Returning in Style (or Trying)

Anyone you ask who knows me well could probably tell you I’m a jeans and t-shirt girl.  There’s not much to my fashion beyond that and when I went to SPU for my freshman year (a year ago now) I often felt like a total scrub in comparison to some of the other girls there.  I’ve never been one to really care about what others thought of me fashion wise and I paraded through the year in my jeans and my t-shirts and my sweatshirts and sweatpants.

I even wore a pair of plaid pajama pants to class one morning and then to lunch and I got a ton of compliments from different guys about how cool they were.  I’m pretty sure the girls thought I was out of my mind though and after that I didn’t wear them out in public anymore. 

I didn’t realize how into fashion Seattle is in general and after a certain amount of time I got to the point when I decided I kind of wanted to look really cute some days too.  Sure, I dressed up really nicely if I ever went on a date with Will or out somewhere special with friends, but otherwise I didn’t really bother very much.  At least in my mind I hardly tried. 

When spring in Seattle hit it was as if the clouds were producing sundresses instead of raindrops since they seemed adorn every girl on campus.  The few sundresses I owned had been left at home since I had no idea that 70 degrees in Seattle was basically considered sundress weather, or summer for that matter. 

Let’s just say I finally decided it was time to add some clothing improvements to my closet.  This summer I bought a new pair of boots, some new jeans, new cardigans, scarfs, and lots of different things that could be layered.  I even bought some new dresses!  My mom spent a lot of time shopping with me this morning and she helped me pick new things out.  I had a lot of fun spending some time with her before I head off to school and even she bought a new sweater for the fall. 

I feel like I’m ready to return to Seattle in style.  Sure, I’m going to have a lot of days when I dress like my casual self and forget what the word makeup means but at least I know I’ll have options if I ever feel like looking cute.  (It seems like people hardly recognize me when I really try, which makes me laugh a little.) 

One more day of packing tomorrow and then I’m returning to my college home! 

Time & a Fishbowl

I realize I’ve been a terrible liar.  Every time I say I’m ready to write, I don’t.  I think it’s partially because I’ve put too much pressure on myself to keep my blog going, which has worked negatively and caused me to say pretty much nothing.  And of course life happens and sometimes I’m just not good about leaving time for myself to open a blank word document so that my words can flow.

So, no more promises and no more saying “I will” or “I won’t”.  I’ll write when I can and I have no idea when that will be.    

At the beginning of my freshman year of college, a year ago now, I started my blog.  It’s incredibly hard to believe that everything went that fast.  Looking back it was as if I snapped my fingers and transferred myself to now.  Freshman year was wonderful and full of new learning experiences and a completely new life.  This year I’m going back to something I already know and long for, which makes me almost more excited than before. 

I’m in the same spot again, trying to pack and wrap things up before I leave, but this time most of my things are waiting there for me and I’ll have to pick them up along the way.  I told my mom yesterday that it’s going to be like Christmas because I don’t remember half of what I actually packed in all those boxes.  As I open them I’ll start to rediscover bits and pieces of my college life from last year, and somehow I will reassemble those to help me start this year.

I’m going to be rooming with one of my best friends from my floor this year and we have already talked a little bit about how we are designing our room.  Believe me, it is going to be amazing once we actually move in and organize things, but at the moment we aren’t entirely sure how it is all working out.  I’ve been crafty this summer and I’ve made magazine coasters and wall hangings that will hopefully help add to the aura of our room.  

My room at home is once again littered with bags that I’m shoving everything in to.  It seems like I managed to collect a decent amount of things to take back with me to school this year.  For example, I’m taking a fishbowl.  (Most of you are thinking, why take a fishbowl when you can buy one up there?  Well, it just so happens I like this one and that’s exactly what I told my mom when she asked me that question.  She said I’m going to have a problem taking a suitcase of glass up to Seattle, since I’m also taking some mason jars as well… I’m not a hipster but I think they’re cool.) Anyway, I want a fish in my room this year and my future roomie said that’s fine as long as I’m the one cleaning it. 

In all honestly, I’m a little bit scatter brained right now trying to keep track of everything that I need to do… and then I remembered that it’s been almost a year since I started blogging and I thought to myself, why not take some time to write?

There’s always a little bit of time to spare.   

Monday Moments: Backwards

Monday mornings are always a bit of a challenge.

Rolling out a bed never fails to be an obstacle and once I get going, things move rather slowly.  I probably open and close drawers several times before I actually pull out what I’m going to wear.  (Planning outfits would prevent this problem but I’m always worried that by the next morning I’ll have changed my mind anyway.)

