Flashback Fridays: How did this happen?!!!!

This 24th of July marks six years since I was released from my service as a full-time missionary in West Virginia. That was a sad day. I was so excited to see my friends and family, but more than anything I just wanted them to all join me out in the mission field. I wanted the best of both worlds. Now my sister is about to start her mission adventure and I can't believe that I have been home for so long. Time sure flys when you are having fun. In honor of my anniversary, I thought I would share a mission story. I really hope this doesn't offend anyone.

How did this happen?!!!

One of the things I love about the gospel of Jesus Christ is that every person is welcome and loved. This works great for quirky people like me. As a result you end up meeting all sorts of people with all sorts of strengths and weaknesses. Good thing variety is the spice of life.

In my second area, we had a woman in our ward (let's call her Birtha) who had been an incredibly gifted scientist until she had some sort of breakdown that left her slightly of mentally handicapped. This did not stop her from coming to church every week with her daughter. Everyone loved her because she was as sweet and innocent as a lamb. One particular Sunday my companion and I decided to sit by Birtha and her daughter for sacrament meeting (the main congregational meeting of our church). Just before church started, a couple of our investigators showed up and so we scrunched together on the back pew to make room for them. I nervously hoped that everything would go smoothly so that our investigator friends would want to return again another Sunday.

Everything seemed to be going great (albeit very cramped as it was not a large pew and both the Birtha and her daughter were rather large) and I was snuggled between our new investigators and Birtha like a happy little clam. Suddenly Birtha whispered loudly, "I have to go to the bathroom!" Before I could respond, she bolted to her feet, throwing her leg over my lap to climb over me. Within seconds she was stuck and I found myself wedged awkwardly with my face engulfed in her backside! What was I to do?!!! It seemed that no amount of heave-hoeing was going to help the situation anytime soon, either. Because it all happened so fast and because it was so socially and physically uncomfortable, I couldn't help but start laughing out loud right there in sacrament meeting. Fortunately, my laughter was muffled by Birtha's butt or else that really would have made a scene!

Flashback Friday: Dipper Day

I feel especially lucky to have been blessed with good friends in and outside of my own family. Some of my close girlfriends have stuck with me through thick and thin for many years now and are, in many ways, more like sisters than anything else. One of these good friends is Amy Engelbrecht. She and I grew up in the same area and went to BYU together. She is tall with dark brown hair; on the contrary I hold legal-midget status along with my brown locks. Somehow along the way we picked up the nicknames, Big and Little dipper, and it has stuck like glue. I have always been proud to be a dipper along with Amelia!

Our Sophomore year in college, we ended up taking two classes together. These Tuesday/Thursday classes quickly earned the nickname "Dipper Days." We lived in the same complex so I would meet her at her apartment and together we would make the trek up to campus while we would laugh and talk about whatever we pleased. I guess it is true what they say about great minds thinking alike because it seemed, more often than not (and without planning), we would meet for the day with clothes that were remarkably similar. We thought this was hilarious because of how dorky it made us look. Dressing like twinners just isn't as cool in college as one might think- especially when one looks like a mini version of the other. It didn't help that we would roar with laughter wherever we went, drawing even more attention to ourselves.

Sadly, both of our classes were duds and if it weren't for the each other, we would have all the way hated ourselves for signing up for such bores. The worse of the two was our mission preparation class. We had both been toying with the thought of serving missions (and both later did) and thought that it would be a wonderful chance to get ourselves ready if the opportunity arrived. Boy were we wrong! The only thing I remember learning from that class was that our teacher had the (according to him) talent and could make it look like he was chewing grapes with his tongue and cheek and would conveniently incorporate that trick into nearly ever lesson we had. Amy and I didn't find this nearly as humorous as I am sure he had hoped. We mostly thought that he was about as nice, dorky, and boring as they come.

In this class, our teacher made us break up into groups for different projects that he called "districts" just like they do in real missions and he wanted each district to come up with a group name for themselves. LAME-O!!!! Our group consisted of us dippers and a strange girl named Raleen (who always made me hungry because her name reminded me of praline n' cream ice cream and our class was scheduled just before lunch). She thought this district naming thing was a terrific idea and excitedly told us about the name that her brother's district was called on his mission while we pretended to share a sliver of interest."Blah blah...it was such a cool name....blah blah blah....because they were all tall...blah blah...so could we call ourselves blah blah blah?...." As we really didn't care one bit about the name of our group, we told her that her name would do just fine.

Apparently we should have listened to her suggestion a little better because it didn't occur to us until we were all three standing and introducing our group how strange and inappropriate it was. There we stood at various heights, all three rather busty girls, while Pralines n' Cream proudly told the religion class that we were to be known as "The Mountain Tops." We could have died. As if dressing the same and giggling like crazy didn't already make us look bizarre enough!

Flashback Friday: I look like WHAT?!!!

I believe that one should always be careful when telling a person that they look like someone else you know, whether it is a film star or a neighbor, it can backfire for even the most innocent comparison. Take, for example, when I told a girl I met that she looked just like one of my friends....who happened to be a guy....as soon as I said it, I could see in her face that it was a big mistake. Telling her that he had very long beautiful lashes didn't heal the unintended wound. Blast!

I had one of these zingers thrown at me, so I don't feel too bad. When I started out my service as a missionary, I got to spend a great deal of time out in the sticks of southern Virginia. People always poke fun at West Virginians, but I saw more weird down there in my first six months than I did for the rest of my time in the hill-billy state.

