sleepy alter-egos

As much as I hate to admit it (and often deny it), my reign of bad wifedom extends to our bedtime too.

I've always been a night owl, and despite Parker's hope that our being married would change that...it hasn't.

If anyone altered their schedule, he did (at the start...). Now that he's back to his early bird ways, however, we're hitting the pillow at least an hour apart on any given night (he tends toward 11-12 o'clock bedtimes...i'm more of a 12:30 to 2 kind of girl).

It's worked out relatively well up to this point (on my end...).

He wakes me up when he leaves in the morning for a quick goodbye kiss and hug (or cuddle depending on how long it takes for him to convince me he has to go).

And I create little hiccups in his sleep cycle with my late-night barnacle-like cuddle-fests, lamp-lit scripture reading, computer volume issues (like when you click on a page with sound without realizing it with your sound up full blast and have a small heart attack), and inability to resist the temptation to kiss his sweet little sleeping face.

Oh there's many, many ways I find to be a "beedin" bedmate!

But my Parker's quickly learned to cope. And we've actually had quite the success with our sleep system...

...until last night.

With the hour hand hanging precariously close to 3, I decide I'd better call it a night.

Good luck finding the patience to work with your beloved bank patrons on less than 5-hours sleep, says a little voice in my head.

Better than nothing, I reply, and quietly click our front lock into place.

I hit the lights room by room (isn't this standard protocol for all girls up alone late at night? i may not be afraid of the dark, but I sure as heck don't think that means I need to wander aimlessly through its creepy clutches) and silently slide open the door to our bedroom.

By the time I make it here the apartment's pitch black...

cue overactive imagination.

Before we'd invested in curtains (or even said "I do.") I stayed in our apartment with a few of my BFFs. That night (after commenting on how awkward it was to sleep on Parker's side of the bed before he ever had) my dear friend Jillian asked, "Do you ever look at that window and worry someone will be in the little cubby-space looking back at you?"

Well I hadn't. But now I do...all the time.

We have daylight windows in our front rooms, which I love, but it's true that we are in a basement...and have basement windows...creepy basement windows.

And tonight that creepy basement window catches my eye again. I leap onto the bed as quickly as I can to avoid the window creeper's under-the-bed/ankle-grabbing accomplice and snuggle up as close as I can to my man.

He begins to stir, letting out a string of sleepy yell-whispers. Guilt sets in.

You spend the WHOLE day trying to be good wife and then go and let bad bedmate wife ruin it all. Way to go Chels.

Fix this...

I snuggle up closer to Parker and coo apologies in his ear..

"I'm so sorry sweetie. Are you ok?"

The yell-whisper returns. But this time I hear it...word for word.

"Im'ma gonna shoot you straight in the face!"

I panic and put as much distance between the two of us as the bed will allow (which puts me precariously close to the creepy window...as long as ankle-grabber stays put I feel it's a safe trade-off).

I must be having a "When-A-Stranger-Calls" moment. Creepy window man is in my bed...

Ok...so I didn't really think that.

But I did have some serious concerns about Parker's dream themes.

Maybe this is why they tell you not to wake sleep-walkers...

Either way, within 5 minutes creepy-window-man sat back out on the ledge while I lay safely in my husband's arms. I decided I'd text him the incident so, come morning, he could see how absolutely wrong he is about my having the better end of the deal in the sleep system.

Instead he just woke up to a good laugh and cropped it all up to sports radio. I guess officials recently arrested some Florida football player for threatening to kill his girlfriend and the coaches sissy-ed out on his suspension and let him back on the team.

You can read the whole story here.

Thanks honey...I feel so much better about it all now.

I might just have to take my co-worker's advice and "git him before he gits me" (oh Shauna...she's a riot).

'Til then, I'll be curbing my bad bedmate ways, investing in a small safety force-field for sleeping, or bunking up on the couch.

I'm really counting on number 2.

Happy weekend-before-Halloween!

bad wife

I spot my new favorite billboard just as the the blinding blur of oncoming headlights dissolves into wall of muted red.

"NU SPICEE CHIKIN...FEEL THA BURN."

I laugh at the spotted cows in firefighter uniform.

"Chick-fil-A?" Parker asks.

"Yessssss...."

