You can see the date I am writing this. It is April, 2020. March was a weird month at my house. To be honest, while the whole family really should have been focusing their time and energy considering how best to celebrate my half birthday on March 16, both my mom and my dad were glued to their screens shifting our entire school into this thing called, "Distance Learning." It really doesn't seem so complicated, so I don't know what has them working so hard, in reality, aren't the teachers doing all the work? Honestly, I don't see my parents reading Charlotte's Web in my Google Classroom!
Anyway, the point is, we are all staying home. We are stuck in the house, bla bla bla, and it is driving me a little bonkers. Yes, I have been doing my distance learning, but that is easy. The hard part is not really knowing how long this is going to go on for. The truth is, I love my mom and my dad, but I miss so many people so much. I miss my friends from school, and my teacher, Mrs. A, and my brothers! Oh, my brothers! Those boys! When we are home together they more or less ignore me because I am their "little sister" but I know they love me. Now, it is like some gigantic metal door was closing, like in a movie and they were running toward the door, but it closed and they were trapped on the other side. I wish they were trapped on my side. They are at their mom's house, and I am here at home.
Its funny though, you know, how something can seem kind of awful, but then when you start to explain it out loud, you start to remember how many good things are happening too. Like, now that we are doing school at home it has a new name, "Distance Learning," and that kind of makes it better because we aren't comparing it to school, its this whole "new" thing. I wonder if we should do the same with the rest of our life. I mean, we can't compare how life is today to how life was a month ago, that just wouldn't be fair, but maybe if we call this, "Distance Living," we can see how many good parts there really are.
I have one to three virtual playdates everyday with some of my best friends thanks to Google Hangout video chats. I usually only see my Nana at big events, she comes up for Easter and some big occasions, but since we started distance living, we have talked on FaceTime every week. It is funny to watch grandparents use FaceTime. I have never walked my dog so many times in any week I can remember! Last night, my brothers agreed to play with me, without even putting up a fight: we played Headbandz over a Zoom Video chat; it was so funny because my brothers and I kept changing our virtual backgrounds to dogs and stuff. Last week we had a whole family video chat with my grandma and papa, my aunties and my cousin Holly's family, I was a bit too shy to talk, but it made me happy to see everyone. I think I have seen more family in one week than maybe anytime I can remember. I think we need this technology to make us feel connected, and feeling connected makes everything less scary.
Two nights ago I walked into my dad's office, its this extra room in the back of our house. He had music playing on the little Alexa plugged into the wall by the door. I don't even know why I did this, but I walked straight over to the device and I said, "Alexa, play 'Did you Know My Friend,' by Peff Eick," and my dad's eyes just about popped out of his head. I don't think he knew that his Uncle Peff's song was on Alexa. I walked straight over to my dad and stood toe to toe, looking straight up at him. There was something so comforting about this song, about this moment, that we were surrounded by family even though we were Distant Living, I took his hand and put them on my shoulders, and I put mine on his and we danced. My dad, he is such a softy. I swear I think I saw a tear in his eye. Even though we are all distance living, the fact that we have people to stay connected with and the technology to keep us connected, it makes everything just a little better.
I don't think we can compare how life is today to how life used to be, but I can say this, using whatever tools we have to stay connected, whether the whole world is on quarantine or not seems like a pretty good way to spend our time.
Sunday, April 5, 2020
Thursday, February 20, 2020
If I could...
We went to get a haircut, well, I didn't get a haircut, my dad did. He doesn't even have that much hair so I don't know how it takes as long as it does. He let's me watch kids youtube while he sits in the chair and talks to the barber about all sorts of stuff, so I go along with him - don't tell mommy.
Just a side thought: the place smells funny. Great clips doesn't really smell like anything. I think that is because it is for boys and girls, but my dad's barber smells like men going on a date. You know, kind of fancy but not like perfume.
Anyway, we walked out of the barber shop, same one every time, and across the street is a little coffee shop and next door is a little antique shop. We went in there one time and they had all these old record players and typewriters. That place smelled kinda funny too now that I think about it...like old shoe boxes and yellowing newspapers. So, this time we walk by the antique shop and we peek through the window, and it is empty. Not empty like nobody in there; empty like, empty, empty. Nothing, just hard wood floors and dust. There is something about empty that gets my dad every-time. He is always asking, what would you do if you could build something in that open lot? What would you do in this space if this were your bedroom? What if we had a HUGE backyard.
