The truth is, I miss you

I don't think a day goes by where something doesn't remind me of Kara.
Last night, the dude with the animals on Conan made me think of Todd.
There's Australia commercials on TV all the time.
I have pictures of Kara all over.
Every time I have a funny story, I start a new letter to her.
Every time I see something I know she'd want to see, I write it down.
And at the end of the week, I have a stack of letters that are all too old to mean anything if I send them.

Sometimes I'm afraid that she thinks I forget about her.
And sometimes I'd say it's true.
Not because I don't remember, but because sometimes when I just need her there
if I don't remember that she's so far away it's easier to not let it get me down.

Sometimes you just need your best friend
and the thought of just talking to her but not having her here hurts more than not talking to her at all sometimes.

Maybe I just need somebody to go on a slurpee run with.
Somebody named Kara Michelle.

I don't feel quite right.

Now and then these feet just take to wandering
Now and then I prop them up at home
Sometimes I think about the consequences
Sometimes I don't
I realize that falling down ain't graceful
But I thank the Lord that falling's full of grade
Sometimes I take my eyes off Jesus
And I know that's all it takes.

I wish that I could say that at the close of every day I was happy with the way that I'm behaving.

Because Job, he chased and answer
The wise men chased a child
Jacob chased her fourteen years and he captured Rachel's smile
Moses chased the promised land
Joseph chased a dream
David, he chased God's own heart
All I ever seem to chase is me

They say a race can only have one winner
And you know you have to pull out front to win
God knows the only time I'm winning
Is when I'm chasing him.

I wish that I could say that at the close of every day I was happy with the way that I'm behaving.

Samson chased a woman, and he chased the Philisties
I'm not quite sure what Jonah chased but I know he caught the sea
Cain, he chased the harvest
Abel chased the beast
David, he chased God's own heart
All I ever seem to chase is me

Jesus chased the money men
And he chased his father's will
He chased my sins to calvary
And he caught it on that hill
Saul, he chased the Christians
and his blindness made him see
David, he chased God's own heart
All I ever seem to chase is me.

I fell in love at the golf dome.

Yes, that's right. Love in a very unexpected and unusual place. The Golf dome at 5 mile and Haggerty. It happened in bay 22.
We had paid for bay 21 for an hour, and I was hitting my driver, trying to get my body to memorize my swing because I haven't been hitting the ball well lately. After about 30 or so swings, I started to hit it consistently. Drew, by this time, was getting tired of waiting so he had jumped on the bay next to us that was presently empty. When I put the driver away, he jumped over and started hitting off of our mat, so I moved over to bay 22 and said "Drew, I'm going to play around with your clubs."
His clubs are TaylorMade Rac LT2's, with a stiff steel shaft. They're much heavier than my Lynx Crystal Cat graphites. So I picked up his pitching wedge and started messing around. It took me a few swings to get used to the drastic weight change, but I was hitting them quite well.
But let's be honest, anyone can hit a pitching wedge. So I moved to an 8 iron. And consistently straight and long and low went the golf balls. I moved up to a 6 iron--a club that is (pardon the pun) hit or miss with me. Perfect. I decided that if I could hit his 5 iron (I have't hit my five iron well since freshman year of high school) I was converted. If I could describe to you how clean I consistently hit this club, you would want to learn how to irish dance. It was amazing. So I am in love with my brother's golf clubs. And they seem to be reciprocating.
Who needs a boy when there's golf?
Seriously.

My very first car accident.

and i no longer have a car

or the 6000 dollars that it cost.


but i do have a nice headache.
sucks.

I'm having a hard time sleeping.

And isn't that the heart of insightful posts?
Usually, yes. Tonight? Probably not. We'll see where the mind takes us.

I think I need to brush my teeth. I also feel the need to go run for three and a half hours. I feel the need to do something incredibly hard, to show me what it means to try. Sometimes I'm all too good at running away from things. It's what I do to responsibility. And difficult things. And even boys. I run away from it all. I'm running away from my job because I'm not happy. I'm not happy because it's too hard. It's too hard because it's not what teaching is supposed to be. But yet I know full well that there are probably 1 in every 6 teachers who are in my predicament. What's the point in graduating early if I can't handle the job? Why am I now suddenly deciding I want to major in physics? Is it from 3 and a half years of having none of it after 3 years of physics every day? Mom doesn't take me very seriously. Understandably so. I don't give her any reason to. I can't even keep my room clean.
I think one thing I am going to have to do is make a decision without asking or looking for approval. I have to decide where I'm going to go, and how I'm going to pay for it. If I sit back and wait for approval on every move I make, I'll never go anywhere because someone will always think I could have made a better one.

So the real question is: do I save the princess out of love, or obligation?

Does Mario put his life on the line day after day for the woman he loves? Or does he rescue her because it's simply his job? At the end of the day does he shake her hand and walk away? Or does he march boldly in and sweep her off her feet?

Do I go back and get my physics classes because it's really what I want to do? Or because I need a valid reason for quitting my job?

I guess it's really neither. Regardless of love or obligation, Mario puts himself out of the equation. He doesn't rescue the princess for himself. He does it for her. If it were for himself, he wouldn't be so selfless as to run head-on into biting botanicals or bullets with only the protection of a mushroom. That's not something you do to make yourself feel better. You do it because someone elses' life is more important than your own.

Whatever I end up doing, I can't do it because the end result is best for me, can I? I have to do what honors God most.

That sucks. Because I know that God knows that the kids where I teach now need me. And to some degree I need them. Let's be honest--I need them all the time.
Unfortunately I don't know how to deal with my Koopa Trooper. I don't have the fire power.
So do I daily sacrifice my sanity, my happiness, my patience, my time, and my health to serve 120 kids who aren't able to return the favor?
Would Mario quit just because he fell down a hole? No.

But I'm not a middle-aged portly Italian man, either. I don't even know anything about plumbing.

I'm in business for self-righteous excuse-making.

It doesn't pay very well.

Tales from Oklahoma

So Kali and I are driving from OKC to Tulsa this morning, and let me tell you it was quite an adventure.
The plan was that we were going to eat lunch in Tulsa at 1:30, so we decided to maximize eating time and minimize waiting time that we should leave around 11. It's about a 90 minute drive, so we figured we'd be early enough to help out a little, but late enough that we didn't have to die waiting for our delicious meal. My mom and Aunt Karen decided they were going to leave around 10:30 (sounds like their plan was somewhat similar to ours).
So 11:10 rolls around, and we're off! I was driving, because I like to drive. Kali was making bows out of ribbon in the passgenger seat.

So we're driving along and things are going well, and then all of the sudden THE BEST SONG EVER WRITTEN comes on the radio. "grrrrr-look at this photograph!" we both begin to belt out at the top of our lungs. This trip is turning out great! "hoowwrr did our eyes get so rrrred?" Oh man!
So we're in the middle of the last chorus (so we're making a huge production of it) and this white Sentra drives by while we're waving "grooood-bye-yi, grooood-bye-yi" along with the song. Let's just say I'll bet they nodded in understanding, saying in their heads "I'll bet they're listening to that kickin' song Photograph. Oh man, that song kicks."

So Kali and I have a jolly good laugh at the high-quality music we just experienced. You know, that song just never seems to get old. And by old, I mean good.

So we're driving, and all of a sudden this little 5 year old Creek or Mexican girl (we couldn't really tell) runs across the highway. We quickly (and by 'we' I mean 'I') slam on the brakes and after that short-lived drama passes, we're cruising on our way. We kept flipping stations, hoping to come across the Baywatch Theme Song, but the closest we came was this other song that wasn't really close at all.

We're driving on a little more--we're about 16 miles outside of Tulsa, and we run into a traffic jam. I decide to call mom (because they left before us) to ask if she had hit it and how long it would last. She answers the phone, and I ask her if they're still on the road or if they've gotten to Aunt Heidi's house yet. She said they were still on the road, and I asked where they were and she replies,"Oh, we're about 16 miles outside of Tulsa still." I asked her if she had hit the traffic jam, and she said they were just into it. I looked around and I see a red SUV 2 cars in front of us and I asked her "is there a white Sentra (yes our friends from before) behind you?" and she was like "YEAH!"
It was hilarious. Because we caught up to them.

