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.

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....

It's that Time of Year (and I don't mean Christmas)

For my youth group, the highlight of the year is Youth Conference. Undeniably. Some of my best youth group memories are from youth conference. 

This year, I'm going as a chaperone. Gah! Okay, semi-chaperone. Basically, I've been promoted from happy, carefree teen to teen with responsibilities and younger roommates. I was told I could go as a teen or a chaperone, whichever I wanted, and I chose chaperone because I'd like to help out with the event instead of just participate.

As always, I can't believe we'll be leaving this Sunday! Something that's contributed to the surreality (yeah, that's a word) is probably the fact that just yesterday we had our annual fundraiser dinner. Normally that happens in June. Before fireworks tent.

Tuesday, Mom took us girls out to try to get some last minute sales from the car dealerships. They've bought in the past, but this year only yielded sales from one place. Probably because it was such short notice. Ah, well.

Yesterday, I was up by 7 (well, that's when I set my alarm, anyway) so I would be good and ready to go by 8:15. We ran out to collect the tally for sales and then headed to the church. The health inspector was coming by, so we kids hid on the opposite end of the church for a while. When the inspector finally left, we jumped right into preparing a huge order. (Lunch is mostly big orders to be delivered to companies, and supper is walk-ins, usually church people.)

I was on the brisket side of the table, as I have been every year but last. Throughout the day, people shifted around so all the girls worked brisket and the guys had chicken.

The day was busy, but not really the sort of activity I can say much about (at least, not much that's interesting and not rambling.) I served up brisket and yelled for more brisket and dished up baked beans and tried to ignore my aching feet and salivated over brisket we weren't allowed to eat in case we ran low. (You'd think working over food all day would mean you weren't hungry for it, but this time every year I really crave BBQ brisket. Go figure.) My hands were sweaty from wearing gloves and my hat kept falling low over my eyes and I was thirsty. However, now that I've slept, I can say I enjoyed the whole ordeal. After all, the proceeds go to Youth Conference, bringing the cost for each kid down. Yay!

Dad and Mom teach a class on Wednesday night with which Heather had been helping, but last week we traded places. Since we're so close to everyone moving into their new grades, we don't really have a lesson we're working on, so I got to sit at the back with Mom and pretend I was awake.

When we got home, I had every intention of going to bed, but that didn't happen until 10:30 or later. Instead, I watched some TV with Dad while we waited for news from Mom, who was at the hospital with a friend who was 42 weeks pregnant and going for a C-section. After that good news arrived and made it a very full day, I went to sleep.

But little of this has very much to do with Youth Conference. On that subject:

Mom took us girls shopping...last week? And since then I've been mentally packing, making lists, looking over the extensive and detailed schedule one of our amazing and very organized youth workers compiled, panicking over my lack of practice on a song I'll be singing with Heather and another girl, and trying to proceed with normal life. Funny how we all build up to this one week, spend months preparing for and thinking about it, and then it's gone in a flash.

There's something philosophical in that, but I can't dig it out right now.

Unless I get abnormally productive in the next few days concerning this blog, the next you'll hear from me will   be after Youth Conference. And probably a little while after that, because I'll no doubt need to process everything and try to sort out the blur. Man, I love this time of year.

Some times you just have to dance in the rain....

Yesterday was a very gray day. And it looks like tornado season has finally arrived here. I don't mean to say that's a good thing. I'm already enough of a worry wart without tornado season.

Despite the dismal weather yesterday, I was subconsciously determined to enjoy my day. (I say 'subconsciously' because I didn't realize how much I had done to brighten my own day until just now; hence, this post.)

I woke up to the sound of rain, and so determined to skip the dogs' walk. I should have just toughened up and walked them any way. When they miss a walk now, they glare at me for a while and Sasha is distempered all day long.

The day started slowly (I prefer sunrise at 7, not 8, and my brain doesn't work until the sun is up). Eventually, I decided to make scones. I've been meaning to for days, but hadn't got around to it, and yesterday was the perfect opportunity.

The recipe was weird and the dough stuck to my hands like nothing else and I think I made the scones too big, but they were wonderful. Add a cup of mint tea and I was on my way to feeling quite British. There was even a little salted butter left! (Mom's recently made the switch to unsalted butter. I now cannot enjoy toast because I always liked the melty buttery taste.) So I curled up under my fuzziest blanket on the couch with The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and spent the drizzly gray morning in happiness.

