It was one of those big moments in our lives. I’d go from being so excited to kind of stunned in an am-i-really-that-old kind of way. Then, I’d be excited again, thinking ahead to all the things he will accomplish and the adventures that await him in adulthood. Which would take me to sorrows I know will come, as they do into all of our lives.

That would make me sad for him, because as much as I know that sorrow also allows for growth, well, somewhere in my heart, he’s still little Jamesy Peanutbutter who liked to roar like a lion and wander around looking for dinosaur bones.

We had a really great time celebrating his 18th year of life. We had some special moments that brought tears to my eyes, and some sweet moments I’ll treasure forever. There were some hilarious moments on both the day itself and the days leading up to his birthday that reminded me of what an amazing person he is and how much joy he gets out of life, as well as how much joy he brings into the world.

It all felt so concrete and heavy, just as it felt light and joyous.
And it got me thinking about Motherhood:

You’ll fall in love.

You fall a little bit in love with your child the moment the little life is noted inside you. And then, when you first feel the butterflies of kicking within you, a bit more of your heart melts into the huge pool that it’ll become when you see that little face staring up at you for the first time. James was the happiest baby I’ve ever known. He loved every new things, he smiled widely at all he saw, and his laughter echoes in my heart to this day.

As your child grows, you fall in love with them over, and over, and over again. Their smile, the first time you see it. Their eyes as they trace your face while they’re falling asleep. Their little hand in yours. Their back as you rub it. The way their neck smells and the feeling of their sweaty head on your shoulder.

You fall in love with the way they breathe. With the stretches they luxuriate in each time they awaken—and years and years and 18 years later, you’ll recognize that stretch as they lay on your sofa waking up from a post-school nap.

You fall in love with their broadening vocabulary. The studious look with which they practice tying shoelaces and ride bikes. You fall in love with their friends and the way they develop a sense of style. You fall in love with them as you read their school essays (hey, I just got all geeked-out over a 28-page law paper that I barely understood!), you’ll fall in love with them over each tooth that falls out, each pair of shoes outgrown, the girls that follow him home.

When you lay awake listening to giggles during sleepovers, when you peer into the rearview mirror and see them fast asleep (in carseats or with scruffy beards) you’ll fall in love. Every year, every day, again and again, and deeper and deeper and deeper.

Which means, you hurt.

You hurt because you’ll be sure that everything you do will ruin everything.
You hurt because the world is so huge and dangerous, the life you’re carrying is so delicate and you feel so incredibly helpless. You get this special Maternal Gene that makes you feel guilty a lot more than you feel good about yourself. And that will hurt. Because you never have known how much you could disappoint yourself as you do when you hold yourself up to an impossible standard.

You cry when he cries, because that little, loud, mewing roar of a cry cuts you. It cuts you. No one will see all the tiny little shards of cuts that come over your entire being, inside and out, but eighteen years later, if you’re me,  standing infront of the mirror one day, brushing your teeth, you’ll see them—with every tear he’s cried, every soured hope or disappointment, little slices have formed upon you. And then light will shift, as you know it will, because you need to look at them—and you see the thick, ugly scars on your heart where his heart got broken.

You hurt.  You feel ashamed—of yourself, and sometimes, your child. You are ashamed of being  tired. You feel ashamed of failing. You feel ashamed of feeling good about your parenting because you remember why you feel ashamed. You ache with expectation and surprise yourself with doom.

You hurt when other kids are mean. You hurt when yours is mean. You hurt when grown ups judge him, or you. You hurt for when you’re mean and you hurt, that awful day, when after being so excited about how much they grow, you realize they’re too big to hold, and when life comes along with lessons that whack their hearts, and you suddenly realize—my child no longer fits on my lap.

You hurt because they will reject you and disrespect you. You ache when they misunderstand you, and you ache again because you’ve grown up enough to know that you have done the very same thing to them.

You hurt because saying “no” isn’t fun. You hurt because they try and fail. You hurt because everything about growth seems to stretch and take you further and further away from those days when you could soothe everything with a kiss.

But you’ll find, within you, a Superhero.

