Give Me Some Credit

So, today I decided to do this fast thing.  Basically you eat nothing and drink this disgusting lemonade mixture and laxative teas to wash all the crap out of your system and yada yada yahoo….  I did it over the summer for a short period of time before giving up in favor of mac and cheese.  Four days without food is hard people.  And you are supposed to do it for like a ten day minimum.  Some people have even done it for 40 days.  One chick thinks it cured her of cancer.  Surely I can do the minimum right?  So I started out this morning with the salt water flush.  You drink a liter of salt water really fast and it makes go to the bathroom.  A LOT.  Except, I didn’t drink it fast enough.  I got right down to the last few gulps and…. blew chunks.  So, I brushed my teeth and drank a laxative, crap-tasting tea instead.  After a couple of hours I drank the foul lemonade, and got a major headache and heartburn.  A couple of hours later, I chugged down two more servings of the poison in order to finish in time to go house-hunting with my parents and Trinity.  BASICALLY, after going seven hours of intermittent puking, nausea, headaches, and heartburn (my least favorite) I gave up and ate some mac and cheese from Cracker Barrel.  And shrimp.  And biscuits.  And okra. And maybe some mashed potatoes.  My mom laughed and said, “Wow.  You made it a whole, what?, five hours?”  No, Mother.  Seven.  Seven.  That’s a lot for my attention span.  And stomach span.  And taste span.  And mind span.  I’m kind of hungry now.

I digress, as I mentioned above,  we went house-hunting today.  We being my mom, dad, Trinity, and me.  There were some houses my parents had found online that they wanted to look at by Denton.  ANNNNNNNNNNNNDDDD… WE HAVE A WINNER!!!!

There was this really pretty portable home found on the edge of town.  Now, I’m sure most of you don’t think of portable homes as pretty or exciting and what-not.  But, I fell in love with it the second I saw it.  Trinity kept trying to tell us it was super old (and hence unlivable).  But, even just looking around outside I started to get excited and hopeful.  There was a big yard in the front and the back.  And I just loved it for some reason.  The house and I, we zinged you can say.  And we hadn’t even seen the inside.  Which was awesome and in amazing shape.

My grandmother on my dad’s side (biological dad that is) lived in a portable town as well.  They lived outside of a small New Mexico town called Tucumcari.  Off of old Route 66.  I spent a lot of time there, and when I can get away with it, I say I mostly grew up there.  Most of my memories from my childhood are at that house.  There was an ostrich ranch just across the street from behind her house.  They had loads of land.  There were fruit trees, snake holes, and chicken eggs all over the place.  My grandma used to sit me down in the front yard in my own little lawn chair, pull her chair up beside me, and say, “Let’s sit and see how many big trucks go by on the highway.  You can see it all the way out there.  See?”  And I’d start counting how many semis go by the highway, way out there.  Sometimes I’d be playing in the yard, and grandma would come out and tell me to chase off Jesse’s darn goats that were eating up her grass again.  I’d go get the broom and run out there determined to get those darn goats.  I’d get over the fence that separated what I liked to call the grove from the rest of the front yard.  I would start sneaking (or what I thought I was sneaking) towards the goats, broom in hand, only to run back towards the safety of my grandma when I got halfway there.  She would laugh and tell me it’s okay.  She would tell Jesse herself.

Whenever my grandpa came home from work (he was a truck driver), he would take my grandma and me out to eat at a Mexican restaurant called El Torro.  I would always get the tacos.  And grandpa would get us all sopapillas afterwards.  Anytime my grandpa said something about going out to eat, I would say the Mexican place where I get tacos and there’s a picture of a bull on the wall.  I loved that picture.  We sat at the same table over and over.  I would look and look at that painting.  It was a simple painting that people have probably seen many times.  It was a matador brandishing a blood red cape and a bull in the background–pawing at the ground.  I remember asking about it one time and my grandma explaining the sport to me.  I thought it was so fascinating.  When we didn’t go out to eat, I could always count on my grandma having cheddar cheese (which I loved) and my grandpa’s everlasting supply of Fig Newtons.  And of course there was always the trips to the grocery store.  It was a small, simple store.  Grandpa would always let me pick out a donut to take home from there bakery.  Yup, I was spoiled.

But those weren’t the only things we went into town for.  Grandma repeatedly went in to go see her hairdresser.  I loved going with her.  I would go play with the toys she had in the corner for children, doing the same wooden bear puzzle over and over again and listening to them gossip about the lady’s partner and other going-ons of the small town.  I used to know the hairdresser’s name, as well as her son’s.  She didn’t like the lady who did the nails.  But, I remember thinking she wasn’t too bad because she did my nails for free.  I really liked the hairdresser lady too. She would do my hair in all sorts of pretty braids and buns.  I loved going into town with grandma.

Grandma had a dog named Sissy.  My parents found Sissy one night, before they had split up and everything hadn’t gone too bad yet.  She was a mutt.  She was black and white, short, and had long hair.  She was my grandma’s dog, and I loved her.  I would help my grandma brush her hair out so she wouldn’t get tangles.  I would help her feed Sissy her dog food.  The same moist dog food.  Over and over again.  But, it was all Sissy would eat.  She was spoiled too.  When my grandmother couldn’t take care of Sissy anymore she became my dog.  She was around for just about as long as I was.  I loved taking care of her, and all the time I think about it, I wish I had tried harder to keep her inside to take care of her.  She died of old age.  My brother went out one afternoon and called me over.  I still cry.

