"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all"

-Emily Dickinson

Childhood Memories

You may call me a copycat, but I have nothing else to blog about, so I decided I will take Celeste's delightful idea of putting you English stories on your blog. The next few blogs will be about the time David Black cut my long brown locks, childhood anecdotes, and my 4th grade romance, respectively. Enjoy!

HAIR!

Practically from our mother's wombs, my next door neighbor and I became best friends. We played together all the time, making up adventures in the fort in my backyard, or having tea parties in his. Then, when I moved 300 feet away from my old house, suddenly there were new places to explore and new things to do! I had a sand box in my backyard and we spent endless afternoons making castles and little mud pies.

One of my favorite things to do with him, however, was play with my Barbie dolls. We would place Barbie accessories all over my room to make it one gigantic Barbie mansion. The Kelly House would be in one corner of my vast closet, the Polly Pocket mall in the other corner. The petting zoo (fully accessorized with a panda bear, monkey, koala bear, and a swan with her baby), rested on top of a pink quilt folded neatly on the edge of my bed. I played the part of the girl dolls, most noteworthy Barbie and her daughter Kelly. My neighbor, David, played the part of Ken and Tommy, my only two boy dolls. We made up stories for their lives and the scandals that happened in them.

I always loved doing the dolls' hair. I would soak it in water and then attempt to comb it and put it in a cute hairdo. I always tried to get David to join me but he, being the boy, was reluctant to do anything that didn't involve blood and guts. One day as I was pleading with him to join me in my daily hair-doing rituals, I came up with a brilliant idea. I had seen my mom cutting my dad's hair a few days before, and I knew where she kept the scissors.

"We should cut the Barbie dolls' hair!" I shrieked, delighted with this plan that surely had been made by a genius.

I was confident that my plan, in all its simplicity, would work perfectly, and that my mom would be so delighted if one so young as I was able to prove her astounding hair cutting skills to her. David quickly agreed to this plan, and we quickly checked to the see if the coast was clear (my mom was working outside) before racing to grab our weapon of choice from where it was carefully placed in my parent's bathroom drawer.

My genius must still have been flowing at high speed because once we returned to my bedroom I proposed an addition to the plan. "Hey, besides cutting the Barbies' hair, do you want to cut mine too?"

David's eyes sparkled as he contemplated this wondrous idea and finally admitted, "That would be cool."

We sat on the blue rug placed carefully on my bathroom floor as he hacked off my hair, just like the lady in my ward did when she cut my hair. The Barbie dolls were pushed aside as this new pastime took their place. I was blissfully ignorant of any consequences that could come from this activity, and only thought of the happy look on my mother's face when I showed her the finished product.

Soon enough he had finished cropping my hair to the length and style I had dictated to him before he began his barber tasks. I stood on the green and yellow plastic stool and admired myself in the mirror. I was decked out in striped blue and white overalls over a white t-shirt, but that was not what I was admiring on this fine summer day. It was my hair, beautifully cut so that it was so short that you could practically see my skull in some places, and past my shoulders in other areas.

Unfortunately, we didn't have time to prepare for my grand entrance into society, for at that moment my mom chose to come inside to check on us. I grinned, a few teeth missing, as I twirled for my mom. She, however, did not grin upon seeing the state of my brown locks. She simply asked, "Who did this?"

I pointed to the edge of the big white bathtub, where David was placed, scissors in hand, trying to make himself as small as possible. He saw what I could not at that moment, that this was not something to be grinning about. My mom ripped the scissors from his grasp, told us to sit right there, and immediately left the room. Soon we could hear her talking on the phone to someone, saying things like, "Do you know what your son did?" and, "I don't know how they knew where those scissors were!"

My mom soon came back into the bathroom with orders to send David right home. He walked past her with a sheepish look on his face, without so much as glancing in my direction. As soon as he was gone, my mom flashed her fiery eyes in my direction. I gulped loudly, I had never seen her so angry. She gave me quite a talkin'-to that day, and the spanking my dad gave me when he got back from work still brings back pain whenever I remember it. My mom took me to get my hair fixed (at least, as well as our hair dresser could), and I learned from the many tears shed over the next few days that having a 6 year old cut my hair was probably not the best idea. Still, I'll never forget that warm afternoon with my next door neighbor.