Come Bible study time, I was feeling quite perky, even. I considered wearing my rain boots, because all day I had been hoping to find a puddle large enough to splash in, but the boots didn't really go with the outfit, so I left them behind. I kicked off my shoes as soon as we reached the church and spent the rest of the night barefoot. (I didn't even put them back on to go home.)

So I wandered outside a bit with Heather. Puddle! Okay, it was barely a cup of water, but I splashed anyway. And got mud all over my legs. So I went in search of a cleaner puddle to wash off.

I eventually found a really big puddle, ran, and hit it as hard as possible, scaring some of the Jr. High boys and anyone driving by who'd happened to be looking, and soaking the bottom half of my skirt and my feet and legs. 'Twas very fun.

We got subs for supper, instead of the regular pizza, because they were left over from the marriage seminar. Toasted subs with two kinds of cheese and meat, lettuce, onions, and mustard. I even had a cup of root beer. (My first real drink of soda in months.) Add to that our substitute teacher had a great lesson, and I was quite content.

Well, not perfectly. I'd been keeping an eye on Weather Bug since the clouds had been getting darker and learned we were in a tornado watch, and there was a brief tornado warning. That kind of put a damper on my mood.

However, after Bible study when the rain was starting to pick up, we all trooped outside to play in it, and I actually danced in the rain. Despite the fact that there were at least a dozen people watching. (Technically, it was spinning a crazy circle with two friends, but I can't do much else that comes close to "dance".)

Of course, then the rain really started coming down and the lightning and thunder arrived, so I headed inside to mope and fret like I always do at the hint of bad weather. Mom couldn't even come get us as soon as she wanted to because the rain was too bad to drive in. So I waited by the back door and watched the other kids stand outside getting soaked and then squishing and squelching across the floor in their shoes or socks, and I didn't have the heart to join them. (This is not the part where you pity me. This is where you laugh heartlessly and tell me to lighten up.)

But then we discovered ice cream in the freezer. We know it's free for all if it's been opened and used already. Bring out the chocolate syrup, sprinkles, and cool whip! The rain let up, the thunder passed, and things got better.

When Mom arrived a few minutes later, she said the tornado warning was still on. Thanks for ruining it. So we hurried home.

I guess the best way to cure myself of worry is to preoccupy my mind with something more immediate and interesting. So I joined Mom and Dad while they put on an episode of this new TV show they discovered. Zombies. Yup. The perfect way to forget about a tornado warning. (I kid you not.)

Around 9, when Sasha was begging to go out, I was reluctant to oblige. Then I stepped outside and dared a peek at the sky. Stars! All stars and dark sky and retreating clouds!

Lesson learned: stop fretting about what you can't control and make the most of the situation. In this case: don't fear the rain. Dance in it.

Christmas party, Christmas trees, Christmas time...but no snow.

Hershey is sitting proudly in his chair by the window, watching the world come to life. Sasha's restless in her crate, moaning and grunting because, for once, Hershey is out of the girls' room before 9 and she can't be up to "play" with him.

It's a nice change to the morning routine, if you ask me.

For the last...probably at least the last month, maybe more, I've had my alarm set for 7. I don't think I've actually been up by 7 more than 5 weekdays in the past month. I keep hitting snooze, and then that's deactivated I reset the alarm a couple times. (Usually my excuse is that I'm in the middle of a good - or at least interesting - dream and want to see how it ends. But after a few hours of being awake, I wonder how I could think it was that interesting.)

Sure, sometimes I climb out of bed around 7, but that's only to take Sasha outside so she'll sleep a little longer.

Today I got up to take Sasha out, as usual. When I put her back to bed, I went to the girls' room to get my computer cord, thinking I might make an effort to stay awake. (I really should clean my room, but that's beside the point.)

Hershey was wide awake and standing by the door expectantly: not normal for him. Usually he's curled up as tightly as possible on one of the beds and refuses to move.

I got the cord and decided to let Hershey out, thinking he might just be thirsty and would go back to bed after I gave him some water. He downed nearly a gallon of water, then asked to go out. After that, he wouldn't go back to the girls' room but wandered into the living room.

