The Help

Read it.

So good.



Mrs. Gaunither

It's silly, really.

For the first time today, I cried about moving. It wasn't my friends that triggered it. Or even my family.

It was my piano students.

I taught them today and I realize all their books are in new piano bags. Marcus exclaims it's because of Mrs. Gaunither.

"Who's Mrs. Gaunither?" I ask.

"Our new piano teacher."






Oh.






Right.

I knew this had to happen. I knew I was leaving and I couldn't teach them in between semesters. I knew if they wanted to keep learning piano, someone else had to teach them.

But, I wasn't expecting that. They already have a new teacher...

Oh boy, I sorta had to use all my effort to focus on teaching them because I could feel it. The bubbly-stomach thing that tries to come up your throat but you know if it does your eyes will water up. Doesn't make sense how those are all connected.

I've taught them for five years.

And next week, it's our last lesson.

Then they'll be going to Mrs. Gaunither.

Miss Shelby, Mrs. Gaunither? The name just sounds less friendly!

Yes. My imaginary Mrs. Gaunither is balding. And has ruby red creepy long nails. And is somewhat like the Trunchbull.

But...what if she's a better teacher than I am? What if I am seriously lacking in my teaching abilities and my students love her and become musical prodigies? What if they are relieved to have someone more capable, finally?

What if they never say, "Thank you Miss Shelby!"?

Ever, again.

I'm gonna miss hearing that.

A lot.

I'm Almost Idahoan. And Most Definitely Not British.

Europe. Yes, you are about to hear a small story.

My first stop: London, England.

I couldn't wait for London. I mean, Hogwarts is in London; it's BOUND to be magical.

But... London happened to come at me sooner than I expected. After our 5 hour layover in Atlanta, Georgia I steped on the long planeride to England and found my seat.

Of course, I am sitting next to a 19 year old British guy who has just been touring America and is flying home (all the girls on my flight were surprisingly friendly to me those eight hours).

William. His name is William. Could it be more... English? Nope.


Mostly he was as fasincated by my "American-ness" as I was fasicanated by his British accent. So we made good friends.

British Accent 101:

Wat-uh (Water)
Al-oo-min-ee-um (Aluminum)
Lit-uh-er-ly (Literally)
Tom-ah-toe (Tomatoe)
Po-tah-toe (Potato)

Those were the more obvious ones. He begged me the whole time to order my water in a British accent...but I couldn't do it. When I asked him to do an American accent: "OH MY GOSH! THAT IS SO LIKE GREAT!"

Sad, huh?

Also, he pulled out his phone and said,

"Want to see the funniest thing I saw in America?" (British accent)

"Ya! Of course!"

An Idaho license plate:

He shows me a picture of an IDAHO LICENSE PLATE. Huh?!

Look closely. Maybe your eyes can find something hilarious that mine didn't...

"Famous Potatoes it says. Famous Potatoes!" (British Accent)

Then he laughs for about five minutes and holds back tears.

Maybe he didn't know Potatoes could be famous?.......

I said "Haven't you ever heard of Idaho's famous potatoes?!"

"NO!" (British Accent) (continued laughter)



I think I refrained from telling him I was moving to Idaho in a month...

Or maybe I did and he sat and stared at me for a couple minutes wondering who in their right mind would move to Idaho.

He admitted, "Us Brits, We see America as L.A., New York....and everything else." (British Accent)

SAD! Sad, sad, sad.

Western culture is such a part of here.

And I love it! Even if I'm slightly nervous about the crop of men to meet me in Potato Land. What if they are all "Buttcrack Bills"? (That's what I like to call 'em) You know, redneck, cowboy, manuer lovin', bull ridin', grease wipin', hicks?


I'm moving out it less than two weeks.

Please, oh, PLEASE Idaho, be slightly less Agricultural than your liscense plate and my Brit friend William make you out to be.

I'm not riding my horse up there, you know.

Shelby's Starry Night

Also known as: right now. 2:48am.

Should look like this:

To Van Gogh it did.

