” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="44"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Arlene Henry fell silent and Karla asked, “Where are you going?” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="45"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“What does it matter?” Suddenly the woman, who had stood so erect in the middle of the room, bent her head and began to cry. The sound of her sobs echoed in the room’s emptiness while Karla, trembling with pity, stood helpless. Finally Arlene Henry straightened and took a handkerchief from the pocket of her apron. She wiped her eyes, then carefully folded the handkerchief with its crocheted edges into a square and replaced it in her apron pocket. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="46"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“Now if you’ll excuse me,” she said, “the movers are waiting.” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="47"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Karla had to walk home slowly because the ache in her throat made breathing difficult. Besides, her vision was blurred with tears. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="48"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“How could I have let such a thing happen?” she mourned. “I’ve been so smugly convinced that all I need to do is be a watchful mother, involved in church work while a child of God has been perishing with loneliness practically on my doorstep. If one friend—just one—had knocked on Arlene Henry’s door she’d have been all right. Why wasn’t I that friend?” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="49"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;All evening Karla was subdued. When everyone else had gone to bed she knelt down in the silent living room to ask her Heavenly Father for another chance. She promised to try more diligently to remove from her soul the evil of complacency, she prayed for humility to recognize her other shortcomings. She promised the Lord that she would strive daily to obey His commandment, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” Karla whispered, “I’ll try to remember that to love my neighbor doesn’t mean if I have time, or that I’ll love only those neighbors who share my background and beliefs.” &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="50"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;Ten days later, when Karla walked out to the front yard to move the lawn sprinkler, she saw another moving van backed up to the house recently vacated by the Henrys. She ran back inside, wrapped two loaves of bread she had just taken from the oven in paper towels, and hurried up the street. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="51"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;She walked around the moving van parked in the driveway, past a car which bore license plates from a distant state, and knocked on the kitchen door. When a woman about her own age opened it, Karla held out the bread, still aromatic and warm. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;a name="52"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;“Hello,” she said. “I’m Karla Dallas. Welcome to the neighborhood.” &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-2992773031564403206?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/2992773031564403206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=2992773031564403206&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2992773031564403206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2992773031564403206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/05/second-chance.html' title='Second Chance'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-837011851190620467</id><published>2009-04-02T15:01:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-04-02T15:01:50.249-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Giveaway</title><content type='html'>The first five people to respond to this post will get something made by me. My choice. For you.This offer does have some restrictions and limitations:1-I make no guarantees that you will like what I make.2- What I create will be just for you.3-It'll be done by April 19th.4-You have no clue what it's going to be. It may be a story. It may be poetry or an article on properly cleaning your face before a masque. I may scrapbook something. I may bake you something and mail it to you. Who knows? Not you, that's for sure!The catch? Oh, the catch is that you must repost this on your blog and offer the same to the first 5 people who do the same on your blog. The first 5 people to do so and leave a comment telling me they did it will then win a fabulous homemade gift made by me!Oh, and be sure to post a picture of what you win when you get it! Have fun playing!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-837011851190620467?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/837011851190620467/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=837011851190620467&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/837011851190620467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/837011851190620467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/04/giveaway.html' title='The Giveaway'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-2782361083060999217</id><published>2009-03-31T19:28:00.012-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T19:54:55.255-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Apartment Cleaning</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdLJPFD4GVI/AAAAAAAAAF0/GKdck2ZX7i4/s1600-h/cleaning6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdLJPFD4GVI/AAAAAAAAAF0/GKdck2ZX7i4/s200/cleaning6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319535370771634514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdLJJsFxQUI/AAAAAAAAAFs/3zdcG5NdfXU/s1600-h/cleaning5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdLJJsFxQUI/AAAAAAAAAFs/3zdcG5NdfXU/s200/cleaning5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319535278169342274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdLJEqVzVHI/AAAAAAAAAFk/K65O3f6YUv0/s1600-h/cleaning4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdLJEqVzVHI/AAAAAAAAAFk/K65O3f6YUv0/s200/cleaning4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319535191800370290" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdLJBbY9QCI/AAAAAAAAAFc/Eww3IogfMrw/s1600-h/cleaning3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdLJBbY9QCI/AAAAAAAAAFc/Eww3IogfMrw/s200/cleaning3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319535136247463970" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdLI93zYCyI/AAAAAAAAAFU/49XUW0pE1U0/s1600-h/cleaning2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdLI93zYCyI/AAAAAAAAAFU/49XUW0pE1U0/s200/cleaning2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319535075154987810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdLI5zzKHGI/AAAAAAAAAFM/jjsMtiRhgR0/s1600-h/cleaning1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdLI5zzKHGI/AAAAAAAAAFM/jjsMtiRhgR0/s200/cleaning1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319535005360856162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Believe me. It was much more interesting than it sounds!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It might look like I am doing nothing. But I cooked and did dishes. Also, I would to note that Pam obviously wasn’t doing anything since she took all the pictures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a good picture of the "Aimee look" defined by Jared Sung as "Tinge of disapproval with a sarcastic "seriously" with something else...leaving the victim with an unsettling feeling." and then Jason added, "this look, when properly performed, sends shivers down the spine of the receiver, who is forever marked with such a vivid feeling that they are unable to forget it"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdLG4B1RbQI/AAAAAAAAAFE/Q0ZvQha2Wg0/s1600-h/cleaning7.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdLG4B1RbQI/AAAAAAAAAFE/Q0ZvQha2Wg0/s200/cleaning7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319532775744826626" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-2782361083060999217?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/2782361083060999217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=2782361083060999217&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2782361083060999217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2782361083060999217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/03/apartment-cleaning.html' title='Apartment Cleaning'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdLJPFD4GVI/AAAAAAAAAF0/GKdck2ZX7i4/s72-c/cleaning6.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-1523906694981626474</id><published>2009-03-30T12:24:00.009-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T14:34:29.911-06:00</updated><title type='text'>College Life!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Well I’ve got 1 month left of school. I never did find my camera charger, so I had no camera and therefore no documentation of my adventures here at USU. Luckily my roommate Pam did and tonight I walked into her room with my 8 gig card and asked if I could have all the pictures and videos. She said no at first but I begged and I promised I wouldn’t post embarrassing pictures of her. So just ignore the blonde girl in the pictures in case I want to put up one that she’s in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today's installment of Aimee's first year at college will be introducing Morgan 102!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First off, we've got the RA Mariesa Bergin! (she was only with us for the 1st semeste&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdEPHpE6GKI/AAAAAAAAAEE/WSZVKrUrnk0/s1600-h/DSC02092.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;r). She was really nice and a &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdEPSDsAXuI/AAAAAAAAAEM/0x6BJkojd1o/s1600-h/DSC02097.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319049437803208418" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdEPSDsAXuI/AAAAAAAAAEM/0x6BJkojd1o/s200/DSC02097.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;way fun RA. She was really sweet and everyone loved her!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next up would be Pam. The following video pretty much sums up Pam:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-93c4e9821f54b900" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v8.nonxt6.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D93c4e9821f54b900%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330456581%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D8495C8939DC0A9337248A5395BE964F47240BDFA.2CB23F70FEA4EEA99A4CAFD43CDBD15B86AE1BD5%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D93c4e9821f54b900%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DOolOTGmupDVNGJMlPjtYmOUA9ck&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v8.nonxt6.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D93c4e9821f54b900%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330456581%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D8495C8939DC0A9337248A5395BE964F47240BDFA.2CB23F70FEA4EEA99A4CAFD43CDBD15B86AE1BD5%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D93c4e9821f54b900%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DOolOTGmupDVNGJMlPjtYmOUA9ck&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sierra is quiet, calm, peaceful, non-confrontational, and an amazing artist. She doesn't get hyper and crazy like the rest of us. This video is really funny because before this clip, Pam and I are laughing and being weird and then Seirra is just standing there eating a cookie being as calm as can be:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-b2437d2f7a080f4" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v6.nonxt1.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D0b2437d2f7a080f4%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330456581%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D6755291D3F8537FFCDD6BBA49E71D6BF0CF6E004.128540292E4C3A96C87DBC3AC0C978AD73A23BD7%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Db2437d2f7a080f4%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DR5SdrKGGL3l3zO_ypn3dnGBWMt8&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v6.nonxt1.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D0b2437d2f7a080f4%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330456581%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D6755291D3F8537FFCDD6BBA49E71D6BF0CF6E004.128540292E4C3A96C87DBC3AC0C978AD73A23BD7%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Db2437d2f7a080f4%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DR5SdrKGGL3l3zO_ypn3dnGBWMt8&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Kellianne is the new RA. She's an RM and she served in New York. She loves to share her mission stories. She is really good at accents so when she talks to us she switches in and out of them, it is really fun. This video is hilarious because she didn't realize the camera was recording right there. She's very mature and analytical, doesn't get emotional at all. She's really a lot of fun.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-58dbccfdbe9c6d50" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v18.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D58dbccfdbe9c6d50%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330456581%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D74E684740ED643B76CF2E8051C0ECA0F95CFC86C.6DA77D5D9534BA6D04F9B4EAFE267BFF0ABF41AD%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D58dbccfdbe9c6d50%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DcEYbTLPjHgWVbi1B9nvbQf2vv6E&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v18.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D58dbccfdbe9c6d50%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330456581%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D74E684740ED643B76CF2E8051C0ECA0F95CFC86C.6DA77D5D9534BA6D04F9B4EAFE267BFF0ABF41AD%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D58dbccfdbe9c6d50%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DcEYbTLPjHgWVbi1B9nvbQf2vv6E&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;And then there's me......... you all know me pretty well, but in case you were wondering, I haven't changed at all (by the way, we had new couches and they were really stiff so I was breaking them in):&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-50cb59eb57aff254" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v5.nonxt7.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D50cb59eb57aff254%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330456581%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D5EFA3E9169EBBE7E909B4DC3924F659344BDBD66.6B5DDFF30A61F453297A5D0EF6D5E777C3BF5880%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D50cb59eb57aff254%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DzusbV_AlM_wveLkrG2z5rnWmkJY&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v5.nonxt7.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D50cb59eb57aff254%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330456581%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D5EFA3E9169EBBE7E909B4DC3924F659344BDBD66.6B5DDFF30A61F453297A5D0EF6D5E777C3BF5880%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D50cb59eb57aff254%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DzusbV_AlM_wveLkrG2z5rnWmkJY&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;So those are my roommates! Coming soon.....apartment cleaning!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Oh, but one last video.... (my favorite part is at 2:35 till the end, if you don't want to watch the entire thing)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-39fb87cb4270a36c" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" 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bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v23.nonxt8.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D39fb87cb4270a36c%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330456581%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D4C3EC50F684AB8CE6A068F891C2C182EAF4B878D.555383E2ACC4FC9303E34BC357B09FEEFCD61002%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D39fb87cb4270a36c%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DIGkUSs95TXzbRTOfg2BhwE-9K3Y&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-1523906694981626474?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=39fb87cb4270a36c&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=50cb59eb57aff254&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=58dbccfdbe9c6d50&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=93c4e9821f54b900&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=b2437d2f7a080f4&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/1523906694981626474/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=1523906694981626474&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/1523906694981626474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/1523906694981626474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/03/college-life.html' title='College Life!'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SdEPSDsAXuI/AAAAAAAAAEM/0x6BJkojd1o/s72-c/DSC02097.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-8692643525689118337</id><published>2009-03-18T23:52:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T23:52:52.210-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Zombies vs. Democrats</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="660" height="525"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Kfea6IWiYu0&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;color1=0x402061&amp;color2=0x9461ca&amp;border=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Kfea6IWiYu0&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;color1=0x402061&amp;color2=0x9461ca&amp;border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="660" height="525"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-8692643525689118337?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/8692643525689118337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=8692643525689118337&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/8692643525689118337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/8692643525689118337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/03/zombies-vs-democrats.html' title='Zombies vs. Democrats'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-8228254456648406581</id><published>2009-03-12T14:15:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-12T14:15:48.276-06:00</updated><title type='text'>This Could Be Fun</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/541?utm_source=freeverse_031209&amp;amp;utm_medium=newsletter&amp;amp;utm_campaign=npm&amp;amp;utm_content=freeverse"&gt;http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/541?utm_source=freeverse_031209&amp;amp;utm_medium=newsletter&amp;amp;utm_campaign=npm&amp;amp;utm_content=freeverse&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inspired by the &lt;a href="http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/98"&gt;2009 National Poetry Month Poster&lt;/a&gt; design, the Academy of American Poets invites you to capture and share your own ephemeral bits of verse.&lt;br /&gt;Write lines from a favorite poem on a sandy beach, assemble twigs on a hillside, or chalk the sidewalk. Take a photo before it disappears and post it in the &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/groups/freeverse/" target="_blank"&gt;Free Verse&lt;/a&gt; group page on Flickr, or on the Academy's Fan Page on Facebook, or email your photo to &lt;a href="mailto:freeverse@poets.org"&gt;freeverse@poets.org&lt;/a&gt;. Include the source of your lines in the photo caption.&lt;br /&gt;All photos posted by April 15 will be automatically entered in a contest to win the new &lt;a href="http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20563"&gt;Poem in Your Pocket anthology&lt;/a&gt; and a commemorative piece of jewelry by San Francisco designer &lt;a href="http://www.jeaninepayer.com/" target="_blank"&gt;Jeanine Payer&lt;/a&gt;, who specializes in hand-engraving lines of poetry on earrings, necklaces, and other items. Selected entries will be featured on Poets.org.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-8228254456648406581?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/8228254456648406581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=8228254456648406581&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/8228254456648406581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/8228254456648406581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/03/this-could-be-fun.html' title='This Could Be Fun'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-689324178599212162</id><published>2009-02-17T20:18:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-02-17T20:19:33.733-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blogging...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SZt-QAHjnKI/AAAAAAAAAD8/tbQkthZWEsw/s1600-h/blogging.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 335px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SZt-QAHjnKI/AAAAAAAAAD8/tbQkthZWEsw/s400/blogging.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303971799533591714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-689324178599212162?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/689324178599212162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=689324178599212162&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/689324178599212162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/689324178599212162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/02/blogging.html' title='Blogging...'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SZt-QAHjnKI/AAAAAAAAAD8/tbQkthZWEsw/s72-c/blogging.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-593439412762026952</id><published>2009-02-17T18:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-02-17T19:08:45.434-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hymns</title><content type='html'>This is Hymn #197. Verse 2 is absolutely beautiful. Really take time to understand when this is saying, not just reading it. It's absolutely amazing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O Savior, thou who wearest a crown of piercing thorn,&lt;br /&gt;The pain thou meekly bearest, weigh’d down by grief and scorn.&lt;br /&gt;The soldiers mock and flail thee; for drink they give thee gall;&lt;br /&gt;Upon the cross they nail thee to die, O King of all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No creature is so lowly, no sinner so depraved,&lt;br /&gt;But feels thy presence holy and thru thy love is saved.&lt;br /&gt;Tho craven friends betray thee, they feel thy love’s embrace;&lt;br /&gt;The very foes who slay thee have access to thy grace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thy sacrifice transcended the mortal law’s demand;&lt;br /&gt;Thy mercy is extended to ev’ry time and land.&lt;br /&gt;No more can Satan harm us, tho long the fight may be,&lt;br /&gt;Nor fear of death alarm us; we live, O Lord, thru thee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What praises can we offer to thank thee, Lord most high?&lt;br /&gt;In our place thou didst suffer; in our place thou didst die,&lt;br /&gt;By heaven’s plan appointed, to ransom us, our King.&lt;br /&gt;O Jesus, the anointed, to thee our love we bring!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-593439412762026952?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/593439412762026952/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=593439412762026952&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/593439412762026952'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/593439412762026952'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/02/hymns.html' title='Hymns'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-4558902883955903684</id><published>2009-02-10T11:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T11:32:01.553-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Final Revision of Fifth Place</title><content type='html'>Fifth Place&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aimee Haertel&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate the smell of track. Ever since my first summer of running recreationally, that horrid smell of dry, heated rubber automatically opens the cocoons in my stomach and the butterflies go crazy. I can smell it whenever I am nearby. It’s like driving over a newly paved road, when the stench of tar permeates the interior of the car and refuses to leave. Or when you open a garbage can that has been harboring compost and sitting in the hot sun for a week. It’s the kind of odor that makes you feel fully nauseated, first filling your nose, then drying out your mouth; it continues down to twist and churn your stomach, and then finally sucks all the energy and motivation out of your body as it burns your feet. It’s not a smell you can easily escape, especially when you have to run through it for 1600 meters. I keep hoping that one day it won't paralyze me, but every hot day I am suffocated by the track. And that hot day in May was no different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is the 10th, it's abnormally hot, and it's time to qualify for state. I am one of the fastest girls in the region and should finish in the top four in order to make it to state. The track is dehydrated from slow cooking all day- like a pot that has boiled off all the water and all that's left is the burning metal getting hotter and hotter. I am avoiding it at all costs, warming up on hills instead of that flat hell, playing my music loudly, as if overloading my sense of hearing will deaden my sense of smell. Eventually I have to step on the track to start the race. I'm standing there, slightly bent over, covering my nose with my jersey, when a gust of wind hurls the nastiness into my body and I choke. The wind fills my stomach and my nerves go crazy. I start freaking out and doubting. I remember all the other races I failed in the heat. Why should this one be any different? My sister Jennie won the 1600 at region; I could too. I could get a huge personal record and break her school record. 'Yeah, right' the other half of my brain says. The gun shoots loudly and we're off, that last negative thought starting to fill my body like poison. Everyone stays in the group; no one dares to push the pace- except Erin, who has a state title already. No one tries to chase her down. The four girls who have competed against each other all season gasp for breath, all worried this race won't be fast enough and worried we went out too fast. Three more laps. Focus. Relax. Lengthen stride. Two laps to go and Marissa starts to pull ahead. 