It's Over.

      With such a dramatic title, it's only natural for you to assume that something noteworthy has happened. I can just see you rubbing your hands together gleefully... What wildly interesting tidbit am I going to discover? Brace yourself for disappointment. (Like I'd ever be that interesting.)

      School is over. For the next three weeks, I'm going to enjoy the unutterable bliss of having a stress free, school free, homework free, professor free, and most importantly peoplewhowearUggs-free, existence. Yes, those Nazis in charge of the system are only giving us three weeks of Christmas break before the madness begins again. I ask you! Three weeks! In reality, we only have two weeks off, because (as everyone knows) the entire first week of vacation is spent sleeping, in an effort to recuperate from the horror  known as Finals Week.

      I'm DOOOOOOOOOOONE! I feel like shouting it from the roof-top! But I won't, because all of our immediate neighbors are old people and my mother has raised me better than to rudely interrupt their afternoon nap.  I'll get Marky to do it.

      I'm feeling pretty good about my grades. I'm hoping I did well on my Chemistry and History of California finals, as those are the only ones that have me stressed. Speaking about stress, these past 4 days have been a nightmare. I could have really used a kit like the one below.

      Seriously, though, it was pretty bad. I prayed and studied for pretty much 4 days straight with a maximum of 5 hours of sleep every night. And this for a community college! Yes, it's rather embarrassing, but you'd be surprised how hard it is to cram-study for 5 classes. At least for me. I've learned my lesson though, because next semester I'm taking 7 classes. No, wait, that can't be right. *Checks class schedule for Spring 2012* Yes, yes I am. *Employs stress-reduction techniques learned above.* And I have to learn how to drive a manual!
      And not just any manual. Mom's 20 year old clunker of a Honda that breaks down at irregular intervals. (Seriously, with that car, you wonder how it happens. I'm afraid to manually roll down the window lest that triggers a tire blowout.)  Dad has no end of praise for that car. "It's even better than the van, which we bought 12 years ago!" Well, yeah, that's surprising if you don't factor in that when we bought our van, it was already 20 years old. Plus, "even better than the van" isn't much of a qualifier in my book, as it breaks down at regular, and irregular intervals. Ok, I might be exaggerating this slightly.

       So, I had my first driving lesson. It was 9:30 p.m. on a Thursday, and I'd just wrapped up some homework, which included watching youtube videos from The Slow Mo Guys because I'm borderline addicted, when Dad told me to put some shoes on and come outside. So I put on some flip-flops (1st mistake) and got in the car (2nd mistake). Dad drove us to an abandoned parking lot. Then, for the second time in my life, I climbed into the driver's seat. As I settled in, I turned to Dad (only half-joking): "We should pray."

 Dad couldn't believe I'd worn flip-flops, apparently a huge no-no, but we didn't feel like driving back, so I had my first driving lesson barefoot. (Note to self: highly uncomfortable, do not repeat.)
Dad tells me to find the pedals.
"On the far left, you have your clutch. You have your gas pedal in the middle, and your brake's to the far right."
"Okay." I mumble as I feel around for them, "Far left, middle, right. Clutch, gas, brake."
"Press down on the clutch." I press down, but the pedal doesn't budge.
"Uh, Dad, I'm pressing down, nothing's happening." He frowns.
"Push down all the way." Again, just resistance. I'm getting a little frustrated that I can't even push down on the silly clutch.
"Dad, look, it's not working!" I flip on the light, and start stomping my left foot. Dad cranes his head around to see which pedal I'm pushing.
He starts laughing at me. Hysterically. I'm talking a good 45 seconds of uninterrupted laughter. Wheezing, snorting, whooping, the works. And then I look down.
At that point I learned that the foot rest doesn't double as the clutch. Dad had said far left. In my pitiable defense, the foot rest is as far left as it gets. It was a very successful first lesson, no one was killed or injured; though I did suffer a tremendous toe cramp.

      Grace to You's annual Christmas Concert was last night, and Mom, Katie and I decided to go. It was AWESOME. The traffic was insane though. A drive that normally takes 40 minutes took us over 2 hours. Crazy. But it was totally worth it.

My favorite performances of the evening:
Jubilant Sykes (Mary Did You Know?) Half-way through the first verse I got chills and goosebumps. They lasted the entire song.

Phillip Webb (O Holy Night.) When Phillip Webb sings: "Fall on your knees! O, hear the angel voices!" You do as he says. I was already sitting, though, but I heard angel voices.

Kory Welch (The Promise) I'd never heard this song, and I ended up really loving it. The lyrics were fantastic.

