I wouldn't say I've completely gotten the hang of the whole painting concept, but it turned out WAY better than I thought it would. So... I guess that gives me the right to be proud of it. :) Plus I get to keep my art kit so I'll have plenty of practicing opportunities.
I jerked awake to a clatter. 2:00 in the morning. My sagging eyes glanced up in concern around my head where I heard the sound. My headboard was empty. My iHome was gone.
Confused, I turned my head, scanning for the silver object. It was on the floor next to my bed, upside down. I picked it up, set it back on my headboard, and realized something else was missing. I then found my iPod under my night stand and plugged it back in before pulling my sheets back over my shoulders and falling peacefully asleep.
My eyes opened. Beeping. What? My iHome was set to play my iPod in the morning rather than horrendous repetetive beeps. I stopped the noise and carefully studied the electronic box.
The jack where you plug in your iPod was bent. Dad tried to fix it, but it didn't help at all. My iHome was broken.
After a brief investigation we concluded I must have thrown my iHome on the floor in the night. It couldn't have fallen because it was pushed far back into my headboard. There was no other way. I wasn't happy with the results. Of course my most expensive possesion broke because I threw in on the floor in my sleep. I mean, come on! Worst. Luck. Ever.
I complained to my mother of my major misfortune and she said when I have the money, we'll split the price on a new iHome. At this point it looks like I need fifty dollars, and I only have twenty five. I have a ways to go.
1. Don't throw your iHome on the ground
2. Have more money saved up than twenty bucks
3. If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.
"Ansalee!" I panted while hurrying down the auditorium aisle, "I have a big problem."
And it was my big night. The night of my solo. I had always had problems talking in front of people let alone singing. I repeated my mother's words in my head. Miss Webster chose YOU. If you weren't a good singer, she wouldn't have chosen you. Don't worry about it.
"I've never sang into a microphone before."
Ansalee's eyes lit up with teaching opportunity. All that I have ever learned about solo performing was from her. "Okay... So you never hold the microphone under your chin, you always have it in front of your mouth," she coached, "And don't act scared. The audience can see that."
Soon we were on stage singing our fifth and last song of the perstepped up to the mic and it all just burst out of my mouth without a thought. "Wind that makes the tall trees bend into leaning..." I sang out loud and clear. I glanced up at the tech booth were my best friend sat controlling lights and the sound system. She jumped up and down, forming a heart with her hands. I smiled and finished my lines, trotting back to my place in the choir, finishing the song.
The second concert came. This concert I was singing in front of family, friends, and the entire Men's Choir. Luckily it was easier the second time. I stood tall at the microphone, and sang out my heart.
After the concert a boy from school chased me down. "Tessa, don't you EVER say you can't sing. Cause that was AMAZING." With a sudden boost to my self-esteem and plenty more compliments, I set off to find my family.
A big hug and flowers from my aunt, and Mom, Dad, and I were off to get frozen custard.
There's a big age gap in my family. You have Braden and I, then you have the "big kids", as we call them, at ages 23, 23, and 21. Sometimes this can be a good thing... but sometimes this can be a bad thing.
I have always been attached to one of my amazing older sisters, Kayla. When I was grounded when I was little, I used to cry out her name for her to come save me even though she never could. She painted my toenails, read me books before I went to bed, and even though we probably both complained about each other at times, I loved that girl to death.
A few months back I found myself in a very trying time. And one of the things that bothered me the most about it was that I wasn't even sure what happened, I just knew something wasn't right. I talked to so many different people, all with different advice. But the exact conversation that meant the most to me was the one I had with Kayla. She didn't just tell me to get over it and move on, but she helped me understand the situation, which was exactly what I needed. She related to me in such a personal way that I will never forget it.
I want to be there for her, too. I want to be able to comfort her and talk to her and give her advice. But I'm the baby sister, and I guess that's just not what they do.
Kayla has a been a mom for about three months. And in three months time you'd be surprised how much sisters can grow apart. I can't relate to having a baby that doesn't sleep through the night. I can't relate to paying bills or staying home all day or revolving around a child's eating schedule. She doesn't come over to our house to watch chick flicks with me or have girl talk. She comes over to be with someone who understands her-- Mom.
And I'm starting to feel like no matter how hard I try, I can't relate to Kayla. And without Kayla, I feel like there's no one else in this world who can relate to me.
My Studio Art class and I were on a field trip to the Carl Block Museum at BYU. Before starting our tour, we decided to grab a quick bite to eat.
We were running late with only about five minutes to stand in line, pay, eat, and get back to the front of the building. The first place I saw was an ice cream shop and I figured I shouldn't waste any more time wandering around.
I approached the counter to look up into the sparkly blue eyes of a young, blonde college boy. "What would you like today?" He asked with a sweet smile as he studied my face.
"One small sundae, please. Vanilla ice cream with caramel and fudge sauce," I smiled back at him.