Today I pulled out a blue shirt that I’ve owned for… probably forever.  I remember buying it at the store with my Mom and, due to the fact I’ve hardly grown, it still fits and it’s not worn out enough for me to get rid of. 

I noticed it had one black dot on the tag.  For a second I couldn’t remember why someone would have put one black dot on my tag but it quickly came back to me…wow, this shirt is old. 

When my mom used to do everyone’s laundry (years and years ago) she had no ideas which clothes belonged to which child, which makes sense considering there are 5 of us.  My clothes had one dot, child #2 had two dots and so on.  I can’t believe I’ve had this shirt since that time of my life.  I’ve been doing my own laundry for a pretty long time which means it’s probably from middle school and I’m currently in college.  That’s a little embarrassing. 

Then, unbidden, I remembered something else funny about my clothing from when I was younger.  When I was learning how to dress myself my mom would draw little arrows on my underwear that would point upward toward my bellybutton once I put them on.   It helped me figure out whether or not I had put them on the right way.   

I can’t even express how many times I put my underwear on backwards, regardless of the arrows, and how many times other people in my family put things on backwards as well.  Dresses, t-shirts, pants, underwear… it was always a problem.  My brothers were pretty good at putting things on backwards and inside out.  This is probably partially due to the fact we all learned how to dress ourselves at a very young age—it would have been impossible from my mom to dress all of us one by one in the morning. 

There’s a certain day I remember very clearly.  I was riding my scooter on the sidewalk behind my house and looking at my brother, who was on a scooter in front of me.  We were in elementary school at the time and he had his shorts on backwards.  The back pockets were in the front and the fly was in the back.  (How he managed to consciously do that I’m not sure).  Before I knew it I was doubled over in laughter at how ridiculous he looked.  I couldn’t tell him without laughing, and he ran back into the house to turn them around. 

I was talking to my friends on the way to breakfast this morning and I asked them, “Did you guys ever put your underwear on backwards when you were younger?  Or other clothing in general?”

Apparently they didn’t.  Apparently my family is the only one who ever had an issue with it.

#mondaymoments

The Mood the Dentist Puts Me In

I woke up grumpy.

I knew where I was headed. 

It’s the place where they always manage to tell me every single time that something is wrong with me.  My mouth is far from perfect.  My teeth may be straight, but nothing else is how it should be.

The dentist puts me in a mood.  It’s rare that I have a perfect report, and today I definitely didn’t.  It’s not my fault that my teeth are shaped in a way that makes it impossible to brush and floss them correctly. 

These are the things I found out at the dentist today:

My gums are receding… I’m hypersensitive… I have two cavities in the very back… not to mention I have some dentistry cement left on a tooth that has a crown on it.  (Why they didn’t remove it on the same day I had my crown put on, I do not know.)

The gums issue is caused by the fact I clench my teeth when I’m sleeping and the hypersensitivity is nothing new.  You think they would be willing to accept the fact that’s it’s painful when a tool jammed against your gum line to remove plaque.  But no, I’m just hypersensitive. 

During these visits I often find myself thinking I would rather be a caveman and let all my teeth fall out.  But when I told my Mom that she reminded me they only lived until they were 40.  Dang. 

At some point the lady who was cleaning my teeth gave me a mirror and taught me to floss, which I’m pretty sure I knew how to do but maybe I’ve forgotten after the dozens of lessons I’ve been given.  Who knows!

As I was holding the mirror I smiled at my Mom who was sitting nearby.  She came in to see how I was doing since she knows I don’t exactly get along with the people at the dentist.  She actually probably came in to make sure I was being polite.  Believe me, I try…. most of the time. 

Later after I was fully “diagnosed” and my Mom and I were driving home I asked her, “Did you see me smile at you when I was holding the mirror?”

She thought about it.  “Yes, I think so.”

“Well, that’s when I was imagining hitting the lady with it.” (Real mature, right?) 

I got lectured for that one.  I deserved it. 

On a final note, I’m very happy I have wonderful teeth, and a wonderful smile... I'm just not very tolerant of the process it takes to keep it that way.     

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 Bathroom Wallpaper

I went on a run with one of the girls from my floor this morning and after we returned we decided to stretch before we went inside.  We were talking about our families and telling different stories of the pranks we’ve played on them.

It made me realize that there was one I would really love to share.

It involves my beloved sister Rebecca, who is quite a few years younger than me, and one of my best friends Aubrey who is now hundreds of miles from me.   

My Mom decided when I was in 5^th or 6^th grade that she wanted to redo what we called the “kids” bathroom.  The walls were coated with ugly wallpaper that must have dated back to the 80s.  I can still remember what it looked like, with purple flowers and blue patterns that vertically lined the wall. 

