And then it was that day.

Well, the day we never thought would come has finally arrived. Six years and 161 credits later I am finally finished.

Me and Aaron

A few TEE friends

Most prestigious face I could manage

Well, sort of. If you must know, I kind of crashed graduation.

I wasn't allowed to walk in April because I got hired to do some design work for my department over the summer—a job I can only have if I am still a student. So I pushed my graduation date back to August. No big deal, I thought.

But then, I got the email from Bev.

Bev is the deparment secretary for the School of Technology. Let's take a moment to talk about Department Secretaries at universities.

And that is all you need to know.

Okay, so she's not a giant slug, and she is did once deliver me from having to take 7am AutoCad for a third time by letting a InDes class I took count for that credit (that is a story for another day. Also, only class I've had to take more than once. Don't judge.) but let's get serious, department secretaries are not hired to be warm and fuzzy. They are hired because they are efficient professionals and scare the snot out of college students.

Anyway Bev sent me an email explaining that I was not allowed to walk in April if I was graduating in August. My hopes were squashed. For about 1.2 seconds I considered turning down this job for the summer just so I could walk, but but Boston is E-ssspensive and Aaron's internship is unpaid so there's no way I could do that. This left me feeling rather crushed. My major is very small and I wanted to walk with my friends! Me, Miss Open-Major herself was graduating, this was not a ceremony I wanted to miss.

So I devised a plan. It was called, walk anyway. Graduation is a big ceremony. There are lots of people there—surely they wouldn't notice if I just slipped into the line! They read your name off a slip of paper you hand them as you walk across the stage so it's not like I'd mess up their list. I'd have all the glory!

The morning of graduation came and after a lovely waffle breakfast with some of my graduating friends Aaron went and picked up my cap and gown for me. After that I ran into the Wilk because I was a half hour late for the line-up which happening in the garden court. I spotted all my fellow TEE people standing on the far side of the atrium and went over to huddle with them. They were all holding cards with their names on them which they had gotten from a table at the front. I needed to get my card.

I approached the table. Bev was busy telling the Industrial Design students to stand in a single file line. That means one person in front of the other so I quickly asked the girl at the table for my name card. After asking me to spell my new italian last name twice she rifled through her stack rather slowly. My mind was shouting Hurry! Can't you see Bev will be coming back over here any second? Don't you know what she'll do to me if she knows I directly disobeyed the University Rules? but I just smiled calmly and prepared my story for what I would say when she didn't find my name in the stack. ("oh! weird! Do you have a blank one?") But there was a card with my name printed on it. I then remembered how I was supposed to tell the other department (McKay School of Education) that I wasn't graduating. Whoops. Well, my two schools can figure that all out with each other...

I took my card, and rushed back into the safety of my pengin-like cluster of TEE caps and gowns. We got ourselves assembled into a single file line, and then started the march in. My major was the last to leave the atrium for the ballroom, all I had to do now was the final pass by Bev. After I got into my seat I would be indistinguishable from all the other flat-hat grads and I doubted that even a department secretary would pull me from the line then. But here, in the atrium, it was a definite possibility.

We walked one by one past her watchful eyes as she occasionally told someone to fix their tassel or stay in a straight line. I was getting nearer and nearer. I had no idea what I would say to her if she asked me what I was doing. I didn't have a story for this situation. Maybe if I cried things would work out? I was just a few steps away from Bev when I decided the best thing I could do was tip my shield of a hat in her direction and do my best to obscure my face. I held my card up and acted like I was picking part of the sticker on it off, tilted my head very oddly to the side and marched right passed without making eye contact.

Bravery.

Well, I had made it. I sat in the back row of the graduates, listened to two speeches and then it was our turn to approach the platform at the front. I again had to pass by Bev who was standing in the center aisle, but I felt fairly confident at this point. I looked over at my family and Chelsea who were sitting on the far left, elevated on the stage so I could see them perfectly. They were dying—filled with anxiety and laughing their heads off as I drew nearer and nearer to Bev. Nobody knew exactly what would happen.

I was close. Three feet, two feet, then I was right in front of her. We made eye contact and she looked at me with a careful expression. I gave her a small smile and then passed to the other side.

At that moment when I crossed the aisle, just one step past Bev, with my family laughing and pumping their fists in the air I knew I had made it. Right there, standing in the middle of a row of chairs was when I graduated.

Happy graduation to me.

What I've learned from my second attempt at eighth grade

There are about seven weeks left before summer vacation, by which time I will have been teaching for 9 months. That's a long time. Currently it is spring break (yay yay!) and I've been contemplating my growth in the teaching area over these last months. I've learned an incredible amount about being a teacher. I know how much time 8th graders need to reasonably complete an assignment, I know how to handle angry parents at PTC meetings, I can whip lesson plans together in case of an emergency in a flash, and best of all I've developed that authoritative tone with which I can tell anyone to sit down and stop talking with ease. Being thrown right into the teaching world as interns are, with about three days previous experience was so hard, but I think it induced a fight or flight kind of thing in me. Though most days I came home more drained than I've ever been, somehow I still managed to claw my way through. My growth during this period has been more exponential than at any other time in my life. I'm really quite amazed at how things that always terrified me don't cause me a second thought anymore. I totally sound braggy, but really it just amazes me.

