Spring Break, Two-Thousand-Great!

Well, as I said in my last post, Jennifer and I were going to salvage our Northern-less spring break with giggling, packing, cleaning gyms, and going camping!
And as I also said in my last post, there will be pictures.

Here are are some of them from our camping trip. This is as close as I thought I would ever get to a buffalo! And in the safety of a car, it is pretty exciting!

That was before we had to ride our bikes past these big guys! It was WAY more scary!

Here is our tent that turned out a little bit special because it was broken and missing pieces when we went to put it up.

The fact that Oklahoma actually has a little bit of terrain has moved it a little up the scale from the armpit to being a pretty solid "OK."

Pre-Christmas Letter

Hello, friends, family, random readers, and anonymous stalkers alike!
After a creative dry-spell (or really just lack of Internet connection conveniently coinciding with a lack of clever things to say), I have returned.

Now, that being said--I don't actually have anything specific to say.
Oh well. I guess this is just the general update. :)

I have signed the papers for my very first house. Kali, Jennifer and I get to move in VERY shortly. So shortly, in fact, that I can't even handle that it's not immediately! Don't worry, there will be plenty of pictures!
Now, to clear up something right here: buying a house does NOT mean I have set Oklahoma up as my permanent residence. It simply means I'm tired of messiness; tired of paying rent that doesn't have any return; and also that my food will not mysteriously be opened for me, or consumed by someone other than me.
Buying a house means that I won't feel like a post college student who doesn't actually have a home. It means that I don't have to feel like I'm living out of my bedroom. It means I can have a lawn to be proud of. And neighbors who don't grow their own weed.

I'm also growing my hair out (again). This time I'm keeping it my normal color. That will be an adventure. A really loooong, drawn out adventure that requires dedication, focus, and self-control.

Yesterday, Kali and I were driving and we came to an important conclusion.
It is better to be the girl who poops her pants, than to be the friend of the girl who poops her pants. Let me explain:
If you are the girl who poops her pants, you still have a friend. You just have poop in your pants. But you still have a friend.
If you are the friend of the girl who poops her pants, that means you are so pathetic, the only friend you have is a pants pooper.

What else can I update on?

This week is spring break. A slightly disappointing spring break, because Jennifer and I have been planning to go to Toronto for over a year now. However, last minute (literally, like last week) we both decided that it would be best right now if we saved the money and stayed home. As sad as I am that I won't be able to make a Michigan stop-through, I think it will still be a fun break.
Here's our plan:
Sunday: earn $100 by cleaning a gym
Monday: sand/strip table and chairs
Tuesday-Saturday: pack, re-finish table and chairs, overnight camping/hiking trip, sleep, giggle, possibly go on some sort of adventure (we have no actual set "plans" other than that we are FOR SURE going camping. No idea which days yet, though).
Sunday: earn another $100 by cleaning gym again :)

It's pretty much going to be amazing. Spring break has the potential to be totally boss.

I guess that's all I really have to update you all on. Maybe there will be a photo chronicling of the break? Who knows? Stay tuned. I promise it won't be another 2 months until you hear from me again!

Of a Rather Pressing Note.

I want to spend a little bit of time talking about toilet paper.
The reason I'm going to talk about toilet paper is that I went to use some toilet paper to blow my nose today, and I might as well have reached for a plastic bag. Or maybe some sandpaper? Or perhaps a non-absorbent bag made out of sandpaper?

I'm going to name-call here and pick on Scott toilet tissue.
Yes, Scott--you need to just give it a rest and stop trying to make bathroom products. First of all, your one-ply excuse for toilet paper is not only insulting, but in extreme cases--painful.
"But you get so many sheets!" loyal (underpaid) customers will implore. "It's more sheets than any other toilet paper!"

Well, I ask you, my friends: Does a couple extra dimes saved make it easier to sit down, then lay down, and fall asleep at night?

Anybody who has been schooled in the proper use of toilet paper by either me, my dad, or my dad's dad, will know that there is nothing you can wipe with 10 sheets of toilet paper that you can't wipe with 4 (neatly folded) squares. If it takes you more than 4, you clearly need to do a double wipe--which you would have to do with your un-economical 10 anyway.
This is, of course, assuming that you have good, absorbant two-ply tissue.

