Maturation.

That is indeed me, on the right, with glasses, and hair so long it extends past the picture parameters.

So last night, my sister Tori and I were driving home from dropping off her blessed fiance (two weeks you guys! Creepy.) at his home, and she was talking to me about how I'm in a new stage of life and maturation. She was mostly joking, but the word maturation sparked in me the memory of fifth grade. And what a memory it is, people. What an incredibly messed up memory it is.

Fifth grade was an.. awkward time for me, needless to say - unless you're inhuman, you had an awkward stage too. So all right. And I had glasses, but I was starting to get taller and my hips were getting wider and it was weird, okay. But also, I had long, glorious blond hair. I mean, it was nice. And also baby soft, because I didn't have the gumption or the know-how to heat style it ever. Anyway, I looked like John Lennon. But not as good. So, yes.

I had this teacher, who shall generally remain nameless because I really like him, actually. He's one of those people who brings me sheer joy. So... this teacher guy. He was fabulous. His name was Don, and I think he's a really good teacher. He cares about the kids and knows his stuff and, bla, bla, bla. LET'S GET TO THE GOODS.

He always had pit-stains, and they brought out a lot of feeeeelings in me, I guess you could say. Some days I felt bad about them, some days grossed out, but mostly they made me giggle. A lot. He was always sweaty. There's just something about a sweaty brow that warms my heart and makes me laugh. I don't know. I like when people perspire? It adds to their persona.

Anyway, he would clap a lot. And he had a really femmie voice. And he was bigger. And bald, with little gray fuzzies. On the sides of his head, and on the front center of his lower forehead. Like a rebellious island of remains from his former youth. It was awesome. And he was a lot bigger, okay. And that's fine with me.

Here's where it gets good. He had a Mad Mat. As in, a designated rug in the classroom, wherein he would storm, all however-many-pounds-of-him, to when he was angry. And he had this walk where things would just... go. They'd just flail around on his body while the rest of him was so mad. And he'd stand there and fume and almost cry... prrrretty much on a daily basis. Now, I think it's worth mentioning that it made everyone uncomfortable. We all quieted down, but he just would sit there, and get more and more mad - HELLO, HE WAS ON HIS MAD MAT - and then he'd get more and more sweaty, and then he'd start talking about his feelings, and okay, people, we were in the fifth grade, we weren't Dr. Phil...!

I guess what I'm saying is, it's quite the happy memory.

What sparked my thinking about him, as I mentioned, was the word maturation. He gave us these packets and had us take them home so we HAD to talk to our parents about each topic, and get it signed off that we had. I was not yet bold enough in life to forge signatures, so I had all these awful talks with my mom that I didn't really want to have. I specifically remember trying to ask in a way where she wouldn't really explain but we could still sign it off, you know? We were outside my old piano teacher's house, waiting for my sister. It was terrible.

And he always said puberty like "poo-birty." Oh, nope. Don't you ever. We're in the fifth grade. GAaaasshhh. Anyway, it was pretty awesome to think back on that. Maybe someday when I'm a teacher, I'll get a MAD MAT. He had a couple, actually. Which I guess is pretty nice. If you're going to be spending some time there, might as well make it versatile, eh? So I loved that.

And then I got to thinking about it, and I remembered he'd lost a massive amount of weight. Like, half his body size, I'm talkin'. Then I thought, he probably doesn't sweat as much now. And I even began to wonder if he has much use for his Mad Mat now, seeing as he probably is much happier with life at a healthy weight. And all health benefits aside, it struck me as a shame, you know?

That dang Mad Mat. I'm going to buy one for my ward at college - so that if someone is teaching and gets frustrated, we can handle it in a classy way. Do they make religious mats? Probably.

Also, on a whim Saturday night, my darling friend Natalie invited her best friend Steph and I to Barnes and Noble with her. She wanted to get a notebook so she makes sure she writes while she's in Europe (uh, YEAH. I don't care if you journal. Going somewhere like that is the exception. Man!) so we got there juuust ten minutes before close. As we were well aware, and as the over-attentive man at the door informed us the SECOND we walked in. (I loved him. Seriously. No sarcasm. He made me laugh.)

Anyway, we saw all these hilarious journals, etc., filled with inspirational quotes, but what we loved best of all was The Books of Lists. Honestly, I can see the appeal of that. It could be very happy and enlightening. And after I had that thought, I saw one that promised to be "the road to self-indulgence, self-acceptance, and self-discovery." That kind of cheese is too good to be passed up that late at night.

So I opened it and read, expecting to find happy list after happy list. And I'm not against that. I totally do that. I'm a happy lister, on occasion. Nope. It was filled with pages that read, LIST ALL THE THINGS YOU DON'T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF. LIST ALL THE PEOPLE YOU WISH YOU'D NEVER TRUSTED. You get my drift, right?

Good. Ghandi. I was dying of laughter. Steph and I just kept taking turns reading them in like an angry, whisper-yell like we were army sergeants while Natalie giggled her cute giggle. Why in the world would you want to pay money to open that can of worms??

It has solidly been decided that if any of us are put on Activities Committee in our college wards, we're buying that for a Family Home Evening. Nothing warms the heart and brings a group together like LISTING THINGS YOU REGRET or WORST DAYS YOU EVER HAD.

Hahaha. Random things make my whole day. Sue me. :)