Post Haiti, Pre Hell

Starting tomorrow, I am homeless. No worries, I've done this before. I'll find a place to live. And yet here I am, blogging. Well anyway...

My trip to Haiti was incredible. I don't even want to explain everything, because a) I won't do it justice AT ALL, and b) it would take a long time and I know how boring that can be to people. So, I'll give some highlights in no specific order.

1. Lesly's (sp?) orphanage. Those kids are so dang cute and happy.

2. The crazy rain/thunder/lightning storm on the first night we were there.

3. Riding around everywhere in the back of the truck.

4. Bony, Michelet, Jimmy, and Patrick.

5. Painting the orphans' faces/hands/arms.

6. Our incredible group of volunteers. All great people.

7. All the kids in general.

So before I left for Haiti I was in a funk. A BAD funk. And I'll admit, I am still pulling myself out of the last bit of funk. I have been starting to realize lately how awesome it is to be free. Especially when I am single and can do anything I want to. And so that is why I will be sure to go to New York sometime (hopefully when John and Laura live there) and I will move into some new place by myself, and HOPEFULLY (I am praying hard for this one) I will be able to come up with the funds to go to JERUSALEM, yo! Next fall for a study abroad, that is. And that is IF I get accepted. And I can study whatever I want to in school, and I can spend time with whomever I want--you get the idea. Anyway, I am starting to realize that I should forget my trials because right now is the best time for me to do what I want with no other big commitments tying me down--of course while still trying to be the best person that I can be. That knowledge cheers me up. Also, God is really looking out for me right now, so that is another reason why life is good right now.

So I write all of this because I came to another realization, and that is that starting on Monday, August 30, 2010, my life will be insane. Two jobs, school full time, rugby. GULP. So if I write another post in the near future about me being a stress ball or some sort of mental/emotional train wreck, someone refer me to this post so I can remember the positives. Thanks.

That's all folks!

Haiti

So Mom picked me up from the airport tonight and the first thing she said when I got in the car was:

"We're going to Haitiiiiiiiii!" Nothing like, "Oh Audrey, I am so glad that my favorite child has come home" or anything like that.

I am so glad that I get to experience this trip to Haiti with my mom. I'll tell about my experience when I get back.

For those of you who did not know that I am going to Haiti tomorrow, don't feel bad. I didn't know either--until this morning.

My first time out of the country will be quite the experience.

This picture has nothing to do with Haiti, but I love it anyway.

Flames--on the side of my face, heathing, br...breathing

Ok so the title of this blog comes from a line found in the movie Clue. But that is how I feel right now--like flames are coming out of me--like I want to chuck my phone at the wall or go and smash bottles on the ground or just go and break everything that is breakable. Don't worry, I'm not a lunatic. These feelings are fleeting...I think.

Well first of all, I just want to say that I am glad that I have a grand total of what...6 people who actually read my blog? You know why? Because I can be real. I don't try and pretend that my life is some stupid fairytail and I don't have the goal of having 100+ comments on my posts. I don't need that and I don't want that. I want to be real with the people that I trust enough to read my blog.

Anyway, back to what I was saying before. For the past 2+ weeks now I've been having a hard time about some things. I feel as if I am being tortured at times. I was talking to my mom on the phone about this, feeling very sorry for myself and you know what she told me? "Audrey, you need to find people to serve."

I tell you, that is THE FREAKING LAST THING I WANT TO HEAR. I don't want to go and serve anyone. Why doesn't someone serve me? These were my literal thoughts when she said that. It made me want to chuck my phone as far as I could. And then she said, "You just need to be patient." Oooh and that is when the flames on the side of my face came. Steam was coming out of every pore on my body. What do you think I have been doing for the past 3 months?

It is hard for me to be patient for a specific reason. All growing up I had never been around someone outside of my family that I felt like I could be myself with. And consequently I lacked friends because I felt like I couldn't show myself to people. And all growing up my parents told me (very lovingly and full of hope) to "be patient"-- that I would find someone soon. They told me that for YEARS and years.

That's why I want to curse the world when someone tells me to be patient. Because I think, "For how long? Ten years?"

I don't think so.

But as I sit here and write this, my mom's words are being echoed in my head because I know she is right. She also said that Christ was persecuted and spit on and cursed and eventually crucified. But regardless, what was he doing the entire time? Serving. He never stopped. And he had patience with everyone.

So yes, serving someone may be the last thing I want to do right now, but I need to do it anyway. And I need to keep being patient (not about the whole friend thing--I have come to terms with the fact that I don't really need a best friend outside of my family. My family fulfills that for me, and so will my husband when I get married). Telling myself to be patient is enough pain in itself, but once again, my mom is right. Patience shows faith, and apparently I have none right now.

So--I promise--I will work on that.

More

Whenever I was invited to go to some girl’s birthday party, I would ritualistically go to the store (most often Target) with my mom and we would get what seemed like the best present anyone could ever dream of, a caboodle complete with all things miniature. A mini hair brush, miniature toothpaste and a miniature toothbrush, miniature makeup, a mini mirror, a Mini Cooper, a miniature poodle—you know, all the best things in the world. The process of buying all these gems and putting them all perfectly in the several compartments within the pink, sparkly caboodle was enough to cause me to keel over from excitement. I practically had a heart attack every time I got to experience this sort of occasion. You would think I would have tried to make more friends with girls just so that I would be invited to their birthday parties. My brain hadn’t yet reached such cleverness, though.