If your toilet paper is only one ply--the absorbancy of the 4 sheets is drastically reduced. This means to get the equivalent quality of the wipe, you'd need 8 sheets. And that's for those who are schooled in proper paper usage. The average person will use 10 (which now is 20); and the crazy people who "wrap" the toilet paper around their hands, will use twice as much as the crazy amount of 20-30 sheets per wipe.
Not to mention, this wipe will not even be comparably as soft as a normal toilet paper wipe. So you're using twice as many sheets (of your "so many more sheets") and you're punishing your poor butt trying to wipe it clean!

Weigh the options, my friends. Spend 25 more cents for a happy hiney and a longer-lasting roll? Or go the cheap route for 200 extra sheets of one-ply plastic baggie?

You be the judge.

On Death and Birth

Hello all. All 4 of you?

Since I have last written, much has happened. Mixed emotions due to two events on completely opposite ends of the spectrum have led me to, once again, opt for dancing over mourning. I don't mind it so much--but I sure do wish there was a balance.

Sunday December 23rd, KC Randolph died at about 5am. Many of the teachers at school talked about how it was almost a blessing that everything really happened in under a week--because she never had time to stop being KC. She didn't have time to really sit around and go through the "why me's?" or "what will happen next's?" of cancer. Right now, everyone is praying hard that her husband steps up to the role that he hadn't quite found his fit with prior to her death. Her 9 year old son is alright, from what I understand--not really understanding the magnitude of mommy being gone forever.

It is sad sometimes when God decides to work like this, but sometimes it just seems so easy to get over.

Maybe it's easy for me to get over, because while KC was dying and my school and fellow teachers were mourning, visiting, and attending her memorial service; I was in Tulsa with my family celebrating Christmas and new life. We had family Christmas December 22nd, shared a lot of laugheter and fun times. It snowed! And then the following Wednesday morning, Niki went into Labor and Baby Tyler Cash Erwin blessed us all with his perfect and beautiful presence. There simply couldn't have been a better way to celebrate Christmas!

I'm glad that God has things planned out already.

And part of me hates that I don't know what his plan is.

But a bigger part of me loves knowing that whatever plans I could have possibly made--to fix things, or control things, or to make everybody happy--God's perfect plan is a million times better and infinitely more perfect than I could ever dream.

Christmas Miracles?

There's something about this perticular holiday season that isn't sitting quite right with me. It's come too quickly. It's been 50 and 60 degree weather. I can't seem to focus on anything. It's just been a little off.

Two days ago, we found out that one of the teachers at our school was diagnosed with lung cancer, and that she would be in the hospital for treatment over the holiday. She had been sick with pneumonia since before thanksgiving, and just wasn't getting better. When we heard the news, there was sortof an inaudible gasp, and lots of "that just plain sucks."
I left that faculty meeting, feeling nothing any different than I've felt that entire day but, "man. What crummy news."

The very next day, we find out that her cancer is very terminal and not only have they moved her to the hospice wing of the hospital, but they don't anticipate her making it past the holiday. And again, for the past three days I am made of tin. I feel nothing. I'm sad, sure, but nothing really interferes with my daily thoughts or (lack of) emotions. I just have no reaction.

I wasn't too worried about this--I don't really react to things emotionally very often or well. I was more wondering *when* it would hit me. And if it would be too late when it did.


I came home from school today, and I called my mom to see if she and dad were in Tulsa yet. They're coming down this Christmas so we can all be together when Niki and Matt have their baby. My mom says that she and dad haven't been having the best day. Apparently when they woke up this morning and went to the hotel parking lot to thier car, someone had smashed out a window and taken everything out of it. My dad's golf clubs. My mom's medicines. All of the christmas presents they were bringing down. It's all gone.

My first reaction to this is total and complete anger. My parents are two of the kindest and most generous people I know (especially at Christmas) and somebody stole it all away from them while they were sleeping. My second reaction was sadness, because I know my parents, and they are going to try to fix it when they don't need to.
But my reactions were borderlining hysterics (for my empty tin chest, that is), and it really bugged me that I was reacting so much to "stuff" that can be replaced. I already know that it's all just "stuff."