Soon after we arrived in my first area, we met a family who all lived together in different trailer homes on a plot of land. They were so kind to us and we sure liked them. Every time we would go over there, they would stare at me and tell me that I looked just JUST like their deceased family member, Wanda. I didn't mind the staring too much. I was just happy they let us teach them, even if it got a little weird at times. Sometimes they would say to me, "If I didn't know any better, I would think you were Wanda coming back to visit us!" and then they would stare even harder as if I were the spirit of their dear sister/daughter/mother (or whatever the family relation). A little strange, but in truth, I was flattered. They obviously thought the WORLD of this gal.

We had been visiting them for about a month when one day they asked if I would like to see a picture of Wanda. I had been waiting to see my ravishing look-a-like for a while and was more than ready to see just how pretty they thought I was. They pulled me over to an especially fancy frame and said, "There she is." in a voice of near reverence.

I was shocked! I don't think I was expecting to see Miss Virginia State looking back at me, but I certainly did not expect my clone to look the way she did. She was butt-ugly, was stuck in the '80's, and was missing a leg! Now, call me superficial, but this was not the biggest ego booster. I was so surprised at Wanda's appearance that without even thinking I said, "Wow, she is beautiful!" But then I realized that to them, I was saying that of myself, since we did look just like each other. Boy was that a hard pill to swallow! At least I never have to wonder what I would look like with poofy bangs and a wooden leg.

Flashback Fridays: Hair care and a broken coccyx

Kathleen and my mom at Yosemite, Summer 2004

The Summer after I graduated from college, my mom, sisters and I went on one of the most fun family vacations we have ever been on. We started off by joining the Young Women's on a Stake white water rafting trip. We had so much fun but it was just the start of our adventures! After our time was done with the Stake, we headed up north to Yosemite and were joined by Aria and her fiance (now husband) Tommy to camp for the rest of the week.

On the first day at Yosemite, we decided to go on a family bike ride along a beautiful meadow trail. To be honest, I had no desire to go in the first place as riding bikes make me nervous since I break my bones easily. However, everyone was so excited to start exploring and I didn't want to miss out. I got to ride my youngest brothers kid-sized bike and was finding it slightly uncomfortable on the bumpy trail. Suddenly, I went down a particularly bumpy slope and hit my hiney so hard on the seat that I broke my tailbone! I was in pain and very let down with the bad timing! Kathleen and I had been so inspired by our rafting guide's outdoorsy prowess that we were eager to tackle Yosemite with gusto; with a broken butt, I wouldn't be able to. In my anger I got off the stupid bike and chucked it across the trail. "Piece of CRAP," I roared in my fury! After my fit, I was embarrassed to see that everyone, including my soon-to-be brother in law had come back to make sure I was okay. I quickly made the situation worse by screaming at him to get out of there. After that, I wouldn't be surprised if Tommy wasn't too sure what he was getting himself into by joining the Vance family (sorry again, Tommy).

I ended up taking it very easy for the rest of the trip. Broken tailbones are not serious enough to end a vacation but it was enough to get me out of all of the camping chores and packing (if you are feeling especially lazy, I sort of recommend it). We still had a ball for the rest of the week lazing around our campsite. We had secured the most delightful spot right next to a river and spent the majority of our time splashing around and lapping up the summer sun. Kathleen and I had recently heard that the Indians from that area used to use sand to bathe with and since we were feeling at one with the land, we decided to do this too. For a week straight, we used nothing but sand/dirt to wash our hair. Add to that the constant campfire-smoke aroma and we were pretty fancy. However, we were enjoying ourselves so much that we didn't care and soon forgot about our image.

When it was time to make the long drive home, I realized that sitting on my rump for six hours was not going to work and we quickly stopped at the first store we came across. While my mom filled the van up with gas, Kathleen and I went inside the drugstore to find me some sort of cushion to protect my tender tush. After poking around for a while, we found a bin of little pillows that seemed fit the need. As we tried to decide which color I should get, two older women came up to us and oddly said, "Those are expensive pillows, you probably don't want one of them." We didn't understand their concern, especially since the pillows were only about ten dollars. Strange. It wasn't until we passed a reflection of ourselves on the way out that we understood. After a week of scrubbing our scalps with sand, we looked more like a homeless Medusa! And to think that I was smiling coyly at a couple cute firefighters just moments before!

In the end we decided on a little swimming floaty ring that did the trick perfectly. Not only did it make the ride home comfortable but I spent the rest of the Summer perched on it while I healed. I toted that bad boy on the crook of my arm everywhere I went (we women know that it is all about accessorizing, don't we?). When it came time to sit, I would place it lovingly on my chair, ease myself into it and proceed to make strange plastic squeaking sounds until my sitting time was over. This made quiet settings like church a little awkward. I even got yelled at once at a movie theater for being too noisy. Whoops! I wonder if they would have been so quick to bark at me if I still looked homeless? Maybe then they would have just handed me a dollar bill and kept their distance.

Flashback Friday: It's the thought that counts

The months that followed my mission were some of the most awkward months of my life. I just didn't feel like myself no matter what I did. I was happy to be with my family again, but I really wished that they could venture out to West Virginia with me and be my companions for the rest of forever. I didn't feel ready to move on with my life quite yet. Before my mission I was incredibly social at college but when I returned to BYU I only wanted to spend time with my sister, roommates, and my mission buddies. However, I didn't want to let anyone down so I gave it my best social effort regardless. I like to think that most of the time I had everyone fooled, but I know for sure that this wasn't always the case.

The first calling I was given (to serve in our church) was the Compassionate Service Leader and was asked to watch over the women in our apartment building and make sure that everyone was doing well physically, spiritually, and emotionally. There were a couple girls that we were especially concerned for, so when I found out that one of them was going to be having a birthday party that night, I felt I really should make an appearance. I was running late that evening and didn't get home until the party was nearly over but I wanted to be supportive and went anyway.

