Dear Diary,
Again, it has been a long time since I've written. Maybe I should get an award for forgetting!! There are some things I should catch you up on.
1. School is out now.
2. My friend Mindy,from church, is going with my cousin James. (Lance's brother)
3. James is going to get his drivers license this summer so they will be able to go on real dates! We are going to have so much more to talk about during church!!
4. Starting on June 5th, I am going to a type of summer school for smart people.
5. Mindy told me that Dax has moved to either Illinois or Missouri. She is going to get me his new address soon.
That's about it. I guess. We spent the day at Granny's. Lance and Cory (Lance's little brother) had a boy over named Tyler. Tyler seemed to like Lucy but Lucy didn't like him. I'm not sure why, he seemed okay for a little kid.
OK, ok... Laugh a little.
I am out of school for the summer but have opted to go back to school. I guess I was kind of a nerd. (Not the pocket protector, thick glasses kind but the cute, lovable kind) My school called this Enrichment. I have heard that other schools have similar programs. Many of my friends went too, so being "enriched" all summer didn't seem so bad. We dissected things, did fun science experiments that were too messy or complex to mess with during the actual school year, we had lots of guest speakers and went on endless field trips. Call me crazy but it was fun.
Most disturbing but not surprising is that I am still chasing after Dax - or the idea of him. What was I thinking? He had not written me once but I was in full pursuit of finding his address so I could send him another childish love letter. For all I knew he had moved just to hide from my silly letters. Where is my dignity? Where is my pride?
Lesson: love makes you do stupid things no matter what your age. There is no dignity and no pride when you think you are in love. That's part of the reason it hurts so bad at times.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
A little about Grant
I don't even know where to start when talking about Grant. I don't think I can accurately describe how things were with us. Here's my best shot.....
Grant and I went to school together. He was with me from kindergarten until graduation. I don't remember very much about him until about 5th grade. I think he sat in front of me in class, or vice versa. I also think I remember some check yes or no notes passed between us. These notes had to do with his best friend and his cousin more than with him.
Something happened between 5th and 6th grade and our notes became more about us. Grant was always good to me. Maybe too good. He called me frequently and bought me things. This annoyed my parents which made things awkward for me. In fact, I distinctly remember breaking up with him because he bought me a pretty pair of silver heart shaped ear rings and I didn't want to face my parents with this token of his affection.
Grant was an okay looking boy, a bit scrawny. He had brown hair, a few freckles and an impish smile. What I liked the most were his eyes, deep chocolate brown, that sparkled a little when he was clowning around.
Boy, did he clown around. That got to be a source of agitation. At times it felt like he could not be serious. He was funny. Part of the reason I liked him was because he could make me laugh. But at times-in front of his friends-he could get too carried away. I felt like he didn't always act like the 'real' Grant I knew. And I liked that Grant the best. I probably broke up with him for that at some point too.
Our on and off relationship lasted through middle school and our freshman and sophomore years of high school. Grant and I got along wonderfully when we were not a couple. He and I could have been really good friends. If I could go back and do it again, I would try harder to be his friend. We would have been soooo much better as friends than as a couple.
I blame myself for our relationship never working out. I was a silly girl that didn't know what I wanted. I was too boy crazy for one thing. For another thing, Grant always wanted more from our relationship than I did. Remember we were just kids. So when I say he wanted more, don't read into that too much. I can't remember if we held hands or not. We probably did at some point. I do remember that he told my friend Tori that he wanted to kiss me. I broke up with him for that too.
There are two pictures of Grant and I that I like. They are not the best pictures of us, not typical couple pictures. These pictures are worth a thousand words. All you have to do is look at our facial expressions and you would understand our whole long relationship.
The first picture is of us as freshmen. We were at a party at a mutual friends house. It is a close up of us. We were leaning in very close to each other. I was happy, looking at the camera, smiling. He was happy, looking at me and smiling.
In the second picture we are sophomores, all dressed up at our first formal dance. The picture is a candid shot of us. I am sitting on his lap, leaning away from him a little. My face looks perturbed, my eyes look empty. His eyes are dancing with laughter and his arm is tight around my waist. But we are both looking in opposite directions.
I guess we were always going in opposite directions..........
Grant and I went to school together. He was with me from kindergarten until graduation. I don't remember very much about him until about 5th grade. I think he sat in front of me in class, or vice versa. I also think I remember some check yes or no notes passed between us. These notes had to do with his best friend and his cousin more than with him.
Something happened between 5th and 6th grade and our notes became more about us. Grant was always good to me. Maybe too good. He called me frequently and bought me things. This annoyed my parents which made things awkward for me. In fact, I distinctly remember breaking up with him because he bought me a pretty pair of silver heart shaped ear rings and I didn't want to face my parents with this token of his affection.
