love me or hate me - that is the question.

i've decided that i have a love/hate relationship with growing up.

wanna hear my reasons?

1) no more imagination. growing up means this is definitely blocked. have you ever heard of a grown-up having an imaginary friend? yeah, me neither.

2) more responsibility. not as fun as it sounds. because responsibility and stress have a direct relationship. one goes up, so does the other.

3) people talk to you seriously. yeah, it's all fine and good most of the time. but who wants to be taken seriously ALL the time? not me.

4) no more fun bathtime. showers/bath are 99% all seriousness now. no more crayon soap, no more rubber duckies, no more pretending to be the little mermaid and soaking up the floor (i definitely loved that one. it was always the part of the movie where she splashes up on the rock and all the waves crash behind her. definitely made for a wet bathroom floor.)

5) no more fun jobs. real jobs (minus a select few) are never as fun as washing the walls or cleaning my room. (cleaning my room always led to dress up - with whatever was on the floor. which means nothing got put away and it never really got clean. funny how that happens sometimes.)

6) i love choosing my own bedtime. which lately has been getting later and later. and taking naps of my own choice makes them even sweeter.

7) the idea of decorating my own house is just thrilling. i have all these ideas of what i want to do crammed away into a folder that is just waiting to be opened!

8) school is definitely a lot harder. but is almost the same amount of fun.... not the same KIND of fun, but maybe the same amount.

9) shopping is way more fun. costco samples, clearance sales, christmas shopping. definitely more fun when you don't have to stay with Mom the whole time.

10) boys no longer have cooties. in fact, i spend most of my time with one and i'm still as enamored as day one.

This one hits home.

Does this resonate with anyone else?

Because it sure struck a chord with me.

two balls or three?

So this girl brought her son to class today. I think he is maybe 1? 1 and a half? Doesn't really matter, I guess. He is so stinkin' cute. And of course I can't pay attention now when he is sitting on the ground next to me making the funniest faces. It makes me want one of my own.

But then, he gets up and starts running around. And falls down. And starts crying. And I realize I really don't want one right now. Especially because I still have to go to classes and stuff. Poor girl. She's a saint for juggling classes and a baby. Literally. Juggling.

I can't juggle. I was never good at it.

I'll Love You Forever, I'll Like You For Always...

dear Mom,

Today is your birthday. It seems inappropriate to say that you are older and wiser now because you have always been so wise, and you do not seem so old. You are so lovely to me - with your quiet confidence, your steady perseverance and your endless love. The moment I realized you truly truly loved me was one of those days back in high school- during the times when it seems like all I did every weekend was fight with you and Dad about every thing; when I assumed I was right and you were wrong.

Of course, it was just after we'd been fighting. Dad and I are so alike, Mom. We both like working with our hands, we both make a face when we're being stubborn, we both like to do things in certain ways - so of course, why would we be able to get along when we both assume we're right? Me being the over-emotional teenager that I was, I remember running out of the house crying and sitting down on the ground because nothing seemed to ever go my way and thinking that Dad was ruining my life and now I had no way to escape feeling like that. But, Mom, you came out after me. You didn't come and apologize or say things could be my way and that I could go and have fun. You didn't lecture me on respecting my parents or being a responsible person. No, Mom, you just sat down next to me on the ground. And when I finally opened my eyes through the tears I couldn't stop from coming, and finally looked at you, I saw that you were crying too. I knew, right then, at that moment that you loved me so much. You loved me enough to let me hurt and let me learn. You loved me enough to let me grow. I think at that moment, I finally began to understand the love a parent has for their child.

Mom, you taught me how to always strive to be my best, to not quit when things feel so low. You taught me how to be independent and that I am the happiest when I can be myself. I know I take you for granted and that you deserve so much more than I can give. I love you and I always will. Thank you for being the person that you are and for teaching me how to be like you.

I love you every day of the year,
but especially today, and always for eternity.
your daughter

Nothing is as simple as we hope it will be. - Jim Horning

I have become a shuttle driver. Ever since getting my license from learning how to drive on a fantastic, 15 passenger white Ford van, I’ve vowed never to drive anything that beastly. (However, I am now the proud owner of a Land Rover Discovery that seats 7 at most – so I aspired slightly lower. No offense Mom and Dad… the van will always hold a special place in my heart.) And yet, Grover the Gas-Guzzling Rover is now the college version of the good old van. Grover took me to the airport a LOT lately. Including twice in one day.

And from my vantage point as a shuttle driver, I realized I find out a lot about myself when I turn off the radio and start listening to my thoughts. Maybe you’ll even solve a couple problems that have been plaguing you. Or not. But you still get a lot further than you were before.

Airports are a completely different world. Remember how in chemistry you had to learn the difference between homogenous and heterogenous? (…. For all you NONchem lovers: basically a mixture of things you can’t separate because they look the same and a mixture of things you can separate because they look different, respectfully…) Airports are neither. People come together and weave in and out of each other’s lives and then at the end of the flight, the threads are pulled apart again. So what has been created? A tangled web is shaped when we fly on wing through the air. And yet somehow when that web is pulled tight it creates a wonderful tapestry. Think of all the people you’ve ever sat next to and had a meaningless/meaningful conversation with. There are so, so many people that have left an impression on me. Like this one old lady who had four complete hours to fill with her life story. And fill it she did.

I know Christian definitely has me topped on the number of times he's flown, but I've definitely topped him on the number of times you get stuck. (right, David? I'm pretty sure I told you about it every time it happened.) I think something crazy happened to me every time I tried to fly by myself. I used to think I was just cursed. Now I realize that I had a lesson to learn every time I got stuck. Sometimes it takes drama and frustration and confusion for you to grow a little more and to realize that you are far, far more capable than you thought you were.

I think the worst part about airports is the goodbyes. You pull up to a curb, they get out, you hug, they walk off and you get to stand there and watch them walk farther and farther away from you. And then you have the drive home to think about how much you'll miss someone. Two years, two weeks, two days - I still miss you all the same. But today was harder. Usually I'm the one that gets dropped off at the curb. Usually I'm the one who gets distracted by security lines and waiting areas. But not today. I watched my family get in a car and drive away from me. I fool myself sometimes into thinking that saying goodbye will get easier as I get older. And I realize how wrong I am everytime. And now all I want to do is go to an airport. And be the one that gets on the plane and flies back home.

Never again.

I got a paper cut a little while ago. It’s not like a huge deal that I should be thinking about or even caring about, except for the fact that it intrudes into the peacefulness (HA!) of my day constantly. I’ve gotten paper cuts before, everyone has. Minor scratches we try to avoid. I handle paper products all the time - file folder, notecards, boxes, scrap pieces, heaven knows reams and reams of copies – I’ve learned how to NOT get a paper cut. I haven’t had one for so long that now it really stings. And now that I have it, I'm forced to think about it. It's almost impossible to ignore. I use my hands all the time. Work, typing, answering phones, school, driving, opening a door, texting, shopping, you name it, I use them. The worst was when I was putting mousse in my hair and instead of it being rubbed into my hair, it simply rubbed into the paper cut.

It’s just a simple nuisance that I can’t get out of my mind. As hard as I try to ignore it, it hurts. It was just surprising and unwanted after all the precautions I’ve taken to NOT get one. Mostly because I didn’t expect it and didn’t think it would happen to me. This old paper cut doesn’t even realize what it’s done to my character. Thank you for letting me learn from this experience. You may not appreciate the sacrifices that I did to avoid something like this from happen, but that’s okay because now I’m a new person. And a paper cut won’t ever hurt this badly again.