It was Labor Day weekend, 1997. Ches had taken me to Calgary to meet his family. (Perhaps I should spell it Labour Day then??) We had been dating for about 6 months, and in that short time I knew I wanted to marry this man. So I wanted to make a good impression on what I hoped would be my future in-laws. Ches' mother was able to get us discount tickets so we went with Ches' parents, brother, Tim, Tim's then-girlfriend Alyson, and their little sister, Rachel to go up the Calgary Tower to the observation deck.
Previously in the summer, the extended family had their annual family reunion up in Calgary, and this was one of the places many people had visited.
It was quite a view up there. It was a perfect day, to be sure. You could see really far. We were having a great time together, all of us telling jokes and stories. Tim and Ches were telling us about the family reunion as we took in the view.
"Remember when we came up here in June? LaDawn leaned over and smacked her forehead right against the window! It was sooo funny!!"
It was at that moment that I leaned out a bit, and I smacked my forehead against the window. Ow.
"Yeah! Just like that!" Tim exclaimed. It took him (and Ches) a moment to realize I didn't do that on purpose. Everyone had a great time laughing at me.
The window was slanted out, and it's actually really hard to tell exactly where the window is! Honest!
Several minutes later, Tim and Alyson were talking about it, and Alyson smacked her forehead on the window! A few minutes after that, I did it again! Oh, the laughter. I was pretty embarrassed, but glad that Alyson did it, too. I didn't feel quite as stupid.
To be fair (to Alyson, LaDawn, and myself), there were a lot of marks on the windows. I doubt we are the only ones to smack our foreheads on the windows of the Calgary Tower.
*****
We were reminded of this story tonight as I was looking out the patio doors tonight. We have the sliding glass doors, and I was looking for a toy on the patio. Somehow, I leaned in and smacked my forehead on the door. Hard.
Ches laughed and said, "It's not even slanted! How did you do that?"
I can't believe I actually did that. And now I have a small headache.
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Monday, October 16, 2006
Making Cookies
I seem to have some kind of cookie deficiency. I mess them up almost every time. Today Aiden and I made chocolate chip cookies. Mmmmmm. I even added extra chocolate chips just for the heck of it. Heavenly! They turned out great... until the last batch. I forgot to set the timer, and I forgot I even put them in the oven. Luckily, I remembered before they turned into hockey pucks, but that is a rarity. Usually the last batch is always black and hard as a rock.
***
When Ches and I were first married (like a few weeks), one Sunday afternoon I felt like being all domestic and stuff, so I decided to make some cookies. Ches had gone to take a Sunday afternoon nap (aren't those the best??) and I opened the cookbook and started to pull out ingredients. Then I decided to go to the bathroom. When I was finished with my business, I returned to the kitchen for my cookie making. I was going down the list and following the instructions. I thought some of the ingredients a little odd for chocolate chip cookies... like, cinnamon. I didn't know you put cinnamon in chocolate chip cookies! But maybe this was a recipe I had never used before. So I kept going.
Then I got to "One can pumpkin." Wha--??? Pumpkin?? I looked around the cookbook, and that's when I realized I was not making chocolate chip cookies! I was making pumpkin bars!!! Somehow, while I was in the bathroom, the page had flipped in the cookbook, and I never checked the title of the recipe, assuming I was still in the same place as before.
HOW was I to fix this? I didn't have a can of pumpkin. It's May, for Heaven's sake! I can't go to the store to buy any because it's Sunday and A) I don't go shopping on Sunday for religious reasons, and 2) this is Rexburg, Idaho, and the stores aren't open on Sunday anyway (because just about everyone in town has the same religious beliefs and not only won't go shopping, but won't work on Sundays). What was I do DO??
I looked at the recipe some more, and saw that you could substitute the can of pumpkin for a jar of applesauce and make applesauce spice bars (although it turned out to be more of a cake than bars). Luckily, during my grocery shopping trip the day before I had bought a jar of applesauce.
I finished the applesauce cake and put it in the oven. I went into our bedroom and flopped face down on the bed. I was so MAD! I wanted chocolate chip cookies, after all, and I felt pretty stupid for the mistake. Ches woke up and said, "What's wrong?"
"I'm making chocolate chip cookies," I replied very angrily.
"And what's wrong with that?" my dear, new husband asked, quite puzzled (and understandably so!).
"You'll see in about 30 minutes."
The cake came out, and Ches said it was very good. It looked and smelled good. But I don't think I had a single bite. I was still angry at that cake for not being cookies.