'It's okay,' I think, 'I just need to get fourth.' BANG! The gun announces this is my last chance to break free from the tight group of three and join the other victors at state. With 200 meters to go the three of us take off after Marissa and close the gap. Only 100 meters left; it's down to who can sprint the fastest. I'm confident. No Haertel has lost in the final stretch. Both my sisters were known for their speed at the end of a race. I look down at my feet willing them to go faster but all I see is a blur of black track, brightly colored shoes, and sunlight reflecting off the tiny spikes in my competitors racing shoes. The pack never breaks and we all cross the finish line together. The results are not immediately announced—I hear what sounds like an echo of a voice say something about a tight race and a photo finish. The tapes are being reviewed. I stumble off the track and sit on the grass with my head between my knees and my heart breaks. The echo, more of a shattered voice now, announces the winners: Fuller: (5:15.86 ), Floodman (5:27.73) Zufelt (5:28.10) Nelson (5:28.60) Haertel (5:28.66) "No! No! No!" I sob. The girl from the rival school who out- stepped me at the finish line hears it and gloats her victory with a "Yes! Yes! Yes!" I look up at my coach who returns my dejected look. Point zero sixths of a second. I can't run in state because I took fifth place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But at 16, I was used to being fifth place. I was used to my smart older brother Robbie the valedictorian. I was used to getting huge shoes to fill from my kind and compassionate oldest sister Sherrie in every aspect of life. I still swear she's as close to perfect as any human could get. My other sister Jennie stretched out the already big shoes and I was getting used to almost matching her accomplishments but being just a step behind or a letter grade lower. I was used to feeling my little brother Josh was favored since he was the youngest and that he was gifted with the brain of a genius. My whole life had been training me to be in fifth place, so I cried that fifth place off just like I'd cried many other fifth places off. Don't get me wrong, my family is amazing and I love them. But their resumes are bursting with accomplishments and all I ever did was earn 11 athletic letters, get the leadership award two years, and be president of the orchestra.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I admire what all of them have done, but I have especially looked up to Jennie. When I was younger, all I wanted was to be just like her! I quit gymnastics, something I was really good at, to play soccer; I cut my hair like hers; and tried to dress in her sporty style. But as I got older, it became apparent that I wasn't going to be as great as my siblings, especially Jennie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sherrie set all the school records, Jennie broke them, and then I didn't. It was hard being the third daughter, especially following Jennie. She was one of the top six most perfect women in the nation. There's an award called the High School Heisman and they choose the people based on GPA, community service, and extra-curricular involvement. She was the school's nomination, the state winner, and then the Western regional representative. She found out she was one of six national finalists in an assembly dedicated just for her. I remember watching her surprise as she realized what was happening. I grinned with pride for my big sister as she walked to the podium to accept the award. She leaned her head forward and the principal slowly put the medal around her neck. The stadium thundered with applause as students and teachers acknowledged her. And there she was, right in the center. Surrounded. And I was here, on the outskirts of the gym by the drinking fountain in the gym in my white and purple striped shirt. Just a number in the boisterous crowd. Blinking quickly, trying to hold back my envy, I slowly tuned out the deafening cheers and the bright gymnasium lights as my mind faded into dark silence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stayed in that darkness for the rest of the day, standing back in the shadows of the kitchen as Jennie sat on a stool in the family room filled with ESPN's floodlights and cameras. She fidgeted, twitched her nose, and looked side to side quickly, gripping the sides of the chair, trying to hide her nerves. “It’s not fair,” I thought. “Jennie doesn’t even like attention.” I stood there pretending it was I who was under the spotlight. I would smile and talk and be perfectly comfortable. But I wasn't in her chair. I was being ignored. I decided that it wasn’t enough just to be like her. I wanted to be better. I sadly dropped my clenched fist to my side and accidentally (truly, it was) knocked the pencil holder off the desk. Everyone started and narrowed their eyes in my direction as it t clattered to the ground. Not the kind of attention I wished for. My twelve year old self hurried to pick up the pens and pencils. I apologized as I sulked around the back way so as to not disturb anything again, trying my hardest not to break into tears. Better than Jennie? “Yeah, right,” the other half of my brain said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It took me a while to stop trying to beat Jennie. It happened through high school when, despite all her glory in her time, the current runners didn’t even know her and others expectations of me were non-existent. Suddenly I was free to really be me: the girl who talks too much and isn't afraid to be herself. I start out too fast, tense up my shoulders, and finish races looking like a bobble-head because fatigue is so strong I can't hold it straight. Those things make me the runner and person I am. Because my teammates saw me for who I was, my own expectations of being Jennie dissipated. I realized how much more fun I had when I could let loose and not care about running against an invisible opponent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The part of my brain that always wanted to be better than Jennie stopped taunting me and making me feel bad about myself. The other half of my brain was correct. “Yeah, right.” I just never let it finish: “No one person is better than the next. We’re just different. As soon as you can figure that out, you’ll be happy.” I never did beat Jennie’s high school times, but my team won a state title, something she never got to experience. She got a 4.0 and I settled for a 3.9 in exchange for less study time and more fun with friends. I felt it was a pretty good trade-off. So what if she’s inhumanly fast, super intelligent, and musically gifted? I went to dances, stopped on runs because I was laughing so I couldn’t move, and made cookies with my friends. And I enjoyed it all, as Aimee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. In 2007 Jennie competed in the mile for the NCAA Indoor Track and Field Nationals. She got fifth, earning All-American status. I guess fifth isn’t such a bad place to be in after all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-4558902883955903684?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/4558902883955903684/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=4558902883955903684&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4558902883955903684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4558902883955903684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/02/final-revision-of-fifth-place.html' title='Final Revision of Fifth Place'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-3028513791897741997</id><published>2009-01-30T23:59:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-31T00:15:13.878-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fasting vs. Feasting and a few more spiritual thoughts</title><content type='html'>Two Sundays ago, I taught the lesson in Relief Society. It was on not going apostate. I was really worried because I didn't want to preach to them, but I knew I had to get through to them how dangerous and easy it can be. So I fasted that I might be able to teach with the spirit. I also included in my fast asking for help and strength with my school and running. I started it after the meet, so at about 2 so I could come home from church and eat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That night I went to my friend Ruth's apartment and her nonmember roommate from Slovenia was making crepes and asked if I wanted some but I told her I was fasting. The whole night she kept forgetting and would ask me if I wanted something but then she'd remember and say, "oh yeah, you're feasting. or fasting? I can't remember the difference."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, to be honest, there really isn't any. In church the next day, everything said in all the talks and lessons and comments I needed to hear. I felt like I was feasting on the gospel. I didn't feel the physical hunger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought that was a cool comparison.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, my stake is doing a Book of Mormon marathon where we are reading the entire BoM in 3 days. I just got back from day 2. I have quizzes for psychology that I have to do and in order to pass you have to get 90% and I already forgot to do one this week so I got half points (they are only worth 10, Mom) and I didn' get back from the BoM thing until about 11:20. These quizzes usually take a good amount of time because I have to look things up. I was about half way through the quiz when my computer froze and I had to restart. I only had about 20 minutes to do it so I knelt down and prayed, telling Heavenly Father that I really needed some help because  I've been reading the BoM I haven't had time to study or take the quiz. I acknowledged my own mistakes of not planning better earlier in the week and I thanked Him for everything. I finished the quiz with 5 minutes till midnight and passed it. I really don't know how because I can't remember anything, except that God blesses us when we are doing the right thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even if we are mocked for it... (which will be a whole new post some day soon about someone telling me the most frustrating thing about me is that I am "too obedient" hmm...ok.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I gotta hit the hay to be up at 5:30 for some more reading!!!!!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-3028513791897741997?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/3028513791897741997/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=3028513791897741997&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/3028513791897741997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/3028513791897741997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/01/fasting-vs-feasting-and-few-more.html' title='Fasting vs. Feasting and a few more spiritual thoughts'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-8422454367851692253</id><published>2009-01-25T00:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-25T00:43:25.415-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fifth Place</title><content type='html'>I hate the smell of track. Ever since my first summer of running recreationally, that horrid smell of dry, heated rubber automatically opens the cocoons in my stomach and the butterflies go crazy. I can smell it whenever I am nearby. It’s like driving over a newly paved road, when the smell of tar permeates the interior of the car and refuses to leave. Or when you open a garbage can that has been harboring compost and sitting in the hot sun for a week. It’s the kind of smell that makes you feel fully nauseated, first filling your nose, then drying out your mouth; it continues down to twist and churn your stomach, and then finally sucks all the energy and motivation out of your body as it burns your feet. It’s not a smell you can easily escape, especially when you have to run through it for 1600 meters. I keep hoping that one day it won't paralyze me, but every hot day I am suffocated by the track. And that hot day in May was no different.&lt;br /&gt;It is the 10th, it's abnormally hot, and it's time to qualify for state. I am one of the fastest girls in the region and should finish in the top four in order to make it to state. The track is dehydrated from slow cooking all day- like a pot that has boiled off all the water and all that's left is the burning metal getting hotter and hotter. I am avoiding it at all costs, warming up on hills instead of that flat hell, playing my music loudly, as if overloading my sense of hearing will deaden my sense of smell. Eventually I have to step on the track to start the race. I'm standing there, slightly bent over, covering my nose with my jersey, but then a gust of wind hurls the nastiness into my body and I choke. The wind fills my stomach and my nerves go crazy. I start freaking out and doubting. I remember all the other races I failed in the heat. Why should this one be any different? My sister Jennie won the 1600 at region; I could too. I could get a huge personal record and break her school record. 'Yeah, right' the other half of my brain says. The gun shoots loudly and we're off, that last negative thought starting to fill my body like poison. Everyone stays in the group; no one dares to push the pace- except Erin, who has a state title already. No one tries to chase her down. The five girls who have competed against each other all season gasp for breath, all worried this race won't be fast enough and worried we went out too fast. Three more laps. Focus. Relax. Lengthen stride. Two laps to go and Marissa starts to pull ahead. 'It's okay,' I think, 'I just need to get fourth.' BANG! The gun announces this is my last chance to break free from the tight group of three and join the other victors at state. With 200 meters to go the three of us take off after Marissa and close the gap. Only 100 meters left; it's down to who can sprint the fastest. I'm confident. No Haertel has lost in the final stretch. Both my sisters were known for their speed at the end of a race. I look down at my feet willing them to go faster but all I see is a blur of black track, brightly colored shoes, and sunlight reflecting off the tiny spikes in my competitors racing shoes. The pack never breaks and we all cross the finish line together. The results are not immediately announced—I hear what sounds like an echo of a voice say something about a tight race and a photo finish. The tapes are being reviewed. I stumble off the track and sit on the grass with my head between my knees and my heart breaks. The echo, more of a shattered voice now, announces the winners: Fuller: (5:15.86 ), Floodman (5:27.73) Zufelt (5:28.10) Nelson (5:28.60) Haertel (5:28.66) "No! No! No!" I sob. The girl from the rival school who out- stepped me at the finish line hears it and gloats her victory with a "Yes! Yes! Yes!" I look up at my coach who returns my dejected look. Point zero sixths of a second. I can't run in state because I took fifth place .&lt;br /&gt;But at 16, I was used to being fifth place. I was used to my older brother Robbie, the valedictorian, going out and winning the race by a great distance. I was used to getting huge shoes to fill from my oldest sister Sherrie in every aspect of life: school, friends, church…I still swear she's as close to perfect as any human could get. My other sister Jennie stretched out the already big shoes and I was getting used to almost matching her accomplishments but being just a step behind or a letter grade lower. I was used to feeling my little brother Josh was favored since he was the youngest and that he was gifted with the brain of a genius. My whole life had been training me to be in fifth place, so I cried that fifth place off just like I'd cried many other fifth places off.&lt;br /&gt;Don't get me wrong, my family is amazing and I love them. All my siblings are incredible and talented and I am so proud of them for everything they've done. I just can't be them. I've tried and I've tried for 18 years now and I can't. I'm not as smart as my older brother, not as kind and compassionate as my oldest sister, not as fast as my other sister, and not as funny as my younger brother. All I ever did was earn 11 athletic letters, get the leadership award two years, and be president of the orchestra.&lt;br /&gt;The hardest thing about growing up was being the third daughter. Sherrie set all the school records, Jennie broke them, and then I didn't. Both were the fastest, smartest girls in the school. Actually, Jennie was one of the top six most perfect women in the nation. There's an award called the High School Heisman and they choose the people based on GPA, community service, and extra-curricular involvement. She was the school's nomination, the state winner, and then the Western regional representative. Only six regions in the United States get to nominate a national finalist, so she is considered one of the best six young women in the entire United States. The school had an assembly in her honor for being a national finalist. I remember standing back by the drinking fountain in the gym in my white and purple striped shirt and seeing every student and teacher pay attention to Jennie. She was special and I was happy to be her little sister. I was filled with so much pride when they put a medal around her neck and she thanked everyone. But along with the delight in her awesome accomplishment was jealousy. It slowly overtook my joy for her until I was shaking with envy. I decided then that I was going to be just like her. 'Yeah right,' the other half of my brain said.&lt;br /&gt;This award brought her more press than she already had. She was always in the sports section for soccer, cross country, basketball, and track. ESPN followed her around for a day to get interviews from teachers and coaches for a highlight to air on their network. They interviewed her in our house and we were supposed to be quiet so they could get good footage. I was standing back in the shadows of the dark kitchen, watching almost resentfully when I accidentally (truly, it was) knocked the pencil holder off the desk and it clattered to the ground. My twelve year old self picked up the pens and pencils, apologized, then went around the back way trying my hardest not break in to tears. “It’s not fair,” I thought to myself. “Jennie doesn’t even like attention.” It was then I decided again that I was going to be just like her. No, better. 'Yeah right,' the other half of my brain said.&lt;br /&gt;But I tried. I tried to be just like her; just like I had my entire life. I quit gymnastics, something I was really good at, to play soccer; I cut my hair like hers, and tried to dress in her sporty style, because when I did dress in my own cute clothes, she'd tell me I was "so girly" which I took as an insult. Every day I tried to be like her and every night I realized I couldn't. She was five years older than me, and five times better than me at everything. It was too big of a gap to close.&lt;br /&gt;Five years ago I was 13, a struggling young teenager, trying so hard to be someone else and getting so disappointed when I couldn't live up to those lofty goals. Trying to be Jennie is like asking a distance runner to set the school record in the high jump.&lt;br /&gt;It took me a while to stop trying to be Jennie. In high school I ran cross country and since she is five years older, no one on the team had personally known her; they just saw her last name up on the record board so they didn't have certain expectations of me. They didn't know that the last name 'Haertel' implied greatness and blue ribbons. When I ran with them, I was Aimee: the girl who talked too much and wasn't afraid to be herself. I think that's why I kept running; it brings an important sense of self. Everyone's style, form, and race strategy are different. The coaches couldn't treat me like Jennie, because I wasn't her! I start out too fast, tense up my shoulders, and finish races looking like a bobble-head because fatigue is so strong I can't hold it straight. Those things make me the runner and person I am. I realized how much more fun I had when I could let loose and not care about being first. She spent her high school years racing in the front alone, but I got to be back with the pack making best friends with everyone. I could have devoted my life to my training and schoolwork like Jennie did, but I remember seeing her come home from school late at night, exhausted, and weighed down by her books which she then stayed up for hours studying in her room--and that life wasn't appealing to me. For a break she'd play a song on the piano as fast as she could then get back to work. My family joked that she didn't have any friends, but that wasn’t important to her and it made her happy to be involved in everything she did. If I followed in those footsteps, I would not have been happy. I'm glad I didn't get a 4.0 because that would have meant all that time studying would have been less time spent having fun. I ended up with a 3.9 plus a lot of friends. I felt it was a good trade-off.&lt;br /&gt;No one person is better than the next. We’re just different. For example, I never did beat Jennie’s high school times, but my team won a state title, something she never got to experience. We have different strengths. So what if she can beat me in a race, or had a higher GPA, or was more talented musically? I can beat her in how many dances I went to, how many times I talked to teachers to bump me up a slight percentage, how many times I had to stop on a run because I was laughing too hard I couldn't move, and how many dance parties I've already had my first year at Utah State.&lt;br /&gt;The irony of all this is that in 2007 Jennie competed in the mile for the NCAA Indoor Track and Field Nationals. She got fifth, earning All-American status, but she was disappointed. I'd say fifth place in the nation is pretty good! So race me. If I get fifth, I won't cry this time, because maybe I was meant to be fifth in this race, and maybe fifth place isn't such a bad place to be. But in a different event, I will win. Either way, I'll be happy about it. I've spent a lot of time trying to be happy, thinking that if I make a certain team or run a certain time then my life will be fulfilled. Too often, I base my happiness on being better than someone else. But as I look back on my life, the times I was truly happy were the times I was doing what I wanted to do because I wanted to do it. It didn't matter what place I was in. When I try to be somebody else, I can't. I've learned and re-learned this lesson: when you try to be someone else, there is no you. And you can't be happy unless you are being you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-8422454367851692253?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/8422454367851692253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=8422454367851692253&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/8422454367851692253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/8422454367851692253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2009/01/fifth-place.html' title='Fifth Place'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-1901916533805551652</id><published>2008-12-21T21:05:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-01T20:07:39.961-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapter One</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;(to read the preface scroll down to "Home Run"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Anna, if you could go wherever you wanted, where would it be?” Her teacher asked her.&lt;br /&gt;“Oh, I would love to go to Stanford.”&lt;br /&gt;“Well then, apply.” He suggested&lt;br /&gt;“But it’s so far away. And expensive. It’s $75 just to apply.”&lt;br /&gt;“You are smart enough to go there, you know. With a degree from Stanford, you’re pretty much guaranteed a job. What do you want to do anyway? You love your chemistry, right?”&lt;br /&gt;“Yes, I do. But I really love English and I think it would be great to be an English teacher because there are so few really good teachers. I want to inspire people. I want to change their lives and I think I could best do that through English. Literature has a way getting through to people.”&lt;br /&gt;“Well, Utah State has a great teaching program. Have you considered going there?”&lt;br /&gt;“Of course. That is realistically where I will end up. Even if it isn’t my dream school.”&lt;br /&gt;“Stanford.”&lt;br /&gt;“Yes.”&lt;br /&gt;“Just try for it. There’s no harm in trying, right?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That conversation had happened months ago but it was what had changed her life. Her teacher persuaded her to apply and here she was now with the letter from Stanford in her shaking hands not knowing if she should open it or not. Finally getting the courage she slid her finger underneath the sealed fold and pulled out the letter. Biting her bottom lip, she read it in her mind slowly. Each word took an eternity for her to comprehend until she saw the word she had been hoping to see since she was ten: “Accepted.” She screamed silently to herself and ran into her parent’s room.&lt;br /&gt;“I got in! I got accepted to Stanford!” Her excitement didn’t include her parents though.&lt;br /&gt;“Congratulations” her mom said half-heartedly. “But you can’t go there.” Disappointment and shock filled Anna’s eyes in the form of tears she tried to hold back.&lt;br /&gt;“W-what? That was never discussed before. You said if I didn’t get in that I’d have to pay the application cost but if I did then you would cover it.”&lt;br /&gt;“We never said that you could go though. We’re proud of you, don’t get that wrong. But honey, we can’t afford to send you there.” Her dad said with a bit more caring in his voice than her mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The conversation did not end with a smiling and excited Anna. Instead she ran to her room in tears, heartbroken. She had wanted Stanford so badly for most of her life. It was something that seemed to far out of her reach, something that could only happen in an alternate universe. Not that she wasn’t smart enough, she was brilliant, it was that it was Stanford. The great minds went there and in her eyes, she was only a good mind. It was as if she were a starving child put in front of a feast and told she couldn’t eat it. It hardly seemed fair. She cried herself to sleep that night and had to go to school with swollen eyes. She sulked into her teacher’s classroom and handed him the letter.&lt;br /&gt;“Congratulations! You got in! I told you you could do it!” He was excited for her. “But, you don’t look too happy about it. What’s wrong?”&lt;br /&gt;“I can’t go. It’s too much money. I never should have applied. I knew my chances were slim and that if by some miracle I did make it, then I couldn’t afford it. With all the money I have saved up, I can only afford one year with books and room and I guess I thought that if I got in that everything would fall into place. But that was just stupid. I mean, the water doesn’t follow the plow.”&lt;br /&gt;“So, Utah State then? It really is a good school.”