Igor.... It LIVES!

The sad thing is, this blog is probably an accurate depiction of my life.

Moving on, because I've been silent too long and I have things to say! 

Thank the springtime rain. The shift in weather seems to have awakened my deeper sense of the world. Or something. 

Firstly, I stumbled one step deeper into that dark, cavernous realm called "adulthood". I'm pretty sure I stubbed my toe, and what on earth is that dripping sound? Am I the only one who hears something very large breathing?

My Monday last week started off like this. Yes, that is self-inflicted. Thankfully I'm able to keep the greater life lessons contained to my work place so I at least have someone around to help me pick up the pieces. 

Long story short (because frankly it's embarrassing) I swallowed my tears and replaced the impaled tire with my donut, arranged for and paid to have the tire replaced, and, with the help of a new jack and tire iron, replaced the tire. 

All this with only a little muscle and prodding from my parents. Despite the pain to my pride and my savings account, I'm proud of how I handled myself. (Also, one of my co-workers said I got farther by myself than his wife would have and, coming from him, that's a true compliment.)

2) We have 30-odd eggs about to hatch. 

Item three: there's also a guinea pig now (not mine). No pictures, though. Chubs is extremely shy. We now have poultry (too many to count), canines, reptiles, rodents, and fish. All we need is a house bird and a pony and we will be complete. (Mom also wants goats. We're holding her at bay for now, but no promises. (We don't even like goat milk.)) Someone may try to add felines to that list. I'm dubious of the wisdom of that plan. 

     3.5 - we are also now the hosts of our own hoarde of little cannibals. 

Do not be fooled by their fluffiness. Do heed the warnings of the red light. These are meat birds. Their sole purpose in life is to grow big and fat really quickly and then...! *mimes slicing throat* This picture is a little old and they're already well on their way to the dinosaur stage. They eat, they sleep, they drink, they eat, and if their food isn't constantly full they will turn on your...or each other. If regular chickens are the sharks of bird-kind, these are piranhas. 

Four, as most of you know, is that I have discovered a new artistic outlet which has lasted longer than a month: painting on canvas. Mostly words, because I love those, but a few are just awesome patterns. 

It's all very trial-and-error but I'm catching on quickly. Now master calligraphy.... (More pictures on my Instagram account [the_magicmirror] , because they be many.)

And speaking of social media and the like, (5) I broke down and joined Pintrest. (That's how I broke into the canvas gig.) No, I will not share. The last thing I need is encouragement. Next up: Etsy!

VI. I have managed to sustain a houseplant for more than a month! 

It got a little withered at one point but is surprisingly resilient and perked back up overnight with some water. I looked for one labeled "low diffused light" and "light watering". That is the key. 

7) I haven't washed my hair since Monday. Be jealous. I have rediscovered dry shampoo, and it feels a little like cheating, but my temples get greasy. (You're welcome for the random fact you probably never wanted to know.)

Ocho - my favorite word at the moment is "embrace". Think about it: not only does it mean acceptance and open arms; but is also means safety, arms wrapped tightly. It's a warm hiding place against the world; it's a place of rest; it's a promise of support. *pulls out canvas* plus, it rolls rather nicely off the tongue. 

That really is all I have for now. The goal was to bring everyone up to speed. Can't say as I covered everything, but it's the first step that's always the messiest. I wanted to get over that one quickly. 

In Summer

It's June. At long last, the warmth is guaranteed to stay.

For me, this is windows-open season. Living in a house without air conditioning (as has been the case for as long as I can recall), I have learned to take advantage of cool nights when I can stick a box fan in front of my window. I love fresh air.

I usually roll down my windows when I'm driving, foregoing the AC unless it's unbearably hot outside (which apparently I'm not allowed to complain about all summer because I complained about how bad winter was). I also like to listen to my own music in the car because I can't stand most talkative DJ's and commercials. 

Thing is, I have a hard time resisting the urge to sing along to my music. Ever.

With windows-down season in full swing, this presents a problem. Because I really get into my music. Particularly after I purchased the "Frozen" soundtrack. I'd sing along to the opening song if I understood the words. I'm not a fan of "Let it Go" (overdone, sadly), but I am quite content to blast "Love is an Open Door" all day. (Personal favorite.)

