Red and Green . . . and Orange

For me, Christmas is full of red and green . . . and orange.

Every year at the Hancock household, as we gather around the tree on the chilly (and hopefully white) Christmas morning, each kid and son-in-law gets a stocking. The stocking is overflowing with little, individually wrapped presents whose contents are usually packs of gum.

We pull each present out, one by one, until we reach the bottom. There, in the toe of the stocking, was an orange. I don't think I actually ever ate the orange until I was in college when I realized food was expensive and vitamin C helps with finals. I think we even threw the oranges at each other one year or tried to juggle with them. Either way, the orange tradition was fun as I was growing up.

With finals looming on the impending horizon, it's hard to properly look forward to Christmas and oranges. But as I sit here at work and slowly peel back the leathery skin of my orange, juice and the sweet smell of Christmas spurts out, and I can't help but drift down a snow-laced memory lane.

And as much as I don't want to think about Christmas right now (yes, I'm one of those people who bans Christmas songs until after Thanksgiving), I'm reminded of those memories.

Christmas, please come faster!

When Campus is Out to Get You

Who knew that walking on campus could be such as adventure.

Since coming to BYU, I've had a number of quirky adventures, and many of them happened as I was walking on campus. Some were fun like, seeing a flash mob break into a thrilling dance in the JFSB courtyard during Halloween, but some hurt and were quite embarrasing.

When I was a freshman living in Helaman Halls, we had to walk up the same hill to get on campus (I don't know why they decided to build campus on a hill). Once, I was practically running up the hill to get to class on time because I had spent too much time filling myself with bacon at the Cannon Center. Out of nowhere, a bird flew straight for my head! Naturally, I screamed as I ducked and covered. Everyone else walking up the hill just stared. Now I keep a close eye on those feathered dive bombers as they swoop through campus.

Other animals you have to watch out for that are frequently found on campus are deer. They usually gather at the woody patches by the RB, but I saw one once on the other side of campus as I was walking home. As I watched it, it suddenly ran at me! I jumped out of the way and watched as it disappeared on campus. Maybe it was late for class?

I don't know what it is with animals on campus, but I've also had problems with the insects. Bees try to steal my lunch as I try to enjoy a bit of sun during lunch break and make me look silly as I scamper around, trying to dodge them while snagging my lunch back at the same time. My most recent insect encounter was with a grasshopper. Ugh, it was big and gross! I spotted it as I was walking to class and was careful to step over it so I didn't squish it. And how did it thank me? It hopped onto my leg! I shook my leg like a dog coming out of a bath, drawing quite a few strange looks from other students. Good thing most people on campus probably think I'm my twin sister, Amber.

As for inanimate objects, I've been hit by doors and almost run over by cars who are always driving on campus right behind you until you step aside to let them pass. Once when I was walking to the RB, an acorn fell from the tree and hit me on the head. Sadly, that bonk didn't give me any revolutionary ideas like gravity.

And now that it's winter, we'll all have to watch out for the added dangers of falling icicles and sneaky ice that waits until you're not looking to pull your feet out from under you. So watch out BYU BYU students: campus is out to get you.

My Fishy Fear

There are a lot of things in this world that people are afraid of: heights, flying, small spaces, and death.

Not me. My fear is fish.

Sorry, Bruce. Fish are not friends; they are, in fact, food.

My fear of fish can be traced back to when I was little. My dad used to take us girls to Free Fishing Day, a day where a bunch of fish were dumped into a little lake and kids could go fishing for free.

One fateful day, we went to take advantage of Free Fishing Day. It was pretty fun! Casting has always been my favorite part of fishing. Of course I wanted to catch a fish (especially if my sisters had already caught some), but sometimes casting and reeling in was enough to entertain me.

For the umpteenth time, I went through the motions of casting and reeling in. Suddenly, I felt a sharp tug at the end of my line. My hearth jumped into my throat, and then I got really excited. I got one! I thought.

I furiously reeled in my line, but found I had to struggle more than usual. My little brow furrowed as I struggled to get that fish to shore.

My parents finally noticed my struggling and chose to grab the video camera instead of helping me. At this point, I was panicking. This fish is going to drag me into the lake and eat me for breakfast! I'm too young to die! I could just read the newspaper headlines now: "Girl Gobbled by Giant Guppy" (my fish name vocabulary was really small).