&lt;br /&gt;“I know, but it’s not Stanford. I mean, I was so close…so close…” and she walked out the door leaving the letter on his desk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few weeks later she got another letter in the mail from Stanford. She reluctantly opened it and only read, “still waiting for your reply” before throwing it onto her cluttered desk. A few days later another letter came in the mail for her. Not recognizing the sender, she opened it up confused. She read it quickly, not taking in what was being said until she saw “$_,000 toward any school.” She re-read it and saw that she had been nominated for a scholarship because of leadership, attitude, and excellence in the classroom. That was enough to cover another year at Stanford. Excitement welled up in her again. She just had to get enough money for 2 more years and she could do that while going to school. She’d never had a job, so she could get one that paid decently and if she saved every cent she earned or that was given to her for holidays, she could probably make it another year. She could take out a loan as well. This scholarship gave her much more hope to being able to go. Again she went to her parents and told them the good news but they still weren’t convinced.&lt;br /&gt;The next day, her teacher called them in for a conference and explained to them that it was Anna’s dream to go. If she decided that’s where she was going to go, they couldn’t stop her. With the scholarship now, there wasn’t really a good reason for them holding her back. They needed to let her decide what she was going to do and then support her with whatever she chose.&lt;br /&gt;That night her dad came into her room and told her that she could do whatever she wanted, but not to choose one or the other because it’s what she or her parents wanted. He told her, “Pray, honey. Do what’s right. Go where you are supposed to go.”&lt;br /&gt;Through much prayer and fasting and to her parent’s dismay, she was going to Stanford. The morning before she flew out to California, her dad came to talk to her again.&lt;br /&gt;“There were many reasons I didn’t want you to go. One is because you’re my only little girl and California suddenly seemed continents away from Utah. Utah is safer than California. If you went to BYU or USU the majority of the boys you’d meet would be Mormon. I’m scared for you Anna. Please, promise you won’t date anyone who isn’t a member. You marry who you date. Don’t forget that before you learned about Stanford, going to BYU and marrying a returned missionary was your dream. Let’s only change the first half of that, okay?” She rolled her eyes at her concerned dad.&lt;br /&gt;“I’ve never dated anyone seriously anyway. Besides, school will be so hectic, I probably won’t even have time to date. But I will be careful who I spend my time with, okay? I promise.” He smiled and gave her a big hug. Her dad left her room and she read her scriptures, and then said a long prayer thanking God for this wonderful opportunity. She climbed into bed and said to herself, “Stanford, here I come!” She fell asleep with a smile on her face and had wonderful happy dreams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saying goodbye at the airport was much harder than she expected. The longest she had been away from her parents was for girl’s camp and EFY. She was their only child and they could barely stand to let her go. She gave her parents one last hug before going through security.&lt;br /&gt;“Bye honey, we love you.”&lt;br /&gt;“I love you too. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I’ll call and e-mail you. You’ve taught me everything I need to know. I’ll be great.” She said, trying to convince herself as well as her parents. She was scared! Just as scared as her parents were, actually, probably more. But she had a lot of faith in this decision. She said a silent prayer as she turned from everything comfortable and easy and stepped into the unknown.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-1901916533805551652?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/1901916533805551652/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=1901916533805551652&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/1901916533805551652'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/1901916533805551652'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/12/chapter-one.html' title='Chapter One'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-3066382971521943505</id><published>2008-12-15T14:53:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T14:53:48.481-07:00</updated><title type='text'> Look-alike Meter</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.myheritage.com/meter" title="Click to get your own Look-alike Meter" alt="Click to get your own Look-alike Meter" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://storage.myheritagefiles.com/O/storage/site1/files/84/13/02/841302_1270160d1d6494un456b88.JPG" width="435" height="470" border="0" &gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.myheritage.com"  &gt;MyHeritage&lt;/a&gt;: &lt;a href="http://www.myheritage.com"  &gt;Family tree&lt;/a&gt; - &lt;a href="http://www.myheritage.com/genealogy"  &gt;Genealogy&lt;/a&gt; - &lt;a href="http://www.myheritage.com/celebrities"  &gt;Celebrity&lt;/a&gt; - &lt;a href="http://www.myheritage.com/celebrity-collage"  &gt;Collage&lt;/a&gt; - &lt;a href="http://www.myheritage.com/celebrity-morph"  &gt;Morph&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img style="visibility:hidden;width:0px;height:0px;" border=0 width=0 height=0 src="http://counters.gigya.com/wildfire/IMP/CXNID=2000002.0NXC/bHQ9MTIyOTM3Nzk5OTkwMyZwdD*xMjI5Mzc4MDIwNzI5JnA9MTEwNTcxJmQ9Jm49YmxvZ2dlciZnPTImdD*mbz*zZDg*MWM1Mzg5Mjg*MTdiYWI1MjYyMzUyNmFhNGYzNQ==.gif" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-3066382971521943505?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/3066382971521943505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=3066382971521943505&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/3066382971521943505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/3066382971521943505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/12/look-alike-meter.html' title=' Look-alike Meter'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-2398350813272524880</id><published>2008-12-15T14:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T14:51:39.456-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a title="Click to get your own Look-alike Meter" href="http://www.myheritage.com/meter" target="_blank" alt="Click to get your own Look-alike Meter"&gt;&lt;img height="470" src="http://storage.myheritagefiles.com/O/storage/site1/files/83/99/12/839912_1474946dec6494fc5avc11.JPG" width="435" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.myheritage.com/"&gt;MyHeritage&lt;/a&gt;: &lt;a href="http://www.myheritage.com/meter"&gt;Look-alike Meter&lt;/a&gt; - &lt;a href="http://www.myheritage.com/page/vintage-photos"&gt;Vintage photos&lt;/a&gt; - &lt;a href="http://www.myheritage.com/page/free-genealogy"&gt;Free genealogy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img style="VISIBILITY: hidden; WIDTH: 0px; HEIGHT: 0px" height="0" src="http://counters.gigya.com/wildfire/IMP/CXNID=2000002.0NXC/bHQ9MTIyOTM3NzIzNzQ1MiZwdD*xMjI5Mzc3MjY*ODc3JnA9MTEwNTcxJmQ9Jm49YmxvZ2dlciZnPTImdD*mbz*zZDg*MWM1Mzg5Mjg*MTdiYWI1MjYyMzUyNmFhNGYzNQ==.gif" width="0" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-2398350813272524880?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/2398350813272524880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=2398350813272524880&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2398350813272524880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2398350813272524880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/12/myheritage-look-alike-meter-vintage.html' title=''/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-5270712607825321118</id><published>2008-12-11T16:07:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T16:20:51.203-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I went to the store to buy apples...</title><content type='html'>All I needed was a few apple to make an apple crisp. That's all. But as I drove into Smith's, I saw a man (61 I later found out.)wearing a helmet pushing himself backwards with his feet into the store. I asked him if he needed help and so I helped him get his granola bars and milk and then offered to push him home. He lived 119W and 500 North And we were on 100 E 4ooN. I can't believe he pushed himself that far! I have no idea how he planned to hold his milk and granola bars, he didn't have very much contrl over his hands. I helped him into his tiny house and helped him get his keyboard working and nail his mouse pad to the table. He was nice and kept telling me that I was a find and that I was an amazing person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Earlier today I was feeling really bad about my finals because I didn't do as well on them as I had hoped or expected to. Helping this man made me realize how lucky I am and that I shouldn't take advantage of anything I have, like legs and control of my arms. A car, intelligence, pretty eyes (he told me that I have eyes women would kill for :D), family, friends other than a cat... Anyway, just be grateful for all the little things. I'm glad I stopped to help this man. Because I wasn't planning on going to Smith's at all and I wanted to have had the shopping done before today. Just everything worked out so I could help him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-5270712607825321118?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/5270712607825321118/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=5270712607825321118&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5270712607825321118'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5270712607825321118'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-went-to-store-to-buy-apples.html' title='I went to the store to buy apples...'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-4145166730823250374</id><published>2008-12-07T16:19:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-07T16:39:17.609-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Deathbed</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;object height="364" width="445"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DBhSuS_Pbqg&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;rel=0&amp;amp;color1=0x402061&amp;amp;color2=0x9461ca&amp;amp;border=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DBhSuS_Pbqg&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x402061&amp;color2=0x9461ca&amp;border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;One of my favorite songs is called "Deathbed" by Relient K. It's about 10 minutes, but every second is worth it. It's about a man dying and he's thinking about his life. He tells about his childhood, how he started smoking and that's why he's dying now and how he got married on his 21st birthday, "8 months before my wife would give birth." Talks about his divorce and his drinking and how "if life was a highway I was drunk at the wheel." While he is dying, he says that Jesus comes to take him away and reminds him of one night where the man prayed for forgiveness, realizing all his mistakes. At the very end Christ beckons the man home saying, "I am the way...I am love." It is a beautiful message. If you don't have time to listen to the entire song, listen at 5:30 until 6:50 and then 8:28 till the end. The last part is so beautiful. I listen to this song a lot on runs, because it's so long... and there was one time it had snowed and the sun was setting and everything was beautiful and calm and I listened to that last part and about cried. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I hope all of you enjoy this song as much as I do!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Deathbed"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can smell the death on the sheets&lt;br /&gt;Covering me&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe this is the end&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this is my deathbed&lt;br /&gt;I lie here alone&lt;br /&gt;If I close my eyes tonight&lt;br /&gt;I know I'll be home&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The year was nineteen forty one&lt;br /&gt;I was eight years old and&lt;br /&gt;Far far too young&lt;br /&gt;To know that the stories&lt;br /&gt;Of battles and glory&lt;br /&gt;Was a tale a kind mother&lt;br /&gt;Made up for her son&lt;br /&gt;You see&lt;br /&gt;Dad was a traveling preacher&lt;br /&gt;Teaching the words of the Teacher&lt;br /&gt;But mother had sworn&lt;br /&gt;Went off to the war&lt;br /&gt;And died there with honor&lt;br /&gt;Somewhere on a beach there&lt;br /&gt;But he left once to never return&lt;br /&gt;Which taught me that I should unlearn&lt;br /&gt;Whatever I thought a father should be&lt;br /&gt;I abandoned that thought&lt;br /&gt;Like he abandoned me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By forty seven I was fourteen&lt;br /&gt;I'd acquired a taste for liquor and nicotine&lt;br /&gt;I smoked until I threw up&lt;br /&gt;Yet I still lit 'em up for thirty more years&lt;br /&gt;Like a machine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So right there you have it&lt;br /&gt;That one filthy habit&lt;br /&gt;Is what got me where I am today&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can smell the death on the sheets&lt;br /&gt;Covering me&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe this is the end&lt;br /&gt;I can hear those sad memories&lt;br /&gt;Still haunting me&lt;br /&gt;So many things&lt;br /&gt;I'd do again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this is my deathbed&lt;br /&gt;I lie here alone&lt;br /&gt;If I close my eyes tonight&lt;br /&gt;I know I'll be home&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got married on my twenty first&lt;br /&gt;Eight months before my wife would give birth&lt;br /&gt;It's easier to be sure you love someone&lt;br /&gt;When her father inquires with the barrel of a gun&lt;br /&gt;The union was far from harmonious&lt;br /&gt;No two people could have been more alone than us&lt;br /&gt;The years would go by and she'd love someone else&lt;br /&gt;And I realized I hadn't been loved yet myself&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From there it's your typical spiel&lt;br /&gt;Yeah if life was a highway&lt;br /&gt;I was drunk at the wheel&lt;br /&gt;I was helping the loose ends&lt;br /&gt;All fall apart&lt;br /&gt;Yeah I swear I was destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;And fail from the start&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bowled about six times a week&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bottle of Beam kept the memories from me&lt;br /&gt;Our marriage had taken a seven-ten split&lt;br /&gt;Along with my pride the ex-wife took the kids&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can smell the death on the sheets&lt;br /&gt;Covering me&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe this is the end&lt;br /&gt;I can hear those sad memories&lt;br /&gt;Still haunting me&lt;br /&gt;So many things&lt;br /&gt;I'd do again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this is my deathbed&lt;br /&gt;I lie here alone&lt;br /&gt;If I close my eyes tonight&lt;br /&gt;I know I'll be home&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was so scared of Jesus&lt;br /&gt;But He sought me out&lt;br /&gt;Like the cancer in my lungs&lt;br /&gt;That's killing me now&lt;br /&gt;And I've given up hope&lt;br /&gt;On the days I have left&lt;br /&gt;But I cling to the hope&lt;br /&gt;Of my life in the next&lt;br /&gt;Then Jesus showed up&lt;br /&gt;Said "Before we go"&lt;br /&gt;"I thought that we might reminisce"&lt;br /&gt;"See one night in your life"&lt;br /&gt;"When you turned out the light"&lt;br /&gt;"You asked for and prayed for my forgiveness"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You cried wolf&lt;br /&gt;The tears they soaked your fur&lt;br /&gt;The blood dripped from your fangs&lt;br /&gt;You said, "What have I done?"&lt;br /&gt;You loved that lamb&lt;br /&gt;With every sinful bone&lt;br /&gt;And there you wept alone&lt;br /&gt;Your heart was so contrite&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You said, "Jesus, please forgive me of my crimes&lt;br /&gt;Sanctify this withered heart of mine&lt;br /&gt;Stay with me until my life is through&lt;br /&gt;And on that day please take me home with you"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can smell the death on the sheets&lt;br /&gt;Covering me&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe this is the end&lt;br /&gt;I can hear You whisper to me,&lt;br /&gt;"It's time to leave&lt;br /&gt;You'll never be lonely again"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this was my deathbed&lt;br /&gt;I died there alone&lt;br /&gt;When I closed my eyes tonight&lt;br /&gt;You carried me home&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Jon Foreman of Switchfoot sings, as the voice of Jesus:]&lt;br /&gt;I am the Way&lt;br /&gt;Follow Me&lt;br /&gt;And take My hand&lt;br /&gt;And I am the Truth&lt;br /&gt;Embrace Me and you'll understand&lt;br /&gt;And I am the Light&lt;br /&gt;And for Me you'll live again&lt;br /&gt;For I am Love&lt;br /&gt;I am Love&lt;br /&gt;I, I am Love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-4145166730823250374?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/4145166730823250374/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=4145166730823250374&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4145166730823250374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4145166730823250374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/12/deathbed.html' title='Deathbed'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-1542467669474945400</id><published>2008-12-07T16:12:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-07T16:16:34.812-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Temples</title><content type='html'>I learned in seminary that a temple is God's property. Like when you're in another country and visit the US Embassy then you are technically on US soil. When we go onto temples grounds, it is real estate of heaven. I felt that last night. After the BYU-USU b-ball game (saddest thing I've ever seen). We went over to look at the lights and as soon as I stepped on to the temple grounds I felt different. I stood looking at the temple for probably 10 minutes straight, just taking in the spirit and slowly understanding that it was the house of the Lord and how sacred it is. Despite how busy the grounds are with so many people, I still felt so calm and peaceful and it was a witness to me of the gospel, of temples, and the hard work and sacrifices people made to build that beautiful temple.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-1542467669474945400?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/1542467669474945400/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=1542467669474945400&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/1542467669474945400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/1542467669474945400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/12/temples.html' title='Temples'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-5996850585536376679</id><published>2008-11-18T16:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T16:57:00.595-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Home Run</title><content type='html'>(sorry, I can't tab in here)&lt;br /&gt;Preface:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anna raised her hand to knock, but heard yelling on the other side of the door.  Curious, she let her hand drop to her side and listened.&lt;br /&gt;“Why are you doing this Z? You have a chance to play pro and you’re giving it up for some girl?”&lt;br /&gt;“It’s not just her, it’s the whole idea of God, being …” he was cut off abruptly&lt;br /&gt;“God? God is just an idea.  Something lonely people made up so they could pretend to feel comforted.  Seriously, it’s just a religion, what does she care?” Zach started to wonder, why did she care? Why did she try so hard to bring it into conversation so often?&lt;br /&gt;“Do you really love her that much? You love her more than the pros? More than the chance to be on the cereal box her kids will be eating out of?  Can’t she marry you without your baptism? I think it’s selfish of her to ask you to quit the only thing you’ve done your whole life.”  He was right about that, Zach had played ball since he was four -he had nothing else.  The only reason he was at Stanford was because of baseball.  The game had shaped his life into all that he was.  How could he give it up now? But he already had! He declined the offer from the Red Sox and he gave up his scholarship. “Why didn’t I think this through before?” he thought.&lt;br /&gt;“Zach! Are you even listening?”&lt;br /&gt;“I love her.” He paused, unsure of what to say.  “Not her religion.  Maybe there’s a God, maybe there isn’t.” He paused again, trying to convince himself he really believed what he was saying.  “But if I want to be with her I have to be with her religion, ok?” He knew that was true.  If he wanted Anna, then he needed to be part of her religion.  But did he really believe in her religion? Or was he too caught up in his emotions? He thought he knew- what if he’d made it up? God seemed so real at times, and yet right now, where was He?  Why wasn’t he giving Zach the courage he needed?  Maybe it was all a lie; maybe he had only imagined it.  He started to get angry with himself.  Was he lying to himself now, or before? He felt completely torn between two completely opposite feelings.  Half of him was screaming at him, telling him to shut up and be a man, stand up for what he knows is true.  The other part was whispering snide remarks about how stupid he had been to fall for the trickery of religion.  He glanced around his room and stopped at the sneering face of his roommate, waiting for Zach to prove himself.  It was all he could take.  The war inside his head was bad enough, but to see the glares of the people he thought were his friends was too much.  His heart was pulled into two.  He was furious, fuming, and started to yell.  “Get off my back, it’s no big deal!” Zach’s words bit through Anna; of course it was a big deal!&lt;br /&gt;“It sounded like a big deal at the last press conference.”&lt;br /&gt;“I had to make it a big deal!”&lt;br /&gt;“Why?” His friend demanded&lt;br /&gt;“I love her.” His voice cracked, sounding very unsure of what he was saying.&lt;br /&gt;“Good answer.” The roommate smirked, a new plan formulating in his head. “How many girls have you been in “love” with? Like 30? 50?  You saying that, means nothing- no girl takes you seriously man.  Word gets around.  They know your charm is just a trap.  It means nothing; they know it’s only to get them in bed with you.” The truth of his reputation cut into Zack.  That’s who he had been, but he was different now, wasn’t he? “She’s tricking you.  She’s roommates with one of your old girls.  Revenge is what they’re after.  They’ve been trying to ruin your life and boy did they succeed! They got YOU to ruin your life.  Boy, you sure are stupid.  You proposed to her once, right? And she said no because you weren’t LDS, but did she ever say she would marry you if you converted?”  Zach had never thought about that, he just assumed she would.  He stood there pondering the thought that Cecily had convinced her freshman roommate to do that.  It made total sense if it was true, Anna had been so rude to him the first few times he had seen her and then, out of the blue, she started being nice.  But she was such a sweet and innocent girl, how or why would she do something like this?  Once again, his heart and mind were the rope in a game of tug-o-war.  His old life pulling harder than before to keep him from going to a new life, which was pulling equally as hard to get him over. &lt;br /&gt;“I’ll take your silence as a no, she didn’t.  You’ve been tricked man.  You just sold your soul to some Molly Mormon.” His voice was quiet, but gruff and mean. The maliciousness of his comment sent Zach over the edge.  He picked up a text book and hurled it across the room at his roommate who moved aside in barely enough time.  His friend gently picked up the book and placed it on the unmade bed.  Again, he spoke softly, but his vowels sliced through the air like an axe severing a small tree.&lt;br /&gt;“Do you love her? Do you really love her? More than any other girl you’ve ever had any contact with?”  Zach was now thoroughly confused.  The tug-o-war was at a draw, Anna on one side and his friends on the other.  Both dropped the rope and let Zach decide for himself. “Well?”&lt;br /&gt;“I don’t know... I thought I did, but I just don’t know anymore, about anything…”  His voice trailed off and he felt himself giving up to his friend, the rope tied around his neck and slowly being dragged to that side, leaving Anna on the other end with rope burns and Zach on the ground without her &lt;br /&gt;His friend snickered and repeated,&lt;br /&gt;“You sold your soul.  And you didn’t even see it.”  This ignited the fire in Zach again, and his anger overcame him.  He threw the desk over and swore as he shoved open the door nearly hitting Anna.  Time froze when their eyes met and he saw the tears in her eyes then watched her turn and run down the hall.  He said her name softly, but knew she’d never hear him.  He walked outside to find her, but he was too late- she was already gone.  He went back upstairs, screaming and swearing at his roommate and forced him out of the room.  He kicked the desk around, wanting to inflict some physical pain on himself because the emotional pain was too much to bear.&lt;br /&gt;Finally, he broke down, trying hard not to cry.  He picked up the desk and put it back where it belonged.  He picked up the papers off the floor and as he placed them back on the desk, he noticed a picture mixed in.  It was Anna and him back in Utah during Christmas break next to the snowman they had made in her back yard.  She was beautiful- her cheeks were rosy red, matching the snow pants she was wearing and her blue eyes glittered, reflecting the sparkling snow.  Her smile was big, she was genuinely and purely happy.  Zach knew he had made a mistake.  He loved her- more than any other girl.  He had never doubted it until 15 minutes ago when it really mattered.  How would he ever be able to convince her he didn’t mean what he had said?  He had to go find her.&lt;br /&gt; Meanwhile, Anna went back to her dorm, grabbed her notebook and journal, and then stormed out of the house, ignoring Jessica’s questions.  She didn’t want anyone to find her so she ran into the trees behind the apartments.  She sat down at the trunk of an old tree and opened up her notebook and tried to write.  She couldn’t explain what she was feeling; she was hurt; she felt betrayed.  She now knew what it felt like to have a heart broken.  Why had Zach said those things? He knew better! He had changed! At least she thought he had.  Maybe Cecily was right, he was only acting.  She had been tricked.  She had fallen into his charm, just like so many girls before her. The feeling of idiocy overwhelmed her.  