So we drive through the traffic jam, and it comes that we're nearing my mom and Aunt in their car to pass them. I decide to roll down the windows so we can make faces at them, and all of the sudden Kali lurches forward and screams "NOT THE BOWS!" as the bows she was making start to slide from the dash. We quickly roll up the windows. Hilarity ensues.

We pass my mom. We're here at Aunt Heidi's. Food is not even close to ready. We're dying.

I'm hungry.

The end.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Why don't I feel anything yet?

And we already know, There's no cancer in Heaven.

Common Sense versus Consequence.

So I was talking with Jason, a five year old boy my mom babysits, and as I was unloading the dishwasher I was holding some steak knives. I said, "Hey Jason. I was thinking of starting a new hobby. Do you know what a hobby is?"
"No," he replied.
"It's something that you do in your free time. So my new hobby, I was thinking of taking up knife throwing. Do you think that's a good idea?"
"NOOOO!" he cried.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because you'll get a spanking from your mom," my mother interjects from the back room.

Now, I have a problem with that answer. I have a problem with teaching kids that we don't throw knives because if we do we get spanked. Quite honestly, a spanking should be the least of your concerns. The reason we don't throw knives is because it is dangerous. Somebody could get seroiusly hurt.

When I would take Cody (a three year old boy we babysit) to the store, I would ask him if he was buckeled in and he would reply "yep!" I would ask him if he knew why it was important to buckle up. He informed me that if you didn't buckle up, you'd get a ticket. I said, "true. But is there any other reason?"
He said, "so your mom doesn't yell at you!"

I don't think that raising our kids on consequence is the right idea. (Granted, I don't have children of my own--so I could very well not know what I'm talking about.) I think that it's okay for kids to know that 'this is a possible consequence for this action,' but for them to not realize the actual reason those consequences are in place is a shame.

Why will your mom spank you if you throw a knife? Not because throwing a knife merits a spanking, but rather because throwing a knife is dangerous.
Why will you get a ticket if you don't buckle your seatbelt? It's because too many people die as a result of not wearing seatbelts. We wear seatbelts because our lives are at stake. We wear seatbelts to keep us safe. Not so we don't get a ticket. To keep us safe.

My mom disagrees with me. She says that the number one reason we wear them is because God says to obey laws, and the law says to wear one. That doesn't make sense to me. Laws have a purpose. They're not just telling us to do things for no reason. The law is in place to KEEP PEOPLE SAFE. Yes, God tells us to obey laws--even if we don't agree with them. But I disagree that we do things under consequence of the law.

Maybe this is why my classroom is so chaotic sometimes. Because these kids are brought up in a world where consequence is the only reason to stay in order. They don't understand the reason the consequences exist. They don't understand that talking and throwing things around the room isn't wrong because "throwing paper is bad." It's wrong because it keeps their classmates from learning. It's hard to enforce rules when the first smallest consequence has to be the straight up call to parents, and the second one is suspension. Kids don't respond to lunch detentions or extra assignments. And once they've had one suspension, it doesn't scare them. They didn't actually learn any error to their ways. Because they are only looking at the consequence, rather than the reason it occurs.

I am going to change the world one of these days.
We've just got to hang in there.

Programable shampoo!? Sign me up!

So I was in the shower washing my hair and I started to read the shampoo bottle.
I don't know about anyone else, but I have the habbit of reading anything and everything whenever I am in the bathroom. Whether I'm on the pot or in the shower, or just simply waiting for my 60 seconds before I spit my Listerine, I'm reading the bottles, labels, golf magazines etc.
So I'm reading and the bottle says: "Dispenses just the right amount of moisture to every strand without weighing hair down!"
So let me get this straight. . .this shampoo can go to every single little strand of hair on my head and pinch out "just the right amount" of moisture!? That's awesome! I hope the maker of this shampoo is using his talent to help rain fall only on places that need it right then and there and to help just the right amount of deer shot during hunting season so that there aren't too many running around or too few to eliminate hunting altogether.
Maybe this person could work on making sure families have the perfect amount of children to feed, and money to go around, and also that hospitals don't get too full or supplies run short!
Just think of the possibilities!

I'm going to be honest, I've done some computer programming in my day. And what I learned from computer programming is that you have to account for every last instance that something might not go according to plan. For and Do loops for pages and pages, just in case the user enters something in ALL CAPS, or in case the double random generations of digits have the same 4th one. Everything that can go wrong isn't necessarily going to happen, but you've got to prepare for it. Computers can't think to adjust themselves.
But good greif--this shampoo can! AMAZING!

I wonder how they do the tests to make sure that hair got juuust the right amount of moisture? I mean, you can't have a control group, because the simple fact that every hair requires its own perfect amount of moisture means you can't compare two strands to each other because they're different. So when you take this strand after it's been perfectly moisturized, I wonder how you can know if it would have been moisturized just as well by something else. You can't. The opportunity has passed.
Therefore the shampoo can't get sacked for false advertising--they can't prove it.
Hmmm, very strategic.

I'm going to have to think about this some more while I go comb out my perfectly moisturized hair.

Since when are "ghetto" and "black people" synonymous?

Alright, I've lived in Livonia all my life, and I'm pretty aware that it is a city that lacks diversity. It's no secret that Livonia is like one of the whitest cities in the country and I'm fine with that. I never thought it was like that because citizens didn't allow black people in, or felt like there wasn't a place for people who aren't white. I was just always under the impression that there were just more white people in the city than any other race.
A lot of people in my high school and middle school were Asian and Indian. A few were African-American. But truth be told, there were just more white people.
Now, I guess that there's a proposal for a Wal-Mart to go in down at Middlebelt and Plymouth. Okay, first of all, there's one 1/2 mile north at Middlebelt just south of I-96. Why are they going to build another one right there? But I guess that's beside the point.
What got me was that there was a community of people who live right behind the place where the store will go who don't want a Wal-Mart there. They don't want a Wal-Mart there because they are afraid it will attract more black people and turn the area ghetto.

Please, please, please, people of Livonia--tell me this isn't true. Tell me that the people in the media are just making news. First of all, why is it okay to label Wal-Mart shoppers as ghetto? Secondly, why assume only black people shop there? Thirdly, why oh why make the correlation between a large african-american shopping population and something turning ghetto?

To be completely honest, Wonderland Mall (the mall that used to exist where the Wal-Mart might go up) was always considered the "ghetto mall" in the first place. Making it a Wal-Mart, or filling it with black shoppers isn't going to change its ghettocity.

So dear Livonia, I love you and your tall trees and wonderfully timed traffic lights and your highly achieving schools. But if you think that you are above diversity, GET A LIFE. And open your eyes.

That's going to leave a mark.

today i got hit and it really hurt a lot
and i feel stupid because it not only hurt me a lot
but it hurt my feelings
because i don't know why it even happened.

Oh Mother, will you ever learn?

My mother is currently looking at miniature schnausers online. You know, those dogs that are about as big as a shoebox and think they're as big as a volkswagen?
So this has prompted me to do some serious thinking about what I want in a dog.
There are a few rules for purchasing dogs. Okay, actually just one:
1) Must be lazy

This means that purchasing a 1)beagle; 2)lab; or 3)anything shorter than knee-height is completely one hundred percent against the rules.
Everybody knows that little dogs are yippy. They just yip and yap all day long. And there's (for some unknown reason) that crazy temptation to put bows in their hair. And certainly, anything with the word "miniature" in its name clearly isn't even a real dog--let along a whole one.

Dogs were not made to be yippy and carried around in little handbags. Dogs were made to saunter around slowly and plop to the floor in a pile of lazy, calm, gracefulness. Dogs weren't made to be walked on leashes or run around for hours in a yard. They were made to sit with you while you watch TV, cuddle in bed with you, lick your face in one swift movement with giant tongues. That's what dogs are for. They were made for petting and loafing with. Dogs should always be large enough to lay on without crushing. And they should always be lazy enough to be okay with being laid on.

So in summation:

This is NOT a dog.

THIS

is a dog.

Have Fun!

I've got reservations about so many things, but not about you.

