The Drawbacks of Growing Up

Seattle rain is similar to the rain in classic movies.  It falls straight down with no slant whatsoever.  It doesn’t matter whether it’s misting or pouring, it all falls directly toward the ground.  It’s rather uncanny and unsettling.

The way it’s raining right now makes it acceptable for people to pull out their umbrellas and rain boots.  Most of the time it just mists and I laugh at the visitors holding umbrellas over their head as if it were the end of the world.  Obviously, this won’t be the right place for you if you can’t stand a little moisture.   

The clouds that are squeezing out the rain frustrate me.  They are so thin I can almost see the blue behind them.  It makes me think they are about to disintegrate and let the sun take control. 

But I know they won’t. 

There is actually enough rain cumulating in the gutters to sail aluminum foil boats, something I haven’t done for years.  I was a pro at making them when I was younger, and I’m sure I’ve retained the talent. 

It’s just the matter of finding aluminum foil and finding someone to do it with.  Honestly, these moments cause me to miss my siblings the most.  I could easily drag one of them outside with me.  Other kids my age, not so much.

Oh, the drawbacks of growing up.       

Unexpected Nostalgia

Today I’m dressed as if I’m two years old.  Ok, not really.  But I am wearing overalls, which just so happen to be some of my favorite apparel.  In Seattle you can pretty much get away with anything.  Plus, any outfit that looks weird can just be considered “hipster”, and that definitely works in my favor on the days where I randomly mix a bunch of things up and wear them.  Most of the time I’m a simply a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl.

Yesterday, my UCOR class was talking about forms of art and someone said that people are artistic with the way that they dress.  That definitely doesn’t apply to me.  I hardly care what I wear, as long as it fits and I can run around in it.  I also have to wear clothes that I’m not afraid to get dirty because I’m a rather messy human being.  It’s not worth buying a $50 shirt if I’m going to spill ketchup on it and ruin it during lunch. 

Today I walked down to Gwinn alone to eat before I started my day.  People kept asking me where my twin was (since it’s Twin Day for homecoming week) and I told them I didn’t have one.  Half of me wishes I had said she’s in class so that people would have tried to find someone all day that looked like me. 

But I didn’t say it.

I ended up talking to a few people and then I found a spot to sit and eat.  I tend to wander around Gwinn for a little while before I decide what I want to eat.  Today I spotted grill cheese sandwiches and french-fries and knew that was exactly what I wanted. 

I grabbed a sandwich, loaded some fries on the plate and then added some ketchup on the side.  To top it off I filled a glass of lemonade.

Now I was eating like a two year old as well, instead of just acting like one. 

I suddenly remembered when grill cheese sandwiches and french-fries were the only things my siblings and I would eat when we went out to dinner with our parents.  We survived on grill cheese when we took a family vacation to Yellowstone one summer.  And we always asked for a glass of lemonade, never water. 

Before I knew it I was having nostalgia to the max.  As an 18-year-old college student, I was sitting in my college cafeteria longing to be young and eat grill cheese, french-fries, and drink lemonade all the time. 

Those times have long passed—but that doesn’t mean I can’t take time to enjoy one of my favorite meals of all time every once in a while.

There are some things I won’t ever grow out of.  

The Best Punch Lines

I’m trying to get used to babysitting again.  I didn’t interact with kids at all for more than two months, and I suddenly have my normal babysitting job back.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adore the boys I babysit, but I was exhausted after I watched them the other night.  (Being tired after I babysit is normal, but I was far beyond tired.)  Apparently babysitting is much like a playing a sport.  If you don’t stay in shape, you’ll be out of breath.  So I was a little overwhelmed the first time I babysat after coming back from Seattle. 

This is because I forgot rule number one about babysitting.

     1.  Let them entertain themselves. 

I tried too hard to find games for them to play, or encourage them to do a certain activity.  To be honest, letting them do their own thing is much more convenient. 

That was the approach I took tonight—I was much happier, and my night passed by more smoothly.  

And I also found myself laughing more.  Since they did their own thing, they were more themselves.  There were several things they said that I feel compelled to share. 

The younger boy is 4.  He was struggling a little with manners at the dinner table so I asked him, “Where are your manners silly boy?” 

He looked at me, tilted his head and smiled, then said, “At church.”

I had to laugh!  I couldn’t lecture him for that response.  Well played, kiddo. 

Later I was singing you better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout I’m telling you why, Santa Claus is coming to town!  Both of them were watching me and giggling.

Then the 6 year old said, “He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake, and he knows when you talk about bottoms.”  (“Bottoms” happens to be one of the cutting-edge potty words in that household.)

I found myself laughing all over again. 

I’m telling you, the things kids say are absolutely outrageous.

They deliver the best punch lines. 

Spotting it First

When I was a kid, it was always a huge competition to see who could see the control tower first on the way to the airport.  Normally my brother Robert would spot it first, and every once in a while the rest of us would get it.   

I think he knew where to look.  He had the lines of the horizon memorized and he knew exactly where the control tower would first start to appear. 

Today I went with four girls from my floor to do Secret Santa shopping downtown.  When I saw the space needle I said, “I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of seeing the space needle.  It never ceases to capture my attention.” 

