Kay, fine, I'm pregnant. And Mike's really smart.

:)
I haven't written anything worthwhile here for a long time because everything I have to say is related to morning sickness, babies, etc.
The due date is officially January 9, 2011 (it was January 6 for a while, but my doctor made an executive decision), but my mother has already pointed out that I was two whole weeks late in the middle of July in Salt Lake City. Honestly, she never has forgiven me for that.
Anyway, so that's why, if you're my neighbors, I'm really boring and don't play volleyball. Trust me, if you saw me last year, you'd know it's NOT because I'm shy. I do come cheer on the teams and get rashes on my arms from all the crabgrass, though. That counts, right? You really don't want me to puke on you, do you?
Well, actually, the puking is almost over, or so they tell me. I'm officially 11 1/2 weeks right now, and I'm supposed to be almost done with that whole morning sickness thing. Some of the other girls in my ward said week 14. Yeah, I'm not seeing the end of any tunnels. You know how the people in the Statistics Office found out? Yeah, some professor came to clean out his fish tank in the copy room and I manifested my disapproval all over the front desk. They thought I was dying first, but when I recovered relatively quickly, they figured it out. Luckily they're all nice people. :)
My favorite part so far has been people's reactions. My mom shrieked and cried for a few minutes straight before I could put the phone back on my ear, my dad started loudly complaining that his hair and teeth were falling out and he could feel his face wrinkling up, and some of Mike's sisters actually didn't believe him. But I think the best one was when we told all my siblings in person over Memorial Day weekend. I announced right before family prayer that "we're going to have a baby." Everybody got all excited, except for my 10-year-old sister, who got this panicked look on her face and said, "um, can you at least wait until you get back to Utah?" Priceless. Absolutely priceless.
Now, in reference to the "Mike's really smart" part of my title, let me just tell you a completely ridiculous story. So Mike took the MCAT (Medical College Admissions Test) on May 21. This test is like the bane of all pre-meds' existences, and he spend $2500 and over six months getting ready for this test. Huge. Kind of determines our future. It's out of 45, but it's also curved, so getting a 35 is a pretty good score. I think the average acceptance score is like 33. The writing section is scored J through T, with T being a perfect score. Totally weird, but med schools don't really look at your writing score unless it's a tie-breaking issue. Seriously.
Anyhow, he was scheduled to get all of his scores back on June 22, so we've been anxiously awaiting this week with fingers crossed and eyes shut tight--with one corner squinted open. So yesterday right before my lunch break, Mike texts me that he didn't get the writing score he wanted (which is actually because his computer randomly shut down in the middle of the writing portion of the test). Of course my response was "WHAT WAS YOUR REAL SCORE?!?!?!?" To which I received . . . no answer. The twerp.
As soon as I got home for lunch, he showed me that he did SUPER WELL (Mr. Humility is too embarrassed to let me put the actual score up. You'd think as his wife I'd have some bragging rights . . .). We have a FUTURE! He never did as well as that on any of the practice tests! And all he was doing was complaining about his bad writing score. The twerp.
Anyways, that's my life. Pretty nauseous. But extremely happy!!

See? I'm being good by neglecting my blog!

Yesterday, Mike read the article in this month's Ensign by Elder Bednar about keeping contact with the physical world, and enjoying our mortal existence and the bodies we have been blessed with by not becoming dependent on electronics or the internet. Part of it, according to Mike, said that excessive blogging counts as internet addiction, and tells a story of a mom who stopped enjoying spending time with her kids because everytime something happened, she started fretting about what to write on her blog about that.
My conclusion: when I forget about this blog and don't post more than once a month (that much if you're lucky) it just means I'm keeping the commandments. Ha.

Another day for you and me in para. . . statistics . . .