You  learn that you have the power to heal. You find that your spit is a miracle substance that is more powerful than WD-40 and Polysporin and, magically, is germ free. You find yourself doing all kinds of balancing tricks you’d never known you could. You find ways to multiply money so that your child never goes without. When knees are scraped, your kiss will be magic. Your voice will carry across entire city blocks at dinnertime, but you’ are able to whisper “Goodnight, Baby, Momma loves you” to a sleeping infant, a chubby toddler, a mischievous child, a sullen adolescent, a lumbering teenaged man, and it will penetrate skin and bone and soothe hearts.

You find energy in exhaustion. You find resources in poverty and time in even the busiest schedule.
You figure out things you’d never given thought to (“can you make me a Spiderman costume out of these two rolls of toilet paper and a this hunk of chewed up gum?). You find that your reactions carry more weight than a freightliner and that you really don’t go crazy after the 157th viewing of Space Jam.
You find room in your basement for rugby boys and football boys to move in, you find ways to feed them all and to love them all, and one day, when you’re standing on the sidelines of a rugby game and two or three extra kids come over and say “hey, Mom…”…

You are amazed

You are so proud. Their first steps? Amazing! First words! First success. So many firsts come along and amaze you. The alphabet song becomes a victory chant. Watching someone pee in the toilet is becomes a victory. Getting an entire snowsuit on and not having to undress someone so you can watch them pee is a major victory!

Seeing them finish homework without being reminded. Watching them forgive someone you can’t even look at. Listening to them chat with their friends about sex and war and Xbox and global warming as you try to fall asleep. The day they cook their own dinner. Coming home to find they’ve started the laundry.
Getting the 2am phone call, “Mom, can you pick us up? XXX has been drinking and we don’t want to drive”. You’re proud because they are growing and they are becoming themselves.

You’re proud when he comes home and says, “Anyhow, he needed a place to stay while they sort it out, so I said I’d share my room…” You’re proud when they stand up for what’s right, even when it costs them. When they admit they’re wrong, you’re proud! You’re proud when you watch them sleep on your sofa on a Saturday afternoon because they’ve grown so huge and you can’t believe—you’ve all made it this far!

Your heart swells and you catch your breath because nothing you’ve ever known matches this feeling of being utterly amazed. You’ll understand something of God and purpose and goodness that you’d never grasped before.

There is sweetness in realizing that this person, while born of you is not you. That you have the incredible honour of being closest to everything of newness and possibility. That you shape it, but do not own it. That his success (and his failure) are his alone, and you, oh the amazing thought of it, you are permitted the fragile, massive task of calling it forth.

And as it does, you’ll nearly faint from awe. Watching maturity form. Witnessing selflessness and compassion unfold. Being on the receiving end of grace. Learning about yourself in how you respond to the one person who knows you uncloaked—at your best and worst—and loves you deeply.

You stand on the sidelines, watching them soar, and…

And you learn to tell time

One day, all the days before them will have added up. You’ve charted them, you think, in clothes outgrown, in report cards stored in that box in the basement, in photos covering every surface of your home and Facebook page. You have measured them on the trim on the hallway outside his room.

And then one day, the calendar will tell you that your days with him have changed. It’ll tell you that he’s an adult now. That all your work has added up to the fullness of time. That he’s ready.

And you feel, if you’re me, like you aren’t finished yet. You’re not done yet.

There was that one, last trip you wanted to take. That thing you wanted to buy or adventure that was waiting. The last push on the swings or the exhibit you’d wanted to show him. That one last night you wanted to rock him to sleep. That …one…something… you don’t even know, you just know you weren’t done yet.

You laugh at yourself (once the crying stops) because, you tell yourself, it’s not like he’s moving out tomorrow, or we’ll never talk again.

But (if you’re me) you sit down and think about the day when he’ll pack up his things, that whole basement of treasures, his room and such, and he’ll move away. You realize that the stupid song has come true—his life is more busy and structured than yours, and it’s him, now, not you, who has to make time to connect.

And then, if you’re lucky enough to be me, and it’s the evening of your son’s 18th birthday, you get a text, inviting you to hang out with him. So you drive to where they are.  You sit and laugh with him as the guys play Xbox and plan their night out. He sits there, all 18-year-old giantness of him and says, “Mom! Tell them about when you were in high school and you…”  and you’ll feel so many feelings, wrapped into one.

