Marathon 2010

It's taken me a while to finally sit down and write about my marathon experience. It's not that I haven't thought about it. On the contrary, I think about it every time I pass the medal hanging in my room, which is multiple times a day. Sometimes I look at it and feel like I didn't really earn it. And sometimes I look at it and wonder if it is really mine. It is a tangible reminder of vivid memories and feelings laced with victory and defeat to everything in between. But every time I sit down and try to put my experience into words, I find myself at a loss--grasping and waiting for words that simply do not come.

I feel much different now than I did that day in September, and yet in many ways, the same. The biggest difference is that I can breathe freely now. The cough is gone. The fever is gone, and once again my lungs can expand to their full capacity to take in precious air. Such was not the case that day. Every breath I took was painful. Every cough sent me gasping for air. And every step left me wondering why I had to get sick 2 days before one of the biggest events of my life. It didn't seem fair. I had trained perfectly, without injury, logging all of the miles required of me. I knew my pace, and I was confident that I could keep it. Until I got sick. I learned all too quickly that it doesn't matter how hard you have trained if you can't breathe.

I was hoping that my illness would simply leave on race day so that I could run like I wanted to. But that wasn't the case. I struggled with every step, and by mile 17 or so, I had been relegated to simply (I hate to even say it) walking. "Walk" is a true four-letter word to a runner. I felt dejected. Defeated. I hated being back at the tail end of thousands of runners. It was actually painful for me as I watched my goal time slip through my fingers. My new goal was simply to finish ("and not die in the process" according to Mike).

I don't even know what my time was when I finally crossed the finish line. People have asked, and I honestly don't know. I don't want to know. I know that it was well over (here we go again with four letter words...) five (5) hours. But all I cared about was that I was done. The tears came freely for a multitude of reasons: because I was finally done; because I had done so poorly in my own eyes; because I was ashamed at how long it took me. The pity list goes on. But I would be lying if I did not say that from somewhere deep inside were tears of joy-- that I had actually finished my first full marathon, no matter how long it took. I knew with all my heart that I had done the very best with the cards that I had been dealt that day, even though I was hoping with all my heart for a completely different hand.

Many tender mercies were granted to me that day that I never want to forget: the wind at my back pushing me along when I could feel myself slowing down; the stunning red oak trees that lined the sides of the canyon at the peak of my favorite season; the people who cheered (even when I was...cringe...walking); and the little children who shouted, "You can do it! You're almost there!" when I must have looked like I was about to die. And I simply cannot fail to mention my impromptu "race crew"-- My sweet husband and 3 other dear, dear friends who stayed by my side on their bikes from mile 14 to 26, something they did not plan to do. They knew I was struggling when they saw me come out of the canyon, and so they rode along next to me. They talked to me. They made me smile and even laugh. They carried my water for me. They even waited in line at the Port-a-potties for me. And they kept my spirits up when I was feeling so down. And I had one friend there who ran the marathon and crossed the finish line a full hour and a half before me, and yet waited there for me to finish because he knew I would never give up. So Mike, Rachel, Lisa, Natalie, and Dave, I thank you. When I say I never could have done it without you, I mean it with all my heart. And to all of my other friends and family who were not there, but were praying for me, I thank you also. Your faith helped in ways you cannot imagine.

I swore that day that I would never run another marathon in my life. EVER! I had checked off that item on my bucket list, thank you very much. I had nothing else to prove. But as the days and weeks have passed, I have realized that I DO have something to prove--to myself: that I will not let the memory of this one day keep me from running another marathon. I want to cross the finish line running and feeling victorious. I want to feel strong. In short, I want to smile instead of hang my head. And so I will run another marathon. Not any time soon. But when the time is right, I will try again.And I will finish again.

No matter what the cost.

Tom and Jerry!

Cam has a nickname for me. It's Jerry--as in Tom and Jerry, his very favorite cartoon. Every morning when he wakes up, he says to me, "Mom, I am Tom, and you are Jerry." Then he proceeds to call me Jerry for the rest of the day.

Now he doesn't even bother with the daily clarification. He just calls me Jerry from the moment he opens his eyes. He calls me Jerry at home. He calls me Jerry in the store. He calls me Jerry in front of others, at church, at pack meeting, at Kiddie Kollege. You name it. He even refers to me as Jerry when he is talking about me to other people. (Example: "Where is my Jerry?" or "Hey, has anybody seen my Jerry?" ) It doesn't matter if he is happy, mad, sad, or excited. He still calls me Jerry.

