just updates and stuff

What you're about to read is just a bunch of Sara writing: not terribly eloquent, flawless or hilariously original, but decent, intelligent and lightly amusing.  Maybe even a little interesting, if you're curious about a girl whose current idea of heaven is a cozy Saturday morning and a killer bowl of oatmeal.

I'm living in the heart of Downtown Sacramento now.  I used to hate Downtown out of fear.  It overwhelmed me with things that don't exist in my small country town:  One way streets.  Traffic.  Diversity.  Street parking.  Hobos.  

I think my fascination for my new home is a reflection of a perspective expansion over the past year or so.  Heck, I spent 2 weeks running around Paris by myself this summer.  Remember that?  If you're connected to me via social media, you do... I shamelessly flooded you in my excitement.  (Sorry about that... but you know you can hide stories from appearing in the future.  I'm a huge advocate of that feature and it has smoothed my daily scrolling quite a bit).  (even though that's true, that was me being facetious).  I soaked up the lush trees, the architecture, the food (took an extra 8 lbs home with me, yeah I did), the chain-smoking leather-wearing musicians I traveled with and mooched off of thanks to my dear, talented friend Briana and hot damn it was all spectacular.

Fun fact: Sacramento is second only to Paris, France, in number of trees per capita in the world. 

Sure, there are some areas of Sacramento that I would never walk through.   No, I don't leave stuff in my car and yes, I lock my door.  Last weekend my roommate and I went on a jog to McKinley Park and had the time of our lives stopping at old houses and found the real life equivalent to a Munsters-meets-Adams Family mansion- we're talking the whole gothic, black and white shabang with gargoyle-like lion heads over each story, a completely dead yard surrounded by a high, locked iron gate, and old furniture visible in some of the windows.  This mansion quite honestly looks like what every haunted mansion and horror movie was ever inspired by and it was abandoned and AWESOME. 

We said goodbye to Grandma's House after a crazy succession of events that led 3 separate lives to come to the same conclusion at once: our current locations needed to change, and soon.  After 2 months of what I thought was doing the responsible thing and searching for my dream place EARLY, I STILL didn't get the keys to a place until - wait for it - 8:00PM the night before we were moving out of Grandma's House. So instead of taking my truckload of stuff home and storing it the garage until I was finished sleeping on people's couches, my parents re-routed straight to Downtown Sac and set up my stuff.  

The weekend before, when absolutely none of this Downtown Sac or new roommate stuff was in the air, I was in the physical act of moving my stuff into another apartment in Rocklin that I had found via roommates.com.  The roommate seemed nice enough but something just felt off.  I couldn't shake it.  After getting a spare key from her and an unusually weird exchange before she left, my sister and I stood there in "my" room and looked at each other.  

"Do you really wanna live here...?"  She said, eyebrow raised.  

"....No," I said, and froze.  I looked at the pile of lamps, pillow cases and junk lying on the floor.  "Let's get the heck outta here." Scooped up linens, scarves and randomness, trekked it back to the car it came from, and peaced out.  There was a napkin note on the table and a key shoved under the door jam.  (don't worry, she had a backup plan and I texted her later.  All is well).  

Posted a new roommate-wanted status on Facebook.  It worked.

After church, lunch and exploring Sacramento,  an old college friend I hadn't seen since freshman year and I decided we wanted the same things and hit Craigslist hard.  (I never want to set foot in that cutthroat renting community AGAIN).  6 days later we were signing a lease and 7 days later I was eating crackers on a bare living room floor and losing hours of my life to the black hole/vortex/purgatory/joke (take your pick) that is Comcast customer service. 

1 month later and we're laughing our heads off while Anne is under the sink like a kid playing with dad's garbage disposal tool as I'm frantically scooping hot, stinky water out of the sink before the running dishwasher causes it to overflow.  Evenings coming home are met with the smell of many trees and the killer southern BBQ place on the opposite corner.  Couples walk by dressed up and holding hands on their way to dinner, and I finally put water out for the poor stray cat that tries to sneak past me into my own home.  We're busy working jobs we love that are often exhausting, exploring a brand new community completely different from the similar worlds we grew up in, balancing relationships with friends and family, going out on the weekends and whacking each other upside the head when it becomes tempting to settle for guys who won't make up their minds.  The movie Perks of Being a Wallflower has a very telling quote: "We accept the love we think we deserve." Well ladies, if you're a Stella (plus or minus the daughter) and can't picture him pulling a Ted Mosby from season 3 episode 13, it's time to do an honest evaluation and revert to watching How I Met Your Mother on a Friday night if you have to.  