The fish turned out to be an enormous carp, the biggest fish I have ever caught, and probably the biggest fish caught that day. It's a curse to be good at something you hate.

Since then, the scaly, slimy, wiggly fish have crept into my worst nightmares. It's even gotten to the point where I don't like swimming in open water for fear of what's under the surface nibbling my toes.

Let's just say I don't ever want to find Nemo. Or Dory. Or any fish. Ever.

True Blue, Through and Through

No, the title isn't referring to my love and loyalty to BYU (although, now that we're talking about it, go Cougars!).

The title comes from a story of one of the prophets of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Joseph F. Smith. When he was nineteen, he was returning home from his mission when a wagonload of drunk men came up to him, cursing the Mormons. One of them said, "Are you a Mormon?" Joseph was scared, but his reply was anything but. "Yes siree," he said. "Dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through." His answer shocked the men. The man who had addressed him even shook his hand, saying, "I am glad to see a fellow stand for his convictions." Then the men left.

Isn't this an amazing story? Joseph's reaction is such an inspiration. He had so much courage to stand for what he believed even in the face of certain danger.

That same danger is still in the world today. It may not be a wagonload of drunk men, but there are things that challenge what we believe. This happens all the time, but what really matters is how we react to the challenge. Will we let the challenges make us doubt what we know to be true? I hope not.

I hope to always be like Joseph F. Smith. I know where I stand in my beliefs, and I don't plan on ever budging.

I am a Mormon, dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.

I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only true church on the earth.

I know that the gospel was restored by Joseph Smith, a true prophet of God, and that The Book of Mormon is filled with answers to our questions and knowledge that will help us be happy and get through the hard times.

I know that the current prophet today is Tomas S. Monson. He and the apostles are true messengers of God. If we listen to what they say, we will hear what the Lord wants us to do.

I know that because of the blessings of the temple I can be with my family forever and that families start with the marriage of husband and wife (see The Family: A Proclamation to the World).

I know that the power of the priesthood is real. I'm so happy I have a husband who honors his priesthood and is worthy so that he might bless me and others.

I know that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. He died so that we might return to our Heavenly Father. He suffered for our sins so that we might be forgiven. His hands are always stretched out; all we have to do is reach out and He'll guide and direct us to where we need to be.

I know who I am, where I came from, and where I'm going. I am a daughter of a Heavenly Father and Mother who love me. I lived before in the premortal world, and I am here to be tested. I am doing my best to follow the commandments and be like Christ so that I might return to heaven to live forever.

I know that paying tithing brings many blessings, not just to those that it helps but also to me.

I know that I am truly happy because of the gospel.

To learn more about Mormons, click on my link on the right or visit

mormon.org. 

To read The Book of Mormon, visit lds.org

Inside the House of God

Until I went away to college, I lived in Riverdale. No, not Rivendale (which is what Lord of the Ring nerds on campus always think I say when I say that's where I'm from); Riverdale. Riverdale is a small city that meshes into Ogden.

It was always a blessing to live just about ten minutes away from the Ogden Temple. I remember going on a lot of youth activities to go do baptisms in the temple and walk its grounds, singing "I Love to See the Temple" in my head and promising that I'd "go inside someday" to make sacred covenants with God and to be married for time and all eternity (check!).

Last Saturday, I got to go inside the temple for another reason. For the past while, the Ogden Temple has been undergoing extensive renovations and reconstruction. Finally, it was finished and opened to the public. I had the wonderful opportunity to go with my family and friends to the open house. 

The temple was beautiful! I mean, all LDS temples are beautiful in their own way, but seeing this temple where the old one used to sit was just amazing. It was obvious that a lot of thought and skill went into the building of the temple with all the beautiful marble and stained glass and woodwork.

The transformation is unbelievable!

I've been to several open houses now, and I love going to them. I love seeing people (and not just Mormons) walking through the temple and going into rooms where we as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints perform sacred ordinances. There is a font for doing baptisms for the dead, rooms to perform marriages for time and all eternity (like where my marriage to my husband took place), rooms for sealings for the dead, just to name a few. As you can see, a lot of work is done in the temple.