And when later, that thin line appears and you know it’s time to step back and let 18-year-old life resume, you’ll smile. He’ll say “Hold up, I’ll walk you out” and he’ll hug you in the street; you’ll feel short and small and snug and happy.

And when you turn to go, and he calls out, “Hey, Momma, I love you, see you tomorrow!” your heart will smile and soar and break a little, because the sun is setting,  and it hits the windshield in some strange way that makes him appear, for just a moment, like Jamesy Peanutbutter.

And you realize that he’s not finished yet, either.
And you’re glad.

Words etc © 2013 Juliet deWal

what we couldn’t give right then

to know what we can

I love Outback. I think the service is great and I love the bread! However, tonight was different. Tonight was the first time, probably not the last, I ever complained to a manager.

It started off bad. When I walked in there, I got a place on the list, and waiting for the boyfriend to come in. When he walked in, he pulled me to the side and told me there was a girl who worked here that stalked him for awhile. I said WHATTT? Haha puhlease, give me a break. He told me this girl wouldn’t stop texting him a few months ago and he had to block her number.

Psh, please…

This girl walked over then, a hostess, and I asked if that was her. When the boyfriend said yes, I looked back at her and saw that she was starring at us. She wouldn’t stop looking over, and I was getting pissed. So naturally, I made a scene and gave the boyfriend a big old smooch right there in front of her. At that time, a couple’s buzzer went off and they got up from their seats to follow the hostess. We sat down in their spots and continued to wait. The boyfriend was doing something on his phone, so I looked over and saw that these two hostesses, the stalker and her friend, were sneaking glances at us and talking secretly. Wtf?

Anyway, I noticed everyone else around us had those buzzer things that go off when a table is open. I told the boyfriend that I never gave the girl our name and we didn’t get a buzzer. When he saw that the stalker wasn’t there, he got up and went to get a buzzer. I didn’t hear it at the time, but later the boyfriend told me she was rude and made him get his own buzzer. I’m sorry, but in every restaurant I’ve ever been in, nice or not, the hostess or host has always given the buzzer.

We sat there for a little while more, buzzer in hand, and when it went off, we got up and went to our table. When we got there, I was surprised to see we were sitting at a table that could seat six people. There were two of us. I made a comment to the lady, the stalkers friend, about us sitting there. I said, “Wow, there is only two of us and we are sitting at a table that could seat six”, making it very clear by my tone that I did not want to sit there. Honestly, it was awkward. We were sitting at the corner of the table in the middle of the restaurant. This girl looks at me, shrugs and says, clearly being dismissive by her tone, “Oh well, it’s fine”.

Wrong answer there, Sherlock. The correct thing to say is, “Oh, would you like to be sat somewhere else?”

The funny thing was, it wasn’t like there were no more tables. There were two more smaller booths just feet away.

Our waiter came around and I said, being angry now at the rudeness of the hostess, “Is there any other place we can sit? There is only two of us and this is an incredibly awkward place to be sat!” The waiter agreed, saying he too didn’t understand why we were sat there, and showed us to a different booth.

After we ate and such, I noticed the manager and as he was passing us, I pulled him aside and explained the situation. He agreed it was rude and made it seem like there had been problems in the past. He then gave us free dessert! Woo!

But honestly, there is no excuse for the rudeness my boyfriend and I were shown. None whatsoever. I know from experience, I worked at Cicis for awhile, that when you are in the business of serving the people, whether it may be food or department stores or whatever, the customer is always right. Even when they aren’t, they are and you need to be as polite as possible. The customers are paying you to be there, to be polite and courteous.