A few nights ago Mike put him to bed, and he wailed through his very real tears from his bed for me, not "Mom!!!" or "Mommmmy!" But "Jer-rrrrrry! Jer-rrrrry!"

I suppose this is what I get for saying something like, "If I hear someone call me 'Mom' one more time, I'm going to lose it!!!"

So now I'm Jerry.

As a side note: Here is a recent conversation between Cam (Tom) and Mike, who he calls Spike from time to time. (Spike is the Dog on Tom and Jerry).

Mike: "Hey, Cam, what does your shirt say?"

Cam (Tom): "It says 'Here comes trouble!'" (emphasis on the word "trouble.")

Mike: "Wow! That's right! You're so smart!"

Cam (tapping his head with his finger): "Yeah. I'm a genius!"

You can't help but love that little turkey.

"Mothers of little boys work from son up to son down."

Kiddie Kollege

The school year ends early for my classes at Kiddie Kollege. This Thursday was graduation for both of my three year old classes, and they all did so well. I have loved (almost) every minute with my classes this year, and I felt so lucky to have so many kids that I know already in my classes, from nieces and nephews, to the kids in my neighborhood. I wanted to do something special for all of them, so I actually dusted off my sewing machine and went to work.

Here they are. The skirts I made. All 14 of them. (If you only count 13, I had to give one away early.) Each skirt took about an hour to make, but it was so worth it.

I loved shopping for the fabric (thank you, Joann's, for your 50% off fabric), and certain fabrics would match the personalities of each of the girls in my class. Emma was also a great help in choosing fabric. She kept me thinking like a little girl instead of like a 38 year old girl.

I made pillowcases for all the boys, and had my mom help embroider their names on them. I also tried to match the fabric of the pillowcases to each of the boys and their likes and favorite colors. I thought they turned out too cute.

I am one of those lucky people who can say that I love my job. I love everything about it. I love working for and around my mom and sister. I love the ladies I work with and consider them close friends (thank you for plowing my Facebook farm yet again, Mary). And I love being surrounded by adorable children who love me unconditionally. It is humbling, to say the least.

Here are some of the things I will miss the most:

1-Gracie getting dirtier than all the boys combined. Every. Single. Day.
2-Dane helping me fold my laundry.
3-Kate's pigtails and thumb combo, and sudden outbursts of super long sentences.
4-Aubree's perfect green eyes and beautiful mermaid hair. (She seriously needs to be a model)
5-Cade's curly locks.
6-Jackson calling me "ancient" on my birthday.
7-Watching the boys fight over who got to sit by Cameron.
8-Watching Kayla sing "Miss Molly."
9-Listening to Payton sing/spell her name multiple times. Every day.
10-Ruby's crack. It was everywhere. =) It matched her sense of humor perfectly.
11-Stockton's perfectly colored pictures.
12-Zanna's perfect hair every single day, and her little crush on Boston.
13-Mirabel's dresses. Every last one of them. (She only wore pants maybe twice)
14-Robert's pronunciation of my name and the "green frog."
15-Kennedy's precious smile.
16-Corbyn leaving his seat every day just to give me a hug.
17-Alyssa's blue eyes and purple cast.
18-Gracee's darling outfits made by her talented mom.
19-Brogan's cologne (for real) and treats to me every single holiday.
20-Collin and Boston becoming the best of friends.
21-Logan's smile and walking on his toes. Everywhere.
22-Levi's incessant desire to please me.
23-Hearing Ava's voice for the first time. She was always too shy to even speak.
24-Halle telling me her favorite song was "the bleacher song" which I finally figured out to be "You Belong to Me" by Taylor Swift. "She's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers."

It really is a good thing that I will still see most all of these kids at least once a week. =) It has been such a fun, fun school year.

"There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child. There are seven million."

~Walt Streightiff

Amen!

I love listening to my kids pray. I especially love to listen to them when they say their prayers all by themselves, and to hear what they ask for when not prompted by another person. It's the true meaning of life unscripted. Cam has recently started to say his prays all by himself. May I share his latest prayer with you:

"Heavny Fader. Tank you for dis day. Pwease bwess our food. One nation. Unner God. Inabisble. Amen."