Up until now, the majority of cars I have passed have had their windows up, so I hum and sing to my heart's content. But the windows are coming down, and I keep catching myself at stoplights before someone notices the blonde serenading with Olaf about the joys of summer. I've taken to switching on the radio on the drive home from work because I'm less likely to find a song I want to join in on (and the station I play has one of the only DJ's I can tolerate). 

Last week, I kept my windows down while I was at work because I hate getting into a stuffy car. What I got into instead was a car full of pollen.

Do you know how hard it is to sing with pollen flying in your face? After the first choking fit, I closed my mouth. It also took days for all the pollen to clear out.

So it's summer. (Almost officially). We took a hike for Memorial Day, Wes's birthday is coming up, all my tulips have faded, there's still traces of sunlight close to 10:00 at night, and it's almost VBS time again.

This year's theme is Sports.

I have absolutely nothing to wear.

I would have loved to find something off-the-wall, like a scuba diving outfit or a fencing uniform or what-have-you. As it is, I'm stumped and will probably throw my hair up in a ponytail, tie on some sneakers, and pretend I'm training for a marathon or something. None to excited about the prospects.

However, I am very excited for the penny offering. I've been saving my loose change since September (in a bona fide piggy bank, no less) and have upwards of $30 to contribute to my lucky team. I'm trying to decide if I should dispense it sneakily throughout the week or bring in one large box of pennies on the last night.

I'm blathering now. Better go. I have a seriously post I'm working on, full of rants and Bible verses and carefully researched facts (maybe), but studying tends to take me a while so that's not ready yet.

Oh! I finished a book! 103,000+ words. It's the one about the dragon who can't fly. I know I mentioned it sometime...last year? Whenever I started it. Been a while. Hopefully summer and fresh air mean the return of productivity. We shall see.

I Must Confess....

I know, I know, it is neither Tuesday nor Friday. Evidently I will need a little while to adjust to that self-imposed schedule.

In the meantime, I can say with all certainty that I would rather not dwell on this week. It's been one humdinger of a month, really.

The highlight was yesterday. I got out of work on time. I was driving home with planning the new game I was going to introduce in game time that evening. I had to make a stop at the drugstore for some much needed allergy medicine. Said drugstore has two entrances, and accessing the most expedient route home from either of those requires turning left.

In short, I pulled out in front of some cars which were graciously waiting for me to go and right into the path of a car that was switching to the turn lane.

I registered a brief squeal of tires before impact and spun into the far right lane.

Neither driver was so much as bruised, his car had a dented fender and a cracked light, my driver door will no longer open and the passenger door on that side is dented, and we traded paint. Blessedly there was an officer just pulling out of the parking lot from which I had made my exit, so we could get the whole business over with that much quicker.

I had a ticket and some car repairs to pay for, and that's all I'm going to say about it. That and: good grief, but I am sending out my teenage years with a bang.

I don't mean to seem like I'm brushing it off. By all means, that's what I wish I could do; but one of my worst faults is dwelling on my failings.  For whatever reason, I have an issue with learning from my mistakes, great or small, and letting the rest go. Somedays I live in the land of "What If?" I'm working on it, believe me, but it's not as easy as buckling into a plane seat and holding on for the ride.

So on to brighter things! (You'll get the joke in a moment.)

Ladies and gentleman, my name is Amber, and I am a heliophile.

*collective gasp of horror from audience*

Yes, yes, it is true. I am in deep like...with the sun.

(For those of you not trained in Classic Mythology and etymology, "heliophile" is derived from "Helios, Greek god (Titan?) of the sun", and "phile", meaning "lover of, enthusiast". Proof that Percy Jackson encourages learning.)

But I'm not kidding when I say I love sunshine. Sure, starry nights are great, and I know how to appreciate a good lighting show. One of my favorite ways to fall asleep is to the sound of rain on the roof and thunder in the distance. But my favorite weather of all is sunny.