So I was cleaning, and I came across my Andy binder.
I don't know if it's a bad thing that I have a chronological binder of our relationship. It's got letters, drawings, poems, IM conversations, e-mails... some good, some bad.

It's weird looking back on how much trust he put in me. And it's weird how much we confided in each other, and how well we knew each other. It's weird that things went so sour after there being so much depth.
Heh, oh well. We were just really young, and people don't stay young forever.

In a way, I became more immature after we broke up. But in so many more ways I grew up a lot.

I definitely forgot how much trust and communication goes into a relationship, though. Sometimes I think that I want to be in a relationship, but in the past 4 or so years I have never had anything close to the type of honest communication I had with Andy. I wonder how it ever even got to that point?

Hmmm. I'm happy I found that book. And I'm happy to have read through it again. I'm happy I'm not with Andy. And I'm happy that I don't have to see or talk to him ever again if I don't want to. Does that sound bitter? It wasn't supposed to.

And I always have Desk to listen to, as much as I want. :-D I love Desk! We were such an awesome band.

I do, however, wish I hadn't been such a jerk to Kyle. Because he was a great friend, and I miss him a whole lot.

And now I have to put this binder away and finish cleaning.
I'll leave you with a poem, courtesy of Andrew Scot Mascaro:

i should have been the classy boy,
crashing home the pixie crust.
awake and adjourned and relentless with amour,
aura strong with no need to face my fears.
i should have connected with the idiosyncrasies.
i should have eaten with the gods and punished my ignorance later.
i could have been shined up for the stories to tell, and hell to smile upon,
a rebel in perfect haze.

i should have been there in the fieldsduring summer,
the vacant black sky to brush us all with cool.
comfort.
i should have broken my indignant back for the slaves of the world.
i owe everything to the blue faced aliens of the futuristic past.
they've shown their bones to me, without ever looking back to theirs.
i should have felt your nerve tips quiver in the storms of my eyes.
i should have iced your lips and set your hair to solidify the air.
it could have been my heart bleeding recessively if i had opened my missed
army
arms.

i leak battery and incandescence, coated with fate, false, flour and fumes.
fiend in no light, retrospect respected fragmented dullness.
i could have been the leader and the glass bomb they all worship.
i should have saved my continues to myself and sucked in my inner ears.
could have spoken up.

i could have been thrice removed and unsure,
without but relentless in my annoyances at least
reasonable.
i should have been the ones in the fire, to teach me
something real about
pain.
rummaging the feelings, forgiving would have meant more than coincidence.
i could have risen above about the earth to serve a prelude to some unknown
mastership,
or at least something new.

but the additives and subtraction will prove something the dust can peruse,
and mistrust, and subjugate, and endure to love and fly and hold and comprise
the very virtues of hope.
i am a power cord to the metal frame of validity.
soft, old, glossy, warm, deep, starred, forgotten, forgetful, imminent, and
permanent.
savored, requested, distinguished, unwholesome, shaped, found, gone, giddy,and stone.
that which looks as fault only supports us in the unnatural institution ofour lives,
and only a porous rock floats in water.

Inspired by Ashley

Well, I've been a 6th grade math teacher at Michigan Technical Academy in Detroit for a week now, and it's going great. I got really sick on Friday, though, and hopefully I'll get over it by tomorrow.
Anyhow, there's a lot of stuff that I've learned in my 5 short days as a real grown up teacher, and college didn't prepare me for any of it.

1. African American children have naturally loud voices. If you want to be heard you have to get their attention first, and get them to stop talking. Which is not easy.

2. Learning names is not as difficult as I thought it would be.

3. Sometimes parents just don't care.

4. Putting an apostrophe at any random place in a name is completely acceptable--if not extremely common.

5. My students have no idea what Alternative music is.

6. I know NOTHING about Black American history.

7. Hands off the 'fro.

8. Hip Hop Artists convey a message in their music, while Rappers focus on negative things. (I didn't know this at all)

9. Gas is cheaper on 8-Mile.

10. Nigeria has a track team.*


*I had my students doing a scavenger hunt through expository text to develop content reading strategies, and they each had a different book. B'onca had a book on Nigeria and she called me over and said "I really like this book! I didn't know any of this stuff!" And she turned the page, and there was a picture of some athletes running on a track and she looks at me in awe and says, "They have their own a track team!? [pause and think] I wonder if they have a cheerleading squad!?" It was really funny.

Mal my Pal

I have this great friend and she's one of the best.
She doesn't compare with any of the rest.
Her hair is super curly but you'd never know
Because she wears it back so she's ready to go.
She's got three brothers who are all pretty neat
and when I come over there's always something to eat.
We spend every weekend at her house or mine
My mom pretends it annoys her, but we know she's fine.
We take silly pictures for hours on end
Mal my Pal and me, we're friends til the end.

it's 11:00pm

My bedtime is 10:30pm.
I succumbed to peer pressure and stayed up until 11.
And by peer pressure I mean Mallory laying on me while I was laying in my bed falling asleep.
I love you, Mal.
Now I sleep.

Oh man!

Thank you for all your encouragement, friends.

In other news:

How excited was I when I typed in www.olivianewtonjohn.com in hopes of possibly finding something i could use, and it turned out to be a real website! Oh man, you have no idea!

The Lord Moves in Mysterous Ways

So while I pull out my sunglasses, and attempt to start the band back up I'll tell you all my story.

So I've been planning my big move out to OKC for a while now. I'd lined up a place to stay and found myself a temporary job until I can find a teaching one, and I'm all set to move. Then my mom calls and asks if we can delay it a week because Niki got some free tickets and was coming up to Michigan for the weekend (and it wouldn't make sense to be down there moving in while she was up here visiting). So I said sure, and that was that.
So I get a call from my good friend Vic Bliss the Friday before the Monday I was originally planning to move and he told me that he had a teaching job and there might be a position open for me and to give him a call. I was pretty much set on moving to Oklahoma, but I called him back anyway--just because it seemed like he'd gone a little out of his way to let me know about this opportunity. We played phone tag for a bit, and the following week while I was packing we finally got in touch with one another and he said there was a 6th grade math position open at the building he got a job at and that I should get my stuff in asap!
I told a few people from church that this might be a possibility, and they were elated because they were all (selfishly--they'll admit it) praying that I wouldn't leave. I dropped off my things and called every other day to check on the job but I knew that I wasn't going to change my plans on a last minute whim. I figured if God wanted me to stay here, he'd make it obvious.
So Friday night Niki comes home and she was going to stay til Sunday, and then me and Mom were going to leave to drive to OKC on Monday. Friday I start feeling a tad under the weather, but nothing serious. Saturday I wake up, and my throat is sore and I'm not feeling very well. With increasing intensity I becoming moaningly-begrudgingly ill. I don't have health insurance so I just lay around and moan while I hope it passes. God sure has a funny way of intervening, doesn't he? Sunday a lady from church kindly called in an Rx for Penecilin for us because my mom classified my symptoms into the category of tonsilitis and an ear infection.
So after Saturday, Sunday, and Monday of not eating or drinking except for when I had to manage a swallow to take my pills; I finally started to choke down tablespoons of soup or cream of rice (because let's face it--I was starving). By Tuesday I could nearly talk again, so I called to check on the job. No response yet. By Thursday I was back to my normal self completely--golfing regularly and everything, so I called and was informed that the position had been filled. My mom asked me what I wanted to do, and I said I'd like to stay around here and look for a little bit--since in all fairness I started looking in Oklahoma without even trying to look here because I've heard nothing but how people can't find jobs.
I go online, and sure enough, there's a math position open in not just a Livonia School, but the one down the road from me and the principal knows all of my siblings, and our neighbors down the street very very well. I put in the App. and went out for dinnner with some friends.
Halfway through dinner I notice I have a voicemail, so I check it, and it's a message from a principal in Tulsa. She would be "very interested in speaking with" me. WHAT!?
I decide to stay here, and now I've got a call from the state that had been silent on me for two months? So friday morning, I wake up and go jogging, and when I get home my mom says "well, when it rains it pours." Vic had called me and said the position at the school was still open and the principal wanted to interview me that day. I returned my Tulsa call, and left a voicemail becaus the principal wasn't it. I faxed my resume and letters of recommendation to the school in Detroit and also called them. No answer, I left a message.
I went golfing and waited around, and neither called back. I even tried calling back on several occasions, but with no response. I was pretty bummed.
All of the sudden, around 6, the phone rings. It's the principal from Tulsa. She said, in not so many words, that there was a job for me if I would move to Tulsa to fill it. I asked her if I could call her back the next day so I could have a night to think it over. I talked with my mom, and thought about it for a while, and I started looking at apt. prices and after about an hour I made up my mind to go to Tulsa. I need to just be on my own, and I knew that God would bless me with whatever decision I chose to make. So I'm sitting in my room, thinking about just loading up my car on Monday and heading out. And the phone rings.
It's the principal from the school in Detroit. She said she just happened to wander into her office to check her voicemail and saw my resume and called me back in hopes I'd be available to interview the next (Saturday) morning. I said sure.
I went to the interview with the mindset that I would do my best, but that I already had a job in Tulsa for me. Well, I got offered the Detroit job, and I accepted it, and I start Tomorrow.
Talk about your soap opera story!
So the good news is that I have a job.
The good news is that God provides, even when you don't know what you need.
The good news is that blessings are falling and soaking them up is feeling pretty nice.