Yeah . . . nothing cool to report.
Except that I'm officially the morning secretary here for the rest of Spring Term. For some reason, Ruth decided that I should always start the front instead of alternating with Rachel, who really is a front desk secretary. I don't get it either. She said something about transition, because Rachel won't be here after Spring, but come Summer Term, I'll always be in the back and Noelle will the the all-day front desk secretary. I dunno. This arrangement just seems a little odd to me.
In other news, Mike took the MCAT a week and half ago. We don't find out what his score was until June 22, but he hasn't been able to give me any kind of impressions on how he felt he did. Whenever he thinks he failed, he usually gets a high score, and whenever he's really confident, he has totally failed. So I don't really want to ask him either. We'll see on the 22nd.
Nobody's coming to the Statistics Department. Ever. It's been so slow today. I haven't even had other professors in their offices here with music I can listen in to. I have to procure my own. So I'm listening to Tears for Fears. Yes, I'm serious. Don't judge.
I'm also living on goldfish crackers. They're kind of my staple. I wish I had brought a sandwich . . . a nice ham sandwich with lettuce and tomato and miracle whip . . . mmmmmm . . .
Oh well. Was this incoherent enough for you?

THEORY IS KILLING MY LIFE.

That's the only way I can describe it. That's also why I haven't written anything on this blog. Seriously, we're reading our good buddy Immanuel today, and I just Kan't! (Oh no, I'm starting to sound like my dad . . . )

Someday you will hear from me again. After this class has killed me I'll come back from the grave and write on my blog. Until then, cheerio!

This is going to be a very long summer.

I've been here since eight this morning. And my boss is out of town. So when professors aren't bringing me projects, I sit here wondering why the heck the office isn't closed between semesters.
Classes start tomorrow. They might possibly be the worst ever. Or I could luck out and they could be the best ever. But I doubt they'll hit middle ground. Want to know why? They are: ELANG 325, English Grammar; and English 451, Critical Traditions of Theory. Seriously, Britt. What were you thinking? Theory and Grammar without anything fun? Come on.
That's okay. It'll be better than full time at the office. At least I'll have something to break up my day and keep my attention span at its optimal capacity (which . . . isn't very high).
So, today Mike applied for a job as a receptionist at a family practice within the hospital where he already volunteers. I think it would be ultra cool if he got to work there. He's ultra good with kids and ultra good at medicine, so what better mix? I think he'd be an amazing pediatrician, but he thinks that would be too sad. Oh well. I would rather he be happy. But this job will be cool if he gets it.
Also, the MCAT is in one month. Four weeks. Mike took a practice test from the people who actually make the MCAT for the first time this weekend and got a bit discouraged, but I think he's got time. Pray for him, will you?
I don't know what else to tell you other than that I'm really bored. Oh yeah! So, I totally made a green satin dress during finals week (I mean, I was studying the WHOLE time!!) Yeah. Well, it's a really pretty dress, and it actually looks good, which surprised me. I was totally expecting to bungle it all up. I guess low expectations make happy surprises, right?
So, I just realized something today. One year from now, I will have graduated from BYU, as will have Mike. And I don't think you can really major in Medical School. So our blog title will be a bit outdated. Any ideas for what we should rename it? Let's make this a contest! Your prize for winning will be . . . . a warm, fuzzy feeling! And maybe credit for giving us the cool name. We'll see.

Winter, Spring, Easter, and Winter again

Yeah, so I've been berated multiple times by various sisters and mothers who seem to think I don't put enough pictures on my blog. Thus, this will be a picture blog post.

Once upon a time it was spring in Provo, and there was lots of beautiful blue sky and sunshine, and we actually went outside to spend our lunch hour in the sunshine.

Alas, it was not to be forever. For, the very same week, we left for school in the morning only to see:

Mega. Lame. Oh well.

Well, then we went to Boise to spend Easter with people who were a lot more fun than school. This picture's title is "I'll pedal, Emma. You steer!"

Then, while my father was getting out his umpire stuff, including all the league's ump shirts, we happened across a two-headed monster! (wearing an XXXXL shirt!)

Luckily, we managed to avoid being mauled. Then, suddenly, it was Easter. The bunny decided to hide our baskets around the house, but certain obnoxious little brothers (cough cough JAMES cough) said, as soon as somebody would come downstairs, "I know where your basket is! It's _________!" Obnoxious. Still, there were some cute pictures of the sugar buzz that ensued.

Parker arrived from Washington DC in the midst of all this; it was later unanimously voted that Emma got the coolest president. I mean present. Whups. :)

One thing I did not realize was that the little brother who two months ago was shorter and still sounded like a little brother was now taller than my mother, and answered the phone in this deep, indifferent teenager voice. It was sick.

Luckily, we all got a turn in the awesome hat. Here, Nonny is practicing her vaudeville technique.