Yep. The Pledge of Allegiance. It fits nicely there at the end of the prayer, wouldn't you say? We say it every Tuesday and Thursday when I'm teaching my classes at Kiddie Kollege. Cam, on the other hand, never says the Pledge with us, or does anything with us, for that matter at school. His main goal while at the good ol' KK is to create as much noise as possible or to cause bodily damage to anyone who dares tread in his path. I wish I could say that I'm kidding. There are many (MANY) times I'd like to drop kick him out the window for his unruly 3 year old boy behavior. I struggle to teach my class when he is in one of his moods, running around the room, dumping bins of toys on the floor, or banging his toy animals on the tables (SOOO noisy!), or head-butting one of my students because they had the guts to look him in the eye. And I won't even tell you about the multiple times a day he comes running into my classroom buck naked from the waist down after using the potty for all the little boys and girls to see. One time he even turned around, faced them all, and did a little naked dance for them while I scrambled to put his underwear and pants back on him before any of my little girls without brothers started asking questions. Full frontal nudity at preschool. From my son. (For those of you whose kids are in my class, I offer my sincerest and heartfelt apologies for this and all other matters concerning Cam. I'm sure you hear about all of them. And sadly, yes, they are probably all true.)

So back to Cam's prayer. Of course it melted my heart. How could it not? But I also found myself doing my own personal victory dance (fully clothed, of course).

Why, you ask?

Because his prayer is living proof that that the little stinker is actually listening and learning--while throwing his toys around the room, dumping the puzzles all over the floor, and running naked throughout the building!!! Who knew?!?! (The little turd...) And that, my dear brothers and sisters, for this mother, is sweet, sweet victory.

With liberty and justice for all!

AMEN!

"Raising a kid is part joy and part guerrilla warfare." (Ed Asner)

"Of all the animals, the boy is the most unamangeable." (Plato)

The Spelling Bee

Confession: I rarely look through my kids' backpacks when they come home from school.

My excuse: I am usually getting home from work myself or I am busy teaching piano at the appointed "look in the backpack" hour. Plus if you actually look in their backpacks, you instantly have sheets and sheets of multi-colored paper strewn all over the nicely cleaned kitchen. (Ok, so the kitchen may not have been clean to begin with, but the paper only makes it worse.)

Result: I usually miss things like upcoming projects, release forms that need to be signed, and notes from the PTA in search of volunteers. Dang about the PTA...

Loop Hole: Natalie, who always looks in her kids' backpacks and whose son is in Caleb's class, is always so good to tell me when things need to be signed and when projects are due. (Book project due this Friday. Right, Natalie?)

I guess the planets must have been perfectly aligned a couple of weeks ago, because Caleb brought home a letter that somehow actually made it into my hands, and I saw it with my own eyes. It wasn't a release form, a school letter, or even a report card. Instead, it was a letter informing me and congratulating him for taking first place in his class Spelling Bee. First place! My sweet Caleb! It was one of those moments where my heart swelled up with pride and my eyes watered a bit, as I realized what a great accomplishment this was for him. He took the humble approach by smiling, shrugging his shoulders, and then running down to play Madden Football on the X Box 360.

Because Caleb had taken first place in his class, he would be competing in the school wide Spelling Bee January 20. And along with his celebratory letter was a list of words for him to study for the upcoming event.

Then I looked at the list...

Words like "phlebotomy" and "silhouetted," "narcissistic" and "camouflage" were printed all over the page. There were words I couldn't even pronounce on the list, and most definitely words that I couldn't spell either. I had to do the "you've got to be kidding me" laugh as I hung the list on the door for all of us to help Caleb practice over the long weekend.

The day for the school Spelling Bee arrived, and I was there (thanks to Natalie for reminding me) to be able to watch him. I know I had to be more nervous for him than he was. His cousin Connor came in with a little yellow sticky note that simply said "CALEB!" on it that he raised high in the air from the audience to show his support and love for his cousin. And the row of girls behind me all stood up and cheered for him when his name was called. (I turned around and thanked them for cheering and told them I was Caleb's mom, which caused them to erupt into a fit of embarrassed giggles). I was moved to tears as I watched Caleb's friends cheer him on in their own ways.