Sasha wasn't happy, and waited for me to let her out. When I didn't, she barked a few times to remind me she was there.

I went upstairs to get dressed and grab my phone. When I came back, Hershey was gone. No where in the kitchen, living room, bathroom, or girls' room. I briefly wondered if he'd gone stealth mode and sneaked past me on the stairs and was hiding in Wes's room, but quickly dismissed that idea. Hershey can't be quiet about anything.

Then I remembered Mom's light had been on. Sure enough, he had pushed open her door and was curled up on the bed. She didn't let him stay for long.

So I gave him his medicine (buried in a heel of bread slathered in peanut butter so he couldn't pick it out like he usually does) and sat down to check a few of the games I had downloaded to my phone yesterday. Mom came out and cleared off Hershey's chair, opened the curtain, and invited him to hop up. He stared outside for a while, but now he's snoozing. And Sasha's quiet, too.

And yes, I said all that both because I wanted to change style a little and because I don't have much else to say. Even living in a family with comparatively eventful lives, sometimes those lives can feel pretty unremarkable.

I'm trying to remember everything that's happened since my last post.

Oh. Christmas party. It was fun. I'm glad we girls got the chance to get dressed up, and we ate something besides paste or taco shell-wrapped Mexican food. It was a big change from last year, when we all collapsed on the floor in jeans and colorful socks and drank dangerously bright Kool Aid and messy enchiladas.

This time, we pretty much sat around. After all of the pictures were taken, that is. (There were a grand total of 2 Sr. High guys there without girlfriends, and at least a dozen girls, so the youth pastor's wife suggested the girls pair up for pictures and the guys be in every one. Some girls were not in favor of this plan, but we did it.) I know this group of Sr. Highers typically does just sit around at activities, but usually we can lounge or sit on each other and throw pillows or something.

Anyway. Even gift time was quiet. I started out with a cool stationary set (stolen, because I was 23 out of 30 people and there weren't any exciting-looking gifts still wrapped) but that got taken and I ended up with a set of juggling balls. I could have had the pancake maker (a tube with a special tip on the end, which you fill with pancake batter and can use to make neat designs) but the girl who had it wanted to keep it and I'm nice like that.

And yes, my hair stayed curly the whole time. I was happy. And now I have a new technic for styling my hair. Yay me!

After that....

Well, on Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day ancestry.com offered free viewing of their WWII records, so I went and searched for a bunch of my relatives. I couldn't find my dad's dad anywhere, which is really strange, but I did find his dad, who enlisted when he was 63!

Searching those records prompted me to finally transfer the rest of the information from the family tree booklet I have onto the one I started online. It's done at last! Now whenever I decide to use the free 2 week trial of ancestry.com I can start filling in the past 40 years.

I can't really think of much else. Co-op and Institute are out for Christmas break. I failed terribly at memorizing Ephesians, so I'll have to deal with it and pay for the classes and look for a job (or because a best selling author in the next 6 months).

Last night we got our tree. We got a real tree last year, too, our artificial one finally so old and worn that we got rid of it.

It was cool and really windy last night, so we weren't in the mood for browsing every tree in the place. Mom wanted a tall, slim tree, but we couldn't see any of those. Heather found one she liked and was determined to have it, whining anyone else even looked at something different. "Mine doesn't cost as much as yours does" and "Mine's prettier than that one". Eventually we gave in and let her have her tree.

Then, courtesy of some nice route customers, we went to Logan's, and I made a note to never get Balsamic vinaigrette for a salad ever again. Sweet dressing on salad = yuck.

I can't believe we have 9 days until Christmas! Since our first snowfall, we haven't had anything. It's been gray and rainy this week. We got a dusting of snow last night, but it didn't stick. Tomorrow Mom's taking us girls shopping, so maybe a few hours pushing my way through a crowded mall to the sound of Christmas music will get me in the spirit. (I doubt it, but we'll see.)

Strange dreams, hair curlers, and pet rivalry

I was going to do a post on pictures, because I haven't posted very many pictures yet, there's a recent one of Sasha that I managed to snap in a rare moment where she's not moving, and the pictures have been accumulating on my phone and I need to take care of them. But either Blogger or our internet (or both) doesn't want that to happen, because the pictures simply won't be uploaded, no matter how long I wait for it. So that's for another time, I guess.