"Eat more chikin!" we scream in unison, then break into a fit of giggles.

As the laughter subsides my mind starts to wander.,,

I remember the first time I recited this line to Parker. Boy thought I was crazy! But now he laughs right along with me. I can't figure out whether I've made him a slap-happy highway driver or if he's just easily entertained...whatever it is, he loves it. When we pass the Chick-fil-A signs on the highway he beats me to the punchline 90% of the time. He's even started reporting sightings of the "nu" ads he spots on his drive too. I wish I could remember the others...

A yawn on the other end of the line interrupts my train of thought...

"Oh sweetie...please stay awake. I promise I'm almost home."

"I know...I'm trying. I'm just. so. tired."

I look at the clock and watch it tick another minute closer to midnight. I know I'm selfish for keeping him up past his bedtime.

Only ten more minutes, I think, and inch the gas pedal a titch closer to the floor.

There's no way I'm going to let my Provo commute steal away another sweet goodnight prayer, kiss, and cuddle. Not a chance.

"What'd you do for dinner tonight?"

I ask, trying to play wolf and scatter his mind's growing crowd of counting sheep with questions.

"Nothing really...I had a protein shake and ate some of that white chocolate popcorn. Maybe a cheese stick too."

"Oh honey...yuck. Why didn't you make something?"

"I don't know. I should have. There's just so much going on these days. I haven't eaten anything good all week."

And the alarm sounds. bad wife alert!

Poor boy! I'd been so overwhelmed and busy with life that I'd started to majorly slack in my domestic duties. Our house lay in shambles...clothes strewn all about, dishes stacked a mile high, paper piles accumulating on every table...and I couldn't remember having thrown together a real homemade dinner in more than a week.

He never says anything. He feels like it's all his responsibility just as much as it is mine. And I love him for that. But because I love him I also love being able to take care of him. And part of that, to me, is helping him stay healthy with good meals and giving him a clutter-free space where he can study and think and breathe.

So I vowed to spend my Thursday being a better wife...

I cleaned as much as I possibly could before heading off to work, hit the store as soon as we'd locked up for the night, and came home armed with the ingredients to one of our favorite dinners (then made 2 return trips to the store to buy the ingredients for our latest fall favorite dessert...that's what I get for failing to take a full inventory of our sugar stock before I leave home).

So tonight, I'd like to share the recipes to my success...quite literally...and give a BIG thank you to my Mom for my 1-2-3 Campbell's Cookbook and super-blogger Rachel Haack for sharing her to-die-for pumpkin chocolate chip cookies with her "best-ever-twist."

Hope these recipes bring you as much yummy-in-my-tummy happiness as they brought our home tonight. Enjoy!

P.S. These recipes are EASY and DELICIOUS, but I can't lie. Literal blood, sweat, and tears went into each dish (blood=Chelsey grating her finger while zesting the orange, sweat=attempting to grab cookie sheet out of oven with a hand towel, and tears=onion chopping...gets me every time.). Outside of those three incidents...smooth sailing! One more step down the path of domesticity for little Miss Chelsey.

Pan Roasted Vegetable & Chicken Pizza

So this picture isn't an entirely accurate representation of said pizza, but we failed to take a picture of our own before we demolished it...so go with it. I may even use this as inspiration for my next "good wife" domestic adventure.

Prep Time: 20 minutes

Cook Time: 12 minutes

• Vegetable cooking spray (I prefer to use olive oil)
• 3/4 pound boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cubed
• 3 cups cut-up vegetables (use a combination of sliced zucchini, red and green pepper cut into 2-inch long strips, and minced or thinly sliced onion. I sometimes add fresh tomato too.)
• 1/8 teaspoon garlic powder (I'm a little more generous with the garlic...thank you Daddy)
• 1 can (10 3/4 ounces) CAMPBELL'S Condensed Cream of Mushroom Soup or 98% Fat Free Cream of Mushroom Soup ( I buy the fat free one along with a whole wheat pizza crust as a weak attempt at whole-hearted health-consciousness)
• 1 Italian bread shell (we like Boboli's thin-crusts)
• 1 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese (4 ounces)

1. Spray medium skillet with vegetable cooking spray (or coat in olive oil) and heat over medium-high heat 1 minute. Add chicken and cook 10 minutes or until browned, stirring often. Set chicken aside.