I have made the applesauce cake several times since then, and enjoued it every time. We call it Sariah's Chocolate Chip Cookies.
***
My last year at Ricks College, I was on the Band Council. I helped plan the parties and such, and for one party we had assigned everyone to bring cookies or desserts or something. Treats to eat at the party. I decided to make Snickerdoodles. I don't know what I did wrong, but every single cookie was hard as a rock. I was runing late to the party and didn't have time to make new cookies or even go to the store and buy something (especially since I didn't have a car!!), so I brought my snickerdoodles anyway. I put them on the table and explained the problem, not expecting anyone to even try one. I figured we could find another use for the things. I mean, get a bunch of Mormon band nerds together, and who knows what could happen! We go crazy!! Seriously!
Candi Cannon, bless her heart (could I BE more southern?? heh), felt bad for me and proceeded to eat my snickerdoodles, claiming they weren't that bad! She ate several of them. She said "I like my cookies a little overdone."
She has always been close to my heart since then. I mean, I knew she was cool before, but this was the clincher. Candi is the coolest person I know. Or one of them, anyway! :)
p.s. check out the Recipe Exchange for the recipes for Sariah's Chocolate Chip Cookies and for Snickerdoodles. I made snickerdoodles a couple of weeks ago, and they were very yummy. Not a hockey puck among them.
***
When Ches and I were first married (like a few weeks), one Sunday afternoon I felt like being all domestic and stuff, so I decided to make some cookies. Ches had gone to take a Sunday afternoon nap (aren't those the best??) and I opened the cookbook and started to pull out ingredients. Then I decided to go to the bathroom. When I was finished with my business, I returned to the kitchen for my cookie making. I was going down the list and following the instructions. I thought some of the ingredients a little odd for chocolate chip cookies... like, cinnamon. I didn't know you put cinnamon in chocolate chip cookies! But maybe this was a recipe I had never used before. So I kept going.
Then I got to "One can pumpkin." Wha--??? Pumpkin?? I looked around the cookbook, and that's when I realized I was not making chocolate chip cookies! I was making pumpkin bars!!! Somehow, while I was in the bathroom, the page had flipped in the cookbook, and I never checked the title of the recipe, assuming I was still in the same place as before.
HOW was I to fix this? I didn't have a can of pumpkin. It's May, for Heaven's sake! I can't go to the store to buy any because it's Sunday and A) I don't go shopping on Sunday for religious reasons, and 2) this is Rexburg, Idaho, and the stores aren't open on Sunday anyway (because just about everyone in town has the same religious beliefs and not only won't go shopping, but won't work on Sundays). What was I do DO??
I looked at the recipe some more, and saw that you could substitute the can of pumpkin for a jar of applesauce and make applesauce spice bars (although it turned out to be more of a cake than bars). Luckily, during my grocery shopping trip the day before I had bought a jar of applesauce.
I finished the applesauce cake and put it in the oven. I went into our bedroom and flopped face down on the bed. I was so MAD! I wanted chocolate chip cookies, after all, and I felt pretty stupid for the mistake. Ches woke up and said, "What's wrong?"
"I'm making chocolate chip cookies," I replied very angrily.
"And what's wrong with that?" my dear, new husband asked, quite puzzled (and understandably so!).
"You'll see in about 30 minutes."
The cake came out, and Ches said it was very good. It looked and smelled good. But I don't think I had a single bite. I was still angry at that cake for not being cookies.
I have made the applesauce cake several times since then, and enjoued it every time. We call it Sariah's Chocolate Chip Cookies.
***
My last year at Ricks College, I was on the Band Council. I helped plan the parties and such, and for one party we had assigned everyone to bring cookies or desserts or something. Treats to eat at the party. I decided to make Snickerdoodles. I don't know what I did wrong, but every single cookie was hard as a rock. I was runing late to the party and didn't have time to make new cookies or even go to the store and buy something (especially since I didn't have a car!!), so I brought my snickerdoodles anyway. I put them on the table and explained the problem, not expecting anyone to even try one. I figured we could find another use for the things. I mean, get a bunch of Mormon band nerds together, and who knows what could happen! We go crazy!! Seriously!
Candi Cannon, bless her heart (could I BE more southern?? heh), felt bad for me and proceeded to eat my snickerdoodles, claiming they weren't that bad! She ate several of them. She said "I like my cookies a little overdone."