I'm teaching piano after work during the week, and singing 2nd soprano with Sac State's university choir at the moment.  It's been a way to keep my range ("use it or lose it" was a scary thing my voice teacher said to me after graduating), and I have to continue seeking new instruction.  I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, but I've finally figured out one thing: if I'm not singing somewhere, and playing piano somewhere, I experience depression and restlessness.  We all have something we need to do in some capacity, and I'm not finished my education in mine.  Until I've found the avenue for which God made it, I'll keep expanding on what I learned in college.  My old ear training teacher is putting serious pressure on me to audition for the soprano section leader position at his Episcopal church here in Downtown: "Explain something to me: WHY are you paying to sing?  You should be paid to sing." I suddenly questioned my entire existence.  What am I wearing today?  Should I even be drinking half-caf right now?  Milk was a bad choice.

I started teaching 3 kids who are being forced into piano lessons, which they advertised openly.  New experience.  You mean you're not STOKED to discover the world of music?  Do I have to make this fun for you?  You're gonna play the piano and you're gonna like it.  And you know what?  I daresay they've started to.  I've taught some stinkin cute and talented kids.  Yesterday's little Shubhika hummed along - in tune - while squinting in her effort to play it perfectly.  Somehow I'd forgotten that I used to do that same thing in my lessons with my very first teacher.  Then when Shubhika had finished her song and started playing random songs I knew she'd made up, the memory came back crystal clear that I used to do that also.  I told her to try to finish and memorize the songs she makes up so she can play them for me.  Then I got lost in thought.  Maybe I should go back to that.  What did my teachers think or see in their heads for me when they saw me singing along with my piano book songs and making stuff up that I would play for my 3rd grade class?  Wow, I actually did that?  Ha!  I just get so busy.  So, so busy.  Then again we all do, and always will.  We'll only get busier.  The time is now.  God and my mom's plan fulfilled, one day I'll be married.  Get a master's degree?!  I'm busy?  I don't even have a husband or kids yet.  Good lord, you're teaching a piano lesson right now and she just hit that C sharp again, snap out of it.

Thank you for reading! 

Remember that summer after graduation? Good times, am I right?!

I haven’t made friends with the lady whose suffering I caused by taking her parking spot yet.  See, my first facetious thought was “a car “full” of groceries? Well now!!  Are we talking a Geo Metro or a Hummer, here?” The car that now fills that spot every day is a Suburban.  Ok, ok.  Well my car could catch fire the next time it overheats so I win, lady.  I should park there next time and leave a note that says “Couldn’t risk overheating by driving 10 more feet to the overflow. Have a nice day.”

Among my growing list of notable setbacks this summer is the sudden dilapidation of my faithful Elaine.  Her health faltered one day and it’s been a noisy, downhill descent ever since, topped off one weekend by my dad walking inside and saying, “Well, put it this way. You might want to limit the valuables you keep in your car to ones you can take out fast. Like… inside your purse.”  So by the way, I know your passenger door won’t open again and it shimmies at 70mph like it’s gonna fall apart… but now it could catch on fire because oil is leaking onto the exhaust manifold.  But hey, the good news is that if it DOES burn to the ground, you will get more money from insurance than you would if you sold it. 

I asked, and throwing a match into the gas tank won’t count.

On the way down the driveway back to Rocklin, I said, “Bye! Pray it doesn’t blow up!”  Dad: “Nope! I’ll pray it does! Bye.” 

I’ll be honest, if I have to stand on the side of the road and watch her burn, I will probably cry a bit. A lot of growth has happened behind that steering wheel, which has also taken a lot of frustrated punches, heard a lot of prayers, one-sided conversations, really bad voice lesson practice, and my worst cussing. I’ve slid into that seat and thanked God many times for that car though.  May I never stop appreciating the freedom provided by having my own wheels.