My grandpa had a horse and a couple of dogs.  I don’t remember much about the dogs.  Just that they caught hold of a stray cat one time and grandpa literally had to pick the intestines of the cat up and go throw it away while my cousins and I gaped.  The horse I do remember though.  I loved helping grandpa feed her.  She was a pretty dappled silver horse named Shadow.  She was the last horse left.  Grandpa used to have a lot more.  There was a lot of room at the stables for more, but dad said Grandpa had either sold the rest or they had died.  I remember my grandpa letting me ride Shadow one time.  I was wearing my old cowboy hat with a bird feather sticking out of it that I had found playing outside.  I remember him smiling and speaking softly, giving me instructions on how to hold her and how to sit.  She was around for the longest time, then one summer she just wasn’t.

Most summers I would spend a week with my grandparents by myself.  Then over the weekend, the family would gather together.  Not only would my dad and stepmom come, but so would my cousins and aunts and uncles.  Most of them anyway.  I remember four cousins, though I know I have more, Marco, Austin, Ashley, and Maria.  Maria and Ashley were quite a bit older than Marco, Austin, and me.  Whenever us five got together there ended up being a definite separation between us and them.  They would go off on walks and just talk.  Us younger three though, we were the cool ones.  We would be superheroes and spy on them from behind grandpas trailer, and go around throwing rocks at all the eggs to break them (under Grandma’s blessing, she didn’t want those chickens around), and playing in the old, rusted trough.  They were so lame for just walking around wanting to talk.  We knew where the action was.

Grandpa gave us all Ferbies when we were young.  I had quite a few at one point, but I’m not sure what all happened to them.  He would also give us those little Techron cars that you could get at those gas stations.  My cousins and I would play with those all the time.  Marco, Austin, and I would anyway.  My favorite part of playing with my Ferbie was feeding it.  I loved the face it made when I pushed it’s little pink tongue down.

As I get older I see the resemblence between my grandma and me more and more.  She loved listening to Elvis Presely.  She would put her old records on and clean the house as I sat in her rocker chair.  Now, I love listening to Elvis.  There has yet to be a time when Elvis couldn’t make me feel better.  Grandma also loved for me to play Phantom of the Opera for her on my cd player; I now know every song by heart.  Grandma had an extensive collection of Native American decorations, porcelain dolls, and those stuffed bears you could buy at a department store at the end of the year, the ones with the year printed on its foot.  While my collections are no where near as extensive as hers had been, I do enjoy them and recall them fondly.  Something that wasn’t passed down that I wished was, my grandmother painted.  She had a couple of paintings she had done framed around the house, I have never been that talented.

My grandpa died when I was very young.  He was a hopeless smoker.  Even when he got put on an oxygen tank, he kept right on smoking.  I remember only a few details about him.  I remember one particular shirt he wore.  It was a blue and black plaid cowboy shirt.  He always wore dark, Wrangler-looking jeans.  When he came home, he would sit in the same chair at the kitchen table, on the end where he could see into the living room.  He would put his boots by the cabinet Grandma kept her dolls in.  I remember sitting in his lap and him telling me he had a snake in his boots.  I also remember going and looking in.  When he didn’t sit at the end of the table he would sit in his rocker and watch TV with Grandma and me.

I didn’t watch TV too often when I was there.  I enjoyed playing with my toys outside.  But, there were some shows we watched every day, when Sissy and the cat didn’t accidentally meet in front of the TV and start barking and hissing.  Every afternoon we would watch Madeleine and Wheel of Fortune.  I would then entertain myself untl the news was over.  The All in the Family came on.  I looked forward to watching the show.  I thought it was funny.  I would sit in the middle of the floor and watch it, even singing along with the theme song.  Grandma was also the one who introduced to the rest of those old shows later on in life, shows like I Love Lucy, Happy Days, and I Dream of Jeannie.  “Archieeeee!!!!”

I don’t remember the name of the cat anymore, but grandpa had one.  She mainly just sat in a chair seat underneath the table and avoided human company.

I remember one time my grandpa and grandma taking me fishing in Chama.  Grandma loved the color the leaves turned during fall.

They also took me on the train ride that went to Colorado.  The Cumbres and Toltec Railroad.  It took you on a scenic tour.  There was a big bear that would stand outside and wave at everybody while wearing a striped conductor’s uniform.  Grandpa got me a train whistle as a souvenir.

When I got older and couldn’t go visit them as often they started coming down to visit me.  They would always bring a gift of some sort.  One time they brought me a Barbie Jeep to drive around.  We only got rid of it a couple of years ago.  Every time they came down, they would take my dad, stepmom, and me out to eat at Furr’s.  I think it was one of my Grandpa’s favorite places to eat.  On the way there Grandma would always ask me what I was going to get.  I would say, “The same thing I always get, Grandma.  Fried chicken leg, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, bread, jello, and pie.”  And I would.

Sometimes Grandma, Grandpa, or both would come and pick me up straight from daycare and take me to Tucumcari.  If it was just Grandma, she would come in her car and make me sit in the back.  If they both came, or just Grandpa, they would come in his big red truck.  I remember they would have pens in the front with my grandpa’s name on them.  I used to be confused because some of them said Bobby and some said Bob and I thought they were different names.  Grandma and Grandpa loved to listen to the country radio station.  There was one particular song that was popular back then.  I remember always singing along to it when it came on, sometimes Grandma joining along.  I don’t remember how it goes now, and I wish I did.  I know it has something to do with a man counting the reasons why he loves a girl or something like that.