I know you are all expecting me to say that Caleb was one of the three winners who will compete at the district level, but he was not. He missed a word early in one of the rounds and graciously came off the stand and sat in the chairs as he waited for the Spelling Bee to finish. I kept looking over at him to see if he was okay. I had to resist every motherly urge to run over across the room and throw my arms around him and offer the comfort that I thought he needed. But every time I looked over at him, he was smiling. I couldn't believe how proud of him I was of him. Connor even came over to him after it was all over, still holding his yellow sticky note, and said to him, "You're still #1 to me." Oh my heck....Here come the water works from the mom! What an experience it was for me to be a part of it all, simply by watching.

All of this spelling bee mumbo-jumbo got me thinking a bit. I have always thought of myself as a "good speller." (For all off you eager to point out that "speller" is not really a real word, it is! I looked it up.) I cringe and even snicker at misspelled words in public places. My favorite example was while serving a mission in San Antonio there was a laundromat that had a huge banner hanging from its awning proudly proclaiming:

"Under New Mengament!"

Not exactly the kind of message you want to get out to all your potential customers, if you ask me. It still makes me giggle to think about it. And here is another one from when I was working with my dad at Lagoon last spring. This box was in our booth, and Dad and I both had a good snicker about it.

But as proud as I may be of my self-proclaimed ability to spell, I will be the first to admit that there are still many (MANY) words that I misspell frequently (every single time). So in honor of my "super speller" son, Caleb, who could probably spell these words in his sleep, I share them with you. And just so you know, yes, I had to look up every single one of these words for this post. Whoever said that you have to know how to spell a word before you look it up has never used dictionary.reference.com before.

diarrhea- We might as well start out with the gross stuff. I have never been able to spell this word. Never. I tried once to respond to a friend of mine on Facebook and tried 4 different variations of the word before I finally just said, "the runs."

rhythm- For some reason, I keep adding an "N" to this word after the "M." Words like "column" and "hymn" both have "N's" after all! I have also been known to leave out one of the "H's". Not good for a piano teacher who teaches rhythmn...rythm.. (Sigh...)

speechless- I am embarrassed about this one. I always thought it was "speachless" and was getting quite huffy at my spell check until I finally looked it up. Guess what? My spell check was right. I hate it when that happens. It's hard to leave someone speechless, if you can't even spell the dang word.

Albuquerque-Seriously? Who thought up this name for a city? It's brutal. Cruel and unusual, if you ask me. I'm sure it is a lovely place, and has produced some of the finest people around (Mike and Jen), but I still can't spell it. I cheated and looked it up once and then taught it to my phone so it comes out perfect every time. Sometimes predictive text is a beautiful thing.

embarrassed-I tend to use this word frequently, since it applies to my life in so many ways. You think I would know how to spell it. I am embarrassed to say that I was leaving out one of the "R's" until very recently. The real irony, of course, is that I was embarrassing myself even more in the process by spelling it incorrectly all this time. Yay me.

casserole- I know! I know! Every single LDS woman should be born knowing how to spell this word. I thought I was one of them until one of the kids spelled it at the spelling bee and I thought, "Dang! He got it wrong!" To which the judge said, "That is correct."
I. Am. Brilliant.

conscientious- Give me a break. Can YOU spell it?

forty- Embarrassing story on this one. One day one of the gals I work with in the preschool was complaining about how many people misspell "forty" on their tuition checks by spelling it "fourty." I believe she said something into the air like "C'mon people! You should all know how to spell 'forty' correctly since the 4th grade!" To which I replied, "No kidding! Dumb people!" And then I instantly made a note in my head to never EVER again spell it "fourty" again.
Some people indeed!

And would anyone care to guess what one of the most misspelled words in the English language is?

Anyone?

Anyone?

Bueller?

It's not "broccoli," or "vacuum," "chihuahua," or even "chrysanthemum."

It's the word "misspell."

And what could be more embarrassing than to misspell the name of the problem?

Hymn #114

A couple of months ago, I had an experience unlike any I have ever had before. Thinking back upon it now, I still shake my head and wonder things like, "Did that really happen?" and "Are you kidding me?" It was one of those moments that I always want to remember, and so I have decided to write it down like a good blogging Mormon housewife. For those of you who were there to experience it all firsthand, I apologize, and you can simply skip reading this entry and find something more entertaining to read. Like Facebook. For those who are still reading, you might want to grab a snack. This is going to be a long one.

