Five Thoughts On: being a decade after puberty

Long story:

Today I felt the need for some comfort. Like, the-way-your-mommy-hugged-you-when-you-were-thirteen-and-your-friend-said-something-mean, type of comfort. My mommy is out of town, (and I’m 22 for goodness sake) so I self-soothed.

Cue me sheepishly searching for WOW hits 1999 on Spotify.

Cue me frantically searching WOW ’00, ’01, ’02, ’03, ’04, ’98, and ’97. Yes, in that order.

Cue me realizing, thinking I counted wrong, then re-realizing that I am almost fully one decade away from thirteen-year-old me.

It’s weird.

I don’t like it.

Part of me still feels so connected to my thirteen-year-old self, but at the same time, I know if I were to meet that self, I wouldn’t be able to get far enough away.

All that said, I thought this would be a good topic for “five things”.

Thus, without further ado…

1) When I was almost thirteen, I called myself a dork… and I didn’t care what you thought. (Or so I said). Today I call myself a nerd, and I actually do not care what you think about that.

2) I finished my only completed novel. It’s called the Road to Matahoi, but c’mon… really.

3) Thirteen seemed really old, like hello! Teenager… but life wasn’t anything like Babysitter Club book covers (I wasn’t actually allowed to read them), Boy Meets World (the occasional episode I over-saw), or any of the other media-driven examples of pubescent life. (Just like my current life isn’t anything like Taylor Swift’s “22”).

4) In October, it will be exactly ten years since my appendix decided that it wanted to be where the people were. However, instead of going to a sea witch and being saved by a handsome prince, that nether region of my digestive tract decided that it should just explode. Fun stuff. There’s nothing quite like a gastro tube, catheter, and hospital gown to make a visit from your crush that much more embarrassing. Teen angst at its best.

5) When I was almost thirteen, I felt the first tugs on my heart for ministry. Jesus had a hold of me, and even in my hormone riddled brain, I knew that I wanted to go all out for Him. Not because I’m that great (I’m really pretty meh), but because He really is that great.

And there ya’ have it.

I would post a picture of myself… but that would just be a terrible idea ;).

Keep those heads in the clouds, y’all!



Five Thoughts About One Thing: Wearing Glasses

I have worn glasses since I was about ten years old.

I remember really wanting a pair when I was six (back when I also thought braces were cool), but after my initial diagnosis of 20/60 vision at ten, the novelty quickly wore off.

Now, I’m not complaining, I really don’t mind wearing glasses, but at a lovely 5.5 in one eye, and a 5.0 in the other, vision correction for me is not an option. Thus, being well versed in the world of frames, lenses, and little half orbs you stick on your eyeballs, I figured it would make sense to write five things about it.

1) I regularly lose my glasses when I wake up. Being that my range of vision extends to about five inches in front of my face, this is understandable. There have been mornings when I eat, put makeup on, and get dressed before I solicit the aid of another pair of eyes.

2) Your tolerance for dirty lenses increases exponentially the longer you wear glasses. I used to clean my classes multiple times a day, now, I don’t usually clean them until there is obvious vision obstruction. “I didn’t see the stop sign, officer…”

This being said, if you splash me in the face with water, you are dead to me.

3) New glasses wearers treat their spectacles like precious china. (They cost about as much as precious china). My glasses end up on the floor, in a shoe, or underneath my sleeping body.

4) Wearing glasses has saved me from much blunt object trauma to my head. The frames usually hit the doorway, cabinet, car door, person, table edge, or brick wall before I do. Granted, my peripheral vision is a bit sketchy due to my, oh so stylishly chunky frames.

5) If my glasses were to spontaneously combust, explode, implode, or fall into another dimension, I would be, for all practical purposes, helpless. How can I tell if that dog is friendly or not before I pet it? Is that ice cream or mashed potatoes? Or butter? Or Crisco? Are you smiling at me? Do you even have a face? Man or Woman?

What do you guys think? Do you guys have any weird habits from wearing glasses?

Keep those bespectacled heads in the clouds!


R.M.S.- The Role Model Syndrome

Today as I was running around the house, frantically gathering my phone, billfold, and keys like I do every morning, I was momentarily distracted by the music video playing on VH1. Watching VH1’s top twenty count down is one of my guilty pleasures, don’t judge me.

First off, VH1 still actually plays music, and they feature some really good new artists. However, the music video that caught my eye was a Katy Perry video- surprise, surprise. Her videos are nothing if not, ahem, eye-catching. This one caught me though, because it was one I had never seen before.

Sooooo basically the conversation in my head went like this-

“Who…? Oh, it’s Katy Perry. Bahahaha. Wait who’s that other girl? She looks familiar.”