Her heart felt as if it was ready to explode.   Cecily had warned her, and Anna didn’t listen.  But he had told her he loved her, he had said, looking straight into her eyes, that he had never felt for anyone like he felt for her.  He had obviously changed his mind.  She now meant nothing to him, and it hurt. &lt;br /&gt; She pressed her pen to the paper and without thinking much, the words came spilling out faster than she could write.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uncertain Weather&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw you out my window looking up at me&lt;br /&gt;I thought of how I once believed we were made to be&lt;br /&gt;I stared out again but you were already gone&lt;br /&gt;I guess what I felt wasn’t true but pencil drawn&lt;br /&gt;When I look at the pictures of you and me again&lt;br /&gt;I never thought that you’d cause me this much pain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sun used to shine brightly on my face&lt;br /&gt;So many memories were made at that place&lt;br /&gt;Then the weather changed and the storm blew in&lt;br /&gt;The winds raged through and I was replaced&lt;br /&gt;The seasons change and love goes stale&lt;br /&gt;Just like the sun, we were destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;We were destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;Destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I wrote a song of how much I loved you&lt;br /&gt;Before I finished you sent me a million clues&lt;br /&gt;You had moved on, I don’t know how long you felt that way&lt;br /&gt;All I know is you’re not in love with me today&lt;br /&gt;When I look at the pictures of you and me again&lt;br /&gt;I never thought that you’d cause me this much pain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sun used to shine brightly on my face&lt;br /&gt;So many memories were made at that place&lt;br /&gt;Then the weather changed and the storm blew in&lt;br /&gt;The winds raged through and I was replaced&lt;br /&gt;The seasons change and love goes stale&lt;br /&gt;Just like the sun, we were destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;We were destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;Destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spring turns to summer, and the summer to fall&lt;br /&gt;The question remains in my head, did you love me at all?&lt;br /&gt;The leaves will dry and the snow falls on the ground&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if you’ll even miss me not being around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sun used to shine brightly on my face&lt;br /&gt;So many memories were made at that place&lt;br /&gt;Then the weather changed and the storm blew in&lt;br /&gt;The winds raged through and I was replaced&lt;br /&gt;The seasons change and love goes stale&lt;br /&gt;Just like the sun, we were destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;We were destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;Destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She realized how true it was.  They couldn’t be meant for each other.  She was a goody-goody Molly Mormon English major, and he was the star athlete chemistry major.  He had never lived under her standards; it was silly of her to think he would change. The last year and a half with him had been a lie.  She felt so stupid, for falling into his deceit.  They were destined to fail, he didn’t really care about her- he couldn’t possibly love her.&lt;br /&gt; To wallow in her sadness and stupidity, she read over her journal, specifically reading the dates that had Zach involved in them.  She started with the end of her senior year…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Chapter One&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-5996850585536376679?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/5996850585536376679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=5996850585536376679&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5996850585536376679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5996850585536376679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/11/home-run.html' title='Home Run'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-7524515679485558799</id><published>2008-11-07T14:28:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-07T15:23:44.875-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Persogenics</title><content type='html'>For a class I had to do a persogenics profile, where I fill out some questions about myself (it gives a list of 4 words and I have to say which 2 are MOST and LEAST like me). There are 4 groups: Dominant (those who love to check things off their list) Expressive (those who would be happy if they could find their list) Analytical (those with lists of lists) and Amiable (those who love to help others with their lists, but only if they were asked anyway. But they'll help regardless but they might do it grudgingly). The cool thing about this personality test is that it takes into account that not every dominant is the same. We have secondary natures too. I am an expressive/amiable overall. I view myself as expressive/amiable, others view me as expressive/analytical and I am expressive/amiable when put under pressure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More specifically:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How I See Myself&lt;br /&gt;Outstanding Traits &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your outstanding traits are those facets of your personality most visible to you. They are the behaviors at which you excel as well as the ways you most often express yourself.&lt;br /&gt;Your preferred communication pattern is Expressive/Amiable: enthusiastic, someone who has a vibrant passion for life; modest, an unassuming, humble individual; active, a person who stays busy and likes to be involved in everything; and diplomatic, someone who is tactful and adroit in dealing with people. You dislike doing things in a pushy way, you would much rather approach things in a neutral, non-threatening way. You are an incurable optimist who is cheerful, talkative, and at home with strangers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You use comforting and motivating words to dispel gloom and doubt in others. Your "sales talk," no matter what your profession might be, is smooth and low pressure. You engage in small talk quite well and have skill at easily making openings for yourself in conversation. You have the ability to create and maintain a pleasant atmosphere of good will, both for yourself in your home environment and in your workplace. The way you speak is smooth and tactful. You like to smile and you are easy-going when relating and communicating with others. You have a very comfortable style which you use with your large and diverse circle of acquaintances, associates, and friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Basic Desires and Motivation &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every person has a differing set of motivators. While others may share a similar blend of desires and motivations, your unique, personal mix is as follows:&lt;br /&gt;You like to stay alert because you want to understand and stay on top of everything that's going on around you. You have a boundless kind of energy inside you that drives you to get out and do all kinds of activities. When interacting with people you don't want to appear to be arrogant or egotistical so you make it a point to behave in an unassuming manner. You also dislike appearing uncontrolled or out of your element so you put effort into carrying yourself with poise and confidence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In your daily activities you want to express your opinions and ideas and do things in a manner of your choosing; you use your enthusiasm and empathy for people to persuade them. At the same time, you are very careful to be conscious of others' feelings and needs so that you don't offend them in any way. You have an inborn desire to be popular, accepted, and well-liked by everyone. You are also proud of your abilities and your accomplishments and you want to receive recognition from those around you. You are driven to keep a high profile; you like being in the public view in a favorable light. You want to be able to work for a prestigious company with which people will be impressed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;How Others See You &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Outstanding Traits &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the attributes most visible to those around you. They are things you do best, make you stand out from the crowd and are the variety of ways you express yourself and communicate with others.&lt;br /&gt;People see your pattern as Expressive/Analytical. You are sociable and outgoing, a kind and friendly person who is interesting to be around. They appreciate how considerate you are and how thoughtful you try to be toward their needs and feelings. Others like the way you always think about how you can help them and they know that they can depend on you for any assistance. At the same time, being around you is enjoyable to them because of your fun nature.&lt;br /&gt;It is easy for others to see that you are very good with people and that you prefer to be around them in both working and social situations. As they get to know you better, others will come to realize that you are also content to be alone when the situation requires it. Others like the way you persuade because it is both personable and understandable. One of the things others appreciate about you the most is your willingness to help out with any kind of need, from those who are just overloaded to those who aren't as skilled.&lt;br /&gt;Basic Desires and Motivation&lt;br /&gt;The unique set of forces that drive you are not as apparent to those around you as your outstanding traits are. As others come to know you better, they begin to see what motivates you by observing how you act and perform.&lt;br /&gt;As others get to know you, among the first things they learn about you is that you are driven to make new relationships and to actively maintain the ones that you have. As they come to know you a little better they will see that this drive creates in you an ability to build and maintain your relationships while you accomplish the tasks that are set for you. They see that you like to achieve and that you are motivated by the recognition your achievements bring you, but they also see that you are more than happy to recognize their achievements as well.&lt;br /&gt;Those around you notice right away that you fit right in at any kind of social event, but it might take them longer to see that you enjoy them more if they are well-organized and meaningful. Because of your social nature and your drive to make everything fun, others find that doing things with you is quite enjoyable. As they get to know you better, they might come to realize your tendency to make impulsive decisions or might hear from you about how you regret buying something you didn't really need. They also appreciate the personal style and quality you put into your work, but may come to realize that you can over-commit yourself at times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Behavior Under Pressure&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Outstanding Traits &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you are at work, your outstanding traits come to the forefront. We use our outstanding traits almost exclusively to function in our work environment.&lt;br /&gt;In a work environment your preferred communication pattern is Expressive/Amiable: personable and friendly. You maintain good relationships with everyone you can. Even under pressure at work you generate enthusiasm in everything you do and you inspire it in others. Your kind-hearted, outgoing personality makes it natural for others to be drawn to you when the situation gets tense. Others find themselves to be sympathetic to your opinions because of your natural charisma, and they become excited and supportive of your goals and ambitions. Your love of people and your smooth delivery when communicating are easily recognized by your associates. This gives you the ability to persuade and motivate individuals and even large groups.&lt;br /&gt;When dealing with sensitive issues at work you are careful in the way you approach the situation and tactful when speaking about it. You have the ability to project your optimism onto others, even when circumstances are not favorable.&lt;br /&gt;When the pressure of work is high you still maintain a positive posture and you remain comfortable with your large and diverse body of associates, acquaintances, and friends. Because of the connections you have with people, you are able to rally groups that have lost heart in dire situations, motivate people who have lost their passion, and persuade others to raise their level of performance. At work you make an extra effort to overcome resistance to your motivation so that everyone can be at their best.&lt;br /&gt;Basic Desires and Motivation&lt;br /&gt;As your behavior changes when in your working environment so do your motivations. Your communication pattern becomes more focused and intense under the pressure of work.&lt;br /&gt;When you start to feel the pressures of work, your desire to be active in all important events comes to the fore. You not only want to be in the thick of things and at the center of attention, but you want to have a persuasive voice in the decisions that are made. You like bringing in big results and you like the recognition that comes with great achievement. You are motivated to climb the ladder of success, gaining position and authority as your experience and exposure increase. When under pressure at work, you focus on your tasks. You hammer out your work at a fast but professional pace and you try to keep others up to speed as well. When the need arises, you apply your considerable influence and personal appeal and you motivate others to perform at the standards required.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt that this was pretty accurate!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-7524515679485558799?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/7524515679485558799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=7524515679485558799&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7524515679485558799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7524515679485558799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/11/persogenics.html' title='Persogenics'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-8997936132098589320</id><published>2008-10-12T14:00:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T17:04:54.417-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I don’t believe in coincedences, I believe in God</title><content type='html'>October 5, 2008&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last Saturday I had quite the experience. I had a race at UVU Friday night and stayed the night at my brother’s house in Provo. My little brother had a race at UVU that morning. My plan was to run to UVU to watch Josh run so I could get my needed 80 minutes in. It’s only about 3 miles from Robbie’s house to UVU so I wasn’t too worried about taking the most direct streets. I figured that I would get to UVU eventually. Well, to make a long story short, I got very, very lost. I was in subdivisions and there are round-abouts everywhere. The street numbers didn’t help me at all. In Sandy, if you run towards State street then you’re running towards the freeway, but it’s not like that in Provo. I was totally disoriented, it was raining, and I couldn’t even find my way back to Robbie’s house. I started praying for help and guidance to get me to where I needed to be. As I was running I saw a street and I had a strong feeling that it would get me in the right direction. I felt confident it would lead me to somewhere I could orient myself. I was running and suddenly heard someone call my name. I turned and saw that it was my friend Trevor and his dad, probably the only people from Provo who would recognize me. I explained, embarrassed, that I was totally lost and I needed to get to UVU. So they gave me a ride. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that it wasn’t by coincidence they were there. I know that my prayer was answered. I know that God always answers prayers no matter what.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-8997936132098589320?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/8997936132098589320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=8997936132098589320&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/8997936132098589320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/8997936132098589320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-dont-believe-in-consequences-i.html' title='I don’t believe in coincedences, I believe in God'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-4620092771404439418</id><published>2008-10-11T21:20:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-10-13T13:29:34.872-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Updated Icecream</title><content type='html'>I re-took that icecream quiz. I think this result is much better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.the-n.com/quizzes/quiz/3243"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.the-n.com/media/quiz/badges/flavor_quiz/sberry.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-4620092771404439418?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/4620092771404439418/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=4620092771404439418&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4620092771404439418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4620092771404439418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/10/updated-icecream.html' title='Updated Icecream'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-71343236174909534</id><published>2008-10-02T10:07:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T10:08:50.199-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Hokey Pokey</title><content type='html'>October 2, 2008 &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday was quite the day. It started out awesome. It was a beautiful, clear, warm morning. I did awesome on my math quiz, I studied chemistry and understood it. I practiced the piano and I found that I can still play! I was so happy all day, I just kept smiling for no reason. I went to running and it was a short run with a few pushes, something I could totally handle. I felt good the whole time. After the pushes, the team had separated into groups because the push pace was based on effort. There was a new girl who was behind me, so I ran back and ran with her. I do often run the cool down with the girls who are behind me, but usually because I’m too exhausted and I can run as fast as the girls in front of me. But yesterday, I didn’t bother trying to run with the faster girls. I realized that I didn’t matter. It was the cool down. While I was running with her, I didn’t think once about how I was faster than she was and that I was slowing down for her. All I cared about was making sure she was okay and felt like part of the team. I wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed to be behind everyone. I finally realized that winning isn’t everything! Life isn’t about who is the fastest. Not at all! It’s not about who gets the highest grade or score. It’s about reaching out to others. It’s about finding what makes you happy. It’s about rolling out of bed with a smile on your face, greeting everyone with a sincere hello and caring about what they have to say. and THAT'S what's it's all about!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rest of my day…I got a parking ticket. The ONE time I actually drove instead of walk, I got a ticket, but it’s because someone told me that I could park anywhere after 6. So I will go appeal that and my friend who worked for the parking services and he said that if I appeal they will at least give me a discount and since I’m a freshman girl and it’s my first ticket then I have a really good chance of getting off it completely. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THEN I couldn’t find my key to my room. I had it in my hand when I went to talk to Jason and then when I got to my floor, I didn’t have it. I searched my room, I searched Jason’s. We retraced all my steps and it was nowhere. Finally he said, “You checked your pockets, right?” and I had. Well, sort of. I had checked my front pockets. It was in my back pocket. So all that time…and I had gotten pretty frustrated and stressed about it. But I had a good laugh about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow. What a day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-71343236174909534?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/71343236174909534/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=71343236174909534&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/71343236174909534'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/71343236174909534'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/10/hokey-pokey.html' title='The Hokey Pokey'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-4806645702260291957</id><published>2008-09-21T13:13:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-21T13:14:08.073-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Everything Happens for a Reason</title><content type='html'>September 21, 2008&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve been SO incredibly happy these past few weeks and there’s not really a reason why. I just wake up excited for the day and everything is good and I can’t stop smiling.  I was thinking that I am so happy because I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I thought about what got me here in the first place. I had the best scholarship here out of all the colleges…I barely got the scholarship I did with a 3.904 (I needed a 3.9). I went back and thought about how I was able to get that. I thought about how lucky I was, how if I had gotten one more A- or B+ I would not have qualified for the scholarship. I thought about which classes I could have gotten a lower grade but how I miraculously got an A. The most obvious one was AP Chemistry and the lab. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got cut from the basketball team as a junior. I shouldn’t have been cut, we all know that. It was stupid, and ridiculous, and a bit upsetting. But for some reason, I wasn’t all that bothered by it. I never understood why I wasn’t mad. My mom thought I was being really mature, but I think deep down, I knew that I wasn’t supposed to be on the team. I somehow instinctively knew that it was a blessing not to have made it. I used the class to play a little basketball or to go on a run or to do homework. This is also the year that I got mono. If I had been on the team and been contagious, a lot of girls would have gotten sick. But because I had mono, I struggled with my classes a little bit and I didn’t have time after school to go in and retake tests or get extra help or do extra credit. I spent a lot of time in the chemistry room and I racked up a lot of extra points (which helped me get all A’s in that class) as well as learned how to grade and write assignments. That time spent in the chem. room helped me see that I really wanted to teach chemistry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yes, being cut from the basketball team was rough, but so many good things came from it! We have to remember that if we are doing everything we are supposed to; God will take care of us. He will help us along and he knows what’s best for us. I didn’t need to play basketball. I needed to get good grades and come up to Utah State. It’s so hard to see the eternal perspective sometimes, but we really need to try to, especially when something “bad” happens to us because it probably will end up being a very good thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, I quote Dustin, because this is just amazing: "There were times where I felt like something had been taken from me.  But when I look at it I have to realize that sometimes it seems as if the Lord is withholding when He's really just creating an opportunity for us to better ourselves…So the next time you feel jealous, next time you feel like others seem to be in a better place than you, just remember that there is a divine hand that is carefully molding you into what will eventually become a priceless work of art."  ~Dustin Robinson&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, keep your head up! If you’re doing what’s right, God will take care of you. He is helping us become the best we can be!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-4806645702260291957?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/4806645702260291957/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=4806645702260291957&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4806645702260291957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4806645702260291957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/09/everything-happens-for-reason.html' title='Everything Happens for a Reason'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-4418187264636539605</id><published>2008-08-26T11:49:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-26T11:56:29.697-06:00</updated><title type='text'>First College Experience</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SLRDXr59kII/AAAAAAAAACc/4PGeT_Zbj6I/s1600-h/first+day+at+college.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SLRDXr59kII/AAAAAAAAACc/4PGeT_Zbj6I/s200/first+day+at+college.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238886340740616322" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's me the first night in my room!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I've been moved in to Logan for a week now. So far it's been very good. I haven't gotten lost or been late to anything yet!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last Sunday Dad gave me a blessing. It was amazing. I feel totally ready to move out now. My favorite part was at the end he blessed me with a guardian angel to guide and protect me. Isn’t that awesome??? There was part in the middle where he talked about holiness, how I need to love holiness and how Holiness is Christ…it was a long segment about that, I’ll have to find a talk or scriptures on holiness to see how I can do that well. I was also blessed with health and strength. My bones and muscles will be strong (he didn’t mention tendons, so I’m a bit worried about that). I will be an example, so be a good one. He told me I had the gift and talent as a leader and so I needed to use it to reach out to those in the same situation as me, and that I will help people gain a testimony if they don’t have one and I will be introducing the gospel to those who haven’t heard it yet. The wording specifically was I have the privilege of brings souls unto Christ. Wow. I can’t wait to get up there. Oh, he also said that my mind will be open and I will learn what I need to and if I focus on school and running good things would happen. I need to follow my sibling’s examples and I will receive the same blessings (I’m assuming this means marriage and family side of things.) He told me to love the scriptures, love the Sabbath day, love the temple, and keep the commandments.  