Random snippets of life

This morning I woke up on the floor of the living room. Of course, I was there on purpose, having slept there to escape the heat and humidity of the attic. But the view is quite different from the floor.

I've recently rediscovered how much I love the scent of Head&Shoulders shampoo. My sister has it in our shower at home, and everytime I shake out my hair or run my hand through it, I inhale the smell of it happily. There's something so nice about liking the smell of your hair. It's better than perfume, I think.

I'm so glad to be home and surrounded by all my books again. They're like old friends I'm getting reacquainted with again. Since most of my human friends are no longer in town, having moved away for jobs or school (or visiting family in Turkey, in one case), it's been especially nice to have them with me again.

My dad's been away since Tuesday, and won't be back until Sunday evening. Mom and I undertook our own DIY project in his absence, and its successful completion left my vanity very gratified. The cupboard under the sink has been an eyesore (and awfully smelly) for years now; Mom and I decided to do something about it. So she went to Tuck's and got $3 worth of linoleum (spelling?), I pulled everything out and cleaned out the cupboard, and we collaborated to get it properly cut and positioned, and now we have a lovely arrangement that looks (and smells) quite nice.

Home is a pretty slow kind of place. It's even slower and less bustling than Annapolis. Nothing much ever happens here. That used to annoy me to no end, and honestly, every once in a while it gets on my nerves now, too. I like to have things to do besides watching dramas, believe it or not. But I enjoy being home. I didn't used to like my town, but the older I get the more I do like it. I don't mind living in a small town, provided the education system is good. But then again, maybe I'll homeschool my kids. I'm debating that point. I don't know if I have the patience to have my kids home with me all day, or if I'll need to send them off to school just so I can regain my sanity. We'll see; that's a little ways off, anyway. It would be cool to teach my kids Euclid and Apollonius, though.

"There's no place like home, there's no place like home!"

image found here

And truly, there isn't any place like home. I've been home in good ol' Martin for about four days now, and it's been heavenly. The only detracting factor is that Heidi's in Chile while I'm home and Stephen can't afford to come home for the summer. (Actually, I can't either, but my parents paid. Wonder why they didn't pay for Stephen to come home? Maybe because he's getting a job out there? No idea.)

I love being home. Of course, I still fight with my siblings and go crazy when they run around the house acting like, well, kids; but it beats the heck outta living in the dorms. I'd rather put up with kid-noise than drunk people-noise. And then there's the fact that I can't sleep in with my dad insisting that everyone be up by 6 am. It's amazing how much more of a day you have when it starts at 6 am. On the other hand, it gets kind of tiring. But on the other hand, when I wake up in the morning I can have yummy, hot muffins made just for me by my amazing mommy. Or her amazing potato chowder for dinner.

All in all, being home is the best.

Still, I'm really psyched to be going to Korea in just a few weeks. Wooooohoooooo!

"Why can't you fly now, mother?" "Because I am grown up, dearest. When people grow up they forget the way." "Why do they forget the way?" "Because they are no longer gay and innocent and heartless. It is only the gay and innocent and heartless who can fly."

I've been thinking a lot about growing up lately.

I turn 24 this year, exactly four months from today, actually. 24 is a pretty grown up age. My mom was 24 when she got married. A friend of mine had two kids before she was 24. People have careers at 24. Keats was in his last year of life at 24. Mozart wrote symphonies before he was 24.

This week is the five-year anniversary of my graduation from high school. High school doesn't feel like it was the long ago. Middle school doesn't feel like it was that long ago. I remember the apartment I lived in when I was three years old. I remember the boy I had a crush on in second grade. I remember when my little sister and I used to lie awake in bed and giggle and make up silly stories and games. I remember when my family only had four kids. I remember when I felt so big and grown up because I was 12. And now I'm almost twice that age, and suddenly I don't feel so very grown up anymore.

I never could understand Peter Pan when I was younger. Why wouldn't you want to grow up? Grown ups are the ones who can do things! And why would you want a mother? Moms just nag you and make you make your bed and clean up your room and they never let you do what you want. I think I understand Peter Pan a little better now, on both points. Sometimes I wish I could go back. Not so that I could live my life over again, although I've done some pretty stupid things in my time that I'd like to take back; no, I think I'd like to be five again just so I can really appreciate it this time. It's good to be five. Everyone thinks you're cute, you're old enough to tie your own shoes and feed yourself, but no one expects you to do much more than that. Five-year-olds never feel insignificant, because everything is about them. When you're five, your biggest worry is that Christmas takes so long to get here, because your mom takes care of everything, all those things like bills and insurance and food and the mean kid at kindergarten.

You know, I think Peter Pan was on to something.

Mother

When I was thirteen, I thought my mom was the worst mom in the whole world. I was certain that she didn’t know anything at all, and what was with all this insisting that I do my chores, clean my room, and help around the house? Didn’t she know that was her job? I mean, what else are moms for, right? But somehow in the last decade, my mom has transformed into an almost-perfect mother. In fact, you might even call it miraculous.