Aubrey and I were in charge of peeling all of the old wallpaper off of the wall so that my Mom could prepare it for the new paint.  My middle brother joined in on the fun and before my Mom said “Go!” we were stripping it off the wall.  It had already been peeling and the task wasn’t too hard. 

However, there were certain spots that wouldn’t budge.  I don’t remember if I went to grab forks from the silverware drawer or if my Mom provided them for us, but I remember having the silver utensil in my hand and using it to scrape pieces off the wall.

10 to 15 minutes into the task my younger sister, who must have been about 6 years old at the time, wandered down the hallway into the bathroom to see what we were doing.

She stood in the doorway in her blue floral patterned dress (she was always wearing a dress during that era of her life), and she asked, “What are you guys doing.”

Aubrey casually answered, “Taking this off because your Mom wanted us to.”

Rebecca looked as if she didn’t believe us.

I can imagine the mischievous grin that spread over my face, and Aubrey’s as well, when we decided to step it up a level and see how far we could push things.

In a sarcastic and impish tone that should have been unknown to an 11 year old I said, “No Rebecca, actually we are destroying the bathroom wallpaper because we feel like it.”

Aubrey added, “Yeah.”

Before either of us knew what was happening, huge tears began to swell in Rebecca’s brown eyes and spill over onto the rest of her face.  She ran back down the hall and down the stairs.

Aubrey and I on the other hand couldn’t stop laughing.  We never stopped to contemplate that we might get in trouble for a teasing lie. 

However, within minutes my Mom marched up the stairs, took our forks away and sent Aubrey home.  Rebecca wasn’t the only one crying after that. 

We tried to tell my Mom, “But we told her the truth before!  We were just teasing!”  She wouldn’t hear any of it and after Aubrey was out the door, I was sent to my room.

I don’t remember who took off the rest of the wallpaper after that.  I assume it was my Mom, but the rest of the details about the bathroom being redone have escaped my memory completely. 

I should have been sorry, but I don’t think I really was. 

In fact, when I called Aubrey to discuss the story with her before I wrote about it we were both laughing all over again. 

Good times.  

Independence is Tiring

This past Saturday was “SPU Mom’s Day”.

My Mom was in Colorado.  I missed her like crazy. 

When I crossed paths with most of my friends, their Mom was right by their side.  However, I wasn’t the only student without one present—my friends from Colorado were lacking theirs as well.  The trek was simply too hard to make on a short weekend.  

I was one of the lucky ones that got “adopted”.

I have become close friends with Taylor, a girl on my floor, and her mom graciously took me under her wing for the Saturday.  Part of me felt like I was intruding, but I tried to keep in mind that they most likely wouldn’t have invited me if they didn’t want me to come along. 

The day turned out to be a tremendous blessing.  We took Taylor’s mom (who I called Mama Cline all day) to Pike Place, the troll, Kerry Park, Bhy Kracke Park, and gasworks.  All three of us were taking photos and documenting the day.  And if you’re wondering… Bhy Kracke Park is an actual place. 

It was comforting to know that someone else was keeping tabs on me for the day, checking to make sure I was still there and that I didn’t get lost.  Truth is, it’s pretty hard for me to watch out for myself.  At least it takes way more energy.

When my parents and I talked after the first crazy weekend of school before they left to go back to Colorado, they asked how I liked everything. 

I told them this:

Independence is tiring. 

Which is why having a day with Taylor and her mom allowed me to lay back and relax, even if it was for a short amount of time. 

It’s nice to be able to plan out a day on my own, and work according to my schedule and no one else’s, but occasionally I’m extremely content to go with the flow and enjoy the simplistic moments of life that make me happiest. 

I missed my Mom a lot, but after this past Saturday, I appreciate what she did (and still does) even more.  

I Just Want a Steak

When I previewed SPU and ate at Gwinn the food was good, and I didn’t mind eating it. 

Here’s why: on preview weekends the food is always better to make a good impression on potential students.

Now that I’ve eaten in Gwinn every day I don’t think it’s very good anymore.  In fact, every time the scent of Gwinn crosses my nose as I walk in, I want to turn around and walk right back out. 

A couple of my friends work there and they tell me what not to eat.  I’ll never touch any of the hamburgers again.  I’m pretty much wary about any meat they serve because none of it seems to be cooked right. 

When I escaped the SPU campus a few weekends ago, I had the one of the greatest meals I’ve ever eaten.

It was home-cooked and spectacular.  (I also had the chance to eat a fresh peach, which was like finding gold since I hadn’t eaten one, much less seen one since I was in CO.)  The friend I was visiting couldn’t understand why I was so excited and happy.  “You will understand when you have to eat college food all the time,” I told her.  “You’ll miss the food your parents make.”