It was disappointing, as I LOVE Outback. But tonight, it just seemed like we weren’t welcome. Oh well… We got free carrot cake out of it!:]]

J-bird, my eldest baby. How bad is the life of the eldest child? On one hand your parents are fairly impressed with their ability to create a human being and think you’re the best thing ever. On the other hand they have absolutely no idea what they are doing and thus you are the guinea pig. J-bird spent more time on the ‘naughty girl’s chair’ then any of the children, when she threw a tantrum she would be sent there. When R-bird throws a tantrum I tell him he looks ridiculous and walk away. With J-bird I begged, pleaded and threatened to finish her dinner. When R-bird says he doesn’t want to eat it I shrug and tell him that’s fine but he gets nothing else until breakfast. When J-bird had to do a colouring in for a competition in pre-school I sat with her and ‘helped’ by pointing out the white parts she had missed. She won by the way. R-bird meanwhile draws me a page that looks like coloured spaghetti with some eyes and tells me it’s me and I tell him it’s fantastic. I kept all of her kindy artwork. R-bird’s I sneaked into the bin after about a week. I started teaching her to read at 4 – a dismal failure because she wasn’t ready until she was in grade 1. The hours we spent going over readers when neither of us gave two hoots about the boy and his dog in the story is cringeworthy. For years we had signs above the toilet and bath and fridge since I believed it would lead her to recognise the word and associate it with the object. But most of all, J-bird, I am sorry for not being more encouraging of your truly dismal made up jokes. Sometimes R-bird will tell me a joke and it’s just what-the-actual-fuck bad and I still plaster a smile on my face and laugh and tell him that it is hysterical. With J-bird the conversation was more like –

J-bird: Mum, I made a joke! What did one car say to the other car?!
Me: I don’t know, what?
J-bird: BEEP BEEP! (hysterical laughter)
Me: Dude, that’s not funny.
J-bird: Yes, it is! Because it said beep beep.
Me: But that is really what noise cars make.
J-bird: I know! That’s why it’s funny.

I think now I should have probably just laughed and sent her on her way. But I always pushed her to be better. I still think the hardest thing as a parent is relinquishing control. The Husbeast and I read with J-bird every day, we did sight words, we had letters of the alphabet on the fridge. We pushed and pushed and still she didn’t read until she was ready. I remind myself of this now because we are entering a new phase where at 15 and a half she is expected to make decisions about the rest of her life and I have to relinquish control and let her choose her own path even if it isn’t one that I would have chosen for her back when I first held that tiny 4lb 7oz bundle. She has always been her own person – bad jokes and all. The path I would have chosen may have been the straightest path but it’s not the ONLY path.

Things happen when they’re supposed to. Children make their own story.

That is what she has taught me.

“No one keeps a secret. Why when we do our darkest deeds do we tell? They burn in our brains and become a living hell. ‘Cause everybody tells… Got a secret. Can you keep it? Swear this one you’ll save. Better lock it in your pocket, taking this one to the grave. If I show that you that I know you won’t tell what I said. ‘Cause two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.”

     Above is the song Secret by the Pierces. Never in my life have I heard a song more true.

     Secrets are the one thing people cannot keep. If somebody trusts you enough to tell you something private, respect that. Keep your mouth shut about it. Don’t tell your parents, either! Many parents tell their friends, and that gets around quickly. If you can’t hold in your secret any longer because it’s making your life a nightmare, do the classic and tell a stuffed animal. Technically, you’re still not telling anybody. That goes for if somebody told you a secret, also. Really pay attention to who you tell your secrets to. Most people can’t be trusted. Others will use them against you. Your secret is only safe with yourself.

     “I swear on my life I won’t tell.” It always “slips” out of their mouth. No matter what they say, they will tell. I always want my secrets to be taken to the grave. Then again, I rarely give out secrets. I’ll say something that’s happened that I haven’t told people, but it’s never a real secret. Only two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. A dead man can’t speak. So, of course your secret will remain hidden. Always hide something until you want it found.

Hey Guys! I just wanted to claim my blog on bloglovin’. If you haven’t ever used bloglovin’ and you read multiple blogs, you should reallly check it out! Bloglovin’ puts all of the blogs that you follow into one feed and I use it all the time!

http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/7120719/?claim=9jq69wubu43

Thanks so much for reading my post! If you have any suggestions for posts that you would like to see, please comment what your ideas are. I had so much fun making this post, I hope you had fun reading it!

XOXO

Gabriella

WARNING: Rant Ahead.