Those who can't do teach. I'm sure you've heard it before. My major is a part of the engineering department at BYU and the other day I went to this Women in Engineering lung they had for all the girls in the department. We sat at tables and talked with professionals in various lines of work and whenever someone asked what my major was and i told them teaching, i was met with an "oh," given a pitiful look and then excluded from whatever discussion we were having. I had never been looked down in that way and it shocked me. People assume I just want to do something easy, or that I'm not very smart. The reason I chose to be a teacher is because I want to be a teacher.

If i wasn't good at something and wanted an easy job, this is the last thing i would choose. Being a teacher isn't about how well you know the subject area. That is easy to learn or BS. I mean, I'm teaching the Lego robotics club for Pete's sake! There's enough terrible graphic design in the world to prove that anyone, even the crappy designers can work in the field.

With teaching, a very small percentage of what you do during the day has to even do with your subject matter. Yes, you need to help your kids learn it, but most of your energy is put into finding good methods to share the information, connecting with students, preparation, grading and of course the actual teaching part. If I was simply not good at design this is not a job I would want. It's way harder than being a designer. Well, every job is hard in different ways, so maybe that is an inaccurate statement but the ways in which it is hard has been much more difficult for me. Being a teacher isn't about what you teach. You can teach any subject and still have the exact same responsibilities. A teacher is a job description. The subject is a technicality

The thing with teaching is that you are constantly in charge of a bunch of kids. If you don't have a handle on things chaos chucks you down the mountainous cliff and you spend a lot of time hiking back up to order and happiness. Everything depends on you. That is what is so exhausting. The grading things, the making study guides, that is tiring, but it's the responsibility for so many others that wears on you. Some days I think about how nice it would be to have a job when I am only responsible for myself.

However, that emotional connection you make with your students as you care for them is also what makes teaching so great. That's the reason I want to be and love being a teacher.

I imagine being a mom to be a little bit like teaching. That thought scared me a lot when I first had it. The idea of being responsible for another human being 24/7 for so many years frightens me. I can't believe how much energy that must take. And, no days off! There are no summer vacations from being a mom! I suppose it will be different when it is your own child, plus you get to dress them in whatever you want when they are small, but still. It's a hard job. It must be even more rewarding because it is more difficult. That must make it worth it, along with the love. The rewarding experience and relationships I have with my students is what makes me want to keep teaching. I imagine parenting is the same but to a higher degree. It still scares me, but I suppose when the time comes it will be another period of exponential growth.

Life seems to be made up of those.

Some old, but exciting news.

First, the exciting news. Sam got his mission call! I know, I know, you've already heard from Mati, but it is still exciting. He's going to the Philippines! Speaking Tagalog! I can't believe he is old enough to go on a mission.

Last Tuesday it came in the mail and he sent out a text to everyone to come home. I was at work (school) but because they had a guest speaker for seminar class and then lunch I was able to come home too. We all gathered around, had a paparazzi moment, and then he opened it. This was followed by more paparazzi moments with each of us and Sam.

That shirt is such a liar. It tells me I look great in the mirror but every time I take a photo wearing it, it looks terrible. 

But I diverge. Yay Sam!

In other news...

This is what the Utah rental market will give you for $1400 a month:

This is what Boston will consider giving you. If you're lucky.

We're moving to Boston for the summer! Aaron got an internship for Puma and we. are. so. excited.

Cut it off

Lately I've been thinking about cutting my hair.

RELAX! CALM DOWN! IT'S GOING TO BE OKAY! I'M NOT GOING TO CRY ON YOU!

When I told my family of my plans the first thing that every single person said was, "umm. That's a bad idea, do you remember last time? Do you remember how you cried for an hour in the car before even coming into the house? Do you remember how it took you four years to grow it out? Do you remember how much you hated it?"

(relive that trauma here, and here)

To be fair, all of those things did happen. and I didn't just cry for an hour. I cried for about three months.

Aaron originally said, "that sounds like a great idea!" but after hearing the terror in my family members' voices he changed his tune. "But Lex, this way, you have 100% chance of happiness. If you cut it, it's only 50/50."

They're right, and I am afraid. But I've just realized that my hair is never going to be like those girls on Pinterest with long, flowing, perfectly wavy locks. I'm never even going to have hair like all the other girls in my family—outrageously thick and fast growing. Mati went to Russia with a pixie and came back with a bob. It took me 4 STINKING YEARS to get mine a decent length past my shoulders. My hair is fairly thin and very fine and some parts of it have ridiculous curls that make me suffer.