*Mind goes blank as story in music video unfolds*

“OH! Oh my! It’s Rebecca Black. What the Farfenoogle?! Kenny G.?!”

And then I tweeted the whole thing.

Now, let me preface this by saying that I do not hate Rebecca Black. I wish her no harm and I am not the type of person who enjoys tearing down young girls for my own amusement.

However… I am fed up with her fame, really any fame that is ill-deserved. Is she a nice girl? Probably- is she cute? Adorable- but she can NOT sing. Ironically, much of her fame has to do with the fact that people like *the majority of the American population* heard about her from some other person, watched it, said, “Oh heavens, this cannot be serious,” and proceeded to embed that video on our facebooks, tweet about our burning ears, and ask our friends, “OMGoodness have you heard Friday yet?”

Proving that any publicity is good publicity.

But this post isn’t about Rebecca Black really, she’s caught enough flack. Nor is it about that bozo who wrote the song, (fun, fun, think about fun; tomorrow is Saturday and Sunday comes afterward; we, we, we, so excited) in what world does that make it past a C in third grade poetry? This post is about Role Model Syndrome. This phenomena occurs when stars and starinas alike feel a benevolent warm fuzzy in their tummy, and they want to do some good.

Lady Gaga turned to the Black side, calling Rebecca a “genius”, and even Simon Cowell, yes, Great Britain’s snarky sweetheart, wasn’t quite sure why everyone hated it so much.

Once again, however, my point is not to re-bash Friday. Really, there are plenty of less-than-phenomenal vocalists that carry the charts everyday. My qualm found its legs as I watched Katy Perry’s music video.

Katy had a warm fuzzy. She wanted to reach out and gather this young, struggling (or not so struggling) “talent” under her wing and give her *one more* jump-start.

Fine- I really don’t know what Katy’s motive was, but it’s just frustrating. There is plenty of kick-butt talent out there that is waiting to be discovered- Youtube is littered with pretty voices, yet Katy is choosing Rebecca Black to play her transformer friend with magical hair and makeup skills. (Yes, I caught the whole “OH! Katy wrote a song about Friday so now she’s going to get a girl who sang about Friday in her T.G.I.Friday music video, for those of you who are ready to angrily defend away in the comment box.)

Just humor me, guys. If these top of the chart performers are deciding they want to manifest their R.M.S, why not give a talented (I have heard R.B. perform live- do not argue with me) truly struggling young artist a push? Or buy like 80 pairs of TOMS shoes, support Compassion, or buy some Charity Water bottles.


Forgive my soapbox. I really so think Rebecca Black is a cute girl, and it’s unfair to pick on her when plenty of “lack-of-talents” are filling the spots where “lots-of-talents” should be, but you have to admit- I have a point.

On the upside, it’s *almost* Friday.

Siggggghhhhhh. C’est la vie.

Keep your heads in the clouds, friends. The music is better up here~


P.S. Lady Gaga calls her followers “little monsters”. What should I call you guys?


Check In

Hello all!

I have three pressing and drafts and a few new posts, but I feel that I need to “check in”.

I have a bit of  a paranoia when it comes to saying too much about myself, (I don’t need any stalkers, thank you.) But I had the urge to write life… especially since I’ve been writing so many short stories.

SO this post is called check in for numerous reasons. 1st, I’m checking in with you all (whomever you may be, I flatter myself.) 2nd, I have recently gotten home from a vacation that required much checking in.

Vacation was lovely. We took it upon ourselves to see more of the US than we have ever… and all in a vehicle. Thank heavens for “Green” by Ted Dekker, and the BBC Pride and Prejudice. Fortunately, I am of the disposition to enjoy road trips, and despite having to sleep in a bucket seat, each state we visited charmed me in its own way.

In Arizona we saw the Grand Canyon. Despite being told numerous times that it was the result of the Colorado River and millions of years, you cannot look at such splendor and mistake the hand of a Creator and enough cosmic power to result in such a chasm.

In California I finally made my way onto a surf board. I tried to convince myself that refusing to surf because I was afraid of sharks was akin to refusing to hike the Grand Canyon because I was afraid of mountain lions. (Don’t think about that too hard). The beaches were really beautiful, though. However, I enjoy seasons. As much as I enjoyed the surf shops and beach bums, I’m not a Cali girl. I’m not skinny enough anyways.

Utah was by far my favorite… though, the fact we were staying at a ski resort could have had something to do with that. Though I didn’t have my skis with me, I was able to revel in the irrational delight of being a “ski person.” We also saw Pirates: On Stranger Tides, and I enjoyed it. Haters gon’ hate.

New Mexico has strange clouds.

Mount Rushmore was inspiring. (Teddy is my favorite face). ((And chipmunk)).