2. Remove pan from heat. Spray with cooking spray (or re-coat in olive oil). Reduce heat to medium. Add vegetables and garlic powder. Cook until tender-crisp. Add soup. Return chicken to pan. Heat through.

3. Spread chicken mixture over shell to 1/4 inch of the edge. Top with cheese. Bake at 450°F for 12 minutes or until cheese is melted.

Makes 4 servings (we typically slice it into 8 sections and end with about 3 for lunch the next day...tonight we got competitive with veggie-stealing and ended with only 2).

*I have to laugh at the idea behind the 1-2-3 cookbook. Cramming 7 steps into 1 doesn't make it a 1-2-3 easy bake treat...even if it is easy (a.k.a. Chelsey-proof).

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies

with Rae's amazing Twist

(i.e. orange icing)

*Thank you to my wonderful husband for the fun pictures. These are the REAL DEAL! Also...

Here's a link to Rachel's blog if you'd like to see the recipe there or learn a little more about the mastermind behind my latest fall favorite...

she's a spectacular writer and so, so sweet.

Thanks again for sharing Rae!

And to quote Parker: "Whoa...eet looks jus' like a chikin nugget!"

Our Chick-fil-A obsession lives on...

To make these little beauties, you'll need:

1 cup sugar

1 cup canned pumpkin

1/2 cup oil

1 egg

Mix together above ingredients. Sift the following and add to above:

2 cups flour

1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp cinnamon

2 tsp baking powder

Dissolve and add to rest of ingredients:

1 tsp soda

(Chelsey note: I didn't know whether this meant soda soda or baking soda...not sure if I'm just a novice at the kitchen thing or if this is an easy mistake to make. Either way, I guessed the latter and our little cookies were DELICIOUS! So I'd recommend going with that.)

1 tsp milk

1 tsp vanilla

1 cup chocolate chips

Drop by spoonfuls on a cookie sheet and bake at 375 degrees for 10 to 12 minutes.

Cool.

Orange icing:

1/2 cup butter

A cup or so of powdered sugar

Orange

(Chelsey note: I added quite a bit more powdered sugar to get the right consistency [maybe I added too much juice??? no idea...] and even sprinkled some on the top because I love it that much [and it made for prettier pictures])

Melt the butter and mix with the powdered sugar.

Slice orange in half and squeeze all the juice,

until you have a nice icing-like consistency.

Zest the peel into the icing.

Lightly drizzle over the cookies.

Please note:

*Rachel makes half of the batch without chocolate chips. She appreciates diversity in baking.

*You can skip the fresh orange and just add orange extract to the above orange icing ingredients.

*When you are done, you will need to promptly hide the entire batch.

You will already have eaten 9 cookies and won't be able to stop until you feel like vomiting.

They are that good.

Enjoy!

And for your further enjoyment, a few Chick-fil-A billboards...

it's all coming back

So I learned tonight that Parker and I had another shared interest. No, it's not being biters (a.k.a. ice chompers, sucker crushers, hard candy chewers) or making up rules when we're losing games. It is...get ready for it...Celine Dion.

Everyone has those songs that take them on a walk down memory lane. Celine Dion does that to me. Every time I hear her voice I'm reminded of my cherished 90's-era childhood. I love it! My memories of life before 14 aren't very vivid anymore, but I DO remember being in a music store, long ago, and buying her latest album on cassette tape. I felt so cool having my own music collection and read the little booklet with the lyrics cover to cover.

But my little heart dropped when I came to the pictures...I couldn't believe she'd hacked her hair! I expressed my distaste and disappointment over and over to my mom (you'd think I'd have more important things to worry about at age 6) but quieted my criticisms as soon as I heard her voice. I decided I could like her (even if she did look like a boy) as I fell in LOVE with two songs on my new tape. "Because You Loved Me" and "It's All Coming Back to Me Now...."

My love for Celine continued to grow as the years went on. I remember late nights on the highway listening to Delilah intro Celine's rendition of "Beauty and the Beast" and the road trip to Paradise for that dreaded Christmas of '99 accompanied by that year's best stocking stuffer, "Celine Dion: A Decade of Song." I even defended her from my brother who called her a 'middle-aged diva who thinks she's hotter than she is'...a big deal if you take into account how I idolized him growing up.