10:00pm. It’s a cool, breezy night and I am restruck by a dormant dream from years ago.  It came back full force and I found myself up until early in the morning researching nannying jobs overseas.  The desire to travel and GO somewhere, see MORE, has been driving me so crazy that I’m now losing sleep over it.  Having no internet in my apartment is not the good thing I thought it would be- I should have known I would find a sweet spot in my bathroom that provides just enough connection to slowly gain information on living in Ireland, France, Italy or Australia… so here I am at 1:30 in the morning, perched on the toilet seat and balancing my laptop at the perfect angle off the windowsill to catch two bars of wifi.  I’d regain my sanity while waiting for a page to load, tell myself I was crazy and decide to go to bed- when the page would load and I’d be off to the races all over again. 

I’ve gotten serious inquiries from some families, and there’s no question it is something I want to do. In a wacky, silly part of my mind I’m afraid that if I wait too long, I’ll meet someone (aka a man), my plans will get skewed by emotions, and the desire will come back to haunt me years later when I'm tied down by such things as money and children.  Hahahahahahahahahaha. NOW’S THE TIME! GO WHILE I STILL HAVE THE FREEDOM! GO GO GO GO GO GO GOOOOO! Be gone! See Ireland. See France. Insert rhyme with underpants. Wait what?

What a lesson in trust this summer has been.  Now that I’m free and “real life” is beginning, I’m finding that I have to decide what my dreams really are, and what steps I’m going to physically take to make them happen.  I’m the type to hold my cards close to my chest if I’m not sure I can play them perfectly.  Yay perfectionism and fear of failure!

Also, be careful what you pray for. I asked God at the beginning of the summer to filter out parts of me that held me back or were not pleasing to Him.  Thus began the most frustrating month of my life. Yikes.  

Also, I leave you with this question.  What if the hokey pokey really is what it’s all about?

Post Grad, Pre Reality.

I always anticipated my last semester as being filled with much emotion and fanfare around every "last", drinking in every moment and investing in waterproof mascara for all those teary last practices, last lessons, last classes, last practice room visits as a student, last time using the faculty bathroom as a student, last time parking in the back 40 cause I'm a student, etc. Standing at the top of the ramp as time stands still, emotional music plays in the background and everyone moves in slow motion as a camera swoops down from a crane, focused on me, standing there, extremely self absorbed.

Maybe I was preoccupied with surviving day to day, but my last class went by as usual, with me in a chipper mood because I knew my doctored up caf coffee was coming. (I gave in on my last semester of college. I now drink coffee).  My last piano lesson passed by with me thanking Diana, as our own domestic goddess Gabrielle floated in with her plate of warm, homemade glory that can make any future and present housewife feel insecure.
My last chapel worship leading experience was my first time leading for everyone from behind an acoustic piano.  It came and went in an understated way.

I carried out my last semester of college in my first "official" relationship. I've already seen God use that experience. Sometimes when we submit our futures to God, a small, hidden part of us retains its grip in subconscious hopes that our submission will not require relinquishing something we don't want to.  Denying our emotions and following peace can mean pain.  But God gives us grace for every test of our obedience, and does not let us fall when we only seek to please Him.  What good are my words to Him if I only follow through when it is comfortable, even though He is only asking of me so that He may give more? I have to blindly trust.

Yet He has never broken a promise.

 Who am I if I don't keep mine to Him??  It's the least I can do.  I only stand to benefit.  He only asks so He may give.

I'm the one who thrives on getting to the next tangible goal, and carrying out a clear plan.  I can knock out a well organized to-do list like it's calorie-free cheesecake. Yet in two unexpected processes of having to recognize serious unrest in my heart and act on its confirmations, I find myself not just "free" in the sense of having graduated, but perhaps more "free" than my planning self expected, or would have liked.  I had quite a comfortable life waiting for me next fall in every sense. But I would have been emotionally and spiritually unfulfilled, having no time to devote to things I am passionate about.