My friend Sarah nodded and smiled.

Then I said, “I bet it was one of those things you had a competition to see who could see it first on the way to the city.  You know, when you were a kid.”

She looked at me.  “Oh, it definitely was.”

Now I feel like I’m the kid trying to point it out every time.

I never want to grow out of it.      

A Really Good Liar

For the past 5 weeks (maybe a little more) I had been lying to everyone on my Dad’s side of the family, and most people on my Mom’s side of the family. 

I was sitting in Sea-Tac airport, getting ready to board a flight to Los Angeles, and my Grandma from Ohio was texting me about Thanksgiving and asking about where I was going.

I texted, I’ll be at a friends house.  I leave this afternoon, without a second thought.  I still had to be careful.  I had kept my secret this long and it wasn’t going to be unveiled until I was standing on my cousins’ doorstep. 

All my friends from school knew.  I had to explain why I wasn’t going back to Colorado, but to California instead.

I had done a pretty good job of texting my cousin and telling her how much I was going to miss her, and I occasionally posted the same message on her Facebook wall.  I did it to my brothers as well, telling them how jealous I was that they got to be in Cali and I didn’t. 

I did more than just lie.  I was downright conniving. 

I could hardly contain my excitement as I boarded the flight, and I texted my Dad, “I’m leaving school now, have a great Thanksgiving!”  My Dad and Mom actually knew I was coming, so those were simply code words just in case someone over read the text on accident. 

I had the very last seat on the plane.  20D and I ended up sitting next to a couple with a six year old girl across the isle, and a 2 year old ginger-haired boy that they were keeping on their laps. 

Most people would have mentally prepared themselves for disaster, but I hadn’t interacted with kids nearly at all since I left for school.  I was more than thrilled to talk to him and I eventually got to hold him for a while. 

Eventually, he got worn out and fell asleep, which allowed me time to read for school.  I read more in those 2 hours than I would have read in 6 had I still been in my dorm. 

After I landed I called my Dad, made my way to the baggage claim, and then out the sliding doors to stand on the gray sidewalk of terminal three.  I had a long sleeve gray shirt on, a Rockies baseball cap, and jeans.  It was 72 degrees out and I felt like I was suffocating.  

When my parents pulled up in a mini van a huge grin spread across my face, and when my Mom got out I pulled her into a hug and didn’t want to let go.  I had seen my Dad a few weeks earlier in Seattle, but I hadn’t seen my Mom in months. 

My Dad threw my suitcase in the back and we were off.  I had a plan about how I wanted to surprise everyone, but since it didn’t happen that way I won’t bother to explain it. 

I’m not one that normally asks, “Are we there yet?”  I tend to leave that job to my six-year-old cousin, and youngest brother, but I recall asking it at least twice on the ride to my cousins’ house, which was pointless since I knew almost exactly where we were the whole ride back. 

As we pulled up to the side of the house I slid down between the seats just in case someone was outside, and my parents went into the house to scope out where everyone was. 

My Dad texted me:  Everyone is all over the place.  Come ring the doorbell. 

I opened the van door, and climbed out feeling like a stowaway or criminal.  I walked across the street as casually as I could and walked up to the front door.  Then I rang the doorbell, which was an odd feeling because whenever I had arrived in the past it had always been wide open to greet me.

My dear cousin Mackenzie answered the door (I had been pulling her leg the most) and when she saw me she said, “What?” and backed away from the door.  I yelled, “Surprise!” and then we were laughing and hugging and my youngest cousin Ruby joined in on the hugs as well. 

My brother Robert was standing there, just staring at me.  I’m pretty sure he went into shock and remained in that state the rest of the night.  He told me later he had been super confused because he was absolutely certain I should still be in Washington and not in California.  That’s how good I had been at lying.  It took him a while to adjust to the fact I was actually present.

After surprising those three, I walked out back to where the pool is.  Sure enough, Mark and Xander, the inspirable family members, were floating on inner tubes in the pool.  I was walking toward them and they were looking at me when I got tackled by my sister, and engulfed in a hug.  Then the boys were yelling and climbing out of the pool and joining in and soaking everyone. 

I couldn’t believe it was finally happening!

Next I surprised my Grandparents, who were next door in the guesthouse practicing for the “Battle of the Bands” which ended up not happening because I showed up.  My Grandpa was the first to realize that it was me standing there and not one of the other grandchildren.  He started saying, “Oh my goodness!” while my Grandma continued to bang on the drums.  When she finally saw me she covered her mouth and got up to come hug me.   I definitely can’t count on all my fingers and toes how many hugs and kisses I received within the first 10 minutes of arriving.

I still had to surprise my Aunt and Uncle, and within a few minutes my Uncle came back to the house after a run.  I hid behind a wall and jumped out as he rounded the corner. 

“Elisabeth!  Wow!  Don’t hug me!”  He was pretty sweaty after his run, but I proceeded to hug him anyway. 

Surprising my Aunt was possibly the funniest.  Everyone sat down around the dinner table, and I had my back to the entry of the kitchen.  My brothers, sister, and cousins then began improvising a discussion about what would happen during “Battle of the Bands” later that night.  As they were talking my Aunt walked into the kitchen. 