So I know by now you're likely thinking, "That's all wonderful Chelsey, but I can't say I'm seeing how this childhood diva has anything to do with your sugar-daddy."

Well, let's just say the Parker-Celine combo helped me make another memory tonight.

Parker typically harasses me for "ignoring him" on our Sunday drive to-and-from Lara & Kirk's place. We're not over there every week, but when we do make the commute we usually drive from Point A to Point B sans music. Our typical station choices seem a bit too raucous while Soft Sunday Sounds are too tacky and over the top. So, to pass the time, we talk!

Anyone who knows me knows I can talk, and if I can talk to anyone it's my husband. We're good little chatters. I just have this habit of multitasking in the car. When I drive, it's downright scary. When he drives, I tend to try and tackle ten times more. Hence...my "ignoring" him.

So tonight, I cut him the deal that if he drove, I'd be attentive. And I was...for a minute or two. I'm awful! I know. But this time I had a good reason. I'd glued myself to my phone in an attempt to sort out our upcoming YW activity (apparently our new combined program is a bit more militarized than the old regime...treats must be prepared and delivered the night BEFORE so we can have them to the activity a full 45 minutes early...heaven forbid they show up only 15 minutes prior!) and made my poor Parker feel, well, lonely.

I normally don't break these types of promises and I promise you, he is number 1 on my list, always. But when I'd received an email, phone call, voicemail, and text message about the celery sticks we needed for Tuesday night in just a 3 hour window, I thought it'd be best to respond before they issued an Amber alert (as they were obviously very concerned about my whereabouts).

So, needless to say, by the time we reached the I-15 Parker's patience peaked and on came the radio. Nothing good seemed to be coming over the airwaves, so he settled for a CD...and whose voice do you think came to console my dear husband??? None other than Miss Celine Dion's (thank you Kaitlin for our love song collection...you made your brother's night). Parker jammed to "It's All Coming Back to Me Now" all along the I-15 stretch and even rewound the track so she could serenade us on the last little leg of the trip too. It was PRICELESS!

As Celine performed her vocal acrobatics, Parker narrated his vision of her next Vegas show.

"Blue lights sweep the stage...then...FIREWORKS!"

I was in HYSTERICS! Seriously. I can't even do this one justice with my words because you HAD TO BE THERE. From his complete butchering of the lyrics to his musings of whether or not they'd do a Celine episode on this season of Glee to his determination that, if they tried, they'd "never do it justice"...he had me rolling. I just could not figure out how these words were coming out of my Parker's mouth. My football-loving, extreme-biking, tool-buying, MANLY husband's mouth!

Granted, most of it stemmed from his super silly mood...but even still. Having him serenade me in bed with his own rendition of "It's All Coming Back" (a.k.a. his using my hand as a mic while repeating two splintered lines of the chorus followed by "baby! baby! baby! baby! baby...baby??? i'm stuck. what comes next?) just about made my night.

He's such a goober.

And I love him for it.

And he'll probably kill me if he sees this post.

But, odds are, he won't. hehehe...

So happy Sunday everyone!

Hope someone's singing you to sleep tonight too.

bore you to tears

So it's one in the morning and because I am still WIRED from our YW's unsleepover (details to come), I figured it'd be a good time to let you in on a little secret I learned yesterday.

My blog. is boring.

If my clichéd title held true I'd move crowds to tears...and I don't mean the good kind. I've learned recently that this is a forum for unoriginal ideas, vapid viewpoints, stale small talk, and mundane memoirs. And even if the content wasn't so conspicuously lacking, I'd never save it with the presentation! How could I ever expect to reinvent the routine romance with colorless adjectives, lazy verbs, and tired truisms. I couldn't have. I shouldn't have. And I wouldn't have if I'd known sooner.

At this point you're likely saying, "Yes Chelsey, we're glad you've seen the light. Who can we thank for escorting you down the path of enlightenment?"

His name is Parker. He's asleep next to me, completely unaware of the havoc he's caused with his inadvertent Dr. Frankenstein move...a.k.a. he created the blog-monster lying next to him first, by being so cute and thus making her posts sound sappy and trite, and now, by unconsciously challenging her to blog better.