       Mom and I had arrived 5 minutes before the concert started, so the place was already packed. I didn't like my seat, since all I could see was a corner of the piano, so I decided to chance it and find a better spot. One of the ushers saw me standing in the back, and found me a great seat in the middle-right area of the sanctuary. So awesome. The chatty older gentleman I sat next to welcomed me very kindly. After the choir's first song, he leaned over and remarked that I'd been really lucky to find such a great spot after arriving so late. With a smile, I admitted he was absolutely right. The entire evening was just incredible. I knew that some people from Church were planning on making it out that evening, so I scanned the room for recognizable faces. I'd pretty much given up, when I glanced to the right and spotted a familiar-looking blond noggin, shining like a beacon of light for all the world to see. It belonged to Kyle. (sorry.)  It was fun bumping into the Stevens and the Ormans. I left pretty quickly, to make sure Mom wouldn't have to wait for me, and made my way around the back of the church. Lo and behold, who do I run into but a flustered-looking Kory Welch!
"You were wonderful!" I managed to squeak out as I hurried past. He smiled and said thank you. We were still attending GTY when Dr. Mac's youngest daughter Melinda married Kory. It was a big-deal, and my younger self was a little too fascinated by the romantic couple. I love going to Grace, it brings back such wonderful memories. I couldn't have imagined a more perfect ending to the most hectic week of 2011. Thank you Lord, for bringing me through another semester, and for all of the lovely people at Grace Church who worked so hard to put last night's event together.

                                             Merry Christmas, Everyone! 9 days to go!
     

Garfield and I

First, let me begin by telling you that I really should be studying for Chemistry right now. I figure taking this time out of my school is sufficient apology for not posting for two months. Then again, I've already done most of my chemistry homework for this week, so perhaps I'm not feeling as condemned as I should be.

I started the fall semester at Cerritos College yesterday. Garfield and I are in a tight "Hating Monday" competition and I think I'm going to win. Being in class bright and early at 8 a.m. is possibly the least stupendous way to begin any morning, much less a Monday morning. And, I have the sensational privilege of staying at school until 9:30 p.m. Even though I love complaining, I suppose it could be worse. God has really blessed me this semester. I got into all the classes I wanted, and all of my professors, so far, are excellent. I suppose the Lord wants me to learn humility because Jimmy and I are taking all but one of our classes together. I could spend days disserting the pros and cons, from a strictly academic viewpoint, of having a brilliant younger brother. Suffice it to say that if I could see Jimmy, just once, sitting in lecture in a state of utter discombobulation: slumped at his desk, head lolled to one side, eyes glazed over, tongue hanging out of his partially opened mouth as drool dribbles down his chin...it would be the most paradisaical moment of my entire life.



I'm taking Chemistry, History of California, Sociology, History of Architecture, and Spanish 102 this semester. At 18 units it's going to be the most jam-packed semester I've ever had. It's a strange emotion... to be looking forward to the experience while dreading it at the same time. On the one hand, I love the material. On the other, it's incredibly draining to spend 10+ hours a day with people who don't share your beliefs and values. And, if some of the people you come into contact with happen to have green and purple streaks in their hair and begin pontificating on animal rights and veganism... Well, it takes an venerable amount of self-control to resist screaming in their face at the top of your lungs: "I would rather Pogo-stick across the 605 than endure this auditory abuse any longer!" Maybe that's just me.


We went camping with relatives from Austria, Texas, and Romania at Alpine Lake in Bear Valley, California a couple of weeks ago. Just going camping, as in setting up a tent in the middle of the woods, without having any place to swim seems absolutely pointless to me. It's cold at night, you're dirty, and even if you go for a hike there's no way for you to get clean. But since Alpine Lake, by definition, had water...I'm making a moot point. Even though the water was freezing cold, it was crystal clear and incredibly clean. In my opinion, an expeditious entrance is one's best option for survival. Jump in, scream for five minutes, and wait for everything to go numb. It worked for me like a charm. When my uncle tried that, he experienced hypothermia within 20 minutes. Go figure.

I can't even begin to explain how awesome it was to swim in that water, with such a majestic view. Surrounding you on every side are pine and fir trees that stretch for miles. And mountains. Beautiful, green, slightly snow-capped mountains. It was awesome. My favorite thing to do was put on my goggles, dive down and look up to see the sun's rays filter through the water and illuminate the rocky bottom. I had a blast with just enjoying the beauty of God's creation with my family.

That's about all the update I have time for. I really enjoy posting on my blog, but it doesn't look like I'll have much free time this semester. The free time I do have will be spent reading ahead in all of my classes. (Figured I'd save some intro space on my next blog post if I make excuses about the lateness of the post now. Clever, no?)

I read this yesterday. I took it as both an encouragement and an admonishment.

"I have set the LORD continually before me;
Because He is at my right hand, I will not be shaken." ~ Ps. 16: 8

*Insert Cool Title Here*

Sick. Lovely. I woke up a couple days ago with a scratchy throat. The next day I had a spectacular headache, which had the audacity to stick around until about six in the evening. For a while I was terrified I'd somehow caught the chicken pox. I'd jump out of bed first thing in the morning and rush to the mirror, frantically probing my face for angry little red spots. I don't think I've ever been as thrilled, or relieved, to discover a new pimple in my life. Turns out it was just a mild cold, which I might have caught from Gabby. She was sick last week and I've been spending quite a bit of time with her. I'm feeling much better now, praise the Lord.