Promise #1 that God comes through with, pronto: tithing. Having no solid job in my future, I tithed a higher amount than necessary last weekend, feeling God putting it on my heart. Not only did the exact amount appear as a gift, but that day I was offered a part time job for the exact number of days I plan to be home. Well HEY HEY. My name is Sara and I'm a volunteer calling you on behalf of Solano County Supervisor _______ in his reelection campaign, asking if he is receiving your support in this election. Yes, I'm the one making a political phone call to your house during dinner, and quite enjoying it- it's easy, pays decently, and if you give me attitude I'll find way too much joy in hanging up on YOU.  (after wishing you a great day). Oh HO! The tables can TUUUURN. (the only downside is occasionally calling a person who is crying due to losing a loved one... they hung up before I could even consider sounding like a lunatic and asking if they wanted someone to talk to... ugh. That part is really rough). :(

Sara's Rules of Cold Calls:

• Never assume gender. Even if its name is Michelle every time you check and the box says "F". 
• There is an ironically beautiful way to politely hang up first on a rude person.
• Bad words to mix up: "deficit" and "defecate" 
• If you wish them a great day, they don't win by saying "NO".  Just don't inform them.
• Don't drink soda.
• Don't giggle.
• Do NOT get the hiccups.
• DO change your name spur of the moment to whatever comes to mind. Animated characters, various fruits and small animals are preferable.
• DO leave messages in accents. Accuracy is irrelevant. 
• DO leave messages while in yoga poses.

To be continued.

Senior Recital.

(Wrote this on Saturday, March 31)
Just sitting here reflecting for the first time since Wednesday night.  For some reason I've been stuck in an out of body experience for the last 3 days, and even after wearing waterproof mascara in preparation for being emotional I felt nothing but adrenaline all night and a remaining high for the last 2 days of school before break.
Then all day today (Saturday) I was a worthless lump, finally crying looking back at the utter miracle Wednesday night was. Mascara wasn't waterproof.

Last week was scary and stressful for me, as I battled a really painful sickness/mystery issue in my throat, switching from losing my voice to coughing from deep in my lungs to not being able to breathe out my nose, and I can pinpoint the turnaround: it was the moment I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself and take control by praying.  Everything changed and from that next morning on, I had a weird peace that even tripped me out.  As days went on and the sickness eased up with each 8-hour night's sleep, I covered every aspect of that recital in prayer.  When the day came, I hadn't sang for a week, but was healthy, and was inundated with texts from people asking me, "How ya feelin... you ok?  Need anything?  You holding up?" It got to the point where I wondered if I was missing something and should be freaking out!  Did I need to take this more seriously? No, I was pretty sure I understood the gravity of a senior recital and the fact that mine was twice as long as normal, but despite the running around I had to do that day to prepare, I was calm!  I even remember saying "I feel fine! I don't understand why, but I do!"

  Something that my recital revealed to me was that whenever I have performed, I haven't gone into it with an intention to enjoy it.  I've entered with dread, leaving with relief.  It was always ruled by fear.  Yet part of me knew that no one had seen what I was capable of in voice lessons with just my teacher and myself, or at the piano in my private practice time.  When would I get a chance to truly share my work and abilities quite like this ever again?  I couldn't afford to be nervous this time. My piano teacher, Diana, put it in a way that helped my perspective.  She said, "We as performers can't be selfish enough to think it's about us.  It's about sharing with others.  Playing a piano piece is not about how well you play it, it's about how much the audience enjoys it and is inspired by it." "Let me share this piece with you."

  I knew a serious mind shift had to happen. It would require a move on God's part because I can't change that part of me on my own.  Hence all the prayer.
And hence the reason I found myself standing in front of 100 of my closest friends and family completely calm, and actually enjoying the process!  Lo and behold, every prayer down to the last detail was answered!

Yeah, it was totally surreal.  Now I know what it's like to feel 2 inches tall as a crowd full of love stands to its feet in applause just for you.  The thought ruling my mind at that moment was "Who have I become in the last few years?? When the heck did this happen?"  (How I wish I had recorded my first voice lesson in 2007, my first piano lesson, my first class, anything!) In addition, the love and support that radiated from these precious people absolutely rocked. my. world.  Not only was the crowd big, but it was full of people dear to me.  A person can only absorb so much before something cracks and I couldn't comprehend how so many people would come out just for me with such enthusiasm. I was so humbled.  None of it was me. If I had gone in there without God's gracious answer to every single prayer, it would have been a completely different recital. Much more boring. Much more nervous tension as I tried to keep it together and stop my knees from shaking.