CHILDHOOD STORIES

My favorite joke from my childhood:

Marissa: Knock knock

Dad: Who’s there?

Marissa: Cantaloupe

Dad: Cantaloupe who?

Marissa: Cantaloupe baby, Daddy’s got the car

*****

I didn't start walking until I was about 16 months old, but my sister swears I started talking at around 4 months. Now I don't completely believe that, but I do know I had a very extensive vocabulary at a very young age. During family scripture studies, I would have my own set of scriptures placed in my lap so that I wouldn't feel left out. I would stick my nose straight into the book and loudly proclaim some gibberish as a contribution of my needed few verses. I would then turn the page and continue with my 'reading'. This is how I became the official reader in the family.

*****

My siblings used to teach me to do things when I was little that they thought were funny. Personally, I think it was torture, but they just wanted a good laugh. Whenever we talked about Thanksgiving they would ask me what my favorite thing to do on Thanksgiving was and I would reply by sticking my hands straight up in the air and shouting, “FOOTBALL!”

The most embarrassing thing they did to me, however, was quite terrible. They would ask me, “Where are your cheeks?” My little two-year-old self would slap my hands to my face in glee. Then they would ask me, “Where are your other cheeks?” And I would proudly grab my little bottom, elated that I was able to prove my genius at such a young age.

*****

When I was two, my sister would always take me with her and her friends when they hung out. I called these outings my ‘hot dates’. Most of the time it would be my sister, her boyfriend, and one of her good friends who was my ‘date’. He was half-Japanese and my little eyes had never beheld such gorgeousness. I would always ask my sister when I could go on another hot date with Braden. Usually we went to Dairy Queen where I would chomp on my Dilly Bar while throwing flirtatious glances towards Braden. He always told me that unless someone captured me first, we would get married someday. Although he is now happily married, I still get butterflies every time I hear his name and remember those hot dates at DQ.

*****

It was the summer of 2005, and I was headed out on one of my weekly outings with my sister-in-law and her five boys, Cayden (6 ½), Alex and Drew (almost 5), and Adam and Isaac (8 months). This time McDonald’s was the destination of choice. Once we took our food to our tables the boys and I shoved it down so fast we hardly got the chance to see it. The hamburgers and chicken nuggets were just an after-taste in our childish mouths. The three older boys and I raced towards the empty playground, calling out, “Last one there is a rotten egg!”

It was a great afternoon until disaster struck. Cayden and I were waiting behind Drew to slide down the huge yellow tube slide. After Drew hopped into the slide and careened downwards we realized that he was leaving brown spots in his wake. It took us a few moments before we realized that those brown spots were in fact poo. I gulped loudly. I was NOT going down that slide anymore!

Instead, Cayden and I raced back down the play ground (a different way from that slide), and told my sister-in-law, Alyson, that Drew had pooed all down the slide, and the slide was now full of little brown mush. Drew, on the other hand, was now playing around like nothing had happened. Alyson immediately took hold of Drew and steered him towards the bathroom giving Cayden and I the instructions to go down the slide with wet wipes, cleaning it up. I was beginning to regret ever coming on this little excursion.

The walk to the top of the slide was probably one of the longest in my entire life. I felt as if I was in a funeral procession, and I was the one in the casket. I kept picturing all the grotesque things that could happen on that cursed slide. The feel of the brown matter on my hands, or anywhere for that matter, made me shudder.

When we finally arrived at the slide my face was pale white and my palms were sweaty. My nephew, Cayden, being the boy he is, had no problem whatsoever with the present situation we were faced with. He lowered himself into the slide and looked back at me as if to ask, "Are you coming?" I swallowed hard and placed myself beside him holding the wet wipe out before me to ward off any incoming poo. We slid down the slide, inch by inch, rubbing the disgusting waste off the yellow plastic whenever we ran into it.