Grant was an okay looking boy, a bit scrawny. He had brown hair, a few freckles and an impish smile. What I liked the most were his eyes, deep chocolate brown, that sparkled a little when he was clowning around.
Boy, did he clown around. That got to be a source of agitation. At times it felt like he could not be serious. He was funny. Part of the reason I liked him was because he could make me laugh. But at times-in front of his friends-he could get too carried away. I felt like he didn't always act like the 'real' Grant I knew. And I liked that Grant the best. I probably broke up with him for that at some point too.
Our on and off relationship lasted through middle school and our freshman and sophomore years of high school. Grant and I got along wonderfully when we were not a couple. He and I could have been really good friends. If I could go back and do it again, I would try harder to be his friend. We would have been soooo much better as friends than as a couple.
I blame myself for our relationship never working out. I was a silly girl that didn't know what I wanted. I was too boy crazy for one thing. For another thing, Grant always wanted more from our relationship than I did. Remember we were just kids. So when I say he wanted more, don't read into that too much. I can't remember if we held hands or not. We probably did at some point. I do remember that he told my friend Tori that he wanted to kiss me. I broke up with him for that too.
There are two pictures of Grant and I that I like. They are not the best pictures of us, not typical couple pictures. These pictures are worth a thousand words. All you have to do is look at our facial expressions and you would understand our whole long relationship.
The first picture is of us as freshmen. We were at a party at a mutual friends house. It is a close up of us. We were leaning in very close to each other. I was happy, looking at the camera, smiling. He was happy, looking at me and smiling.
In the second picture we are sophomores, all dressed up at our first formal dance. The picture is a candid shot of us. I am sitting on his lap, leaning away from him a little. My face looks perturbed, my eyes look empty. His eyes are dancing with laughter and his arm is tight around my waist. But we are both looking in opposite directions.
I guess we were always going in opposite directions..........
Monday, April 6, 2009
Wednesday, February 15, 1989
Dear Diary,
I haven't written in a long time! Sorry. Let me catch you up.
1. I dumped Grant.
2. I'm living in a new house.
3. My life IS falling apart.
Why is my life falling apart? Well, ever since we moved, Lucy and I have been fighting alot. It's really getting on Mom's nerves. So, today after Lucy and I get in a fight for the zillionth time, Mom got mad. Or at least I thought she did. Later Dad tells me that Mom's been crying! Wonderful. Now I feel rotten and guilty! I know I am the bad guy here but it seems as if Mom thinks everything should go perfectly.
IT DOESN'T !!!!!
I do not remember this and really don't want to own up to it. I'm not sure how to explain this one. I am not feeling overly witty today.
What I can tell you is that Grant will inevitably be back if you hang around long enough.
Lucy and I did start fighting more after the move. I don't think it really had much to do with the move. It was more our ages. I was about to be 12 and she was almost 9. I was ready to be a teenager and the two and a half year difference in our age started to feel like more than it was. Even though I fought with her, it bothered me because we had been bestest friends up until that point. She had been my playmate and confidant. We shared everything...until I outgrew her. It was kind of a rotten thing for me to do. But we had moved. I now had my own room. Lucy and Grace began sharing a room. I think Lucy and I both missed each other but were too stubborn to call a truce. And apparently this was driving our mother insane too.
Lastly, I suppose "my life falling apart" was a little dramatic. But I think I was a little dramatic back then. Ugh.
I haven't written in a long time! Sorry. Let me catch you up.
1. I dumped Grant.
2. I'm living in a new house.
3. My life IS falling apart.
Why is my life falling apart? Well, ever since we moved, Lucy and I have been fighting alot. It's really getting on Mom's nerves. So, today after Lucy and I get in a fight for the zillionth time, Mom got mad. Or at least I thought she did. Later Dad tells me that Mom's been crying! Wonderful. Now I feel rotten and guilty! I know I am the bad guy here but it seems as if Mom thinks everything should go perfectly.
IT DOESN'T !!!!!
I do not remember this and really don't want to own up to it. I'm not sure how to explain this one. I am not feeling overly witty today.
What I can tell you is that Grant will inevitably be back if you hang around long enough.
Lucy and I did start fighting more after the move. I don't think it really had much to do with the move. It was more our ages. I was about to be 12 and she was almost 9. I was ready to be a teenager and the two and a half year difference in our age started to feel like more than it was. Even though I fought with her, it bothered me because we had been bestest friends up until that point. She had been my playmate and confidant. We shared everything...until I outgrew her. It was kind of a rotten thing for me to do. But we had moved. I now had my own room. Lucy and Grace began sharing a room. I think Lucy and I both missed each other but were too stubborn to call a truce. And apparently this was driving our mother insane too.