"What kind of store would you put here if you could? A dance studio?"
"If I could," I said, "I would open a music shop, with guitars and all kinds of instruments."
Sometimes I say things and I am not sure why they affect my dad the way that they do. He is usually quick with a joke, a comeback, or an add-on to the conversation, but sometimes, it is like I just stop him in his tracks. I saw him look at me out of the corner of his eye, with that little sideways smirky grin. He just nodded and said, "Yeah, that would be awesome, I would come and visit you everyday." My dad, I think he loves that I love music, maybe that is partly why I love it, because he loves me and I love him.
Just a side thought: the place smells funny. Great clips doesn't really smell like anything. I think that is because it is for boys and girls, but my dad's barber smells like men going on a date. You know, kind of fancy but not like perfume.
Anyway, we walked out of the barber shop, same one every time, and across the street is a little coffee shop and next door is a little antique shop. We went in there one time and they had all these old record players and typewriters. That place smelled kinda funny too now that I think about it...like old shoe boxes and yellowing newspapers. So, this time we walk by the antique shop and we peek through the window, and it is empty. Not empty like nobody in there; empty like, empty, empty. Nothing, just hard wood floors and dust. There is something about empty that gets my dad every-time. He is always asking, what would you do if you could build something in that open lot? What would you do in this space if this were your bedroom? What if we had a HUGE backyard.
"What kind of store would you put here if you could? A dance studio?"
"If I could," I said, "I would open a music shop, with guitars and all kinds of instruments."
Sometimes I say things and I am not sure why they affect my dad the way that they do. He is usually quick with a joke, a comeback, or an add-on to the conversation, but sometimes, it is like I just stop him in his tracks. I saw him look at me out of the corner of his eye, with that little sideways smirky grin. He just nodded and said, "Yeah, that would be awesome, I would come and visit you everyday." My dad, I think he loves that I love music, maybe that is partly why I love it, because he loves me and I love him.
Sunday, February 2, 2020
The Modern Princess
When I was little, I loved me some princesses. No joke. When we went to Disneyland, I told the world, "you can keep your roller coasters and funnel cakes for your self, as for me, I want to hang with some princesses." I don't think it was that unusual for a little girl like me to see that magic and want to get close to it. Movie after movie made it out to look just so. Big sparkly dresses, abundance, large ballrooms and all eyes on the most beautiful girl in the room as she swayed and spun to the rhythms of a grand orchestra. Yea, being a princess looked like a good gig.
Now I wear ripped jeans and black vans. I'm what you might call a modern princess. I still love music, but instead of the delightful notes of Bipity Boppity Boo, I am more in to girl-anthems and something with a bit more of a kick. Hey, I'm eight, growing up in 2020, this world is on the move and so am I. I like making music too. That's something I never saw a princess do, they were always moved by the music, but in my world I think it is ok for a princess to make music that moves others. I have been playing guitar and writing songs. I know several chords on the guitar and can pluck out a few melodies off some tab sheets my dad and I get at our guitar lesson.
My dad. Ha! That guy! I think he must feel like he has won the lottery. His daughter has grown out of the Cinderella phase and into this modern princess wearing skate shoes and strumming guitar - I see him with that sparkle in his eye every time he smiles that crooked smile and says, "that's my girl." I know he loves me know matter what, so don't tell him, but I wear the vans in part to get his attention. He wears them too. They are his favorite shoe for skating and that is something he loves to do. So, I knew getting a slick pair of treads would catch his eye.
My dad and I, we go on a lot of adventures. We are always off goofing around finding trouble to get into. In the last couple weeks, we have been to the park, the ice rink, DOCO, Old Sac, and we even drove past Funderland - but it was closed. But, the truth is, he works a lot too. He goes to Sac State on weekends and works late at Westlake at least a few nights a week. The thing is, when we are together, we adventure, but when he is not around, I miss him.