This particular girl/neighbor's apartment was still full of people when I showed up, with the birthday girl sitting on a chair in the middle of the room (now that I think about it, that seems a little odd. I wonder if they were in the middle of a game?). After I said hi to the group, I headed over to my neighbor and bent down to give her a hug from behind. I was hugging her in a way that my arms were crisscrossed in front of her with my hands wresting on her opposite arms (does that make sense? Try hugging someone from behind and then you'll see what I mean. I promise, this wasn't the weird part...totally). While I hugged her, I patted her upper arm with my hand and told her how I hoped she had had a good day.

While we talked, I looked up and noticed that everyone was watching us with a weird expression on their faces. Confused I looked down to see what was going on. It was then that I realized that the arm that I was patting affectionately was actually no arm at all! It was her left boob! Curses on padded bras that make boobs feel like biceps!!! I had gone to her party to make sure that she felt befriended and ended up groping her instead! Happy Birthday!! Don't mind me, I'm socially awkward! I quickly let go and muttered a humiliated apology. Oh well, at least she knew someone cared....even if my actions seemed a smidge bit forward.

Flashback Fridays: Breakdancer of the year

One of my favorite favorite mission friends, Gina, reminded me of another dance fiasco that I once had when wooing another fine gent. I thought I would share....

At the end of my Junior year in college I started hanging out with a cool group of guys in our ward. I thought they were all a lot of fun, but one guy in particular was my main attraction: Brandon Keller. We mostly all did outdoorsy things but one night we broke the mold and went to a dance put on by our apartment complex.

I don't remember all of the details besides that Brandon asked me if I wanted to go check it out and I thought, "Boy do I EVER!!" He had just recently gotten under my skin and so I was ready and willing to spend any sort of time with him. And besides, who am I to turn down a little dancing?

Right from the start we knew the dance was a dud. The music was lame and the crowd was small. Brandon and I stood on the side making fun of people until a familiar song came on and I challenged him to go jump into the circle and wow me with a little break dancing. He, of course, laughed at the thought but then challenged me to do the same. What he didn't realize was that I have no shame AND that I specialize in break dancing (as long as you count The Worm as break dancing)! Boy was he in for a surprise!

When the moment was right, I happily jumped into the circle and waited for the beat. Then, just like every other time, I dove through the air to show of my worm abilities. Unfortunately, I didn't take my heeled shoes into account and in my attempts to impress poor Brandon, I had thrown myself at too much of an angle and realized mid-air that I was going to land on my neck! Horrors! As soon as my hands made contact I twisted out of the plunge to save myself from breaking. In so doing, I dislocated my shoulder!!!! The crowd gasped and I was mortified! Hoping that my man didn't notice the failed dance move or the gangly arm I quickly popped it back into place and then did what any gal would do....I said, "That wasn't the worm. I'll show you the worm!" and then did the worm again to prove my abilities. Really, really cool and impressive (can you see now why I didn't get hitched right away?). Poetry in motion.

Brandon kept asking if I was okay but I played it cool and said that I was totally fine. After I snuck away for an Ibuprofen we watched a movie before ending our dream evening. It wasn't until the next day that I finally decided to have my gimpy shoulder checked out and was fitted with a not-so-flattering man-sized sling and foam wrap. As if I needed to look any more lame. When Brandon came by later he said, "I thought you dislocated your shoulder!" and got a good laugh. Yet again, my dancing killed any chance of romance.

Just so you know, James and I never went to a dance together and he has never seen me do the worm. This is good 'cause I am planning on keeping him around for a while.

Flashback Friday: Smooth Operator

At the start of my Freshman year at BYU, I took part in an orientation with the rest of my new freshman friends. During Freshman orientation the new students are divided up into small "Y-groups" of about 20 kids (those with whom you will generally have the majority of your classes with). In your group you then have the chance to learn your way around campus, memorize the cougar fight song and make friends right off the bat.

I loved our group from the start. Everyone was so friendly, and no clicks had formed yet for the year. We were all new and all very excited for the adventure that were awaiting us. On top of that, there was one guy in my group that really caught my eye. His name was Dan and he was tall, dark and handsome. I thought he was so dreamy. All weekend long we talked and flirted. I soaked up all the attention he showered on me and I could tell that this was going to be a fun Freshman year.

On the very last night of our orientation, a dance was held on campus to welcome all of us new-comers. The air was full of excitement and I couldn't wait to see Dan. As the night wore on, I joined a group of friends on the dance floor. We were dancing and having fun when suddenly a familiar figure joined our circle: Dan. He had found me finally and I knew the night was only going to get better! Immediately I stopped dancing to go flirt with him. After a short while I asked him why he wasn't dancing. "You aren't either," he replied. Foolishly, I realized he was right but if there was any area that I felt confident in (whether or not had reason too) it was dancing. I was sure that his adoration of me was only going to increase when he saw my dance moves. With a twinkle in my eyes, I busted out one of my best dance moves.

Out of nowhere, someone behind me stepped a little too close and threw my groove off. I began to fall as a result. In my panic, I grabbed out for anything, ANYTHING to catch me. I was relieved when I made some sort of contact....until I realized what had saved me. When I was falling, I had grabbed onto Dan's CROTCH and was still holding on for dear life!!!! I was horrified and by the look on his face, so was he. I quickly blurted out apoligies while I let go and stood up.