So yeah, pretty cool blessing! I feel a lot of responsibility now, but it’s good. It will keep me going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My theme for this year is something my seminary teacher told me a while ago when I was struggling. I didn’t feel like I was doing as good of job as I could on council. He suggested that it was because I wasn’t doing as well spiritual on a personal level. I admitted that I needed to read my scriptures longer and better and my prayers needed to be more sincere and I needed to go to the temple. He told me that he couldn’t really tell me anything else. He said, “Aimee, you know what you need to do. Now just do it.” So that’s what I’m going to do. Just do it. (good ol’ Nike theme!!) haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not-so-funny story: So, I drive up here and everything's good, right? I check in to my room, get my parking pass etc. and I go to move my car to the correct parking lot and...............the car won't start. it doesn't even make a sound. It won't jump or anything. The radio works until I turn on the lights.... ahhhh!! SOOOO crazy!! but the next day Vance was up in logan for work and stopped by we washed off the corrosions and tighten somethings and he got it to jump and we drove to checker auto and got a new bettery because mine was shot. which is odd because it's only 3 years old. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but, I made it here safely!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;oh, and the first person I talked to was not LDS, from texas, not religious at all!! My blessing said I'd meet people like that! crazy!!! haha&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cross coutnry camp was fun. The team is awesome. They have so much fun but work hard to. I'm so excited to be running this year. I finally got the stitches out today too which is so nice!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What were some of your first college experiences?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-4418187264636539605?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/4418187264636539605/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=4418187264636539605&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4418187264636539605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4418187264636539605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/08/first-college-experience.html' title='First College Experience'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SLRDXr59kII/AAAAAAAAACc/4PGeT_Zbj6I/s72-c/first+day+at+college.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-8287443293565705257</id><published>2008-07-06T17:47:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-07-06T18:20:19.661-06:00</updated><title type='text'>It Never Rains It Pours</title><content type='html'>One of my favorite books is "These Happy Golden Years" By Laura Ingalls Wilder. In this part of the Little House series, is when she starts teaching, starts courting, and eventually gets married. This is her being a woman, not a child and I have always loved this part of her life the best.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a chapter in it where several men walk her home from church (on different days) or take her in their sleighs. Her ma makes the comment, "it never rains, it pours!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am now experiencing the same thing. As you all have heard, either from facebook messaging boys with me (Meri and Jennie) or through mom, there are several boys at my work who have been asking me out. I haven't been asked out in a very, very long time and I went one 3 dates last week. It could have been 4 but I thought that 3 in one week with the same guy was a bit much. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SHFhEvY_OWI/AAAAAAAAAB0/dRriaEhm5ZI/s1600-h/kyle.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SHFhEvY_OWI/AAAAAAAAAB0/dRriaEhm5ZI/s400/kyle.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220060177167759714" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kyle is barely 21 (since May) he served a mission in Russia but had to come home a year early because his liver was failing. He's okay now. He's way funny and we get along very well. We have a very similar sense of humor. He LOVES The Office. He actually reminds me a lot of Dustin Robinson, for those of you who know him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(no picture of Allen yet)&lt;br /&gt;Allen is basically a male verion of me. He loves soccer and music and is smart. He gets tickets to all the REAL games so I have a feeling I'll get to see a lot of those this summer :) We do the same things, say the same things and have the same favorites. He is the oldest of 5 kids and is a really sensitive guy. His family has een out of town and he told me that he cried when his 7 and 3 year old sisters were telling him how much they missed him. 27 Dresses is one of his favorite movies. He quotes Psych and Disney movies and he's fluent in spanish (he's part Argentine). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, that is the exciting life of an 18 year old&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-8287443293565705257?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/8287443293565705257/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=8287443293565705257&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/8287443293565705257'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/8287443293565705257'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/07/it-never-rains-it-pours.html' title='It Never Rains It Pours'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/SHFhEvY_OWI/AAAAAAAAAB0/dRriaEhm5ZI/s72-c/kyle.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-2454991031631468208</id><published>2008-05-09T07:42:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-05-09T07:44:36.611-06:00</updated><title type='text'>...I'm Going There Someday</title><content type='html'>I don't know if I'm going to go on a mission. I don't want to say I will go if I don't get married because that isn't a good reason to go. I also don't want to say that I am going and then miss out on a chance to marry a good guy. So, I am going to say that I am going to the Temple. I will prepare to be as ready as possible to go there and when I make it there, for whatever reason, I will be ready.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-2454991031631468208?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/2454991031631468208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=2454991031631468208&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2454991031631468208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/2454991031631468208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/05/im-going-there-someday.html' title='...I&apos;m Going There Someday'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-5358981125829556212</id><published>2008-05-05T07:53:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-05-05T08:51:57.790-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Best Friends</title><content type='html'>Every now and then we are blessed to meet certain people who change our lives. Those people who are so good and so wonderful and your best friend. I have had several of those friends throughout my life. I would like to list those people and a few reasons why I love them so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anna Sieverts: She was my first friend when we moved onto Altavilla. Even though we don't hang out now, I still consider her a best friend because I can tell her anything and I can trust her with my life. We have have so many funny memories. She's the one I'd get up early to run with, ride bikes, and play basketball. We will always be neighbors, best friends, and possibly roommates one day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kalina Zufelt: We have had our ups and downs but at the end of the day, she is the one that brings me cookies on my birthday, sends me 15 e-mails a day and knows everything about me. She has a strong testimony and vibrant spririt. She always puts her whole heart into everything. I tell her EVERYthing (ridiculously so:)). We have so many inside jokes it's insande. We will always be A.K.A Violet Lake &amp; Autumn Woods / Gertrude and Talllulah. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sarah Raines: We were in the same class every single year in elementary. We made oursevles sick from eating too much Halloween candy. In second grade on fridays we'd hang upside-down on the yellow monkeybars and talk about our favorite show- DM (Diagnosis Murder). We weren't as good of friends in 5th and 6th grade, but she still was a best friend. Our favorite memory is roller blading in the rain in our swimsuits. I hope to meet up with her again sometime. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nicole Sudbury: I met her the summer inbetween 6th and 7th grade. We were instant friends. We were in Saturday's warrior together. We found out that we were both going to midvale. but then she went to eastmont for 8th and 9th, but we are friends again at Jordan. she's a good person and is so happy and I will always love her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Samantha and Maggie: You may think that I love these two less because they share a section, but these two have done more for me than any other person outside of my family. I met these girls 9th grade track and I didn't like them (Sam was soccer too), but then the next year all of us ran x-c and played soccer and had similar classes. We became good friends. Our junior year Maggie and I had every class together on B-days and then rest I had with Sam. We were the TRIO!! Sam was so shy and perfect before the TRIO and Maggie was a partier (always got good grades though). I was pretty messed up from middle school and we all helped edach other. Sam has relaxed, Maggie has calmed down and I have become a pleasant person again who is motivated and works hard. These two will always have a place in my heart (sounds cheesy, but it's true)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and finally...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tanner: yes, he's the only boy on here. He's the most amazing guy you will ever meet. He's the one that studies his scriptures at least 30 minutes every  night no matter what time he goes up to bed, teaches FHE out of preach my gospel and will start off a conversation by saying, "I want to be the best missionary I possibly can." He's not super popular, but he's on seminary council and he's amazing. He has become my best friend this year. He's hilarious but all his jokes are clean. He teases me but know when to stop. He's got such a light about him. He just makes me happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Teachers:&lt;br /&gt;Shelley Allen: My 9th grade basketball coach. She inspired me, mentored me, and still encourages me. She's awesome! Much like an older sister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ashley Crummett: My chemistry teacher. I hated science before I had her, and now I'm the science sterling scholar. She worked me hard, but made me want to learn. Because of her class I re-learned good study habbits and gained faith in myself and my abilities. I could talk to her pretty much whenever about anything. Maggie and I would stay until 4 sometimes just talking to her about life. She reminded me a lot of a mix between Meri and Sherrie so she was like a sister to me. She had NO family here in Utah, so I think she might have thought of us maybe like younger sisters. A lot of students didn't like her, but I loved her. She is the reason I made it through high school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Randal Clark: This man is the funniest person I have ever met. He is the most amazing music teacher ever. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren Stuart: My seminary teacher in 11th grade. He's the reason I'm on seminary council. He taught me so much and helped me become a better person. His class was the best seminary class in the entire world ever to have existed (I'm not exaggerating either). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paul Murphy: My current seminary teacher and council leader. He is so funny and spiritual. He's so awesome and had taught me so much. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who are some of the people in your life that have made a difference and why?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-5358981125829556212?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/5358981125829556212/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=5358981125829556212&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5358981125829556212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5358981125829556212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/05/best-friends.html' title='Best Friends'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-7286715692696066334</id><published>2008-04-21T08:34:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-04-23T20:52:27.239-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Orchestra/Band/Choir Tour</title><content type='html'>I got home last night from tour. It was SO much fun!! I had to be at the airport at 6:30 AM on Thursday. We flew into LA and went to Disneyland. Some of my friends had an earlier flight so I didn't know where they were and then I got separated from the friends that had come with me, so I ended up starting off Disneyland with my friend Neils (he's a junior and plays the cello) and his friends (on of them needed a wheelchair, we thought we'd be able to cut). But they were really slow and indecisive and not using a map, just saying, "let's go here...then there!" and they were all the way across from each other in the park. So Neils and I left them and went and did our own thing. The rides were fun and we went to the Disney Princess land where we made princess crowns. There were stickers to decorate the crowns and we had extra so we stuck them all over ourselves. It was pretty funny. We got a chocolate covered frozen banana and that was amazing. That will definitely be a favorite snack for me up at Utah State!! :) Eventually we met up with Tristyn and that whole group in California Adventure and we rode the tower of terror 3 times. There was a creepy girl one time (the ride manager person) who was really grumpy with us. Luckily we didn't get her again. We had a guy with a name tag that said, "Darrel" I ask if it was pronounced "deh-rel" or "duh-REL" he asked me if I had ever met anyone named duh-REL. I told him that once my friend found a frog in my pool and named him Duh-REL. He gave me a funny look and told me to get on the ride. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We then had to drive 2 hours to San Diego to our SUPER-NICE hotel. The rooms were about 400 a night PER PERSON!!!! We must have had an incredible group rate deal. There were 12 floors and the elevators were glass. It was awesome! I met the girls in my room (I already knew Sam and RayAnn) Alison on Arielle (Ari-elle, NOT Air-yell). On the buses, they read off the names of people in the room and I sorta knew Alison (she's in the orchestra) but I didn't know who Ariel was. My friend Parker Caywood had been talking to someone and called her flipper and I was pretty sure that was Ariel. As we got off the bus a girl made a comment about how she wondered how everyone was going to sleep in the rooms. I told her that I'm fine sleeping on the pullout couch or the floor so whoever was in my room was lucky. I thought maybe it was Ariel, but I wasn't sure. Tanner was walking by and he made some comment about how girls are icky and how he's a woman-hater. The girl said, "no Tanner, you're a womanIZER!" That's totally something I would say!! Then I found out that she WAS the Ariel that would be in my room. I ended up sharing a bed with Sam though because we're seniors and Sam called the beds for seniority. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day we went to the San Diego Zoo. It was way cool. They didn't have giraffes though. There was a sky coaster and we rode that about 4 times over the zoo. We then went to our clinic and then the beach. I was of course one of the first out in the ocean and tried to get more people in. I had a blast. Dave and Sam buried my legs so I looked like a mermaid. I was freeeeeezing after though. Caroline and I swung on the swings to warm up a bit. While we were swinging, Mr. Clark and his family were walking on the side walk and his oldest son(about 7) was lagging behind and yelled out to his parents, "You're leaving me behind! How do you feel about that?!" It was so cute. When we got back to the hotel I ran into the hot tub. Eventually everyone else found it too and we fit 30 people in it (it was SMALL). We didn't even get in trouble! The hotel guy said that if other guests wanted to get in then we had to make room for them :). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Saturday we went to Sea World. It was cloudy and kinda dreary. Definitely too cold for the splash zone (about 60 F). I was with Sam and RayAnn and they are sooo quiet. I found myself whistling and making funny noises to keep myself entertained. Tanner, Erik, Brant, and the Parkers created a religion called Shamuism and they do the splash call for Shamu. It was funny the first few times but it got REALLY annoying after a while. Carly told me that Clark's 5 year old son had a crush on her. She was laying on her friend Clayton's shoulder because she was tired and Zane (the 5 year old) said to her, "Would you just get off him?!" and when it warmed up she took off her jacket and he asked where it was. When she told him that she had it still he said, "You should leave it off. You look cuter without it." He also would lay on her arm. She asked if he wanted to cuddle. He looked up at her and smiled and nodded his head yes. Ah kids...what would we do without them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We then went to Seaport Village and the band performed. We looked around and walked through the shops. There was a cool hat one (I almost got a hotdog hat :) ) Lots of people pitched in and bought a crown for King Lloyd (Parker Lloyd) and he had a crowning of the King later. Parker hates attention but he was a pretty good sport about it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went up to my room and watched Harry Potter 3 with Alison and Ariel. Then all 5 of us talked for a while. I learned that Ariel and I are a TON alike. We were laughing with each other so hard we could barely breathe while the other three just laughed at us. Our favorite part of the zoo was while we were on a bus tour, the bus was stopped and Tanner was on the side of the bus and said loudly, "and on the left is the Tanner in his natural habitat" and he pretended to eat leaves and crouched down like an animal. You probably had to have seen it, but Arielle and I laughed way hard for a long time that night about it. On the first night Arielle asked if we minded if she brushed her teeth in the sink not in the bathroom. Very seriously I said, "I HATE it when people brush their teeth. I love bad breath and food in between people's teeth. I haven't brushed mine in over a month." She gave me a look like, 'are you serious?' She didn't know me at all and couldn't tell if I was being sarcastic or not. Another time she and Alison were watching The Emperor's New School and she made the comment that Kronk was her favorite person ever. I asked, "person? or cartoon character?" She got a sad look on her face, "You mean they aren't real?" "Yeah, and neither is Santa" She seriously looked like she was about to cry. It was SOOO funny!I spent most of Sunday with her just laughing, it was great. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the bus Marie, Tiff, Caroline, and I were talking about funny things our nieces and nephews do and someone mentioned that their niece prayed that she could get a mariposa doll. Will overheard and said, "oh! I've seen that!" and then went into a 15-20 minute long synopsis of the movie with voices and everything. Tanner was laughing so hard he started crying. It was hilarious. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had to go to Hollywood. I hated it. It was so dirty and smelly and loud...ugh. But when we got to the LA temple there was so much peace. We had a little testimony meeting and it was amazing. I never wanted to leave, it was just awesome. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh my! I almost forgot the funniest part!! On Sunday morning we were riding up from breakfast. We (Sam, RayAnn, and I) needed the 11th floor, someone needed the 3rd and another needed the 2nd. SO the elevator went up to the second, the doors opened, kid got out, doors shut. The elevator moved up to the third floor. Doors didn't open. We hit the open doors button, nothing happened. We waited for a bit and then called the front desk. I don't think they took us seriously because I was laughing (I thought it was funny). The choir teacher was in the elevator next to us. We tried signaling to him that we were stuck. He waved and took a picture and got off. One of the boys called him. We could see him from the elevator. We watched him answer his phone and hear the guy say, "we're stuck in the elevator." Steinblick hung up his phone, picked up his camera and started taking pictures. He had been talking to Parker Lloyd so Parker figured out what happened and started laughing and then ran into his room to grab his camera. Steinblick yelled down to everyone eating breakfast to point and laugh at the people stuck in the elevator. I was loving it, I thought it was sooo funny. Sam and Rayeann were worried it would be the tower of terror all over again. Eventually word got around that we really were stuck so they came and pried open the door. Of course, there was Steinblick with his camera waiting for us as we got off. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tour was a lot of fun and I got to meet or become closer to so many more people. It was great. I'm so glad I got to go and I also very glad that I didn't go to Wicked. The temple was so great and all the other people that chose to go there are so amazing and I'm so glad I got to become closer to them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully I'll get up some pictures from it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-7286715692696066334?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/7286715692696066334/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=7286715692696066334&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7286715692696066334'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7286715692696066334'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/04/orchestrabandchoir-tour.html' title='Orchestra/Band/Choir Tour'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-3255473649539242664</id><published>2008-04-15T20:30:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-04-15T20:34:13.372-06:00</updated><title type='text'>School part 2.</title><content type='html'>I officially think that dream was a warning about Weber. I would have been okay, I could have made it work, but there was more out there for me. I needed to wait a little longer before I officially decided.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which I have done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to Utah State!! I'm very excited and happy about my decision. I know that it is exactly where I am supposed to be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-3255473649539242664?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/3255473649539242664/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=3255473649539242664&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/3255473649539242664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/3255473649539242664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/04/school-part-2.html' title='School part 2.'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-6112004106976827485</id><published>2008-03-06T08:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-06T08:57:17.699-07:00</updated><title type='text'>School</title><content type='html'>I  had a weird dream last night. I got engaged to a guy that I barely even knew. And after I said yes when he asked me if I'd marry him I was excited, but then next day I was really scared and I couldn't believe that I was marryhing someone that I hardly even knew, and at this young of age. I was so scared and nervous and I tried telling him that I had to break off the engagment (there was no ring yet)...but at the same time when he had asked me it felt like a good thing to do and was so happy and excited right after and it felt right. but then the 2nd thoughts came and I was freaking out,&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I think my head was comparing that to my thoughts on going to college. I'm stepping into something HUGE that will totally change my life and it really does matter where I go (like it would matter who I married). and I don't know very much about college (because I've never been) and I'm just so worried that I'll make a decision too soon, or irrationally or I'll get second thoughts. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;weird dream.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;anyway, Weber is looking really good right now. and Brother Hall (one of the seminary teachers) said that it has a gerat institute.  So I was really leaning towards weber last night so I wonder if that dream was a warning...or just an effect of medicine before bed. who knows.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-6112004106976827485?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/6112004106976827485/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=6112004106976827485&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/6112004106976827485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/6112004106976827485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/03/school.html' title='School'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-1039067091916442322</id><published>2008-02-10T15:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-02-10T15:23:18.557-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="420" height="312" &gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.scrapblog.com/viewer/viewer_v2_embed.swf?scrapblogId=170288&amp;showShareButton=true&amp;showShareInitially=true&amp;showOnlyShare=false&amp;partnerId=8" /&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.scrapblog.com/viewer/viewer_v2_embed.swf?scrapblogId=170288&amp;showShareButton=true&amp;showShareInitially=true&amp;showOnlyShare=false&amp;partnerId=8" wmode="transparent" width="420" height="312"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-1039067091916442322?