Thank you all for your prayers. This week has been a bit tougher. I've been reading Desiring God, and Romans 12. I might as well let you know that I've been failing quite miserably in my endeavors to find my joy in Christ by serving Him. What does joy mean to you? I'm not, by nature, a person given to dramatic bouts of manic depression, so I've always thought myself to be quite familiar with the attitude of joyfulness. However, I'm finding it's a struggle to serve others as though I'm serving Him. Where is the overflow of joy I should be feeling in my soul? I feel like Mexico is where God wants me to be right now. I'm trying to rest in that knowledge...and wait for Him to reveal more of Himself to me. "Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will." Romans 12:2 This whole renewing your mind business is very difficult indeed...especially for people with the caliber of impatience that I possess. Desiring God has been a challenging, and inspiring read. When Mom's not around to offer wisdom and sage advice, John Piper will just have to do. :-) Anyway, that's some of the stuff that's been floating around in my mind these past few weeks. A disorganized jumble, to be sure, but this is my blog and I reserve the right to make as much (non)sense as I please. I'm looking forward to learning the lessons God wants me to learn while I'm here.

In other news, we've been trying to potty train Nathaniel. To put it mildly, it's been a nightmare of hideous, and stinky, proportions. He categorically refuses to dump anywhere other than his diaper. Or his pants. Or his underwear. Blessedly, we tricked him into doing it on the toilet...only once. Actually, it was more due to biology than to our artful craftiness that we got him to go at all. I'll spare you the heinous details, but since that one dump on Sunday we've been lamentably unsuccessful. **sigh** I guess even the worst of them are potty trained eventually, although it looks like nature will make an exception for Nathaniel.

On Sunday we went to the beach, as a church, to play volleyball and soccer. Everyone was greatly impressed with my serve, and severely depressed with my soccer skills. I got to try a mexican specialty. Coconut slices with a light coating of freshly squeezed lime juice and smothered in a spicy chilli sauce. Good stuff. One of the ladies here keeps trying to feed me. "Flaca, es muy flaca!" she says in response to my protests. Flaca means skinny. I find it very amusing.

We spent Tuesday at La Bufadora with Sonia and Raul. (Two young people from Church.) It's a natural blowhole located in Ensenada, in Baja California. The pressure inside the small cave builds until a jet of water, hopefully 70 ft. high, erupts out the top. It's fun to guess the timing, and call the big spouts before they actually happen. (Google "natural blowhole" to get a better idea of what I'm failing to tell you about.) Legend has it that the expulsions are caused by a baby whale that has been trapped inside the small cave for decades. Kind of a stupid legend if you ask me.



The Bufadora is located at the end of a long market street. Dozens of colorful vendors line both sides of the street selling more or less the same thing. I bought a few little items that MARKY and KATIE would have absolutely no interest in. Then, something special caught my eye. I had to have it. It's not for me, so I'll just say it was a vase. Well, this was a pretty vase. I'd seen a smaller, less cute, version of it in another stall. The vendor's lowest offer had been 220 pesos. Which comes out to around 20-21 dollars. I set to thinking about it, and when I saw this bigger, more adorable version...I decided to buy it. The trick to haggling is not letting the seller know how much you'd like to buy his product. I waltzed in, casually, and began absentmindedly fingering the vase. He practically jumped me.

"37 dollars! Look, it's very good price...cost me 570 pesos!"

Fat chance. I gave him a noncommital nod.

"And for the smaller one?" I asked.

"Oh, same price. Same price." I furrowed my eyebrows.

"It's too much, I'm sorry."

"Ok, ok. For you, 34 dollars."

"Tsk, I wanted the bigger one anyway."

"Ok, how much you want to pay?" Yippee! Here comes the fun part.

"15 dollars. For the big one." His eyes widened in shock.

"Senorita, that's ridiculous! No, 30 dollars." I shrugged.

"Still too much."

"29?" I shook my head, smiled, and turned to go.

Wait for it, wait for it.

His partner intervened. "Hey, menos dos dolares!"

Gotcha!

"Ok, 27!"

I turned around. "Sorry, too much. I'll give you 20."

"25!" I shook my head.

"24."

"20."

"23?"

"20."

"22."

This is too much fun.

"Ok, here, 21 dollars."

He smiled. "Ok, good. It's a deal."

I marched over to the counter to pay for my prize.

"Twenty-one fifty?" he queried, half joking. I laughed. He smiled. I was happy with the price, although I still think he made quite the tidy profit off me. :)

The rest of the week has been fairly uneventful. I'm pretty much in charge of the kids. Still trying to get them to come to me with their squabbles instead of bugging their Mom. They like me quite a bit now, so I'm hoping their Mom will get a full break from them this week. The three boys are balls of energy. Non-stop, constant energy. If I could just find a way to bottle it and sell it... They're sweet, but they're a handful. I've caught Ruthie up on her school, and she doesn't have much left to finish. In two weeks, a busload of youth from a romanian church in Oregon are coming down to do some work in Rosarito, and at some of the orphanages in Mexicali, and Ensenada. Lord willling, I'll be working with them from July, 2 to the 11th. So, that's what's been happening so far down in Mexico.