The good news is.

Can't Sleep. It's the pitts.

So I randomly (and I mean totally randomly) got a really bad (and by bad I mean uber painful) case of strep throat this weekend. It pretty much left me hungry and hurting, but I'm doing much better now. Amongst all of the TV watching I could fit in while I couldn't really do much else (except moan and say "ouch" because I'm kindof a wuss) I caught an interesting movie. I can't remember what it was called, but that's alright. It was pretty funny, but I couldn't laugh because it hurt too much. So I just watched it in as stoic of a mood as I could muster--all the while thinking "I always imagined Doris Day to be less 'normal' looking." (As it was my first Doris Day movie, so I'd never seen her before.)
Which brings me to my point:
Hypochondriacs.
Every once in a while I think I might be one. It's probably because I am such a wimp about being sick. It doesn't happen often, but I'll moan and groan with the best of them (cough cough my dad cough cough). I get the flu and have to throw up, I'm sitting in the bathroom crying at 2am while my mom is calling from her room, "Kari, go downstairs at least! We're trying to sleep!" Or I am laying on the couch with a high fever saying "shouldn't I be drinking more cold fluids?" and she'll respond with "take the tylenol and change your clothes when they get too sweaty." No mercy, seriously.
Sometimes, after I'm all better (which is usually only 1 or 2 days, because I suppose I'm resiliant) I think back on the experience and wonder if I couldn't have taken the pain without whining so much? Or maybe if it was only my imagination that it hurt so badly. I'm not sure. Probably.
So I guess what I have a hard time with is when people are constantly bringing up things that are wrong with them. Don't get me wrong, I care deeply about people. And I am also a good listener. But I don't give out pity very, um, generously. Maybe I get it from my mom, with her "suck it up" attitude when I'm sick. That's logical. But regardless, I have this horrible habbit of rolling my eyes at "poor me" people.
Now the occasional sob story is one thing, but you hypochondriacs drive me nuts! And the latest rage of hypochondraic is the kind of person who feeds off of misfortune. Not just illness related, but like pessimism gone terribly wrong.
I think I get frustrated with these people because I am a person who likes to fix things. Yes, I'm a great listener, but when you're done talking--whether you asked for it or not--I'm going to try to help you fix it.
You can't do that with hypochondriacs becasue they don't want to be fixed. They just want to be heard. I think the reason they always keep bringing up more and more things that are wrong is because every time you try to fix the first thing, it might mean you won't hear them anymore.

Okay, I'm out, because I just heard a really loud and abnormal noise inside my house and it's 2:30am so I have to go make sure everything is alright. That's a little scary.
I know,
I'll turn the lights on.

sometimes i really really dislike my parents.

I still get goosebumps just thinking about it

How incredible was it when Anakin and Padme got married (in Attack of the Clones) and the background music was the Darth Vader march. Ohhhh, if that isn't enough to send shivers down your spine.

Deep Thinking on the Herron Front

I think the highlight of my weekend was when my dad went to Kroger to get some potato salad on Sunday because we were grilling out, and he came home with one of those jell-o rings that you always see in the store, but have never actually seen anyone purchase.

Things I'm going to miss about Michigan

You might have to scroll down because I don't know why there's this huge gap there.

This is my friend Jill. We're pretty tight.	So tight, sometimes it's hard to fit both of us in the picture.
we're usually good at flossing
	sometimes we like to eat cake together.
occasionally it can get a little out of hand, though	(or out of mouth)

a story about a hero

i imagine it to be somewhat of a sunny day that we last walked down that road. it ended right at the river, where the locks were. there was a bridge over them, and to our left that you and i had walked across many times prior to that day. sometimes we would throw our un-popped kernals from our cracker jacks over into the water. you told me once that you swore the fish liked them. i never doubted you for a second. you knew your stuff. i never told you, but it was one of the main reasons i liked to walk with you every day. i always learned something new from you. every single day.do you remember that night that we ran down into the subway just to hear the man play his violin? there was nobody there, and surely, you said, that it was a shame that more people couldn't listen to this glorius music, as it would probably be able to cure many of the problems in the world. and then i fell and skinned my knee, and you had to carry me home.
there are times i remember sitting on that old rusty swing in the park with you. (you know, the one that we swore would break if we didn't take our shoes off first for fear they might be too heavy?) it was always nice sitting there by you. we'd feed the ducks and watch the people walk by. you always knew people. you knew everything about them before they had time to hide their thoughts. we'd sit there, and tell stories, and you'd smile. i always loved it when you smiled, because i knew that it wasn't just you smiling. it was like the whole sky and everything beautiful went into your smile and shone out your eyes and your fingertips, and even your toes. (it's probably a good thing we always took our shoes off, because they'd have probably not been able to hold in your radiance and i'm sure would have shattered into a million pieces under the pressure.)
growing up in forever together was something that i treasured with all my heart. i never really got inside of you, but it was okay because you were completely within myself. so no matter where i was, or where you were, we were always there, and always living. as many other lives as you saved, i knew you loved each one new, and each one more than anyone alive is capable of loving. once, i accidentally got jealous, because you were gone and i had made you your favorite dinner and you missed it. i sat and searched for my comfort, but when you got home you showed me my selfishness and kissed my forehead and calmed my heart. i know that a hero has many important things to do, and i realize that many people are in need of a hero besides myself. you've already made my life perfect. you just complete it by loving me more and more every day.
on occasion we would walk through the park and climb in the trees. you once showed me how to watch out for others. somehow you managed to catch me when i fell, only to smile and hold me right back up. we sat up there for one week and i watched you. i watched you think, and i watched you sleep, and i watched you ache and i watched you give. at the end of the week, you helped me down from the tree and we walked down the road to the river.
you must have known it would happen. you must have, i can not imagine you not knowing. i can not imagine you not knowing that that day we were to walk to the river would, indeed be our last. you must have known, when you told me you had to tell me something, that things were not going to turn out how you wanted them to. i can not imagine you not knowing that i was incorrectly thinking it would be just like any other day with you. shortly to be followed be another one, and another always, til the end of the world. i can't imagine how you must have felt knowing that that car wasn't going to stop. and i can't imagine how you must have fought with God when he told you to let me walk to your left. i can not imagine how much your heart ached to not be able tell me it didn't matter that my shoe was untied, because the river wouldn't mind my informalness.
but alas, i will never be able to walk with you again, as i am laying broken on the pavement. you saved my life, you know. just in time for me to be able to go home. that's why they call you a hero.
every once in a while, when the sun is going down, i watch you walk through the park to the tree we climbed together on so many occasions. i watch you, oh my broken-hearted warrior and i stay there right by your side always. i will always be behind you, carrying the pieces of your heart and holding them so tightly that none will ever be lost. you are complete within me, and i am now completely within you. therefore you are at last, complete within yourself, and although you walk the road to the locks with no one by your side, the path narrows over time, and you'll continue down it forever on and past eternity. that's why they call you a hero.

