Right now

this girl is on her way home. It's about time! I can't wait to see her!


OK, I can, because I'm not going anywhere until I have a baby on the outside of me. Sorry Lu.

Just what I wanted to hear for the third time today

"Wow, yeh looks like yeh's about ready to pop."

THANKS.

For the Money $$$

Perfect College Job: BYU Student Employment

Located in the Wilk right across from the Information Desk. So not only do you become the Information Desk when the Informers are gone, but for years afterward when meeting new people you will hear "You look really familiar."
('Course, I could just have one of those faces.)

Details: I lucked out.
Sometime in late July 2005, I pulled into the driveway and my mom came out to meet me. She was crying. "If you go to work, they want you to start August 1st. That's so soon."
My sister had been working in the office for a while and demonstrated such fabulous work skills that they had to be hereditary.... yeah, she pretty much got me the job. I made a trip down to Provo to interview in person, then started work the next week. It was surreal. My friends were still partying it up in Roosevelt before separating for college/missions; I packed the Explorer with my clothes and a few pieces of furniture, and moved into Angie's house in Provo.

The job was good - and it got better as time went on. I learned quickly, my coworkers were wonderful, and we ate better than I have before or since. (Bookstore fudge, potluck lunches, Taco Bell crunch wraps, Sugar N Spice ice cream sandwiches ..... there are definite advantages to working near the WSC food court.) We posted open jobs, laughing at ones like "Cake Donut Froster" (3-7 am??) and "Model" (for art classes, bikini/speedo required). I conducted I-9 audits and kept everyone up-to-date on my family news. When I went on a $5/week grocery budget, Kathleen brought me fresh fruits and veggies from her garden. I talked about Europe and boys and classes and, eventually, my wedding plans.

We had access to all BYU Students' personal information: age & birthday, address & phone number, marital status, class schedule, wages ... ultimate stalking capabilities. Used for work purposes only, of course.

I worked with all kinds of people. Every new student employee at BYU had to come in and fill out paperwork, which is why my face became familiar ... I think. International students were almost always hard to understand, Dress Code violators were sent back to Nancy's office, and one time a lady yelled at me for detaching her Social Security card. Then she came back and yelled at me AGAIN. That lady was crazy.

I got good at: eating, ePAFs, I-9s, working under pressure, OSTs, eating, remembering names, eating.

Other awesomeness: I learned how to make balloon animals. A semi-pro balloon artist came to teach me how to do it, and I ran a booth at Senior Night for two consecutive years. I "practiced" in the office for days beforehand, demonstrated for everyone for weeks after.
Would you like me to make you a monkey?

For the Money $$

High School: L & L Motor Co., Inc.

Details: After applying and interviewing for a library internship which I did not get (it was a horrible interview), I was hired as an “Accountant Clerk” for a local car dealership/repair shop. It was October of my Junior year.

Thus began the most dramatic two years of my life.

I did whatever the Accountant wanted me to do – data entry, titlework, filing, reorganizing files, picking up/mailing out license plates - while we listened to internet radio in a dusty upstairs office with window air conditioners and stuffed ducks on every surface. He didn’t talk much.

Everyone else did, though. And since I was the only female employee (and, I’m pretty sure, the only one unrelated to the rest) out of twenty or so, they teased me about boys and flowers and my little Hyundai. They also told me to bring cookies, which I did a few times, and almost always got a raise shortly afterward.

Why didn’t I take them more often??

To The Boss I was a particular target. After Junior Prom, my third date with the same boy, he decided to start a “fund” for the first boy who’d have enough guts to kiss me. He called it The Pot … then talked about contributing to it every time I was within earshot.

Word gets around in a small town! Within a few months every boy in town had heard about The Pot, and my kissing chances all but disappeared. I knew it was just a joke, so I rolled my eyes and shook my head anytime someone brought it up with me. This went on for another year.

Shortly before I left L&L - and Roosevelt - for college life, I was talking with Bill about The Pot once again, telling him how ridiculous it had been to drag the lie on for soooo long. He promptly pulled me into his office and moved a mug from part of his desk. Behind the mug was a wad of bills. About $150 worth.

At least I got good at 10-key.

For the Money

School is winding down, so everyone wants to know if I will be back in the fall.

The answer? I don't know.

Crazy things are (always!) happening at the golf course, Slice's job and future prospects are shifting quickly and almost constantly. So our plans could be changing very soon.

The things we do for money...

In the meantime I will be regaling you with stories of my past employment. I may or may not have stolen the idea from Fig, who always has the best ideas. (Good for the stealing.)

Early years: Babysitting
Details: DREADED. I hated hated hated it. I was never one of those girls who cooed over the babies in the ward, asking to hold them at church and during activities; No Thanks. I was frequently left in charge at home, however, and told to track my time so my parents could pay me. (I didn’t, and they didn’t.)