I apologize for the rambling memories. Sometimes they just pound me over and over again.  I think I’m scared that if I don’t put them somewhere, the memories of Bobby and Shirley Beth Lowry, they’ll keep fading and disappear.  And quite frankly, it’s the favorite part of my life.  I can’t lose them.  So I guess what I’m saying is, if you’ve read this far, all 2510 words, thanks.  But I guess this was more for me than you.

Home, sweet home.
Home, sweet home.

The Important Things

So, I have now decided to actually talk about the stuff that other people would find important.  Mainly the people who don’t really think the zombie apocalypse is going to transpire.  As I alluded to in my last post, some crazy stuff happened during this past week that I wish I could say affected me more than it did.  But, it is what it is.  Sure it’s sad that I don’t even feel that bothered about it.  I was angry for sure.  But I didn’t feel hurt or sad.  I was just angry.  I guess I should actually say what happened.

This past weekend I went to go pick up my little sisters from their dad’s.  I went by myself so I could stay at my friends’ and hang out.  First thing was I ended up hanging out with Cameron.  We mainly just watched movies and talked, but I was so sure that I was “over it” or whatever.  Basically I made my self look like a freaking idiot because I told him I was never going to talk to him again, then we stayed up late into the night catching up.  What the heck is my problem?  I didn’t even care that the relationship we have is crazy and not good for either of us.  I have resolve for a few days that I’m moving past the stuff that’s pulling me down, then I just fall right back down like a fat kid on a slide.  I want to tell him that I shouldn’t have hung out with him that night.  But, I like his company.  He’s a good listener, and he’s funny. We’ve been at each other’s throats before, but it always worked out in the end.  I guess the real question is, is it at the expense of me and my goals and my beliefs?  And I think it is.  I don’t like to come off as wishy-washy but I’ve made myself that way.  It’s not the relationship that bothers me so much, I think, as the fact that I can be SO determined about something and go the completely opposite direction a couple days later.  That is perhaps the most frustrating.  I can see what isn’t good in my life.  I can stop it too.  But when it comes down to it, I lack the conviction to pull through and do it anyway.  I guess it’s so much easier to live the same way.

Now that I’ve been all teenage dramatic, here’s the real event that pissed me off.  My stepmother, Darla, texted me-yes, texted me-that I need to call a number, it was the phone company; she had released the rights to my phone and I had to pick them up; I had to get my stuff out of the building because she needed the space, and she thought I was trying to push them away.  Bish didn’t even have the courage to call me and tell me.  Why the heck would you not talk to someone about stuff like that?  No, let’s just shoot them a text like it’s no big deal.  Maybe play it down.  Yeah, that’s real adult-like right there.  They preached and preached about acting like an adult and being RESPONSIBLE and RESPECTFUL.  But, I guess I don’t understand it.  Anyways, so I called the phone company and told them what’s up.  I didn’t seal the deal.  I called my mom, literally shaking with anger, and told her what happened.  After a quick discussion, I decided not to accept the rights to my phone.  I think it was a low blow and unneccessary.  Really, they are just pissed off because I’m not living with them and I’m doing fine.  They were always asking me if there was something wrong or going on.  Get over yourselves.  Really.  Later after I got home Darla and I had a heated discussion about everything.  They are convinced that I moved out on my own will (telling me I have 30 minutes to get out means I moved out on my own will) and that I’m being immature and betraying them.  I’m ungrateful.  They are the victims.  Yeah, I went into town to see some friends and didn’t tell them.  The last two times I saw them they barely spoke to me.  When I tried to involve myself they just acted like it was an obligation to listen and I was an annoying family member they were forced to chill with.  Why would I want to see them?  Apparently my father texted me and asked if I was in town the day before.  I never got the text, so I couldn’t reply to it.  But he’s convinced I got it and ignored it.  His phone told him.  All your phone tells you is that it was sent.  My God.  Your phone cannot tell you if it was received by the other phone or that it was read.  After my argument with Darla, my father texted me this:

I did text you last night.  It shows it was received and read.  I know you are an adult.  Act like one.  Don’t access my part of the FAFSA anymore.  You are an adult you can figure out how to go to school without my help and information.  You did say you were moving out.  I was as tired of your crap then as I am now.  We went out of our way because we wanted to see you Wednesday, but you wouldn’t hardly say two words to us. [Bull shit.]  I didn’t want to see you the last time you were in town because you sent me a hateful text earlier that day.  [I told him I was coming into town to visit my friends anyway because he made some lame excuse saying he didn’t want to see me because he didn’t want me driving at night.]  I get the message.  You hate me.  I will not contact you again.  Please make arrangements to pick up the rest of your stuff.  If you ever want to talk to me, you know how to get in touch with me.  I will always gladly talk to you, but you will have to be the one to call or text.  I will not call you or text you again without hearing from you first.  I love you, [sounds like it] but I cannot keep living like this.

Me: I won’t put forth effort if you won’t.  Sorry you see it that way.  Love you too. Bye.

They burnt this bridge not me.  They’re gonna try and eat their words someday, and they’re going to find I don’t give a flying shit.  To put it as nicely as I can right now.

🙂

Movin’ On Up

Movin’ On Up

Ya’ll know that song that goes, “movin’ on up…. movin’ on up!”?  I don’t really know any other part of the song but it was stuck in my head and I decided to make it my title.  I’m not even sure if it relates to what my post is going to be about.  My fourth grade English teacher said that the title should be the last thing you do but I’m obviously smarter than her.  Wink, wink.