So now, of course, I'm a horrible person for crying about vandalism and theft and not even batting an eye at cancer. But I think that my reaction to the break-in was the culmination of everything else finally spilling out. I'm learning more about myself every day, and I think as far as my emotions go I can only give all or nothing. And unless I have something (or several somethings) that pushes me to the point of overflowing, there's no sign of life.

All that being said,Miracles are miracles--whether they happen at Christmas or not. And I really don't think God times them to make our holidays happier. So pray for KC Randolph, her 9 year old boy, and the rest of her family. And praise God that you get to be with yours.

Mr. Orkin--the Man of My Dreams

One of my students today in classed asked me about my "special someone."
I told him that my only "special someones" were my family and my students. He promptly responded to this with a confident, "Ms. Herron, we need to find you a good man. Kyle, John, and I will get right on that."

My students have always been particularly curious about my personal life--information of which I never divulge to them. Last year I had a giant ORKIN poster on the front wall and the kids asked me where I got it. I replied that I got it from the Orkin Man, and one of the kids asked, "you know the Orkin man!?" Before I could even answer, another student says, "yeah! he's her boyfriend!"
Of course, I couldn't resist. "Yes, actually we've been dating for quite some time. He's the real reason I moved down to Oklahoma." Most of the kids definitely knew I was joking. And the ones who didn't, I assured I was serious, queuing the former to interject that we were getting pretty serious and actually probably would be getting married soon. And I just stood back and enjoyed this life outside of school that my students had created for me. Eventually, one student asks if he can call me Mrs. O. I just laughed, and so it began. Kids I didn't even have in my classroom would see me in the hall and say, "hey Ms. O!"

It's a lot of fun to let my kids be the authors of my imaginary life. They come up with the funniest things.
I tell that story because today the kids asked about Mr. Orkin. They asked me in the hall if Mr. O and I were still dating, and if they could come to the wedding. I told them absolutely! I said, "when I get married, you are all invited! It will be in Michigan--but you'll all be driving by then, so you can just carpool up!"
"Ms. Herron!" Came the reply, "that's so long from now! Why can't you just get married next year? You should tell Mr. O to work on that, and he'll get you a ring next year and then you two can get married."
Well, Mr. O--wherever you are--you get on that. My kids are waiting!

If You're Happy and You Know it :)

when the moon lights my path; laying in bed and watchin tv with my mom; jennifer's laugh; when drew times his farts; getting monthly decorative pedicures; running in 50 degree weather; the color red; great danes; classical guitars; fishing; giving high fives; gullible students; vanilla ice cream; holding hands; learning all the words to my favorite songs; going on really long drives; Michigan; birdie putts; Michelle's incredible analogies; my childhood; my sister is having a baby; my dad's saggy pants; camping; dressing like twins; swimming in lakes; seeing the stars; the antennae farm in OKC; whistling; fart noises; finding out ways man reflects the image of God; giving back scratches; Rasheed Wallace; making the first footprints in freshly fallen snow; scraping ice off my windshield; walking, running, or golfing in pouring rain; blowing dandelions around; Frogner Park in Oslo; thunderstorms or any other type of severe weather; logic puzzles; giving the perfect gift; being hugged-down; kisses from little kids; christmas lights; really really large American flags blowing in the wind; flip flop tan lines; roller coasters; knowing i am loved; cornbread with butter; planning my future with my best friend (even if we know it's just pretend)

In-Laws vs. Out-Laws: The results

It was a close match, full of trash talk and amazing birdie (and eagle) putts.

Team In-Law finished about 45 minutes before team Out-Law.

But, they must not have taken their time.

Grandpa Norm sank the birdie put on 18, leaving team Out-Law with a final score of 10 under.

Team In-Law stood around the green, watching in anticipation as the put fell straight into the cup with a solid click.

"Where did that put you?" Stevie asked me.

"Ten under," I replied.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" came the wails from team In-Law. They had missed the exact same birdie putt only 45 minutes before leaving them with a score of 9 under.