Again, thank you all for praying for me!

Vive México

I am, without exception, the biggest wimp on planet earth. As much as I've enjoyed myself the past several days, I miss everyone back home something terrible. This Sunday was especially difficult. If all those chubby cheeks, pudgy knees, button noses, and huge brown-black eyes weren't vying for my attention, I would have been a complete and utter basketcase. Kids don't usually like me, so this was a welcome change. :-)

Narcis Dragomir, 1/6 of the missionary family I'm staying with, came to pick me up from home on Wednesday. We arrived at their home at around 7ish in the evening. They are located about 25 miles south of Tijuana, in Rosarito. I was greeted by four little blonde people. Actually, "greeted" isn't quite the word to use. Mercilessly interrogated is more like it. Even after two hours, the novelty of having a new playmate had not ceased to excite them...a word from their mother, Sarah, sent them all trooping defeatedly up the stairs, shoulders hunched, to bed.

I'm in charge of Ruthie, their oldest, who is going to turn 9 on the 30th. She's a bright girl with blue eyes and waist length blonde hair. She's incredibly smart, but, she tries to get out of doing her schoolwork at the slightest hint of an interruption. Understandably so. Doing school when there are so many visitors dropping by every day is more than a little distasteful. She's a sneaky little thing, but, as she soon found out, the tricks that worked on Mom didn't so much as dent my resolve. Been there, tried that...most of the tricks in that book were written by me anyway. (Other first-born ENTP's might have contributed a thing or two. :P) It was quite a shock to her, as she thought that she had found a friend and confidante in me, not an unyielding dictator. By the end of the second day of school, it was clear that I was the victor of the battle of wills. We're very good friends now, and we understand eachother, being the oldest in a family where boys outnumber the girls. We're both hoping she gets a sister. :-)

The little boys are really sweet. Nathaniel, 3, is still in diapers, and they've pretty much abandoned all hope of civilizing him. I help out with the housework, and babysit, and just do whatever needs to be done. On Sunday we (the youth group and I) helped move a bunch of boulders from the backyard of the house across the street. One of the guys spoke english, so I wasn't completely clueless as to what was being said. We had a lot of fun...everyone here acts like they are family. Oh, and the food is out of this world. We had tacos for lunch on Sunday. To coint a phrase...BEAST tacos. Homemade flour tortillas, served with cheesy beans, fresh guacamole, homemade salsa, and sizzling carne asada served hot off the grill. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

On Saturday we were invited for dinner at a friend's house. Oh, my word. I have two words for you. Chiles Rellenos. They'll change your life. "Hyberbole!" you shout. "Prove it!" you demand. It's a fire roasted chilli pepper with cheese stuffed into the middle that has been dipped in flour and whipped eggs... and then fried. I'd cheerfully die of a heart attack before I ever give those up....now that I've discovered them.

By now it's become painfully obvious that I've only taken one semester of Spanish. The amount of Spanish I understand is directly proportional to the rate at which a person speaks. I can string the bits and pieces I pick up together, to get a general gist of the conversation. It takes a lot of concentration, but I get by. That's what I was trying to do after dinner on Saturday. Everyone was laughing and having a lot of fun. Every once in a while, Sarah would clue me in on what was being said. At one point during the conversation, I must have looked particularly puzzled because Narcis paused the discussion to ask me whether I understood what they were saying. Me (dubiously): "Are you guys talking about putting the kids through the car wash? " This remark, after being translated into spanish for the benefit of everyone else at the table caused a gale of laughter to erupt that took a full minute to subside. Personally, I didn't think it was that funny. They'd actually been talking about bathtime at a certain orphanage. The kids were washed using assembly line technology. All of them stand in a long line, waiting to be rinsed, scrubbed, and then rinsed again by various volunteers. C'mon, it does kinda sound like a carwash. :P People, myself included, have been getting quite a kick out of the language barrier.

On Sunday, Sarah had me help Hermana (Sister) Ruth with the four year olds. Finally, people I don't confuse! I know a few simple sentences, and the little people think I'm just great. Gabby, a chatty 4 year old, has kind of taken me under her wing. She's quite the little spit fire. And she's got a voice on her...loud enough to wake the dead. But I love her. She and the younger Dragomir kids, Joshua (5), and Nathaniel (3) get along quite well...20% of the time.

Today, we had a funeral. For Ginger...one of the family dogs. Someone ran her over. (If you think drivers in California are awful, you need to come to Mexico. They're even worse here than in Romania...and that's saying something.) It was pretty hard on the kids, especially Ruthie. It put her in a sour mood for the rest of the day. They're planning on getting a new dog by the end of the month.