There was one moment during that hour that the old me tried to creep back and I panicked, and of course it was during the Bach piece. (Johann! Being brilliant & dead won't stop me from calling you a butt). There have been a small handful of times in my life where I have distinctly heard a thought in my head that was not my own but was God's. It comes completely by surprise and usually hits me hard, leaving a very clear impression. This time when I started to get scared and distracted, (I went to the top of the piece to start over), I heard "I have you. You asked me to." And felt complete peace again. The rest of the piece came back to me and I finished strong, wishing I could cry with relief already.

I keep finding while I'm "growing up" that I magnify these milestones in my head, anticipating them as far-off, unattainable pictures in a frame. A different version of me will experience those far off experiences, I'm always sure, such as my first day of college. College graduation. Senior Recital. A relationship. Graduating college. Marriage. Etc. Yet as things come in their own time and happen the right way, (at least in my life), it's seamless and happens naturally.  I am always ready.  Here I am past the 5-year-anticipated senior recital. (There were times I considered changing my major in an effort to avoid it. Ha! Silly).

The other night when I was mulling over all the anxiety I'd had followed by the inexplicable peace leading up to and during my recital, God said something else: "Grab your Bible. Philippians 4:6-7." I had no idea what the verse would be. I guessed the one that says "Finally brothers..." but no, come to find out, that was verse 8.

6-7:
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus."

Well.  There lies my answer.  DUH.

23!?

Today, after church, once my Mom and I finished the egg scramble we made for lunch, I heard our elderly neighbor's voice through our screen door as she came through the gate my dad had built into our fence just for her.  She had come to get a few things from my mom and relay her latest shopping list needs.  I paused from my spot folding laundry to listen and watch as my mom told Marjorie to come in and sit at the kitchen table so she could get her bearings and they could visit.

While Marjorie slowly maneuvered the steps to the kitchen, Mom had leaned over and whispered to me that I should give her that last cupcake I'd brought home from Icing on the Cupcake, cause she was so lonely.  (and she loves rich food. When I'm that age, I'm eating whatever the heck I want too).  The 5 year old in me made huge, pathetic pouty eyes at my mom, silently alluding to the long history of treats and special foods that have mysteriously gone missing from our kitchen due to Mom's trips to Marjorie's.  I can't count how many times the phrase "DID MOM TAKE THE _______ TO MARJORIE?!?!?!"has been exclaimed from inside the pantry or the fridge.

Marjorie is a widow and for as long as we've lived here, she has lived alone next door.  We get lemons and oranges from her back yard, take her old newspapers when we have puppies, and my mom goes over there almost every day to have tea, bring groceries/medications/cleaning supplies, or to have my Dad or brother program the VCR or fix her sprinklers. When I lived at home she asked me to leave the windows open when I practiced piano. She would bring me Jane Austen books and newspaper clippings of Broadway shows coming to the area.

"I've got that written down, I knew you'd be out of english muffins." Mom was making a Costco trip today and was writing on Marjorie's section of her list. They talked about tea and sheets and Mom's daycare. Marjorie's unexpected nap this morning that threw her off and made her head foggy. Laughed about "kitty's" silly behavior yesterday.  When Mom had to leave, she asked me to walk Marjorie back and carry her tea, sheets, and the cupcake I had given her. (she was satisfyingly excited about it).  We strolled next door during what happened to be a sunny patch of the day, and her daughter was just pulling out of the driveway after also stopping by to take inventory and pick up necessities for her.  While we walked through her house and found places to put the sheets and tea, I looked around, absorbing what it would be like to have reached that point in life and spend every day alone, cleaning the house for no one but myself, cooking meals for just myself, and not caring if I slept the morning away today vs. tomorrow or the next day.  Where my biggest worry was the carpet cleaner that was coming by next Thursday and the big excitement of the day was Rose's 1 hour visit.  It's not a perspective that is presented often when I am immersed in a fast-paced college-age world that never sleeps and is swirling with where you're gonna go, what you're gonna accomplish, how much money you're gonna make doing it and who you're gonna marry, and then what you're gonna do tomorrow when that's finished.