Rewind to yesterday night. Latest two-bugs-in-a-rug blog entry posts to Facebook. Husband sees said post on Facebook home page. Husband clicks link to new post. Husband begins to read. Wife witnesses small miracle. Wife's heart is happy. Wife pretends not to watch so as not to scare the young doe from his encounter with words so unsettling sentimental. Wife averts eyes. Wife gets impatient. Wife locks eyes back on husband's computer screen. Husband is now on ESPN website reading an article on BYU-players turned pro. Wife speaks without thinking...

"You already read it?"

"Read what?"

"The blog. You're a speed-reader if so. That was a long one...even for me."

"Oh...uh, yeah. Most of it."

"Most of it? What? Did you get bored halfway through?"

"No..(chew-it-over-with-a-twix type silence). I just don't like to read..."

"You're reading right now."

"I mean, I don't read that kind of stuff."

"Are you kidding? I'm a good writer (pride enters, pops a bit of kettle corn, and takes a seat by my feet to see this one out. "Gonna be a good show," he thinks. "Where'd I put my box of goobers?" As pride settles in to watch the scene play out, Wife continues with the guilt trip). Besides, if you babbled on about me the way I do about you I'd refresh my page every five minutes to check for new posts!"

"Well...that's because you're a girl."

End of conversation. Wife decides it's not worth it to pursue. She tells him most everything before she writes it anyway. Husband distracts himself with new brakes for the other woman in his life he calls Santa Cruz. She always gets the attention, thinks Wife. Then she begins to wonder what might spice up her blog life...you know, make her writing a little more desirable...so much so that even a boy might read it.

She creates an action plan:

1. Keep it short (men have no attention span)

2. a little less sweet (they don't do sap)

3. and when he still doesn't read it, hope that might make it more bearable for future generations (fat chance, but worth a try).

Here's to better blogging...we'll see how long it lasts.

P.S. These are just because a) I couldn't find any funny comics about being bored, and b) my lone reader (a. k.a. Mom) will enjoy them.

It took me like five minutes to figure this one out. food...duh. so funny!
my desk buddy from grammar school...so glad mom let me go to G.A.T.E.

If it's too small to read, "And now Edgar's gone....Something's going on around here."

Bahahaha...I'm feeling better and better about being boring. It may even be time for a blogging hiatus. Give the world a breather. Give me some more free time, a chance to change my approach, and maybe even a spare moment to stock up on more silly comics. This is looking like a win, win, win, win, win.

breathe

so today I experienced a first...for the first time ever, I didn't really have anything to say.

I had a bit of free time between classes and logged in to attempt to share something profound or some humorous tidbit from my day and nothing. came. not a single thing. so I started to feel a bit sad.

I'm a person (sometimes referred to as a type A) who measures each day's success by how much I accomplish, how much fun I have, or how many interactions I have with the people around me.

So today (by my typical standards) seemed pretty pathetic. I decided to treat myself to sleeping in instead of investing an extra day at my internship. When I woke up I did not feel well rested and peaceful as I'd planned. No, I felt worthless and just. plain. lazy.

Now under the impression that I'd somehow already started my day in the negative, you'd think I'd get a "hop-to" attitude and start doing something with myself. Nope. Not a chance.

I just dug my hole of self-deprecation deeper by taking my sweet time getting ready and out the door. This proved to be yet another sweet treat to myself gone sour. By the time I "frogger-ed" my way through the wall of traffic that plagued my commute (thank you again you masterminds behind the I-15 core) I'd missed my first class of the day altogether. Lovely...

The day kept on this way. Instead of listening in my Media Religion course I sifted through wedding photos 5-months overdue for editing (yet remain undecided because the longer I look at them the more I realize how little I like any and how impossible it is for me to recreate that day and have the shots I'd hoped for). And to top it all off I had to miss YW's (AGAIN) to watch another student-produced documentary for extra credit (never feels quite worth it...).

When I finally hit the road, I ended my not-so-crazy day with a quiet drive home. While this may be a treat to some, it's torture to me. I'm no friend to the redundancy of the radio and I don't do silence. So I make calls. But the truth is, I'd exhausted my call list. I'd already talked to my mom and 3 bff's on the way down and checked in with my husband before leaving town. I'd called the other handful of people I dial to kill 5-minutes here and there earlier in the week. And as far as finding new victims buddies to call, my conscience kept my mental phone book from releasing the names of many long-lost friends who I'd deluded myself into believing would be dying to hear from me at 10 at night.