That's about all the update I have time for right now...I wanted to write at least this much down before I forget. Tonight I'm babysitting the Dragomir kids and Gabby. I'm already hearing some questionable crashing and banging upstairs. No earsplitting screams though, so they must all still be alive. (I'm going to make a wonderful mother. :P) I don't really have anytime to proof read this post, so excuse any spelling errors, boring sentences, and stuff that just doesn't make any sense. Do as I do and try to catch the general gist of things. I'm missing everyone back home, and praying for everyone scattered across the States.

Shoutout to my brother from Mom: Jimmy, Mom has tried calling you and e-mailing...but it doesn't seem like you're home. She's on the verge of getting herself a Facebook account. Be a good son and e-mail her your address in TN. Thank you. :-D

Lois Grows Up

I'd very happily forgotten all about my duty to this corner of the blogosphere, but it's been a particularly uneventful Tuesday, and days like this have the tendency to jog my memory. So, guess what. I'm sick...again. I am developing some killer abdominal muscles from these great, hacking coughs, though. So that's a plus. If I ramble, seem a bit cantankerous, fail to captivate your interest, or attempt all three simultaneously...that's why.

Can someone please explain to me where the phrase "get well soon" originated? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the sentiment of all the friends who have spoken these exact words to me this week, but I find the phrase itself insipid, confusing, and full of extraneous content. For instance, why is the word "soon" just tacked on the end there? Have you ever met anyone who wanted to "get well later"? As for the getting well part...it's physically impossible for most people to control the pace at which their body fights off pathogens and regains health. Unless, of course, you're a believer in the power of positive thinking, in which case I'll leave you to tie knots and blow spit bubbles in a corner.

Marky always makes life interesting for me, because he's awesome like that. Don't you wish you had a cute 'lil brother like mine? If wishes were horses, peasants would ride. Nevertheless, I'll share this snippet of life with Marky with you. :)


Mom had the CD player on in the kitchen, and there was a lady speaking. (She had returned from a women's retreat, and was re-listening to a particularly convicting message.) Marky just happened to bounce by, and assumed the worst.

"Mom, women shouldn't preach."

"Yes, I know, they really shouldn't--"
"Men should preach, and women should sit like chickens and listen."

Mom, laughing so hard she can barely get the words out: "Chickens? How
about something a little more...refined."



"Ok, bald eagles."

Mom loses it.

By way of explanation, Marky offered this pearl of wisdom: "Well, I
figure women are like chickens because chickens just sit on their eggs
all day." :D

I'm going to be so sad when he grows up.

In other news, I want to direct your attention to the fact that I'm maturing, if only slightly, as a human being. Tonight, most of my friends are going ice skating, and because I'm sick I've decided not to go. For most people, this practical application of common sense is neither remarkable or laudable, however, I (rather tragically) am not "most people." One small step for Lois, one giant leap for parents of juvenile children. I do believe this is the first time I've ever prevented myself from having fun. Evidently, I haven't matured enough to let someone else sing my praises...one step at a time. :)

Well, can't think of anything else to post about for now, hopefully I'll get around to something more edge-of-your-seat thrilling, and meaningful, before too long.

BTW, I've already started to regret being mature...

WWIII

Despite the fact that my deltoid is numb, my subscapularis is sore, my infraspinatus barely functions, and I may never regain feeling in my left pinky again, I have decided to suffer for your sake, dear reader, and post about my trip to Big Bear. It was epic. Prepare to be amazed.

Wednesday:

Remember the Stevens family, the one you should be especially nice to lest they use their obscenely large collection of embarrassing photographs against you? I drove up with them. Them being Rach, Becca, Drew, and Mrs. Stevens. We met up with Kyle, Phillip, Timmy, Paul and Justin (the guy who appreciates a good argument) at our resort. We played Apples to Apples (possibly the worst game I've ever had the misfortune of playing, second only to Missionary Conquest.) and just enjoyed each other's company. We took a trip down to the lake to test the integrity of the snow. It was more than satisfactory. It was poofy, powdery, white, fluffy awesomeness. Rach and I tried to climb some trees, but we were...*ahem* rudely interrupted at every turn. It's hard to defend yourself against snowballs when you can't budge a square inch because you don't know from which direction they're coming from. The lake was gorgeous! The scenery, breathtaking! I'm sure Rach and Em will post pictures, so make sure you check out their blogs...not now! Finish reading mine first. *cough* Please.

After dinner, Justin and Kyle corrupted us young innocents by teaching us how to play different versions of poker. Don't worry, we used trains as chips. Plastic trains. Teeny ones. By this time, the Oautus had arrived. (When you read Andrew, I mean Andrew Oautu. When you read Drew, I mean Andrew Stevens. It takes too long to type Stevens and Oautu.) At one point, Andrew asked Kyle, who had folded, for advice on how to play his hand. Kyle, after thinking for a few seconds: "You should do this...because, I know things. "

According to Johnny, who unofficially kept track, this was the first memorable quote of the entire trip. Cristeen had the most hilarious luck during those games. If Cristeen went all in, in a real game, we'd have folded. Emily, Ricky, and Stephen showed up at around 11 p.m., miraculously intact. (Stephen's not exactly famous for his cautious driving.) It was a fun time of fellowship, but we all turned in fairly early. (One's definition of "early" is relative.)