As we walked through the temple during the tour at the open house, I could definitely feel the Spirit. It was a peaceful and happy feeling. I knew that what would happen in those temple rooms after the dedication would bring people true happiness. And if it felt that good just at the open house, imagine how much better and stronger that feeling will get after the temple is dedicated. That feeling is one of the reasons I like going to the temple. I like being able to shut out the world (even just for a couple of hours) and focus on my spirit and Jesus Christ. I feel safe and happy in the temple, and I feel good that I'm able to do work that will bless others.

I know that temples are essential, and I know that the purpose of the work done inside of them is to bring people (both living and dead) the opportunity for happiness. The temple brings me so much happiness. I know that my family can be together forever because of the blessings that a temple marriage brings. I'm especially grateful for temples now that I'm married because I know that my husband is mine forever. I never have to leave him.

If you haven't been to the open house, go! It is a beautiful experience. If you want to know more about Latter-day Saint temples, visit here or here.

My eternal family (plus two sisters who couldn't be there in person)

My Little, Cute Obsession

It's so fluffy, I'm going to die!

But really, I seem to like small creatures way more than I should.

Like just this weekend I saw some baby goats who were, I kid you not, just four weeks old! Cutest. Things. Ever. They'd prance around and just bounce back when a bigger goat pushed them around. I really wanted to hop the fence that divided me from their cuteness and scoop one up.

Likewise, every day walking to work, I pass the BYU duck pond. I can hear the high-pitched quacking from the wee ducklings before I see them. I try to feed them bread, but the larger, less-cute ducks steal the bits of bread. Rude. I think my husband can fit at least three of those ducklings in his hand. So adorable! I just want to take an armful of them back home.

When it comes to cute things, I just can't help it—googly eyes; fur soft as silk; precious noses; tiny, pudgy fingers and toes. . . .

Ok fine, I have an obsession with little, cute things. Every time I see something cute (whether it be a chubby baby, fluffy puppy, or waddling duckling), all I want to do is grab it and hug it. They are so dang cute—it drives me crazy! I even had a hard time looking for pictures to put with this blog post because I couldn't stand all those images of cute creatures.

Thankfully, it seems I'm not the only poor soul who experiences this. One study explores the explanation that maybe seeing something cute brings out a certain aggression in us that makes us want to squeeze something, preferably the cute thing we are fawning over.

One suggestion for this phenomenon of aggression is that we want to take care of that cute animal or baby that we see, and if it's a photograph, we get frustrated because we can't reach it or, in real life, we can't just go around squeezing other people's babies and puppies. That frustration could turn into aggression.

Whatever you call it—obsession, aggression, frustration—cute things are cute, and I just want to squeeze them all. And there's nothing more squeezable than a teacup pig with an ice cream cone.

Couldn't you just eat him up?

My Dad is . . .

. . . well, this picture about sums it up.

Clearly, my dad is a fun guy to be around. His jokes, though goofy at times, still manage to make us smile and laugh.

I know it's a day late, but I definitely want to give a shoutout to my amazing dad.

One of my dad's best qualities is how thoughtful and kind he is to everyone. At church, he's always the guy who stays after the meetings to make sure all the chairs get put away. He'll escort little old ladies from their cars, open doors for them, and help them up and down stairs. My dad goes out of his way to make sure people have what they need and especially loves doing secret service like shoveling the neighborhood walks after a snowstorm. Once he even sprained his ankle while we were swimming because he wanted to teach his girls how to do a cannonball (we learned not to do one in the shallow end).

Another fun quality of my dad's is that he loves to tease people, especially his girls. I'm pretty sure it's one of his favorite things to do. Teasing us is one way that he shows that he loves us. He teases us about silly things, like how he tells Amber and me that when we were little baby twins, he could fit one of us in each hand (true) and juggle us (not true). 

One of my favorite things to do with my dad is to go on camping trips. He always makes sure it's a fun time and puts a lot of work into making sure everyone is having fun. My dad even baits our hooks for us when we go fishing and doesn't make me touch the fish once I catch them (yeah, I have this weird fear of fish). 

I am so happy I got to spend Fathers' Day with my wonderful dad! Of course, it wouldn't be a family get-together without a funny story coming from it. So my dad loves his sweets, and for Fathers' Day my mom made Reese's trifle. His portion was fairly big, but then my mom took this out of the fridge saying, "And here's my trifle!"

