Spring has really done a number on me.

Remember how 2 of my last 3 posts were about wanting to be a mommy and stuff?

Well, don't judge, but this Google commercial made me cry.

I'm blaming it on spring. Darn twitterpation.

Confession time again.

I love people. It's just something I do. I find it really hard to dislike anyone. Or even if I dislike them or they rub me the wrong way I still just stinking love them. 

So far this sounds like a brag-fest (Oh, look at me! I'm so good at Love!), but lemme tell ya, this condition is both a blessing and a curse. 

Blessing: In terms of romantic love, I know that if I fall in love with someone and it doesn't work out,  it's not the end. I can fall in love with other people. 

Curse: I fall fast. And SPLAT! Really hard. Also, I have had to do a lot of the "falling in love with other people" thing. 

Blessing: In general, loving people gives my life meaning. I start thinking about how my decisions affect more than just me, me, me. I want to serve them, help make life better for them, in some way. I start to catch a glimpse of the way that our Father in Heaven feels for all of His children. 

Curse: My biggest fear is that I care for people more than they care for me, that they don't need me the same way I feel that I need them. Certain ones are so dear to me that my heart cringes and I just want to sob as I realize that life will eventually lead us separate ways. 

The worst thing about all this is that I am genuinely saddened and terrified to think that I may never have that sort of impact on anyone. 

So maybe it's bad, but I want my friends to be sad when they think about never seeing me again! heh . . . sounds really mature huh? 

Mostly I just hope that I have lived (and can start/continue to live) in such a way that people will feel like I have added something to their lives. I want to be as important to them as they are to me. Saying it, I realize that it's a pretty selfish desire, but to me that is the only way I could feel that I truly deserve the friendships that I have with these people I love so much. I don't know how they do it, but they have impacted my life so deeply that they are permanently parts of who I have become. And I just have to say, those parts are some of my favorite. 

Amendment to last post

While searching for something to spice up my Spanish presentation, I ran across this comic, which I thought was hilariously relevant to my last blog post.

I'm pretty sure the chica in the last frame is me.

Happy Mothers' Day to me.

To my male readers (wait . . . do I even have any?) I would like to apologize in advance, because this post might just sound really awkward. Female readers, I think that some of you will probably understand where I'm coming from.

See, I keep thinking about my children. That is, those that I will give birth to when the time has come.

The wonderful dilemma -- how's that for an oxymoron? -- is that I already love them.

But now I want to meet them. I want to know them, to hug and kiss them and play with them and see their personalities. I want to see how they are going to interact with their siblings, with their cousins and aunts and uncles, and with their daddy. I want to know their names! I want to hear their singing voices. I want to dance with them in the kitchen, skip around and twirl with them in the backyard and chase them around the house until we're plum tuckered out. I want to put them in their footie pajamas and tuck them into bed and tell them bedtime stories. I want goodnight kisses from my babies.

I wonder, what are they going to be like when they grow up? Will they be as goofy as me? Bless their hearts if they are. Will they tell stupid jokes, or will they actually be funny? Will they have the same insecurities and self-doubts that I've had in the past (and some that I still have), or will I raise them up in such a way that they will be more confident in those areas? Will they stay true to the principles and practices of the gospel and Church that I so love? Of course that brings us to the question of what kind of mother I will be . . . but that scares me too much so we'll go back to wondering about my kids. Will they be into sports? Music? Painting? Writing? Heck, will I give birth to a linguist?

Bottom line, sometimes I just long for them. I ache to be a mother.

But you know what? It's the best ache I've ever had.

No regrets.

Today was my first day of spring term classes. Classes officially started yesterday, but I don't have Tuesday classes so I just worked all day.

Here's a little bit about how today went. Let's just say it wasn't exactly peaches and cream, which, incidentally, I am now craving.

