The girl is on the cusp of being a teenager. She’s not much of a girl anymore as she is quite a young lady. She’s in that ditch of not old enough to give up her toys and play time but old enough to enjoy many adult pleasures such as shopping, decorating, drinking coffee and some romantic comedies.

However, I’m wondering when she will become more organized and yearn to care for her things.

This young lady wants to save everything. Wrappers, movie stubs, broken crayons, beads, broken jewlery, paper, paper, paper, paper, and envelopes from every letter and invitation she has ever received. She displays everything. She loves to wrap and tie things up. Yesterday, I found a shoe box wrapped in tissue paper then bound in packing tape. What was in this box that she spent so much time covering? An envelope, just a plain white envelope with an equal amount of packing tape sealing every inch of it. I’m sure it was for some big event that she was hatching up.

She spent the night at a friend’s house so I went into her room and de-cluttered. I found all the missing chess pieces and all the missing hairbands. I flushed out her drawers and threw out a shameful amount of paper. God help her if a fire ever starts in her room.

This is how she has been her whole little life. I don’t get it. I was the kid that lovingly cared for my things and preserved them long enough to give to my sweet daughter who in a minute destroyed the plastic horse, stuffed animals, porcelian doll etc… that I gave her thinking she would do the same. I spent hours in my room organizing my desk, using gingham printed paper to line my drawers and putting my clothes in order. My daughter has never felt the need to organize anything, ever.

I must say this has caused some strife in our relationship. I wonder if she’ll treat her home the same way or if her children will be super organized and drive her crazy with how they want to keep their rooms put together. I don’t know.

I do know that for all the mess she makes she does a lot of sweet things too. I don’t know many girls that love their brothers as much as she does. She gets so upset if they don’t want to play with her or be in the same room with her. She loves to write sweet notes to me and her siblings. She made a pot at camp for me and inside of it wrote; To Mom you’re my inspiration. She has habits that cannot be broken like; everynight she finds her dad and I, wherever we may be, to hug, kiss and say goodnight and a prayer has to be said before every single meal. Traditions are never overlooked like picking the meals out for your birthday, getting new PJs for Christmas or going to the park after getting ice cream. She is consistent with these things.

I’m prepping myself to let a tiny bit of her go this year. She’ll start attending classes at a school and spend less time at home. My mind is full of questions like:
-Is she prepared to take on the extra work from this school?
-Have I taught her well enough?
-Is she going to be influenced too much by some of the other kids?
-Are we doing the right thing by sending her?
I just don’t know and then again I do. I know she is a sweet girl and that she is going to do fine. Right?

She’s my only girl, my little girl, my big girl, my young lady, my daughter. I only get one chance to raise her. Sometimes I’d like to have a do-over so I could enjoy her more.

Yes I’m still here. Thanks for missing me. I’ve written a couple long posts about my anniversary and another one about my daughter and for some reason I just don’t want to post them. So blah. I’ve been reading a couple books “Blink” and “The Lord’s Service” and I’ve been getting reacquainted with my real life and wondering….

-Where has all the time gone?

-When did my little girl turn into a half grown woman?

-Why do I homeschool? Could I just hire someone to do this for me?

-When am I going to stop daydreaming about things like gardens and small towns and cute houses that aren’t anywhere to be found and farms and animals and just be content with where I am?

-Where am I? Where am I supposed to be? What am I….just kiddin.

-Why does sugar have to make me feel so yucky when I love it so?

-Why are gas prices so high and when are people going to stop driving stupid-big vehicles?

-Why do I want a Chevy Suburban?

-Why is it so hard for me to stick to exercising?

-Why did I wait 31 years to get my first pedicure?

-Why can’t I solve my friend’s problems? Why don’t I know all the answers to her questions? How can I help her if she can’t help herself?

-Why do people like carpet and linoleum?

-Is my basement ever going to stop stinking like whatever it’s stinking like?

-Are my chickens ever going to stop pooping and start laying eggs?

-Is this post ever going to end?

On a sad note: Six of our chicken have gone to meat their eater. There is feathery evidence that something cruel happened in the back yard and on top of the coop. They will be missed as soon as we figure out which ones they were.

Here are the facts;

I am the most coordinated clumsy person I know.

I took ballet, tap and jazz lessons from the time I was three years old until I was a sophomore in college. Incorporate cheerleading, drill team, swimming and a lot of years of gymnastics and I’d say that I can point my toes with grace. I just can’t walk through life very gracefully.

I fall down stairs and even more often fall up the stairs. There is never a day that my legs are not sporting a bruise. I catch my hips on corners, I stub my toes on a flat surface and I trip over anything and everything. Those yellow triangular signs that people put down after they have mopped that show CAUTION WET FLOOR with the person hanging in mid air before landing smack on their backside…..that’s me. I can’t walk down a hill without doing some arm flailing and yelling Whoa! Whoaaaa! You get the picture? Graceful, yet not so much.

So, here’s the face plant story. Let me preface this with when people ask me what’s my most embarrassing moment that this probably won’t be it, because I have dozens of these stories. I have so many of these incidents that they have faded in my memory and just become everyday common occurrences.

I was in a hurry to get out the door to take the kids to the pool. I decided to just wear my swimming suit and not bother with a cover up. I felt that the van gave me enough coverage and my swimsuit is a halter top and skirt, basically just shorter than what I would wear as clothes. Yes, I swim in clothes. If someone would make a t-shirt and capris in swimable fabrics I would wear them.

In my rush I realized I would have to stop at Quick Trip and get gas. Have I ever told you we have the nations busiest QT? I’m pretty sure this is a true statement. So, I pull up during the lawn boy break. Every pump was full with a truck load of men waiting for Joe to get their drinks and go on to the next field to mow. I made a circle looking for the most discreet pump. I settled with one next to an older woman, surely she wouldn’t mind viewing me in all my swim bodaciousness.

I’m feeling okay, I can do this. I got out of the van and quickly got the gas going. I stepped over the hose and was ready to hide in the van until the pump was finished. This is when I realized my foot was caught on the hose. I hopped forward still stuck, hopped again still stuck, hopped again and this time the hose brought my leg back and my body went up in the air and I landed flat on my belly. I had the driver’s door open and my daughter saw me yelling Oh! Oh! NO! then she saw my head swish by the door. I got up as fast as I could, did the look around to see if anyone saw me and then lowered my head in shame. Why me? I get enough attention being six feet tall with freaky blond hair, I don’t need to draw anymore attention and yet I manage to. There is just never a place to hide when I need one. I’m sure QT has the whole thing on tape if you all would like to see proof that I am indeed a certified klutz.

Is this where the story ends? No, of course not. I sent Ellen in to get two small fountain drinks. I gave her three bucks and some change. She came back with two .59 cent drinks and no money. Where’s the change? I dunno. How much did it cost? I dunno, I just gave him the money and the change. Did you pay attention to what you were giving him? No. Two small drinks do not cost that much. Oh. Now we have to go in and get my money back. Why? Because that’s all the money I have! Oh. Would you want to get it back if it was your money? Yes. Let’s go. Sorry Mom. I know, let’s go. (I’m not even going to go into the whole homeschooled kid thing and how I must not be teaching them very well and are they going to turn out to be complete idiots and be living with me forever thing…no, I’ll leave that to my own silent torment.)

So, into QT I go in all my swimsuit-bodacious-face-plant-beauty to ask for my two dollars back. God help me. “Hello I’m the huge lady that just did a belly flop on the pavement out there….”

Humiliation. Humbleness. Lesson for the day learned.