Why, if faced with a simple question, do people lie to your face?
Why, when people make the effort do you throw it back in their face?
Why is it that when your ‘best friend’ – yes the inverted commas are necessary – needs you, we’re always there but as soon as we need them, they fail to remember who we are?
Why do most friendships have to be one sided?
I mean in the past, I could cope with that, I was always the happy go lucky, take life as it comes, spontaneous one and she was the one who was sensitive and worried a lot. The point is, we still made a joint effort to call and meet up and actually ask ‘how are you’.
My long winded point is now it’s one sided and why should I always be the one to call or to offer to meet up and ask how YOU are and how YOUR bloody boyfriend – who is a complete and utter imbecile – is. Why should I be the one that cares?
The fact is, we all moved on and made new friends, and you couldn’t, you had issues with bullies and what not. But did I try and comfort you? Yes. Have you thrown everything I’ve ever done for you back in my face? Yes. Have you made me regret ever befriending you? Sometimes.
You still refer to me as your best friend, but quite frankly, I honestly don’t think you know what that role requires.
Do you ever call? No. Do you ever ask how I am? No.
Obviously the only reason I’m ranting is because I care, there’s no point in denying that.

The thing is: I want to know how you are; I want to know how you deal with the bitches on your college course; sometimes I even want to hear the latest about you and your boyfriend but in all earnest, it’s got to the point where you can only do so much.

You need to realise what you have. Well, what you had. I’m not going to lie or be big headed, I can be naïve and I can be impulsive but you are lucky to have me. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but no body else has stayed by your side and yet you make the effort with the people who talk behind your back, yearning for their approval opposed to asking how your ‘best friend’ is. Nice one.

Well I couldn’t care less anymore – LIE.
I don’t care how you’re doing – LIE.

I’m as free as a bird,

and I don’t need you anymore.

- LIE.

Anyway, I’ve decided to start a blog to share my incredibly average life with you, aren’t you lucky. So I’m a sixteen (and ten month) year old girl living in a small town desperate to get out and see everything. I’ve got plans, dreams and aspiration goals bigger than my four foot nine self and I’m desperate to do all I can, when I can.

My parents divorced (boo hoo) when i was eight/nine and my sister was four but i guess nowadays that’s fairly average too. My mums remarried a LAD of a step dad MEARNSY (also known as Andrew. God how awful would it be if his name was actually mearnsy.. You can’t really do anything with that. Imagine what you’d do for nicknames… Another note to add his name will be forever in capitals just because it always is, and if I post it without being in capitals tell me!! Anyway..) who has a nine year old son Luca-Bella (again known as Luke but who doesn’t love a nickname) who lives with his mum and step dad most of the time. My dad however is living with his girlfriend (my wicked step mum kinda) and her two daughters (the ugly step sisters) Olivia and Christina. So lets just check you’re still with me, i have a mum, a dad, a step dad, a sort of step mum, a sister, a step brother, two step sisters, oh also two dogs and a fish! One dog at my mums called Lola Doglet Chops the Third (Lola for short) and one dog at my dads called Coco. And I just carry my fish around with me in my bag all the time. (That was a joke, fish wouldn’t be able to survive in my bag, they can’t breathe air.. Also that would be a little weird. So my fish lives at my mums in a tank like normal fish. It’s a normal fish except it kills all the other fish we put in the tank with it.. So it’s a normal serial killing fish)

My mums house it like heaven, it’s the place i call home! My dads.. Not so much, it’s a hostile environment there and my two step sisters steal everything i bring so i only bring stuff when i stay. So all they can steal is a toothbrush.. Haha bad luck guys enjoy my saliva! I’m at my mums right now actually, MEARNSY is sat watching some rubbish action film, my mums in the office doing some work and my dog is asleep on the sofa. Fairly average evening!

I’ve completely forgotten what i was talking about, fish, dogs, MEARNSY, short, ah! Cliché beginners post.. Yeah so all i really wanted was just to say Hi and to hope that someone reads this. So hi Mum (and no your name can not be in capitals too)

That’s Lola, isn’t she cool!