Not only do I miss my family, or my best friends from high school, I miss eating the amazing food my Mom (and occasionally my Dad) cooked.  The first night I’m home for break will be the greatest ever.  I’ll have my family and I’ll have real food. 

Right now I would give anything to have a well-done, seasoned, steak.  

A Major in Doodling

People ask me what my favorite class is (a lot).

I’m going to be honest.  I don’t have one.

All of them are on the same level.  Some days a certain class will be better than my other two.  Or sometimes one of my classes will be so boring that they other two are immediately better. 

It really just depends.  I like what I’m learning and I’ve learned a lot, but there’s not one class that really stands out above the others as my “favorite”. 

In my classes I tend to be a pretty good note-taker.

But I’m also a really good doodler—if I zone out my notebook paper will transform into all kinds of things. 

I’ve been like this my whole life and I think I get it from my Mom.  When I was a kid, I used to watch her doodle on a notepad while she talked on the phone.  She would draw all kinds of shapes in different ways—she was unconsciously a professional doodler.  Just because she doodled while she was on the phone didn’t mean she wasn’t listening to what the other person said, she just liked to doodle.

Now I'm exactly like her because that’s what I love to do…in class.  I had this idea that all my notes would be organized and wonderful and easy to read in college.  For the most part they are, but the margins tend to be lined with little drawings all the way up and down. 

I draw whatever I want.  Random squiggly lines, clouds, flowers, birds… I even drew the Colorado flag and colored it in.  I carry around a set of 10 Crayola skinny markers all the time.  They are a blessing and a curse in the sense that they are great for underlining things, but they are also great for coloring.  And I’ve definitely taken to coloring with them a lot more than I should. 

Today I drew a super man symbol.  It wasn’t my idea.  My teacher brought up a picture on his slideshow that reminded me of superman, so it was his idea, and I drew it.

It’s funny how things work.  I have a drawing class and when I’m in that class I don’t feel like drawing a thing, but I enjoying drawing and doodling in my other classes. 

Too bad there’s not a Doodling major.

But then again, if there were, I would have graduated long ago.  

The Wisdom of Water

The day after I moved into my dorm my Mom and Dad did a little shopping for me while I ran around during orientation.

Dad came back with a printer ($10 at a yard sale) to see if it would work.

Mom came back with a plant.

An ugly plant.

I think she felt pity for it. The lady who was hosting the yard sale was moving and getting rid of everything she couldn’t take or didn’t want. I’m assuming the plant fell into the “didn’t want” category, so my Mom took it under her wing.

When I first set eyes upon it I wanted to say, “No way, Mom. There is no way I’m keeping that in my dorm room.” Instead I made some comment about how it wasn’t very pretty (I think my Dad felt the same judging by the look on his face) but I took it and tried putting it in various places.

First, I set it on the middle shelf on the back wall of the room. It’s the first thing you see when you walk in, and I decided putting a plant there that looked half dead wasn’t a good move.

I ended up putting it on the highest shelf on my side of the room. I’m not sure what kind of plant it is, but its numerous vines grow over the basket and flow downward. I liked the fact that the vines would have a place to hang if I placed it higher, so it stayed up there.

At first the plant was a dark purple color. I thought that was how it was supposed to look, but once I started watering it (I figured that would be smart), green leaves began to appear.

And now I’ve grown weirdly attached to it.

I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I’ve missed having something to take care of. I worked at a daycare this past summer, I was a nanny, and I’m also the oldest of 5 kids. I’m used to taking care of someone.

Now that I’m in college, far from home, all I need to do is take care of is myself. I hardly know how to do that. I didn’t realize until now how important it is to my health to be taking care of others.

Anytime one of the girls on my floor asks me to braid her hair I say yes, because I wish I said yes every time my sister had asked. I volunteer to make people tea if they aren’t feeling well, because I want them to feel better. I made Ramen for my friend the other night when she could have handled making it on her own. I caught myself counting heads while I was walking through Pike Place with a group of friends a few weekends ago.

And now I think I know why.

I miss the people I took care of, more than I could ever convey through words.

Three weeks ago I was considering throwing the plant my Mom bought in the trash, or out of my 6^th story window (just to see what would have happened)…

Now I don’t know what I would do without it. In a sense, I’m almost protective of it.

I love watering it.

I love watching it grow.

It makes me want to write my Mom a thank you note.

“Happiness is neither virtue, nor pleasure, nor this thing or that, but simply growth.

We are happy when we are growing.”

~William Butler Yeats