Dan replied with a high pitched, "It's okay" and instinctively covered himself before I did any more damage. After a short awkward silence, he retreated to a safer crowd. I was humiliated and knew that all hopes of romantic bliss were down the drain. My embarrassment only multiplied when I realized on the following Monday that not only were we in the same English class, but that we would have to sit by each other all semester long.

Flashback Fridays: Sleepovers with Sarah

Last night I had a dream that I visited the Murphy's on Simsbury Court and spent the evening laughing, dancing, and feeling at home. What a happy dream it was! You see, from the age of six to eighteen, my brother, Marshall, and I could be found on Simsbury Court on most weekends and I have a many happy and humorous memories there. Flashback Fridays would not be complete without a mention of the Murphy family.

I was lucky to have been raised with siblings who were the best of friends but as I was sandwiched between two boys, I still longed for a best girl friend to play with. When I was six I had one that lived up the street from us, but that didn't last as long as I had hoped. I was told that I cackled like a witch and was not a good influence on her (?????) and so I wasn't allowed to play with her anymore. I was crushed. But then I met Sarah Murphy.

Sarah was as confident as I was shy and as spunky as could be! The day we became friends, she was looking for rubber bands to make bow and arrows so that she could declare war on a group of boys. I had a whole bundle of rubber bands on my rubber band gun (doesn't every cool girl tote a large and clunky rubber band gun around with them?) and so we were a fit from the start. From then on we did everything together. Girl scouts, ballet, plays, sewing, business schemes, baking, tea parties, etc. You name something dorky and we did it with flare.

Fridays were special days for us because it meant that we would most likely be having a sleep over at one of our homes. When I spent the night at the Murphy's, we slept in the guest bedroom down stairs. There we would sneak out to the kitchen for a late night snack and talk late into the night (we thought we were sneaky but I am sure her parents knew we did this as I have already mentioned that I cackle like a witch).

One night, along with our usual yogurt fix, we loaded up on all sorts of soda before heading off to dreamland. Around Five in the morning I woke up with a start. Something was wrong but I couldn't put my finger on it....until I realized that I had peed in my sleep all over my half of the bed!!!!

Now, you should know (and I can't believe that I am admitting to this) I was a bed-wetter as a young child. Yep. I was one of them. I don't know if it was from the psychological stressors of breaking my bones, from getting so used to using bed pans here and there, or if I just was.

It had been years since I woke up to this plight and had never ever done it at someone else's home, let alone in their bed! I was horrified and humiliated and I dreaded morning coming. How was I going to explain this?!! And then I hatched a plan. A plan that any good friend would think of. I would make it look like Sarah had peed and not me! I would roll her into my puddle and by morning she would be wet and I would be dry! Who would suspect?!!! I was brilliant!!!

Quietly I climbed over my sleeping friend. Softly, I started rolling her into my big unwelcoming wet spot. Everything was going as planned until, in a groggy voice I heard, "Malinda? What is going on?" Blast! Sarah had woken up and she wasn't even close to my side of the bed! The deceitful plan was a bust. My cover was blown and I sheepishly owned up to my wet mess. Kindly, she helped me clean up and when her mom woke, they both graciously didn't make a big deal out of it. I was grateful but not grateful enough to tell my friend that I was planning on rolling her in my own urine until many years later. You know you have a bosom friend when you can come clean about a story like that and still have a good laugh about it.

UPDATE: Malinda is making progress and doing much better. She hasn't had a major accident in weeks and the last time I caught her trying to roll me into her puddle I explained how I weighed more than twice what she did- so just be honest and we would clean up whatever piddles may come her way. -James

Flashback Friday: Summer Jobs

As it is Summer, many of my younger loved ones are off in search of the perfect Summer job (or at least A job). I must admit that I am thrilled to be over that phase of my life. I certainly paid my dues. I will count life a success if I never have to sit behind a secretarial desk and be hit on by middle-aged men ever again. Yuck. However, when I think of my various jobs, one comes to mind as the worst (or at least one of the worst) jobs of my career. The time I was the aid to a sick woman in a nearby neighborhood. Lets call her Cheryl*.

Cheryl was a nice but strange friend of my moms who suffered from (in my opinion, the delusion of) being allergic to electricity and most chemicals and odors. As a result, she rented a home for storage purposes but opted to live on the street outside instead. She was so sick that the government paid to have her taken care of from time to time. As I was "between jobs," I agreed to be her care giver for a couple months. My job was to do her shopping, keep her cooler stocked with ice, wash her clothes and do pretty much whatever else she needed whenever she needed it. And this really meant pretty much anything.

Often I would have to go to Starbucks (located at one of the more trendy and busy places in town) and ask for their day-old pastries. After waiting in line with all the other normals, they would hand me a trash bag full of her loot and send me on my way...looking unbelievably cool. Other times I would have to hang her wet laundry up around her house late at night, aided only by the light of several eerie camping lanterns. This isn't what my Sociology degree prepared me for (really it was for jobs like Walmart and McDonald's....they weren't kidding when they said we would need to go on for more schooling to make any money. D'oh!)?!!

Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, Cheryl called me up wanting to go house hunting. Off I scuttled while I prayed for an extra dose of charity. I was greeted by my employer with a friendly, "you smell of the the worst possible smell!" Now if that doesn't warm a girls heart, I don't know what does! She insisted that I put on one of her worn and stinky (she didn't use real soap) sweatsuits (Ooh-la-la!) and to top off my complete make-over, she felt it would be best for me to wear a hospital mask. I complied, figuring that at least it would muffle the smell of the soured clothes.