The 17-year-old boy was shot in the leg at 2:45 p.m. in the 200 block of West 118th Street, police News Affairs Officer Veejay Zala said.

He was taken in “stable” condition to Advocate Christ Medical Center in Oak Lawn, according to Fire Media Affairs spokesman Juan Hernandez.

Area South detectives are investigating.

(Source: Sun-Times Media Wire © Chicago Sun-Times 2013. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.)

My date had a baseball game the next morning and did not want to risk it. So Savannah and I decided we would be normal teenagers and enjoy the first if our two proms in our high school career. Savannah’s older sister was crowned Prom queen and took us and a few friends to Noah’s. I had mixed feelings. I wanted to go for sure. There was no doubt. But I knew my parents would disapprove. And maybe the other kids thee would disapprove too. I was not a usual party goer. Would they think I was a poser? What if they kick Savannah and me out? We are in the middle of no where! Plus there was the rumor that the party would be busted. That would not be good for me. I had a flawless record.

Once we got to Noah’s we slowly walked in. The feelings inside of my stomach were a mix. I was torn between the thought of staying at Noah’s house for a good 12 hours and it being hell and the thought of finally I am going to a real party as opposed to the sleepovers where we watch movies and drink pop as my other option was after Prom. But I was thirty minutes outside of town. There was no going back. Savannah and I braced ourselves for whatever the party would bring us. I took a deep breath and opened the handle to the door.

I stepped thought the doorway into the party. At 10 at night everyone was still perfectly sober. I assumed that everyone would judge me for coming. But Savannah and I were welcomed with open arms. Noah came up to Savannah and me and said his traditional “what’s up ladies!” That I knew was a sign we were in. That phrase was a phrase that he accepted us. It was a phrase that some girls I knew would kill for. He was one of the most popular juniors (he was actually my dance to Sadie Hawkins freshman year but now is not the right time for the story) and the party host. If he accepted us I knew that that was the key to the party.

People would come up to Savannah and me and offer us drinks. I took the first sip of my life. It was some strawberry vodka thing that stung my throat. They gave me bottles to try and a pop to chase down the new drinks to me. Everyone understood the fact that I was new to the whole experience. They tried not to overwhelm me or force me to drink. It was all up to me. I was still in control. And I stayed in control.

As time went by the people around Savannah and me got more and more wasted. We played tippy cup and weren’t half bad. The most I drank was of Mike’s Hard Lemonade so I did not end up that bad. By midnight it was down to Savannah and me and a few other people. I saw Hunter standing across the room. When he entered I had no idea. I quickly searched the area. His girlfriend was no where to be seen. He came alone. I go up to him to say hi. “Oh Soph, are we the only two here that are still sober?” We were indeed. Savannah, Hunter, and I were the last ones. But I didn’t mind. The fact that I could watch all the people around me drunk off of their asses and enjoy it was priceless.

Two o’clock rolled around. Then three, then four. By that time we figured we might as well find a room and go to sleep. When everyone woke up in the morning they all were extremely hung over. And we were perfectly fine. Nothing was wrong with us. It was all good. And the best part was that everyone had no idea what went on that night. According to their memories Savannah and I were complete party animals. They were delusional but I didn’t care. It was the farthest thing from the truth, but I wouldn’t be the one to tell them.

Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul?

My latest obsession.

I bought a turquoise mermaid styled dress. And no it is not as hideous as I make it sound. My hair was done and my date picked me up. We headed to the park and took gorgeous pictures. But a thought still lingered on my mind. Would I go to Noah’s party? My date didn’t want to go because he had a big baseball game the next morning. I respected that.

My friends and I danced and had a great time. Savannah, Emma, and I took countless photos in the photo booth. But when a slow song rolled around I could not help but feel alone. I would dance with my date. I knew he liked me. I had been told by countless people. But I did not like him back. I did not try to lead him on, but I did not want this. I knew a girl from my cheer squad that liked him. In fact she really liked him and he just kept breaking her heard over and over again. If he did that to her, what do you think he would do to me?