She has always been close to my heart since then. I mean, I knew she was cool before, but this was the clincher. Candi is the coolest person I know. Or one of them, anyway! :)
p.s. check out the Recipe Exchange for the recipes for Sariah's Chocolate Chip Cookies and for Snickerdoodles. I made snickerdoodles a couple of weeks ago, and they were very yummy. Not a hockey puck among them.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
The Hardest Job I've Ever Had
Right after I turned 17 I decided that babysitting wasn't going to be a good enough income for my needs. I decided to get a job. My friend Ashley, who drove me home from school everyday, took me to the local Shoney's restaurant, and I filled out an application. The manager talked to me right then, and I was essentially hired on the spot.
The next week I started orientation. It seemed so silly, learning how to cut lemons and how to hold a tray, but I guess it was important to the company that their servers knew how to do these things. I was given my uniform, but since I was so small, they had to order a skirt for me. I would have to make do with what they had. I pinned about two inches on either side of my waist in and I never did get that smaller skirt. I looked like a little girl playing dress up.
I learned to have a great, fake smile, to flirt with people, and to act as if the customer was always right... all for a tip. I had to work weekend nights and several weekday nights. I didn't mind too much. It was my junior year of high school, and I felt abandoned by my friends who had graduated the year before. The only time it was really bad to work was the night of the Valentine's dance at school. A large group of students (who weren't really my friends because they were the popular kids, but I had classes with all of them) came in and guess who got to be their server? I had to endure watching everyone having fun with their dates and answer questions about why I didn't go to the dance and then get a lousy tip from them in the end.
As soon as I found another part-time job, I quit. I hated being a server. However, I can still hold a very full tray of food with the best of them.
*****
I have worked for two movie theatres. One was a small, family-owned theatre in our town. The owner's daughter and I had a mutual best friend, and the daughter and I became really close from that job. Of course, it helped that she was also in band, so we got to see each other a lot. I really liked working at that theatre. Everyone was friendly and like a family in many ways. We had a lot of fun at work, too. When Arkansas won the NCAA basketball tournament in 1994, we also happened to be showing the Flinstone's movie. We listened to the game on the radio, and when Arkansas won, we (like the rest of the state) were ecstatic! We talked to our boss, and someone ran to Wal-mart, bringing back red Arkansas Champions t-shirts with Fred Flinstone playing basketball on the front. We got to wear those to work for a while. Later, we talked the boss into letting us order polo shirts with the name of the movie theatre and our names embroidered on them. We had them dyed the same green as the new carpet. We all liked wearing those shirts rather than a white button-down shirt with a vest and bow-tie. I still have my shirt.
The second movie theatre I workd for was part of a very large chain. There were a lot more people that worked there, and we even had several managers. It was a bit different from the first theatre, but I still enjoyed it. I made friends quickly, and had lots of people to hang out with. It was the summer after my sophomore year at Ricks College... the summer I was living with my aunt... the summer where I was dating my future husband, but he was living in a completely different state and working, so I didn't see him for almost four months... the summer I took to really think about how I am and what I wanted. At the end of the summer, Mr. Universe came out to visit me. I still had to work for a few days, and I didn't want him to be totally bored. He got to come to the movie theatre and watch movie after movie... all for free. Usually I could only get people in for free movies if they were accompanying me. However, the managers had become good friends of mine, and after we were married and came back for visits, these guys still offered free movies to us. It was fun working there.
*****
I worked as an early-morning janitor my first fall semester at Ricks. I was assigned to the Hart Building, which was the physical education building. I could often be found sweeping the floors of the racketball courts, the dance studio, and the main gym. I worked from 4 am to 7 am, and my first class was at 8. I hated that job. I had blisters on my hands from the push brooms, which made my flute playing harder and learning the piano almost impossible. I was exhausted and falling asleep in my 10 am algebra class. After a few weeks of total misery, my mom and stepdad said I could quit my job and focus on my studies. My new job was simply to get good grades.
*****
After Mr. Universe and I had been married about 2 years, we spent a summer in Utah to find jobs. He had one from before we were married, and I found a job working for a telemarketing company. I was "Corporate Quality Assurance", which basically meant I listened to the recordings of the calls the telemarketers made and had to make sure they followed their script word for word. I had to write a report on every single call (actually, it was more of filling out a form), and we were expected to do a certain number of calls in an hour. We listened to the calls on fast speed. Let me tell you, even on this so-called "fast speed", some of the telemarketers would read sooooooooo slowly, it would take them forever to get through one simple sentence! I hated it! One day, as I was clearly frustrated and leaving after a day of listening to a bunch of idiots try and sell stuff to people who could care less, a manager asked me, "What do you think would make this job better?" I quickly answered, "Give reading tests to the telemarketers before they are hired!"