Off we drove. Me in the front looking like a germ-a-phobe with Cheryl laying down in the back seat. As it turned out, Cheryl didn't want just any house, she wanted one in some of the more ritzy parts of town. And as she was "too ill," I was the lucky duck who got to go inside all of the classy real estate offices to ask for any vacancies. Me and my mask. Everywhere we went, people looked at me like I was a loon. Apparently they were all too good for a homeless-looking version of Michael Jackson.

When my shameful morning was over, we headed home. All of that humble pie had put me in a snacking mood and luckily for me, I had a box of Hot Tamales in the door of the car. Working for Cheryl for as long as I had, I knew that she would only lecture me on the evils of sugar, so I decided to slyly sneak them under my dapper mask when she wasn't looking. I reached into the box, grabbed a sweet treat and slowly maneuvered it under my mask. Yum.... Then another and another. The zippy Cinnamon taste was almost enough to fight off her incessant complaining. "Now Malinda, make sure you don't drive under any power lines....."

Everything was going smoothly and I started to get a little more relaxed. Suddenly, after trying to pork down another one, my mask slid off my mouth and up onto my eyes! AUGHHH!!!! How did a good girl like me get caught in something like this?! I couldn't see a thing!!! Looking back, I should have stopped driving, as I was on a busy road. However, at the time I was more afraid of getting another lecture than anything else and so I just kept casually driving while I frantically tried to get my blindfold off! It felt like an eternity, but off it came....and Cheryl was too involved in her one-sided conversation to have even noticed. Sweet victory!

As you can imagine, this dream job did not last much longer after that fateful day. To all of you looking for work this Summer, if you see a crazy lady roaming Pederson Rd. be nice and wave but don't agree to be her Summer slave....unless you enjoy dressing to the nines and working your magic with the crowed at Starbucks.

***I changed her name since I have nothing good to say about working for her....not that she'll ever read this since computers require electricity, an evil commodity to which she is allergic.

Flashback Friday: Scatter Sunshine

As I mentioned before, I had the chance to serve as a Mountain Momma/missionary in the West Virginia Charleston Mission back in the day. I loved, loved, LOVED IT! However, there were a few things that took getting used. Being frumpy always (okay, that is a lie. I already was quite comfortable with this....dang it), rejection, and the fun twangy accent. That last one was probably the most tricky and it took me about a month to understand some of the real southerners.

At the beginning of my mission, I was placed with my trainer/mammy, Sister Grover (now Jones) in Lexington, VA, a small and quaint town known for it's proud connection to Stonewall Jackson. Lovely people with very strong accents. Most of our time was spent knocking on doors and teaching, but several hours a week were reserved for community service.

During my first month, we spent this time at a local elderly home and planned on spreading sunshine to our aged new friends. To be honest, at first I felt a little uncomfortable with that demographic. I had not had much experience with elderly people and didn't know exactly how I should act or how loudly I should speak. However, we jumped in anyway and I gave my best shot.

One day, while visiting, we went around introducing ourselves. Unfortunately for me, the older women were nearly impossible for me to understand with their quiet whispers and heavy accents. I decided that I would just repeat back whatever name I heard, be corrected if needed, and carry on being friendly. This worked for a while. Me practically yelling my introduction and them politely whispering back.

"WHAT IS YOUR NAME? BIRTHA?! NICE TO MEET YOU BIRTHA! MY NAME IS SISTER VANCE!"

"WHAT IS YOUR NAME? PRUDENCE?!...." This carried on for a little while until I came across a particularly grumpy-looking old lady.

"AND WHAT IS YOUR NAME?"

The old woman muttered something back but for the life of my I could not understand her. I repeated my question but the answer was no more clear. I pressed on anyway, repeating just what I had heard.

"ANUS?!!!"

The room went silent and I suddenly realized that I just called the Southern belle a crude body part and everyone heard. What the?!!!

"No! Agnus!" the woman grumpily replied.

I tried to salvage the situation but it wasn't going over. Sister Grover kindly led me down the hall where we wailed with laughter at my mistake.

As you can imagine, Anus and all of her friends never really forgave me and we soon moved on to other forms of service in the community where I would do less damage.

Flashback Friday: Romancing at EFY

Spring has come to Provo and changed the little town in so many ways. Most noticeable is that the majority of the student body has left to work elsewhere for the Summer. However, that does not mean that the town is empty. No, it fills up in their absence. The campus takes advantage of the available space by holding camps all Summer long for those who want a wholesome BYU experience. Primarily teenagers doing sporting camps or EFY (Especially For Youth, a religious camp for teenagers). I was one of those EFY teenagers back in the day. Twice, actually, and boy was it fun!

For my second attempt of EFY, I went with one of my good friends, Randi Payton (now Smith). As we had been looking forward to this week for nearly a year, we were most excited and embraced the whole experience the moment we arrived. We got our rooms, our name tags, our groups and started playing the bazillion awkward get-to-know you games with gusto(shoot me now). Why were we so ready and willing? Why, it was because it is a well-known fact that a week of EFY brings two things: a week of fun and a week of romance! There were a ton of unknown cute guys on campus and we were not going to miss out on any of them! I mean, why else would I have picked out my weeks wardrobe with so much care (does it hang like a bag or look like it was made for a thirty-year-old frump? I'll pack it! Oh the woes of having no style)?

To start off the week on a romantic note, they held a dance the first night that we were there. Hot dog! We knew what this dance meant. It was the night that would set the stage for the rest of the week. The night to shimmy and flirt our way into various studs hearts. The pressure was on but luckily I had been practicing my moves at all the local stake dances. I could do the Macarena with the best of them!