It's 3 am and your mom is crazy

I guess mid-life crises are hitting earlier and earlier these days. Either that, or I'm going to live to the ripe old age of 44.
Slowly but surely I'm getting things done, and I've had to make an extremely conscious effort (but I believe it will turn into a routine soon, so I'm not complaining) to have Jesus time before I do anything in the morning, and after I do everything before I go to sleep. Because even when I can't seem to give up everything to God to take control of, I can at least remind myself to do it on a daily basis. Sometimes I need to be reminded of things. Hey, what can I say....I'm only me.

And now I'd like to talk about something near and dear to my heart. Syncopation. You heard me, friends. I LOVE syncopation. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, it's when the upbeat gets the accent in a piece of music. Some classic examples are the line "so you can laugh all you want to" in Ben Folds' song Philosophy; that part in the bridge of Green Day's Church on Sunday; the high hat every other drum run in Wilco's I Am Trying to Break Your Heart; the song Jesus Christ Superstar depending on how you tap your foot....there's lots of it out there. Radiohead does it a lot, and so does Coldplay. Let's be honest, it's such a great thing that I'll bet most musicians know the trick. My favorite types of sycoptation aren't just when it occurs, however, but when you're listening to music while you're running and you actually have to do a stagger run because the beat changes. It's so great. I mean, if you're not careful you'll trip and fall, but with practice you can develop the skill to time it out.
Which brings me to my next point....golf.
Golf is a seemingly leisurely activity that slightly out of shape men play obsessively and watch through their eyelids better than any other televised or live activity known to man--including opera. I'm not kidding. My dad will be snoring in a chair with the golf channel on, and the second the channel changes he snorts awake with a muffled "hey! I was watching that!"
Anyway, so on Tuesdays I play on a golf league with a bunch of men and one other woman from my church. It's set up in match play, so you play best score per hole and there's like points for the person with the bigger handicap so it's a pretty fair match.
Now, here's a little background: I played for my highschool's golf team for 4 years, and I kinda floated by, keeping varsity rank but not really trying very hard. I didn't have a real drive (ha! drive!) to compete, and eh...whatever.
Okay, background check over. So, tonight I was playing Mrs. Bennett and I had to give her a stroke on every hole, and 2 on one. Which means if I wanted to beat her and she got a 6 on a hole, I'd have to par it because she gets that one stroke on me (which gives her a 5) and to beat that I have to get a 4. Which stinks, becasue I'm pretty good at bogey golf. So today I realized that I have become the comically ironic "competitive golfer." I smugly congratulated her good shots while in my head I was screaming "miss! miss! miss!" I hit every green (except for like 2 or 3) in regulation, but let's be honest--I'm awful at putting--so I struggled my way through a pretty decent round of 48. Pretty much a great score for me--but I left the course so frustrated because it wasn't good enough. So much for being a leisurely stroll with a stick in my hands and a ball at my feet.
Speaking of 48, my dad's 50th birthday is coming up. Which means my birthday is coming up. Which means Camp Indogan is coming up! I'll leave you all (and by you all I mean Ashley, Jared, Stephen and myself) with some fond memories of Camp Indogan.

Ahh, who could forget when the 'Yota reached her landmark 75000?

Sigh. Tear.

Or when these boys all stuffed pillows down their shirts and danced
to a Weird Al Yankovic song?

Or when this girl came to chapel withe the worse case of bedhead
known to man?

And banquet is the time where everyone puts on their
Sunday Best!

And we eat a good home-cooked meal fit for a camp full of kids!

Oh, Camp Indogan, how we love you!

My Parents Are Funny.

One would think that if something were really important to a person that he would be able to treat it like it was important. In all honesty, I have a hard time taking myself seriously. Be it a side effect of not many other people taking me seriously, or the root of the aforementioned; I can't muster up the will power in myself to do the things I'm supposed to be doing.
I guess if you want to get technical, it's not really up to me to determine what I'm "supposed to be doing," but I guess what I mean is that I can't seem to set and reach reasonable goals.
I can't create the courage in myself to speak assertively to people who take advantage of me. And I can't finish a project any sooner than an hour before it needs to be done, let alone start it much sooner. I don't take responsibility for my shortcomings, but rather try to find the loophole in the process so I can make it look like someone else's fault. Because it always is. I find times where I am sitting on the floor, not looking at anything in particular or even thinking about anything really, and hours will pass by and I will be unmoved. Those hours could have been spent in prayer, in scripture, cleaning, running, practicing my guitar, or any random piece of activity that is anything more productive than sitting on the floor. And yet while I ponder these alternatives to sitting, as I sit, I can't seem to move to do them.
Is this apathy? Is this laziness? Is this some sort of post-graduate slump that is medically recognized so I can have a loophole and not have to blame myself for my lack of..well...anything? I am a very organized person who has the messiest room and office you will ever see. I feel the need to always be on a schedule, and if I'm not than things won't get done. If I don't make a list of things to do and physically cross things off of my list to get them done, I will not do them. Plain and simple. And if I skip over something on my list, the entire list is now null and void and I am just as lost as I would have been had I not made the list in the first place. I can clean very well. However, if things are getting a little messy, I will say "I'm going to clean this on Monday," and those three days until Monday I will not bother to put anything away. What's the use? I'm going to tear it all up to clean it anyway, right? (That's how I clean, by the way. I have to destroy everything first so I can make sure that the organization of the room at the finale of the task has nothing out of order.) I have to rearrange things often, or I won't have an excuse to keep things neat. If I lived in my perfect world, I would have cereal, broccoli, hommus, and yogurt in my refigerator and not have to worry about anything else except the occasional pancake or two. I don't require variety, I require order. My life does not have order, and it leaves me feeling somewhat lost on occasion. Moving to Oklahoma is seemingly a "fly by the seat of my pants" operation, but I'm calculating Plan A, B, C, D, E, F, and G for what will happen if such and such doesn't work out. I took a drawing class in highschool and we had to do a drawing using a technique called pointalism where the entire picture is made up of black dots of various densities to create illusion of darker and lighter shades. I started my picture, which was to be my masterpiece, and much to my dismay I could not make those dots all the same. I couldn't keep my shades of dark consistent throughout and in portions of the picture where there were very few dots to create a white or grey piece of the puzzle I calculated and squinted and measured where I would put those few precious dots so as to not throw off the balance of the hue. Halfway through the picture the two week due date came rolling through and I could not bring myself to finish. I couldn't stand knowing that some of those dots were not where I wanted them to be, and I couldn't stand that my picture was not exactly calculated and perfect. So what did I do? I went home the night before the project and traced a bird and outlined it in dots. I got an A on the project, and it only took me an hour. I hated drawing class. Every single project, no matter what we drew, went the exact same way. I would look around the class at the other students' drawings and I couldn't understand how they could think what they drew looked like the bottle and grapes sitting on the table in front of them. I see no thick outline on the bottle, and there weren't 9 grapes, there were 14. And they weren't that size either. What is the point in trying to draw those objects if they're not going to look EXACTLY like the ones on the table!? I turned in 4, maybe 5 of the projects that we had to do in the class. I turned in the ones that met my expectations. I didn't turn in the ones that didn't. For an elective class, I didn't do very well--that's for sure. Actually, that's pretty much the story of my life. If something goes according to plan, I keep going. If it doesn't, I scrap it as if it had never started. If I start a Bible reading plan and for some reason miss a day (you know, due to sitting on the carpet doing nothing instead), I tend to look at it like I never started in the first place, so what's the point to keep going. I can't catch up. What is this daemon I've created in myself? Why do I know it's there and still not do anything about it? For fear of failure? Perseverance is the key. I've learned that ever since I was little. But perseverance goes hand in hand with stubbornness and that is something that I lack. Initiative. What's that? Obedience I'm pretty good at. Tell me what to do, how to do it, when and where to be...I'm all over that. If you put me in a group and tell me to "problem solve" I'll kick your butt. Or I'll create a plan and take charge of the group. Or better yet, break from the group and do all the work on my own. What am I missing? I'm not stupid. I know that I can't take control of everything. I know that God is in charge. I know that if I would ask him for help than He'd more than gladly give it to me. I know that when I learn his word and am in the Bible daily that things have a way of ironing themselves out--and even when they don't, he still holds my head afloat so long as I seek him and cling to him. I know all this stuff. I've been learning it since I was little. I've been reading about it, hearing about it, sharing it with other people--you name it. Yet my problem lies in the fact that I still find myself sitting on the floor. I don't think I'm prideful, and I'm not afraid to be humbled. I don't think I'm afraid to humble myself. I definitely am always talking to God, and being alone with him. So why am I not making the connection? What can I do to just give it all up? I make my lists upon endless lists, and no matter what order I put things on them, I can't find the proper balance of importance so I can start. Am I crazy? Tell me there are people out there who aren't institutionalized who can relate. Because the people who I meet who say "oh, I'm just like that with the list thing," have NO idea. They actually complete what's on their lists. Their rooms and desks are immaculate. I'm anal, only I'm still inside the colon. It's a mess. Sometimes I think that if I had some major crises that would force me into taking some sort of action that I'd be more successful. That I'd have some sort of motivation. That's why I'm such a procrastinator. The best pieces of writing I've ever handed in were the 20+ page papers written the night before they were due. I look back and read them now and wonder how I even got the knowledge to write them in the first place! That pressure and that stress push me to success. Right now I'm so in Limbo that I have no drive to do anything. What's my carrot? What sort of fire can be lit under my bum? I have all these things to do and I want to plan them out second by second, penny by penny, and there are just too many variables that I am left with either an empty page or twenty different pages of possible outcomes. Yet no plan of action. I would love to get married, but Lord help me if I ever have to plan a wedding.
And so what I want is advice. I need somebody to tell me what to do. And I don't think becoming an Orthodox Jew is my answer--although I'll bet I'd be good at it (aside from the whole Jesus is my Savior part). Yeah, it's nice when people listen and nod and blah blah blah, but seriously, tell me how to fix it and I'll do it! Point me to the Bible verse that will be my revelation and I'll paint it on my eyelids so I can see it in my sleep. Zap me with motivation so I can just do nothing but pray instead of sit. It's not like I'm asking you to do the work for me. Just begging you to tell me what to do! I'm smart enough to know what's reasonable and what's not, so I know better than to take everything at face value, but I don't learn anything when you just listen to me. I learn by listening to others. (Which suddenly makes me understand why I love classes that are lecture and hate ones where I have to do group work).
Ugh.