The only downside of our new house is that it has a grand total of two east-facing windows: one in the living room and one in the downstairs bathroom. Whenever we move, I look for the bedroom with the east-facing window. I had to settle for south, which is second best (oddly preferable over west). I have my room arranged so that when I'm laying on my bed, my head faces east. Probably something to do with how many Disney movies start with morning sunshine on someone's face. Deep down, I bet I do it hoping I'll wake with a smile and a contended yawn like those obnoxious princesses (minus Anna, who is now my morning hero).

Unlike most of the United States at the moment, we had a bit of a weather break yesterday involving sunny skies and temperatures above freezing. Up until I got out of work, I was having a great day daydreaming of springtime. I'm actually getting quite desperate for it.

Allenna and I went to the library last week, and on the way home, I decided I needed to stop by the nursery near our house. Just walking into a room bursting with greenery and the smell of growing things made me happy. When one of the employees came over to ask if I needed anything, I said I was just looking and admitted I needed a vegetation fix. She smiled and told me she'd already met several people who had said the same thing.

People who have known me a while may be a little surprised when I say how much I enjoy being in the sunshine. As a kid, I was more often pale from lack of sunlight as opposed to tan. What can I say? I lived voraciously through others as a child. I'm mostly over that now.

Maybe it's weird, then, that my favorite season is not summer, but spring, when we're more likely to wake to rain clouds than sunshine and birdsong. I think part of my deep appreciation for sunlight comes from missing it during the cloudy months. 

And I'm rambling now. I'd better scoot before things get completely boring.

Packed and Ready to Go

Our family is ready for Peru!

I surprised everyone including myself when I was pretty much completely packed by yesterday. ("Pretty much" because I still had a couple articles of clothing which needed to be washed, and my carry-on wasn't sorted.) This afternoon, Mom, Dad, and Heather worked to get their stuff together and I finished with mine. We're now all packed and ready to go. I wrote instructions about pet care for the friend who's coming to tend to the animals (and whom Sasha will hopefully love instead of hate). I have a list of last-minute things to do in the morning. Now I'm sitting in bed trying to decide when I should turn in.

I don't think the reality of this trip will hit me until I'm on the plane. At least, it hasn't truly hit yet; not the whole, "Yes, this really is happening" feeling. It's more of a vague anticipation and curiosity, I guess. That, or I'm handling it extremely well. The part of my brain claiming to be the rational part is trying to convince me I need to be a little more worried about the plane ride, while the part which is supposedly the more bold, irrational part is getting excited for the new experience. The former side is starting to gain ground. By the time I'm fastening my seat belt, hopefully I'll be shaking from excitement and not the onset of a nervous breakdown.

The group is meeting at the church at 9:00 tomorrow, and we'll drive from there to the airport a couple hours away. Where we'll eat and then wait for hours to board our plane. I packed books. Whether or not I'll be able to read them remains to be seen.

I had so many people tell me at church and over the last few days that they'll be praying for our trip. I can't begin to describe how encouraging it is to know my friends are lifting me up and keeping me in their thoughts. Perhaps that has something to do with my sudden calm mindset regarding airplanes?

As this missions trip looms just in front of me, I have to say the gravity of this opportunity is beginning to sink in. I only have a vague idea of what to expect, from stories Mom and Wes brought back and what we were told we might be doing while we're there, but I have high expectations: expectations to bless and be a blessing, to serve and to minister, to touch and to connect, to impact, to see and be affected, and to carry that back with me. I have a journal I plan to write in as often as possible. I know it won't be enough to capture everything we experience, but I hope it will help.

I will not be taking my computer, though it was an option. It's one more thing I have to worry about, and I don't want to deal with that.

Like always, I keep thinking I'm forgetting something. Odds are I'll realize what it is around Day 5, and by then it won't matter. I hope.

Well, I should probably go. Big day tomorrow!

Preparing for an Adventure

So, you know.... We're halfway through July. It's been crazy. I've had stuff to write about but just haven't had the motivation. Fireworks fundraising is over, Independence Day is obviously over, and in honor of my parents' wedding anniversary we just had a vow renewal ceremony. I was an emotional wreck. (You know, because any extreme emotion moves me to uncontrollable tears. It was horrible.)

Next up (in a week) is our Peru missions trip.

Can you say "Freak out"?

Airplanes.