As the night wore on, Randi and I got separated by being asked to dance (or the lack of that). During one these (many) awkward stand by the wall and wait songs, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I would ask someone to dance. However, I was a little shy about it so I decided to ask someone who looked like they weren't really fitting in and would surely be grateful to accept the offer of dancing with yours truly.

I scanned the edges of the room until my eyes fell on a poor chap standing nearby. Perfect! I walked over and tapped him on the arm.

"Come dance with me!"

"Oh, I don't think you want to dance with me."

"Why not?" I asked while I noticed that the poor guy was wearing a Winnie-the-Pooh shirt. Man, this boy was really in need of my help!

With that, Mr. Winnie-the-Pooh lifted his name tag and shoved it in face. It had the name, Emily, on it. It was a girl! I had just asked a girl to dance! After an awkward attempt to smooth things over, I zipped out of there as fast as I could.

As you can imagine, romance never budded for me that week. I still wonder if it was because I was too busy seeking out androgynous looking females or due to my powerhouse wardrobe? I guess I shall never know.

Flashback Friday: Honesty is a Scary Policy

Mason has now reached the stage of toddlerhood where he thrills at the chance of getting in trouble and running away from us. Seriously, nothing brings a sparkle to his eyes as quickly as hearing, "No, Mason...." James and I are trying to figure out some way to teach our wonderful little chap how to be a well behaved and moral and sometimes the task feels daunting (especially when he is giggling during his "time out"). Even though I do believe that Mason is innately good and innocent, I do feel responsibility to raise him well.

Often I catch myself looking back to my childhood and wondering what my parents did to teach me and my siblings. And then I chuckle. They did a wonderful job teaching us right from wrong, but sometimes even their best efforts could not deter sneaky little me.

Honesty is a Scary Policy:

When I was a little girl, I had a major soft spot for anything small. I would play with my collection of little garage sale nick-knacks till the cows came home. I would build them houses out of our wooden blocks, play with them in bushes outside, and daydream of getting more of them.

At the top of my dream list of toys were Charmkins. They were little fairy globs of plastic with a hook on top of their head so that they could actually be used as a charm for a fancy bracelet, necklace, and the like. My favorite perched themselves on pretty pink sunglasses. Oh how I wanted them!

Now, I did not own a Charmkin, but the little girl across the street had oodles of them. In fact, she had oodles of everything....except for personality. She was a spoiled little bully that I would otherwise not have spent time with, if it weren't for her toys. I could put up with anything, it seemed, if it meant that I could play with her Jem doll for an hour.

One day, while we were going through her loot in her bedroom, we came across the most adorable little Charmkin I had ever seen. While I cradled it in my hand, she told me how she had lots of them so it wasn't that cool. That was when I knew what I had to do. Steal it. Save this little beauty from a place where she wasn't appreciated and bring her into a home where she wold be crowned as the queen of toys! When my friend turned away, I slipped her into my pocket. It was so easy!

Sometime later, I was playing with my new Charmkin when my mom asked me where she came from. I quickly made up some transparent lie and she quickly saw through it. I finally confessed. I, her firstborn daughter, had stolen and she was so let down. She reminded me why it was wrong to steal and then told me to march across the street and return her to my friend and apologize.

What?! To that horrid little girl?! Then she would never let me play with her toys again! Oh the shame of it all.

Off I trudged while she observed everything from the kitchen window. I crossed our lawn and turned back to see my mom watching. Crossed the street. Still watching. Walked up her drive-way. Still being watched. Was I really going to have to go through with this?!!! However, when I got to her front door and was about to knock, I saw that my mom was no longer there (thank goodness for other siblings competing for her attention). Hot dog! Quick as a cat, I chucked the Charmkin on the girl's grass and high tailed it out of there! I was saved from the embarrassment!

When I got back inside, my mom asked, "Did you give it back?"

"Yes."

"Did you say you were sorry?"

"Yes."

"Do you feel better now that you are honest again?"

"I feel wonderful!" And I did. I got away with it all.

It wasn't until a couple years ago that I finally admitted to my mom that her lesson on honesty had not gone as she had planned. The toy was returned (I made it a point to play with my neighbor on her front grass and "found" her missing toy and she thanked me profusely), but I learned that a lie could be a wonderful tool in a pinch.

So, I guess I will continue to try my best with Mason but I won't be surprised if I hear a similar story 20 years down the road. Motherhood truly is humbling.

Flashback Friday:

This morning I heard happy news from my sister, Kathleen. She is getting her mission papers ready to send in! Hot dog! I couldn't wish for anything more wonderful and exciting for her right now. All afternoon I have been grinning about the thought of her serving our Savior full-time somewhere that the Lord really needs her. Not just anybody, but her.



I remember when I was deciding to go, I was so confused and worried that I was making the wrong decision. A cute guy I knew from Freshman year, Ammon, had just started asking me out and I was surrounded by all of my best friends. Why would I want to leave such a great phase of my life to dress in frumpy clothes and read the scriptures for a year and a half?! I moved forward anyway, and as I did, I quickly learned that even though we know what makes us happy, Heavenly Father knows what will make us joyful. He knows how to bless us better than we can imagine.

Heavenly Father LOVES his missionaries. All of the prayers of family members and friends are answered on the missionary's behalf in so many ways. I felt this many times while serving, but a couple of them still stand out to me.


I.
One hot day in my first area, my companion and I came home for lunch after a long morning of rejection. I reached hopefully in the mailbox but was greeted with no mail for me. I was so let down. I felt like I really needed a friendly hello that day and none had come. I felt all alone and tired. Nobody cared.


