As I’ve been reading through my journal from my senior year of high school, the BIGGEST thing I’ve realized is that I was not a very good writer back then. I tried too hard. I’m pretty sure that I’ve improved since then and let’s chalk it up to my sa-weet blogging skills. Or let’s not. We could chalk it up to all the money I’ve spent on higher education. I would hope an English BA and a nearly-attained Technical Writing MS would amount to SOMETHING.*

The following rambling entry was written in class my senior year:


Her seat holds her body in class.
Each hand grips the edges of her desk.
Her crossed legs keep her from running.
Her assignment fills space on her desk top.
She is trapped within her unanswered problems.
However, nothing can jail her thoughts.
They run free
Chasing her raingutter sailboat,
Skipping across rocks that hold the stream bed.
She picks her pen off her desk,
Pictures splash from the ink.

*However, if the only thing that it amounts to is the one-act play I wrote where Antigone, Ismene, Puck and Linda Loman attended an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting together, then I can die happy. Big grin.

Ode to Little Sister

I know, you can’t believe it, right? I posted on a Sunday. And you thought all I did on my Sabbath was sleep in, go to church, eat dinner with the fam. Well, NOT TODAY. Today, I had a good reason to get up early (ha, early for a Sunday)… breakfast at the little sister’s. Her fabulous roommies threw a birthday breakfast for her and even though I was a wee bit late (due to a very tardy bedtime watching the Gold medal Bball game last night), it was delish.

So here, for your reading pleasure, internet, is my ode to little sister, Mern. In the words of Gus-Gus: Happy Birfaday!


Somehow, our lives have revolved around soccer. Dad coached us when we were little and for some reason, you felt it NECESSARY to wear your plaid hat for soccer games. I’m not sure it matched our reversible Leopards Lair jerseys or not, but I suppose you weren’t planning on heading the ball much so by all means, wear your stylish little hat. It must have been EASIER than having Mom comb the tangles out of your hair. WE HATED THAT. Eventually, Mom bought some Aveda leave-in conditioner and life was a wee bit less painful for our delicate little scalps.

Before long, we started playing competition soccer and traveling to tournaments. Dad was mighty brave to drive a bunch of 6th and 7th grade girls to Boise. We managed to keep ourselves entertained in the car, pre-DVD player days. After every bathroom stop, we checked to see if anybody was a CUP yet. “Nope, still a YUP.” It was VERY IMPORTANT that we were Clear Urine People before playing many soccer games in one weekend. We also ate a lot of carrots. That didn’t turn out so well when Puck started to look the same color as her carrots and what were we supposed to do? I think I shut my eyes and prayed, “Please don’t vomit on ME.” Thanks, Puck, for catching all your spewed up carrots in your own hands. That was so thoughtful. And to top off our diet of lots of water and too many carrots: jolley ranchers. We would suck on them for a few minutes, then drop them out the back window of the van to see if they would bounce up and stick to cars. Things like that were REALLY FUNNY back then.

And today, Mern, you let me tag along with you for many soccer games. Sometimes we win the league, sometimes, we’re just glad we’re not on Mandy’s team. And if we added up all the money spent, perhaps you could give yourself a scholarship to PA school. You used to drive all the way down to Provo ONCE A WEEK, just to be the best girl on my indoor soccer team. SOMEBODY had to score some goals. After all these years of post-high-school soccer, what do we have to show for it? A friendship with Pepe, OF COURSE.

Insignificant Others

Ever since Dad made a comment at Thane’s wedding dinner about how he’s “good at marrying off boys,” we’ve become each other’s INSIGNIFICANT OTHER. In a family full of couples (except for lil’ brudder, Jamis), it’s the only way to cope. Or else, it is forced upon us because who else are we going to share a room/bed with on family vacations? Each year, we both say we’re going to get married before the next vacation, just so WE GET OUR OWN ROOM. (Well, that we would share with that special someone who we married for the sake of an improved vacation experience.) And in family pictures, when everybody stands next to their spouse, where do we stand? (Probably holding one of the nieces or nephews to help them smile AT the camera.)

We also traveled together as such, although back in the day, Sir Pee-A-Lot made us a trio instead of a couple. That led to a New Years in San Francisco where NOBODY AT THE PARTY actually counted down til midnight. How do you miss the countdown? We had to make up for that with PLENTY of shopping, taking pictures for an Asian friend we made (one, two, three, ha-rah!), riding the tro-rrey, and getting recruited to join the Not-Well Posse.

You helped me survive a week in Warsaw, IN. Although for part of the vacation, you’re the one that needed help when you came down with a case of bad Chinese food. Eventually, you got back on your feet so we could sit around in the living room, read books, ride teeter-totters, and eventually head up to Chicago for some SHOPPING.