I'm uber excited for everything else, but...airplanes. *shudder*

I was telling some friends that I'm nervous about that part. (I feel rather like this when I think about it.) One of my friends asked if it was because I was scared of the possibility of dying in a plane crash, nervous of the heights, or nervous because of new experiences. New experiences can make me nervous but, on the whole, I'm usually open to them. I can handle the thrill of adventure. And, as a writer, I try to seek out new experiences when the opportunities arise. (Though I'm not really the best at trying new things, my curiosity can overrule my caution.) It might just be the unknown that bothers me when it comes to planes.
One of my friends asked if it was because I was scared of dying in a crash, afraid of heights, or nervous by new experiences. I'll admit new experiences
(*in a deep, mysterious voice* THE GREAT UNKOWN)

My youth pastor's wife was telling me I had nothing to worry about. I laughed (and swallowed those stupid nervous tears that always well up) and told her more people die by donkey attacks than airplane crashes every year.

She gave me a weird look and said, "Okay...so avoid donkeys!"

I wonder what the danger rating is on llamas?

A couple Sundays ago (and yes, it has taken me that long to get around to writing this), one of the young men in church did the afternoon service. (Afternoon instead of evening because it was supposed to follow the annual church picnic, which got rained out.) As ever, he did a wonderful job, and what he talked about was something I needed, particularly in light of our impending journey.

The text was Joshua 1:1&2:

1) Now after the death of Moses the servant of the Lord it came to pass, that the Lord spake unto Joshua the son of Nun, Moses' minister, saying,

2) Moses my servant is dead; now therefore arise, go over this Jordan, thou, and all this people, unto the land which I do give to them, even to the children of Israel.

The key is in verse 2: "arise, go over this Jordan"

He described "arise" as a call to action. Then he pointed out how it said "this Jordan", as in the river right in front of them and at hand. They were called to get up and get moving, because they were standing on the bank of the river they needed to cross. They were right there, standing around (or even sitting), and they needed to get moving.

The idea was about being proactive.

Proactive: tending to initiate change rather than reacting to events.

We're urged to act, but by fear of failing or being rejected by people we're trying to serve, we don't move at all. We satisfy ourselves with not doing anything outright bad and don't worry that we aren't doing anything good, either. The only action we take is preventative. Over time we develop a routine of passive living, and we simply react to the world around us. We don't do anything to impact it.

Meanwhile, we ought to be stepping out and demanding change. We ought to be performing the actions that stir others to react. And we have to keep going, keep growing. In my mind, it isn't the first step toward productivity that's the hardest; it's the second. It's the building of momentum.

That was only a portion of his message, but it's what stood out most to me. And in light of the coming Peru trip, I realized I had been anything but proactive: my Spanish rots because I haven't practiced; I had no idea what I was going to pack; I wasn't emotionally, mentally, or spiritually preparing myself so I can get as much as possible out of this trip. All I was doing was dreading the airplane ride, when there was a whole adventure beyond that waiting for me to accept it.

Since that message, I have made some progress on my Peru prep. Most of my packing is planned and I purchased most of the items I needed. I was going to have to buy a suitcase (for a family who travels around so much, you'd think we'd have more) but some co-workers offered to let me borrow theirs. I'm still not mentally ready, but I'm working myself up to that.

I'm planning on keeping a journal. Whether or not I'll have much time for sitting down and writing in it remains to be seen. I hope I'll have enough to share on here when I get back.

So that's my life right now. I'm still freaking out about Peru, but I'm trying to get in the mindset that this is a great opportunity and I need to be open to it so I can make the most of it. And so I can do as much as possible while I'm there.

"I'm going on an adventure!"



Though hopefully not of the same kind as Bilbo's.

In the Wake of VBS

So that plan didn't exactly work. To be fair, it's been a long week; and, for me, the week can't even begin to be wrapped up until today is over and done and I'm curled up in bed with my breathing and heart rate back to normal.

VBS was phenomenal! Even though myself and my amazing assistant teacher were tucked up in a hot corner room where half the time the food workers forgot about us and the other half of the time they were avoiding us for the sake of their well-being, I enjoyed my job. (Plus, I got to play dress-up as a cowgirl all week. No complaints there!) I've had plenty of practice teaching memory verses thanks to Mom and Dad, and despite the fact that the kids were far more interested in their food than in me, I think we accomplished something. And I had enough wonderful, angelic, attentive kids to almost outweigh the not-to-good ones. Almost.