"Ummm, we already do that," the manager said quietly.
"Well, does it count for anything??" I quite that job and worked for a few weeks at a temp agency instead. I ended up working at a factory that makes bows and arrows. It was noisy, but satisfying. I liked that job so much better.
*****
After I graduated from university, we moved here to Arizona so Ches could do his student teaching. I was to find work. I ended up subbing for the Mesa School District, and I mostly loved it! I was a little scared to sub because it really hadn't been all that long since I was a student who would do things to subs. Okay, I didn't do things, but I didn't stop them, either. Anyway...
Shortly after I started working, I had a miscarriage. It was a really rough time for me, and a really rough time for our marriage as we dealt with our grief in totally different ways. One day I got the call to sub at a special school. This school is for pregnant and ntewly delivered teen mothers. I would be teaching English literature and history. I loved the subjects, but since I was still grieving I wasn't sure if I could handle seeing all these pregnant girls. I felt it so unfair that I was doing what I deemed "right", and yet I had lost a much wanted baby, and these stupid, irresponsible teenagers were not only able to get pregnant, but they were all keeping their babies. I was bitter at the situation. I was unsure about taking this job, but I needed to work. So I accepted and went to sub the next morning.
I loved it. These girls found out about the miscarriage and they were so kind. They were not stupid and irresponsible. They were smart girls who had made a "mistake", but were continuing to get their education and do the best they could for their new situation. I left a message at the front desk saying I would sub for this school anytime.
*****
I currently don't get paid for the job I have. I don't get vacations. I don't even get a lunch break. I am always on duty. I have to learn and do things I never thought I would do (mainly cooking!!), and I have to answer questions that I would never have thought of asking in the first place. I am exhausted constantly, and I have to take medication for depression. I'm constantly on the go. I don't have family near by to help out in a pinch. I am a mother, and parenting is the hardest job I've ever had. Facing hungry, angry customers is much easier than facing a 3-year-old pitching a huge fit in the middle of Target. Listening to a 20-year-old who can't read attempt to sell Disney books to a 75-year-old widower is much easier than watching the same Blue's Clues DVD 4 times in a row... everyday! Facing teen moms and trying not to take out my bitterness and grief on them is much easier than facing a two year old who has just colored all over your bedspread with permanent markers and then NOT beating them to a pulp.
Yes, all of my previous jobs had some really hard days, but you know what? I wouldn't trade my job right now for anything in the world. Parenting is hard, but there is nothing like raising these three boys and wondering what kind of men they will turn out to be. I love it.
The next week I started orientation. It seemed so silly, learning how to cut lemons and how to hold a tray, but I guess it was important to the company that their servers knew how to do these things. I was given my uniform, but since I was so small, they had to order a skirt for me. I would have to make do with what they had. I pinned about two inches on either side of my waist in and I never did get that smaller skirt. I looked like a little girl playing dress up.
I learned to have a great, fake smile, to flirt with people, and to act as if the customer was always right... all for a tip. I had to work weekend nights and several weekday nights. I didn't mind too much. It was my junior year of high school, and I felt abandoned by my friends who had graduated the year before. The only time it was really bad to work was the night of the Valentine's dance at school. A large group of students (who weren't really my friends because they were the popular kids, but I had classes with all of them) came in and guess who got to be their server? I had to endure watching everyone having fun with their dates and answer questions about why I didn't go to the dance and then get a lousy tip from them in the end.
As soon as I found another part-time job, I quit. I hated being a server. However, I can still hold a very full tray of food with the best of them.
*****
I have worked for two movie theatres. One was a small, family-owned theatre in our town. The owner's daughter and I had a mutual best friend, and the daughter and I became really close from that job. Of course, it helped that she was also in band, so we got to see each other a lot. I really liked working at that theatre. Everyone was friendly and like a family in many ways. We had a lot of fun at work, too. When Arkansas won the NCAA basketball tournament in 1994, we also happened to be showing the Flinstone's movie. We listened to the game on the radio, and when Arkansas won, we (like the rest of the state) were ecstatic! We talked to our boss, and someone ran to Wal-mart, bringing back red Arkansas Champions t-shirts with Fred Flinstone playing basketball on the front. We got to wear those to work for a while. Later, we talked the boss into letting us order polo shirts with the name of the movie theatre and our names embroidered on them. We had them dyed the same green as the new carpet. We all liked wearing those shirts rather than a white button-down shirt with a vest and bow-tie. I still have my shirt.