“Hey guys!” she said as she placed some groceries on the counter.

Everyone responded through a mixed chorus of hellos and continued to talk, and snicker.  In the reflection of the French doors by the table I caught my Aunt leaning toward my Uncle and asking, “Who is that at the table?” 

I started laughing, I couldn’t help it, and I turned around to reveal myself.  My Aunt was definitely surprised, and both of us had tears in our eyes as we hugged.  At that point everyone was screaming and laughing and some of us were crying.  My sister had been crying throughout the whole thing, so I made sure to give her another hug.

Everyone began to ask me about all of the texts and Facebook posts and how long have you known you were going to do this again?  How did you manage to hide it from us? 

“Guys!”  I laughed, “I guess I’m just a really good liar.”  

The Truth About Fire Trucks

There’s something about fire trucks that get children really excited.  Perhaps it’s the flashing lights or the blaring sirens, or the honking of the horn.  Maybe it’s just the color red that catches their attention.

My brother had a fire truck birthday party one year, which all of us thought was the greatest thing ever.  My Mom and Dad transformed a giant refrigerator box into a fire truck and we pretended to drive it around while screaming siren noises.  We became heroes in our own minds as we rescued people and put out fires.      

I don’t know if any child truly knows what a fire truck stands for, but I can remember the first time I realized what it was all about. 

My Dad, brother, and I were in the car one day driving through the neighborhood and I spotted smoke on the horizon.  “Daddy, there’s a fire,” I said.  He told me that, no, it wasn’t a fire, it was just smoke from a grill.  But I continued to insist that it was a fire and he drove us through the neighborhood until we reached a house that was engulfed in flames.

We got out of the car and stood along the other side of the street while we watched the house burn.  I can’t remember exactly how I felt but I did realize that there was no fire truck in sight.  My Dad and several other people were calling 911 and requesting help. 

I must have been 6 or so and I had never seen anything so real in my entire life.  The fire truck didn’t get there in time and there wasn’t much left of the house.  No one was hurt, but everything was gone. 

After that I went through a stage where I was paranoid about my house catching fire and burning to the ground.  I was most concerned about having my stuffed turtle, pet goldfish or dog get lost in the fire.  At some point it also crossed my mind that I could lose someone in my family…

If the fire truck doesn’t get there in time when someone is in the house, then what happens?  I started saying prayers whenever I heard sirens.  I wanted everyone to be ok.  It was still exciting to see a fire truck, but at the same time I knew what was on the other side.  Someone could be really hurt.  Whether it’s a car accident, a fire or other mishap, someone could die.

As soon as I started driving with a permit when I was 15 I would always get out of the way of a fire truck or ambulance as soon as I heard one.  Even if it was driving on the other side of the road I would pull over.  That’s what you were supposed to do, and everyone did it.  In Colorado it was fairly easy for emergency vehicles to get around quickly, and no matter where I was, no matter the time, the sound of sirens would diminish as soon as I heard them.

That’s not how it works here.  Once I hear sirens it seems like they go on forever.  This is partially due to the fact that the roads are small and hard to drive through in many places, but it is also due to the fact that people don’t get out of the way.  One of my friends was expressing her frustration at this the other day.  She told me, “People in Seattle don’t get out of the way like they should.  I can’t stand it.” 

I can’t either.  Granted, there is traffic because I live in a packed-in city but I want people to make the effort—there is someone on the other side that needs help. 

I would like to have a kids’ view of fire trucks again.  They see it as someone rushing to the rescue, which is true (I admire firemen greatly), but in the back of my mind I can’t help wondering who is hurt.  I want to believe that a fire truck always represents safety, but I can’t quite do that anymore.

This past summer when I was visiting Ohio I saw smoke on the horizon.

Here is what I wrote: 

Something is burning

On the horizon,

Black clouds of smoke

Permeate the blue

In sky, and I am

Sitting in my car

Watching through the

Window, from a distance

While someone is

Screaming—silently—

Surely someone is

Screaming, while

I watch (unfeeling)

The burning sky.

e.carlson

I might be doing ok, but there’s always someone who isn’t. 

This is reality.

And I just want to be the girl at the fire truck party.

The Psychology of a Band-Aid

After working with preschoolers for nearly a year, and babysitting on dozens of occasions, I could tell you the best cure for a scratch or boo-boo is a Band-Aid.

It doesn’t matter if it’s plain or has Mickey Mouse on it or Scooby Doo.

It just needs to be a Band-Aid.

It doesn’t even matter if they’re bleeding or not.

They’re still going to want a Band-Aid.

It makes them feel better and it reassures them that they’re going to be ok.

Whoever invented the Band-Aid was a genius. He created a common psychological necessity that will never go out of style.

I remember going through the same stage when I was a kid but now I’m in at place in my life where a Band-Aid doesn’t work as well anymore.

There’s not a Band-Aid for homesickness or lack of sleep or I have no motivation to do any homework whatsoever.

Truth is, nothing is ever going to be as easy as it was before.

But I can still go out and buy some Band-Aids no matter what.