I'm not sure if the fact that every night but one we had to call in the reserves for crowd control is a testament to my poor ability to handle children, or testament to poor judgement with placing kids on teams. I was ashamed.

There were deadly dog-piles and the handing out of "men" and children whose vocabularies were temporarily reduced to "no" and "why", but we survived with our sanity only slightly damaged and some fun memories. And I reminded myself that it doesn't matter if it feels stupid; sometimes I need to play along and laugh at myself, because the kids will love it.

Yellow Team won the overall points for the week. And that's historic at our church. Yellow has had a losing streak for longer than my family has been attending, I think. Some years they may have won third instead of fourth; once I think they got second. But I've never seen them whip everyone else like they did this year. Even though my own Green Team fell in third, I was happy. Even better was the amount we raised in the penny offering for some beloved missionaries of ours. I think we're finally getting the hang of the penny offering.

One of the youth workers, who's more like the "All Youth Activities Director, Supervisor, and Supreme Overseer" at church, is not only brilliant, but I think a little crafty. Our verse for last night was Colossians 3:23: "And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men." I explained to my kids what "heartily" meant: quickly, happily, and with excitement, the way your parents want you to do your chores. I also reminded them that the verse is saying it doesn't matter if man praises you; man's opinion doesn't matter. All that matters is doing right because it has to be done.

When the Supreme Overseer pointed to a vacuum parked in the middle of the sanctuary and said, "That's yours", that verse rang in my head, and then this sneaking suspicion developed: I bet she picked that specific verse for tonight as a reminder to the workers who get stuck cleaning in the aftermath. Halfway down one row of pews and three banged knuckles later (have you any idea how difficult it is to vacuum between church pews?) I was convinced. Smooth.

I like getting recognized for my work. Who doesn't? And I try to make sure I recognize others for their hard work and when they are honestly putting in an effort. Which is why I incorrectly used the box of candy given to me for prizes in class. The candy was intended for kids who could say all four of their verses. When the head Cowboy for the week came in and suggested a quiet seat prize, I jumped on it. I can do bribes, too. In my last class, I extended it, and all eight of the kids left with candy in their hands (except one who, for reasons I still can't quite figure out, gave his piece to another boy because "I know you worked really hard on your verses"). I had four problem kids in that class, and the last night they all worked harder than I could have hoped, and most said at least one verse. Victory!

Anyway. People did tell me "thank you, Miss Amber" (what is with this "Miss" stuff? Boggles my brain, I tell you) and I sang back over the whine of the vacuum "You're welcome!" But I kept telling myself that, though the praise felt good, I would have put in the same effort if everyone else had all gone off to bed or (because few people my age make a habit of going to bed by 10) out for ice cream. Right? Of course right.

In short (because I have to get going for the longest day thus far in my career), I learned a lot this week. And I'm convinced I'll need every lesson down the road, from child care to knowing the right balance of discipline and bribery to doing what needs to be done simply because it needs to be done and there's a vacuum standing in front of me, even though some silly person will probably come along in 10 minutes leaving behind a trail of dust and garbage. But it's okay.

If I'm still alive and sane, I shall see you...probably next week. Tomorrow is going to be a long one, too.

Changing Gears for Summertime

I think a personal summer challenge should be to write more than three posts a month. Even that will be a challenge with the way our summer is shaping up.

It isn't really warming up, that's for sure. We're somehow still in spring mode, weather wise, including the rain. We don't even have our garden in the ground yet because of all the rain and cloudy days. No corn this year.

I'm trying to think what happened in the last couple of weeks. Well, for starters, I came home one day by bus, skipped up the front steps greeting the chickens, and was met at the door by my grim-faced mother. 

"Before you come in, I need to tell you something."

Naturally, my first thought is, "Great. Who died." My bus driver no doubt saw the shift in my demeanor. I know my shoulders drooped and I tensed up.

"What?" I asked cautiously.

"Sasha was hit by a car."

Commence meltdown.