I don't know how he managed to survive with five girls in the house with dogs as the only males besides himself. But I do know that I have the best dad, and I love him very much.

What's in a Name? Apparently a Lot

I recently did something that forced me to change my name.

No, nothing sinister—I just got married!

With that marriage came a cute new name. (I loved my old name, Aimee Hancock, but now I get to be Aimee Robbins. Doesn't that just look so cute?) I love my new name, but I don't love the hassle that comes with it.

We haven't gotten our marriage license in the mail yet, and without it I feel like I'm in limbo. My nameplate at work says I'm Aimee Robbins, my new email address has my new name in it, and my husband (still weird to call him that!) calls me Mrs. Robbins (even weirder to hear him call me that!). But according to my bank, BYU, and my driver's license, I'm still Aimee Hancock. And I can't change that without a marriage license. So much that one little document can do!

One thing I never even thought of when I used to daydream about my wedding was having to jump through all these hoops to change my name. Some women choose not to change their names, for whatever reason, but I always knew that I wanted to take my husband's name. This way, I finally get to have a middle name—Hancock!

I've always wanted a middle name. Back in elementary school (back when it was fun to try and find out each other's middle names), I would always say my middle name was "Nothing" so I could play the guessing game with my classmates.

Hopefully soon, I'll get to truly and legally be Aimee Hancock Robbins. But for now, I'm saying my middle name is "Hancock."

My Angel of a Mother

Have you ever thought that your mom was the best? I think most everyone has, and it's because the world is full of amazing mothers. My mom is one of them.

One of the hardest things about going to college was leaving my mom. It was a bit easier since BYU is only about an hour and fifteen minutes from home, but with school and work, it was still hard to visit very often, and that distance felt very far when I was a freshman. Not having her just in the next room definitely took some getting used to. She had always been there to motivate me and to give me her opinions and advice.

Freshman year, I probably drove her nuts with all my phone calls asking her advice or just talking. Even now as a senior, I still miss my mom and probably still drive her nuts with the amount of phone calls and texts I give her (although I blame that on all the wedding planning that's been going around).

When coming to college, I wasn't only leaving my mom: I was also leaving my coach. It was really hard knowing that I wouldn't be playing competitive sports anymore after high school (besides intramurals, which are super competitive!) and that I wouldn't have my mom to coach me. She had been my coach since I was tiny, probably since I could walk and hold a ball. My mom knows a lot when it comes to sports, and she's willing to help anyone who wants to learn how to play and truly cares about his or her success.

My mom is hilarious and always makes me laugh. She is the most sacrificing, loving, and forgiving person I know. She does whatever it takes to make sure her children and those around her are happy and have everything they need. My mom is still kind to even those who have wronged her. She's the only one who can tell Amber and me apart from our baby pictures and who always treated me like an individual instead of "one of the twins." I love how crazy she gets during games sometimes. Sports are one of her passions, and it's fun when she shows it.

I don't know how she raised us four girls (with only one bathroom!), dealt with our drama, fulfilled her church callings, coached junior high and high school teams, and was a school teacher, all at the same time. I know she did even more than that with all her volunteer work she did, and I'm probably still leaving some things out. I really don't know how she did it. She's truly amazing.

Mothers' Day was yesterday, but I still wanted let my mom know how much I care about her and how much she means to me. I'm so thankful for all that she's done for me. To partially steal from a cute movie that my mom loves, here's a little poem that sums up my mom: "She taught me sports, she's always there; she makes sure my cupboard isn't bare. My mother is beyond compare."

I love you, Mom!

Taking Time to Unplug

You know you're hooked on technology when forgetting your phone at home puts you in a panic. Sad, but true.

I was on campus working from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. the day I forgot my phone, and not having a phone almost felt like I was missing an arm. It was awful. I would jump and search around for my phone every time my coworker's phone buzzed next to me, only to remember that mine was safe at home. The wrapper next to me would catch the light every so often and make me think it was my phone glowing with a new text from my Wesley.

The office was mocking my pain.

Once I was finished at work and left my computer, I was cut off from technology completely. It was a weird feeling. I couldn't call, text, or snapchat anyone or look up an address on my map app (I'm way too dependent on that thing, but this is the life of someone born without an innate sense of direction). No one knew where I was and had no means (short of sending smoke signals) of contacting me.