So, if this picture's not already as clear as one of Bob Ross' nature skies, by the time I walked through our front door I felt like a LOSER/failure at life/poor excuse for a person. I'd done NOTHING...all. day. long. Not a single scratch on my to-do list. Not a single worthwhile interaction. Not a single thing I felt like I could be proud of.

I didn't have the heart to do homework, so I decided I'd read up on Conference. I'd spent the first session trying to do a media-religion project which required I follow Twitter while I watch. This did nothing for me outside of reaffirming my belief in the silliness/frivolousness of Twitter and distracting me to no end. I felt like I came away with nothing more than the fourteen fundamentals of following the prophet that our avid Conference tweeters seemed to love regurgitating line by line. So tonight, I figured I'd start there.

I remembered something of President Uchtdorf's talk and felt the title seemed promising. "Of Things That Matter Most." If I needed anything right now it was a healthy dose of reality and reminder of how I should be prioritizing life. I expected him to echo my beliefs. "Chelsey your greatest happiness will come when you're hard at work using your God-given talents to benefit the world! when your eye is on the prize and you do everything in your power to reach it! when you're a fruitful and productive saint who uses her time wisely!" But he didn't. In fact, he told me just the opposite. And it was just what I need to hear.

I won't comment on everything he said and how it applies to me. You don't need my testimony of truth to know that that's what it is. Just know how grateful I am for President Uchtdorf and his inspired words. There are few people who can help me reevaluate life, remember my divine nature, and rethink my evaluation of my eternal worth and value in five minutes or less. I guess that's why they call him the Lord's mouthpiece...

So, without further ado, a few of my favorite quotes...

"Let’s be honest; it’s rather easy to be busy. We all can think up a list of tasks that will overwhelm our schedules. Some might even think that their self-worth depends on the length of their to-do list. They flood the open spaces in their time with lists of meetings and minutia—even during times of stress and fatigue. Because they unnecessarily complicate their lives, they often feel increased frustration, diminished joy, and too little sense of meaning in their lives.

It is said that any virtue when taken to an extreme can become a vice. Overscheduling our days would certainly qualify for this. There comes a point where milestones can become millstones and ambitions, albatrosses around our necks.

Strength comes not from frantic activity but from being settled on a firm foundation of truth and light. It comes from placing our attention and efforts on the basics of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. It comes from paying attention to the divine things that matter most.

Let us simplify our lives a little. Let us make the changes necessary to refocus our lives on the sublime beauty of the simple, humble path of Christian discipleship—the path that leads always toward a life of meaning, gladness, and peace. For this I pray, as I leave you my blessing, in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

speeding

No Mom...I did not get another speeding ticket.

Promise.

I just made a connection in our lesson today that I wanted to remember.

Because of the size of our tiny tribe our Young Women join with the Relief Society for opening exercises each week before going our separate ways. Every Fast Sunday, however, our girls have the obligation privilege of spending the entire hour with our dear Relief Society sisters.

I realize that sounds unkind, but you have to understand. We do love our Relief Society sisters. They are incredibly sweet and kind and spoil us with compliments and attention. And we do hear wonderful thoughts and insight during the lessons there too.

I just worry because it seems like, more often than not, the girls' minds wander and those inspired messages they so need to hear are lost in a sea of teenage thought (i'm sooooo hungry. i wonder what mom's making for dinner...can my homework wait another night? eh...probably. Johnny didn't send a smiley face with his last text...he must hate me).

Those wise words shared in that RS setting soar straight overhead and in all honesty, I can't blame the girls for letting it happen. They're bored. They're not engaged. And even when we do have a "legit" lesson, our girls are so accustomed to cruising through the third hour that it's easy to hit a mental snooze button 'til the 5-minute warning bell chimes.

As a leader, I'm constantly trying to be the go-between by making comments that might capture the girls' attention without seeming totally trivial to our senior sisters. It's likely that a solid 70% of my attempts to play liaison fail. True story. But today I think my comments maybe, just maybe numbered among the remaining 30. The jury's still out...