The second movie theatre I workd for was part of a very large chain. There were a lot more people that worked there, and we even had several managers. It was a bit different from the first theatre, but I still enjoyed it. I made friends quickly, and had lots of people to hang out with. It was the summer after my sophomore year at Ricks College... the summer I was living with my aunt... the summer where I was dating my future husband, but he was living in a completely different state and working, so I didn't see him for almost four months... the summer I took to really think about how I am and what I wanted. At the end of the summer, Mr. Universe came out to visit me. I still had to work for a few days, and I didn't want him to be totally bored. He got to come to the movie theatre and watch movie after movie... all for free. Usually I could only get people in for free movies if they were accompanying me. However, the managers had become good friends of mine, and after we were married and came back for visits, these guys still offered free movies to us. It was fun working there.
*****
I worked as an early-morning janitor my first fall semester at Ricks. I was assigned to the Hart Building, which was the physical education building. I could often be found sweeping the floors of the racketball courts, the dance studio, and the main gym. I worked from 4 am to 7 am, and my first class was at 8. I hated that job. I had blisters on my hands from the push brooms, which made my flute playing harder and learning the piano almost impossible. I was exhausted and falling asleep in my 10 am algebra class. After a few weeks of total misery, my mom and stepdad said I could quit my job and focus on my studies. My new job was simply to get good grades.
*****
After Mr. Universe and I had been married about 2 years, we spent a summer in Utah to find jobs. He had one from before we were married, and I found a job working for a telemarketing company. I was "Corporate Quality Assurance", which basically meant I listened to the recordings of the calls the telemarketers made and had to make sure they followed their script word for word. I had to write a report on every single call (actually, it was more of filling out a form), and we were expected to do a certain number of calls in an hour. We listened to the calls on fast speed. Let me tell you, even on this so-called "fast speed", some of the telemarketers would read sooooooooo slowly, it would take them forever to get through one simple sentence! I hated it! One day, as I was clearly frustrated and leaving after a day of listening to a bunch of idiots try and sell stuff to people who could care less, a manager asked me, "What do you think would make this job better?" I quickly answered, "Give reading tests to the telemarketers before they are hired!"
"Ummm, we already do that," the manager said quietly.
"Well, does it count for anything??" I quite that job and worked for a few weeks at a temp agency instead. I ended up working at a factory that makes bows and arrows. It was noisy, but satisfying. I liked that job so much better.
*****
After I graduated from university, we moved here to Arizona so Ches could do his student teaching. I was to find work. I ended up subbing for the Mesa School District, and I mostly loved it! I was a little scared to sub because it really hadn't been all that long since I was a student who would do things to subs. Okay, I didn't do things, but I didn't stop them, either. Anyway...
Shortly after I started working, I had a miscarriage. It was a really rough time for me, and a really rough time for our marriage as we dealt with our grief in totally different ways. One day I got the call to sub at a special school. This school is for pregnant and ntewly delivered teen mothers. I would be teaching English literature and history. I loved the subjects, but since I was still grieving I wasn't sure if I could handle seeing all these pregnant girls. I felt it so unfair that I was doing what I deemed "right", and yet I had lost a much wanted baby, and these stupid, irresponsible teenagers were not only able to get pregnant, but they were all keeping their babies. I was bitter at the situation. I was unsure about taking this job, but I needed to work. So I accepted and went to sub the next morning.
I loved it. These girls found out about the miscarriage and they were so kind. They were not stupid and irresponsible. They were smart girls who had made a "mistake", but were continuing to get their education and do the best they could for their new situation. I left a message at the front desk saying I would sub for this school anytime.
*****
I currently don't get paid for the job I have. I don't get vacations. I don't even get a lunch break. I am always on duty. I have to learn and do things I never thought I would do (mainly cooking!!), and I have to answer questions that I would never have thought of asking in the first place. I am exhausted constantly, and I have to take medication for depression. I'm constantly on the go. I don't have family near by to help out in a pinch. I am a mother, and parenting is the hardest job I've ever had. Facing hungry, angry customers is much easier than facing a 3-year-old pitching a huge fit in the middle of Target. Listening to a 20-year-old who can't read attempt to sell Disney books to a 75-year-old widower is much easier than watching the same Blue's Clues DVD 4 times in a row... everyday! Facing teen moms and trying not to take out my bitterness and grief on them is much easier than facing a two year old who has just colored all over your bedspread with permanent markers and then NOT beating them to a pulp.