The only place I found difficult to enjoy was Vegas. The roof top pool, pause-able TV, and virgin piña colada I drank were pretty much the only perks.

The thing I particularly like about long vacations, is how your home takes on a familiar newness… or new familiarity. You’ve been gone so long you look at everything with a fresh eye, but it feels so comforting to be back where you belong.

I swept my room today and I feel complete. Summer, bring it on.

P.S. I’m memorizing the book of John.

Keep your head in the clouds, love~



The Lemony Writer… No, Not Lemony Snicket

I have felt very much like a lemony writer lately, almost a lime-ish writer but not quite. Because you all are probably baffled by now, and thinking I have probably lost my mind (all the cool kids are doing it), I will expound.

My ideal, and the place I am generally at in the absence of school work, is what I like to call the ripe peach writer. All I need is one good bite, and the creative juices come running out. I feel like writing, the writing comes, ahhhhh…. inspiration.

The place I have been stuck for this last semester, is the slightly more tiring lemony writer. I have to squeeze myself to get the words to come out. They’re there, mind you, they haven’t disappeared, but in the ceaseless flow of reflection paper after reflection paper and essay question after essay question, my precious ideas have bottled themselves into little capsules waiting for me to work up the stamina to wring them out. In the past two days I have read two books and written two book reports. Tomorrow the tally will be three. The collected words from the respective authors are taking the precarious seat in the front of my brain: easy to file, easy to fall, easy to never return. I suppose I should be glad that my own thoughts are taking up a more permanent residence in the lemony pockets in my brain, but… ehh, maybe I should invest in a juicer.

Fortunately, the lime-ish writing state seems safely away with the end of the spring semester drawing near. Anyone who has ever juiced a lime can guess at what I mean. I’m sure there are VERY juicy limes out there, but the type I happen to hit generally take some work before they relinquish their nectar. In fact, a firm squeeze rarely does any good. Results are won only by digging the fingertips deep into the lime and violently demanding payment. I’m not sure if my poor little noggin would survive that abuse.

No, I look forward to the day when my genius *giggles* becomes a peach again. Though I have to say that I infinitely prefer lemonade to peach juice. Perhaps the struggle makes it that much sweeter. Either way the words will come, and when they stop, I’ll pray for more.

~Noggins in the clouds people!


When Life Hands You Lemons… Make Salad?

I’m somewhat stealing this post from my friend Chloe, but I came across the pictures today… so with full credit to her and her blogging- here, I will expound.

Last month I was visiting her and for lunch one day she made salad.

“You don’t have to eat the lemons.”

She had just thrown them into the mix of leafy greens, garbanzo beans, peppers, and carrots for color and maybe some juice, but I am the type of person who was raised to eat anything that was placed in front of me, regardless of my preference. So shrugging my mental shoulders, I stabbed a lemon with some lettuce and chewed it up.

It was good! Really good, rind and all. The lemon rind isn’t bitter like oranges are, and combined with the other vegetables and balsamic vinaigrette, the sour wasn’t overwhelming.

I thought it was interesting how life can be like that- we avoid the lemons, or try to sugar coat them, when in reality we should just try them. Who knows? You may actually end up liking them.

Try both this week; the real kind AND the kind life throws at you.

Pessimists pucker at lemons. Optimists smile and chew.

Keep those heads in the clouds~


The Ballad of the Lemmings *part one*

Come, gather ’round as the sun falls asleep, to hear of a tale that the ancient oaks keep. A tale of two children born from seeds magically sowed; both small like the faerie folk in yon’ tales of old.

This story begins as the grass grows the dew, and the mists peel away leaving the sky lapis lazuli blue. Two lilies spring up, faster than norm, the petals revealing two small babes; human in form. First noticed by mother quail in the tree.

“Oh, dear me! Oh, dear me! Are those babes that I see?!”

All of her flapping and fretting drew a crowd; rabbits and chipmunks, even night animals! For she flapped and fretted so loud. The animals began clamoring and jabbering ’till their tongues turned sore. Not a thing like THIS had happened in the forest before!

The fox who was keen and as slip as a whip said, “Leave them there! It could be a trap,” and gave his whiskers a twist.

Turtle, a cautious creature, disagreed with the fox, “That’s all good for you and for me… we’re safe! My shell even locks. But those babes are in lilies grown up high to the sky. What if they were to fall… and… gulp… die!?”

“Your concern does you credit, old Turtle, my friend,” said the pert flying squirrel as he rolled from his den. “But you would have been better off had you been raised as I. Just shove the babes, let them fall, and see if they fly.”

“You are a fool silly Squirrel! Scatter brained and busy as a bee; take your opinions and *sniff* wings and go back to your tree. ”

ALL of the animals turned and looked in respect to whom spoke; for it was Owl, rudely awakened and standing stern on his oak.