Every year since I was 3 my dad and I have dressed to the nines and have had a date night that keeps me walking on clouds for the whole year. At Westlake Charter School they put this night together for every dad and daughter just like us, it is called the My Princess and Me Dance. On this night, hundreds of princesses and their chaperones come to the school where the gym is curtained and decorated with covered tables, balloon arches and the DJ plays anthems that make me want to spin the night away. I admit that I may have outgrown the princess fixation of my younger years, but this night is a blend between the glitter and gowns of the ballroom with the musical styling of my new found idols - it is perfection.
For the past two years my dad has had 8AM to 5:30PM class at CSUS on the day of the dance. I overheard him whispering to mommy that he convinced his whole class to take a short lunch so that they could all get out early. He changed into his best suit next to his car on the second story of the university parking garage and sped to Bel Air to buy a bouquet of flowers bigger than my entire torso. He knows I love flowers. When he rang the doorbell, I flung the door open to find him standing on the porch, flowers in hand and a crooked daddy smile as his eyes lit up at my outfit.
I love getting dressed for this night. This event is an opportunity to spend time with my dad, but it starts months earlier with shopping for a dress and shoes with my mommy...one of my favorite pastimes. On the day of the dance, my mommy helped me paint my nails, and dust my face with bronzer, gloss my lips and curl my hair. I love to dress to the nines.
Walking into the restaurant on my dad's arm, every table we passed stopped to drink us in. We were a sight to see. Several women commented on my dress. All eyes were on us as we sat down for dinner, both of us on the same side of the table, backs to the window, looking out across the entire scene.
At the entrance to the dance, they had laid a red carpet. It was perfection. Some of the middle school girls and volunteering moms, armed with Nikons, popped flashbulbs as we made our entrance as the paparazzi that our glorious entrance deserved. We stopped at the photo booth, waved to friends, and then we danced! We danced every dance like it was the last dance of our lives. I bought a dress that was made to spin and twirl, and oh man did I twirl. It was our best night of dancing yet. At previous events, I used to run off with my friends, hold hands and spin in circles on the dance floor, but his year, I wanted time with my daddy, and we spent that time dancing!
As the night wound down, we decided to end the evening with a little fro-yo and enjoy the company of my best friend Grace and her daddy. We laughed and talked, and promised to do it again. When I finally walked through the door, mommy was there with a hug and a, "how was it?" Truth is, it is hard to put into words, but I guess the answer is, it was what it must have been like to be a princess.
Now I wear ripped jeans and black vans. I'm what you might call a modern princess. I still love music, but instead of the delightful notes of Bipity Boppity Boo, I am more in to girl-anthems and something with a bit more of a kick. Hey, I'm eight, growing up in 2020, this world is on the move and so am I. I like making music too. That's something I never saw a princess do, they were always moved by the music, but in my world I think it is ok for a princess to make music that moves others. I have been playing guitar and writing songs. I know several chords on the guitar and can pluck out a few melodies off some tab sheets my dad and I get at our guitar lesson.
My dad. Ha! That guy! I think he must feel like he has won the lottery. His daughter has grown out of the Cinderella phase and into this modern princess wearing skate shoes and strumming guitar - I see him with that sparkle in his eye every time he smiles that crooked smile and says, "that's my girl." I know he loves me know matter what, so don't tell him, but I wear the vans in part to get his attention. He wears them too. They are his favorite shoe for skating and that is something he loves to do. So, I knew getting a slick pair of treads would catch his eye.
My dad and I, we go on a lot of adventures. We are always off goofing around finding trouble to get into. In the last couple weeks, we have been to the park, the ice rink, DOCO, Old Sac, and we even drove past Funderland - but it was closed. But, the truth is, he works a lot too. He goes to Sac State on weekends and works late at Westlake at least a few nights a week. The thing is, when we are together, we adventure, but when he is not around, I miss him.
Every year since I was 3 my dad and I have dressed to the nines and have had a date night that keeps me walking on clouds for the whole year. At Westlake Charter School they put this night together for every dad and daughter just like us, it is called the My Princess and Me Dance. On this night, hundreds of princesses and their chaperones come to the school where the gym is curtained and decorated with covered tables, balloon arches and the DJ plays anthems that make me want to spin the night away. I admit that I may have outgrown the princess fixation of my younger years, but this night is a blend between the glitter and gowns of the ballroom with the musical styling of my new found idols - it is perfection.