Beefing it up

I have finally come to grips with the fact that the Pistons lost game 7. It took me a while. A few tears, a couple shouts, several days of denial....but my dear sweet Pistons, your turn this year is over. You did well (off and on) and I'm proud of you.

In other news, Mom and Drewey are in the midst of their 2nd week in Honduras and I'm pretty sure they're doing fine. Mom's all over physical labor, and Drew can haul his oats when he needs to.

I got to spend yesterday with Jill, Corson, and Braden and that was a ton of fun. I am going to have as hard of a time leaving Corson as I did when Autumn left. They both were/are at that age where they know who I am now, but when displaced they're too young to remember. That hurts, because one of my favorite parts of life is when little kids learn who you are. When I go down to visit the Sharps, Connor remembers me, but Autumn only does from the last time I visited. So at least from moving down there, I'll gain that relationship back. But I'll lose my basketball-loving buddy. So when I come back and he's bigger he's not going to remember all of Drew's and my efforts to make sure he knew the starting lineup. It's a little sad for me.

But that's okay, because changes just need to take place sometimes. And change is good.

Collapsing Sandcastles.

Why can't I just be grateful for what I have? I have a job, a house that I don't have to pay for, I have food and clothes and parents who care for me. And so why do I need to move away so badly? Plans here in Oklahoma keep falling through and it's leaving me miserable. And I called my dad and he tried to explain to me that it's not my job to let people walk all over me and cancel things that I spend my own money on. And I don't know if I'm just being a sucker and letting my dad talk me out of things, or if I'm just being ungrateful and leaving for Oklahoma because it's what I want to do. But I've let myself be talked out of moving to Oklahoma since highschool. And every year I get a new opportunity that I let myself get talked out of to stay home. I really really really feel like I'm ready to move and I just want to start being idependant and things keep messing up. So should I just stay home again?
I'm so worn out. I don't know what to do. I just feel like I'm getting older and more tired the longer I stay at home and I'm getting worn out.
I just really don't know what to do.
If it was God's plan for me to be somewhere I'd know it, right? So how can I be so sure that I need to be in Oklahoma, but have everything blow up? How can I keep getting chances to come back every year, and when I finally decide to do it have it not work?
I'm so confused and frustrated, and frankly crushed.
I'm having a really difficult time discerning between parents who don't want to let go, and parents who aren't being supportive. I feel like it doesn't matter to them what I do with my life, as long as I'm living at home and helping out around the house as necessary.

And if I never remember anything else my parents told me, I will always make sure I remember whose child I am.

Mom and Drew (and a bunch of other Livonia people) are in Honduras right now. They are safe, and pray that they continue to be!
Daddy's at home all alone, because I'm in Oklahoma, so I hope he doesn't get too lonely. Usually when my mom's away and I'm home he always wants to go do stuff. And when it's late and we can't really go do anything he sortof paces around. I'm in Oklahoma until Saturday, so I wonder what he's doing with himself! Mom always says "you are definitely your father's daughter," and so he's most likely staying up late for no reason and eating ice cream. Maybe eagerly waiting to watch the Pistons tomorrow night.
I'm in Oklahoma, trying to get more job interviews but things are proving tricky with loss of Kali's car (it died earlier today) and lack of returned phone calls from Principals asking me to make sure I notified them when I was in town. God's definitely got a plan, though, and I'll fall into it wherever I fit.

PC is the latest trend.

Unfortunately it's completely un-PC.

The patient in room 7613 would like their medecine.
If you clearly know the gender of the patient, why would you just not use the correct pronoun so you can keep the singular identifier consistent with your pronoun?
Or there's
If your child needs to use their locker during classtime, know it's going to affect their citizenship grade.
It's like the teacher shortcut to a generic letter. UNfortunately, it's not "politically correct" to just select one or the other singular pronoun. And heaven forbid you have to write "his or her." That takes sooo much extra time! I've got an idea! Let's just send home a letter that's poorly written!

And there's the whole "we don't refer to black people as black people. It's not "politically correct." Well, what should we refer to them as? African American? Hmm, last time I checked, Africa isn't the only place where people have dark skin. And so what are white people then? Do we need to call them all Polish American? Because clearly Polish people are white. And therefore all white people must be Polish. SERIOUSLY, people, this is a problem. So when a black person is filling out a college application and it says to check the box for ethnic/racial makeup statistics and the options are "white," "African American," "Native American," "Asian," and "other" how accurate are the statistical makeup charts if the population is 5% Albanian, 35% Hatian-American, 5% African American, 5% Hispanic, 10% Asian, and 40% White and the school session begins and there's the same amount of black people as there are white? Oh, that 35% that you didn't know about are just "other" We only count African Americans in our statistics.

It's a problem that we try to avoid offending people by putting them into categories that sound a little more "professional" and sacrificing diversity and heritage at the same time. And with the "his/her" gender things, we're sacrificing our dignity as educated people. We learned how to make our subjects and pronouns agree in middle school, friends. Let's not sacrifice it just to save face (and keystrokes).

I guess I seem a little bitter, but I have a really hard time growing up sometimes being told that the Upper-Middle-Class White man is the enemy and is trying to take over the country. I will not be at fault for being white, and I will not be held accountable for people who might not be wealthy and just happen to be not white. That's not my fault. The best I can be is who God made me, and I will NEVER be told that it's not good enough. I'm sick of movie stars and other charity causes telling me what I need to do and who I need to give my money to. I'm sick of hearing speeches and reading articles about how the United States is a bully of a country and our President is a moron. I love my country, and I am blessed to be here. I love and support President Bush, even if he does or says something that I think maybe wasn't what I would do. What is the big deal with being politically correct, if it's not even living up to its name?
Politics and correctness sortof don't always go hand in hand. Politics is politics, unfortunately often correctness aside.

Ah, the fond memories of childhood..

Remember when I used to dress Awesome?

