Tagged, Shmagged...

Okay, so here I am. I've been tagged.

I'm such an open book, you probably already know these things about me.

(In no particular order ... drum roll please ....)

1) I was Student Body President of Farmington Elementary School. GooooooOOOOO ROADRUNNERS! Although I can't remember much of my running platform or even my "duties," I do remember both "my" vice-president and secretary were girls. I was such a feminist. See Mom, taking us to meet Gloria Steinem did pay off. Ahhh ... the glory days.

2) I love dill pickles. Sometimes just thinking about them makes my mouth water. See, it's happening already....

3) I loved keyboarding class in 7th grade. I became quite the proficient typer. When I worked at Nu Skin, I used to type over 110 words per minute (sorry I can't beat your 115 WPMs Nikell ... show off). In fact, I became so consumed with typing that I used to (and sometimes still do) type billboards I read. It's a lot tamer now but it used to be so bad, I felt like I had OCD -- I HAD to type everything I read on billboards. It used to drive me absolutely nuts.

4) I've had three epidurals but only have two children. Hmm ... something's a little fishy with that math. Most of my family knows this but when I was 37 weeks pregnant with Henry, I had a false alarm. I went to the hospital with super uncomfortable contractions (which I later found out were just out of control Braxton-Hicks because I was dehydrated), the nurse checked me, told me I was dilated to a 6, she told me I must have a really high pain tolerance, Scott laughed a little too hard at that, we called our parents, they started driving up to Idaho Falls from Utah, I got an epidural, the night nurse came on duty, she checked me again only to find out that the first nurse had checked me wrong -- I was only dilated to a 1. So, I stayed over night, nothing happened, so they sent me home and I didn't have Henry until 2 1/2 weeks later. The best part is, they tried to make us pay the bill.

5) I used to want to be a marine biologist. Why? I loved whales. Humpback whales, to be exact. When I was about 13, I bought a "Whale Adoption Kit" from the World Wildlife Federation that included a booklet of different whales (identified by their tales, of course) from which I could choose one to "adopt." I assumed that once I picked a whale, that whale was removed from the list because he was mine. Oh the naivete. I think my whale was either named Onyx or Tika, it's hard to be sure. But he was a good whale, of that I am sure.

6) A favorite family story (one told at my expense, I might add): once my friends and I took dates up the canyon to watch a movie and I graciously offered to bring the tv (which belonged to my little brothers; it was one of those super cool VCR/tv combos). For some crazy reason, the tv kept shorting out. So, some genius figured we just needed to turn up the generator. And what do you know? The tv went up in smoke. Being the responsible 17 year-old that I was, I tried to hide it from my parents and my little brothers and get the tv fixed on my own. I thought I was being responsible. Paying for the repair and all that. But oh no, apparently I was being "sneaky" and "dishonest." I like to think of myself as a glass half-full type of person so let's focus on the positive -- I got the tv fixed AND paid for it myself.

7) In 5th grade, I was reading on a 9th grade level (Mensa-material, I know). Our class was playing some version of "Oregon Trail" (remember that old-school computer game?) where you had to answer questions to progress your team's wagon further along the trail. So when my team's turn came up, we had to choose one team member to go up and spell a word to move our wagon forward. We were debating about who should go and I remember confidently letting my team in on my secret -- I was practically the national spelling bee champ due to my heightened reading abilities. Wow. It worked. They sent me right on up. Surprise, surprise -- I spelled the word WRONG! Oh the humiliation. I thought I would never be able to look my 10 year-old classmates in the eyes again. Moral of this story: 9th graders aren't as smart as 5th graders think they are.


*I tag everyone on my "list" who has not been tagged yet.