It was back in November that our stake had its semi-annual stake conference. My calling is that of the Stake Music Director, and so I had spent months preparing for this event. I had a fabulous choir of sisters and we had worked hard on our numbers that we would be singing. The Stake Presidency had asked for something special since we would be having a visiting General Authority, Elder J. Roger Fluhman, of the Seventy and personal secretary to the Twelve. I was excited and felt like we were ready.

I don't know how many of you have ever heard Elder Fluhman speak before, but it is quite--what's the word--different(?) than what we are all used to in our perfectly planned and organized Mormon meetings. I am certainly a fan of being spontaneous and following the Spirit, but I have never seen it put into action quite like Elder Fluhman did at our conference. For those of you in the dark, let me fill you in. Here is a small sample of part of the Saturday adult session:

Elder Fluhman: "I'm grateful to be here tonight to talk to all of you. But right now I really don't know what it is I'm going to talk about. (Brief awkward silence followed by a few courtesy laughs) I STILL don't know quite what to say and nothing is coming to me, so I'm going to sit down for a while and wait for something to come to me, while I'm going to ask President Johnston to take the stand and share some words with all of you. Hopefully something will have come to me by then."

The entire meeting was pretty much that way. Elder Fluhman would speak for a while, invite some poor unsuspecting member of the Stake Presidency to talk, and then he would speak for a while again. It was an interesting meeting, to say the least.

Before the Sunday morning session started I walked over to the Stake Presidency who were standing off the stage by their offices to give them some information about the program. Elder Fluhman was there, so to be polite, I offered my name, shook his hand, and told him that I had the honor of directing the choir that day. He shook my hand, looked intently at me and said,

"Sister Allred. I'm going to remember your name. Do you sing too?"

Now, having attended that Saturday evening session and remembering all too clearly how Elder Fluhman works, I laughed a bit nervously with no intent to answer his question, as President Adams, Johnston, and Jepperson all chimed in in the affirmative, that I did indeed sing. Great. Lovely. Now he knows, I thought.

The meeting progressed much like it had the evening before, with Elder Fluhman calling upon the Stake Presidency out of the blue to share their thoughts with the congregation. The choir did an amazing job, and after their last number (which was a descant on the rest hymn, How Firm a Foundation--one of my all time favs) I sat down, content that my part on the program was over, and I could relax and enjoy the rest of conference.

As I sat down with my family, Elder Fluhman took the stand, complimented the choir, and then said something that sounded an awful lot like:

"Sister Allred, that was so nice. I think that we might be hearing from you later on in the program. So perhaps you should be thinking about what it is you would like to do for us."

My mind went blank. My jaw dropped to the floor, and my mind started reeling. I did my very best to smile pleasantly back at Elder Fluhman and look unflustered, even though my insides were doing very un-reverent flip flops right there in the chapel. I quickly scanned my repertoire in my head, and decided that when he called upon me, I would briefly share my testimony, and would then play a piano solo of "I Know That My Redeemer Lives". I could do that. I felt comfortable with that decision. I took out my hymn book, turned to hymn #136, and did my best to sit still and wait until called upon.

It wasn't long after that when I heard Elder Fluhman say:

"I'm thinking of a hymn that I know. It's not very well known, but it is one that I love and teaches some wonderful truths about the Gospel. It's hymn #114 Come Unto Him. I'm wondering, Sister Allred, if after I'm done speaking in a few minutes if you would come up and perhaps sing this hymn for us? You could sing it as a solo, or you could invite a few others to sing with you if you would like. Maybe a women's duet, or a nice 4 part quartet would be lovely as well. Whatever you think is best."

At this point I think my eyes popped right out of my head, and I was immediately grateful that the camera that was broadcasting this meeting to two other chapels was not on my face at that very moment. The audience actually made an audible gasp. (As well as in the other two chapels, my sources have told me.) I heard whispering, snickers, and I could feel every single eye in that building bearing down on me at that very moment. I could feel my face turn hot, even though I'm sure it was void of all color at this point, as once again all I could do was smile and nod--which of course did not match at all what I was thinking at that very moment. Something like "WHAT THE CRAP......?!??!?" or "ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?" may have gone through my mind. I'm not entirely sure. It all blurred together. I was still wearing the fake smile as I gently (frantically!) removed (yanked!) the hymnbook and turned (flipped!) to Hymn #114.