About 20 minutes into the lesson I started my usual musings about what I could possibly interject to trigger a "tune-in" moment. We'd been covering the basics of repentance and between the B's attempts to quietly create origami cranes out of the programs and the Mia Maids' and Laurels' chorus of yawns I knew we were close to calling it quits.

Suddenly I had an impression...tell them about your speeding ticket.

"Good one," I thought. "Last thing I'm going to do is expose my reckless driving record to the moms of girls I shuttle each week. Fat chance of THAT happening."

But it came again...tell them about your speeding ticket.

"How on earth am I supposed to relate my speeding ticket to seven steps of repentance? Sorrow over my checking account balance seems a bit different than sorrow for sin..."

I tried to coochie coo the Spirit with a dose of Chelsey-logic. Needless to say...I lost the battle. Before I knew it my hand was in the air and all eyes were on me.

"Oh what have I done..."

I decided to make it a little test of faith.

Start by sharing the story. Lay out the facts. Then have faith the connection will come.

I quickly started to paint the picture surrounding one of my greatest Freshman-year follies. I'd decided to make a big Reno road trip with two full carloads of friends. Classic Freshman maneuver...generally a low-risk venture...fun for all and all for fun. Yes? Yes.

My dad welcomed the visit but issued a caution. "Chelsey, do. not. speed. They patrol that road day and night and they will get you. Be smart ok?"

"I'm always smart," I smartly replied, then proceeded to shoo shoo his continued cautions. I'd heard it a million times. I knew that barren stretch of I-80W was a 500-mile-long speed trap. I'd be careful...careful not to get caught driving more than 10 over (that's the general rule of thumb on freeways right? and neighborhoods 5? unless you live in Utah...then it's 15+ over wherever you go).

The girls were the first to depart. We piled into my Honda with two snowboards and a pair of skis in tow, a disproportionate amount of baggage weighing down the trunk, and a sunset guiding us along the nearly deserted highway as we headed due west. We rocked out to our childhood jams--N'Sync, Backstreet, Britney--made every passenger spill her secret crush and/or vent the latest boy troubles, and drove entirely. too. fast.

When I saw the lights flashing denial was the first to the scene.

"It's not me. I'm barely 10 over. Gotta be the guy next to me."

Then panic.

"Crap. No one next to me! Must be me. Please not me! Oh it's so me..."

Then hope.

"I'll be really nice! He'll let me off with a warning. How could you ticket a group of the five adorable BYU coeds? He'll tell us to travel safely so we get there in one piece, give my Honda a little love pat on the caboose, then send us on our way. Yes. That's what he'll do. We're ok."

Then anger as I stared at my $298 ticket.

"What a jerk cop! Are you kidding?! 98 in a 75...does he think I'm some kind of lunatic? And even so...I pulled out all the stops? How do you say no to this face? Speeding tickets are probably the sole source of income here in Wells, NV. Middle-of-nowhere, beedin' (if I'd known that word then), rotten, worthless excuse for a town."

Then finally guilt. Gut-wrenching, heart-breaking, trying-to-choke-back-tears-so-your-friends-don't-see-you-cry GUILT.

"What did I do? Why didn't I listen? Dad's going to kill me..."

Sometime during the remaining 5-hours on the road I decided I'd leave out this detail of our trip down. I didn't want our weekend marred by my careless mistake and I wanted everyone to love my parents just as much as I do...which meant Dad had to be in his happy-go-lucky, middle-school-teasing, "I'm your best buddy" kind of mood. And that wasn't happening if I dished on the ticket.

"If anything," I justified my omission, "I'm taking one for the team. No harm done."

I eventually let the truth slip to my mom. I felt too guilty keeping it from both my parents and figured she'd be the most understanding. I explained my plan...I'd take on a position as a night-shift custodial worker in the athletics building with best little guy buddies, save up to pay off the ticket, do online traffic school in my spare time (what spare time? still haven't figured that one out. must have been a bit of divine intervention there...), all before our insurance company reviewed our records to adjust our premiums for the year.

They'd never know. Dad would never know. And my ticket would never have to be a burden to anyone but me.

Then I begged her not to tell my dad.