Most of you already know the end of this story. Mom had warned me because Sasha was in miserable agony and on edge. I came in quietly and knelt beside her where she lay on a towel spotted with blood. Mom explained that she'd just put Sasha out and was painting when she heard a noise outside and looked out to see a dog lying on the side of the road across from our house. Some older lady had been driving a van (which hadn't reached the speed limit for our stretch of road, as evidenced by the fact that my dog was still alive) and Sasha, who had mysteriously escaped from her run, had darted in front of the vehicle. Mom went out calling to Sasha, who didn't respond at first, and the lady turned around in a neighbor's driveway and came back, hysterical.

"Is that your puppy?"

By this time, as I understand it, Sasha had stood up on her own and dragged herself into our yard. Mom got her inside and called the vet. They said it wasn't safe to sedate her in order to x-ray her while she was so alert and still so much in shock. Mom was afraid her leg was broken.

I'd heard the nasty stories of people with broken bones, and how sometimes you can see the broken parts pressing the skin. Sasha's right front leg, the injured leg in question, didn't look mangled or twisted or unnaturally positioned in any way. She also had a cut lip (as in you could see how her tooth had bit right through it) and a few small-ish open wounds on her other legs. She was quiet and still, which in and of itself is startling. Mom said when she'd first brought Sasha inside, Sasha had been hyperventilating and thrashing around.

A little while later, Sasha started that back up, and I about broke down, wondering why on earth we had to wait for tomorrow morning to help her. We couldn't give her any sort of human pain meds in case there was internal bleeding (which, Mom warned me, the vet wouldn't be able to deal with).

However, as the day worn on, Sasha started rolling onto her back to encourage me to scratch her belly and even hobbled a bit when I carried her outside. She didn't drink much and wouldn't eat, though.

Fast-forwarding to the vet visit the next day:

Thankfully, no one else was there. Sasha's last vet visit was a nightmare, as you may recall. However, miraculously, Sasha didn't turn into a slavering beasty when the vet and his assistants appeared. She just maintained her miserable appearance. The vet had me walk her around (I'd carried her from the car and up the steps) and decided her leg wasn't broken or fractured, because no dog would walk on a leg in that condition (although, this is my dog...). Then he took her into the other room.

I cowered in a corner, afraid of the moment when Sasha would snap and show her dark side.

She growled darkly for a while as Mom stood beside her and the vet checked (or tried to check) her mouth. Finally, the vet asked Mom to step outside. Like children, animals act differently when their "parents" are around. He said a soothing owner reaffirms an animal's suspicions that the situation merits fear and retaliation. Good to know. If I want my dog to behave, I'll just step out of the room.

Fast-forwarding again: in the end, the diagnosis was bruising and nerve damage on her right leg and shoulder and some cuts that would heal on their own. Huzzah!

For the next few nights, while she still was having trouble walking, I slept in the living room with Sasha. She wasn't supposed to get excited (and for that we had medicine, which turned Sasha from her hyperactive self to a semi-normal dog). Oh, and we were warned that "in rare cases some dogs will up and die a few days after an accident as a delayed reaction from the shock, even though they looked healthy. I don't want to worry you, but I have to warn you." Comforting, no?

So my obsessive self eyed my dog nervously for the next few days, wondering if, true to character, she was one such rare dog. I know: morbid. I don't know what to tell you.

And that was that. She's still hobbling, but her spirit is back.

Mom thinks her mysterious escape ("mysterious" because she didn't break any part of the lead or her collar) was brought on by the presence of a certain rooster who had been stalking our house for the past week. No one will claim the stupid bird, and he kept strutting up crowing like Peter Pan and attacking our chickens to assert his authority. He even had the ducks scared. He plucked poor Presley's head feathers and chased some of the others under the cars. It took days, a lot of rocks, gardening tools, and other flying projectiles and eventually Dad with a disc to convince him that this was our territory. We haven't seen him since.

Our own roosters (and we have at least six, and one crowed once at me but which Heather still believes is a hen) are starting to work on their crowing. Rex (formerly "Arexi", the little Bantum) is the loudest. He's still by far the smallest, though one of the Polish (Elvis, the girl) is close, but Rex knows how to strut his stuff and crows defiantly at anyone or anything who questions his authority. The ducks are bigger and still as nervous and clique-ish as ever. We had some friends over a couple days ago and the girls wanted to catch one of the ducks. At one point Heather was following them and they came around a car not knowing the ducks were there. One of the ducks was so startled that he fell over like a fainting goat.