Thursday Morning:

We met up at the Oautu's apartment for breakfast and gathered around for a discussion time. Mr. Oautu shared from Joshua 14. I was encouraged by the reminder that God is bigger than the "giants" we face in life.

Thursday Afternoonish:

We were all eager to get to the snow, but it took us a teensy bit longer than we had expected to get there. Once we found a good spot, (good meaning free of charge) the guys did what they do best and started pelting us girls with massive snowballs. The odds, 5 to 11, were slightly in their favor. Thus began WWIII. (Warner War. Clever, no? Meh. For the sake of argument, we'll assume that there have been at least two snowball fights involving Warnerites.) I attempted to strategize and make use of the terrain, but all my efforts produced were five good (big) snowballs in the face from Kyle, before Becca got to him, and too many to count from Stephen, Drew, Ricky, and all the rest. I wisely beat a hasty retreat.

We didn't think the area we were in was a good place for sledding, so we hiked around looking for greener pastures before ending up in the exact same spot. By the time we circled around the place, we had gained a deep sense of appreciation for our original spot, which, as it turns out, was PERFECT for sledding! :-) Funny how perspective changes things.

We girls displayed such poise and beauty. Models of grace! Paradigms of elegance! Poetry in motion! Not once did our step falter, causing us to faceplant in the snow. For $100 an hour, you too can learn to ride a sled with refinement. It goes like this: WHOOSH! *kersplat* ..."I'm ok!"

It was great fun, and we were all ravenous by the time we got back to our apartment.

After A Very Late Lunch:

Drew, Stephen, Andrew, and I ditched everyone else to play Rummikub. We didn't feel like playing Dutch Blitz. I had never played it the "American" way, which quickly became obvious. Drew beat out Stephen by a narrow margin. Mr. Oautu taught us how to play the "Romanian" way, for some variety. That was hilarious. It was fun in part because I won, but mostly because of Drew's facial expressions as he picked up tile after worthless, unhelpful tile every single turn. Priceless. He had won the first game, though, so we weren't feeling too sorry for him. We joined the others to play my favoritist game in the whole entire world...Apples to Apples. One learns a few disconcerting things whilst playing that game. Namely that oil changes are serene, afros are more bizarre than the Bermuda Triangle, and that Jack Frost is harder and faster than a wrecking ball. It wouldn't have been so bad if we'd had the party edition. My travel edition was sorely lacking in interesting cards; once we'd been through the deck five times, it got old. Thankfully, we only went around the room once before Kyle won. We watched a documentary about Oswald Chambers that wouldn't have been half bad if someone had thought to edit it first. Every kernel of trivia-esque information, such as the seminary he attended, was followed by a sort of music video in which the artist acted out the lyrics in a painfully obvious way. "The chill of winter..."**The lady singing puts her hands in her pockets and shivers while gazing longingly at....a tree ** One particularly disturbing scene focused entirely on the singer's lips, nose, and eyelashes. No thank you. Plus, the weird camera angles made everyone look obese. The parts that were good, I really enjoyed, but I would have liked to hear more about his life and trials. Ah well, at least it got me interested in the book Abandoned to God, so it served it's original purpose. :-)

After Dinner:

We discussed all the bizarre foods we'd ever heard of. I think Kyle's "food" won: fermented seal guts. That's pretty sick. In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best topic we could have chosen to settle our dinner. I made a comment about lobsters that I would like to correct. It was one of the many unfortunate "blonde moments" I'm perpetually experiencing. I claimed that lobsters scream if boiled. Frankly, it's just not possible.

a) They don't have vocal chords.

b) If there is any noise at all when the lobster hits the pot, it might be air coming out of its stomach through its mouth parts. Plus, invertebrates have such a primitive nervous system that they supposedly feel no pain.

I do apologize if any of you found this tidbit of false information interesting and have therefore wasted no time in telling everyone you know about it.

Next time you have lobster for dinner, feel free to be as cruel and inhumane as possible, apparently it don't make no difference to the critter. (Gotta love Google.)

Friday Morning:

We had breakfast burritos! They were so delicious I'm including them in this post. A symphony for your palate! Are you a fan of delicious flavor? It was the first time I tried something like that...they were goood. After breakfast, Justin read Proverbs for the day, and Mr. Oautu discussed some of the verses with us. I was reminded to practice serving cheerfully at home, where perhaps I'm not praised and appreciated as often as I'd like.