- woke up way too early for how late I went to bed
- went to work at 8
- realized how much I love living this close to campus
- SKIPPED my first class of the day so I could go visit with my dear cousin John before he entered the MTC (I absolutely don't regret this. I love John like crazy and it was so good to see him.)
- remembered how hard it is to say goodbye to missionaries
- got some food (love the Wendy's dollar menu!)
- took food to work
- spilled drink all over the table at work
- got really embarrassed
- moved on with life
- clocked back in
- bent over a computer updating some databases for 3 hours
- had my tongue attacked by a cat on a phone call with a very important businessman
- got really embarrassed
- moved on with life
- went to class

So here we are, to the main point of this post.

Up until the past couple of weeks, selecting classes was always an easy, relatively carefree thing to do. Sometimes I was very excited to take certain classes. Other classes, I dreaded and tried to avoid them until I realized I needed them immediately as prerequisites. But never before had I felt large degrees of both excitement and fear about any class in particular.

Then I enrolled in Spanish 321.

This class is the first class that people who spoke Spanish on their missions take after they return. It's just kind of intimidating. Now, I have really enjoyed taking Spanish classes here, and this one was no exception, especially since I have gotten to the point where I feel somewhat fluent in the language and I am fairly confident in my ability to seguir mejorando mi español. I even struck up a conversation in Spanish with a girl from Chile at church on Sunday (I went with Katie and Lauren to their new ward, which is English, Spanish, and ASL. It was awesome!). But even with my love of the Spanish language and feeling like I am good at something, I have just been really worried that I would get in there and have one of two things happen:

(1) I wouldn't be able to understand a word coming out of anyone's mouth
or
(2) They wouldn't be able to understand a word coming out of my mouth because of my limited vocabulary and mangled grammar and thick American accent and I'd get made fun of because they spoke almost nothing but Spanish for two years straight and since they learned it in the context of the gospel and doing the Lord's work they know everything and I am just sort of good at taking tests. . . .

Yeah, that's just a pinch of that anxiety I was talking about.

I almost talked myself out of taking it several times, but I decided I would shape up and take it anyway. So I went to class.

I sat in the second row. This way I could be close enough to see/hear/be a little more actively engaged, but not so close as to risk salivary projections from el profesor. Turns out the teacher isn't a spitter, and I might need to start sitting in the front row after all . . . You'll see why.

Anyway, naturally, the first thing anyone said to me was, "So where did you serve your mission?" But instead of the "holier-than-thou" reaction I somewhat expected, they actually seemed to think it was really cool that I was taking this upper-level Spanish class just for kicks (oh p.s. it's also for the Spanish minor that I may or may not have decided yesterday to add.), and without having been immersed in any Spanish-speaking environment. I got compliments on my speaking, too. It was pretty sweet.

So everything was fabulous. The teacher finally came in, a native Spanish speaker (from la República Dominicana), and he spoke SO quickly. But you want to know the miracle? I understood him! He made jokes, and I understood the jokes! He gave some really important details about the syllabus, and I understood those details. I'm pretty sure you could say I'm a fluent Spanish listener because of that. Woo hoo!

But then as we continued on in class, I started getting very sleepy. Remember how I said I woke up too early for how late I went to bed? That was code for "I got four hours of sleep." I started nodding off around the middle of class (it's 2 hours long) and woke up with a few people staring at me. I realized Profesor was asking me a question. I was kind of disoriented, but I finally realized he was asking my name. I told him, and he went on to say, "Te levantaste muy temprano, ¿sí?" and then told me I need to make sure to get enough sleep tonight so I can "accompany" the rest of the class members during the entire class period next time.

- got really embarrassed
- moved on with life.

I almost wonder if he is expecting me to drop the class after that little encounter. ha! Kidding. Though I'll admit that the thought crossed my mind. I thought, "He's just picking on me because I didn't serve a mission! He thinks I'm not cut out for this class!" And then, defiantly, "I WILL stay in this class. I WILL get an A. I WILL show him I've got what it takes!"

Then I laughed at myself for overreacting but decided to stick with my resolve anyway. The time of day may be kind of unfortunate, but I think the excitement has overrun the fear now and I can totally do this. I must say it also helps that the male-to-female ratio is something like 5:1. Shallow? Maybe. Regrettable? Definitely not.