Numbers are numbers.

And almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

But in Herron Family Golf, team Out-Law carries on the founding tradition of kicking the In-Law's butts.

Stay tuned for next year! :)

team In-Laws

team Out-Laws :-D

Sometimes You Can't Break Tradition. No Matter What the Weather.

Sometimes tradition completely overrules common sense. And sometimes it totally should.
Case and point:

Today is my family's annual Thanksgiving tradition:
The In-Laws versus the Out-Laws in the Herron Family Post Thanksgiving Golf Scramble.
The Out-Laws are anyone who bears the last name "Herron."
My Grandpa, me, Drew, the "real" Uncle Steve, and my dad.
The In-Laws are the ones who are blessed enough to be part of the Herron family, but not actually Herrons.
Uncle Gene, Charlie, the "fake" Uncle Steve, Stevie and Chance.

This is a huge competition every year, and the Out-Laws are undefeated. This year looks like it's going to be tough, though, because we've got Stevie (Suzio) from Livonia joining the In-Law team and he's got quite a little game there. Gene is fresh off a practice round at Southern Hills (you know, where Tiger Woods won the PGA here in Tulsa.) and there's not proof yet that his "secret" personal trainer wasn't a certain "Ill-Phay Ickelson-May." Charlie might not have much of a golf game, but he's got a gun and badge, and a perfect Mickey Mouse impression that is enough to throw anyone off kilter.
The In-Laws also have the weather in their favor--because Jeff Herron is definitely not a cold-weather man. And today the temperature rings true at a whopping 38 degrees.

It's going to be a tough match, but my grandpa bought a trophy, so we're sure this will amp the drive to succeed.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Time for Some Witty Banter

Some days I am just so taken by the versatility of Cream Cheese.

I mean, first of all, it is kindof like spoiled milk. It's sour, and smells a little off. Is it cheese? Is it pudding? Is it a spread? Is it something you eat with a fork? Can you slice it?
It comes in a tub--or a block. That's the first clue you have something beyond our realm of comprehension!

I've had cream cheese on a bagel.
I've had cream cheese in a taco dip.
I've had cream cheese in a fruit dip.
When will it end!?

Not anytime soon, I can assure you. Because this very coming holiday where we celebrate the birth of our relationship with corn (and Native America--we've had our ups and downs), I am going to be concocting my very favorite cream cheese application of all time: pumpkin dip.

Chew on that, my friends. Tacos, to fruit, to pumpkins spread out on a little graham cracker (preferably gingerbread flavored).

Cream Cheese: the new hero of culinary art.
I see an Iron Chef coming!

There's a Hole in the Bucket

They always leave.
They always leave and it's happened so many times it almost stopped hurting.
There is so much risk and responsibility in building relationships. And I used to be much more at ease with just sitting and listening. I would know my friends inside and out, amd they would know me.
And then high school ended and we all split up.
Correction:
And then high school ended and they all stayed friends and I went to a different college.
I pushed and pushed to keep those bonds but I grew apart from them and it took a really long time to be okay with that.
I made a few very close friends in college. Friends that you start talking, and 5 hours later you realize it's time for curfew. Who could come home with me for a weekend on a whim. Slowly, one by one, they all disappeared too. First Jenni. Than Caleb. Than Tim, and Jason, and Kara.
The unrealistic thing about college is that growing up creates different paths. And different paths create distance. And distance creates so many independent memories that you can't share and the only way to make it not hurt is to just harden.
I hardened somewhere between Tim and Jason. I got so sick of knowing people and then having them leave. I got so tired of sharing, then then to lose a friend to Ohio. Or to a wife. Or to Australia.
For a while it's still okay. There's phones. And e-mails. And the occasional special occasion. But anyone who tries to tell you that everything stays the same is blowing sunshine up your shorts.
After college, it took me a long time before I would take anything beyond the acquaintance level. I had two very very close friends back home in Livonia with whom I was able to share and in return listen and know.
And then I left. By the time I left I was already pretty calloused. And I stayed hard for a long time here in Oklahoma.
And slowly but surely I formed some thick relationships. Only to lose one to Texas. One to Kansas. And one to Ohio. Lost one to a girl, and devastatingly, one to the heartbreaking truth that she just can't stay here anymore.
And things will never be the same again.
Who wants me next? To take with you when you leave?