Lastly, I suppose "my life falling apart" was a little dramatic. But I think I was a little dramatic back then. Ugh.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
A little about my house
I thought it was one of the worst things my parents had decided to do. I couldn't understand what they were thinking. Why would they want to sell our house? It was OURS. We belonged there. We were happy there. We loved there. We cried there. We had gathered many memories there. How could they want to leave?
My house was a small, red brick house with a small yard and small garden. The house sat at the end of a small street, a few small blocks away from the town's small Main Street. Of course, at the time I did not see any of the smallness. In my child's eye, the word small should have simply been substituted with perfect.
We lived in the middle of Nowhere, USA. I walked to school with my sister daily. I often walked to the post office or the Corner Grocery for my mom. I rode my bike all over the small streets of town. I'm not sure I would allow my children to do those things now, alone. But times were different then. There was nothing to fear. I always felt safe.
As my parents had searched for a new house there was always something not quite right: wrong neighborhood, wrong floor plan, wrong price. I started to hope it was fate to keep our tiny house. But then Mom and Dad found a plot of land near the closest city but still in our current school district. They deemed it perfect and went to work on house plans.
I didn't want to like this new house but the process of building fascinated me. I watched this new house rise up out of the dirt, a skeleton at first, transforming in front of my eyes into not just a house but a home. It felt like a betrayal to go to this new house and pick out colors for the walls of my new room.
I remember how sad I felt the day we left the little brick house. This house held ALL of the memories of my life. I remembered getting in trouble for coloring part of the house with my crayons. I remembered writing the name of a boy I liked on my bedroom wall in a spot where only I knew it was. I remembered pets, christmases, snowball fights, sitting on the porch while it rained...so many memories. How could I leave it all?
But I had no choice. Mom and Dad put us in the car and we drove away. I think I was the only one who looked back. I HAD to look back. I said goodbye to the little brick house silently as we drove down the street. A few tears ran down my cheeks. I wanted out of the car, to run back and stay in my safe place just a little longer.
We moved. It didn't feel right for a long time. Now,twenty years later, I love the house my parents built. It has become just as special as my first house. I always feel welcome and warm there, at home.
I understand my parents better too. They weren't trying to ruin my world by moving. They had dreams. My husband and I have dreams too. I realize what that is now. I look around my small home and I know I won't always live here. I long for something bigger, grander. I long for something new for me AND my children. So, I guess I will have to admit that sometimes our parents are right in what they do. It is odd to realize my parents were once just like me or that now I am just like them. I'm not sure which is which.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
My house was a small, red brick house with a small yard and small garden. The house sat at the end of a small street, a few small blocks away from the town's small Main Street. Of course, at the time I did not see any of the smallness. In my child's eye, the word small should have simply been substituted with perfect.
We lived in the middle of Nowhere, USA. I walked to school with my sister daily. I often walked to the post office or the Corner Grocery for my mom. I rode my bike all over the small streets of town. I'm not sure I would allow my children to do those things now, alone. But times were different then. There was nothing to fear. I always felt safe.
As my parents had searched for a new house there was always something not quite right: wrong neighborhood, wrong floor plan, wrong price. I started to hope it was fate to keep our tiny house. But then Mom and Dad found a plot of land near the closest city but still in our current school district. They deemed it perfect and went to work on house plans.
I didn't want to like this new house but the process of building fascinated me. I watched this new house rise up out of the dirt, a skeleton at first, transforming in front of my eyes into not just a house but a home. It felt like a betrayal to go to this new house and pick out colors for the walls of my new room.
I remember how sad I felt the day we left the little brick house. This house held ALL of the memories of my life. I remembered getting in trouble for coloring part of the house with my crayons. I remembered writing the name of a boy I liked on my bedroom wall in a spot where only I knew it was. I remembered pets, christmases, snowball fights, sitting on the porch while it rained...so many memories. How could I leave it all?
But I had no choice. Mom and Dad put us in the car and we drove away. I think I was the only one who looked back. I HAD to look back. I said goodbye to the little brick house silently as we drove down the street. A few tears ran down my cheeks. I wanted out of the car, to run back and stay in my safe place just a little longer.
We moved. It didn't feel right for a long time. Now,twenty years later, I love the house my parents built. It has become just as special as my first house. I always feel welcome and warm there, at home.
I understand my parents better too. They weren't trying to ruin my world by moving. They had dreams. My husband and I have dreams too. I realize what that is now. I look around my small home and I know I won't always live here. I long for something bigger, grander. I long for something new for me AND my children. So, I guess I will have to admit that sometimes our parents are right in what they do. It is odd to realize my parents were once just like me or that now I am just like them. I'm not sure which is which.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
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