With nothing else to do as I clomped down the hill, I actually paid attention to my surroundings. The bright tulips were opening and dripping with water from their shower from the sprinklers; fuzzy, newborn ducks were quacking as they furiously splashed after Mama Duck; the scent of freshly mowed grass tickled my nose.

I felt free—free from Big Brother and from all the distractions of technology. It was just me and the wide world.

As nice as technology is, sometimes it feels good to unplug and power down in order to connect more with the beautiful, real world.

Do You Speak My Crack-a-Lackin' Language?

I'll admit it: I am just a bit crazy about quoting movies. OK, really crazy. Even toeing the line of obsessed, I suppose. Let me tell you why. 

Ever since I can remember, staying home sick from school was actually kind of fun.  Best. Day. Ever! I got to stay home all day and watch whatever movies I wanted. Of course, I always picked Disney movies because they make me happy and they were about the only kind of movies in the house. My sisters and I wore out the VHSs (wow, am I that old?) because we watched them so much.

Because of this, my sisters and I became experts of those movies. We could watch a movie once, maybe twice, and already have favorite quotes picked out and have most of the movie memorized. The other zillion times of viewing the movie was just for the giggles and so we could quote along.

My sisters and I would even have entire dinner conversations completely in movie quotes. If we had chicken pot pie, there was always a “I don’t want to be a pie. I don’t like gravy” in the conversation somewhere. Or when passing the salt, “Ooh, take it Kronk, feel the power,” to which the response was, “Oh, I can feel it.” My poor parents were usually lost, and our witty quotes went right over their heads.

Now, I'll be talking to people and quotes just slip out of my mouth, like daisies. At that point, either they think I'm really clever because—regardless of whether or not they know I'm quoting—it was cleverly woven into the conversation, or they think I'm really weird. My quote slips right through their fingers, and they can’t grasp what I’m saying. My quote-loving heart bleeds a little when this happens.

 

Luckily, I found someone to marry who speaks my crack-a-lackin language. I like him, I like him so much. You hate him compared to how much I like him. He has bewitched me, body and soul, with his clever tongue and witty remarks. There will be many quoting fests between us, to infinity and beyond.

Ducky Love

At BYU, there's a duck pond just south of campus. It's one of my favorite places, especially when there are little ducklings to fawn over. There are always lots of kids at the pond who either chase or are chased by the ducks. It's a great place for studying, having a picnic, or just relaxing.

It's also a popular place for couples to go on dates.  After all, what's more romantic than lobbing tiny pieces of bread to ducks and watching them squabble over it? Little do the couples know that the ducks also have love on the brain.

There are two ducks in particular that I always see together. I call them the Married Ducks because since they're always together, it's easy to think of them as being married (if ducks do such a thing).

One night, the Married Ducks found their way to my apartment complex and were waddling around the pool in front of my apartment. They were so cute that I fed them a piece of bread. I tried to lure them closer to me, breadcrumb style, but they were too smart for that and made me use what's left of my softball skills to throw the pieces of bread over the fence to them so they didn't have to move.

They come back to my pool from time to time, and I get ridiculously excited and rush inside to grab some bread (you would be excited too if you were desperate for a pet and your apartment complex banned them). It makes me happy to see two little creatures so happy together, toddling away, wing in wing.

Psych: More than Just an Ab Workout

The first time I ever watched Psych was at one of my best friend's, Janelle's, house. I thought is was so funny, and we laughed until we cried and almost wet our pants. It was the best ab workout I've ever gotten!

From there, my twin, Lavender Gooms–I mean Amber–and I took it upon ourselves to catch up on all of the seasons on Netflix. I think it only took us about two weeks, and then we started over again. We couldn't get enough of Shawn and Gus's shenanigans. Phrases like "C'mon, son!" and "I've heard it both ways" became part of our everyday language. We probably drove our mom crazy from watching it so much. She'd always know we were watching it from the booming laughter that drifted up from downstairs. Not only was it funny but it was also pretty clean. Good, clean humor is hard to find these days amidst all the gore and sensuality that worms their way into shows.

However, Psych isn't just a good show that I am obsessed with; the show also played a role in how my fiancee, Jerrick, and I started dating.