Clocking in on Wednesdays

It is Halloween.
It is Wednesday.
Where is everyone in Oklahoma? At church.
Since when does going to church on a Wednesday become something that is completely un-miss able? When your options are trick-or-treat, or go to church--that's when.
Apparently it is not okay to miss church on Wednesday night for this tradition once a year. And I'm not okay with that.
I'm not okay with being measured to the plumbline of picking Halloween over God. I'm not okay with the fact that if I chose to stay home and hand out candy to the pagans (gasp!) I'm judged by it.
I'm not okay with the expectation of showing up to church on Wednesday nights for appearances sake. So people don't think I'm "falling away" or something dreadful because I chose to dress up like Batman and enjoy myself. On a Wednesday. Not at church.
I remember many occasions in my youth where the announcement would be made that church would be on Thursday this week instead of Wednesday. Sometimes because of things like Halloween.
Welcome to the Bible belt, Kari.
Nobody is any holier here, but they sure do pretend to be.

New Year's Resolutions

Why is it that whenever we want to change something in our lives, we wait until the new year?
Or next week?
Or even "tomorrow morning"?
What is it in our nature that makes us feel like a new day brings a new chance? Is it just because they both have the word "new"?

I do this a lot. I do something (or don't do something) I wish I hadn't (or should have) done, and I say "it's okay. . .tomorrow is a new day." I'll do it tomorrow, and I won't mess it up next time.
It's always next time.
Next time it will be better.

And tonight, I was contemplating what I am going to do tomorrow (that I should have done today), and I realized that just because the sun is down, it doesn't mean I have to wait until it has to come back up. Why not NOW?
Anything I can't stop to do NOW, I'm pretty sure isn't important enough to wake up early to do tomorrow.

What am I waiting for? How much more fresh would a start be 8 hours premature!? Who needs a new day for a new resolution? Who needs a new YEAR? Do it NOW. Don't wait. Because the longer you wait, the longer the enemy has to delay your further. And we all know, if you didn't do it today; you're not going to do it tomorrow. Or next week.

I wonder how many times God told his people to not delay. . .and how many times it landed them in trouble when they didn't listen. . .

My Hero

I think I have a somewhat unhealthy preoccupation with heroes. I think about them all the time. Every story I've ever written has something to do with a hero--and I don't just mean a protagonist. I mean an actual hero. A character who saves the day.

I started writing a novel my senior year in high school. It was going to be amazing, but I never finished it. There were two main characters: Blue, and Rocket. Blue was a girl who was graduating high school and very ordinary. Everything about her was ordinary, and she did nothing special. She didn't like her family. Her sister was deaf, so she couldn't really understand her. Her house was un-homey, and her life was ordinary. Her best friend was herself, and always felt like something was missing. Someone was missing. And every day she would wait, because something earth shattering was going to happen.
Rocket, on the other hand, was the complete opposite of Blue. He was a hero. He flew around on eagles and watched the world from above and fixed things. He flew in and out of peoples' lives and solved their problems. He was fast-paced, and kind hearted. He gave all of himself to everyone he met and their lives were never the same when he left. Rocket was born a hero, and didn't know how to be anything else.
In my story, it is very obvious that Blue needs Rocket to fix her brokenness. And they almost cross paths like every other page. But they never do. Rocket is the only person who could help Blue, and he can't seem to get to her. She knows there's a hero out there, and she waits for him every day. . .but he never comes.
In the book, we see a lot of Rocket's heroism; and we see a lot of Blue's emptiness. But how it comes to be is that Blue isn't even real. She is an ongoing dream that Rocket has created, and her brokenness represents the parts of himself that he can't fix--even though it's his daily job to fix lives. He can't get to her because she is part of himself. He can't fix her because heroes aren't about self, they are self-sacrificing. Should Rocket ever turn his attention from the world and to himself, to heal his wounds, he would stop being a hero.