As we finished our short break at home and were coming back down our steep steps, a man pulled up in his car and asked, "is there a Sister Malinda Vance here?" I nodded. "I am from the other side of town" he said, "and found this letter on the ground with your name on it." It was a letter from one of my best friends, Rachel Young (now Scott) that was full of all kinds of fun updates. Not only was I happy to get mail, but I was reminded of how well we are known by Heavenly Father and how much he loves to bless us, even in the little things.


II.
At one point of my mission I had a companion who wasn't very happy and as a result, would not talk. At all. The companionship started off great, but by week three, she had started giving me the silent treatment and no matter what I tried, resentment was the only thing I felt from her.


Near the end of our six week transfer, I couldn't take it anymore. One night I slipped out into the front room and started crying and praying that I could be saved from the situation I was in. I prayed for a long time about what was going on. At the end of the prayer I added,"if possible, could I be transferred to the mission office as a media sister (we just got a new mission president and I thought it would be neat to serve nearby him so that I could get to know him better) and could I be companions with Sister Barss (I had heard good things about her and was in need of serving with a friend)?" I quickly felt sheepish and ended my prayer with "Thy will be done." I felt much better and went back to sleep.


A day or two later, we got a call from our Zone Leader giving us our transfer assignments. "Sister Vance, you are being sent to Charleston as a Media Sister and your companion is going to be Sister Barss."


III.
In my second area we were invited over to the Pennington's home many times for dinner appointments. What fun we had! When it came time to move to my last area, I was sad to leave all of my good Charleston friends. However, I got the good news that Brother Pennington was the High Councilman over the (very small) Ravenswood Branch that I was being moved to. That gave me so much comfort because my new greeny and I would be opening the area and didn't know a soul (or even where the branch met, for that matter).


At the time, much of missionary work done in West Virginia was through tracting the hollers day in and day out. Even with my frumpy sister missionary shoes (the veil of ugliness descends on every sister missionary-sorry, Kathleen) my feet went bad and really started to hurt me. I knew I needed a blessing, but I didn't know who I should ask in the branch to help me. Before church, I prayed that if possible, Brother Pennington would be visiting the branch and could give me one.


Before church stared, my companion and I stood at the front doors greeting people as they came to worship. No Brother Pennington. Church was about to start and my hopes were drooping. All of a sudden, Brother Pennington came through the door! He told us that he wasn't going to come that day, but felt like he should.


As an older sister, I can't help but feel so excited for my sister. However, I also feel concern because I know that there will be hard times ahead for her. But then I am reminded of all of these special tender mercies and I have no doubt that she will do just fine. Great in fact. How happy I am that she will be able to have experiences of her own to help her on her way. She will know that she is loved and will always be grateful she got to go.


I have always been and I always will continue to treasure the experiences I had.


I felt this way even after I got home and spotted Ammon skipping (literally) around BYU campus with with his soon-to-be wife. That could have been me skipping happily with him....but thank heavens it wasn't! Heavenly Father knew that I needed a guy with testosterone!

Flashback Friday: The cream of the cream....

I am blessed to have wonderful friends. Some friends I have had for a shorter period of time, but others have traveled with me through all of the ups and downs of life. This morning I was thinking of a couple of those friends: The Creamers (You know who you are. Don't deny your cool roots).


When I was about 13, I somehow was befriended by a group of girls in my ward. I don't remember how it happened exactly (I'm sure it was a service project on their part....or maybe we bonded while I let them ride around in my wheelchair after I broke my hip...) but from then on, we were more like sisters than friends. No matter how much time passes between seeing them, it is always the same and we pick up where we left off.


Two of these friends, Leah and Mehgan, happened to be sisters and us friends spent most of our time at their house. There we would cackle and joke till the cows came home. One night, it happened to just be the three of us and we somehow got a hold of a dorky piece of plastic fake dog poop (you know, the kind that usually only pre-pubescent boys find funny). After placing it in various parts of their home (even though they did not own a dog) we decided that we would have to broaden our horizons and find a new group of unsuspecting people to prank. What could be better than the Janss mall-the most lively part of town on a Friday night?!


Leah and I thought that this was a delightfully wicked plan. Mehgan wasn't so sure. We decided that we would place our hilarious fake poop by the tables in the outdoor food court. This way we could casually sit nearby (the table directly next to our poop. Very sneaky) and watch without anyone suspecting our prank. Mehgan rolled her eyes and headed off to get a bite to eat while we got the lameness out of our system.


For the first so many passersby, the prank seemed to be as funny and as effective as we had hoped. We snickered while several people stepped around it with an alarmed look on their face. Victory! Those fools!!!!!


After a couple minutes, a guy about our age and his younger brother came across our prank. As they walked closer, we heard the younger boy say, "Watch out for the poop" We struggled to keep our laughter in check until we heard, "Fake poop that is," and they both looked at us like we were mental. All humor was out the door. Ouch! How could our foolproof prank turn on us in such a fashion?!

There is something incredibly embarrassing about a younger person thinking you are an idiot. With age comes respect, right? Leah did the first thing that she could think of to redeem us. She pulled out her dad's cell phone and pretended to make a call. Very sophisticated. Surely this act made the rude boy regret his disdain. Our cool was regained (somewhat) and we were able to leave-after we made Mehgan pick up our shameful prank. What a pal.

P.S. This is James, Malinda's husband. I just found out this occurred when the aforementioned "creamers" were at least twice the age of accountability. That's right, Mehgan drove them there.

Flashback Friday: For Jerry!!!!

For Jerry!!!!!

I have many happy memories of my Freshman year in college but one of my favorites was the For Jerry fitness regime. I did this with my friends on the 1200 floor of Hinckley Hall. My Mahana sisters.