You know, when I was the queen of style?

Even little kids wanted to dress like me?


Well, it's time to reveal my secret.
All of my fashion genius when I was younger is attributed to my dear seester, Kali.

My fashion Guru.

We'll all float on, good news is on the way.

I shouldn't post things about my mom, even if I don't understand why she does some things.
I know better than that.

I love my mother, and she's just as perfect as any other person out there. If not even just a tiny bit more.

Don't you think it would be nice if you'd stop living life through your kids?

I really really don't understand why my mom just picks fights for no reason. And I really don't understand why she wakes up, gets out of bed, and comes downstairs just to do it. I guess it might make a little sense if it was about something like a messy room or not picking up after ourselves...but to wake up, stomp downstairs to yell at Drew for not telling her earlier that he forgot his colored pencils in his locker is a little unnecessary. Right?
I'm thinking...okay, so Drew's project isn't finished. He should have remembered his pencils so he could get it done early rather than finish it during class (which is designated for students to finish their projects, by the way). Maybe he should have been working on it earlier, so he could have found out earlier so maybe she could have gotten him more pencils? Is the principle she's trying to hang on to that he should have been working on it earlier? I guess that could make sense, but it hardly merits waking up, trudging downstairs and raising her voice. It's not her project anyway. It's his. If he doesn't get a good grade it's not a reflection on her--it's on him.
I guess I will never understand why it always seems to matter more to the parent than the student what the "grade" is. Parents don't seem to understand that it's not the grade that counts. It's the learning. If you slack and get a bad grade--suck it up. It's what you earned.
Parents get so caught up in whether or not their children will graduate with honors that many will even lie to get grades changed. I will say that students who want those honors will work for them. Effort doesn't go unnoticed. Unfortunately, forcing it upon your children doesn't make them want to try harder. And in many cases, when that success is acheived, the parents take the credit. I mean, it's great to have parents actively involved in their child's education, but seriously. Let your kids make their choices.
And for goodness sakes, don't feel like you've got to be in control so much that you wake up from sleep to go make sure your child realizes that You're the Parent.
We already know, thanks.
That's why we honor and obey even when you're not making sense.
We know.
You raised us well.
You don't have to remind us constantly that you're the boss while we sit and silently wait for you to finish.
That's why we take you shopping to get your input on clothes we wear.
That's why we smile and eat your meat loaf even though the very idea of a "meat loaf" is the most undesireable dish ever invented.
We love and respect you already.
We know you're older and wiser and have been through it all.
We know that you learned the hard way to not procrastinate.
We appreciate that you try very hard to not let us make similar mistakes that you did.
However, it's not going to keep us from making them.

I can't convince you that fried bologna with peanut butter is delicious, no matter how many times I've eaten and enjoyed it. You have to taste it for yourself or you'll never believe it.



In other news:

Go Pistons! :-D

Although I will say I get a little offended when they refer to Darko as the "Human Victory Cigar." That's unkind.

Just keep the faith that your ship will come in

Dear Pistons,

You're killing me!

Love, Kari

in other news:

I was thinking about my dad on the drive home from the OK state of Oklahoma and as I'm quite sure many are aware that I admire my father quite. So I was remembering a time when he was pretty ticked at Kali, and it was the same day that our church was doing the sendoff for the seniors. The parents of the seniors write their child a letter and the elders read it. Dad was pretty ticked and didn't want to write the letter, but mom made him. And then at church, they decided that instead of having the elders read it, that they would make the parents read them. So my dad goes up to the front and starts reading. He starts out by saying that it was a difficult letter to write--for more reasons than one--and he read on. But I remember very distinctly his voice starting to break and his hands begin to shake. He stopped to take a breath, and read on. Slowly and broken, his eyes glistening. To date, this is the 2nd time I've ever seen my dad cry. Through the tears welling up in my own eyes I looked around at the rest of the people in the auditorium, and many of them were sniffling, wiping their noses, or unabashedly letting the tears fall.
So I was thinking about Jesus. And you know that one part in the Bible where it says that he wept? You know, over Lazarus? I was thinking about it today; and if the tears of just a normal man's heart breaking can bring an entire room full of people to feel just a shadow of that heartbreak, I wonder if entire towns and trees and mountains didn't fall to the ground when Jesus wept. Our Lord's heart was so broken that he wept, and I can't imagine how it would feel to just feel a shadow of it. It was hard enough to see my dad cry.

Drop it like it's hot. And if it's a pancake, pick it up quick!

Wouldn't want to waste a precious pancake.

In other news:

I had my first job interview today. I interviewed for a 2nd grade teaching position in an "at risk" school in a suburb of Oklahoma City. The principal explained to me that 100% of the population of the school lives in poverty, and that the lives that the kids live at home are things that I wouldn't even be able to dream up. (Doesn't sound like very plesant dreams, nonetheless.) So the biggest part of me is so excited. I want to be a teacher to teach children. I want them to learn not just school things, but how to be good people in the world. I want them to want to come to school, and love reading and love math, and have adults in their lives that they can trust. I want them to have a teacher who isn't in it for the summer vacation--because that's not fair.
And then the logical part of me knows that I've grown up in upper-middle-class white suburbia, where the schools are all wealty. The schools are wealthy and the teachers still didn't always want to be there. What makes me think that when I have to spend hundreds of dollars on my own teaching materials, have 2nd graders calling me bad words all day and most significantly leave my comfort zone that I'll actually love my job enough to keep going back to it? I want to love my job soo much. That's why I want to teach. Because it's something that I could see myself doing every day until I'm like 70. I think there's a little part of me that is afraid that if I teach in a school where children are poorly behaved that I won't want to do it forever.
But the bigger part of me knows that God gave me this borderline-annoying enthusiasm because he needed me to use it. So I guess now we just sit back and wait for the decision--and hopefully more offers just in case.

It feels pretty soft to me.

If life's not beautiful without the pain, well than I would rather never ever even see beauty again

That's a line from a song that I really really like. And It's my favorite line. But I don't think I think like that. So why it's my favorite line of the song, I couldn't tell you.

I had a boyfriend once, when I was in high school and my first year of college. He didn't treat me terribly well sometimes. (In all fairness, I probably wasn't as nice as I should have been to him.) But last night I dreamed about him, and I don' t think I like it when that happens, becasue it sortof scares me that I dream about being happy with somebody who made me so sad for so long.

So I think that saying you'd rather never see beauty again if it meant that you wouldn't have any more pain is kindof like selling your soul to the Devil in a way. Like cutting a deal. Being pain free isn't a good deal, in my opinion. Because it kindof reminds me of being calloused.
So maybe if I gave up everything ever that was beautiful, only so I couldn't ever feel pain again I would probably be missing out on more than just being hurt. God is beautiful, and Love is beautiful. Grass and bears and cake and moms and babies. Those are all beauty. Can you imagine how dull your life would be i you couldn't feel anything? I imagine it would be pretty empty.

Maybe it's my favorite line because it reminds me that life is beautiful, and that pain is something we need to happen so we can keep the rest of our senses in tact.

On Stories

Every good once in a while, there is a book that I will read that will be written in such a lovely way that my heart burns with each word. There's this feeling I get sometimes when I read, and it litterally feels like my heart is melting in my chest, while pounding with such force that my breath is just taken away. Some authors just have a way with words, and eloquent speech that I can't help but hold my breath as I imagine the scene unfolding in my mind.
I'm working on writing a book called Index Card Stories and I can only hope that just one of them will make any reader feel this for just one second, because I think it is something that every writer should strive for, but very few actually achieve.

My two favorite authors who do this consistently well are Fyodor Dostoevsky and C.S. Lewis.

If you have never read anything by Fyodor Dostoevsky, I would encourage you to read The Heavenly Christmas Tree. If you don't know what I'm talking about with the heart stopping breath stealing literature, I feel like this might give you a taste of it. And if you'd like a big gulp, read The Brothers Karamazov. It is, by far, my very favorite book I've ever read. Ever.