“And you Fox; you are too cunning and crafty for your own good. Slink back to your pile of sticks in the wood. Turtle is closest to an answer, I guess… but we still don’t have a way out of this mess!”

“Oh Owl, yoo hoo!” A little voice called. It took Owl a second to find Ma Lemming (though she was on her hind paws). “I’ll take these two and raise them as my own.”

Owl replied, “But you already have little lemmings waiting back at your home.”

Ma Lemming nodded her head with a tear and then sighed, “But I can’t leave them homeless, just dropped from the sky.”

Owl shrugged his consent and flew the babes down. Everyone crowded to see. Rabbit said with a frown, “They have no fur Lemming, can you fix that? I don’t know how!”

Ma Lemming just smiled, “Nor did my own at the beginning; these two will be alright for now.”

My Life With the Three Year Olds

I teach preschool Sunday school.

That says a lot in and of itself… but I’m often surprised at how much I learn and laugh when I’m around them.

Take last Sunday for example, I had almost lost hope in all mankind, including preschoolers, as I watched the kids play. Three little boys, two whom were friends, one who was playing alone. “Ah, it starts so early,” I thought in a sage-like manner. “The cliques, the outcasts, the world is poop.”

JUST as this thought was making its way through my cerebral cortex, one of the little boys who already had his playmate, walked across the room and asked the lone little boy if we wanted to come play with them. My heart just about melted.

Humans are like hobbits… you can know all there is to know about them (and be able to predict behavior) in a relatively short amount of time, yet, given the right circumstances, they always surprise you.

Speaking of poop, this same kindhearted three-year-old informed me that poop is sometimes green… how nice.

Keep your heads in the clouds~ Go hang out with a three-year-old.


What’s in a Name?

Today will be a short post…

I’m gathering up steam for our dearest Anne (If you’re not sure what I’m talking about click on “Insta-Prince-Edward-Island”).

I love names, I love interesting names, I find beauty in the most absurd names.
The other day as we were riding home from Wednesday night church, I randomly stated, “I think maybe I’ll use Chopin as a middle name for one of my sons… since he’s my favorite composer.”
To which my mother replied, “Your father’s favorite spice is fennel… notice, your name is not Fennel.”

I was silent for a moment and then thoughtfully said, “I kind of like that… Fennel…”

Sadly, I was serious.

My mother and I feel differently about names. I will name my child something because I like it, not because it’s normal :). BUT as she always is, my mother was right about one thing… she always told me my tastes would change. As much as I hate to admit it, she was right. While my “name taste” is no less unique, it HAS changed since my first “list of names” from when I was twelve.

So for general amusement, I will try to remember the names I favored from that time.

Hayley’s list of child names from when she was twelve


Jaylie: My name and my best friend’s name combined.
Jillian: Funny how when you meet someone with a name, they can ruin it.
Aravis: Yes… from the Chronicles of Narnia- a Horse and His Boy. (okay I still kind of like this name).
Peony: Why not name her Snapdragon or Bleeding Heart? No slight to people named after flowers… but as my father so kindly pointed out, her nick-name would be Pee-Pee.
Solicity: Really… I honestly don’t know what this is.


Aaron: I actually had another name that had double vowels. I don’t think I actually liked the name Aaron… just the fact that the name had two A’s in a row.
Andrew: I always loved this name growing up… it just always sounded so… attractive… Then it became my littlest brother’s middle name.
Solomon: Maybe he was wise and had gazillions of wives, but this name would not win my son any points with the ladies. No offense to the Solomons out there.
Corin or Cor: Also from “a Horse and His Boy”. Don’t be hatin’! Gwyneth Paltrow has her Apple, I have my Cor.

~Why I Will Never Name My Children After Great-Grandparents~


Good strong names…

~Why my Parents Didn’t Ask for my Advice When Naming my Brothers~

My middle younger brother’s name is Ryan Christopher… I adamantly argued that he should be named Christopher Robin.

~Why my Parents Didn’t Ask for Anyone’s Advice When Naming Any of Us~

My youngest brother was supposed to be a girl… really… the ultrasound tech people said he was a girl. The beautiful girl name my parents had picked out was Katelyn Taylor. When a boy popped out, everyone wanted to help name him, including my grandma. Her preference? Jedidiah or Jed. That poor child could not escape the Beverly Hillbillies theme song for the first decade of his life.

Really though, what’s in a name? The mere fact we ARE called by name is pretty spectacular… whether it’s Winifred or Tarzan.

SO once AGAIN mama was right… I’m glad my tastes have changed, they will probably change again… but mostly, I’m glad HER tastes changed. Had they not, I may have been a Quimby.

Keep your heads in the clouds dear friends…go name your daughter Fennel~