Now… we’re friends

It’s true, life wasn’t always so picture perfect for us two sisters. Mom used to threaten us with sending me to therapy (probably with a REAL therapist and all), and you to live with your cousin in Oklahoma. I don’t blame you for being scared; I wouldn’t want to live in Tulsa either… THEY HAVE CHIGGERS.

Eventually, Mom learned that we would get along a little better if we didn’t share rooms and then, IF ONLY we could have had our own bathrooms, life would have been peachy. There was that time, once, though, that we decided to clean the bathroom TOGETHER. (I know, Mom is SHOCKED.) See all the old toothbrushes? We figured it was probably time to throw them away. And now, we clean our own bathrooms all alone because we don’t even live in the same zip code. (Good thing we still have soccer… and work.)

A toast to many more years filled with plenty of pictures in which NOBODY expects you to smile normal, Mern; that would be dull.

Clubs – All the Best

Yesterday we celebrated Annie’s birthday party at Tracy’s parents’ home. Can you believe it that after an ENTIRE WEEK of spending non-stop time with my siblings, I was happy to see them? And I drove, all by myself because guess what? I LIVE ALL BY MYSELF. I’m such a grownup now.

After dinner and before presents, the kids were playing in the living room while the adults were having mature conversations (teasing Grumma about how they all wore red in memory of the recent sadness that is Tiger Woods’ knee). Every now and then, an adult would check on the kids to make sure none of them had gone missing between the couch cushions; one of those adults returned to report that the children had started a club. I never caught the name of the club, but Annie described one of the club’s activities with these words (and I really do quote here because I wrote them down as soon as I heard them): “an occasional chorus of coughing breaks out.”

That’s a good quote from a nine-year old—worth repeating.


Most of the kids had picked up a cough from the trip. I didn’t keep track of which kid initially introduced the cough to everyone else, but before long, all of the Campbell cousins could relate via coughing. And so they made a club.

At this point in the story, it’s my privilege to turn all of the attention on me. After all, why else would I have a blog, but to talk ALL ABOUT ME whenever I want and for as long as I want? So let’s talk about Larrie’s clubs for a moment.

Somewhere around the age of eight or nine, I wrote in my journal that I wanted to start a Book of Mormon club. By the tone of my journal (do eight/nine year olds know how to use tone in their writing?) I was ECSTATIC about this club. I was even going to get my friends that weren’t LDS to join. I think I had one, but we were mostly just playground friends because SIX BLOCKS was too far to walk to become backyard friends, too. Sadly, the BoM club never got off of the ground and I never even read the book all the way through on my own for the first time until I was in high school.

Right about now, I’m just wondering if there were other kids like me who were obsessed with making clubs. Anybody? Being the geek that I am, I even had a folder, labeled, “Clubs—All the Best.” Inside, each club had a printed up page about it with a flag. I typed up the pages on our word processor and used the # symbol to create a border for the flags. Then, I drew the flags with my AMAZING ARTISTIC ABILITIES. (That’s my superhero ability, you know.)

Of course I remember most of the clubs included in that folder. The one with the most members was the Treasurers’ Club. We were a little confused with the name because it wasn’t really a CLUB OF A BUNCH OF LITTLE KIDS ASPIRING TO ONE DAY RUN THE US TREASURY. In reality, we were a bunch of kids who wanted to draw maps that led to treasure at the end. Once, the treasure was a small box full of Symphony candy bars. Sometimes the maps were drawn-out representations of the neighborhood with an actual X to mark the spot. Other times, the maps were more clues left at different locations. Pretty intense for a bunch of elementary school kids, eh?

Another club was the SBOTJ Club. This one was the bomb. Seriously. It stood for Stopper Buddies of the Jungle. You can’t beat that—combining soccer with the jungle? (For those who are sadly in the dark about what a stopper is, it’s a position on the soccer field in-between the midfield and sweeper/defense and I played that position in fourth grade.) There were two of us in the club and Puck and I had a handshake, a flag (with a very cool lion holding a baton with a soccer ball on the top), a chant, and a list of rules. Thanks to years of SSRIs, I no longer remember the handshake, even though we tried to document it by taking pictures, some of which were lost, the rest are no longer in the correct order. However, I remember the chant: “Stopper Buddies we are them; boom, boom, goal, yeah!” Coolest club EVER! Oh and to top it off, the rules were even better. I can only remember bits and pieces about most of them, but one I can remember word for word: “Never kill a wild beast; let them bring you food.” I know; you WISH you could have been in that club.

I eventually outgrew my club-making phase—just in time for the dragon-drawing phase. This occurred simultaneously with my cartoon-creation phase and having braces with headgear. I REALLY MISS JR HIGH SCHOOL.