I do have some stories to tell!

I have this thing similar to recurring nightmares, but it's not actually the same one over and over. It's not even a series. (Yes, some of my dreams have sequels.) It's more of just a strange theme running through them. I don't know when I had the first one. Years ago, I guess. But I had another yesterday night. In the middle of the dream I was thinking to myself, "Oh, no. Not another one of these."

The dreams? My wedding.

This last one must have been number 7 or 8, though I'm bad at remembering most dreams so I'm not sure. Every one is different. Different people are in it, a different location.... There's only one thing that's consistent: I never see the groom's face. In one of the first ones, he even looked directly at me. There was nothing there.

It drives Mom crazy, though I'm not really sure why. She wants to put out a notice on facebook along the lines of: "Will the man stalking my daughter's dreams please show yourself?" Yeah, that'll go well.

The crazy dude always has his back to me and pretty much never speaks. Well, I only assume it's the same guy in each. What I have seen of him is pretty average.

Hang on. The pup is attacking my hands as I type. I should probably take her out.

That took longer than I thought. Where was I...?

Oh, yeah. Mysterious, faceless dream stalker.

As far as looks go, what I can see of him is pretty average. Average height (by my standards, not my brother's), average hair. I think once someone said his name, but I don't know what it was.

So that's what haunts my dreams. After the fifth one, it started to get old. This last one was super boring.

The Sr. High Christmas party is tonight, and, for the first time (to my knowledge) it's formal. Mom took Heather and I shopping yesterday for shoes and some accessories. At Payless, we were served by a girl who seemed either seriously starved for human interaction or just overly friendly. Either way, she came by after I had found some shoes (only $11, though they seriously up my chances of killing myself) and was browsing around while Heather hunted for her own pair. I kept pulling out the gaudiest shoes I could find and showing them to Mom, and Ms. Friendly asked if I was getting married!

Yeah, I'm actually still talking about my dreams/nightmares, not shoes, because the irony is so funny.

My first reaction was to blush. Second was a slow, quiet, "Um, no."

She went on to ask what the occasion was ("Prom?") and then decided to ask how old I was. When I told her, she kind of smiled and said, "Oh. The way you carried yourself, I thought you were, like, 21."

Is this a good thing or bad thing?

If nothing else, our interactions with her provided some humor.

Okay, onto something else besides my crazy dreams.

Yesterday Mom took us to get our Level 1 licenses. We left around 9, which had Heather up at 8. (Yeah, Mom called her to get her up and asked, "Are you up?" Heather said, "Um, no." She told me she was staring at the dark window and wondering why on earth she'd be up so early.)

We wished for two miraculous things as we headed to the Secretary of State office: a short line and a nice person to wait on us. Neither has happened any other time Mom's been in there. The service could make bridge trolls look friendly and helpful, from what I've heard.

But miracles do happen! When we arrived, there were only two people in front of us, and the person who helped us was apparently the manager and wasn't so sunshine deprived as her colleagues have all appeared to be (in regards to their temperaments, not complexions). She was friendly, she was patient, and she didn't give us any problems. (And she was wearing a very cute jacket.)

When Mom went to do the same thing with Wes, they gave her trouble over the documents she brought to prove residency, legal presence, etc. We have friends who brought in six or seven things just to make sure they weren't missing anything, and the people got mad at them for bringing too much, while they said the four items Mom brought to cover the four required areas weren't enough. (Fickle, much?) But not this lady. Mom brought two or three extra things for each of us and she didn't ask to see any of it.

After we filled out our forms and she got our names straight, she had us take the short vision test. Heather did fine, even though she's been saying she needs glasses. I, who have glasses, didn't do so well. Evidently my left eye is much worse than I had believed. They split the thing into three sections: left, middle, and right. I could barely tell the left section existed, but the right was clear.

Little things like this make me blush, and, of course, I did. But no worries. I survived.

After that adventure, we went for a little drive to see the snow. Thanks to routes, that didn't last long. Then, because we were nearby, we grabbed papers, and I ended up sitting through the whole route because it was easier than Mom dropping me at home. Cold is the only word there. The heat didn't kick in until near the end of routes. Again.