Heroes are heroes for two reasons: they are born, or they are made.
If a man is born to be a hero, it is his duty to save. It's his sole purpose for being, and he saves whether he particularly wants to or not. He does it out of obligation. He does it because it's his job. These heroes include Superman, firemen, arguably even Mario.
If a man is made to be a hero, it is other men who have lifted him up to be such. He is a hero because he loves, and makes those around him feel safe. These heroes include dads, martyrs, and like cancer victims.

I am more fascinated by the first type of hero--the one who can't escape his fate. The type of hero who probably does like the intrinsic benefits of saving, but must save anyway. No, but will save anyway, even if the save is not merrited. Even if all common sense and consequence says to let the victims suffer. The real heroes drink the bitter cup, climb up into the tree, and save the world.

Twilight Zone. . .

The strangest thing just happened:

I was on Pistons.com looking at the new roster, and the new number 3 is named Rodney Stuckey. Meanwhile, I am watching Lifetime, and the TV show I was watching had just ended, and a movie has just begun. Jason Alexander is schmoozing some rich people and introduces himself as Philip Stuckey. I don't recognize the movie, so I watch for another minute--because the name Stuckey sounded very familiar --but I realize that it's because I was just reading about Rodney Stuckey 2 seconds prior.

And the movie is Pretty Woman, I realized about 2 seconds later when I saw all the shoulder pads on the women. . .and confirmed 2 more seconds later when I saw Richard Gere.

What are the odds of encountering the name Stuckey twice in the course of 30 seconds?
I'd like some mathematical computation on that sucker. . .

Like Sands Through the Hourglass. . .

Okay, embarrassingly enough, I am writing this article based on some thoughts spurred by today's episode of Days of Our Lives.

There is a storyline involving two characters. One is a genius-smart guy who entered the show as a huge nerd. The other is a smart, confident, and recovering rebel of a girl. As you may have guessed: he is in love with her, and she thinks he's a big dork. Their relationship has progressed over the past year or so, and he has stayed dedicated to her and has been able to eventually change her mind about him. The two have been dating for a while. He is incredibly addicted to her, and has compromised his morals on more than one occasion "out of love" for her. She is dedicated to him, but he always is afraid of losing her so he tries very hard to keep her.
Well, today, they got in a big fight and I guess they're broken up. She leaves, and he stays behind. And another character comes up to him and says "It's none of my business. . .but if you really love her, go after her. And fight to keep her."

And this is where the soap opera ends, and my thoughts begin.

I think that it's pretty safe to say that there is a common theme in the media that says as long as you're in love, if you persevere you'll get the girl. And this theme is based on the idea that girls want to be pursued. Girls like to be wooed, and swept off their feet.
Typically, in a movie, if the guy follows the girl after she's just dumped him they will get back together. If he shows her he's not going to let her go--that he won't give up on her (read: won't let the other guy have her)--than she will see this act of chivalry and come running with open arms.

But I watch movies like "You've Got Mail" and I think to myself, "if any guy ever followed me with such persistence, I would most definitely be freaked out."
I think it's important to note the difference between a girl wanting to be pursued, and a girl being pursued by a boy she wants pursuing her. If you are a boy, and you think that persistence will win you the girl, you have been watching too many movies. Because if you pursue a girl who does not want you, she will think you're creepy. I think that girls are very specific in whom they will allow to come after them. However, if you don't pursue a girl because you are afraid she'll think you're creepy, but really you're the guy she wants to be chased by, you won't win her either because she'll be too mad at you for not wanting her.

Confusing? Yes.

So here's what I think:

I think that girls aren't really in it for the pursuit. Because any girl will tell you that when she's not into a guy and he won't leave her alone, she wonders why the losers flock to her. I think that rather than being pursued, girls just want to be remembered.
They don't really want to be chased after, they want to be on your mind.
As a girl, I'd much rather know that you saw something that reminded me of you, than that you miss me so much you wish I was right there with you.
I'd rather hear "I miss you" than "When can I see you again?"
Girls don't want to be forgotten.
Even when the loser stops pursuing a girl, she'll wonder why he moved on so quickly. Did he forget about her for someone else? She doesn't want the pursuit, she wants to occupy the boy's mind.