But, I don't think he created his masterpiece at a finger painting party...

No, We Don't Wear Long Johns

This, my friends, is the Frampton Family Crest:



Take a good look. A REALLY good look. Perhaps, look past the fact that it has no majesty or granduer in any way and it's just a chunky old man in his red long johns. Look for the symbolism. You know, the whole "read-between-the-lines" thing, but it's a picture instead. Or maybe we could use the phrase "Don't judge a book by it's cover" but say instead "Don't judge a family by it's crest".

Last year, my dear Grandma Dixie, was going to buy the Frampton Family (all 80 of us) a shirt with our family crest on it. Sounds like a pretty great idea right?! Perfect family reuinion souvenior.

Then.

We saw our family crest.

And that idea died a horrible death and was buried with no ceremony.

Well, I didn't think I would ever have to see our family crest again, until my Girls Night Out the other week at my cabin.

There we are playing a good round of Mafia, when I look around and see it. Framed. On the mantel above the fireplace. Obviously, the game stopped momentarily while everyone admired that historical picture.

We came to the conclusion that having a fat man in long johns really means our family will be prosperous. I mean, if you were fat in the old days you were royalty! So, we must be royal. And if you wore long-johns......you were, free? Yes. Free. So our family will forever be blessed with prosperity.

At least where food and pajamas come in to play.

My Spot

I will miss you.

But I'll always come back.

Dearest Incoming Roomates,

I am sorry.

I know that blasting 90s music and making up my own exercise routine spontaneously while I'm locked alone in my room isn't the norm. I understand if you video me through the door sometimes and post it on YouTube titled "My Crazy Roomate". I won't be too offended.

But, come one, you've gotta love NSYNC, B-Boys, H-Duffy, M2M, Britney, and MJ. Admit it. It's your childhood.

Also, I discovered today they have great beats for jumping jacks. Well, sorta jumping jacks. More like, wave your arms and dance jumping jacks. Then pretend you know kickboxing jumping jacks. Then lyrical jumping jacks. I'm telling ya, jumping jacks get pretty old.

But still they continue. So I am apologizing in advance. If you here me breathing like crazy and things falling on the ground or me stomping and clapping. I'm just trying out my jumping jack routines. No worries.

Also, I got this laptop for an early birthday present, and I just can't resist hooking in the speakers, listening to groovy tunes, and being by it's side all day long. We've already gotten pretty serious and it's only been two days! Good thing you guys won't have to worry about boyfriends. I'm taken.

I really hope you like my music.

And I REALLY hope I like yours.

Otherwise, we might struggle slightly.

Forgive my singing. I usually do it when I'm alone...but since that's not happening you guys get to suffer. Also, I might wear green face masks a lot. You can borrow some. It'd make me feel better.

One more warning, I talk in my sleep. Yesterday, I'm pretty sure I was yelping.

Don't hate me?

Or better yet,

PLEASE, don't kill me.

I have my good qualities too...?

Promise...

Perfect Peach Pie

Recipe Rendezvous

Julie, Juila, homemade food, Anna (the mastermind), and a variety of soon-to-be college goers; had a party today. It's been in my planner for weeks. It was called "Recipe Rendezvous". Basically, it's a brilliant idea where a bunch of teens who are moving out in the very near future get together and exchange easy-to-make-recipes. Are we in Relief Society, you ask? No. But hey, it's a smart idea. In preparation I decided to make one of my All-Time-FAVS to share.

Frogs Eye Salad.

Yes. It is made with real frogs eyes. And when you eat it, they hatch inside your belly and eat away at your insides causing you to lose weight at an exponential rate! Let me know if you want the 30-day trial.

It goes something like this:

Cook on stove, 

1/2 cup sugar, 

1 tsp. flour, 

1/4 tsp. salt, 

1 cup pineapple juice, 

and 1 egg

Until thickened.

Like so:

You then cook the frogs eyes.

Cook 1/2 package of acini de pepe pasta 

Boil until the pasta until it looks

Like so:

Drain the pasta. And...