Then we did a little shopping and headed home.

Mom decided I needed a curly up-do for the party, and she is determined to make my hair curl. (It might just be me, but it doesn't hold a curling-iron curl if I use a whole bottle of hairspray and sit like a statue in an air-tight room all day. [Not that I've tried.])

So I took a shower, towel-dried my hair, and silently submitted myself to Mom's hands. (She can get borderline-violent when it comes to doing hair.) She loaded it with this weird smelling gunk and then loaded the top part with curlers, twisting the bottom in small strands and holding it all together with bobby pins because we ran out of curlers. Then I had to sleep with it like that.

And do papers routes with it like that, because Heather is at a friend's.

We had to get gas first, and I knew Mom wouldn't let me pump after the fiasco on Thursday (I'd rather not talk about it), but I assumed I'd go in to pay. Turns out even Mom isn't (usually) so cruel as to subject me to that torture to my pride, so she paid. Then to the paper office. No one in sight!

Actually, I almost made it through the entire routes without anyone seeing me (to my knowledge). Until we were three minutes from being done. We pulled up to one of the apartment buildings. There was a guy standing outside smoking.

"Do I have to do it?" I groaned, sinking down in my seat.

Mom insisted. I tried covering my head with my hood. No good. The hat Mom had brought? It wouldn't fit.

"He's probably already seen you. Just go."

So I went. I walked quickly up the sidewalk. He glanced at me, muttered a good morning, which I responded to, and turned away to pace up and down the grass. I rushed inside. Down stairs, trip on top step, drop paper, up stairs, smack self in face with paper, drop paper, mumble to self, back outside. The guy wouldn't look at me, and I hurried back to the car.

When we got home, I took Sasha out and then went to bed, drifting in and out of sleep for three hours before I decided I should probably get up. Sasha was two hours overdue for breakfast, and she wanted out.

I've been avoiding mirrors, windows, and puddles because every glimpse of my reflection I've had makes me cringe. Ah, the things we do to look nice. Now my neck and shoulder hurt because I couldn't curl up on my pillow, but the curlers are still intact. And they must remain so all day.

My hair better curl well, and it better stay that way until I take a shower tonight.

What else to say? Um, on Thursday one of the girls at co-op came up to me and remarked that I was wearing a NaNoWriMo hoodie. I excitedly asked if she knew what it was. When she said she did, that's she'd done it, I bounced and nearly squealed. She probably regretted saying anything at all, but it makes me really happy that someone else knows. I'm still waiting for the day a random stranger at the store will say, "You do NaNo? So do I!" But I don't see that happening any time soon. I keep trying.

I made a remark the other day while Sasha was in terror mode that I should have chose the fat, sleeping puppy. Let's be honest: she was in the middle of a nap, and when she did wake up it was because two of her sisters were sitting on top of her biting her tail and face. She didn't even have a chance to come when I stuck my hand in and called because she couldn't move.

And then Sasha calmed down and took a nap and I decided I could live with her. But I do have to wonder what would have happened if I had chosen any of the others. They didn't have very defined personalities at that point, but they were each different in subtle ways. What if I had chosen the sweet one Allenna picked up, or the cute one Heather grabbed, or the biggest, laziest one who didn't even look up?

Who knows?

Who cares?

Sasha's about 13 weeks now, and she is getting better. Now most of her accidents occur because I know she needs to go (she's only been barking in my face and pacing around for five minutes) and I ignore her for too long, or she's been in the crate for an hour too long and just gets too excited when I walk in. She's still not getting very far in training, but what puppy really learns much outside of the very basic commands before they're a year old? Hershey still doesn't obey unless he feels like it.

Yeah, it's not really the best idea to compare them. Not to be mean (though it'll come out that way) but Hershey is kind of...dense? He was crazy as a puppy, but now he's a laid-back, totally mellow, lazy dog who isn't too fond of copious amounts of fresh air and chasing a ball. Sasha could spend all day outside if the weather is good and is always demanding to be played with, and she picks up on things much faster than Hershey ever did. Granted, she's still a puppy, but they really aren't comparable.