I can't think of anything else right now except for VBS, which I am helping with this year. (I haven't attended or helped with VBS in a while.) It helped me make up my mind that the theme is "The Great Western Round-Up". I am working with the kids on the Green Team to memorize their verses each night. While they eat.

Do you know how hard it is to get hyper, excited, hungry children to pay attention when there's food in front of them? It's a study in patience, I will say. And I think I may already be losing my voice.

The kids are split into three age groups after the opening assembly and penny offering. The groups rotate throughout different activities and classes before returning to the main auditorium for a final lesson, songs, and a couple group games. We were all singing along and I was repeatedly poking the shoulders of misbehaving children in front of me when one of them turned around and informed me that I had "the voice of an angel." And I don't think it was a compliment. 

I'm just trusting that someday I'll be thankful for all my voluntary work with children. I'm already thankful for past experience. I only uttered one dangerous word (being "butt", as in "those workers are busting their butts *cough* to get you your food, so please be nice to them") and I don't think I really lost my cool, though I was almighty close.

We return again tonight. I wore my only decent Western outfit last night (and it turned out better than I'd hoped). I might go into town later and check out some thrift stores, it being my day off. Can you believe I only have one decent denim skirt? Me, the former homeschooler. I know.

Oh! We also had our annual BBQ Fundraiser Dinner. I forgot about it because it wasn't the usual tiring day for me. I worked the money table. Well, before that Mom and I and a lady from church spent all day baking 45 cakes at the church. We had a decent turn-out, and I always love helping. 

Well, I need to go. Hopefully I will return tomorrow....

Retreat! I have tea!

I sat down to blog this morning and, for some reason thinking next week was Easter Sunday, that's what I started talking about.

I almost finished the post before I realized my mistake. So that will be posted next Wednesday. Then I had to figure out what on earth I'd write about instead, and I remembered I never talked about the retreat!

Short story: it was fantastic. Great teaching (hard to call it "preaching" when it's 30 people crammed into the lounge section of a hotel suite), good fellowship, lots of fun and craziness, and even a mini birthday party in my room the first night.

The entire time, Jessi and I were marvelling over how we survived an entire week like that during youth conference. Because I felt dead by noon on Saturday.

We went to the mall, where there's a Teavana store, but I only bought a tea canister for some tea I already have at home. (My friends know me very well, because tea is also one of the gifts I got.) The only other thing I got was a scarf to match a bubble gum pink skirt I picked out when Wes, a friend and I went to our mall before leaving for the retreat.

We played laser tag Saturday night. 3 rounds, and I think they were each 15 minutes long. The group was split into two teams and it was a free-for-all getting the colored vests. Jessi, myself, and our roommate managed to grab green, which was the team with all the hardcore gamers like my brother. We won all three rounds.

No thanks to me. My maximum accuracy was 29.7% and my highest rank out of 27 people was 11. I mostly helped guard the base and provide a human shield of sorts so Jessi wouldn't keep getting hit and deactivated. One game, she got second. Yes, I'll take my credit.

By the end, my thighs were killing me from crouching on an angle and leaning around corners like a wannabe commando. And who knew leaning in and out could be so intense and sweaty? I was getting pretty good by the end of it. Definitely something I can enjoy. So long as my team has people on it who know what they're doing to make sure we win.

I learned afterward that black tea to me is like someone on crack. Who knew?

Here's what happened.

The first night we went to a restaurant. Their main thing is BBQ, but I got a salad and soup combo. And sweet iced tea.

I haven't had black tea in a while. I prefer green or herbal. However, I was kind of craving it. I ended up downing three full glasses (and they didn't go overboard on the ice like some places).

By the time we got back to the bus to go to the hotel, my head was buzzing and I felt dizzy. I wasn't sure why; I figured it was fatigue or something.

Then, of course, we had a service in the hotel suite. Still thinking the light-headedness was me being tired (I'm usually settling into bed by 10), I just wanted to go to sleep.