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/1039067091916442322/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=1039067091916442322&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/1039067091916442322'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/1039067091916442322'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/02/happy-valentines-day.html' title='HAPPY VALENTINE&apos;S DAY!'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-7806158269986697434</id><published>2008-01-02T19:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-02T20:30:42.278-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Simplicity Part 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/R3xPtYMkIrI/AAAAAAAAABU/2Ws1WkEykiE/s1600-h/PICT0913.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151079714812863154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/R3xPtYMkIrI/AAAAAAAAABU/2Ws1WkEykiE/s400/PICT0913.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;(ignore this video, but the song relates to what I'm talking about&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3DbYHJ3fGCM&amp;rel=1&amp;color1=0x402061&amp;color2=0x9461ca&amp;border=0"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3DbYHJ3fGCM&amp;rel=1&amp;color1=0x402061&amp;color2=0x9461ca&amp;border=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, in reply to my last post, my friend Kalina said, “I don’t understand how you can get so stressed in the first place.” So I thought about it, why do I get stressed? What am I worried about? Now, it’s not bad to be concerned, but when it takes over your life, where you are freaking out to the point where you can’t even think straight, that is a problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do I get stressed? Here’s why:&lt;br /&gt;*Feeling inadequate…trying to live up to high expectations and feeling like I’m failing&lt;br /&gt;*Feeling overwhelmed…when I try to take on too much. Even sometimes I have enough time to do it all but nothing else. Then I feel like I’m only working and that is not fun&lt;br /&gt;*Fear…Afraid of getting in trouble, afraid of embarrassing myself, afraid of not being good enough&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So after some analyzing (not too much though, since that tends to complicate things and I’m simplifying my life) I realized that oftentimes I do things for other people. I used to get good grades to keep my parents happy. But then I learned how good it felt to get a high test score because I put in the time to study. My grades improved immensely when I started working for myself. If I can shake off all the pressure I feel from others and live my life for me and me only, I really think I won’t be as stressed. Those three reasons I listed for why I get stressed are all a result of doing things in order to please everyone else. That’s not necessarily a bad thing; I mean sometimes we need a little extra push from someone else. But at this point in my life, I think I can do well [mostly] on my own. So if you suggest something that I should do and I don’t give heed, don’t be offended or hurt. Right now I am trying to figure out how to be ME. I’m trying to find what I want to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In order to find myself and to find other activities I might enjoy, I made a list of things I want to do before I graduate. Anyone who wants to join me in doing any or all of these let me know and we’ll have some great adventures!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~Get scuba certified&lt;br /&gt;~Get good at racquetball&lt;br /&gt;~Get good at ping-pong&lt;br /&gt;~Go on a camping trip with friends [spring break???]&lt;br /&gt;~Sunrise hike Olympus&lt;br /&gt;~Go fishing&lt;br /&gt;~Go rock climbing [real rock climbing, although I’ll want to practice on the walls]&lt;br /&gt;~Camping/fishing trip with my mom&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-7806158269986697434?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/7806158269986697434/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=7806158269986697434&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7806158269986697434'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7806158269986697434'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2008/01/simplicity-part-2.html' title='Simplicity Part 2'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/R3xPtYMkIrI/AAAAAAAAABU/2Ws1WkEykiE/s72-c/PICT0913.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-4195090687753797359</id><published>2007-12-31T10:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-31T10:44:18.794-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Simplicity</title><content type='html'>“As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Our life is frittered away by detail... simplify, simplify.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;…The great advice from Thoreau which is often repeated, but rarely practiced. I remember studying Walden my sophomore year and Mrs. Johnson said, “We don’t need as many things as we have. We CAN live with just one plate and a mason jar for a cup, but wouldn’t we feel inadequate serving our neighbors on the cheap plates?” So, I got to thinking, why do we complicate things? Why does it matter? I personally think it is because we are trying to impress. But that’s not what I was originally going to write about, it was just a thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, simplicity. I am trying to decide where to go to college. I have four great options and I have no idea what to do. I started freaking out about one day, well a lot of days, but this one day in particular and I started talking about it with my friend Blake who is not a complicated person at all. For him, life is simple and fun. I’ve always been intrigued at how nothing seems to bother him, he’s always so “chill” (for lack of a better word) about everything. I guess “happy-go-lucky” is a good phrase for him. Our conversation went as follows:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;Aimee:&lt;br /&gt;        ...oh yeah, I was going to stop stressing about this stuff, huh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Blake:&lt;br /&gt;        It would probably make you feel better&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Aimee:&lt;br /&gt;        But I can't just forget about it, I mean I have to decide&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Blake:&lt;br /&gt;        Well what school is best for what you want to major in?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aimee:&lt;br /&gt;        Weber&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Blake:&lt;br /&gt;        Then go there, especially if they will give you a full scholarship&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Aimee:&lt;br /&gt;        True. But what if I’m not supposed to go there?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Blake:&lt;br /&gt;        Well, Aimee, how do you know if you are suppose to go there?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aimee:&lt;br /&gt;        I pray...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Blake:&lt;br /&gt;        Then do it&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aimee:&lt;br /&gt;        You make it sound so simple&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;Blake :&lt;br /&gt;        Maybe it is and you are just complicating it&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SO I got to thinking. Maybe I am just complicating it.  His advice seemed so simple and obvious. I mean, I always knew I’d have to pray but all of sudden it didn’t seem like such a big deal. I didn’t feel pulled at from 4 different directions, suddenly I was in control. I could choose. I could ask. Simple! Making a decision was much easier than I thought it would be (the process of, since I haven’t actually received an answer yet).  I realized how much more complicated I make life than it needs to be. Like math. I hate math. I am terrible at math. It seems I get one problem, but never the rest on the homework. Blake loved math. He said that because he learned to simplify it. Instead of taking each problem as itself, he looks at the problem before it and by comparing the numbers, he can guess about what the answer will be and then he’d check it, he was usually right. I looked at each problem separately and that caused me a lot of grief. He taught me how to simplify math the night before the ACT and on that test, I got the highest math score on the ACT I have ever received. I’ve always thought that the more complicated and the more complex something was, the better it was, but now I’m learning that simplifying and making things easier is a much better way to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked Blake how he manages to stay so relaxed all the time. That conversation went like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;Aimee:&lt;br /&gt;        But really, how do you stay so calm all the time? Do you ever stress out?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Blake:&lt;br /&gt;        I try not to&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;Aimee:&lt;br /&gt;        Well, I try, I’m just not successful&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Blake:&lt;br /&gt;        Well not with that attitude&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so I learned how to simplify. Just do it! And know that I can!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My goal is now to stay relaxed and calm and worry-free. I will strip life of the distractions and I know I will be happier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Our life is frittered away by detail... simplify, simplify.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-4195090687753797359?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/4195090687753797359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=4195090687753797359&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4195090687753797359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4195090687753797359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/12/simplicity.html' title='Simplicity'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-1771664109382730225</id><published>2007-12-12T18:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-12T18:17:01.883-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Poem</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;This is a poem I wrote and I am going to give it to my friends for Christmas.  I was wondering what you guy thought about it. Do I need to changed rhythms or words? My biggest concern is punctuation. do I need it?  (should I put in periods at the end of sentences?) and also, titles....I don't want to call it Best Friends. I want something deeper...  THANKS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They are the glue that holds you together&lt;br /&gt;When you are about to fall apart&lt;br /&gt;They are the shoulder that you cry on&lt;br /&gt;When you have a sad or broken heart&lt;br /&gt;They are the beautiful smiles that guide you&lt;br /&gt;And bring the joyous light into your day&lt;br /&gt;They are the silver lining and brilliant rainbow&lt;br /&gt;In the storms that come your way&lt;br /&gt;They are your crutch when you are weak&lt;br /&gt;Lifting you to heights you cannot see&lt;br /&gt;They are the silent angels that surround you&lt;br /&gt;Who push you to become all they know you can be&lt;br /&gt;We all have them, they are everywhere&lt;br /&gt;Their love is more than we comprehend&lt;br /&gt;They’ll be with us forever and always&lt;br /&gt;Our angels, confidants, companions, our friends&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-1771664109382730225?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/1771664109382730225/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=1771664109382730225&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/1771664109382730225'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/1771664109382730225'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/12/poem.html' title='Poem'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-4264915291665550060</id><published>2007-11-07T14:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-07T14:59:16.704-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ICECREAM!!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.the-n.com/games/quiz/3243"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.the-n.com/media/quiz/badges/flavor_quiz/vanilla.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're as popular and relaxing as vanilla ice cream. You go with the flow, and get along with all sorts of people. You appreciate peace and simplicity, so you sometimes find crowds and loud noises overwhelming. You are a chilled-out, calming influence on the people in your life, and your friends appreciate how supportive and flexible you are.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-4264915291665550060?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/4264915291665550060/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=4264915291665550060&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4264915291665550060'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4264915291665550060'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/11/icecream.html' title='ICECREAM!!!!'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-583506011273194031</id><published>2007-10-14T18:41:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-14T18:45:16.542-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Homecoming</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/RxK38FPJHRI/AAAAAAAAABM/ctxu02oOUKs/s1600-h/P1060001.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121357969099398418" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/RxK38FPJHRI/AAAAAAAAABM/ctxu02oOUKs/s320/P1060001.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/RxK3y1PJHPI/AAAAAAAAAA8/gI_HPYV0KWM/s1600-h/P1060002.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121357810185608434" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/RxK3y1PJHPI/AAAAAAAAAA8/gI_HPYV0KWM/s400/P1060002.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/RxK3zVPJHQI/AAAAAAAAABE/63JMtwZEybc/s1600-h/P1060005.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121357818775543042" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/RxK3zVPJHQI/AAAAAAAAABE/63JMtwZEybc/s400/P1060005.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AFter being left by my family, my hair not curling in curlers and having 45 minutes to go get a flower for Bryce and do make-ups, nails, and hair by myself, I pulled it off (after asking Bryce to pick me up 30 minutes late).  I had a way cool corsage!  It was fiberoptic!  you can see it glowing in the yellow picture.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-583506011273194031?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/583506011273194031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=583506011273194031&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/583506011273194031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/583506011273194031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/10/homecoming.html' title='Homecoming'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/RxK38FPJHRI/AAAAAAAAABM/ctxu02oOUKs/s72-c/P1060001.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-6043981634383664697</id><published>2007-08-21T21:27:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-21T21:30:22.548-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Question on my mind</title><content type='html'>If someone tells you they are paying you a certain amount (like, $20 a day) and then you work for 5 days so that is $100.  When they pay you, they write the check for $80.  Do you ask for the $20?  What if you feel you are being over paid anyway (like the job probably isn't worth $20 a day)?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-6043981634383664697?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/6043981634383664697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=6043981634383664697&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/6043981634383664697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/6043981634383664697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/08/question-on-my-mind.html' title='Question on my mind'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-6408531308131198741</id><published>2007-08-18T11:17:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-18T11:27:36.362-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What I See in You</title><content type='html'>I see your face straining, trying to keep inside your anger&lt;br /&gt;The fire in your eyes changes you into a type of stranger&lt;br /&gt;I’d do anything to bring another smile to your face&lt;br /&gt;But your whole personality seems to have been replaced&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can see you fighting; you don’t want this to happen either&lt;br /&gt;But your heart is pounding, your vision starting to blur&lt;br /&gt;I’d do anything to stop this monster from coming over you&lt;br /&gt;But at this point we both know there’s nothing I can do&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I see your chest rise with every slow breath you take&lt;br /&gt;Your jaw starts to tense and your shoulders start to ache&lt;br /&gt;I’d do anything to relax your tensed, clenched fists&lt;br /&gt;But as I reach for you your whole body shifts&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I see you pulling away, not wanting me to see&lt;br /&gt;You don’t realize that I already know what you can be&lt;br /&gt;I’d do anything to bring back the you I know&lt;br /&gt;But you insist on being dragged below&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I see you want my help; you want me at your side&lt;br /&gt;But you’re too defiant; you won’t give up your pride&lt;br /&gt;I’ll do anything it takes to keep you here with me&lt;br /&gt;But you have to help; only you can set yourself free&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6600cc;"&gt;this is only my second draft.  There are some parts where the rhythm is off, I know, but I can't seem to figure out the exact problem spots or how to fix them.  Please give your imput and suggestions.  the 2nd line in the last stanza has changed several times, (a lot of good words rhyme with side!) so if you don't like the line that's currently in it, let me know.  My other lines for that spot were: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6600cc;"&gt;"You want to take back every word you lied" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6600cc;"&gt;"You want me with you, but you won't let me inside" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6600cc;"&gt;"Do you want the monster or me, you decide" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6600cc;"&gt;"But you have to let me in, I've already tried"  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6600cc;"&gt;so, if you like any of those better, let me know.  or if you have a whole other line in mind, pass it on.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6600cc;"&gt;also, in the third stanza it first read: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#6600cc;"&gt;"I see you pulling away, not wanting me to watch&lt;br /&gt;You want to protect me, but innocent I’ve lost"  I like that idea but the rhythm and flow is not right.  so if you know how to fix it...HELP! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#6600cc;"&gt;okay, go comment!  THANKS!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:+0;"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-6408531308131198741?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/6408531308131198741/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=6408531308131198741&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/6408531308131198741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/6408531308131198741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/08/what-i-see-in-you.html' title='What I See in You'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-9018724403833597109</id><published>2007-08-15T10:20:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-15T10:20:41.101-06:00</updated><title type='text'>EFY Medley</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;object height='350' width='425'&gt;&lt;param value='http://youtube.com/v/B_SNU3b3ri0' name='movie'/&gt;&lt;embed height='350' width='425' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' src='http://youtube.com/v/B_SNU3b3ri0'/&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This song is amazing. I really like the talks too! (I have another song farther down on the page that plays automatically. Pause/Stop it before listening to this one so you don't hear both at the same time)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-9018724403833597109?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/9018724403833597109/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=9018724403833597109&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/9018724403833597109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/9018724403833597109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/08/efy-medley_15.html' title='EFY Medley'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-8776039614479846767</id><published>2007-08-14T21:33:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-14T21:40:19.091-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A Few Spiritual Thoughts</title><content type='html'>I am really being humbled lately.  It’s a good thing, but I realize how close to nothing I am.  Without Christ to have atoned for my sins and to do the ordinances my mortal body could not physically handle, I would go to hell.  That is exactly what I, and everyone else in the world, deserves.  We don’t deserve anything better than to be spat upon, whipped, and wear thorns.  I was thinking the other day, We are told that Jesus took our sins upon his head.  Jesus wore a crown of thorns.  So, putting those together: the sins on his head, and the crown of thorns (that we wince at hearing about) on his head are the same thing! In reality, WE are the Roman Soldiers placing it on his head every time we sin!  (That was my profoundness of one day).  I read a book called The Peace Giver.  It is amazing!!  I highly recommend it.  It tells the story of Abigail and David, Jonah, and the Atonement in a way that I had never thought about before.  It put my life in a new light.  We cannot control how others act, but we can control how we react.  We cannot use the excuse, “he started it!” because it doesn’t matter.  They are responsible for what they do.  In the story of Abigail and David, Abigail is a type of Christ.  She takes upon her Nabal’s sins.  David can easily forgive her because she did no wrong to him.  Would David have forgiven Nabal if he had come out to apologize? (I’m assuming you have read this story.  If not, it’s 1 Samuel chapter 25.)  I’m not sure, but I know that for me at least, it would be easier to forgive someone who had not sinned against me that was acting for another person.  What we oftentimes forget is that Christ not only atoned for our own sins, but for every other person’s.  So, when we are wronged by another person, Christ has taken upon himself that sin.  We don’t need to forgive them, we need to forgive Christ.  But of course, we forgive Christ, right?  The problem is that Christ doesn’t come down and ask us for forgiveness, the other person needs to.   But even if they don’t ask, we must forgive.  If we don’t forgive them then we aren’t forgiving Christ.  How does that sound?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another lesson I have learned is from Jonah.  His story is a chiasm so that’s pretty cool.  What I learned from him is that we are given the same mercy that we show to others.  In church we always learn that he was called to preach to Nineveh, he ran away to Tarshish, there was a storm, he got thrown out of the ship, he was swallowed by a whale and then he repented and was saved.  What I wasn’t taught was that on the boat, the people didn’t want to throw him off, they wanted to save him.  So then they were saved from the storm.  So Jonah is saved, he goes and preaches in Nineveh they repented and they were saved.  But Jonah got upset that they weren’t destroyed.  He wasn’t showing them mercy.  God asks, should I not spare Nineveh? We never hear Jonah’s reply.  But we do know that if he says “no” then he won’t be saved.  If he says “yes” we will be shown the same mercy as was shown to Nineveh.  It’s not our place to judge, so when we do judge, when we give punishment, we will be judged by the same way.  I always knew that, but it hit me harder when I read it in the story of Jonah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The way the atonement was explained was absolutely incredible I could not do it justice with a summary.  But one thing I did learn was about the chains of sin.  It starts out a flaxen cord and as we go deeper and deeper into sin, the cord turns to chains and they become thicker and harder to break through.  But what Christ did on that night in Gethsemane was go into Hell and get wrapped up in every single cord and chain that every person on the whole earth over it’s entire existence will get wrapped up in and dragged down by and then he broke through the chain.  As mortals, we could not do it.  We would physically die trying to break through ourselves, even just our own sins.  Christ provided a way for escape.  It still isn’t easy, but it is possible now.  But when starting to change, sometimes we will go back to our old bad habits without even realizing it. But as long as we are trying to get out, we can eventually find the path Christ paved for us.  It is an incredibly beautiful concept, but it is also so complex it is hard to understand the pain that Christ went through.  Even knowing that only a small percentage of people would take advantage of it, He still suffered even for those He KNEW would not follow him.  I know that I could not have done that.  I have a hard time partnering up with someone to do a project when I know they won’t do any work and I have to do it all and they still get credit.  He does not get enough credit (He gives it ALL [the entire little amount] to Heavenly Father).  That was kind of a bad analogy, but maybe it gets the point across.  All I know is that I am so grateful for Him and what he did.  I can’t wait to see him again and say thanks.  The worst part?  We can’t really repay him in full.  The best thing we can do is spread his gospel and try to bring as many of His children back to Him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m sorry a lot of my thoughts are disjointed.  I really try to make sense and I hope that I made at least a little bit!  But we all know that is a difficult thing for me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-8776039614479846767?