By the time we arrived at the bottom, I was ready to forget about this terrible afternoon. Alyson had cleaned up Drew and had taken the infant Isaac's pants (who, let me remind you, was only 8 months and had been born premature), and put them on Drew to keep at least some of his decency. The funny thing is, those shorts were only a little too short on him. After everything had been settled, we quickly left and I was able to go home and forget about that traumatic day, at least until now.

FOURTH GRADE LOVE

Note: Names have been changed to protect the innocent (although, I'm not sure if this means me or the kid this is about).

It was the first day of fourth grade and I couldn’t wait to arrive at school! My mom had helped me put my hair in perfect little ringlets, and I had on my brand new clothes purchased not even a week before. I was so excited I could barely hold still as my mom put the finishing touches on my outfit. Once I was all ready for school, I raced down my driveway, my one-shouldered purple backpack bouncing along with me. My neighbor, Brianna, was waiting for me at the bottom of my driveway and with a quick ‘hello’ we were off!

Along the way to school we chattered incessantly about various things, but mostly about school. Brianna was to be a fifth grader this year, and was so excited for the new adventures that held for her! We waited for the crossing guard, who was shrouded in a bright orange vest and holding a scarlet stop sign, to wave us across the street.

Once across that busy street, we stopped and gazed up at the beautiful building before us, the words ‘Jennie P. Stewart Elementary’ blaring out at us in bold black letters from above the front doors. We ran to the side of the building near the white portables where we would be lining up with our classmates before school started. I found the bold ‘N’ spray painted on the asphalt in orange marking where Ms. Nelson’s class would line up at the bell. I looked around at the students already standing there-they were to be my future classmates. I saw a few people I was friends with and quickly ran to share my joy at returning to school with them.

Then, the bell rang. All of the students quickly lined up in their various classes as the teachers walked out the side doors of the school to pick us up. As Ms. Nelson stood before us I looked at her smiling face and instantly knew I had been placed in the right class for my fourth grade year. She led us to her classroom and as soon as I stepped in I felt a warmth and love resonating around me as if I had just stepped into my grandmother’s kitchen. We hung our backpacks up on the pegs assigned to us and found our desks by the name tags placed on top of them. I looked around at my new neighbors, would they be my new best friends? This year would be different than previous years, this year would be amazing, I could just sense it.

It wasn't until lunch that I discovered the boy I would be in love with for the next year-and-a-half. I was sitting with my friends Maggie and Kate, discussing everything from nail polish to licking food off of hobo's feet, and then Kate got onto the topic of boys. We chatted a bit about cute boys in our class, especially the new kids. She then mentioned a particular name that sparked little interest in me. Johnny. I had noticed him from afar, yet he was no different than any other guy. However, Kate's descriptions of him made me see him in a whole new light. Let's just say, I never looked at those blue eyes the same way again. He was sitting at a lunch table just two tables away from where I was squeezed in between my friends. I watched him chew his food, noting at the graceful way his jaw moved up and down with each bite.

After that moment, I was hooked. My nine year old self was convinced I had found my one true love. The only problem was Kate felt the same way and we battled over him, calling out 'he's mine' to each other whenever we passed, as if he was a piece of land...or meat. We convinced Maggie to ask him at least once a week which one of us he liked more, so it was probably no secret how we felt about him. Each time she asked him it would be a different answer. Some days it was "Uh... I guess... Marissa?" Others, "Kate? Sure? Kate?" And still others, "Is there a door number three?"

On those days when he picked Kate over me my little heart would break just a fraction. However, this would only make me fight harder to win my prize, to be the number one in this adorable little boy's life. All three of us were in the same class so the battle for the boy raged on all day long. I took pride in the fact that I was a great listener, and I would start up conversations with him as we waited for the bell for recess or the end of school. I swung back and forth, my hands placed firmly on the desks to either side of me, as I listened to him explain what he had done the previous weekend. A lot of the time, he would talk about going paintballing with his friends, and although I had no clue what that was, I would smile and pretend like I did. "Oh, I do that all the time! It's my favorite activity!"