For the past two years my dad has had 8AM to 5:30PM class at CSUS on the day of the dance. I overheard him whispering to mommy that he convinced his whole class to take a short lunch so that they could all get out early. He changed into his best suit next to his car on the second story of the university parking garage and sped to Bel Air to buy a bouquet of flowers bigger than my entire torso. He knows I love flowers. When he rang the doorbell, I flung the door open to find him standing on the porch, flowers in hand and a crooked daddy smile as his eyes lit up at my outfit.
I love getting dressed for this night. This event is an opportunity to spend time with my dad, but it starts months earlier with shopping for a dress and shoes with my mommy...one of my favorite pastimes. On the day of the dance, my mommy helped me paint my nails, and dust my face with bronzer, gloss my lips and curl my hair. I love to dress to the nines.
Walking into the restaurant on my dad's arm, every table we passed stopped to drink us in. We were a sight to see. Several women commented on my dress. All eyes were on us as we sat down for dinner, both of us on the same side of the table, backs to the window, looking out across the entire scene.
At the entrance to the dance, they had laid a red carpet. It was perfection. Some of the middle school girls and volunteering moms, armed with Nikons, popped flashbulbs as we made our entrance as the paparazzi that our glorious entrance deserved. We stopped at the photo booth, waved to friends, and then we danced! We danced every dance like it was the last dance of our lives. I bought a dress that was made to spin and twirl, and oh man did I twirl. It was our best night of dancing yet. At previous events, I used to run off with my friends, hold hands and spin in circles on the dance floor, but his year, I wanted time with my daddy, and we spent that time dancing!
As the night wound down, we decided to end the evening with a little fro-yo and enjoy the company of my best friend Grace and her daddy. We laughed and talked, and promised to do it again. When I finally walked through the door, mommy was there with a hug and a, "how was it?" Truth is, it is hard to put into words, but I guess the answer is, it was what it must have been like to be a princess.
Monday, June 25, 2018
The Black Eye
It's 2018, I'm six years old, and the whole world has lessons for me to learn. Many of the lessons are scripted, some are hidden in the laugh tracks of the Richie Rich sitcoms that stream on Netflix, and others are seemingly unintentional.
This week, while hanging at the pool with my dad and the Clark girls, I went to lean on the pool chair while slipping on my flip flop. Who designed these pool chair death traps anyway? Did somebody have an extra bag of large rubber bands lying around and a metal chair frame and decide that one could complete the other? I leaned my entire body weight on the seat of the chair, I mean, I just sat in it, so I know it can hold my weight, but, the joke was on me because the seat is no seat at all, but a series of elastic straps. When my butt distributes its weight across the straps, it holds my body up, but when my tiny hand leans in, it finds its way right through the straps and I fell headlong right into the edge of the table.
Oh, I wasn't going to let the world know that I had been beaten by a poolside chair. I quickly shot up, looked around to count the number of observers who may have caught my bobbled balancing act and then made a bolt lock eye contact with my dad. He didn't realize that the pain behind my eyebrow had already started throbbing, but he knew by my look that I was holding something back. He intuitively picked me up and whispered, its ok, even though it wasn't. We walked to the car, drove quickly home, and by the time we hit the drive a goose egg bump was closing my left eye and by morning...I had a shiner!
I was mortified. I didn't want to go to church the next day nor horse camp that was to begin the day after that because I didn't want anybody to see me and think I looked weird. My parents tried every trick in the book: they tried to teach me that beauty was only skin deep, that it didn't matter what others thought and they even pointed to the lessons of a recently watched American Girl movie: our true friends will support us when we need them most.