But let me tell you about Twix.

I found a new place to get my hair cut. The most I've ever cut my hair at any one place is twice, because usually I end up with something I hate or at best feel mediocre about. Doesn't matter how much I pay. I don't want a girl to just aks what I want and give me some awful layers. I want someone to give me an opinion for pete's sake! I want some input from someone who knows what they're talking about! And I never have any clue about hair, so asking me is ridiculous. I used to fantasize that Nick from What Not To Wear would just do my hair because he just tells you the way it should be done. I don't want to decide, I want someone to tell me what would be best— someone who is in the know.

That is where Twix comes in. Twix is a man. The only man to have ever cut my hair and he is great. I told him I wanted an opinion and he gave me one, and then he gave me a good cut too. I talked to him about different lengths, and he said my face could do shorter hair easily. He also said my hair was too thin to go longer than it is now.

And then I saw a couple of quite good short haircuts on pinterest....and then the other day I had my hair in this bun thing, and the pieces that hung out kind of gave the illusion that it was short and I kind of liked it! So I started thinking about it. But I'm terrified. What would be worse than experienceing the whole awful hair cutting episode AGAIN?! After already experiencing it?

Drama.

Wedding

I've been thinking about sharing my wedding for a while now here, but I keep putting it off. Since getting married I've unsubscribed from the 34 wedding blogs I followed and the three wedding magazines I read. I've stopped looking at wedding photos on facebook. I waited in great anxiety to see my wedding photos. But when I got them I had to quickly just flip through all of them just to be sure they were okay before I could settle my anxiety and actually take a look at them.

Why is this? I've loved wedding since before I even liked boys. I looooved thinking about my reception, and my dress, and the flowers, and the food. I would fall asleep planning various versions of my wedding. My love for receptions really was never tied to my desire to get married. I just really liked the party. (Though getting married is very exciting too)

I think I was just scared. That after all that time of theorizing how I wanted it to be I didn't make it the way I wanted it to be. That I should have done something else. That I would see another idea that would have been a million times better than what I chose. That I could have done a better job. I know this is not big deal for most people, but I am not most people, and the ridiculous party is important to me. I was scared that after all my talk I would turn out to be just another mediocre reception because I didn't have ten thousand paper flowers covering everything that we made (actually did want this at one point, but not enough time, or willing servants) or swags on the back of every chair.

Of course, I had no reason to worry about this. Not only because it was ridiculous and unimportant, but also because if my mother had even one finger in this, there was no way it would be anything less than spectacular. I don't just have faith in her abilities, I am a first hand witness of her skills.

Also, there were more important things happening at that time. This was seven days before Spencer died. Even though he couldn't come because he was in too much pain to even move from his bed, he was always very supportive and kind. He lay in the study as I sat in the dining room gluing the last few sparklies onto my dress at 4:30 am with Mati (yes, hot glue was involved in the making of that Elie Saab DIY. I'm not ashamed. You wouldn't be either if you were making it) My family lived on our food storage for a bit because my dad gave us money for our reception, even when money was tight. Our next door neighbors of 18 years or so and my grandma who's yard we even had the reception at spent the entire evening in the kitchen washing dishes so we could use real plates and forks rather than plastic ones. All those pies we had were provided by our friends. Home baked and delicious. All of our meals leading up to these events were provided by our ward members. My cake existed because Chelsea made it. We had those space heaters because the Barneys just showed up with two of them. We had golden chairs because Sam and Chris went to a very sketchy warehouse in South Salt Lake for the pick-up. We had beautiful flowers because my mom and Camille arranged them even when every flower in the world is out of season and unavailable. We had those dangly candle holders because Aaron's mom found them.

And I still haven't even sent out our thank you cards. I'm such a bum.

I realize now that though a small part of my wedding loving brain unsubscribed from those blogs because it was scared of seeing another idea that was too late to implement now, the real reason is not because I didn't think my reception was lovely.

No, I loooved it.

But not because of the flowers, or my dress, or our awesome photographer, or the food, or the decor. I loved it because of the love it was made from. The love that made it possible, and the love that showed up and was surrounding us all day long. And I guess I'm just afraid that if people don't know all about that love, they won't get why it was so great, and why it was not mediocre in any way. Because though I had the best photographer (mieshphotography.com) not even she could capture exactly what happened that day. No camera on earth could.

This was a pivotal moment of my life, and will forever be. All the love and stress and tears, it all made this day into something big. And it's so big that's it's still a bit overwhelming. So I think that's why I don't like thinking about weddings anymore. Because it's all still a bit overwhelming.

And now, enough talk. Here are a few of my favorite photos (I tried to limit them, but it's pretty hard. See more on facebook). You gotta admit, even under extreme stress, we still pull off a pretty sweet party (and I prove my theory that you don't need lots of money to have a nice wedding. win!)