Then we had the mini party. That was fun. Next time, I need to insist my friends not get me something that I actually really want. Maybe it'll avoid homeschool awkward me from cropping up. I mean, come on, I'm 19. It wasn't that bad.

Around that time, I realized what was wrong with me. (The dizziness, I mean.)

"Jessi, I had sweet black tea."

"So?"

"So...that stuff has caffine in it." (Like it's a drug or something.)

(Starting to laught.) "Yeah?"

"And I haven't had black tea in forever. I haven't really even had soda in, like, two years."

I told Wes later when I wandered down two floors to say good night. (Unlike youth conference, our whole group was neither all on the same floor or on two adjacent floors dividing boys and girls. I felt so grown-up and lost.) He just gave me his, "Really? You're kidding me," look.

The next morning, I wanted to try out my new tea. I decided to skip the black tea flavor and go with a pomegrante one instead.

That's about all I have to say without rambling, and it's almost time for church, so I'll leave you with this: have you ever noticed that the clouds look darker when you're standing under the sun?

No, I don't know what that's supposed to mean. Just one of my poetic observations.

It's My Birthday (also: Braids)

It's my birthday.

Tada!

How am I going to spend it? many of you wish to know.

Pack. Clean my room. Maybe wash some dishes and write. Go to a hotel two hours away and commence a weekend retreat and constantly be on guard for unpleasant "surprises" from well-meaning "friends". (Or not so well-meaning.)

I know. Lame. I already raked dog poop this morning. Then I ate the last of the ice cream. And I was awake by 8.

I was awake by 8 mostly because my phone kept buzzing with facebook notifications because people were posting "Happy birthday!" on my wall. (My phone is demonic, because I turned off the facebook notifications and I still get them.) Thanks, guys! You're awesome.

We aren't doing any huge celebration A) because we aren't big on over-the-top party celebrations, and B) it's kind of a bad day for us because Dad works and I have to leave this afternoon and my youth pastor's sons will be over (which is why I need to clean my room (and by "clean my room", I mean "put away most of my clothes, organize my desk and night table, and shove everything else into my closet")).

So that's the plan for my birthday.

Be jealous.

Ever since I finally taught myself how to French braid my hair a couple years ago, braids have been one of my favorite hairstyles of choice. Diverse, able to be dressy or casual, and fairly easy. One style, however, I have not been able to master: the milkmaid braid.

Yesterday, I found a video tutorial on how to achieve such a braid. (Did you know it is possible to get "addicted" to Pinterest without even having an account. Indeed. I know.)

It was easy. Like "oh, duh" easy.

I used to think the only way to get this look was to braid from one side of your head, by your ear, to the other side. Maybe French braid it. And I just couldn't do it that way.

This method has you do two normal braids and pin them on top of your head.

Duh!

(Yes, I did misplace the video link.)

I tried it yesterday. I had to. Finally, I had a hairstyle which completed my "bookish" look.

Okay, make that more like dorky homsechooler trying to look indie or something. If the stares at Wal-Mart are any way to judge....

Yes, I am very self-concious. I wanted to slap those boys. With a belt. And then hand them the belt and explain it's proper use and their need of it.

(Why, you may ask, were you worried about the opinion of that kid of person? I don't know.)

But it doesn't matter, because after my trip to Wal-Mart I babysat, and the kids loved it. And also my feather earrings. The little girl kept blowing them while we were reading books. These kids also presented (with their parents) cupcakes for my birthday! And they sang to me. So I was happy.

Whatever. I'll try again and again until I find a way to make this style a little more...something. And in the meantime, my plan is to use it when I'm spending all day in my garden in June and want my hair off my neck and out of my face.

I will also never again sleep with my hair still styled this way. 1) It's a little uncomfortable and 2) my hair is a disaster this morning. I unbraided it and poof. (Jessi, it was kind of like you sleeping with mousse at Youth Conference. Only not quite.)

Well, I should go. I don't know when those boys will be here and I still have boxes to shove and clothes to pack and dog hair to vaccum. And then perhaps I shall read a book.
(Also, I'd be pretty freaked out if my day went anything like Rapunzel's.)