I’m in a ridiculously good mood today for some reason.  I heard some stuff today about people I love and care about that made me really disappointed in them, but it’s like, what can I do?  Their life, their choices I guess.  I hate people telling me how to live my life, so I’ll vent with my seester and move on.

I had another epiphany today.  A few really.  Actually, to be more correct, I had an epiphany and a longing which lead to another epiphany.  Epiphany.  Cool word.  Anyhoo, so my first epiphany is that I heard what God told me to do right.  He wants me to serve others.  Obviously he wants us all to serve others but I guess I don’t really know how to put it.  I’ll try to explain.  Freshman and sophomore year I wanted to join the military, and after I got discharged, become a missionary.  Junior year I wanted to be an English teacher since from eighth grade up all of my English teachers had really affected my life view and helped me through a lot.  (Quick shout out:  Mrs. Kuhlman, Lindsy, Mrs. Riha, Mrs. Crosswhite, Mrs. Scarborough, and Mrs. Freeman.  The latter two weren’t English teachers, but ya’ll too.)  After deciding I couldn’t write that many essays and that I didn’t have the disposition for dealing with brats (because that’s what we are when we’re teenagers), I decided to be a doctor.  I have no idea what I was thinking there.  I didn’t want to be an English major because of the essays, so I decided on doctor?  No common sense people.  No common sense.  You see, I was looking for a way to make serving and helping people my career.

Some of you may know this already but this past year, almost exactly a year ago, I was trying to transfer schools to come live with my sister (where I am now).  I had heard that they were having a hard time here and I wanted to come and help them out.  I wanted to transfer to the Sonic down here, graduate down here, and help out the family as much as I could to try and make it a little bit easier on them.  After a lot of tears, yelling, fighting, meetings, phone calls, and praying all around, I decided I wouldn’t go.  My biggest fear is that I would be more help than harm, and I couldn’t stand hurting my dad.  Of course, a few months later I got kicked out anyway.

Then I enlisted in the army.  It felt right.  I would be able to serve people.  I would be able to protect my sister.  That’s what I kept telling myself.  “This is right.  I can protect my family.  I will be serving others.  I’ll be the best me ever.”  But, it wasn’t long and I started having my doubts.  I love America.  And I am still seriously considering being in the military.  But, I was avoiding dealing with my main issues.  I was hurt.  I had hurt people.  And I was running away from it all and justifying it by being a US soldier.

During the beginning of the summer my sister and I were texting once and she asked me, “What happens if you die?”  That’s really when it went downhill.  I really started to question why I was doing this.  Maybe it’s too psychological for you, but I think God gave me a big protective instinct.  Ask any of my friends, teachers, or family members.  I am very loyal to the people I love and I try to protect them to a fault.  But, I couldn’t protect my siblings from the hardships they faced.  I wasn’t there.  I was too wrapped up in my sorry existence to see my sister was really, REALLY hurting and my brother was growing up.  I’m just now starting to get to know Trinity and Zoe.  I only met Asher this summer.  I wasn’t there for them, and as the big sister, I’m not doing too hot.  So, I subconciously tried to make up for it by becoming a soldier. (?)  Like I said, it may be too psychological for you, or even me to believe.

But, as we all know, it didn’t work out.  I’m still here in good ol’ America.  But, this time I figured out where I really needed to be.  Not where I wanted to be, where I NEEDED to be.  I’m here now.  And serving others doesn’t need a degree or any special training.  There are seven people right here who have needs bigger than mine, and I think for once I can say with the utmost certainty, God’s got me here.  I may be frustrated because things didn’t go where I wanted them to go.  I may not feel like I’m doing much of anything here.  But God put me here for a reason.  As much as I miss my daddy sometimes, I know that someone here needs me more.

Which kind of leads me to my second epiphany.  As I was driving home from work today, I really missed reading the Bible and listening to TobyMac and Skillet and Third Day over the other trashy stuff that’s on the radio now.  I missed praying to God every night.  Last night I couldn’t even remember the little child’s prayer that I used to say every night that my Grandma Lowry taught me.  “As I lay me down to sleep…”  I couldn’t remember it and it made me cry.  I’ve been so lost recently and making so many bad decisions and feeling so bad about myself and my position.  I came to the realization through my craving of the Word, that I had been missing out on a whole lot of Jesus.  And I think it’s about time I get back in.

Of course, this is no happily ever after.  Satan got a firm grip on me.  I have a lot of demons to face.  A lot of idols to tear down.  But honestly, if I’m going to be the big sister I want to be, I want my family to see how passionate I am about God, I want to set a good example for them.  I pray I have the strength and wisdom and perserverance I need to do this.

Thanks so much to all the people who have been praying for me! (Meeme)  I really appreciate it, and I think it’s about to pay off.  I sincerely hope with all my being this can be a point I look back on in life and can say, “This is when I changed and started becoming the person GOD wants me to be.”

By the way, if you remember the words to that prayer, could you let me know?  It’s driving me insane!

Settling

Settling

I was talking to my sister the other day about college and life after high school and decisions made in high school and how they all add up or corelate somehow.  Kennedy wants to go to Harvard, or did.  While we were talking she mentioned she wasn’t sure if she wanted to anymore.  I told her not to settle for something because she thought it was easier.  If it’s what you want you can’t let the difficulty factor affect that. Having said that I started thinking about my own life.

Why had I really joined the army?  Was it because I wanted to or because I knew I could do it?  I had wanted to go to UNT for their kinesiology program and later get my Masters in Sports Science early in my senior year.  What had happened during that time period that made me change my mind?  I remember I was so psyched about it.  It was something that was perfect for me.  I loved anything that had to do with the human body and how it works.  I was in HOSA for as long as it was at my school and I competed every year.  I loved all sorts of sports; not always watching them but I loved playing them, even if I wasn’t the best.  So, what changed?