Truth is, at six years old, a little of each of those lessons all came to fruition in the next couple days, so it would be easy to congratulate them on their prediction of my future, but in all honesty, it was the lesson that they didn't teach me that taught me the most. You see, my dad has learned to be one heck of a cook and my mom taught me to ride a bike. It is 2018, and roles don't seem to matter the way they did a hundred years ago when my parents were kids. There is no one size fits all solution to any of life's problems, and I know that because my parents are just regular hard working people who get as much wrong as they get right, but above all, no matter what role they are playing in the production of the day, they never waiver when it comes to loving me.
That is the lesson, the one that nobody planned, the one that hasn't been said, but is behind it all: I am worth loving. At the end of the day, that is what made it ok to go to horse camp with a black eye, as nervous as I was that the world would laugh at me, I know two trust worthy characters who have learned to stretch outside their own comforts to show me that I am worth the effort, and I believe them.
Today was the first day of horse camp, it took some courage, but just like in the American Girl movie, I told my best friend about my eye and she showed me she cared.
This week, while hanging at the pool with my dad and the Clark girls, I went to lean on the pool chair while slipping on my flip flop. Who designed these pool chair death traps anyway? Did somebody have an extra bag of large rubber bands lying around and a metal chair frame and decide that one could complete the other? I leaned my entire body weight on the seat of the chair, I mean, I just sat in it, so I know it can hold my weight, but, the joke was on me because the seat is no seat at all, but a series of elastic straps. When my butt distributes its weight across the straps, it holds my body up, but when my tiny hand leans in, it finds its way right through the straps and I fell headlong right into the edge of the table.
Oh, I wasn't going to let the world know that I had been beaten by a poolside chair. I quickly shot up, looked around to count the number of observers who may have caught my bobbled balancing act and then made a bolt lock eye contact with my dad. He didn't realize that the pain behind my eyebrow had already started throbbing, but he knew by my look that I was holding something back. He intuitively picked me up and whispered, its ok, even though it wasn't. We walked to the car, drove quickly home, and by the time we hit the drive a goose egg bump was closing my left eye and by morning...I had a shiner!
I was mortified. I didn't want to go to church the next day nor horse camp that was to begin the day after that because I didn't want anybody to see me and think I looked weird. My parents tried every trick in the book: they tried to teach me that beauty was only skin deep, that it didn't matter what others thought and they even pointed to the lessons of a recently watched American Girl movie: our true friends will support us when we need them most.
Truth is, at six years old, a little of each of those lessons all came to fruition in the next couple days, so it would be easy to congratulate them on their prediction of my future, but in all honesty, it was the lesson that they didn't teach me that taught me the most. You see, my dad has learned to be one heck of a cook and my mom taught me to ride a bike. It is 2018, and roles don't seem to matter the way they did a hundred years ago when my parents were kids. There is no one size fits all solution to any of life's problems, and I know that because my parents are just regular hard working people who get as much wrong as they get right, but above all, no matter what role they are playing in the production of the day, they never waiver when it comes to loving me.
That is the lesson, the one that nobody planned, the one that hasn't been said, but is behind it all: I am worth loving. At the end of the day, that is what made it ok to go to horse camp with a black eye, as nervous as I was that the world would laugh at me, I know two trust worthy characters who have learned to stretch outside their own comforts to show me that I am worth the effort, and I believe them.
Today was the first day of horse camp, it took some courage, but just like in the American Girl movie, I told my best friend about my eye and she showed me she cared.
Sunday, June 3, 2018
The Pool
So, it isn't like I don't shower. I am no stranger to a bathtub either. I try my best to get in eight servings at eight ounces per serving everyday. I have never lived in the desert. And my dad waters the lawn everyday, sometimes twice a day. Basically I am no stranger to water. I am surrounded by it on a daily basis. I love it in all forms. I love ice in my glass and water in my cup. I don't drink juice (my mom goes out of her way to buy me water boxes, so I have something to drink when the other kids bust out the 36 grams of sugar filled boxes of "juice"). I even love steam. When the shower steam does its thing, I'm always good for a steam etched finger drawing, usually calling out my love for my mommy - I <3 You Mommy.
So, if water is such a typical daily occurrence in my life, why then is it that my heart goes a flutter, my pupils dilate, my smile seems wider and my squeal just a bit louder when my parents announce that it is Memorial Day weekend, thus marking one of the most important annual events of the year in the Eick House: the opening of the Westlake Community Pool!