And as for C.S. Lewis...I've read quite a bit of his writing, but the experience I remember most vividly is from The Magician's Nephew (The first in the Chronicles of Narnia). I think this is mostly because when Aslan is introduced, during the creation of Narnia, it talks about him just walking. Step by step, across the land, as it swelled up and burst out new life.
I don't know if I can explain this well, but I want you to try to close your eyes and sortof tense up your jaw, pushing your lower jaw and tongue up toward the roof of your mouth. It should make a "whoosh" sound that you can only hear in your head. Just a small swish, or if you will, like the sound of a footstep.
When I was very young (like 3 or 4 years old) I used to do this a lot, only I never realized that I was making that sound myself. And I would hide from it because I was sure that a lion was slowly walking down the hall with every swoosh sound I heart. Very rhythmic and smootly, walking closer and closer. And the more nervous I would get, the more tense I would become, and the louder the sound would be in my head. Which made me feel like the lion was coming closer with every step.
I'm not sure what made me grow out of this, or why I even thought it was a lion in the first place, but I grew out of it and lived a pretty normal childhood. No worries.
Anyway, so when I was 17 I started reading the Chronicles of Narnia, and the chapter where it introduces Aslan, and it describes him just walking--silently, closer and closer--filled me with so much peace. Mainly because I immediately made the parallel from Aslan to God. And I'd have to say that not many things can compare to the way I feel everytime I read the Creation Account of Narnia, because I can put myself there. I can hear the sounds, feal the fear and peace simultaneously and I love it.

I hope that every person has at least one book, or part of a book that will create that feeling. Because once you experience it, reading becomes an adventure. And from those adventures come our future authors.

Me and Napoleon are headed for our one year anniversary. It's really exciting. You can send us gifts or money--I won't be offended. Maybe even a little card.

Something I just realized

I don't think that moms actually want your opinion when they say, "what do you think?"

Keep your mouth shut Kari!

I'd not be too happy if I was allergic to Dogs.

I think that there is one incident from my childhood that I remember with such complete clarity, and while many memories fill my mind and often there's mostly always a trigger that will make them come. However, the one thing that I do the most often--blowing my nose-- happens to be a trigger for this particular memory so I don't think I'll ever completely forget about it. (Sorry about that segment, all you English proffessors out there.)
Take me back, foggy memory screen......
It was my very first day in my brand new school in 2nd grade. Oh, that would have made it...1990? My class had 72 students in it, and two teachers. We made up grades 1 and 2. This 1st grade girl sat next to me, she had on dark turqoise stirrup pants (remember those?), a green and purple sweater with hearts on it, and a tall cone-shaped dark green princess hat with a pink scarfy thing hanging from it. It must have been some sort of dress up day, and I didn't get the memo because I remember feeling embarassed that I was just wearing one of my sweet hand-me-down outfits from when my cousin (who is 2 years older than me) wore it. So anyway, I sat to the left of this girl, and she covered her mouth and coughed. I very clearly remember her coughing up a green blob of snot, and without even thinking twice about it licking it up while her hands were still covering her mouth--if she'd done a better job, I think she would have sucessfully hidden the act. I remember thinking to myself, "self, why would she not just close her hand up and get up and get a kleenex?" And so now, to this day, whenever I blow my nose, I am reminded of this story. And I've got baaaad year-round allergies, so that's a lot.
Now, you're probably trying to find value in that little antecdote, and I assure you there is some. Somewhere. Maybe.....when life hands you mucus, lick it up. I mean, wipe it off.

Now, speaking of stirrup pants, I was golfing with my dad and brother today and I noticed something. I noticed that when I hit my driver poorly, I always think, "Man, I could have hit a 7-iron perfectly (because that is a club I typically hit well) and it would have gone farther than that." But then there are the times when I hit the driver juuust perfecly I can milk 220 yards out of it. And then I realize that no other club in my bag can even compare to that. So it makes me wonder if it's worth the risk to pull out a driver at most tees. I mean, there's always the chance (like 1 in 5 or so) that I will slam it. But there's always the other 4 shots that I could have hit another more comfortable club for a better shot.
So how does this relate to life? I think it all depends on what you want to take out of risks you make. It's easy to always play it safe--because you'll always wind out in the positive. I could easily play 9 holes with a 9-iron and a putter and score a 45. Three to four short shots to the green, a putt or two--it's the perfect plan. Or...I could take an entire bag of clubs and shoot a 49, or a 52, or on bad days a 61. But then there's those days where I make those long drives and come out with a 39. I know it's only a golf score, but why walk away with a 45 when I know I could have gotten a 39...maybe. Sometimes when I run a workout, I slack off and don't push my hardest--especially on speed workouts. But when I'm all done, and I'm not breathing hard or being tired I think, "I really could have pushed harder."
So maybe sometimes the road with the most reward (intrinsic or tangeable) is the more rocky one. Maybe it's the one with more ups and downs and twists and turns. Maybe the road to the prize is narrow....this is sounding familiar....
Last January I ran a marathon. It was my first one ever, and my goal was just to finish. I was training, and it was winter and cold and rainy and sleeting in my face and cutting my cheeks and I'd quite frequently consider just stopping and walking...or going to the bathroom at the next gas station for a chance to take a break. But the awful truth of the matter is that no one ever finished a marathon by stopping. And it's true. My theme marathon training verse was Philipians 3:14. Even though I'm not so sure that God had a prize waiting for me at the end of the marathon, it made me remember that sometimes things are hard. And sometimes you want to take a break, or take the easy way out, or mooch gas money off of dad even though you've been blessed with enough of your own.
Sure God gave me life, and Christ died for my sins--but that doesn't mean I'm home free. Nothing is free. Even a 39 in golf.

on independence

Out of the three older children in my family, I'm not quite like the other 2. My oldest sister has always been very driven, and she went to college in Oklahoma and graduated and moved to Tulsa. She has he own place and her own job and takes care of herself quite well. She bought her own car and all of that stuff that goes along with being an idependent adult.

My younger sister also went to college in Oklahoma, and she lives in an apartment and has two jobs, her own car, and pays bills and all of those things a responsible adult does.

And then there's me. I live at home, drive a family car, don't pay rent or any other significant form of a bill, and I have decided that it's time to leave the nest and jump out into the world. I graduated college, that was a big step. I've got a full time job at a hospital, and substitute teach when I can. But right now I'm trying to move to Oklahoma to be with my sisters and get a teaching job down there. It's really hard, though, because there are a lot of things that I don't know how to cover. I don't know how to fill out applications if my teaching certificate is still waiting to be filed. And I don't know where to go or who to call to make sure that I'll even be certified in Oklahoma in the first place. I call and call and get transfered over and over and I can never get an answer. And I can't really get much of anything done sitting up here in Michigan. But there's no sense moving to Oklahoma before I can get a job, when I have a well paying job up here. Granted, it's not a teaching job, it pays me well. So I'm at a standstill. I want to send resumes and test scores and letters to school districts, because I know that if they have those things they'll see how valuable I can be to their schools. But they want the applications filled out--and I can't complete them because of the questions I can't answer.

It's very frustrating, becasue all I want to do is move forward. I worked extra hard in school to finish early, I took all of my tests and scored well, I made a resume, got letters of recommendation, completed student teaching, familiarized myself with Oklahoma state curriculum and the individual school districts and buildings and cities. I can't be any more prepared short of doing my student teaching down there. I either have to just pick up and move and try to do things while I'm down there and pray that I'll get a job before I run out of money; or keep trying to do it from up here while I save up more money.

I know that God's going to provide, but it's hard to tell if that means he'll provide if I move down there with nothing; or if he's currently providing through my free home and job up here. I need to be in two places at once, and I can't. I need to know the right numbers to call so I don't keep getting the runaround about my certification. I need to just chill out, but I'm so afraid of things going wrong. I'm just stuck.

The Procrastination Station

Sometimes I wish I were more humble.

That being said, sometimes I also wish I was more confident.

I'm pretty sure they're not polar opposites, so the contradiction between the two isn't because they mean the opposite, but moreso that the outer edges of their reaches tend to make us forget that they overlap somewhere in the middle. I think it's sortof like....a venn diagram maybe. Humility is on the left, and confidence is on the right. And in the center is maybe....meekness?

So maybe I should say sometimes I wish I was more meek.

Jesus was meek--that means it must not be a bad thing to strive for.