Home, sweet home

Dear family: Can we get a newer picture taken soon? 

Since I was at my parents' and then grandmother's for Thanksgiving, I was unable to post the obligatory Thanksgiving/what I'm thankful for blog post. (Well, I could have, but I forgot my laptop and refuse to pay $2.99 for the Blogger app on my iPod.) So, as with so many things, here I am, a few days late but no less thankful.

Instead of listing each one by one, I think my "thankful-fors" are best summed up in one snapshot. Monday night at my parents' house, we were all upstairs. Courtney and I were sitting on the couch while I was braiding her hair, and we were laughing at the greatest Facebook message thread of all time. Mom was sitting in the recliner knitting and mocking Dad and Scott while they played Wii basketball — neither one too happy with losing. Of course, the family cat, Sugar, made an appearance, sitting in the middle of the living room, making sure we were all aware that she had graced us with her presence. And in that moment, I was very, very thankful that this was my family, that these were the people who loved me, and that they were my home.

I hope you had a happy Thanksgiving with whomever you are blessed enough to call "home."

A girl's guide to football cheers

Woo pig sooie!

I've always lacked the physical coordination or overall pep to be a cheerleader but never the vocal fortitude necessary to shout my encouragement. Going to the Razorback games this year has driven this point home even more. However, my limited knowledge of the intricacies of the game leave me few intelligent things to shout. I can't yell at the ref for a botched call because I'm not even sure what he called. I like to think that I know a little more about football than the average female, but I do come up short in the "things to shout" category. So, I've compiled a list of my favorite go-tos in case you find yourself at a football game with nothing to yell.

1. "Go, baby, go!" I learned this one from my parents many years ago. It is a wonderful catch-all. You don't necessarily need to know what's going on to shout it. On offense? "Go, baby, go!" can easily relate to any number of instances, whether the quarterback is getting into position to throw or your team is running down the field. On defense? "Go, baby, go!" can mean to sack the quarterback or catch whoever might be making a break for it. Husband leaving for the concession stand? "Go, baby, go!" And get me some M&Ms while you're at it. (I like to add additional go's to the end for as long as the play lasts. Add a little variety by switching up the rhythm of the go's.)

2. "Hit him, hit him, hit him!" To really emphasize this point, I like to clench my fists and quickly pound at the air for the duration of the play. It is best reserved for defensive plays or when the opposing team is returning a punt or kick off.

3. "Let's go, defense!" My greatest fear in all the world is that I will shout this only to realize we're playing offense. How embarrassing, right? So be sure you're 110% certain of your team's status before shouting this one. Good clues are if your mascot happens to be holding a cut-out letter "D" and part of a picket fence or if someone around you has already shouted it.

4. "C'mon Hogs/Razorbacks/Arkansas!" If you're lucky enough to have a team that answers to several names, your things-to-shout playbook can double or triple in size! What luck!

5. Whatever Scott just said, a.k.a. The Mockingbird: If you choose to implement The Mockingbird, be sure to allow sufficient time between the shout your about to copy and your own for risk of calling attention to the fact you're just repeating what someone else said. That's number two on the "most embarrassing" list.

When in doubt, a joyful "Yay!" or disappointed "Boo!" are also good options.

I hope that these will give you a little more confidence as you cheer on your team to victory!

"It's hard to be humble when your an Arkansas Razorbacks fan! Go Hogs!"

Election Day

I loved "Mary Poppins" as a kid (still do, actually). I had an umbrella with a duck head handle that I'd jump off the couch with in hopes of flying away like she did. It never worked. (Why did I feel like I had to clarify that my umbrella hopping never worked? Who knows. Moving on.)

I never understood this scene, though. First of all, I didn't know what Mrs. Banks was saying when she said "sister suffragette" or why she was wearing that "votes for women" sash. At the time, I thought she'd won Miss America or some other sash-wearing beauty contest. I didn't realize that there was a time when women couldn't vote, that for petitioning for that right, they'd get carted off to prison, "singing and scattering pamphlets all along the way." I'd always been dragged along to the polls with my mom on her errands and seen her vote countless times. (Side note: Say the word "errands" to any kid, and I guarantee you that they'll fall in the floor in a fit. That's what I did. I hated the word "errands." Still do.) A world where women were denied that right was nonexistent in my little mind. (The same one that thought most of the events in the Bible occurred in Tennessee. My worldview was a tiny one, OK?)

I say all this to say, if you haven't already, go out and vote today. I'm not one to get on my political soapbox and preach this view or that, but, whatever your political standing, the ability to vote is not always a given for all people. Exercise your right, and thank those who fought for it.

I also never understood why Katie Nana shrieked when Mrs. Banks pulled up her skirt. I realized later (read: today) that it's because she's showing off her undergarments. You learn something new every day, right?

My last first date

Five years ago, I was anxiously getting dressed in my dorm room in Kendall, trying on this and that, messing with my hair and retouching my makeup. I crossed through the bathroom several times to the adjoining room for my suitemates' outfit approval. Once everything in my closet had found its way onto my twin bed and the final outfit had been decided upon, the waiting and fidgeting began. By the time my phone lit up with his incoming call, the lock on my door had already clicked its goodbye, but I was too far down the hall to hear it.

As I popped out of the dorm lobby and into the affectionately named "crack" between two dorms, I saw a white truck and my date for the evening. He was wearing a long sleeved green polo, jeans, and the same nervous, excited smile I was. He opened the passenger door and helped me hoist my short self up into the truck's cabin. Easy conversation and quick glances sustained us until we got to our dinner destination. 

We slid into a booth to look over menus while the conversation flowed easily, like we'd known each other much longer than we had. When the bread came, a large crusty loaf, he, being a gentleman, reached out to break it for the both of us. Bread crumb shrapnel shot out at every angle, and a cute, pink twinge colored his cheeks as we laughed and dusted ourselves off.

Overwhelming comfort — that is what I felt. Before the check arrived, I had given up on the idea of a second date and moved ahead to numbers three and four. Dates before had been filled with awkward small talk and long lulls, sipping my iced tea to fill the silence, but not this one. This one was very different.

Napkins were tossed onto the table as we pushed through the doors and embarked out into the chilly night. Stop number two was at the local movie theater, which promised college students a break from high-priced features every Tuesday night, allowing admittance for only $2. 

Nestled into old movie theater seats, he reached out and held my hand. The movie was "Elizabethtown," and while it garnered no Oscar buzz or was well-received enough to even find its way on to TBS years later, it will forever be ranked as one of my all time favorites because of whom I was watching it with. While the relationship of Orlando Bloom's character began to grow with Kirsten Dunst's, another was beginning off screen.

Five years ago, I went on my last first date. The same truck that I not quite gracefully launched myself into now sits in the garage, and the boy whose hand I giddily held while watching a movie I still get to hold today.

Scott, thank you for picking up on my not so subtle "ask me on a date" vibes, and thank you for reminding me daily why I was so keen on you in the first place.