Looking back, I can see that my dad was pushing for me to go to WT even though he kept saying he’d support me no matter where I went.  Except anywhere in the Dallas area.  He refused to let me go anywhere near my mom because she would “find a way to mess it up.”  I won’t lie and say I have agreed with everything my mom has done.  I’ll even tell you that some of it has made my life more difficult but my dad has done the same.  He has made some decisions I don’t agree with, and some of them have made my life more difficult as well.  I digress.  That certainly contributed it to making it hard to go where I want.  I had my heart set on UNT and I couldn’t go without causing some kind of drama which I hate.  Then, of course, there was the financial issue.  If I had tried harder and filled out more forms, wrote more essays, I could’ve gotten more scholarships.  But I was tired of trying so hard.  Ever since I was a little kid I was pushed to be perfect and I couldn’t be.  It was like my dad was trying to squish all of ME out of… well, me.  He knew what he wanted me to be, and I always felt like I was under that pressure.  If he ever read this blog he would say I’m throwing a pity party for myself and making him out to be the bad guy.  He would make me feel bad by saying he tried so hard to help me and to make me the best and I don’t appreciate what he, or my stepmom has done.  But you know what?  I don’t care right now.  Maybe I am throwing a pity party.  Whatever.  I’m not going to say that my dad pushing me was the reason I didn’t go to UNT.  I’m just saying it made things more difficult.  No, it’s my fault I didn’t go to college.  Sure, there were other colleges that were going to take me, give me money.  But it wasn’t what I wanted, and what I wanted was too hard to get to around the obstacles, so I joined the army.  I settled for the easy option because I didn’t want to put forth the effort.  Don’t get me wrong, soldiers work their tails off.  But in a way that comes easy to me.  Finding my way around my father isn’t easy for me and never will be.  I would rather just avoid him and send a Christmas card or something.

My mom says I was pushed so hard when I was younger that I eventually just shut down.  I guess I would have to agree with her.  I couldn’t make anything less than an A.  I had to do a ridiculous amout of chores, which I wouldn’t mind if everyone else did too.  I couldn’t barely hang out with anyone and the one friend I could it was rare.  I was expected to hold a full time job to pay for an expensive car and insurance that I honestly didn’t want (I wanted to ride my bike everywhere), but still keep my grades up.  I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining because I’m sure other people have had to do it too.  But, my dad was a control freak on top of all of that.  He would read all of my texts every night.  He had to know exactly where I was and what time I was leaving and who I was with.  Every single person.  A few friends wasn’t enough information.  I had to give names, addresses, numbers, parents names, where in the town that was, all that was planned… and if I didn’t talk about a certain person very often, then Dad wanted to know why I wanted to hang out with them all of the sudden.  As if I tell him about every single one of my friends from school and everything we say to each other.  Obviously, he’s not going to know who all I talk to and I’m not going to mention every single person I come into contact with during our rare and super short conversations.  I feel as if that is really obvious and simple to understand.  But I guess not.  I’m starting to sound bitter now.  The point of all of this is…. I had to be perfect, act perfect, talk perfect, look perfect, do everything perfectly–and no matter how hard I tried or wanted it, I could never get approval.  Not from him, not from my stepmom.  Take that long enough, and of course your going to shut down.  I’m not sure if they realize what they did or how it affected me.  They say they love me (sometimes) and I do love them.  But I don’t think the right way.  I don’t know how to explain it.

I guess what I’ve been trying to get around to saying for the past 1,058 words is that I let myself feel that way and react that way.  I let them hurt me like that, whether they meant to or not.  I was the one who chose the army.  I was the one that opened bottle after bottle of tequila, rum, whiskey, champagne, and vodka and poured it down my throat until I couldn’t remember anymore.  I was the one who smoke pack after pack when no one was home to feel calm and in control.  I was the one who ate and ate until I was so full I could barely breathe to try and fill something up.  I was the one who tried over and over again to puke it back up.  I picked the razor and I picked the skin to cut.  For lack of a better way to put it, I was the one who fucked my life up.  Because I thought it was easier.

Now I’m at my mother’s house, with an hourly waged job, ticked off randomly through out the day, craving what I know I can’t go back to, trying to be a better person and a better role model, knowing that in the end it’s all my fault I settled because I was too scared to live my own life for once.

Knowing this, doesn’t make the cravings any easier.  But, it makes living a little more desired.  I am looking into going to college next semester.  It will be hard to get the money to do it, but if I have to take loans out I will.  Researching my degrees has relit the fire all over again and I’m ready to go.  This time I’m not settling until I’m the best at what I do.

Drama, Sweet Stab, and Curly

When I first started this blog was with the intention to tell all you lovely people about my transition from an independent life in Canyon, Texas to a crazy life in Dallas.  I suddenly just got smacked in the face full on by the stooges.  For those of you who didn’t read that post or forgot or perhaps I didn’t mention it like I thought I did, the stooges are a nickname the family has for the youngest three children in the family (Corynne, Madison, and Kent).  And, I’ll admit it; they ALMOST got the best of me this evening.

Ma decided to take Neil to go see these really awesome guys that are near by called the Myth Busters.  I don’t know if you’ve heard of them… but that’s where they were.  Michael was at work as he usually is on Monday at this hour.  Kennedy was at school at rehearsal, and I wasn’t sure when she was going to come home.  Do the math, dogs.  That’s me alone with a five, seven, and eight year old.  No Babysitter’s Club book could have prepared me for this night to come.