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/8776039614479846767/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=8776039614479846767&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/8776039614479846767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/8776039614479846767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/08/few-spiritual-thoughts.html' title='A Few Spiritual Thoughts'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-7452386872887639320</id><published>2007-08-05T20:39:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-05T20:45:26.774-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Papa</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/RraKhniJ9nI/AAAAAAAAAAU/p3FeFe8zFBs/s1600-h/Papa.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095412338568853106" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/RraKhniJ9nI/AAAAAAAAAAU/p3FeFe8zFBs/s400/Papa.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;A photograph taken&lt;br /&gt;Saved a moment in time-&lt;br /&gt;Preserving a second&lt;br /&gt;For someone to find.&lt;br /&gt;The sparkle in his eye,&lt;br /&gt;The wrinkle on his face&lt;br /&gt;Seem so real,&lt;br /&gt;They can’t be replaced.&lt;br /&gt;The picture stares&lt;br /&gt;And I know it’s real&lt;br /&gt;He’s smiling for me&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And love again I feel&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;~Aimee Haertel&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;date written unknown, but several years ago&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-7452386872887639320?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/7452386872887639320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=7452386872887639320&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7452386872887639320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7452386872887639320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/08/papa.html' title='Papa'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/RraKhniJ9nI/AAAAAAAAAAU/p3FeFe8zFBs/s72-c/Papa.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-4286374274964443149</id><published>2007-08-05T20:37:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-05T20:38:52.128-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Bridges</title><content type='html'>Grace was all alone in faded jeans and a dark blue sweater sitting on a bench next to the playground.  Despite the chilling weather several children played on the slides with their parents carefully watching them.  The sky was clear blue with fire outlining the mountains where the sun was setting.  The autumn trees shed scrawny shadows on the grass.  The wind blew softly, rustling the dried leaves.  As it got darker, the temperature dropped and the mothers had to persuade their children to go back home.  “We can come back another day” they promised.  She looked at the small children with their rosy cheeks and big grins below the disappointment in their eyes as they reluctantly followed parents home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last family to leave the park was a mother and father with two children.  The older girl skipped ahead of the mother and young boy. He had obviously had only recently learned how to walk and tumbled on a crack in the concrete.  He didn’t make a sound, but his older sister, only about five, somehow sensed something was wrong and stopped, turned around, and ran to his aid before the mother even had a chance to comfort him. The mother picked him up and carried him her arms while the Dad chased and tickled his sweet blonde daughter. &lt;br /&gt;Tears welled up in her eyes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was still all alone in her old faded jeans and dark blue sweater sitting on that bench next to the playground.  The sky was a now a deep gray and stars were starting to come out.  The weather was bitter and cold; it bit through her one layer of clothing.  But she didn’t notice.  She sat there staring at the beige slide, but not really seeing it. She relived that one night over and over- the hammering winds, the pouring rain, the icy bridge.  The same song played again and again in her head.  With each repetition her heart burned more and more. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She leaned her head back and stared up at the sky.  “Why?” She screamed, “why, why, why? The moon came out from behind a cloud and softly lit up the sky.  She stared down at her shadow not wanting to move ever again.  Her toes started to tingle as she put weight on her feet.  It was too cold for her to be outside with simple clothes on, but she didn’t want to leave the park.  As painful as it was to be there, it was worse at home. The house was too empty.  Recently turned 18, she was now responsible to take care of and sell the home.  She hated staying there alone, but couldn’t stand to be around anyone else. There were only a few more boxes to be packed and then she could move, but she felt as though she were completely separating herself from the memories.  She knew she needed to sleep, but wasn’t tired.  She hadn’t eaten in two days but felt no hunger.  Knowing that she needed to stay alive, she willed her legs to go and walked home despite the pains that shot up her legs from being so cold.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~Aimee  Haertel&lt;br /&gt;October 22, 2006&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's not really a title for this, so if you have any suggestions, let me know!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-4286374274964443149?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/4286374274964443149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=4286374274964443149&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4286374274964443149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4286374274964443149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/08/bridges.html' title='Bridges'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-7960257969734746230</id><published>2007-08-05T20:31:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-05T20:35:21.768-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Memories Of Love</title><content type='html'>“Natalie, he doesn’t remember anything.”&lt;br /&gt;            “Nothing?  No one?”&lt;br /&gt;            “No.”&lt;br /&gt;            “Not even me?”&lt;br /&gt;             “No Nat, not even you.  He can’t say where he is, he doesn’t even know what jersey number he is.  He’s so confused and lost.  He doesn’t even know his own middle name.”&lt;br /&gt;            ...Natalie just hung her head and cried&lt;br /&gt;~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~&lt;br /&gt;            “Hey Linds, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m at the school and it’ll be loud in the stadium so there’s not too much point in me trying to talk.”&lt;br /&gt;            “Not to be a damper on things because I know you really like this Ethan guy, but he never plays.  Second string QB to Eric, I really don’t see why you waste your time going.  You don’t even like football.” Lindsey pointed out not-so-gently&lt;br /&gt;            “Well, we’re playing the Falcons, so hopefully today he’ll get to play, maybe.  Besides leaving his mom with five kids and being pregnant?  She needs my help.  Amber takes care of Kaitlyn, they’re good friends, but Kevin, Melissa and Jared are a handful”&lt;br /&gt;            “Another reason why not to go.”  Natalie just rolled her eyes, said goodbye and hung up not waiting for a reply from Lindsey.  Lindsey was a good friend, just very honest and opinionated. &lt;br /&gt;            The team they were playing was the Falcons.  It was the first Friday back to school, so there was a big crowd of anxious students hoping for a victory.  Natalie entered the stadium and quickly found the crowd of Ethan’s family.  He was the third of eight children. She got along well with all eight of the kids.  Especially the oldest, Sarah who was twenty, and Amber who was fifteen.&lt;br /&gt;            As she walked up towards them she noticed that both his older siblings were there.  Since they had both graduated, they weren’t able to go to too many games.   They had heard that he might get to play in this game so they came to watch, is what they told her.  Sarah saw Natalie first and ran down and hugged her.  They walked up to the family where Matt teased her.  He had been a senior last year and he had enjoyed making fun of Ethan and Natalie for being Sophomores.&lt;br /&gt;            “How’s the first week of not being the young ones?”  He joked.&lt;br /&gt;            “Matt, I didn’t make fun of you in highschool.” Sarah defended Natalie.&lt;br /&gt;            “Yeah, but you were only a year older you really had no rights to.” By this time, all the younger kids were jumping on Natalie acting as if they hadn’t seen her for years when it had only been last Saturday.  Usually the leader of the “attacks” was Kaitlyn, but she just sat with her legs crossed trying to look sophisticated, but failing miserably.  Glancing at Amber she could tell that Kaitlyn was just trying to be like Amber.  Amber usually was calmer but that had never stopped Kaitlyn before.&lt;br /&gt;            “Amber, why aren’t we talking to Natalie?” Kaitlyn whispered loudly.  Amber stifled a laugh.  Natalie took this as a cue to go sit in-between them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            “How was your first week of seventh grade?” Natalie asked Kaitlyn.  Kaitlyn started rambling on about how Amber told her everything she needed to do and how well she thinks she’s going to do. &lt;br /&gt;            “I’m already a favorite of the teachers because Amber told me I needed to be not as silly. &lt;br /&gt;I need to act older and sophisticated.  I’ve been practicing.”  Both Amber and Natalie looked at each other and laughed.  Kaitlyn was certainly only eleven.  She had started school early, so she was younger than everyone in her grade.  She had only recently turned eleven.&lt;br /&gt;            “Well, good job.  Want to get a drink or candy or something?  Here’s a few dollars.” Kaitlyn took it and ran off.  Her empty seat was quickly filled by Kevin.  He started to fill Natalie in on his first week of fourth grade while at the same time Melissa jumped up on Natalie’s lap and started telling her about kindergarten. Moments later, Jared stumbled up to Natalie motioning to be picked up and mumbling “Me.  Me.”  She picked up the three year old and Amber looked at Natalie to laugh. &lt;br /&gt;            “Well, here’s our ever popular Natalie.  How are you?”  His mom asked.&lt;br /&gt;            “I’m just wonderful.  How are you?” She said through the two children on her lap and Kevin now moved to hanging on her neck. &lt;br /&gt;            “I’m fine.  Here, let me take some of my children.”&lt;br /&gt;            “No, It’s fine mom, I’ll take some.  You just sit back in rest.” Amber offered.&lt;br /&gt;            “Thanks, Amber.”&lt;br /&gt;            “Don’t get used to it.  Little Megan will be out of you in about a month and then I won’t have to worry about stressing you out too much.” She joked.  Natalie knew that Amber would still be just as helpful if not more when the baby was born.  Natalie admired Amber.  She was right in the middle of this chaos often called a family but she was very patient.  All of her little siblings looked up to her and did whatever she asked them to.  She was very calm, and loving.  She was very honest and helpful too.  Natalie was surprised she didn’t have more friends than she did.  She was also very beautiful.  Wavy brown hair and killer blue eyes.  Her face was perfect shape and everything on it was gorgeous and perfectly proportionate.&lt;br /&gt;            “So Amber, what’s it like being the top of the food chain at school now?” Natalie asked her when her mom was gone.  The little kids had started to entertain themselves while Amber and Natalie talked. &lt;br /&gt;            “It’s alright.”&lt;br /&gt;            “K Amber, I know you’re hiding something because you are usually a lot more descriptive than that.  What’s up?”&lt;br /&gt;            “I don’t know, I guess, it’s just, hmm.  I don’t know.  It’s my last year in middle school.  Next year I’ll be a sophomore then I’ll be a junior, then I’ll be a senior, then I’m off on my own to go to college, then I’ll get married and have kids, then they’re grow up and have kids and I’ll be grandma!”&lt;br /&gt;            “Don’t worry about being a grandma just yet.  You can’t even date right now.   But yes, I see where you’re coming from.  I felt that too.  I waited until I was a sophomore though.  Just kidding, it’s fine to feel like that.  But what helps is to know that you’re growing up with friends who you will never forget and they will never forget you.  Those bonds can’t be broken.  And if they are, then I guess they weren’t that great of friends.  One thing about Ethan and me, yes I am his girlfriend, but we didn’t start dating until we were sixteen.  We’ve been good friends since 7th grade and we learned a lot about each other and now we’ll always be friends because of that base.”&lt;br /&gt;            “But my friends are so immature!  They don’t understand that life is serious.  They are obnoxious and rude and sarcastic.  I can’t take it, but I like them.  It’s just, I look at Matt, Sarah, Ethan and you.  All of you guys have a great group of friends.  Hardworking, serious but fun, and my friends are just morons!”  This was not like Amber to start bashing on her friends.&lt;br /&gt;            “I don’t know what to tell you about that.  Have you talked to them?”&lt;br /&gt;            “Yes, they just laugh in my face!”  Amber looked like she might cry.  She was sensitive, but tough.  Natalie had never seen her this upset before.  She offered as much comfort as she could.  “None of my friends will remember me.  If they do, it’ll be that brat that thinks she’s better than we are.”&lt;br /&gt;            “I’ll never forget you Amber.” She consoled&lt;br /&gt;            “I should hope not. You and Ethan are probably gonna get married.  He’s never gonna forget you.  I’m pretty sure we’ll hear about you forever even if he does marry someone else.”&lt;br /&gt;            “She’s right.” Sarah jumped in.  Ethan is crazy about you.  But, we like you, so it’s okay”                                  The game started and Natalie having really no interest in football, not even understanding the game, started playing with Melissa until Amber and Kaitlyn asked for help with their homework. When Ethan’s team was up by a lot, he was put in.  Natalie had to gently explain to Melissa why she had to stop play “Go Fish” with her.  She picked herself up off the bleacher floor and sat in-between Sarah and Amber. Melissa was trying to climb up on to Natalie’s lap, but Kevin pulled her down.&lt;br /&gt;            “Lissy, Natalie wants to watch Ethan play because he never does.” Kevin explained&lt;br /&gt;            “Really? Why not?”&lt;br /&gt;            “Because he just the second string QB.”  The whole family had to try hard to keep themselves composed after this comment.  It’s not that Ethan was bad, it’s just that he was a junior and the starter, Eric, was a really good senior.  They were amazed at how harsh an eight year old could be.   Then again, he probably didn’t think it could be taken as rude.  He was just telling her how it was.&lt;br /&gt;            The game continued very one sided with a major victory over the Falcons.  Ethan had a great game.  One of the better ones apparently.  Natalie had no idea how to tell if he was playing well or not so she just heard what people said and repeated it.&lt;br /&gt;            The next Friday game was against one of the hardest teams in the league, the Leopards.  Natalie wondered if Ethan would get to play.  Probably not because he was only second string, but she still went just in case.  Matt and Sarah came again too.  Even if he didn’t get to play they would all be entertained with a grueling game of Old Maid.  Not surprising at all, Ethan didn’t start.  Getting sick of little kid games very quickly, Sarah pulled out Phase 10 and Kaitlyn, Amber, Natalie, Matt, and Sarah played that.  Their mom was reading a book and their dad was going through some work papers.  Natalie couldn’t help but laugh at the scene.  Nine kids ranging from the ages 3-20 , a pregnant mom, and a working dad spread along the bleachers not one of them paying any attention to the game.  Natalie looked up and watched a few minutes of&lt;br /&gt;the game.  The quarter back that was in was not the usual starter she was used to seeing out there.  It was Ethan.  She told his family so they all stopped playing around and watched.  He was amazing.  He was doing just as well as the starter had done.  What had happened?  Why was he suddenly so good?  Why was he playing? Nothing had happened to Eric some people sitting next to them who were actually there to watch game told them.&lt;br /&gt;            “Hmm, the coach probably just wanted make sure Ethan was up to level if anything happened to Eric.”  Obviously Ethan could hold his ground.  Unfortunately, his spotlight died out when he was taken out.  The games all started up again.&lt;br /&gt;            After the game and a shower for Ethan, he and Natalie went out on a picnic.  He excitedly told her about the game and how excited he was he played in an important game.  She could tell he was stoked, but she had a hard time acting like she was too.  She just couldn’t make herself care about the game.  He caught on and apologized for talking about it so much.&lt;br /&gt;            “It’s alright, I do that to you about my sports and you give me the same blank look I was&lt;br /&gt;just giving you.  It’s not bad to be excited.  But no, I wouldn’t mind a change of subject”&lt;br /&gt;            “Hmm, okay, what do you want to talk about?”&lt;br /&gt;            “Not sure, don’t really care.  Just please no football?”  They joked around with each other while finishing up their food.  After they were done, they laid on their backs and watched the sunset.  It was beautiful.  As it slowly got darker they watched each the stars come out slowly one by one.  The first one they saw they made a wish. &lt;br /&gt;            “What did you wish for?” he asked her&lt;br /&gt;            “I can’t tell you, it won’t come true”&lt;br /&gt;            “Well, if we both tell each other what we wished for and we never tell anyone else then it still can”&lt;br /&gt;            “Well, I wished that we would never forget each other”&lt;br /&gt;            “I wished that I would get to start next game.”&lt;br /&gt;            “We’ll see if your ‘not telling anyone’ theory is true then next week.”&lt;br /&gt;            “Natalie, you know I could never forget you.  No matter what happens.  I promise.  I love you too much to just throw this all way.”  He had never said that before, ‘I love you’.  She was taken back by this but told him she loved him too.  He was right.  This felt so good and right.&lt;br /&gt;            His wish didn’t come true.  They played the hardest team in the region so it wasn’t expected that he would. At the end of the first quarter, Eric was taken out from behind and laid on the ground holding his knee.  They carried him off and Ethan took his spot.  They were behind not an unreachable distance, but it wasn’t considered a close game.  By half time, the game was tied.  Everyone played as hard as they could, passing, blocking, and tackling. By the fourth quarter, it was close, the win going back and forth. The final whistle blew. They barely won and Ethan was the hero. &lt;br /&gt;            On Monday, everyone was congratulating Ethan for a well played game.&lt;br /&gt;             “You must be proud to have such a great boyfriend.” A girl told Natalie with a hint of jealously in her voice.  Natalie loved this.  She got as much attention as he did just for dating him.  He was really happy to have impressed everyone, he just hoped the coach liked his play.  Natalie did her best to be happy for him.  At first it was thrill.  She wasn’t used to this much attention.  By Wednesday though it was starting to get obnoxious and old.  She didn’t want to tell Ethan this because he loved it.  He suddenly was popular, girls hanging around him.  Even though he would put his arm around Natalie or hug her in the hallway, she couldn’t help starting to feel jealous. She didn’t get why he suddenly was so loved.  He was second string. He played one good game and suddenly he’s a hero.  But Eric had torn his ACL, so Ethan would be playing&lt;br /&gt;a lot more now. “Oh well,” she thought “at least he’s happy”&lt;br /&gt;            “Nat!” Ethan called down the hall.  He had just been surrounded by people again and then broke out of the crowd. “Why didn’t you wait?  It was only a minute.”&lt;br /&gt;            “Sorry, didn’t mean to.  I’m in a hurry.”&lt;br /&gt;            “No you’re not.  It’s Friday.  The only thing you have tonight is my game.”&lt;br /&gt;            “You know, I really can’t lie to you, can I?” She joked.&lt;br /&gt;            “Something’s wrong.  What’s up?”&lt;br /&gt;            “Nothing.  I just didn’t want to distract you”&lt;br /&gt;            “You really are a bad liar.  What’s wrong?”&lt;br /&gt;            “Nothing...maybe just a little sick of you in the spotlight.”&lt;br /&gt;            “It’ll be okay.  I promise.”  He kissed her on the cheek as a group of girls with dreamy looks in their eyes passed them.  They glared at Natalie. &lt;br /&gt;            “What?” she said.  “He’s my boyfriend! Jealous?”  They hurried away. &lt;br /&gt;            That game, no one brought out cards or games.  Although Melissa and Jared did play ‘Simon Says’ before the game started.  This game they were playing a weaker team so Ethan looked a lot better.   He seemed like a transformed player.  Everyone in the whole school loved him.  All the girls hated Natalie because she was with him.  The game went on, Natalie getting bored for having to sit still this long, but she wanted to at least watch him play.          &lt;br /&gt;            He took the snap on a two count from the center. Taking a two step drop he looked left for an open reciever. The blitz come from the weak side, the side that his back was to. The Linebacker made a crushing sack, everyone pilled off and got ready for the next play except for Ethan who made no movement on the ground. &lt;br /&gt;            The ambulance came and his whole family rushed to the hospital.  He hadn’t broken anything, he was unconscious for a while and he had a major concussion.  Natalie sat out in the waiting room with his seven siblings.  They were all hoping for the best.  His mom came out to talk to Natalie.&lt;br /&gt;            “Natalie, he doesn’t remember anything.”&lt;br /&gt;            “Nothing?  No one?”&lt;br /&gt;            “No. ”&lt;br /&gt;            “Not even me?”&lt;br /&gt;            “No Nat, not even you.  He can’t say where he is, he doesn’t know what jersey number he is. He won’t remember anything for a long time. He’s so confused and lost.  He doesn’t even know his own middle name.”&lt;br /&gt;            “He doesn’t have a middle name.” Natalie noted&lt;br /&gt;            “I know, he thought it was Cornelius.”&lt;br /&gt;            “Ethan Cornelius Tanner.  It could work.”  She joked.  The room went quiet.  Everyone was taking it all in.  He wouldn’t remember anything.  No one.  Nothing.  Where would that leave him and her?   Natalie just hung her head and cried.  She was finally able to go in and see him.  She walked into his room with tears streaming down her face.&lt;br /&gt;            “Ethan?”  He looked at her with a blank look in his eyes.  “Ethan, please?  It’s me, Natalie, your girlfriend.  Please, you know me.  You love me and I love you.  You have to remember!  Please?” She pleaded as she kissed him on his cheek her tears now running down his face. He made no movement to show he knew who she was.&lt;br /&gt;            Everyday, Natalie would go visit him.  She brought her diary and his journal.  Poems she had written.  Pictures of them together.  Nothing seemed to bring back the memory of her.  She pleaded and she cried but nothing happened.  He always had a blank look in his eye.  He started recognizing siblings but, never her. &lt;br /&gt;             When he was finally released from the hospital, they went out on a date to the park.  She told him stories of them together.  Adventures they had had.  Once again, they watched the sun set. It was just as beautiful.  I knowing look came into his face. &lt;br /&gt;            “I remember this, I still don’t remember you though.”  He said softly.&lt;br /&gt;            “Please, please keep trying.”  He looked at her, studying her face. &lt;br /&gt;            “You say you were my girlfriend?  I don’t doubt that.  You say you love me and that I loved you but I don’t remember it.  Nothing helps. I can’t feel the way I once did.  I don’t know, I don’t remember it.  I can’t feel anything towards you.  I feel love for my family now, just like I did before.  I’m sorry, for you Natalie, there’s nothing.  I think if I had ever felt something for you before, that by now it would have come back.  There was nothing between us.”&lt;br /&gt;            Natalie cried and he just watched her at first, then he turned away.  He never spoke to her again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~Aimee Haertel&lt;br /&gt;        July 31, 2005&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-7960257969734746230?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/7960257969734746230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=7960257969734746230&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7960257969734746230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7960257969734746230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/08/memories-of-love.html' title='Memories Of Love'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-3380691147307441414</id><published>2007-08-05T20:27:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-05T20:30:28.045-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Wall</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Wall&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A wall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I search for a hole&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      I want to get in&lt;br /&gt;You want me in too&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            I know you do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That wall&lt;br /&gt;            Should have crumbled by now&lt;br /&gt;But your hands&lt;br /&gt;      -Skilled hands-&lt;br /&gt;Crafted it strongly&lt;br /&gt;   Not to break&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Indestructible&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Resilient&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or so you seem to appear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            One day, I will melt the ice&lt;br /&gt;                           I will crack the stone&lt;br /&gt;                           I will scale the wall&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will save you&lt;br /&gt;     Save you from your sad attempt&lt;br /&gt;Attempt to save yourself.