I was SO GLAD when I was old enough that I didn't have to worry about getting those phone calls anymore.

(Not that it has ended entirely.)

I got good at: disliking other people's children. Sorry, it's true. I probably don't dislike yours though.

First Steady Job:Paper Route

Details: Just months after relocating to Roosevelt, my family took on the task of delivering the Salt Lake Tribune and Deseret News to 2/3 of the city. EVERY SINGLE DAY. EVEN CHRISTMAS MORNING. This meant waking up at 5:30 on regular days, 5:00 on Saturdays and Sundays so we could stuff, and working hard to get the papers out by 7:00. (I hate stuffing papers.) We did this for a little over a year.

Mom and I were the only ones who had the route truly memorized -this took weeks- so either she or I had to go. Often we did it together. Someone drove, I sat in the back seat and stuffed/folded/threw papers all around town, and we had good bonding times. Unless the driver was Brent or Angie, who were both so grouchy in the mornings that we completed the route in silence.

I got good at: waking up early, finding my way around this place, learning where people lived and what paper they wanted, where. Also folding, rubber-banding and throwing papers from the back seat of a car in seconds. Most especially, measuring the trajectory of the paper from a moving vehicle based on how big it was, how fast we were going and how far I needed to throw it to get to dry pavement. If my calculations were wrong, we had to stop the car, I had to get out and retrieve/move it. At least a minute's delay (and possibly angry words from Brent).

Other awesomeness: I got a checking account. Citizens all over Roosevelt saw my name about every month. Little old ladies left their checks out on trays with paperweights on them.

Announcement

I now interrupt the usual Slice/Jean chatter to make an important announcement.

My father has been nominated for an Eighth District Court Judgeship.

He made it through the interview process and is now subject to public comment.

My network is small, I know, but I want to get the word out as well as I can. Because if he got this judgeship it would be the best thing that happened to this family since ... well ... since my dad married my mom. Seriously.

I've had this blog post about my dad planned for like a year now, about how I can't say enough good about him and how he's not only the greatest father in the world but also probably the best person I know, period. But then I remembered how it bugs me when political candidates flout their church service and "family life" like it qualifies them for the job they want.
So. Let me say this:

My father is a man of integrity and compassion.
He is driven by a sense of justice that I have never seen in anyone else.
He doesn't get mixed up in small-town prejudices and petty politics.
He knows the law, and has wanted to be a judge (I think) for his entire life.
And he's the best candidate for this position.

(He also has no idea I am writing this because he wanted to keep the whole business under wraps.)

But I think we can find people who care enough to send a simple letter. So I'm asking what he won't.

Would you help? Tell anyone and everyone who might have an interest in either the man or the system? We only have a week to get all "public comments" written and mailed in.

If you have any questions you can email me, racheledd@gmail.com.
Either way, thank you for reading this! and I love you all.

All Systems Go

Despite the contractions we have made it to 37 weeks, and I haven't even dilated at all. Could be a full-term pregnancy! Could be longer!

I don't think I even look like myself by now. Not that I know what "myself" looks like anyway ... my face has changed too much over the past five years. In fact, the first thing my brother Alex said to me when he came home from his mission was "Wow! You look SO different!"

And he wasn't talking about my waist.

When we were in Japan we showed Sister Niwa our wedding pictures on Facebook, and she could not believe how different I looked either; she said it over and over. It had only been 18 months.

You may now call me Mutant.

But for now, let's blame it on the extra 35 pounds, shall we?

because if I don't post a picture Emily will never read this blog again

Last Saturday I took senior pictures for Kiana's two best friends and it was really fun.
I hadn't even picked up our camera for months .... (such dedication!)

You can see some more here.

No I'm not miserable, why do you ask?

So my right ankle was out of commission for a couple days.
Just a sprain, compliments of snow + concrete + my awkwardness carrying glass baking dishes from the car to the house. The pan didn't even break! And I got a pretty sweet-looking bruise on my left knee. Plus crutches for two days.

Otherwise, it hurts to do everything and anything these days. It hurts to sit, to get up from a sitting position; it hurts to walk; it hurts to roll over; it hurts to wake up; and it really hurts to pull the blankets back on my body after I've kicked them off in the middle of the night.
(Blast this arthritis thing! Do I ever want to grow old??)
(Or be pregnant again?)

The contractions are getting longer and more painful, but not doing anything else yet. (People get up to talk in church and see me and they think I'm in labor but nope! Just gearing up, ha.)

But: Things are getting done around the house, painful or no. The closets are clean and organized! The storerooms are almost there! The bookshelf, whether it stays or goes, is looking pretty good right now. I even put up a little valance in our kitchen window.... the only thing I still want to buy is a glider chair for the bedroom.

And for some reason I am trying not to look miserable. I try to hide the waddle and the exhaustion and stuff. Really, there's no dignity in this business, and I suppose it's time I just got used to it.