Mix it with the sauce.

Add 1/2 T. lemon juice.

Like so:

Now's the fun part. 

Let your creation chill in the refrigerator overnight.

Meanwhile, have these items handy:

2 cans mandarin oranges

1 can pineapple chunks

1 can crushed pineapple

1 ctn. Cool Whip

2 cups of marshmellows

Wake up bright and early, mix everything together (oh, ya, you might want to cover the pasta in the fridge), and WAL-LAH!

Delicious Frogs Eye Salad.

It was definitely a hit judging by when Julie & Julia was over, my Frog Eye Salad was eaten and gone. So good. During the show, I copied down over 40 recipes! In this handy little book I made, organized by subject. (I've had lots of time on my hands). 

Copying the recipes:

Copying recipes once again. In a new location. But, this time, we all look like Julia Child. I think we pulled it off well.

Maybe after this little Rendezvous, I can test out all my note-cards and become as good as a chef as she was.

Now all I need is the height...

Girls Night Out

Authur Nicholas Taylor, my great-great-grandfather, built a quiant little cabin over 100 years ago. It is slightly falling apart. The bathroom is a little nasty. And I think bees might live in the walls. The chain on the porch swing is rusty, the bunk beds are ancietly rigid, and we even have a pump organ. Basically, it's old. But, oh how I love our little cabin.

Yesterday, eighteen girls came with me to my one room cabin and had a sleepover. Well, a "sleepover". We were awake untill seven in the morning!

The three bears trail hiking.
Flavored tootsie roll sucking.
Person, place, thing playing.
Mafia.
In the manner of the adverb.
Pysciatrist.
Scum.
First kiss stories on the tennis courts.
Star gazing.
Laughing.
Hair brushing.
Night gown wearing.
Secret telling.
Junk-food eating.
Twenty hours to spare.
A whole lot of love.

What else do you need?

Paisley the Pig

The other day I was chatting it up with my friend, Mindy. Distractedly listening, I heard, "My dad almost brought home a pig from Wyoming!"

I took a moment to get all the wax out of my ears and slap myself, then asked "What was that?"

"A PIG. My Dad was going to buy us a pet PIG."

So.  I did hear her correctly.

At first, this idea was hysterical. And crazy. But we decided to do a little research. These Wyoming pigs weren't your normal pigs. They were Miniature Pot-Belly Pigs. Otherwise known as, Teacup Pigs. Apparently some guy in England bred this new kind of pig and it stays quite small it's whole life. Hence "miniature". It's bred for being a household pet. Less messy, noisy, and expensive than a dog. Plus, it's original.

You still don't believe me, huh?

Take a look:

Aren't they the CUTEST things EVER?!

I am not a fan of pets. I've had many. Fish, lizards, turtles, rabbits, birds, hamsters. They have all died. The hamsters were actually cannibalistic. I just don't have the touch. And since working with 4 high-maintenance dogs every other week, I have been pretty set on NO PETS. NONE.

But I must admit I'm sorely tempted to buy a pig.

And name it Paisley.

Look how happy we would be!

There's just no way I can pass that up.

Give me a year or two......or five, and Paisley will be sprinkling this lil' ol' blog of mine with pictures and stories galore.

Paisley the pig.

Such a nice ring to it.

When A Stranger Calls

Scary.

Ya, I didn't answer.

I'm giving myself seven days.

perhaps?...

prepare

pounce

perk up

protect

present

...panic

Oh no.

Yesterday my older brother got married for time and eternity in the Mount Timpanogos Temple. Along with bridesmaid duties and being the official-unofficial photographer, I was one of the "single ladies" that got to participate in the bouquet toss.

I didn't mean to catch it. 

I just....did. Competition. You know? I had to. At least try.

I tried to give it to my older sister afterwards. 

She wouldn't take it. 

It's just fun and games right?

There's no TRUTH behind all the "rumors". 

I mean, someone I know caught the bouquet in fifth grade. THEY didn't get married next.

No. I have nothing to worry about. 

Nothing at all.