The few minutes Ma was home she sent Kent to timeout in his room.  Trinity and Zoe were downstairs just running around.  Eventually the girls went back upstairs to the play room to watch My Little Ponies.  I figured this wouldn’t be too bad of a night and got my new read and opened it up.  Ten minutes later….

 This is what I see when I go into Kent’s room to tell him his time out is up.  My phone was about to die but I couldn’t let a moment like this pass.  I’m getting this picture and thinking how cute it is and how easy this is going to be… Baha.

Kennedy comes home not long after that, and I fill her in on the instructions Ma gave us for the night: ravioli for dinner, girls take showers, bed on time.

I go wake Kent up so he can eat with us soon and hopefully go back to sleep later.  He comes downstairs and starts walking around saying he’s hungry so, naturally Kennedy and I decide to start supper.  Sort of.  Actually Kennedy decides to blog while I cook supper.  And let me tell you something.  I’m not a big fan of pasta unless it’s Chef Boyardee.  So this was the first time I was making something that had to actually had to be heated up in a pan.  I manage to get the cryptive instructions on the ravioli uncoded and have them boiling only to turn around and once again be amazed.

 Yes. That is Kent under the microwave.  And I don’t know if you can tell, but he is eating chips.  I had left a bag of chips out on the counter that I had been snacking on.  I guess Kent decided he was hungry enough to eat some too.  Under the microwave table…  So, I decide to sit down in front of him and he starts telling me all sorts of things about his day.  Something about his class doing cartwheels all over the classroom floor.  Now, I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a precarious room to be in.  There’s just something about the idea of having a group of kindergarteners perform gymnastics around a classroom that screams “9-1-1.”  But, he was the best so I guess he wasn’t worried.  We then observed how triangular his chip was.  I then decided to find a shrink ray so I can take Kent around with me everywhere.  It’s amazing the way he talks…

Now, back to dinner…. the raviolis had finished so I drained them.  I wasn’t sure what to do with them after that.  So Kennedy told me to put them back in the pan.  I told her they would just keep cooking and be ruined but she insisted… And they all stuck to the pan.  Yummm…. pan ravioli.  But, I put that on the back burner as I still needed to cook the sauce.  And this is where it gets funny.  You know how in the movies there’s this sweet but misguided girl trying to cook pasta and ends up getting the sauce all over the kitchen?  I perfected that scene tonight ladies and gentlemen.  Turns out, if the sauce gets too hot, it BOILS. Wow, who would’ve thought?  Not me apparently.  Cuz that darlin sauce popped all over my arms, the stove, the cabinets, the floor, the fridge, and even the wall.  No matter, it was time for supper.

I eventually manage to get everyone in the dining area and ready to eat.  Scratch that.  I managed to get everyone into the dining area.  Then–all hell broke loose.  “Wow, look at the floor!” “What happened in here?” *Walks through all the sauce on the floor.* “Ewwww!!!”  After finally raising my voice (I hate to yell at people, and I hate to be yelled at.), I managed to get their attention.  I told them to go sit down so I could put the food on the table.  Madison and Corynne sit down and immediately start shoving each other.  Really?  I tell Corynne to move to the other side of the table.  “NO.  This is where I sit.  I can’t sit anywhere else.”  Gosh.  Didn’t realize she was the babysitter tonight.  And that’s when the attack of the Drama began.

“Well, I’m telling you to move to the other side since you two can’t sit right.”

“No, I can’t!!! I have to sit in this spot!  Ma said so.”

“I don’t care. Right now I’m want you to sit at the other side of the table.”

She finally gets up.  I think I finally got her to listen to me, but no.

“FINE. I DIDN’T WANT DINNER ANYWAY!!! IT LOOKS GROSS!!”

I have to admit it did.. But it tasted all right!! I digress.  She stomped off upstairs.  I didn’t care to follow her.  The rest of us eat our dinner, which did turn out pretty good. The raviolis weren’t burned like I thought, and despite the copious amount that sputtered out of the pan, there was still plenty of sauce for everyone.  Then the Sweet Stab tries her luck.

Now, there is something you need to know about Madison.  I know you’ve all seen her picture.  And she looks a real sweetheart.  She is!!!  But she uses it to her advantage.  She’ll just talk soooo sweetly about why she doesn’t need to shower after dinner and why Corynne should instead, and you actually believe her.  I literally found myself nodding as she was talking and had to think,”Wow, this girl is good!! She almost got you, Brit!”  After I calmly told her she WAS going to take a shower after dinner and that was that, she quieted down and didn’t try to bend anymore rules.  Not that I remember anyway.  Like I said, the girl’s good!!!

We all finish eating and clear off the table.  Madison goes upstairs to get her pajamas and Kent turns on Curious George.  Then Drama stomps down the stairs.

“Good!! I’m glad everyone else is done, so I can eat finally.”

She stomps into the kitchen, and I couldn’t help but sigh.  I had literally just put the leftovers in the fridge and sat down.  She opens the fridge.  Then deciding there wasn’t anything she wanted in there, stomps off to the pantry.  Oh no, moon pie.  I told her she had to have what the rest of us had, and it was in containers in the fridge.  She shoots a dirty look my direction.  I look right back at her.  She stomps over the fridge again and opens it up.

“What did you guys even have for dinner?!?!?!?!!!!!”