I am always looking forward.  Unless I'm with someone in the car and enjoying their company, I'm an impatient driver. A fast walker by habit. (formed by always running late. ahem...) When I reached our front porch and it was still sunny, I sat down by a huge bush of flowers so I had something to watch while I sorted my thoughts and took advantage of the moment I had to sit and process, since I haven't even had time to journal.  The last thing Marjorie said when we said goodbye at her door was "Gosh, I have all these people taking care of me!"

At one end of the street I could look down and see the park where I kicked up every dandelion yesterday, and at the other end were kids selling fruit at the busy corner.  That loud, obnoxious bird in a yard down the street was screeching. I kept hearing, "Fresh fruit!! Fresh fr-" "AAAAACCKKK!" I don't know why you'd spend so much money to hear such a soul-shattering sound all day, folks, but I can probably tell you why that species is becoming endangered.

I thought of how I have no idea where I'll be at that age.  How suddenly the thought of being alone at that age terrified me. This might influence how I raise my family... "Measure your goodness to your kids by how good you want your nursing home to be," I basically told myself in more jumbled and thoughtful ways.
Marjorie is 87! I am so 23. So much is "coming" or "about to happen" that I'm always pushing ahead.  This afternoon was sobering, but beautiful and I appreciated being given the chance to reset my perspective. I love my school but I need to be around different age groups more often! :) Reality is not all about doing whatever I want and getting there in a cool car.

Cool. Welp, that's all!

Aren't Torn & Content Antonyms?

Tell me, how can someone love a place so deeply, yet be so restless it keeps them up at night?  I never imagined I could be so torn!  I don't understand myself.  But then when do we ever, right?  That's why some of us write.  Is my journal my psychologist?

I'm never able to predict the crazy places I find my heart in with each new turn of my college experience, this semester being no different.  Guess my surprise shouldn't surprise me.  I woke up to my last semester with a sudden awareness of not just how drastically I've changed in 5 years - blah blah, we know - but the value of that journey.  It ain't gonna do no one any good if I don't speak up.  (Sorry, I've been reading The Help.  They talk in accents).
Let me explain.
     I never have any idea of what the heck I'm doing and have no right to assume that I can benefit anyone else because I'm "better", but you know what I mean when I say God has planted something in my heart, brought me through a journey, and included a boldness and confidence to share that is in Him, and not myself.  So yes, I know for sure that He is calling me to pour into the girls I can with the precious time I have, because although I may stick around, opportunities will be different when I'm no longer a student.

Example:

It dawned on me that something I've rarely heard addressed or openly encouraged by girls and women in my immediate world is their physical purity and encouraging a culture of waiting.  Not just waiting to have sex until after marriage.  But the virtue and beauty of reserving one's heart and all that goes with that.   (Come on gals, we know our heart is tied to our physicality differently than a guy's!)

RELAX.  I'm not revving up to preach a "purity" message.
The truth growing deep in my heart that I want to do my part to stand for is an understanding of the sheer value of our hearts as women.  No matter how broken, no matter how much or how little is left of it, God's view of it has never changed and it is worth cultivating... and then worth waiting for a man who has done the same.

Yes, it's hard.  Um...really hard.  Virtue is not an easy path to choose.  Put it's possible.  We will all mess up to some degree, and have to start over.  His Grace... it truly knows no boundaries.

We need support, we need other men and women encouraging each other, and we need a deeper understanding of the beauty and value of our hearts.  That understanding is what changes everything.

So why not speak up about what we are passionate about instead of journaling or blogging about it?  How many people see my blog?  A handful plus my mom?  I'm starting to give God permission to open avenues for me, as a test, (always a risk... ha!) to see if this is an area He wants to use me to encourage girls around me and help set a standard.  I'm not sure how many of us are on the same page, or who needs support and someone to talk to, but let me know.  Talk to me and let's have coffee or something.

I may be torn between a love for my home and a desire to experience the world outside the only one I've known, but I've been strongly convicted of my investment in the lives of women where I currently am.  If you would like to visit, I'd be honored!