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;~Aimee Haertel&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;the original has some cool spacing but it won't copy over here correctly but I still get the point across&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-3380691147307441414?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/3380691147307441414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=3380691147307441414&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/3380691147307441414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/3380691147307441414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/08/wall.html' title='The Wall'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-7124918583704737776</id><published>2007-07-15T12:30:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-23T11:56:06.704-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Must Have Done Something Right</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uvBVQWJ5sUE"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uvBVQWJ5sUE" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-7124918583704737776?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/7124918583704737776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=7124918583704737776&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7124918583704737776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/7124918583704737776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/07/must-have-done-something-right.html' title='Must Have Done Something Right'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-3364376135110823735</id><published>2007-07-15T09:36:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-07-15T09:38:57.345-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Someone Was Watching</title><content type='html'>Count your blessings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a hot Saturday in July and I was driving home from a soccer game at Lehi High.  I had just gotten on the freeway and was talking to my mom, telling her I would be home soon.  We were talking about a soccer team that was falling apart when the home phone rang and she said she needed to answer it.  I looked ahead and I saw (what I think was) an oddly shaped piece of wood.  I knew I didn’t want to hit it, so I tried to avoid it, but sure enough, I hit it. I heard a weird noise and wondered if my tires were okay.  I screamed a little and hung up the phone with my mom, needing both hands to control the car.  Getting worried, (but staying composed) I lightly tapped on the break and I could feel my car bouncing, but I didn’t know if I was imagining it, or if something was really wrong with the car.  I was scared to death I had ruined my car, but somehow my actions were calm and I pulled off to the side of the road safely.  I got out and examined my back tires and they were perfectly fine.  As I was walking back up to the front of the car I saw my front right tire was completely torn up.  That’s when I really started to lose control of myself.  I was shaking and sobbing and I had no idea how to change a tire.  My spare was flat, I only had half a jack, and I had never been taught (or even told) how to change a tire. My car shook every time a semi drove by.  A guy on a motorcycle stopped to see if he could help.  He saw my traffic cones in the back of my car (still there from Summernary, I knew there was a reason I hadn’t taken them out!) and set them up by my car so no one would hit me.   The highway patrol stopped, but was really unhelpful and said there was nothing he could do and, “I hope you have good air conditioning.”  Good air conditioning? I didn’t any ANY air conditioning.  The motorcycle guy asked if me if I wanted him to wait with me, but I said that I thought I’d be okay.  I had called my dad and he said he’d go buy some fix-a-flat and be down, but it would probably be 40 minutes.  I knew my friend Bryce was in Lehi baby-sitting his sister’s kids and that he should be done soon.  I gave him a call and as soon as his sister got home he came out to help.  He looked to see if he could find some fix-a-flat, but my dad called and said he had found some.  Bryce came and looked at my tire, but he didn’t say anything about it.  He just asked if I was okay, I was really trying hard not become hysterical, which he could tell.  He did what he could with my jack (we couldn’t find the handle thing to turn it).  At last my dad came and he had a nice jack so we got the car up as far as my jack could get it, then we stuck Bryce’s in there and then we finally got it high enough for my dad’s.  They both knew exactly what they were doing and got it fixed very quickly. &lt;br /&gt;            Bryce had to go back to his sister’s since he had left all his things there, and my dad took off to get something from the pool store.  I could feel that the spare was a little unstable and I was starting to freak out because I could feel the car kind of leaning to the right.  But I prayed and part of Isaiah 41:10 came to mind: fear thou not, for I am with thee.   I started singing the 3rd verse of “How Firm a Foundation:” “Fear not, I am with thee.  Oh, be not afraid.  For I am thy God and will still give the aid. I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand, upheld by my righteous omnipotent hand.”  When I said the last part, I suddenly didn’t feel like I was tipping to the side of the spare tire. &lt;br /&gt;            I made it all the way home with no more problems.  My brother-in-law asked if he could take my car and I told him he could if he didn’t mind taking it with the spare on it.  But since it was an actually tire, just like the other 4, he was okay with it.  When he went out, the tire was completely flat. &lt;br /&gt;            He told me how lucky I was.  My car is so light weight (it sways when there’s a hard wind) I could have easily rolled, or in the very least skidded into another lane or off the road.  He said that if my rim had bent we wouldn’t have been able to change the tire.  He asked if I had been taught what to do incase of a tire blow-out, and because I never had, he told me exactly what to do, which was, exactly what I had done.  Later, when I had calmed down, Bryce explained all the hazards of a tire blow out to me and said, “Someone was watching out for you.”&lt;br /&gt;            Now, this isn’t one of those stories where the car spins terrible out of control and I felt two big hands on the steering will, guiding the car to safety, and I didn’t see angels around the car, keeping my from sliding into the next lane.  What happened was, I was given peace when I hit it and I was told what to do to be safe.  I didn’t start freaking out until I had seen the tire.  Looking back, I only remember the initial scream when I hit it, then the peace and calm that surrounded me while I pulled off to the side, and the thoughts to do exactly what I should to keep control of the car- thoughts that I would never think myself.&lt;br /&gt;            God blesses us and protects us, and not always in a huge, lightning bolts and thunderous way.  In fact, a few days earlier, my sister and I randomly checked my tires and saw the spare was flat and we were going to have her husband fill it up when he got home, but we both forgot.  Even though I didn’t go through with the prompting, God still saved me. &lt;br /&gt;            Sometimes we get small promptings and don’t even know why, and sometimes we never do know why. &lt;br /&gt;            I know that God loves us all and wants us to be safe.  He is looking out for us and he’s always there, quietly, invisible.  We just need to take the time to see it. I am so grateful that I am here with absolutely no damage, writing this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember to thank God for the simple things.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-3364376135110823735?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/3364376135110823735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=3364376135110823735&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/3364376135110823735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/3364376135110823735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/07/someone-was-watching.html' title='Someone Was Watching'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-8748224679653326122</id><published>2007-07-13T20:31:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2007-07-13T20:40:23.133-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Out of your comfort zone</title><content type='html'>Contrary to popular belief, I am actually quite shy.  When in situations where I don't know very many people or I don't feel like I fit it, then I am very quiet and not outgoing at all.  But now that I'm on seminary council, I have to overcome that and step out of my shell to go talk to and sit by random people I have never seen before.  Sometimes I feel really awkward and stupid about it, but on the flipside, I have been the weird kid with no friends around and someone has come over and sat by me and been my friend, if only for that day and I know how good it feels when you realize that you aren't invisible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, a few weeks ago my mom told me that one of my neighbors was getting remarried and the man had 6 kids.  One of them was a girl my age.  I can't even imagine moving states the summer before my senior year.  I was really excited before meeting her, but when I saw her at mutual for the first time I felt really shy and I weird going to talk to her.  But, I did and I invited her to come to seminary with me and she came and she came the next day too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a little awkward at first, especially because I couldn't remember her name, and I really felt stupid driving to and from Jordan for 10-15 minutes each with this stranger.  I felt like I was grilling her with questions because I was curious about her.  But, after 2 days, the awkwardness is leaving and friendship is beginning to grow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Basically, a comfort zone is a really hard thing to get out of, but once you force yourself to do it, the rewards can be really great.  Although, I did have to pray hard for several nights that I would be able to reach out to the people who needed me.  The first day of summernary I didn't talk to anyone unless I was really close with them.  I just watched super-star Cody Raymond do it and wish I could be more like he.  I'm glad that I had the strength at the right time to be able to go up, introduce myself, and invite Julianna to do things with me so she could start having a comfort zone here in Utah.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-8748224679653326122?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/8748224679653326122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=8748224679653326122&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/8748224679653326122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/8748224679653326122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/07/out-of-your-comfort-zone.html' title='Out of your comfort zone'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-5452266015409696651</id><published>2007-07-11T14:25:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-07-11T14:27:20.279-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The newest Xtreme Sport...</title><content type='html'>cleaning my room and bathroom.  I haven't seen either this dirty my entire life.  It's really gross.  I'm going to go clean it.  I can't think of anything more extreme than cleaning up this mess.  I'd rather jump over buses on a motorcycle- no joke.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-5452266015409696651?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/5452266015409696651/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=5452266015409696651&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5452266015409696651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/5452266015409696651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/07/newest-xtreme-sport.html' title='The newest Xtreme Sport...'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-4463088341695434244</id><published>2007-07-10T14:56:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-07-10T14:57:28.482-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Home Run Preface</title><content type='html'>Home Run&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anna raised her hand to knock, but heard yelling on the other side of the door.  Curious, she let her hand drop to her side and listened.&lt;br /&gt;“Why are you doing this Z? You have a chance to play pro and you’re giving it up for some girl?”&lt;br /&gt;“It’s not just her, it’s the whole idea of God, being …” he was cut off abruptly&lt;br /&gt;“God? God is just an idea.  Something lonely people made up so they could pretend to feel comforted.  Seriously, it’s just a religion, what does she care?” Zach started to wonder, why did she care? Why did she try so hard to bring it into conversation so often?&lt;br /&gt; “Do you really love her that much? You love her more than the pros? More than the chance to be on the cereal box her kids will be eating out of?  Can’t she marry you without your baptism? I think it’s selfish of her to ask you to quit the only thing you’ve done you’re whole life.”  He was right about that, Zach had played ball since he was four -he had nothing else.  The only reason he was at Stanford was because of baseball.  The game had shaped his life into all that he was.  How could he give it up now? But he already had! He declined the offer from the Red Sox and he gave up his scholarship. “Why didn’t I think this through before?” he thought.&lt;br /&gt;“Zach! Are you even listening?”&lt;br /&gt;“I love her.” He paused, unsure of what to say.  “Not her religion.  Maybe there’s a God, maybe there isn’t.” He paused again, trying to convince himself he really believed what he was saying.  “But if I want to be with her I have to be with her religion, ok?” He knew that was true.  If he wanted Anna, then he needed to be part of her religion.  But did he really believe in her religion? Or was he too caught up in his emotions? He thought he knew- what if he’d made it up? God seemed so real at times, and yet right now, where was He?  Why wasn’t he giving Zach the courage he needed?  Maybe it was all a lie; maybe he had only imagined it.  He started to get angry with himself.  Was he lying to himself now, or before? He felt completely torn between two completely opposite feelings.  Half of him was screaming at him, telling him to shut up and be a man, stand up for what he knows is true.  The other part was whispering snide remarks about how stupid he had been to fall for the trickery of religion.  He glanced around his room and stopped at the sneering face of his roommate, waiting for Zach to prove himself.  It was all he could take.  The war inside his head was bad enough, but to see the glares of the people he thought were his friends was too much.  His heart was pulled into two.  He was furious, fuming, and started to yell.  “Get off my back, it’s no big deal!” Zach’s words bit through Anna; of course it was a big deal!&lt;br /&gt;“It sounded like a big deal at the last press conference.”&lt;br /&gt;“I had to make it a big deal!”&lt;br /&gt;“Why?” His friend demanded&lt;br /&gt;“I love her.” His voice cracked, sounding very unsure of what he was saying.&lt;br /&gt;“Good answer.” The roommate smirked, a new plan formulating in his head. “How many girls have you been in “love” with? Like 30? 50?  You saying that, means nothing- no girl takes you seriously man.  Word gets around.  They know your charm is just a trap.  It means nothing; they know it’s only to get them in bed with you.” The truth of his reputation cut into Zack.  That’s who he had been, but he was different now, wasn’t he? “She’s tricking you.  She’s roommates with one of your old girls.  Revenge is what they’re after.  They’ve been trying to ruin your life and boy did they succeed! They got YOU to ruin your life.  Boy, you sure are stupid.  You proposed to her once, right? And she said no because you weren’t LDS, but did she ever say she would marry you if you converted?”  Zach had never thought about that, he just assumed she would.  He stood there pondering the thought that Cecily had convinced her freshman roommate to do that.  It made total sense if it was true, Anna had been so rude to him the first few times he had seen her and then, out of the blue, she started being nice.  But she was such a sweet and innocent girl, how or why would she do something like this?  Once again, his heart and mind were the rope in a game of tug-o-war.  His old life pulling harder than before to keep him from going to a new life, which was pulling equally as hard to get him over. &lt;br /&gt;“I’ll take your silence as a no, she didn’t.  You’ve been tricked man.  You just sold your soul to some Molly Mormon.” His voice was quiet, but gruff and mean. The maliciousness of his comment sent Zach over the edge.  He picked up a text book and hurled it across the room at his roommate who moved aside in barely enough time.  His friend gently picked up the book and placed it on the unmade bed.  Again, he spoke softly, but his vowels sliced through the air like an axe severing a small tree.&lt;br /&gt;“Do you love her? Do you really love her? More than any other girl you’ve ever had any contact with?”  Zach was now thoroughly confused.  The tug-o-war was at a draw, Anna on one side and his friends on the other.  Both dropped the rope and let Zach decide for himself. “Well?”&lt;br /&gt;“I don’t know... I thought I did, but I just don’t know anymore, about anything…”  His voice trailed off and he felt himself giving up to his friend, the rope tied around his neck and slowly being dragged to that side, leaving Anna on the other end with rope burns and Zach on the ground without her &lt;br /&gt;His friend snickered and repeated,&lt;br /&gt;“You sold your soul.  And you didn’t even see it.”  This ignited the fire in Zach again, and his anger overcame him.  He threw the desk over and swore as he shoved open the door nearly hitting Anna.  Time froze when their eyes met and he saw the tears in her eyes then watched her turn and run down the hall.  He said her name softly, but knew she’d never hear him.  He walked outside to find her, but he was too late- she was already gone.  He went back upstairs, screaming and swearing at his roommate and forced him out of the room.  He kicked the desk around, wanting to inflict some physical pain on himself because the emotional pain was too much to bear.&lt;br /&gt;Finally, he broke down, trying hard not to cry.  He picked up the desk and put it back where it belonged.  He picked up the papers off the floor and as he placed them back on the desk, he noticed a picture mixed in.  It was Anna and him back in Utah during Christmas break next to the snowman they had made in her back yard.  She was beautiful- her cheeks were rosy red, matching the snow pants she was wearing and her blue eyes glittered, reflecting the sparkling snow.  Her smile was big, she was genuinely and purely happy.  Zach knew he had made a mistake.  He loved her- more than any other girl.  He had never doubted it until 15 minutes ago when it really mattered.  How would he ever be able to convince her he didn’t mean what he had said?  He had to go find her.&lt;br /&gt;            Meanwhile, Anna went back to her dorm, grabbed her notebook and journal, and then stormed out of the house, ignoring Jessica’s questions.  She didn’t want anyone to find her so she ran into the trees behind the apartments.  She sat down at the trunk of an old tree and opened up her notebook and tried to write.  She couldn’t explain what she was feeling, she was hurt, she felt betrayed.  She now knew what it felt like to have a heart broken.  Why had Zach said those things? He knew better! He had changed! At least she thought he had.  Maybe Jessica was right, he was only acting.  She had been tricked.  She had fallen into his charm, just like so many girls before her. The feeling of idiocy overwhelmed her.  Her heart felt as if it was ready to explode.   Cecily had warned her, and Anna didn’t listen.  But he had told her he loved her, he had said, looking straight into her eyes, that he had never felt for anyone like he felt for her.  He had obviously changed his mind.  She now meant nothing to him, and it hurt. &lt;br /&gt;            She pressed her pen to the paper and without thinking much, the words came spilling out faster than she could write.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uncertain Weather&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw you out my window looking up at me&lt;br /&gt;I thought of how I once believed we were made to be&lt;br /&gt;I stared out again but you were already gone&lt;br /&gt;I guess what I felt wasn’t true but pencil drawn&lt;br /&gt;When I look at the pictures of you and me again&lt;br /&gt;I never thought that you’d cause me this much pain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sun used to shine brightly on my face&lt;br /&gt;So many memories were made at that place&lt;br /&gt;Then the weather changed and the storm blew in&lt;br /&gt;The winds raged through and I was replaced&lt;br /&gt;The seasons change and love goes stale&lt;br /&gt;Just like the sun, we were destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;We were destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;Destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I wrote a song of how much I loved you&lt;br /&gt;Before I finished you sent me a million clues&lt;br /&gt;You had moved on, I don’t know how long you felt that way&lt;br /&gt;All I know is you’re not in love with me today&lt;br /&gt;When I look at the pictures of you and me again&lt;br /&gt;I never thought that you’d cause me this much pain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sun used to shine brightly on my face&lt;br /&gt;So many memories were made at that place&lt;br /&gt;Then the weather changed and the storm blew in&lt;br /&gt;The winds raged through and I was replaced&lt;br /&gt;The seasons change and love goes stale&lt;br /&gt;Just like the sun, we were destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;We were destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;Destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spring turns to summer, and the summer to fall&lt;br /&gt;The question remains in my head, did you love me at all?&lt;br /&gt;The leaves will dry and the snow falls on the ground&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if you’ll even miss me not being around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sun used to shine brightly on my face&lt;br /&gt;So many memories were made at that place&lt;br /&gt;Then the weather changed and the storm blew in&lt;br /&gt;The winds raged through and I was replaced&lt;br /&gt;The seasons change and love goes stale&lt;br /&gt;Just like the sun, we were destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;We were destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;Destined to fail&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She realized how true it was.  They couldn’t be meant for each other.  She was a goody-goody Molly Mormon English major, and he was the star athlete chemistry major.  He had never lived under her standards; it was silly of her to think he would change. The last year and a half with him had been a lie.  She felt so stupid, for falling into his deceit.  They were destined to fail, he didn’t really care about her- he couldn’t possibly love her.&lt;br /&gt;            To wallow in her sadness and stupidity, she read over her journal, specifically reading the dates that had Zach involved in them.  She started with her first day at Stanford…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-4463088341695434244?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/4463088341695434244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=4463088341695434244&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4463088341695434244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4463088341695434244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/07/home-run-preface.html' title='Home Run Preface'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349550318069130577.post-4267937066178627538</id><published>2007-07-10T13:53:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2007-07-10T13:59:36.048-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Life's What You Make It</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/RpPkYV8lXaI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vlYkaUekYz4/s1600-h/froginthemorning.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085659511090666914" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/RpPkYV8lXaI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vlYkaUekYz4/s320/froginthemorning.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, this is fun. I have my own blog. I will probably use it to post my literary pieces. Rule is- if I post a poem or story and you read it, you must comment. Constructive criticism is much wanted (as is praise :) ). I only want to be a better writer, so I will not get offended or hurt by anything. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My sister, Sherrie, once told me to "eat a live toad in the morning and nothing worse will happen to you the rest of the day." I thought is was funny, but I also didn't want to eat live animals in order to have a good day. I'm pretty sure that eating a toad would ruin my day. So, I've been thinking and I've come to the conclusion that it's not what you eat or what others do and say to you or even any event (good or bad) that makes your day. You make your day. When you get up, decide if it will be good or bad and it will be whatever you decide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's pretty much my onlt thought for today so... have a nice day! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1349550318069130577-4267937066178627538?l=aimeelh.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/feeds/4267937066178627538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1349550318069130577&amp;postID=4267937066178627538&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4267937066178627538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1349550318069130577/posts/default/4267937066178627538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aimeelh.blogspot.com/2007/07/well-this-is-fun.html' title='Life&apos;s What You Make It'/><author><name>Aimee and David</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Igch3uMlr3c/TVyk8z7qdqI/AAAAAAAAAYA/MWn1W9DlE9s/s220/20100824.124225%2Bedited%2Bvignette.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_97Mx2zfKXt8/RpPkYV8lXaI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vlYkaUekYz4/s72-c/froginthemorning.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