Friday Afternoon:

By the time everything was packed up, it was fairly late. We drove down to the lake and parked next to a gift shop/tourist trap. A brilliant idea struck me. Thankfully it didn't hurt. With yesterday's embarrassing failure still fresh in my memory, I conferred with my Lieutenant (Becca) and rallied the forces (Em, Cristeen, and Rach). The enemy had infiltrated our ranks, planting a spy (Timmy) in our midst. My Lieutenant and I rescheduled our plan of attack so that we would maintain the element of surprise. Our first victim never knew what hit him. Kyle was smothered under a white avalanche as 10 snowballs successively exploded against his chest. As we won victory after glorious victory, their casualties grew. Cristeen was our weapon of mass destruction. They never suspect the cute one. Stephen, Ricky, Justin, Andrew, Paul, Drew, Timmy all died magnificently. We were hungry after such a masterful display of genius, so we ate lunch. Well, we all did...even the casualties.

We had another decisive battle next to the lake, but a truce was called since we couldn't feel our fingers anymore. Friends for the moment, we took a hike. We were trekking merrily around the lake when I very astutely noticed that the surrounding area looked familiar. Enter: memorable quote number 2.

Me: "Hey! We're next to that boat place thingie!"

Drew: "The dock?!"

Whatever. Boat place thingie makes way more sense. Unfortunately, I think that has earned an infamous spot on Johnny's memorable quotes list.

Around 4 p.m. the truce was called off and we headed back to the woods next to the parking lot to find the perfect place for our last stand. A word of advice. Don't ever get into a fight with Stephen Weston. He aims to kill. It doesn't matter who you are, where you live, or how old you are...he will mop the floor with you. Literally. (Considering the fact we had a snowball fight.) Snowballs. Wet. Mop. Get it? Get it? Never mind. Quite simply, you mess with Stephen, you die.

Personally, I think he was still bitter about the events preceding lunch and wanted to exact some revenge. He did. They all did. We were laughing hysterically pretty much the entire time. Tragically, I managed to duck right into one of Andrew's missiles. Rachel was bravely launching snowball after snowball across from where Emily and I were holding down the fort. Becca and Cristeen were blurs of motion. Anyone caught in the middle of the field got bombarded with a barrage of snowballs from every angle. Drew found himself in that situation once too often. Every time he'd get up after a bad hit, he'd pack a snowball and yell "Who's laughing?!" I'm sorry to report that although we girls won a battle, the guys won WWIII. (I did manage to plonk Stephen, Kyle, Justin, Paul, and Drew pretty good before they clobbered me. ) We girls came out of it looking...well, looking like something the cat wouldn't bother dragging in. It was the most fun I've had in a while. I vote to make it a yearly excursion. Any takers?

On our way down the mountain, we (the fun car) played 20 Questions. Well, Becca, Drew, Em, Rach, and I started off playing 20 questions, but ended up just playing Questions, especially when Drew chose a word. It took us about half and hour to guess light bulb, while Drew had a blast at our expense.

"Is it electric?" Yes.

"Do people use it often?" ...Yes.

"Does it give off light?" Yes.

"A lamp?" No.

"A night light?" No.

"Ceiling lights?" No.

"A computer?" No.

"The little red light that flashes on smoke detectors?" ...No.

"Is it electric?" **snickers**

~The End~

I was so incredibly blessed by everyone on this trip! You girls were such an especially incredible encouragement! I so appreciated the sweet time of fellowship we shared together. This trip is a memory I'm going to treasure. Thank you Lord for your love, and for the wonderful, safe time You gave us all! :-)

Nothing. Really, this is a nothing post.

You know that feeling you get when someone asks you a question and your brain, which up till then had been put-put-puttering along its merry way, suddenly screeches to an abrupt halt? Like when Mom catches you opening the refrigerator to put in a pan of lasagna and asks you what you're doing and you look down only to discover that you are, in fact, holding a box of pencils. (Come now, I know some of you have been in this position at least once, if not twice.) Anyway, the point is that your mind goes blank and you begin to mutter something incoherent about broccoli and its significance to string theory. Well, this post is going to bear an eerie resemblance to blank nothingness because I really have nothing to write about. Most people who find themselves in my situation have sense enough to leave things well alone and not litter the blogosphere with useless rambling. I, however, have no such qualms. Besides, I haven't posted since November, and that's simply inexcusable.

Tidbit 1: I've finished this semester. Did I do well? Define well. Academically, I lowered my overall GPA by several points thanks to some pesky math and biology classes. To my chagrin, the problem wasn't that I lacked the ability, but that I simply did not apply myself as I should have... something I intend to rectify during the Spring semester by acing all of my classes. Anyway, I'm glad it's over with and I can take a few deep breaths before the madness begins again.