This wonderland is filled with adventures of every kind for me. The trek from the parking lot itself can be an obstacle to overcome, you see, in my excitement to scurry out to my dad's car, it is not unusual for me to forget my shoes. The hot lava dance across the scalding black-top asphalt parking lot is just what it takes to get a ride in my dad's arms - today, my brother Tyler carried me - Score! Just to get into the pool, you have to code your way through a labyrinth of locked doors - I feel like a spy every time: the first door takes a magnetic card key and the second a sequence of numbers, just beyond which sit two secret agents disguised as a couple pimple-faced teens "pretending" to be working a summer job...nice cover boys. On a busy day, every table, and every umbrella is taken, but this is our home court, and it is not unusual for us to know at least 3 umbrellas worth of friends, each of which wave and say hello as we sneak past the guards.
My dad always brings snacks. Every time he acts like I might eat or even want to sit for a moment prior to or instead of charging across the deck and plunging into the crisp cool goodness that is 10's of thousands of gallons of water - I never snack. I strap on my goggles and I partake in every routine we have developed in my six summers of life at this pool. This was the first place I ever floated, and now I am able to almost swim across the entire thing. We play submarine, surfboard, and we dance the tango; then there is the climb on the shoulders, the stand on the shoulders and the claw the shoulders; there are all the areal maneuvers like air-splits, cannonball, and the pencil; and finally there are also the mandatory moves that my dad forces on me: the back-float, the distance swim and the crawl.
Upon reflection, it may be more than the water itself, the pool is a place where community comes to share time with each other, and truth be known, that is my favorite past time. More than anything else, I love it when my people and I are in it together, no technology, no hustle and bustle, just neck deep in maneuvers to keep ourselves from going under, and the feeling that if you start to slip, the strong arm of your family will always be there to pull you to the surface. It reminds me that this life was made for living together. Yeah, I love the pool.
So, if water is such a typical daily occurrence in my life, why then is it that my heart goes a flutter, my pupils dilate, my smile seems wider and my squeal just a bit louder when my parents announce that it is Memorial Day weekend, thus marking one of the most important annual events of the year in the Eick House: the opening of the Westlake Community Pool!
This wonderland is filled with adventures of every kind for me. The trek from the parking lot itself can be an obstacle to overcome, you see, in my excitement to scurry out to my dad's car, it is not unusual for me to forget my shoes. The hot lava dance across the scalding black-top asphalt parking lot is just what it takes to get a ride in my dad's arms - today, my brother Tyler carried me - Score! Just to get into the pool, you have to code your way through a labyrinth of locked doors - I feel like a spy every time: the first door takes a magnetic card key and the second a sequence of numbers, just beyond which sit two secret agents disguised as a couple pimple-faced teens "pretending" to be working a summer job...nice cover boys. On a busy day, every table, and every umbrella is taken, but this is our home court, and it is not unusual for us to know at least 3 umbrellas worth of friends, each of which wave and say hello as we sneak past the guards.
My dad always brings snacks. Every time he acts like I might eat or even want to sit for a moment prior to or instead of charging across the deck and plunging into the crisp cool goodness that is 10's of thousands of gallons of water - I never snack. I strap on my goggles and I partake in every routine we have developed in my six summers of life at this pool. This was the first place I ever floated, and now I am able to almost swim across the entire thing. We play submarine, surfboard, and we dance the tango; then there is the climb on the shoulders, the stand on the shoulders and the claw the shoulders; there are all the areal maneuvers like air-splits, cannonball, and the pencil; and finally there are also the mandatory moves that my dad forces on me: the back-float, the distance swim and the crawl.
Upon reflection, it may be more than the water itself, the pool is a place where community comes to share time with each other, and truth be known, that is my favorite past time. More than anything else, I love it when my people and I are in it together, no technology, no hustle and bustle, just neck deep in maneuvers to keep ourselves from going under, and the feeling that if you start to slip, the strong arm of your family will always be there to pull you to the surface. It reminds me that this life was made for living together. Yeah, I love the pool.
Sunday, October 1, 2017
Horse Camp? Really?