Months passed. I worked from 10-1 buffing floors every night, paid off my ticket, completed online traffic school, and kept up the oddest sleep schedule I've had to date. Mom held true to her promise and I kept close watch on what I said to Dad each time we chatted. I convinced him my decision to work custodial simply stemmed from my desire to earn a buck while socializing (not sure how I managed that one) and assured him that the only alternative to work would be my lying awake in bed. Better to get paid to be a night owl than be Facebooking away the time right?

The memory of the ticket started to fade, but I can't say the guilt ever really did.

From that weekend in February straight through September I sweat bullets over the pending insurance adjustment. My Dad didn't seem to take too much notice of my suspiciously keen interest in the report...but every time I alluded to it or tried to pump him for information I had this sick feeling he'd drop the hint that he knew what I'd done and express his disappointment at my A. my blatant disregard for his warning words and B. my subsequent failure to tell him about it (a.k.a. lying by omission).

Luckily this day never came. The insurance adjustment came and went. No hiccups there. And as the months went on my fear that Dad would learn of the lengths I'd gone to to hide my indiscretion subsided.

More than a year later I zipped up my suitcase, muttered a thanks to my roommate Nicole for sitting on it so I could get it closed, then hurriedly assured my Dad I was still listening.

"Dad I know. I won't speed. Parker will make sure of it...

"...Yes he's excited to come visit..."

"...I'm really excited to see you too Dad..."

"...Yes I know..."

"...Dad I know..."

"Dad! I know! NO SPEEDING. I won't. I won't. I won't. I learned my lesson the last time...."

Whoops....

And right then and there my 17-month-long tapestry of omissions fell to pieces. I had to explain to my Dad what had happened, why I hadn't told him, how I fixed it all on my own, how everything was ok....

But everything wasn't ok.

I'd hurt his feelings. He couldn't understand why I couldn't come to him, why I didn't come to him. I tried to justify myself by saying how I'd done it so I could start to learn how to take care of myself and be accountable, but he didn't buy it. Not a single word.

Bottom line. I hadn't trusted him. And I should have.

I waited quietly on the phone for him to say something. I wished he were mad. I wished he'd lecture me, tell me what a rebellious child I was, try to revoke my driving privileges, then take back my his car when I sassily replied that he couldn't do that because I was now an adult...anything but this! I couldn't stand seeing him so sad.

"Sweetie...I could have made this all so much easier on you."

I couldn't speak. I tried again. Nothing. So I just waited for him to speak and let the tears fall silently down my cheeks.

"You're my little girl. You'll always be my little girl. I'm here with my help anytime you need it...even in those times you may not want it...because. I. love you."

I took a minute to compose myself and wait for the inspiration to come...and it did. I explained how my dad's initial warning were like those of our Heavenly Father. Just as I was on a mission to make it home to my family, our mission here on earth is to find our way back to Him. And He's given us every resource to get us there. We hear His same cautions time and again in the scriptures, in Conference, and in class and we say, "I know. I get it. I'll do it."

But in the same way I ignored my dad's admonitions, we forget our Heavenly Father's and pay the price for doing so. But instead of a ticket or a fine we pay the price for sin. Our spiritual growth comes to a halt. Our hearts break, our consciences ache, our relationships suffer.

We try to take it upon ourselves (as I did) to make it along the arduous path of repentance alone. We attempt to forsake the sin, make restitution, then never make the same mistake again. We suffer through all this but never feel fully free of our sins. Why?

Because we skipped a key part. Because we're embarrassed and ashamed of our deliberate disobedience or minor lapses in judgment, we never confess our sins. We never turn to our Savior or our bishops or the person we wronged to say sorry and admit our wrongdoings because it's too painful. Too uncomfortable. Too hard to admit we're not quite as perfect as we've led others to believe.

And the whole time, our Savior is watching us and thinking, "I can make this all so much easier on you. Why won't you let me?"

I have a testimony of my Savior's atonement. I'm not the best at using it and I won't pretend to be. But I know it's real. Because in those times when I have allowed myself to fully rely on the Lord, I've found peace more quickly than I ever could have on my own. He's here for me, every day that I need him, because He loves me. And no matter what I do, no matter how many days I fall short of perfection, He's rooting for me and willing to make up the difference. I know that my Redeemer lives. He's my advocate, my example, my biggest fan, and my friend. And I love Him for that.