How I Spend A Rainy Day: If you're ever bored, grab some of your little siblings, and have them play Monopoly. It's one of the most entertaining things to do on cold days when it's been raining incessantly. You could also bake something, but baking usually ends in disaster. After a tray or two of whatever you've made you start feeling fat, obese really. Of course, because of the aforementioned precipitation, you can't jog off the cookies. Well, you can, but you will get sick because it's cold outside. Then you'll be all wet and your nose will run.... Just trust me, going down this road of cookie baking on a rainy day will lead to a nightmare of hideous proportions. Take my word for it. Plus, you may never find your nose again. Where was I? Ah yes...Monopoly. So, grab some siblings, get the game started, pop some popcorn, fluff some pillows for your chair, and sit down and enjoy the show. If your siblings are Marky and Katie, the scenario will play out like this:

Marky, as the oldest, will think up as much of a strategy as can be thunked up for a game in which the outcome is almost entirely based on luck. Katie will roll the dice and move her little golden piece. Marky's goal is to trump Katie by any means necessary. Katie's goal is to amass a large amount of money while not spending a bit of cash, and avoid anything that will prevent her from gaining 200 extra dollars for passing"go". Several hours will elapse during which time you will have finished your popcorn, Marky will have built hotels on the prestigious Boardwalk Boulevard, and Katie will have acquired, by accident, the odd railroad here and there as well as Baltic Avenue. Now, the fun begins. (Which is a crying shame seeing as you're out of popcorn...)

Marky: "I'm the most successful person in the universe....look at how much money I have!" He picks up a stack of hundred dollar bills, and throws them in the air. Inevitably, Katie lands into one of his numerous traps, and has to forfeit her hard earned dollars. The second time Katie reluctantly enjoys the luxury of Pacific Avenue, Marky "forgives" Katie's debt, leaving her with one dollar. At this point, Katie just doesn't care anymore, so she rolls without fear. And, miraculously, makes it around the board twice, none the poorer, leaving Marky sputtering in disbelief. The third time she lands on community chest in between Tennessee Avenue and St. James Place, she receives a bank error in her favor(would that that could happen in real life) and gains $200.

Marky: "I take it back! This is ridiculous. You're winning. I don't forgive you anymore."

Katie: "What? You're cheating!"

Marky: "Lois!!!"

Katie: "Lois!!!"

Marky: "LOIS!!!"

If you're an older sibling, you'll know what happens next. If you're the youngest, think back to why none of those games of monopoly finished in a civil manner. Great, now you know too.

Tidbit 2: My uncle came up from his adorable house in Texas with his adorable wife and their three adorable children, who all have tiny feet. The youngest, Elise, doesn't even reach up to Jimmy's knee. Needless to say she's....well, adorable. Their kids are like cuter versions of me when I was a baby (as impossible as it sounds, its true) . Naturally, you have no point of reference so you'll just have to take my word for it. I'd show you pictures, but the adorability factor would shatter your monitor. I know some of you have access to a good lawyer, but I'm just not in the mood to talk circles around people in suits in a court setting. Ahh...they're SO CUTE!!!

Tidbit 3: They all left yesterday morning to spend Christmas up north with everyone else who doesn't have a house in Murrieta that needs to be remodeled.... :( I mean, it's great that Mom and Dad found a house. But, as thrilled as I am to be privileged enough to work on it, I'd rather be up north in Oroville with my insanely darling cousins.

Tidbit 4: Every day I realize more and more how incredibly undeserving I am of God's love and forgiveness. There's a lot that I take for granted, and it just amazes me that I can keep coming back to Him and He welcomes me with open arms. I just wish it wouldn't take me so long to get to that point. In Jimmy's words: "It's a pride thing." How true that is. It's just so awesome to know that as long as I keep coming to Him, He will still forgive me.

Tidbit 5: Jimmy and I do dumb things when we can't play outside and we have free time. Like make up weird word games. Adding " 'Tis true 'tis true, and pity 'tis 'tis true" at the end of every sentence gives the sentence that certain je ne sais qua. And, adding "of doom", said with a deep, and preferably masculine voice, makes every noun sound ten times cooler than it really is. Try it. 10 brownie points to whoever guesses which little phrase is mine and which one is Jimmy's. Told ya it was dumb. ;P

Tidbit 6: If you've noticed, I took a personality test (view sidebar)...just to see if I'm really an ENTP. Buster Keaton was an ENFP. The first time I took it, I turned out to be one too, which I thought was the most hilarious thing ever. I took it again and ended up being an ENTP. Maybe if I take it a third time I'll turn out to be an INTJ, wouldn't that be amazing. Blech....I take it back....I TAKE IT BACK. Susan B. Anthony was an INTJ. ENTP's are great. :) Bugs Bunny is an ENTP.

Tidbit 7: I'm out of tidbits. Actually, I was out of tidbits when I started this post on nothing, because, this is merely to let everyone who cares know that I'm still alive and kicking...as if my ceaselessly constant presence on Google Buzz wasn't a dead giveaway. (Thank you, Timmy S. for bringing this to my attention.)

If you're tired of reading nothing, I don't blame you. Try writing nothing...it's even more challenging. Alas, I have succeeded...I'm that good. 'Tis true 'tis true and pity 'tis 'tis true. Post. Of doom.