Ok, so here is the deal, I am one hundred percent sure that my parents were well meaning when they found this horse camp. I am sure my mom researched it online, checked Megan's Law records for the thirty miles surrounding the ranch; I'll bet she called ahead and asked about food; and I am quite certain my parents neither slept the night before I left for camp nor could they sit still for a moment after they dropped me off. Look, don't tell them I said so, but they can both be a bit high maintenance.
So, horse camp.
To begin, it is a 45 minute drive one way to the middle of nowhere. The sign on the corner of the fence says, Sugar Ditch Stables, but I'll tell you it could have been called out in the middle of nowhere, dusty, dirty and kinda stinky-town. My parents dropped me off at 8:30 AM each morning for a week, and on Monday, I only knew two things: 1st - Elliot, my best friend from Pre K would be there and 2nd - I was going to ride a horse.
Well, what do you know? It is Friday night and on the way home I cried real tears: I want to go back to that dusty old stinky farm so bad it feels like I'll never want anything this bad again as long as I live. I made friends, and crafts, I felt alive and independent, I came home dirty every day wearing my shorts, tank-top and pink cowgirl boots all covered in head to toe horse dust.
We did chores and shoveled poop. We saw a chicken lay an egg (don't tell the chicken, but the ranchers said they were going to eat that egg). We all made sun catchers and bird houses. We ate together and we laughed together and we played together.
And...I met someone. Someone special. I was a little shy at first. I wasn't sure how this relationship would develop, but by Wednesday I woke up with one name on my mind; by Thursday night as I lay my head on my pillow, I could just see those big brown eyes staring back at me; and on Friday night, I cried real tears because I already miss my Suzy Q. I want a pony, not just any pony, I want my Suzy Q.
So, horse camp.
To begin, it is a 45 minute drive one way to the middle of nowhere. The sign on the corner of the fence says, Sugar Ditch Stables, but I'll tell you it could have been called out in the middle of nowhere, dusty, dirty and kinda stinky-town. My parents dropped me off at 8:30 AM each morning for a week, and on Monday, I only knew two things: 1st - Elliot, my best friend from Pre K would be there and 2nd - I was going to ride a horse.
Well, what do you know? It is Friday night and on the way home I cried real tears: I want to go back to that dusty old stinky farm so bad it feels like I'll never want anything this bad again as long as I live. I made friends, and crafts, I felt alive and independent, I came home dirty every day wearing my shorts, tank-top and pink cowgirl boots all covered in head to toe horse dust.
We did chores and shoveled poop. We saw a chicken lay an egg (don't tell the chicken, but the ranchers said they were going to eat that egg). We all made sun catchers and bird houses. We ate together and we laughed together and we played together.
And...I met someone. Someone special. I was a little shy at first. I wasn't sure how this relationship would develop, but by Wednesday I woke up with one name on my mind; by Thursday night as I lay my head on my pillow, I could just see those big brown eyes staring back at me; and on Friday night, I cried real tears because I already miss my Suzy Q. I want a pony, not just any pony, I want my Suzy Q.
I'd Rather Not Talk About It
I can be shy.
If you approach me without warning, if you make eye contact with the top of my head because I am staring straight down at the gap between my toes, if you think that because my dad once worked with you or my mom taught you or either of my parents know you from church, that I will respond when you speak to me: you are in for a surprise. I can lock it down. I once attended a 30 minute doctor's appointment, where I was the subject of study, and I never once spoke a word. Now, don't get me wrong, I started speaking in complete sentences at 13 months, I have got the words to articulate comprehension beyond my years. Unfortunately for you, I don't just give my words away to make anyone else feel good. After-all, I am in kindergarten, and while this spinning sphere technically revolves around the sun, I know it exists for the Daughter.
Last week, I was walking across some river rocks and I fell and I broke my arm.
There isn't that much more to tell. That single sentence pretty much sums up the facts and outside of facts, I'm not totally sure what else is pertinent here. Does it hurt? You are the adult, you've experienced, known someone who has experienced, or read up on the subject of this. You know the answer. Did I pick out the color of my cast? No, when my dad was my age and broke his arm they only had one color: plaster. Now, with the advancement of technology, they can make any color, but due to the current nature of political correctness they have to spin a wheel to determine what color you get; I was nearly stuck with paisley, but was relieved when I scored this hot pink number. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I'm not a fan of small talk, talking to strangers, or sharing personal information just because I am being asked, and apparently being a six year old girl with a hot pink cast is a magnet for all three.
