The Evolution of a Straight-Laced Girl

I hate getting in trouble. 

When I started school, I was terrified of having my teachers get mad at me or (Gasp!) send me to the principal's office. I'm pretty sure I would have straight up died from the fear of having to face the principal, I was so scared of punishment. Because of this, I was pretty much the best student a teacher could hope for. I never talked when the teacher was speaking, and I sat at my desk looking ahead to the blackboard with my hands folded neatly in my lap. 

Breaking the rules never even entered my mind.

In second grade, I was heartbroken when my teacher, whom I really liked, yelled at me for sitting on my desk. I took it personally. Oh, and I almost puked at the reality of actually being yelled at. I was such a naive kid that when a classmate in third grade offered me ABC gum, which stood for Already-Been-Chewed, (although I didn't know that at the time), I quietly whispered, "I'll take some after class", because, you know, we couldn't chew gum in class. 

The kid looked at me like I was a nut case.

In fourth grade we had the "Card System", where everyone started with a green card for the day, and if you misbehaved once you would get a yellow card, as a warning. If you acted out again, you would receive a red card, which either got you detention, a visit with the principal, or some other horrible, life-ending result.

One day I was talking with a friend, and didn't hear the teacher calling the class back to order, and I guess she thought I was ignoring her, so she gave me a yellow card. I turned beat red, and had to contain myself from completely breaking down into a puddle of sobs. A yellow card?? I felt destroyed.

Thankfully I learned to loosen up over the next few years. I was still a quiet, well-behaved kid, but I didn't have a freaking heart attack every time a teacher looked at me the wrong way. 

By my senior year in high school, I was pretty much tired of school. Well, I was tired of high school, that is. Tired of the cliques, the drama, the immaturity of it all. I began taking college classes and only had to show up to high school for the last period every day. One day I got to school and saw that the last period was cancelled because the school was having a mandatory pep assembly. 

When I started high school I was all about pep assemblies - I would deck myself out, head to foot, in blue and white, our school colors. I would put ribbons in my hair and paint my nails and face. I would write "GO MAVERICKS" on my jeans and cheer as loud as I could at the assemblies. I was a glittery mess of school spirit. After three years of that though, I was pretty worn out and just didn't have it in me anymore. 

I was dreading going to the assembly when my friend Sara approached me and suggested we just skip out. 

Skip out? As in, ditch school? At first I was horrified by the idea. Only bad kids skipped school. But then I got to thinking. At that time I was in the, I'm 18 years old, I'm an adult, I can do whatever I want, stage of my life, (the one that parents just love, I'm sure). So I decided, what the heck. And we left. 

And it was THRILLING! As we sped out of the school parking lot, hoping the security guard didn't see us, and that no one would miss us, I couldn't help but wonder why I had never taken any chances before? Why had I lived my entire school career being so straight-laced, so by-the-book? 

That day changed me. From then on out I took a much more relaxed view toward school. The two classes I still attended at high school were Yearbook and Drama. When I felt that I had done enough work on the yearbook, I would just quietly slip out, leaving school 20 or 30 minutes early. And if I was in Drama, but I knew that I wasn't going to be asked to rehearse any scenes, I would escape through the back door of the theater which led, conveniently, right into the parking lot and to my car.

By the time I got to college I would sometimes opt for taking a nap rather than going to class. Don't worry, mom and dad, I didn't do that too often. And I only napped through unimportant classes like P.E., and that lame class on sociology that was taught by a drug addict who had mother issues. 

That dude is another story for another day. 

I still managed to graduate college a year early with honors, so I don't think I did any damage to my educational career by taking a few classes off here and there. It's funny for me to look back at the way I was when I started school, where if a teacher would raise their voice to me, I would practically pee myself. By the time I finished school I wasn't looking to be any teacher's pet, I just wanted that shiny degree that promised me a job that paid lots of money. 

So that's my story. And now I'm totally freaking out that my parents are going to yell at me for skipping classes. I hate getting in trouble.

Yum

It's weird how memories can suddenly pop into your head, seemingly out of nowhere.

I remember being on bed rest with Ryan, and having to go in to be checked out by my doctor, to make sure that labor had slowed down, and that hopefully Ryan would keep cooking for a few more days, if not weeks. Richard wouldn't be home for a couple more days, so my mom was going to drive Jacob and me to Everett for the appointment.

When you're pregnant, you get weighed every time you go to the doctor's office. I know, how cruel, right? Like it's not bad enough that you gain thirty pounds, but they want to remind you every time you're there. They lure you in with fun things, like ultrasounds and getting to hear the baby's heartbeat - Ah! But not so fast, my dear. First, you must step upon the evil scale, whose number gets bigger with each visit.

Because of this, I have my obstetrician visits down to a science. I always book them first thing in the morning, I wear the lightest outfit possible, which is usually a light summer dress (this outfit is seriously inconvenient in the winter months), and I don't eat or drink anything until the appointment is over. As you can imagine, by the time I get out of the doctor's office I am pretty much famished. In fact, the further I get into my pregnancies, the worse it is. Near the end, I have to start bringing a granola bar or some small snack that I can shove down my mouth just as soon as the weigh-in is over...and I do my best to ignore the strange looks I get from the nurse.