As we slow danced together I saw couples all around us. Smiling and happy. Why couldn’t I have that? Why couldn’t I be smiley and happy too? No matter where we danced I would find us closer and closer to Emma and Liam. I would see the smiles in their faces and the pang of the fact that I wanted that. I wanted the rolls reversed. I wanted to be the one dancing with him. And when the song would end they would sit down at a table. I knew that he didn’t like to dance. And I knew that I would not want to be stuck at a table. But I was still jealous.

As I looked across the room in the other direction I saw another guy with his girlfriend. Hunter. Over the course of 10 years a part of me has always found him attractive. Emma and I had always commented on when he looked good. Or become all giddy if he complimented one of us. Now that Emma had her own hottie I did not have her to talk to about how “Hottie Hunter” looked. I miss that. I did not want to date him of course. I have known him my whole life and he was almost a brother to me. Besides, his girlfriend Olivia and I were good friends from cheerleading and I could never do that to her. As I saw them step closer to one another I saw smiles and deep love they had for each other. Two of my favorite guys in my class had girls in their lives. And they were truly happy. Both of them had me deep in the friend zone. And I would never ever want to get in between either relationship. But it gave me the feeling that made me want my own.

Anyway, for a little while I thought I’d got away from the probing questions about the ins and outs of a teenager’s deep and feeling heart, but apparently not. Let’s use last night as an example. My mother informed me this morning that, when I was standing talking to two of my male friends after the service, she had the following conversation with a lady in our congregation…

Lady: ‘So, is Nell dating anyone?’
Mum: ‘No, she isn’t.’
Lady: ‘Are you sure about that? Isn’t she dating that guy she’s standing next to?’
Mum: ‘No, they’re just friends’
Lady: ‘Oh but she’s standing very close to him, closer than she is to that other man on the other side of her. They must be dating.’
Mum: ‘No, they’re definitely not dating.’
Lady: ‘Oh well she definitely likes him. Look how close they’re standing.’
Mum: ‘That’s just the angle you’re looking at them from, they’re definitely not dating, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like him like that – like I said, they’re just friends.’
Lady: ‘Well, then he definitely likes her. He’s standing very close to her, can’t you see it?!’
Mum: ‘No, that’s just the angle, really. They’re not dating.’
Lady: *unconvinced sigh*

So, it seems that, wherever you go as a vicar’s daughter, you cannot escape the speculation. You must resign yourself to the fact that, until you are married with 2 children and a dog, you will almost certainly be match-made with every eligible (and probably non-eligible) man in the congregation, and continually quizzed on your non-existent ‘man friend’. In fact, it’s not just the vicar’s daughter, it’s the vicar’s son too. It doesn’t really matter whether you’re away at university, your love life, and the potential for a ‘nice young lady’ will still be scrutinised and investigated, either through the medium of your sister, or, even worse, your mother.

All the more reason to keep any potential (or actual) relationships a complete secret, I’d say….

There is some amazing places to get dome great fashion now a days.  But I have to Oasap rock it, just look at the colours on those jeans I would love to wear them.

If your looking for a great summer out fit for this summer here’s the place to go they have everything you needs to look hot this summer. Like this ‘cast hat ‘

And ‘ rainbow shoes ‘

Just check out the link:
Oasap.com

Images: NBC News

An Indiana woman put on death row at age 16 for killing an elderly Bible school teacher is scheduled to be released Monday after serving a prison term that was shortened after the state Supreme Court intervened.

Paula Cooper’s death sentence at such a young age sparked international protests and a plea for clemency from Pope John Paul II. Now 43 years old, Cooper is being given a second chance at her life.

Cooper was 15 when she and three other teenage girls showed up at Ruth Pelke’s house on May 14, 1985, with plans of robbing the 78-year-old Bible school teacher. Pelke let Cooper and two of the teen’s companions into her Gary home after they told her they were interested in Bible lessons.

More from NBC News

Posted by Libergirl

- Hailey Reid

Hailey Reid is an good friend of mine from Middle School. She currently works on her array of  anime/manga projects, and keeps her eye on said culture on her Tumblr page. 

If you liked this post, please go like the R.V. page on Facebook. Also don’t forget to like and comment this post, and share it with all your cats.

Thanks!