Yes, all of my previous jobs had some really hard days, but you know what? I wouldn't trade my job right now for anything in the world. Parenting is hard, but there is nothing like raising these three boys and wondering what kind of men they will turn out to be. I love it.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Baby You Can Drive My Car
I got my Arizona driver's license yesterday. The wait time actually wasn't that long, and I didn't have to take a test or anything. Just fill out a form, pay my $25, and turn in my Nevada license. I had fixed up my hair all special, but it was doing all sorts of strange flippy things... so it just looks ridiculous. I had put on my makeup and think I looked really nice, but those cameras aren't always the best, and my face looks a lot pinker than my neck. I had to change my shirt at the last minute before we left because I'm a klutz and I spilled pizza sauce on my shirt, so I ended up wearing a white t-shirt and white tends to make me look washed out (except that I have a pink face) and freaky. I made a face at my picture as soon as I saw it, and Mr. Universe just kind of laughed. He said, "Driver's license pictures are never supposed to look good." He's right, I know, but I tried anyway.
While filling out the form, it asked for my weight. HA! I just had a baby 11 days earlier! What is my weight? How should I know? I hope to get a lot smaller than this, but I put down 145.
*****
I got my first license at the age of 15. In Arkansas, at the time I don't know how it is now, of course), you had to take a written test before you could get a permit. Then you had to wait a certain period of time before you could take the driving test. I had to take the written test twice. That was pretty common. After three times of failing the written, you weren't allowed to take it again for another set period of time. Oh, and once you failed the first time, you had to wait I think a week before you caould take the test again.
Once I had my permit, I got to practice driving a lot. My mom taught me, mostly. At that time, in Arkansas, you weren't required to take driver's ed, and our particular insurance wasn't going to give any discounts or anything for it, so I didn't take it. I didn't have the time or the money anyway.
Anyway, after I passed my driving test (which the tester said I was an excellent driver, by the way), and my best friend, Susan, passed hers, my Mom took us over to the DMV to get our new licenses. I had a bad perm that was growing out, so my hair was kind of long, frizzy, and pretty much parted in the middle. I was wearing a long-sleaved denim shirt, and a cool necklace with turquoise beads on it. I wore my round framed glasses (very John Lennon, but bigger frames). I stood exactly where I was supposed to, and the woman said in a very bored voice, "Okay, on the count of three... One... Two... *click*!" The camera flashed and I was dumbfounded.
"What happened to three??" I looked around, but no one would answer my question. It was like a cruel joke. I wasn't smiling yet because I was waiting for three so I wouldn't look too forced!!
After about 10 minutes, I was handed my brand new, very first driver's license. I looked first at the picture. I looked like a hippy... a very unhappy hippy with crooked glasses. Not my best moment.
*****
I have held driver's licenses in several states since then... California, Idaho, Nevada... but nothing is as memorable as your first.
My new license is pretty cool. My picture does look a little freaky, but what can you expect? It has all the vital information on it. I am an organ donar. I am registered to vote (and I had a hard time deciding what to put down for a particular party! I finally wrote down Republican, but I don't know if I really consider myself that. I don't consider myself a Democrat, either, so I guess maybe I should have written "Independent". Ches left his blank because he can never remember which party is which). Oh, and you want to know the expiration date on my license?
12/24/2041
While filling out the form, it asked for my weight. HA! I just had a baby 11 days earlier! What is my weight? How should I know? I hope to get a lot smaller than this, but I put down 145.
*****
I got my first license at the age of 15. In Arkansas, at the time I don't know how it is now, of course), you had to take a written test before you could get a permit. Then you had to wait a certain period of time before you could take the driving test. I had to take the written test twice. That was pretty common. After three times of failing the written, you weren't allowed to take it again for another set period of time. Oh, and once you failed the first time, you had to wait I think a week before you caould take the test again.
Once I had my permit, I got to practice driving a lot. My mom taught me, mostly. At that time, in Arkansas, you weren't required to take driver's ed, and our particular insurance wasn't going to give any discounts or anything for it, so I didn't take it. I didn't have the time or the money anyway.