I was the better candidate for his love, and Kate knew it. She spent all of her time insulting me, whining to me, and even hurting me when I tried to talk to Johnny. One particular incident happened after he performed well at a school event. It was during recess and I was playing our regular game of wall ball with Kate and several other friends. I noticed Johnny and his friends walking the track close to where we were involved in our intense game, so when the ball bounced off of the cement I volunteered to retrieve it. I bent over to grab the pink bouncy ball off the ground right as he was passing. "Good job John-" I started, about to congratulate him on his good performance. Right at that moment, however, I felt a body slam into me from behind, knocking me into the asphalt. It had been Kate, the lioness trying to wipe out the competition for her mate. Kate laughed up at Johnny's shocked face, as if this was a joke that he did not need to be bothered with. He walked on, and I shoved Kate off of me, my head pounding and hot tears forming in my eyes.

"You're so--evil!!" I shrieked. At that moment jealousy and hatred coursed through my veins. Through my blurred vision I saw Kate for who she truly was, the devil herself. I slapped her as hard as I could and ran away from the scene of the crime. From that point on, Kate and I were never truly friends again. We may have been forced by our parents to apologize to each other, may have even gone through the motions of becoming friends again, but I could never completely forget about what she had done to me.

Many incidents of this sort happened throughout the school year. The summer brought a trip to Oregon with my parents. I brought along a bright orange Winnie the Pooh notebook that I would fill with doodles of Star Wars characters and romantic lyrics from the CD I was listening to. I decided that I would give this to Johnny on the first day of fifth grade. Kate had moved away that summer and so I had Johnny all to myself.

On the first day of school I arrived there with butterflies in my stomach, the orange notebook clutched tightly in my arms. I could see Johnny's freshly cut hair standing out over the crowd of kids. I fought through the hordes of children until I stood before him. "Here, this is for you," I whispered, my heart in my stomach, as I handed him the notebook I had worked so hard on, "You can throw it away if you don't want it."

He wasn't in my class this year so I hardly ever saw him. My infatuation with him carried me through the first half of the year, but by January I was totally over him and had moved on with my life. I realized that the only reason I liked him in the first place was because I wanted to be better than Kate in some way. It took me years before I could talk to him without blushing, and it took even longer for me to get over the grudge I held against Kate. I don't know if he still has that notebook, or if he remembers those times as vividly as I do, but I'll always remember that year and a half spent gazing at Johnny's handsome face.

p.s. Since I do not have to worry about him ever reading this, I feel safe to say that Johnny is in fact a kid by the name of Brennan McEwan. I heard that he wrote a story about me too (probably about how I STALKED him practically), but sadly, he didn't have the opportunity to share it.

I Enjoy Long Walks on the Beach...

I seem to be blogging a lot lately, which I suppose is good-I'm making up for those 9 months of silence from me. It's also because I'm grounded from pretty much everything else...yeah. I deserve it but it's still not fun, and I'm just digging myself in a deeper pit of despair these days. Who knows when I'll be let out of this gilded cage? But that's a whole other story. My blog posts seem to be all serious, but that's no surprise since it seems the only things I can write are serious. Tonights little slice of my brain will be on one of my favorite things to do-take walks. I love to go on walks, especially at night. I know, you're probably all thinking, "Are you serious? What about the creepers that come out at night? And you can't see the ice, what if you fall?" Trust me, I've thought about all those things, and more. Even those things can't stop me from walking at my favorite time of day. Walking at any time of day is really pleasurable to me, but I especially enjoy nighttime, and here's why:

Picture a sky so dark you can't tell exactly what color it is in the center, that lightens up to a faded shade of blue on the edges. It's full of stars, thousands, millions of them, too many to count! If I could paint like Jill or Grandma Allen, I would paint that sky, although I'm not sure I could capture the thousands of different shades I can see as I tilt my head upwards and gaze into the dark abyss. It's so beautiful I can't help but feel sorry for those who live in the city, unable to see the sparkling lights above them because of the blaring ones that engulf them, that swallow them whole. There is a steady rhythm of cars as they pass by on the nearby main roads, but otherwise there is silence. The still, peaceful sound of this part of the world going to sleep is refreshing after a day of social pressures and demands. It helps me forget about my internal sadness, my failure to do everything right, my inability to be the perfect 'only child'. It lets me escape into my own thoughts, my own memories, without forcing me to cope with the reality sitting in a nice house two blocks away from where my feet have taken me. There is no pressure, no expectations, no strained relationships. I love it. This dark, protective, peaceful, night.

p.s. sorry the picture is so small!