The point here is, I'd rather not talk about it. A week ago I had no cast, I was just a 6 year old girl who could avoid eye contact, to which, most people naturally accepted as a sign that conversation was neither desired nor necessary. A first attempt at any of the above mentioned activity could be dissuaded by staring at my feet and zipping my lip, because, to be honest, most adults would give up on the sheer basis of lack of common grounds. Unfortunately, I now seem to have a big sign hanging around my neck saying, "Hey, check me out, I think you and I may have some common ground here, let's chat: do you have a daughter or a neighbor about my age who has also undergone a similar trauma to the one you assume I am experiencing? Do you have a life story that you could share with me that may ease the burden you assume I am carrying? Do you have any personally probing questions I could answer for you about my dexterity, whether or not my pain registry is normed with yours, or might you have a jocular and far fetched situation you'd like to suggest in an attempt to explain my current situation? Step right up, don't take the lack of eye contact, the tight lipped silence or the hiding behind my dad's leg as a sign that you are making me uncomfortable, you just keep on asking until you get what you need." I did mention that it is a big sign.
So, I broke my arm, it hurt for a bit and the cast is uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as spending the next 4 weeks with a grown up magnet dangling in a sling!
If you approach me without warning, if you make eye contact with the top of my head because I am staring straight down at the gap between my toes, if you think that because my dad once worked with you or my mom taught you or either of my parents know you from church, that I will respond when you speak to me: you are in for a surprise. I can lock it down. I once attended a 30 minute doctor's appointment, where I was the subject of study, and I never once spoke a word. Now, don't get me wrong, I started speaking in complete sentences at 13 months, I have got the words to articulate comprehension beyond my years. Unfortunately for you, I don't just give my words away to make anyone else feel good. After-all, I am in kindergarten, and while this spinning sphere technically revolves around the sun, I know it exists for the Daughter.
Last week, I was walking across some river rocks and I fell and I broke my arm.
There isn't that much more to tell. That single sentence pretty much sums up the facts and outside of facts, I'm not totally sure what else is pertinent here. Does it hurt? You are the adult, you've experienced, known someone who has experienced, or read up on the subject of this. You know the answer. Did I pick out the color of my cast? No, when my dad was my age and broke his arm they only had one color: plaster. Now, with the advancement of technology, they can make any color, but due to the current nature of political correctness they have to spin a wheel to determine what color you get; I was nearly stuck with paisley, but was relieved when I scored this hot pink number. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I'm not a fan of small talk, talking to strangers, or sharing personal information just because I am being asked, and apparently being a six year old girl with a hot pink cast is a magnet for all three.
The point here is, I'd rather not talk about it. A week ago I had no cast, I was just a 6 year old girl who could avoid eye contact, to which, most people naturally accepted as a sign that conversation was neither desired nor necessary. A first attempt at any of the above mentioned activity could be dissuaded by staring at my feet and zipping my lip, because, to be honest, most adults would give up on the sheer basis of lack of common grounds. Unfortunately, I now seem to have a big sign hanging around my neck saying, "Hey, check me out, I think you and I may have some common ground here, let's chat: do you have a daughter or a neighbor about my age who has also undergone a similar trauma to the one you assume I am experiencing? Do you have a life story that you could share with me that may ease the burden you assume I am carrying? Do you have any personally probing questions I could answer for you about my dexterity, whether or not my pain registry is normed with yours, or might you have a jocular and far fetched situation you'd like to suggest in an attempt to explain my current situation? Step right up, don't take the lack of eye contact, the tight lipped silence or the hiding behind my dad's leg as a sign that you are making me uncomfortable, you just keep on asking until you get what you need." I did mention that it is a big sign.
So, I broke my arm, it hurt for a bit and the cast is uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as spending the next 4 weeks with a grown up magnet dangling in a sling!
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