And yes, all my Uncles, Aunties and Cousins who I haven’t seen in a long time were there, pretty cool, since I haven’t seen them in a long time. You see, they all go to private schools and yes, they think public schools as some sort of…Prison, let’s say.

We like to mess with them, come on, that’s all we have against them – They are all very rich, which means they all pretty spoilt…Although it is wrong to say money buys happiness, it is certainly an advantage, right?

‘Is it true that everyone carries knives around?’ Asks one of my cousins.

‘Of course. Come on, it’s a jungle. You need to defend yourself, you know what they say – Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ I said.

‘Ohhh. That is so scary. How do you live? I would be dead in days.’

‘Well, you see, I have the ability of a Tiger, I can survive anything. Plus, my friends are the type to have your back…Even if they do weed.’ I said.

Yes. I was cracking up inside. I had drawn a crowd with my cousins now and my sister was joining in…Oddly, they believed every word.

‘Weed?! Oh my gosh! No one does that in our school! I heard the toilets at your school were haunted, is that true?’

You see, there has been this old ‘myth’ about our school that floats through the corridors. Get ready for this not so spooky story – Many moons ago in our school there was this evil girl, she had bullied everyone and so, in turn, the school had to suspend her. But little did they know that the reason she was mean to anyone was because of her younger sister who had been bullied by a girl at the school. So, one day, the evil snuck back into the school in revenge of the girl that was mean to her sister, she found her in the toilets at the time. And that is where both girls died. No one knows how, but both bodies were found with no spilled blood.

And so, apparently, their souls haunt the girl’s bathroom. Bullshit, of course, but it gets my cousins going.

Soon my uncles ‘requested’ to talk to me and my sister.

Ugh.

I don’t hate my uncles; I just hate their old fashioned ideas and morals. But anyway, though I tried to escape, I eventually went in to the room where they were all gathered with my sister.

Of course they talked about Exams.

They always expect my twin sister to be an idiot, for some reason, they figure she is just a dumb blonde – She isn’t. Although she has some moments where she seems very…dumb, she is not thick; lingo there.

‘Aha, so I’m guessing you are succeeding, right? Ah. I’m guessing you’re not.’ Indicating my sister.

I don’t know why she doesn’t say something, she never does. It is as if she doesn’t have a voice against my uncles, anyone else? For sure, but not my uncles.

‘Actually, she is doing better than me in Maths.’ I said. She was being beaten down with insults and me with compliments, how could they be so cruel?

‘I doubt by a lot.’ One of my uncles said.

‘No, actually. In fact, I am failing Maths, and she is succeeding. I am not doing too well in Science either, failing too.’ Lies, obviously. But it got them to shut up…For once.

‘Really? Is that so? I guess the tables have turned.’ Said one of my uncles. They all looked at my sister and smiled, as an apology.

And at me as if I have betrayed them.

I hate their idea that passing Exams is everything in life. Who needs freedom, love or friendship? – Is their ideology.

Excuse my ranting. I guess I am just angry at the way they can insult someone so casually and think nothing of their feelings, they figure themselves all high and mighty – My family is run quite oddly, I have no idea why, but my Uncles reckon they are Kings, and my Aunties Queens, and so, when I look at my Mum and Dad and see them not acting like total pricks it makes me smile a little more.

I guess it is because, oddly compared to my cousins, we are having debt problems. But my parents have more pride than money, they haven’t brought it up to anyone because they will offer their money as a solution, they don’t like that. But somehow…We need to fix this, I am just not sure how.

I guess I won’t be getting my Birthday’s present; you see, I told my parents that I wanted my Birthday present on results day as I will probably be sad anyway, and so that will be something to cheer me up. I told them this in November.

Oh well, it doesn’t really matter anyway. I mean, as long as my parents are here, that’s all that really matters, right?

Ugh! Who am I kidding? I am trying to be as noble as possible, but I just can’t…Eh, I don’t know.

You see, one of my cousins live a few streets away and I can see their house from my room right now, yes, they have a very big house. In fact, it is one of the biggest in this area. And here I am, in this ordinary house stratifying my needs with less things…

I am being selfish, I know I am. All I am doing is comparing our lives…

Our families are just too different to compare.

Take Care xx