We met in a print publishing class (CHUM 230 or DIGHT 230; I've heard it both ways) at Brigham Young University. We sat next to each other, and one of the topics that got us to finally start talking to each other was Psych. We found out we had the love of the show in common and discussed the episodes each day after they aired. Jerrick didn't have cable, so one night I invited him over to watch the episode at my place so he didn't have to wait until it went online to watch it, and we've been watching it together ever since. We even made–wait for iiiiiit– Psych t-shirts as one of our earlier dates.

Last night was a bittersweet episode: the last episode of Psych. As I snuggled with Jerrick and watched the final episode, I couldn't help but think back to last year (almost exactly a year ago) when Psych helped bring us together. I will dearly miss the Blueberry and searching for the pineapples in the episodes and hearing Gus's latest name. But if Psych had to end, that episode was the way to do it. If my roommates and future sister-in-law wouldn't have been there, I probably would have cried. And since Jerrick is a sympathetic crier, he would have cried too.

Farewell, Psych. Thank you for all of the great memories, quotable lines, and laughs. You are totally dope.

Would You Bee So Kind as to Get Off My Lunch?

The day started out great: I had rocked my volleyball test (the board at the testing center had even called me fantastic); I had enough change to buy cookies and cream milk (a BYU specialty); and it was finally starting to look like spring. By the time lunch time rolled around, I decided it was warm enough to eat outside. I took my milk and sandwich to my favorite bench between the Kennedy building and the Eyring Science Center. It was peaceful there; there weren't too many students around and I was partially blocked from view by some mostly dead shrubbery.

I decided to look up a conference talk (read it here) to listen to on my phone while I enjoyed my lunch. I got my earphones out of my backpack and put them on the bench on my sandwich. That left both hands free to take the case off my phone so the ear jack would go in all the way. I turned back to my earphones and froze. There, sitting on one of the ear buds, was a bee. As I watched in horror, the bee climbed off the bud and onto my sandwich. The nerve!

Now, this was a delicate situation because I'd had run-ins with bees on campus before, and those haven't ended well. Mostly they ended with me dancing around like a fool while people slowed down to stop and watch the crazy girl swat at what they thought was nothing. This time, I was determined to solve the situation with as little hubbub as possible.

I calmly gathered my volleyball shoes and ear phones, and put my phone back in its case so I could make a quick get-a-way. As I stood by the bench, watching the bee, I pretended to be texting on my phone so people wouldn't think I was crazy while I was keeping my eye on the bee. When no one was watching, I made my move, but a swift kick to the sandwich did little to faze the bee.

 I had just about given up my sandwich as lost when the bee crawled onto the bench. With renewed energy, I swiped my sandwich and ran for dear life. Still afraid of the bee coming back for my sandwich, I bolted down my meal and dreamed of a world with no bees.

The Sound of Memories . . . Er, Music

Just like how the smell of freshly mowed grass takes me back to my days as a softball player, the sound of certain songs also bring up different memories.

Today while I was studying in the living room, my roommate was playing music. One of the songs that came on her Pandora was "Fireflies" by Owl City. Suddenly, I was no longer on the couch reading about dialects; I was sitting at a pottery wheel making my very first mug. Now, this was way back in my junior year of high school when I took a pottery class. My teacher would play music while we attempted to mold shapeless mounds of clay into acceptable containers and struggled to keep the clay from flying off the wheel. I remember that that was the first time I had ever heard that song and it reminds me of how much fun that class was.

"Just the Way You Are" by Bruno Mars takes me back to sparkling and cascading silk and hot, sweaty bodies dancing around me. That was the theme song of one of the high school dances I went to. Whenever "If I Had You" by Adam Lambert comes on the radio, I'm taken back to a volleyball court. It was one of the songs on our warm up CD that helped get us pumped and ready for a game. The first time I heard "We Are Never Getting Back Together" by Taylor Swift, I was in the Creamery on Ninth in Provo with my first boyfriend. We broke up the next day. On a happier note, the first time I heard "Beat This Summer" by Brad Paisley, I was having all sorts of crazy adventures with my now fiancee.

Some songs, like "Fireflies," are more than just another song on the radio; they take me back to specific memories. Music takes me on a dance down memory lane.