REALLY?  You said you didn’t want dinner because it looked gross!!!  And the yelling was getting on my nerves.  I was about to collapse into a nervous heap of wiggling jelly.  I explained to her, as calmly as I could, that raviolis were in a container as was the marinara sauce.  She said there wasn’t any.  She went back and forth with me.  Finally she started pulling all the containers out of the fridge.  The second one she pulled out finally, finally made her stop yelling.  It was the ravioli.  She huffily made herself a plate and ate.  I think she was starting to feel my mood though because I didn’t have to ask her twice to clean up everything she had gotten out.  Then I told her to shower and the whole thing started over again.  But this time with crying.  Oh my Lord.  I don’t know what to do when someone cries.  Honest.  I’m as bad as Sheldon.

I won’t make you as exasperated as I was… but suffice it to say it took thirty minutes for me to get her in the bathroom and another twenty to get her to actually shower.

And Michael shows up.  Thank God.  Kent had kept getting out of bed to see what was going on.  Madison couldn’t go to bed because she had to brush her teeth and someone was taking forever in the shower.  And I was at my wit’s end.  Michael says one word and they are all in bed.  And I have now written my longest blog yet.  I love all of my siblings to pieces.  But, I think it must be a prerequisite to drive me nuts in order to be claimed as my sibling.  All I can say is thank God Kennedy and Neil are done acting like that.  I think it was just a long day for us all.  Looking back it is starting to be almost humorous.  Almost.  And if any of you made it to the end of this blog… I admire you.  You deserve cookies and chocolate milk and pie and cake and all things delicious.

May the odds be ever in your favor, dear readers, and good night!

The Strange Case of Miss Stafford and Dr. Kennedy

The Strange Case of Miss Stafford and Dr. Kennedy

I’m sitting in the rocking chair in the living room perusing my newest read, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson.  Having just read Dr. Lanyon’s account of the Doctor, I was quite in a creepy state of mind.  All of the house lights are off except for the living room light.  Everyone is asleep.  Or so I thought.  I just finished the chapter when Kennedy comes into the dining room, walking right through it into the living room.  She barely looks around the room and walks back into the dining area.  Then proceeds to turn around, walk a few steps, and turns back around towards the kitchen.

“Kennedy, what are you looking for?”

“Nothing,” she says in a small, vague voice.

“Okay.”

She turns on the light in the kitchen and goes in the direction of the fridge.  I attempt to go back to reading my book when I hear a clatter.  I turn back towards the kitchen to try and see what was the matter (pun unintended), but all I could see was her ponytail.  I continue watching however to see if I can figure out what she is doing that would cause such a sound.  She suddenly turns around where I can see her… sort of.  Her face is covered due to her drinking iced Kool-Aid out of a pitcher.  She stops and looks at me.

“What?”

“Are you thirsty or something?”

“What?”

“You’re acting really weird.  It’s really freaking me out.  I’m sitting here reading about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and you walk in here looking lost and acting weird.”

“What?”

I collapse into a nervous giggle.  Kennedy gives me a weird look and goes back to finish off the Kool-Aid.  She places the pitcher beside the sink and grabs the lid and puts it on top.  I then realize what made the disturbing sound (her taking the lid off), and once again attempt to go back to my book.  But, I can’t help myself.  I look back up and find her staring at me.

“Quit acting so weird!!”

“What?”

She starts walking towards the living room again.  I’m thinking about how she left the light on in the kitchen so I’ll have to turn it off later when I suddenly notice her by my chair.

“What?”

I once again explain to her what I was saying about being freaked out.  She laughs, walks a few steps, turns around, and walks back to our room.  I watch where she disappeared around the corner momentarily when, all of the sudden, she comes into the dining area and turns back around to the bathroom.  Thinking I’ve had enough and want to see just what’s going on, I grab my book, mark my place, and grab my stuffed animal to start heading towards our room.  I make it to the dining area before I remember I need to turn the light in the living room off, only to see Kennedy.  Actually, I hear her first.  It sounded like a crunch.  I turn around to see her standing in the doorway.  I ask her what she’s doing and she walks towards me and says, “Eating bones.”

“For reals, you’re freaking me out.”

She then looks at me with wide eyes and configures her face to look completely possessed.  I yelp in surprise and put my stuffed dog in front of my face.

“Stop!! You’re freaking me out! Don’t make that face!”

She laughs and proceeds back towards our room once more.  I turn around back towards the living room to turn out the light and then turn out the kitchen light.  I go into our room and ask her why she’s being so weird, only to have her give me the possessed look again.

“Quit, yo.  You’re gonna give ME nightmares with that look!! You look possessed.” (Yes, I really talk like that.)

She laughs and gives me the look again as I put my stuff up.

“I’m not looking at you for the rest of the night.  You’re giving me the creeps.”

I get my computer out (during all of this I’m thinking what a great blog story this will make) and look up at her.  Yep, she was still possessed.  I then laugh at how silly it is.  Then she starts laughing and asks me what I’m doing.

“Blogging.  It’s an addiction, and I blame you.”

Aah, sisterly affection.  Nothing better to freak you out before you go to sleep than a possessed younger sister.  Sweet dreams, my dears.

Intense Adventures

 This is what I spent half an hour doing this afternoon.  Yes, I needed to jump start my car, and all I could think was that it was a brilliant blog opportunity.  Call me a “crazy cat-lady” like my sister did on the ride home, but I am sure that SOMEDAY I will find it humorous.  In case you are wondering, my car is the Pontiac.  The green thing is owned by a sweet young girl from Lakeview Centennial High School.  Thank you so much!!!  I digress.  I feel as if my blog needs some comic relief, and with the adventures Kennedy and I have had recently….  I suppose I’ll start at the beginning.