Bona Fide

In elementary school there were some specific, enviously womanly things I strived for that I saw in those girls who had it together.  We all know who I'm talking about. The chicks with smooth hair, or the perfect roundy bangs, cute clothes, (ahem: short-alls, butterfly hairclips and headbands, people), and everything in the store looked like it was made with those cute girls in mind anyways. I was chubby, had crooked teeth, and cow licks that defied gravity in a way Lady Gaga dreams to afford.

But oh, I knew that far off, surreal day would come when my assigned grow-up-fairy would wave her wand and I'd be one of them: straight, pearly white teeth, hair that landed itself into a smooth pony tail, bangs that reached for the sky and curved aaaallll the way back down to my eyebrows flawlessly, nail polish inside the lines of my right hand's nails, white shirts without stains, aaaand I'd be able to wash my hands without rolling up my sleeves first.  Only real, accomplished moms could do that.

I remember thinking "If I could just get braces.." cause my friends with braces made them look cool.  I'd be a bona fide teenager.  (teeeeeenaaager).
Then the magical day came.
Why oh WHY did they have to stick out like that and make my lips not fit my face?!  Smiling was always a gamble- you never knew when your lip would catch on that one metal-y spot and prevent your lips from closing after a smile/laugh/comment.  Attractive!
2 chewy food and candy-deprived years later, when I'd survived only by the knowledge that Movie Star Day was coming and they'd soon be off, I endured 2 solid hours of scraping, chiseling and shaving that resonated into my skull only to walk out with slimy-feeling, yellow teeth that hadn't seen the light of day under all that glue for 2 years.  Oh but they were straight.
(the next time you enviously judge one of us post-braces people, think of our story. It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. And chances are we're still paying for them).
I just knew that when the day came that I accomplished those important milestones, I would be a bona fide grown up woman.

All of this came to me one afternoon as I took preventative measures against spilling my water from my water bottle, and still watched myself dribble onto my shirt.  No amount of bendy straws or proper lid-screwing ever seems to spare me that shame.  My 23 year old self paints my right hand's nails and still thinks "Whoa! Check it out!  I can paint just the nails now!"  Sometimes as I'm throwing my hair into a pony tail and it all lands just right, (thank you, "Fine-textured" hair for always falling together; it's good for the polished look, but makes the awesome "messy look" really difficult. So backwards), I think "Hey. Hey. Lookit.  It's magic. It's called being grownup and I don't know when it happened but the grownup fairy came and now I can make ponytails."  The best, and least mature, is when I'm at a public restroom sink and watch the kid next to me shoooooving their sleeves to their armpits as I casually put my hands under the water.. arms fully sleeved.  And then I walk away.  Arms still fully sleeved.  Dry.

  I love learning about health and how to eat right.  I've spent many summer hours googling the health benefits of every food in our house.  But my childhood was one filled with suspiciously green smoothies in the mornings, forbidden from delicacies like Captain Crunch, Cocoa Puffs, and [God forbid] Reeses somethingerother.  ("Part of a balanced breakfast," my foot.  Only if the rest of the breakfast was raw vegetables and the kid happened to be dying from low blood sugar).  Try putting yourself in the mind of an 8 year old looking at a 12-oz cup of GREEN LIQUID. With lumps. LUMPS!  Worse, I had to finish mixing it myself!  Might as well make the condemned man hang his own noose.
     At "fruit break" at school, while other kids chilled on the playground with their gushers and fruit roll-ups wrapped around their thumbs, I broke out the raw carrots, boiled eggs and pickles.  Trading games never worked out too well for me.

     These days, I ruin my dinner with snacks on a regular basis. I get an odd amusement out of eating at non-regulated times of the day.  Orange juice with dinner?  YES.  Dessert before dinner?
Whoa, whoa. I still remember the day I did that for the first time, and the moment of choice I saw before me.  I literally paused to reflect on what I was doing before digging into the bowl.  My favorite thing to do, however, (mostly because I can hear the outside world gagging and shaking their heads at me) is... wait for it.... waaaaait for iiiiiit....... leftover sushi for breakfast.

You cold-leftover-pizza-for-breakfast peeps can take a hike! I got you beat.  Or maybe this just means I will be the weirdest pregnant eater ever.  Who would have thought as a kid that big grown ups think like this.  (others do too, right?)  If only I'd known!  If only I'd known.
I'm going to love being a mom.