Praise. It gets me every time.

The assistant had her hand in my mouth to repair my bottom retainer. She wasn't gentle about it. In fact, she seemed bugged that she had to fix my retainer. I felt like a naughty kid that broke their retainer chewing the always-illegal sticky food. And I'll have you know that that is NOT what happened. It just broke. Really. It broke on its own. But as she angrily fumbled in my mouth, it seems I forgot that the retainer just broke all by itself. I felt guilty that she had to fix my retainer. My tears were toeing the cliff.

As the assistant finished, the orthodontist stopped by my chair to officially certify that my retainer still fits; it's been six years since I got my braces off. The assistant stepped back from the chair to let the doctor through to evaluate my mouth. The officialness of the orthodontist doctor man gets me every time. It's his authority. The same thing happens with the dentist. And policemen. In their presence I feel the need to sit still and do as I'm told. And I always do.

As soon as the doctor came to the chair, I stammered, "Doctor, I wear my retainer every night. It should still fit." I nervously waited for his response. He lightly tapped under my chin and I opened my mouth. He studied my bite.

"Whatever you're doing, it's working. Your teeth look good." That's all he said and he walked away.

That's all I needed. No more verge of tears. I walked out with my head held high and my shoulders back. Whatever I'm doing is working. I wear my retainer like I'm supposed to. I'm a good girl. And my teeth look good.

Advice from a Scout: Use a Compass to Determine Your Direction

It's hard for me to know what to write now. And by "now" I mean since he asked me the question that changed my forever. But I want to write.

Much of my life is the same as it has always been. My daily activities are the same. I spend the same amount of time with him-- a lot. And those hours are my happiest. I'm still in school. I'm still working at my new job that I love. I still eat breakfast every once in a while, and boy do I love the days that I do.

But my head, the inner of my brain, is different now. It's spinning in a whole new direction these days. I'll have you know that it's an exciting direction though-- a bit northeast of the life I know and love, completely west of the life I thought I would be living, and a straight shot to the unknown. A good direction I think.

I like new directions. Especially if he's coming with me. I just don't know how to write about them yet.

First Pick

In elementary school, I was always the last one picked for kickball teams; it was a blow to my self esteem every time. It used to hurt, but now I know that I'm just not designed for kickball and I'm okay with that.

I always admired the first pick though. The first name was called and with that the first pick was automatically declared the most wanted asset. He-- I hate to be sexist but in my memory the first pick was always a boy-- was the proven most valuable player. Why was he always good looking too? The first pick always seemed to have it all-- the looks, the skills, the smarts, and sometimes he was even humble. As a young girl, I always had a crush on the unattainable first pick. He was tall.

Until this weekend, I hadn't played kickball in years. And in my leave of absence from the game, my kickball abilities haven't changed. On Saturday, I stood at shortstop uselessly while my teammates fielded the balls. I could never decide whether I should just give up and put my hands in my pockets or whether I should squat down and look ready for the ball. I didn't want to look ready though, because the ball was the last thing I wanted.

The only thing I wanted was Mr. First Pick. He was on the other team. He has it all-- the looks, the smarts, the skills, and even the humility. He's tall. I loved watching him walk up to the plate. The outfielders would holler and back up. He'd kick and the ball would fly way over everyone's heads. It was a guaranteed home run. Every time. I stood at shortstop watching the balls he kicked fly over my head. The other team would score, but I would smile in complete excitement and disbelief.

Because this first pick is mine. He's completely mine. Seven days earlier, he picked me. I am his first pick. He called my name first and automatically declared me his most wanted asset. His proven most valuable player.

We're getting married in the Spring.