Anyway, after I passed my driving test (which the tester said I was an excellent driver, by the way), and my best friend, Susan, passed hers, my Mom took us over to the DMV to get our new licenses. I had a bad perm that was growing out, so my hair was kind of long, frizzy, and pretty much parted in the middle. I was wearing a long-sleaved denim shirt, and a cool necklace with turquoise beads on it. I wore my round framed glasses (very John Lennon, but bigger frames). I stood exactly where I was supposed to, and the woman said in a very bored voice, "Okay, on the count of three... One... Two... *click*!" The camera flashed and I was dumbfounded.
"What happened to three??" I looked around, but no one would answer my question. It was like a cruel joke. I wasn't smiling yet because I was waiting for three so I wouldn't look too forced!!
After about 10 minutes, I was handed my brand new, very first driver's license. I looked first at the picture. I looked like a hippy... a very unhappy hippy with crooked glasses. Not my best moment.
*****
I have held driver's licenses in several states since then... California, Idaho, Nevada... but nothing is as memorable as your first.
My new license is pretty cool. My picture does look a little freaky, but what can you expect? It has all the vital information on it. I am an organ donar. I am registered to vote (and I had a hard time deciding what to put down for a particular party! I finally wrote down Republican, but I don't know if I really consider myself that. I don't consider myself a Democrat, either, so I guess maybe I should have written "Independent". Ches left his blank because he can never remember which party is which). Oh, and you want to know the expiration date on my license?
12/24/2041
Monday, August 14, 2006
Five More Minutes, Mom
My kids have redone their sleeping and napping schedules since we've moved to Arizona. It's really not too bad. They're both in bed by 8:30 or 9 pm every night. I can now just put Dallin in his crib and he'll go to sleep (I used to rock him to sleep every night. Insane, yes, but I enjoy a little bit of cuddle time with my babies! Anyrate, the rocker doesn't fit in their new room, and the living room is too high-traffic to put him to sleep). Dallin has regular naps at 10 am every morning, and by about 2 or 3 in the afternoon both he and Aiden are ready to crash. So... what do I have to complain about??
They get up by 6 am. That's right. BY 6 am. Six-Freakin'-o'Clock in the bloody early morning.
Did you know that I am not a morning person?
In high school, I had my own alarm clock, but I was always pushing the snooze button. I had early-morning Seminary, and since my dad was the teacher, it wasn't like I could skip class or anything. I kinda had to be there (which is fine. I really enjoyed it... once I got to class that is). My mom often had to come in and get me up, and I'd immediately get in the shower, then fall asleep with my head leaned up against the shower wall. I did this every morning. That is why my showers were over 30 minutes long. Because I was sleeping in the shower.
In college I was able to get myself up (I had somehow learned a bit more responsibility), but I was grumpy as heck until I had fully woken up. I just don't like mornings.
After I got married, I specifically didn't take Percussion Techniques one semester because it was a 7:30 am class, and I didn't want anything earlier than my 8:30 am class. Ches took Percussion Tech that semester, however, and loved it. The next semester it was scheduled to be at 8:30, so I signed up (it was required for my major, after all!). The first day of class, the TA says to us, "We have a scheduling conflict with the other TA. So, are any of you busy at 7:30 in the morning?"
"Yes!" I replied probably a bit too emphatically, "I'm sleeping at that time!"
Needless to say, the class was changed to 7:30 am, and no one in the class could understand why I was constantly about 2 minutes late, grumpy, and just couldn't hit the crash cymbals like they wanted. Crash cymbals and 7:30 am just don't go together. Especially when you don't drink coffee (which people in that particular music department seemed to be highly addicted to! Another post for another time).
Weekends I reserve for sleeping in. Too bad no one else I have ever lived with agreed with this reservation. Back to living at home... if I slept in past 8 or 8:30, but dad would try several times to wake me up, finally just pulling all my blankets off the bed and tossing them across the room. I can't sleep without blankets on. I look back and think, why didn't I just start sleeping naked? That would have put a stop to that really quickly!! Oh well. When you're 16 and sleepy, you don't have a whole lot of rational thoughts.