Also, our household does not support pet equality, which really frustrates Sasha and makes Hershey smug. Hershey is allowed on the furniture and Sasha isn't. Hershey gets human food and Sasha doesn't (though she still thinks any and all food is hers by rights to take as she pleases). Before Hershey got angry and destroyed them, there were some toys that only Sasha could play with, but his heart was not off limits to her. (Oh, the things we could do with that rubber heart of his. Another time.) Hershey sleeps in the girls' room on a bed, and Sasha sleeps alone in her crate. Sasha has to eat at a specific time, but Hershey is free to eat whenever he is inclined to. (Don't worry, he doesn't over eat in any way. He just doesn't like eating if he's all alone. Especially lately, someone has to stand within sight of him before he touches his food.)

Okay, enough about the pets. (All three of which, by the way, are napping in the living room as I type this.) Actually, I can't think of anything else to write at the moment. And any way, I think this post is long enough now.

So a little cleaning, a little writing, and then probably two hours of preparing before the part tonight. I should be back tomorrow to write a little about that, and maybe I'll even manage to post a picture or two.

Puppy Woes

Guess I should post one more time before the month is over.

I can't believe this is the last day of October! Weird.

'Tis been a busy week. (I'm not sure if that's even grammatically accurate, but I love "'tis', so there.) Sasha is a ball of energy galumphing through life with teeth barred and puppy eyes sparkling. She may be the bringer of sanity's departure around here. But I love her. (Now that I've recovered from buyer's remorse or whatever it was possessed me the first couple of days.) Especially in the morning, she's all energy. She'll bounce around obnoxiously for a couple hours (literally, she pounces and bounds all around the floor), crash in the middle of the floor and army crawl into a comfortable position to snooze, and start over with tormenting everyone and everything in sight. Especially Hershey. She's a brute to him.

We still have to find a kennel for her, and then a carpet shampooer for us. The whole only-go-potty-outside concept hasn't quite clicked yet.

Speaking of clicking, I bought a bag full of tasty puppy treats and a clicker with which to train her. We started this morning with sit. Another concept that hasn't quite computed is click = treat. She noticed the treats, realized I wanted her to sit, and started sitting pretty all over the floor and looking curiously at me out of the corner of her eye, totally disregarding the clicker. Yeah, this may take some work. She's quite intelligent, but her ADHD and the darker side of her personality take over a lot.

I really need to get a decent picture of the fluff ball to put on here.

Any way. My week.

Well, on Thursday we had to bring Sasha to co-op because leaving her alone with Hershey for 6 hours was not going to work. (He's still perpetually irritated at her. It's like how the cat treats him.) So I hid out in a back classroom no one was using, occasionally pulling in pals to ooh and ahh over the puppy, who was doing a remarkable job of looking perfectly innocent and sweet. Such a little actress. Mrs. Johnson was away with her youngest at a wedding, so I got to teach class. Thankfully the experiments were comprised mostly of water, though I had to comb my hair to get the comb electrically charged and felt rather like Rapunzel, only there wasn't just a cute chameleon watching me. While I was buy with science, Heather took charge of the puppy in her class of four.

When Mom came to get me to do routes, we brought Sasha home and headed out. When we returned around 2.5 hours later, both dogs were still breathing.

Friday through yesterday we girls joined most of the rest of the youth group at a camp a few hours NNW of here. 'Twas cold and gray most of the time, but in weather only. The youth retreat event itself was an adventure (a tiring one). Our youth pastor's wife deserves free hugs for a year and a bucketload of chocolate for the cabin in which she put me. It stayed clean and mostly quiet and we were drama-free. Lovely.

On the ride home, everyone in my van slept (except the driver, of course, though she was close).

We got back just before morning church let out. When everyone in the family was gathered, we had to drop off a paper Mom had forgotten about on routes that morning, then went to PetSmart for my puppy training tools, then McDonald's. As it was the 5th Sunday of the month, we had an afternoon service starting at 3, so didn't really have time to nap.

By the end of the day yesterday, it didn't feel like Sunday. We were home by 5 and watched a few movies and had a lazy evening.

This week I'm doing something new: Driver's Ed. Yeah, I'm freaked. It starts today. 13 days, Monday-Wednesday, or something like that.

So this is a really short post, I know, but it's taken me a good hour or more to get it finished because I'm busy keeping Sasha away from Hershey's new bone. I'll try to come back with something more worthwhile to write about next time.