So what to glean from all this?
Girls are confusing.
And don't forget about us--we want to be important: not desired.

Never Ever Ever Give Up

Since I was in high school I had dedicated my summers to learning a new skill. When I was a junior, the skill I wanted to learn was jumping in the air and clicking my heels. After I mastered that, I moved on to something I'd always wanted to do: ride my bike without using my hands.

I spent several summers following my senior year in high school working my hardest to accomplish this feat. I am not terribly good at balancing, and the best I could ever do was get about 3 pedal pushes in before I either hit something or fell over.

About 3 years after I had been working on my balancing act, I went to Huron County to stay the weekend with my friend, David, and his family. He and I went out one day and rode his parents' bikes around the town. We were out on the country roads, and his mother's bike was incredibly balanced. I slowly lifted my hands off the handle bars, and successfully rode for probably about a quarter mile! It was probably one of the greatest days of my life. I had accomplished my goal! I could not wait to go home and try it again on my own bike.

Until I got home and tried it on my own bike, and could not do it anymore! Devastated and defeated, I continued pouring my summers out trying to learn to ride my bike without holding onto my handlebars.
Sadly, this lasted another 4 years. 4 years taking us to last night. August 7, 2007. At Lake Hefner, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.

I had taken my bike out to lake to ride around it. I rode around it once, and coming up to the last 3 miles of my second lap, I started to get tired. I sat back up on my seat, and cautiously lifted my hands from the bars. I pedaled, and pedaled, and was still up! I was riding my bike without using my hands! I started to relax, and the path started to curve slightly. I shifted my weight and successfully took the curve. I started laughing, and clapping my hands. I looked at the miles markers as I rode past: .5 miles! I could not stop giggling, I was so excited! I yelled (embarassingly loudly), "I'm the greatest person in the world!" as I rode past the stake marking my 1 mile accomplishment.
I lowered my hands to the bars so I could stop to cross a driveway. And just to make sure I wasn't dreaming, I lifted them of again. I rode in front of the lighthouse. I rode around the curve, in front of the restaraunt. I rode past people jogging, rollerblading, walking their dogs, laughing and cheering the entire time. I am pretty sure I am officially a no-hander-bike-rider! Just like I've always dreamed!

It only took me 7 summers of trying. And I finally got it! Perseverance pays off, my friends. Now my next goal? I've sortof always wanted how to learn how to do the worm. I've got 2 weeks of this summer to get started! And I'll keep you updated! :-D

Hopefully this time it won't take me 7 years!

Short and Sweet.

God definitely decided to give me a little lesson today.
You know how when you're little, in Sunday school you learn about praying to God and that he always answers your prayers? Even if he doesn't answer it how you want him to?
So true. So so very true.
Last August, I was down to my last bit of money--I had nothing left. And I prayed really hard for just something like $200. I can't remember exactly why, but that was the amount I needed. I was at school, and my principal asked me if I'd started shopping for my classroom yet and I told her that I couldn't do anything because I didn't have any money until our first paycheck. She informed me that the PTO would reimburse me for some of my classroom spendings if I turned in receipts, which would be nice if I even had the money in the first place. So nodded and walked off. About five minutes later she came back with a check for $200 in her hand. She said the PTO gave me the money up front after she explained my situation, and I would be fine as long as I turned in the receipts as to how I spent it.
That prayer was answered very quickly (ie. the day after I prayed it), and very specifically.
It's funny how we forget how powerful, and merciful God can be.

About 4 months ago, I was having surgery on my jaw. And there was an unexpected $900 payment I had to make. And I didn't have the money. I prayed and prayed for it, but I ended up having to use my credit card to cover it. No big deal, but I'm not gonna lie--I was a little disappointed.
Fast forward 4 months.
I come back from being away for over a month and start going through my mail. I've got lots of junk mail, a couple bills, some magazines, and then there is a letter from my insurance company. I open it up and read that my account has been audited and I have overpaid and they are sending me a refund check. A refund check for $600!
So now, $600 less poor, I look back and realize that praying for something to happen is never all in vain. But I have to know it isn't always going to be the next day. It's not like I need the money, even now. But I think what I need is a reminder that my timeline and God's timeline don't always line up. Heck, they're probably not even parallel. I'll bet they're skew (pull out that 6th grade math book, quick!)
Even though I thought I needed the money then, I have managed to be okay. God has provided the entire time.
And now he's reminding me that he listens.
And that his timing is the one that matters.