Soon enough, it was time for us Provo-ites to leave. Alas, it was a tragic day! But not tragic enough to stop the new-age musicians from shooting their music videos on our driveways.

As soon as the video was over, my dad discovered that he had the power to levitate objects, simply with his mind!

Then I got to take a screamy picture with the musician. If she'd stuck around I was going to have her sign my elbow with a sharpie.

In other news, Mike had a birthday a while ago, and the fam sent him an AMAZING picture of the temple, about which we are both very enthusiastic.

And now there are no new pictures because it's almost finals week and we're too busy playing. Whups! I mean studying.

THE END

Reason #47 why English majors are awesome: VERY WELL-WRITTEN ANGRY LETTERS!

Once upon a time, it was 7:30 on a lovely Thursday morning, and I and my husband were all asleep and cozy in our bed, waiting for the alarm to go off at 8--which I'm sure you'll agree is a perfectly reasonable time for college students, whose classes don't start until 9:30, to wake up. But alas! We were cruelly ripped from our dreams of ponies, rainbows, Organic Chemistry and the like, when someone began pounding on our door! I, in my half-awake doze, mumbled something about putting clothes on to see who it was, before the pounding ceased, someone actually tried to open the door (couldn't because it was chained), and we heard a voice yelling "HELLO! MAINTENANCE! MAINTENANCE! HELLO!"

I was slightly put-out.

You see, we knew that Thursday was to be our day for having our linoleum replaced--a fact that I was not displeased about--but this was contrary to all of our experiences with maintenance. They had posted a flyer on our door telling us what day to expect, and something about an information meeting, but the meeting was at 3:00 on a Friday afternoon, which is impossible for most people who have classes or jobs to make. We didn't bother about it, because what questions would we have? I had planned on making breakfast, cleaning out the pantry, and maybe seeing the workers in passing as we headed out to school. They'd replace our floor, everything would be fine.

But no. No, it was not fine.

Mike threw on some shorts, went to the door, and found the whole crew of linoleum guys waiting anxiously for us to get out of the apartment. He made some attempt at "we haven't even showered yet," to which the oh-so-compassionate gentlemen replied, "if you hurry, you'll be able to shower before we unplug your water heater." All this while I'm hiding in the bedroom in my garments, in shock at their callousness.

So, we tried to hurry. We were in the shower for ten minutes between us--Mike went in for five minutes, then I took a turn--but no sooner had I lathered up my head in shampoo than the water instantly became so cold it felt refrigerated. Doubtless it was my scream of insatiable rage that caused them to plug it back in for me, but they still sent Mike in every 30 seconds or so to say, "are you done yet?"

So to recap: we were woken up, my kitchen was destroyed by a bunch of dirty, disgusting footprints and gloves, I had to shower with a bunch of strange men in my apartment, AND they unplugged the water heater on me. Then, after I had hastily dressed and packed up, Mike and I had to leave for school without breakfast or packed lunches (=not good for our budget). I felt completely violated, like just because we're poor student renters, they could throw us out or subject us to any kind of indecent situation they wanted.

So I wrote a letter. And this was not the I'm-so-furious-I'm-going-to-spill-my-wounded-bleeding-heart-all-over-the-page-and-send-it-to-you kind of letter. No, this one took me an hour to write, making sure there were no excuses or loopholes they could find in it. No, this was one furious letter. It felt really good.

After all this happened, and I had related my experience to some friends who were about to go through the same experience (but with warning this time), they told me about someone else from our quad who had told the linoleum guys that his baby was still asleep, that building quiet hours were until 8, and then slammed the door in their face. Amen, brutha.

Today, Mike got home before I did, and texted me at work saying someone from the Wymount Office had hand-delivered a letter for me. When I got home, I discovered a very apologetic letter with two coupons for a free half-gallon of ice cream at the Creamery. I don't want to say I wrote the letter for the ice cream, but it sure was vindicating. :)

Mostly I hope they just stop doing that. If they're on such a tight schedule, they should put ON THE FLYER that they're coming at SEVEN THIRTY IN THE MORNING. Give people a chance to save their own humanity. Geez.

Sorry, guys. Writing this a little of my terrible anger is returning, just remembering how violated I felt. I hope this makes any horrible landlord situation seem a little better in comparison with mine. :)