Anyways, so my mom was taking me to this doctor's appointment. As we were walking out the door I decided to grab a muffin from my freezer. Yes, I keep muffins in my freezer, they last longer that way. These were actually a unique kind of muffin, individually wrapped in clear plastic, and they are called "Vita Tops", because they are just the top part of a muffin and therefore, kind of flat. So I didn't really look, I just grabbed the muffin top that appeared to be the banana bread flavor.

I tried to schedule my doctor's visit early, but it ended up being like a 10am appointment, and since I had been awake since 7:30, I was pretty hungry by the time I finished. I raced out to the hallway, and as I waited for the elevator to arrive, I pulled out the muffin, tore open the plastic wrapper and took an enormous bite.

Hm.

Something...about this muffin...seems....off.

I pulled my hand back for a closer look. Turns out, in my haste, I hadn't grabbed the banana bread Vita Top. Instead, I had grabbed an individually wrapped frozen breaded chicken patty! YUM!

Or not. And while it had somewhat thawed, it was still pretty frozen in the middle. Oh, and it tasted nothing like a banana bread muffin. Oh, and it was absolutely disgusting.

Banana Nut Vita Top

Average frozen, breaded chicken patty.

I was horrified! I spit out the bite I had taken and threw the rest in the garbage can. Sure, there were some people sitting nearby giving me raised eyebrows, but pregnancy allows you the wonderful excuse of deciding that any food, on a moment's notice, can make you want to vomit until you dry-heave.

In hindsight, maybe I should have embraced the silver lining in this situation, and gone back to have the nurse re-weigh me after my little muffin mix-up.

Let this be a Lesson

We woke up to sun today. FINALLY! Summer actually seems to be here, thank the Lord. I was thisclose to filing a complaint with the man upstairs. He must have known that my complaint letters can get pretty long and wordy and scathing, and he probably just wanted to avoid that whole mess. He's a smart guy.

Since we haven't had a really sunny, warm day in awhile, I knew right away that I wanted to spend as much time outside with the boys as we could. We started the day off with a three mile walk down to the beach and back. It was glorious! I wore a spaghetti strap tank top, and soaked up all that sunshine as we walked.

After lunch, the boys and I headed back outside to play in their awesome pool. Unfortunately, I didn't get any pictures, but we had a BLAST! Ryan is like a fish, once he's in the pool, he stays put. He splashes all around in the water and is never ready to get out. Jacob went back and forth between the pool and the sprinkler. We would count to three then run through it, hand in hand. Jacob would scream at the top of his lungs as the cold water hit his tummy and face, but he wore a huge smile the entire time. It was awesome.

After all that play time, the boys were ready for a nap. As they slept, I went out on the back deck and sat in a lawn chair and just rested in the awesome sunshine for about twenty minutes.

I mean, look at this view. We couldn't resist playing outside in it.

And I didn't even edit the photo to make the water look more blue.

Well, about an hour ago I passed by a mirror, and caught a glimpse of my reflection.

And I didn't even edit the photo to make my burn look more red.

So, let this be a lesson: Wear sunscreen!

I'm gonna go apply some Aloe Vera.

Fourth of July

I have been both highly anticipating, and dreading this day.

From the day Richard left on deployment, I just felt that once we got to July 4th, I would feel better. I would feel that we had chipped away a good portion of this deployment (two months exactly), and that my spirits would be up and the end wouldn't seem so far away. Fortunately, this date has arrived quickly for both Richard and myself. I find it hard to believe that we are here already, but am thankful for it.

I have been dreading this day however, because this is what I have always thought was our family holiday. When Richard and I got married, with him being in the military, I pretty much told myself to prepare for him to miss big holidays, like Thanksgiving and Christmas, and to know that he wouldn't always be around on birthdays. But he has always been here on July 4th, and naively, I designated this day as our special family holiday, that we could always celebrate together. I know it doesn't make sense, but that's what I did. In fact, when we got the dates for this current deployment, my first thought was that he wouldn't be here for the Fourth. I was heartbroken.

I love to look at the pictures we have taken on the past few July 4th holidays, and look at how we have changed, and how our family has grown.

2007. Our first Fourth of July together, my Dad let Richard drive his Mustang, he almost crashed, and was afraid he would never see me again. We laughed it off though, and three days after this picture was taken, Richard proposed.

2008. Jacob's first Fourth of July, in our new home on Camano. It was so much fun celebrating as a family.

2009. Two kids, and a beautiful day where we made many fun memories.

2010. Just me and the boys this year. We miss Richard so much, but we couldn't be prouder of him and his service to our great country.

I keep telling myself that one year from now, Richard will be home, and we will get to celebrate together, with the boys. I will look back at this year's pictures and remember how much we missed him being here with us, but thankfully, it will be just a memory.

Tonight I will sit alone on our couch, watching the beautiful fireworks as they light up the night sky, missing my husband. Tomorrow morning though, I can wake up, with the 4th behind me, ready to move forward, finish out this deployment and get my husband home, where he belongs.