Our friend, Rachel, brought a 1970's dating game to school (was it Mystery Date?) and we would bring it out every now and again when our love lives were going a little slower than we would have liked (Okay, so the whole year). Mostly we would just bring it out to laugh at the dated pictures of the "dreamy" guys that the game had lined up for us. Our very favorite was Jerry the sailor (He sort of looked like the picture above but much dorkier and was clicking his heels as if he was extra excited to woo us). How could we resist him?

In honor of our Jerry, we made a chart, planned out what diet and exercise goals we would all agree to reach, and then would meet nightly to report. At this reporting, we would join together, thrust our fists in the air, and cheer, "For Jerry! For Jerry! For Jerry!!!!" Oh the excitement and glee! As you can imagine, this was a winner of a program and it lasted for at least 2 weeks.

At the peak of our For Jerry regime, I would drag Mehgan with me to run the stairs that led from campus to the RB. Before going, I would wrap my torso with saran wrap in hopes of loosing extra belly weight. There we would run up and down until someone else came around. I was too embarrassed to be caught making crinkling sounds, so we would head back to the dorm for safety. One night, after returning, I walked past a group of girls and one asked, "Are you wearing a diaper?" As you can imagine, that was the end of that. And yes, the Freshman 15 happened.

Flashback Friday: Playing Teenagers

When we Vance kids were young we played all kinds of odd games to keep us occupied. Like so many other girls, one of my personal favorites was playing house. I was usually the mom and my imaginary husband was Michael J. Fox (and I would call him by his full name. As in, "Michael J. Fox, dinner is ready") or MacGyver (who I was sure lived on the nearby CLU hill). They were both dreamy and made for wonderful husbands.

One day when Aria was 5 or 6 and I was 9 or 10, we pretended to be teenagers instead. I can't even imagine what this game entailed besides putting on makeup and using the word "like" a whole bunch. At one point the mail came and we found a flyer for some teen science camp and whisked it away for our play.

I pointed out one of the guys in the pamphlet and said in a sophisticated voice, "This one is my boyfriend. I have a crush on him."

Aria responded by pointing out another guy and innocently said, "This one is my boyfriend. I have a crotch on him."

Oops! :) I guess we didn't make the coolest teenagers. I never did. However, my taste in men has always been impeccable!

Flashback Friday: Audition Day

I have been perusing my scrapbooks of late and have been in a reminicing mood. I thought it would be fun to share some of my memories with you on Fridays. I'll call them Flashback Fridays. Here we go....

Audition Day

I was blessed to have an amazing Freshman roommate at BYU. Heather Hodges (now Dewey). Not only was she a lot of fun, great to talk to, and incredibly good at whatever she did (and still does), she also believed in me. Sometimes a little too much.

The second semester of my Freshman year I had a big crush on my social dance TA. I thought he was dreamy (Now I prefer a red-headed manly chap). Not only was he a great dancer, he also was on the Young Ambassadors-BYU's touring singing and dancing team. I wished that I could figure out a way to see him at other times besides my dance class. One day, while I was telling Heather about my sorry plight, we ran into a friend of hers from back home.

"Guess what I just signed up for, Heather?!" She chirped. "The Young Ambassador audition!" After a brief chat and us wishing her success, we parted ways.

"Malinda! If SHE could do it, YOU totally could! You should try out!" Heather was very persuasive. Even though it went against my better judgment, I gave into the flattery (I'm a yellow) and soon embraced the idea. This was my ticket to spend more time with Tasi! We could tour the world together and he would fall madly in love with me!

All I needed were two songs to sing, a resume and a picture of myself. No problem. After I bought some sheet music, I moved onto the next two requirements. #1-My resume. I typed out all of the stage experience I could think of. "...Was an Oompa-loompa at age 12(They didn't need to know that I messed up my short solo at nearly every performance and made it so that the verses didn't make sense).... #2-Picture. Hm... I had recently took one with a couple guys in my ward that I thought was particularly flattering, so I cut my frumpy self out from between them and stapled the photo onto my flimsy resume. Done and done!

The morning of my big audition I put on my sharpest clothes and practiced my songs a time or two. Heather gave me another pep talk and sent me on my way.

As I signed in at the front desk, I heard what seemed to be an angel singing from the nearby audition room. I looked around and saw a room full of other Y.A. hopefuls with their well polished resumes and their professional black and white pictures. Yikes! For the first time it occurred to me that maybe I was a little out of my league. These people have been working towards this goal for years! Before I could run, they called my name. Doom filled my soul. WHAT WAS I THINKING?!!!

I nervously entered the dreaded room, stood on the designated line and started my songs. My first choice was "Whistle a happy tune" from The King and I(I was praying that they would mercifully stop me before I got the whistling part, as I couldn't actually whistle to save my life). It was a little shaky but it went pretty well all the same. Then the pianist started playing the music for my second song, "If I loved you" from Carousel. To my HORROR it was a whole octave higher than I had practiced! Foolishly I started singing anyway. "If I loved you, time and again I would try to say...." As the song continued, the notes got higher and higher until at last I shrieked, "If I loved you!" so loud and shrill that I am surprised the windows didn't break!

They politely reminded me to show up for the second half of the audition that night where I could again make a fool of myself, but this time by twirling around the dance floor. I left the building beet red and laughed all the way back to our dorm. There I told Heather about my failed attempt and that there was NO way that I was going to show up for the second half of the audition. I may have been a dreamer but I was not that much of an idiot!

Heather was appalled that I would quit halfway. "If you don't go you will wonder about it for the rest of your life!"

Well, it has been ten years now and I haven't wondered a day.