I’m sure when my mother held me in her arms for the first time, twenty-four hours after her labor started, she couldn’t possibly have understood what the next twenty-four years would bring. Nineteen months after I came along, my first sibling made his appearance on the scene, to be followed by six more at irregular intervals. My dad was still finishing his undergraduate when I was born, and was working on his Masters degrees for the next three kids; we moved in between child number four and child number five, and then again between children six and seven. Child number eight, our last, was born during the first semester of my senior year of high school.

Some might question the wisdom of having eight children in such a world as this one is, but I will be forever grateful for a mother that had the courage to welcome each one of us into this world, to hold us and love us, and with our father, guide us through the many challenges that make up life. My mother has sacrificed – willingly – many things for our sake, from her career goals and her Masters degree to sleepless nights spent comforting sick children. She has given all her time, her effort, her attention, and most importantly, her heart to us.

Growing up I might not have had fancy toys or exotic vacations, and the only car I got on my sixteenth birthday was a Hot Wheels, but I had something much more precious: my mother’s unconditional love and support. I always knew that whatever mistake I made, whatever I did or didn’t do, however upset she was with me, she would always love me and want me to be happy. Sometimes I resented that, but she never gave in to my tantrums or sulks. Her constant patience and love, her continual effort to become a better woman and mother, has anchored me amidst the many difficult and confusing experiences of growing up. Whoever I have become in these last twenty-four years, whatever kind of mother I myself may become in the future, I owe it to my mom.

Dear Julia

Dear Julia,

I still remember how nice you were to me in eighth grade, when I'd just moved halfway across the country and come to rural Tennessee with a big chip on my shoulder and an attitude about being there. I was grateful for your friendship. And then, in high school, when we used to talk about movies and you made me watch Mulan Rouge and when I had to leave in the middle of it you made me come back later and watch the rest. Those moments hanging out with you are some of my best memories of high school.

But I think the moment you blessed me the most was one of your hardest moments. Do you remember the night you called me at like midnight a few months after your parents' divorce? I was so touched that you would think me a good enough friend to wake up in the middle of the night. That meant a lot to me, and I cherish your trust and friendship. I don't want you to suffer, but if you are, I hope you'll call me in the middle of the night again.

You are so strong to meet head on the challenges that are facing your family. You and they have been through more than anyone should ever have to go through, but you're strong, and I admire you for keeping your faith despite your trials. You have such a bright, lovely spirit -- I hope you never let the world tarnish it.

Love,
AnnMarie

Of Death, Dramas, and Doctrine

I've been watching this drama recently. Literally, the title translates to "Time of Dog and Wolf", which is a reference to a French proverb that I can't currently track down. It's supposed to be something to do with the ambiguity of the twilight and not knowing if the thing coming toward you is your friend the dog or a wolf that's going to eat you. But whatever. The thing is, it's been making me think. The plot isn't too terribly original, though the drama is good. It's a spy/revenge thriller, with a love triangle (of course) between the two adopted brothers and the childhood friend of the one brother who's orphaned and adopted by the other brother's family. (Hence why they're brothers.) What really got me thinking, however, is the whole theme of death and revenge.

 Lee Jun-ki as Lee Soo-hyun, Nam Sang-mi as Seo Ji-woo, and Jung Kyung-ho as Kang Min-ki

I know it's just a story, but I know that somewhere, someone -- a real someone -- is probably experiencing some kind of similar feelings. Their father, or mother, or sister, or maybe their entire family was killed for some senseless reason, and now they want revenge, thinking that it will make them feel better, or that it will somehow set things right.

The thing is, that never works. The desire for revenge inevitably does more damage to the one who harbors it than its intended target. It's like a corrosive acid that destroys people's lives from the inside out. Hate is like that. I think God commands us to love our neighbors not because He needs us to, but because that's the only way to live a sane life. Forgiveness is the only way we can truly live happy lives. But forgiving can be heart-wrenchingly difficult, especially for the innocent who have lots families, loved ones, or been brutally used by wicked people. True forgiveness takes a lot of faith in God, that He will set everything right in the end, faith that there's something more worthwhile than making that person pay in this life, faith that there is a next life in which everything will be made right. The same goes for the deaths of loved ones. Death can seem so senseless, and it can bring with it great and terrible despair when you don't have the context of Heavenly Father's plan for His children to give you perspective.

It's times like these that I am so grateful for the restored Gospel of Jesus Christ, for the knowledge that this life is not the end, that we can be together as families forever, for the knowledge that it will all turn out well in the end. I am so grateful to know that the Lord knows us and our suffering, and though He won't always take it away -- that would ultimately keep us from progressing and being able to become more like Him -- He will help us through it.