He turned to his coworker, "How many scoops are in a small sundae?"
"One," she replied.
Two scoops went into my bowl.
The boy covered my ice cream with sauces with occasional glances my way. He held the bowl over the counter. "Do you want more than that?" His sideways flirtatious smile convinced me to say yes. He poured more and more sauce over the now massive sundae, finishing it off my topping the entire bowl with whipped cream.
We had a small exchange and as I was paying for my "small" sundae, his sideways smile came back. "Sooo, what classes did you have today?"
I shuffled my feet, "Well... I'm actually a Jr High student on a field trip with my Studio Art class."
The sparkle in his eye dulled, confused for a breif moment, "Oh," he smiled again, "Fun, what are you guys doing up here?"
"We're visiting the Carl Block museum."
"Have a nice day."
I collected my change and speed walked away, trying to finish my ice cream as fast as I could. Outside I finished the remains of the vanilla and had to throw away half a bowl full of caramel and fudge sauce due to lack of time.
I found one of my fellow classmatesand told her my romantic story of the nameless ice cream boy. She laughed, "He thought you were a college student, didn't he?" We laughed about it the rest of the way around the bend to join our class.
Saturday ended with a stuffy nose. Not too crazy, considering it is winter. But the next morning I woke up sicker, sleepier, and more annoyed than ever. My chest felt like it was being ripped apart and my throat even worse, so I opened a box of cereal and poured myself a bowl, much to the discontent of my younger brother.
"It's FAST SUNDAY! You can't eat!"
I opened my mouth and nothing came out. Not even a squeak. I soon gave up on talking and progressed in shaking the crumbs out of the bottom of the box.
"TESSAAAAAA!" Braden protested. He continued to yell disapprovingly as I got a piece of paper out and explained in writing that I didn't have to fast when sick.
Later my dad asked me the same thing, wondering why I had eaten breakfast. I scribbled "My throat kills" on a piece of paper only to see my dad raise an eyebrow.
"Kills? What does that even mean?" I shook my head. I guess Dad is just out of the loop, I thought and replaced the word with "hurts considerably".
When Mom came downstairs she asked if I could talk and I shook my head. She pressured me, "Say 'Good morning, mother.'"
My voice sounded like an old man on his death bed mixed with a mad scientist mixed with the grim reaper. "Ghouuogh--" I broke into a fit of coughing.
My mom was sick too and insisted I stay home. I didn't object and gathered all necessary items.
Tissues, remote control, slippers, and large trashcan for stashing the bajillions of tissues I o-so-gracefully emptied my nose into.
I even found myself with a new best friend.
Yep. There's Herman. I carried it around like a child carries a blanket so Janell gave it a name and even drew a family of faces on each side of the box.
The day was long and boring. Being Sunday, my mom and I decided not to watch TV and instead had a marathon of our series of pioneer movies. We practically took turns sleeping through each one.
I found my voice about five hours later, but it was off and on for hours. At the end of the day I took cough medicine and was out cold.
Last week I dug out my elementary school scrapbook, flipping through the pages and staring at the pictures. Now I've been thinking a lot on how much things have changed. It's crazy how much your life changes in just a short amount of time.
This is fourth grade. Back then I didn't judge myself on how I looked. I thought I was special because I drew cartoons, wrote stories, and sang in the shower. I defended my neighbor who was teased, watching him learn that others' thoughts weren't important to him. My friends and I all had nicknames and games we liked to play together. I knew who I was.
Sometimes nowadays I'm not completely sure. I feel sort of lost, like I'm not the little girl I used to be and I know it. I have many very different groups of friends and I wander around from one group to another. I feel like there isn't one place where I truely belong.
I've grown and changed a lot in four years, only to realize that isn't what matters most. Not how you look on the outside, but what is on the inside. Who you are, what you love.
It's days like today I miss that little freckle-faced fourth grader. The one that "woke up every morning smiling" and my mom says, and was tucked in my her daddy at night. The one that couldn't go to sleep without her stuffed dog, or crawled into her big sister's bed when she had a bad dream.
I want to find myself and my place in the world again. I'm grateful for opportunities like this to start over, even when life takes sudden turns that seems to lead you down an unknown path.
I'm glad I have my family surrounding me and making me smile on those crummier days. I'm grateful for my sisters-- so very different, but both always loving and always there for me.
There are those few people that have been there through every phase of my life, and there's nothing I love more than them. I've also learned that the end of one journey is the start of another. Wish me luck.
"I don't care how poor a man is; if he has family, he's rich." --Dan Wilcox
"Truely great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget."
"We are supposed to be happy, 'for men are that they might have joy.'"
"When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? To surrender dreams-- this may be madness; to see treasure where there is only trash. Too much sanity may be madness! But maddest of all-- to see life as it is and not what it should be."