Runaway Dogs and Badminton

When it comes to our dog Hershey, there are times I'm convinced that he's determined to be rebellious and simply not learn what we try to teach him.

In the four (five?) years we've had him, we've taught him sit, shake, beg, lay down, roll over, play dead (sort of), crawl, and how to identify certain words. But two things we cannot teach him: how to come when he's called, no matter what he's doing, and how to sit quietly when someone comes to the door.

Today, FedEx came by with a package for which I needed to sign (Mom and Dad being gone). I'd been sitting on my bed in my PJ's, listening to music and happily typing away at my story, when I saw the truck pull up. I dressed in record time, pulling clothes out of the pile on the floor, and darted downstairs. Hershey was whining at the door and the Fed Ex lady was getting ready to leave with the package because I hadn't come quickly enough. Heather poked her head out her bedroom saying she couldn't answer it because it's school hours. I waved away the comment and told her to get the dog. She didn't.

I opened the door and immediately felt stupid because Hershey bolted straight for the FedEx truck, expecting a ride. (He loves car rides.) I was torn between chasing him and attending to the FedEx lady. Allenna appeared in her bright red silk pajamas and took off after the dog, and I signed my name terribly on that little plastic screen. ("Is that R-a or R-o?")

So much for keeping my cool. Allenna dragged Hershey back (thankfully he was too fixated on that car ride that he didn't run off), I told the lady to have a nice day, informed the dog that I currently hate him, and went back upstairs.

They say "Don't sweat the small stuff", but something I hate is looking like an idiot in front of strangers. It's pointless, because I'm sure they probably don't care and will soon forget the weird girl in a neon orange shirt and royal blue striped pants trying to chase a dog and sign for a package at the same time and then breathlessly saying, "Have a nice day", but I still get embarrassed about it.

Ah, well. I'll get over it.

We had an eventful day yesterday. (Whenever I say "eventful day", it usually just means I spent most of it away from the house, FYI.) I've been feeling a bit icky lately, with a sore, scratchy throat and some headaches that are in part because of the head cold thing going around and probably also in part because of allergies and my inability to regularly take medicine. So after 3 hours of being awake for routes and two hours of sleep between that and having to get ready for church, I was feeling rather crummy. Church was pretty normal, which is always good. Then we girls spent the afternoon at our youth pastor's. Heather and I had been commissioned to make the meal for the Sr. High afterglow yesterday night: pizza soup. (It's not as bad as it sounds. Just tomato soup, some spaghetti sauce, pepperoni, and cheese with bread for dipping.)

We walked in like it was home, which is how all of the teens have been taught to treat the youth pastor's house. It's kind of nice. All of the lights in the entry way and upstairs were on and I could hear a TV ringing in one of the boys' rooms, but we didn't see anyone. I called out, "Hello? Anybody home?" and we thought we heard Ms. Amy answer from her room, but we didn't hear anything else and assumed she'd come out in a minute.

I went outside to greet their horse of a dog named Riley (a fat, simply adorable yellow lab who likes to jump), and then we stood around awkwardly for a few minutes wondering what to do. Then we heard a really weak voice calling out and realized Ms. Amy was waiting for us to come to hear.

No one had told us she was sick with a sinus infection. We found her curled up on her bed with her computer, the curtains pulled and the lights off, barely able to speak. She gave us our instructions: help yourself to the food and feel free to hang out.

Apparently the supplies for supper had yet to be acquired, and Ms. Amy had to get somebody to take us shopping. So we found some munchies and headed outside to play a little badminton (which took me all day to get even partway decent at playing). Then we went shopping, made the soup with only a few small difficulties, and hung out until church.

After church, we headed back to Bro. Mark's for afterglow. There were only about 10 people there, and we had planned on more than twice that many when we bought the food. But it was fun. While the Jr. Highers have organized playtime, we Sr. Highers catch up on our social lives, which usually means crashing in the living room and chatting for the entire event. Sometimes we may toss a ball around while we do this, or maybe pull out some coloring books (seriously), and on occasion a few of us will do something active (like play badminton, which is difficult to do in the dark). That's pretty much how all Sr. High activities go. I like it.

Now it's Monday again. I have a list of things to accomplish, so I should probably get to that.