Back to college... I had a roommate one summer who would wake up at (literally) the crack of dawn, singing in a loud, high-pitched voice, and throwing open every curtain and/or set of blinds in the apartment. I could have killed her. Don't ask me how I didn't. Maybe because it was a Church school, and I was "trying to be like Jesus" or something. One particular Sunday morning, all of us in the apartment were sick... except for her. We had spent the previous day at Lagoon (a kind of theme-park in Utah), but it had rained all stinkin' day long. So the five of us sick roommates said we were staying in bed and skipping church. Happy Crazy Singing Roommate of course was fine and went to church. When she came home at lunch time, she found the entire apartment still dark, and the five of us sleeping all over the living room (because, you know, misery loves company or something). She immediately opened the shades, started singing, then said, "Oh, and I invited some boys over for dinner. They'll be here in about 10 minutes."
It really was a struggle to not kill, or at least seriously maim, the girl right there on the spot. We all picked up our pillows and blankets, dragged our pajama-clad bodies into one of the bedrooms, locked the door, and slept the rest of the day in two twin beds.
I really don't like mornings. I understand you can get a lot more done if you just get up and go, but seriously... that's when I feel like sleeping! I can stay up all night and be fine, but once morning arrives, you'd better be nice to me. I hate mornings.
My kids have taken after Mr. Universe, however. They love mornings. Why do I have to be the oddball in the family??
They get up by 6 am. That's right. BY 6 am. Six-Freakin'-o'Clock in the bloody early morning.
Did you know that I am not a morning person?
In high school, I had my own alarm clock, but I was always pushing the snooze button. I had early-morning Seminary, and since my dad was the teacher, it wasn't like I could skip class or anything. I kinda had to be there (which is fine. I really enjoyed it... once I got to class that is). My mom often had to come in and get me up, and I'd immediately get in the shower, then fall asleep with my head leaned up against the shower wall. I did this every morning. That is why my showers were over 30 minutes long. Because I was sleeping in the shower.
In college I was able to get myself up (I had somehow learned a bit more responsibility), but I was grumpy as heck until I had fully woken up. I just don't like mornings.
After I got married, I specifically didn't take Percussion Techniques one semester because it was a 7:30 am class, and I didn't want anything earlier than my 8:30 am class. Ches took Percussion Tech that semester, however, and loved it. The next semester it was scheduled to be at 8:30, so I signed up (it was required for my major, after all!). The first day of class, the TA says to us, "We have a scheduling conflict with the other TA. So, are any of you busy at 7:30 in the morning?"
"Yes!" I replied probably a bit too emphatically, "I'm sleeping at that time!"
Needless to say, the class was changed to 7:30 am, and no one in the class could understand why I was constantly about 2 minutes late, grumpy, and just couldn't hit the crash cymbals like they wanted. Crash cymbals and 7:30 am just don't go together. Especially when you don't drink coffee (which people in that particular music department seemed to be highly addicted to! Another post for another time).
Weekends I reserve for sleeping in. Too bad no one else I have ever lived with agreed with this reservation. Back to living at home... if I slept in past 8 or 8:30, but dad would try several times to wake me up, finally just pulling all my blankets off the bed and tossing them across the room. I can't sleep without blankets on. I look back and think, why didn't I just start sleeping naked? That would have put a stop to that really quickly!! Oh well. When you're 16 and sleepy, you don't have a whole lot of rational thoughts.
Back to college... I had a roommate one summer who would wake up at (literally) the crack of dawn, singing in a loud, high-pitched voice, and throwing open every curtain and/or set of blinds in the apartment. I could have killed her. Don't ask me how I didn't. Maybe because it was a Church school, and I was "trying to be like Jesus" or something. One particular Sunday morning, all of us in the apartment were sick... except for her. We had spent the previous day at Lagoon (a kind of theme-park in Utah), but it had rained all stinkin' day long. So the five of us sick roommates said we were staying in bed and skipping church. Happy Crazy Singing Roommate of course was fine and went to church. When she came home at lunch time, she found the entire apartment still dark, and the five of us sleeping all over the living room (because, you know, misery loves company or something). She immediately opened the shades, started singing, then said, "Oh, and I invited some boys over for dinner. They'll be here in about 10 minutes."
It really was a struggle to not kill, or at least seriously maim, the girl right there on the spot. We all picked up our pillows and blankets, dragged our pajama-clad bodies into one of the bedrooms, locked the door, and slept the rest of the day in two twin beds.
I really don't like mornings. I understand you can get a lot more done if you just get up and go, but seriously... that's when I feel like sleeping! I can stay up all night and be fine, but once morning arrives, you'd better be nice to me. I hate mornings.
My kids have taken after Mr. Universe, however. They love mornings. Why do I have to be the oddball in the family??
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