It all started one afternoon when Ma told us to go to the local Neighborhood Market and pick up some groceries.  Off we go, thinking it is just another humorless errand run.  Kennedy wasn’t in that great of a mood right then for reasons I can’t remember.  I wanted to cheer her up.  Little did I know I would soon find opportunity to do so.  As we are going down a street, not far removed from our home, we see a young woman pushing a double-stroller running.  Yes.  I said running.  While normal people wouldn’t find this funny, we found it hilarious.  I then proceeded to fist pump and yell encouragement, nevermind the fact we were in a closed up car.  But she saw my fist pumps.  I know she did.  As we continue down the road, laughing much too much to be safely driving, we come across a young man walking on the other side of the road.  Just walking and minding his own business when Kennedy says, “I wonder if people can hear us outside of the car?”  I then proceeded to yell at the man as loud as I could, but alas…. he was either deaf, rude, or you cannot in fact hear sounds that originate inside of a car if you are outside of said environment.  Of course by now Kennedy is bent over laughing, and I am not far removed from doing so myself.  One would think that surely that is enough adventure to last that trip, but no.  Do not be discouraged my dear friends.  On the way home, in fact, I forgot momentarily where I was going, turned into the wrong lane, and we decided to take a detour.  When turning around in a parking lot to put ourselves in a better position to be on the way home, I started telling the other cars to, “Hurry up, vroom vroom, hurry up.”  I had lost it certainly.  Every car I saw I dubbed a he or she and encouraged them along to the tune of “vroom vroom,” but who wouldn’t?  This again turns Kenny hysterical and bends over as far as she can.  She doesn’t get very far though because she has positioned her feet to rest on the dashboard.  After one last “vroom vroom” I ask her how she would feel if we wrecked and her knees broke her face.  She answered with more laughter.  Young ‘uns these days… No practicality at all…

Now, Kennedy is very prestigious and high up on the high school theatre ladder.  She has to judge all the comedies in the area.  I was taking to the play “Play it Again, Sam” in Rowlett when our next adventure struck.  The way there was very bland.  The play was good.  I pay my respects for the half of the stage I got to see.  As we are walking to the car I make an astute observation.  “We are the only car in this parking lot.”  We then begin to think of all sorts of predicaments that could occur as if we have suddenly been put in a horror show.  I say we must look under the car to make sure no one is going to chop our Achilles’.  After making sure no one is in fact under the car, Kennedy tells me to unlock the car as we stand at the rear windshield to see if anyone is in the back waiting to scalp us.  We were encouraged when all we saw was the usual mess that accompanies a car possessed by a family of eight.  We proceed to get in the car, and I quickly start the engine so we can head home.  The second I turn the key the front and back windshield wipers get to work, wiping away an imaginary rain storm.  We freak.  “The car is possessed!!”  “What the heck!?”  I’m turning and pushing all sorts of the bamboozles around the steering wheel.  I successfully manage to turn off the front windshield wipers, only to turn around and see the back windshield cleaning itself over and over.  After some more blind stumbling on the metaphoric path, I manage to turn those off and turn the front ones on again!!!  I won’t bore you with how many combinations we went through.  Just suffice it to say, fifteen minutes later we were catching our breath and giggling at the situational irony of, well… the situation.  We then proceed to head home.  Funny thing though… We thought we knew where we were going.  Five minutes later we realized we didn’t know at all.  And we laugh thinking how great it is that we enter a possessed car, defeat it, and just get lost on some highway.  I eventually tell Kennedy to turn her GPS on her phone on.  After five minutes of loading, she tells me to turn around.  In the middle of a highway….  We eventually make it home, not without a couple of detours and plenty more laughs, and of course my exclamation of how great of a story it would make on my blog.

Then there was today, Kennedy once again had a play to judge (this time Midsummer Night’s Dream), and once again I was her ride.  We decided to leave almost two hours before she needed to be there and arrive safe and sound at the school and hour and a half before it even started.  Good.  Luckily, with my keen observation skills I noticed a Jack in the Box just down the street.  We proceed to the establishment.

They have amazing service, that Jack in the Box.  The employees are very friendly.  There is a cleanliness that extends even to the bathroom.  And, as always, the food was exceptional.  I digress.

After a lunch and fries and eggrolls we then go back to the school; she judges; I see her coming out and start the car.  Unfortunatley, the car didn’t have the same opinion as I did.  It refused to start.  My thoughts, “Great.  I don’t even know what jumper cables look like.”  Kennedy gets in the car, and I inform her of our predicament.  I attempt to call Ma but her phone just goes straight to voicemail.  I then call Michael and catch him up on the details.  He says, “I’m at work and can’t leave.  Find someone to jump the car and let me know how it goes.  I won’t be off for a while.”  I look at Kennedy and say, “Well, I guess we can just open the hood and look pitiful.”  So we do.  And that’s when the lovely girl who attended the high school comes out of her car and asks if we need help.  I tell her our battery has died.  She had cables and knew how to use them.  Thirty minutes later I were cruising down the highway telling Kennedy I almost asked her to take a picture with me for the blog.  She then calls me a cat-lady.  We get home, and now I blog.  If only it could have been some hot older brother of a kid in the play…. That would’ve been nice indeed.

P.S. I missed the whole Cowboys’ game today for Kennedy’s play.  You can tell they missed me.  They barely won and Miles even hurt his ribs!! 😦