(Go ahead. Get your hymnbook and turn there...)

If I thought that matters could not have gotten any worse at that point, I was dead wrong. There, in front of me, looking up from the page, was a hymn I hardly knew! We're talking, I had heard it maybe ONCE in my life time. And that was a generous guess.

"Of all the hymns in this book he chooses THIS one?!?! Are you SERIOUS?!???!"

I tried to go over the melody in my head, only to come to the blatant and instant realization that I would never be able to sing it as a solo. Mike, who was sitting next to me, kept asking me every few minutes, "What are you going to do?" And every time I would shake my head with my eyes still popping out of my head and say something like, "I have no idea." Although I think it may have actually sounded a bit more like, "Gah.....gah...." as I choked on my own tongue.

With minutes to go I finally decided that there was no way that I was going to be able to do this alone. I needed help. Reinforcements. And I knew just who to ask.

I did my best to sneak (run) out of the chapel in search of Heather Steed and Christine Jensen (Lisa Steed was so glad to be in San Fransisco this particular weekend because I would have grabbed her as well) as I heard Elder Fluhman say, "I see Sister Allred is leaving. I'm not sure if that is good news or not." Heather was standing in the foyer practically waiting for me. She knew the hymn and would be happy to sing with me. Christine, on the other hand, was sitting on the stand as part of the choir, so trying to get her attention and get her off the stand discreetly was another matter all together. Once we were out in the hall we all started shooting out ideas. Heather went and asked her super-talented hubby Jason if he could play for us. We all wanted to go over our parts at least once, but were completely stuck to the foyer because we had no idea when Elder Fluhman would call upon us. We tried to sing over it a couple of times a'capella, but failed miserably.

It was in the middle of all this frantic chatter that I heard Elder Fluhman say that he was now ready for the hymn. We looked at each other, shook out heads in a collective understanding and consignment, opened the door, and walked into the chapel and up onto the stage.

We sang all three verses. We sang unison on the first one, and then broke out into parts on the last two. Heather on soprano, Christine on alto, and me on tenor. There were times we got lost, when we stumbled over words and notes, but somehow we made it though and even ended with each of us beautifully singing the notes that were written in the hymn book. It was nothing short of a miracle.

The hours, days and weeks that followed conference friends and strangers would come up to me and say things like,

"I can't believe he asked you to do that!"
"I would have walked right out of the chapel and not come back."
"I would have left the church if he had asked me to do that!"
"This is why I stopped going to church when I was younger!"
"I never wanted to be called up like that!"
"That was SO inconsiderate of him to do that to you!"
"I can't believe you pulled that off!"

And more than once it became the joke of speakers in our ward as they would say at the beginning of their talks, "When I'm done, perhaps Sister Allred could come up and sing a song for us."

As I talked with Heather after it was over, we were laughing about the whole ordeal, when she said that she couldn't decide if it was our most embarrassing moment, or our greatest victory. I think, perhaps, it was both. It was both a humiliating and humbling experience. Was I embarrassed? Heck YES!!!! But at the same time, I felt honored to have done exactly what a general authority requested of me by name to do. How cool is that when you really think about it? Plus, is makes one HECK of a story!

So the moral of the story: if you ever find yourself sitting in Stake Conference somewhere and Elder J. Roger Fluhman is the visiting authority, 1- sit in the back, 2-do NOT make eye contact, and 3-For the love of all that is holy and good, DO NOT go up and introduce yourself to him! Such actions can prove to be disastrous.

The Credits:

To Christine, for bravely removing herself from the stand in front of everyone and singing a beautiful alto line and not even getting mad at me when I couldn't find the tenor notes and sang much of her part with her.

To Heather, for never even sweating it! She was HAPPY to sing with me and had more grace and confidence than the rest of us combined and was the anchor that pulled us through.

To Jason, for taking an ordinary, unknown hymn and making it beautiful and extraordinary. As usual.



To Mike, for never doubting for even one second that I could do it and for pushing out the door to go find Heather and Christine when my legs were petrified to the bench.

And to Brad, for laughing with me about this and encouraging me to take the time and write it all down. This one's for you!

"Laugh at yourself first, before anyone else can."
~Elsa Maxwell