When You Were Young

When you were young did you ever think about who you were hanging out with? Or what talking to them would do to your reputation? Or what labels people might've been placing on your forehead as you walked from place to place? Did you think about how nice (or not) your shoes were? How your shirt or pants hung unflatteringly on your either too fat or too skinny body? I personally never thought about these things. I don't even know if it crossed my mind what the gender was of the kid I was playing with at the time.

This is one thing about Junior High that I can't understand why it goes on. You go to school on the first day of 7th grade and after about the first few weeks you are branded with a label that hardly ever changes throughout the next few years. You could be a 'nerd', 'jock', 'popular', 'band geek', 'choir geek', or even one of the 'untouchables'. It all depends on who your friends are, what you wear, what you like to do, stuff like that. And I'm not proud of it, but I do it too. I label. I remember the first day of school there was this cute boy in a bunch of my classes and I TOTALLY thought he was a popular kid... until I saw his shoes. That's how I knew he wasn't popular, because of the shoes he wore! Crazy, right?

I also hate this system because (unless you're working on a project together) you don't talk or associate with people of a different 'class'. Us lower down folk are practically invisible to the popular kids as we wander down the halls between classes. And there's some kids who are less than invisible... they are bullied to their faces! These kids are looked on as something to joke about, creeps who don't contribute anything worthwhile to society. I'm not proud to say I've made a few jokes about these people at some point, but I'm trying to do better. I just wish we could all get along, and look for the best in people, regardless of their status in Junior High school society.

Well, that's my rant for the day! Enjoy!

New Beginnings

"Every day is a fresh beginning, Every morn is the world made new"

-Sarah Chauncey Woolsey

My brother told me I had to write a blog entry by Christmas, so here it is! If you've read my blog before you can probably tell I've made a few changes. I think my original blogging attempt pretty much failed so I'm starting all over again! Before I was too worried about making myself sound really smart or cool or mature, but then I realized, I'm a teenager! Hellooooo! I shouldn't be trying to make myself sound like a college student or someone like that.

This time around, I am going to share crazy teenage things, complain about my life, and go off about things I don't like. If you don't like that, don't read my blog! Here is my true teenage spirit unveiled:

I like being alone. Is that normal for a teen? I don't know. Yet I find myself counting down the minutes until my parents leave me at home by myself. If I don't get some time to just clear my head and think in the week then I go insane! Sometimes it gets so hectic inside my house that I just have to go take a walk for an hour or so. My favorite time of day is night, when everyone is asleep. I get to just sit there and do what I want, uninterrupted. There are no parents breathing down my neck right then, no responsibilities, no pretending. I can do what I want, say what I want, think what I want, wear what I want--whatever I want with no expectations. You probably think I'm some self-centered chick who has no life. I probably am a bit self-centered, but isn't that how everyone is at age 14? And it's hard for me personally because I'm practically like an only child, so my parents are focusing all their attention on ME. They seem to expect so much out of me and sometimes I fall short of those expectations. And since I'm the only one at home, when I fall short I seem to fall a lot farther than everyone else. That's partially why I like being alone so much, so I don't have to deal with those pressures. Another reason is because I love the quiet and the still that comes with knowing you're the only one around. The sounds of nature, usually unnoticed, that fill up that space. The sound of crickets chirping in the summer, the pounding of rain on the roof in the spring. It makes me feel more at peace with the world.

Well, that was my two cents worth for a while. And now Tadd can't nag me about blogging anymore ;)