Kari's Trip to the Dentist

I was prompted to write this entry after sharing this story. So here is my entry. I will call it "Kari's Trip to the Dentist."

I am 23 years old. I am pretty fun, I love to laugh, I don't like to be touched, and I have a huge crush on Bruce Willis. Don't worry--I'm not writing a personal add. If I was, I wouldn't intimidate future hopefuls with the fact that they will never (ever, in a million years) be as handsome, hilarious, witty, and balding as my man Bruce. It's okay, it happens. This is why it's not a personal ad.
So anyway, that little personal information about myself leads up to this fact: I am not ticklish. I pretty much have never been. In fact--most of the time, if people try to tickle me I end up with bruises because for some reason there is this idea that if I don't laugh they the perpetrator is obviously not squeezing or pressing hard enough. [FYI: that is a total rumor. If you ever find your tickling skills brought into question, don't press harder. That in fact is probably the exact reason you are a horrible tickler: you are hurting instead of tickling] So anyway, I am not ticklish. Not on my feet, not on my back, my "love handles" (as I so UNaffectionately call them), my legs or my neck. Not in my armpits, not on my belly. I'm just not ticklish.
Except. . .
on my lips.
What!? Your lips? How is that possible? What do you mean?
I mean that I can not hum for prolonged periods of time.
I can not play any sort of reeded or blowy instrument.
I can't do that amazing elephant sound with my lips.
I can't play kazoos
because my lips tickle way too badly I can't bear it.

So that being said, I went to the densist today. I LOVE going to the densist--oral hygine is pretty much my favorite type of cleanliness. I will probably judge you based on the cleanliness of your mouth, in fact--so watch that. Okay, I haven't actually done that to anyone before, but there's always the chance.
Anyway, so the dentist went well. I got my teeth brushed and cleaned, and then out came the floss. The hygenist was threading the floss through my braces, and it was brushing up against my lip and I sat calmly in the chair.
Each pass of the floss over my lip, the tickle is welling up inside of me and my eyes start to water. I grab the arms of the chair, keep my mouth open, and she continues to floss. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I had to take a break. My lips were so out of control with tingley ticklishness I could not stand it. I told her I needed a second to collect myself.
I wiggled my nose, and turned my lips in so I could use my braces to scratch them. It was a little embarassing. But once I calmed down, I assumed the position and she continued flossing.
For someone who loves to laugh as much as I do, the unbearable feeling of my lips being tickled is something that is not funny to me. Unless it causes awkwardness, and an ability for me to share it with others.
I hope my humiliation and uncomfortableness was able to bring a smile to your normal and UNticklish lips. :)

Happy flossing!

On Having, Giving, and Showing Respect

We have all been told that we are to show respect.
To our parents, our teachers, authority, among other things.
And we are told to give our respect to speakers, our leaders. . .
In fact, one might say that a good life motto might be to always be respectful.
It seems like a reasonable endeavor: to be full of respect, that we might give it when necessary and show it with our actions.
But what about just having respect?
If we are to be full of respect, where does it come from? Is it just there? Do we already possess it? If we give it, does it come from the overflow of have?
Think hard about the people you know. Is there anyone in there you just don't respect? Anyone who makes you roll your eyes when you think about him? I've got one or two. People who I just have no admiration for on any level. I have no respect for them and I don't know where to get it.
This is confusing to me because I give respect even when I don't have it, and I show it even when it's not there. So where does it come from, and how do I get it? Is faking having respect as good as showing respect? Or is it not really "real" respect?
I've got plenty of respect for many people--surely it carries over, right?
Am I required to have respect for everyone, or just to be respectful of everyone?
Maybe I should just stay away from those who I don't respect.
That's respectable, right?