And speaking of rituals and birthday parties, my mom and I went through another ritual that I thought was pure genius right before I left for the birthday party. She would tell me to sometime during the party call her to “check in” with her. She would then say quietly, “Audrey, do you want me to come and get you?” If I said no, that meant I was having a good time and wanted to stay for the remainder of the party. If I said yes, that meant (obviously) that I wanted to get the crap out of there. The fact that that was even an issue still causes me to wonder to this day. It wasn’t unusual for me to respond, “YES.”

And speaking even furthermore on rituals and birthday parties, my mom 99% of the time would not allow me to sleep over at a sleepover. She would always come and get me late at night right before everyone went to bed. Sometimes it was maddening. But now I look back and realize that her reasoning for not wanting me to sleep over makes perfect sense. With all those sickos out there, my children will most likely not sleep over at sleepovers either.

He's Gone

I just have the best family in the world. Look at all of us! We're so cool! I had a blast in Las Vegas with my entire immediate family and some extended (Charlie, Karli, and Deb). As you can see we rented this massive blow-up slide that went into our pool. Charley alone went down the slide at least 120 times, which means that altogether it was used about 8,254,796,341 times. Those little kids did not give themselves a break. They were in the pool from sun up to sun down--and so was I.

We also watched movies and tv (I'm hooked on the Bachelorette--sue me), ate great food (Mom, if I can cook anything like you I am in good shape), took pictures, were with Seth when he got set apart, played some Balderdash and Boggle, gave advice to Seth and Charlie for their missions, etc. It was fun and I did not want to leave.

And then we had to take Seth into the MTC. Can I just say THANK GOODNESS they don't have that whole long process where you have to watch the movie and the whole emotional "oh crap my son/brother is leaving me for two years and I can't even see him" feeling is drawn out for what seems to be like hours. All you do now is get out of the car, hug them goodbye and you watch them walk through the doors. BUT even though it all lasted about 3 minutes I still cried. What a comfort it was to see Seth and Charlie walk in together though. That was cool.

Family, I miss you. I can't wait to see you all again. Love you guys.

Kittens

Kittens

When I was seven I had a cat named Kitty. Real original, I know. She was always kind of a sickly cat and she took to peeing on our stair landing. Strangely, other cats we owned after Kitty followed in her footsteps. My mom was ready to kill those cats. Anyway, one day when my family and I came home from our painfully long three hour church service, I saw Kitty come out of a closet under the stairs looking a whole lot skinnier than she usually did. Either she had coughed up a couple hundred hairballs or, which my mom suggested, she had been pregnant and had given birth. A normal family would have opened the closet door to discover the kittens, but my siblings didn’t believe in cleaning (except for you, Ann!) and this closet had stuff piled up about eight feet high. And this closet is big. When it is actually cleaned out you can walk around in it. So we started unloading all of the who knows what crap was in there (probably old shoes, deflated soccer and basketballs and camping gear). Finally, there they were in the very back of the closet. Five tiny little kittens all huddled up together. Kitty laid down next to them.

Those kittens were maddeningly cute and I was glued to them for the next six weeks. I started naming them. One was black with a white spot on his chin. I named him Smokey. One always seemed to be eating and was consequently fat—Puff Mama. She had grey fur that was longer than all of the other kittens’. One was white so naturally I had to name him Whitey Tighty. Then there was Feisty (probably named after myself) who was dark grey and liked to pick fights with the other kittens. And then the last one. Light grey, affectionate and sweet. I never did think of a name for that kitten that stuck. Seth suggested Sweetie, which disgusted me. And my younger brother Seth, who was addicted to toy weapons and sword fighting and sports and all things little boy-like had suggested the name Sweetie?! It blew my mind.

My mom warned me that after six weeks I would have to give the kittens away. I dreaded this more than I dreaded the dentist. We went to the Smith’s grocery store and I sat out in front of the store with all five kittens in a cardboard box. One by one they slowly disappeared. The kittens KNEW what was happening—they whimpered as the litter dwindled in size. And I whimpered right along with them. Then a biker dude came up--he was probably 9 feet tall and 500 lbs. A Goliath man, really. He had a bandana on over his bald head, and wore a black shirt with a black vest, black pants and black boots. He had to have been the leader of some Harley Davidson club. He took one of the kittens and said to his nasty little sidekick, “This will keep the Doberman company.” And then he laughed a sinister laugh. A Doberman?! Those spawn of Satan dogs that always have spiked collars and eight inch long canine teeth?! Evil thoughts raced through my head as he walked away with one of my kitties. I wanted to run him over with his own Harley. When all the kittens had new owners I was completely traumatized and swore I would get every cat I owned thenceforth spayed or neutered.

Here's more

Pink Jumper

In first grade I liked a boy named Spencer Wanlass. One day I hit the jackpot when I found out that my older sister Laura was friends with his older sister DeAnne. So naturally when Laura invited DeAnne over I would invite Spencer over too. Well one day exactly that happened. My actions showed that there was some sign of a girl inside of me—I wanted to look pretty for him. I curled all 45 hairs on my head and put on a little pink jumper that came just above my bruised knees. It was like I was anticipating Christmas—it was THAT exciting. The doorbell rang. Laura opened the door and there was DeAnne! And no Spencer. I was completely crushed. After not seeing Spencer again after first grade until twelve years later I learned from Spencer himself that he was too scared to come over. Spencer and I ended up dating for ten months during our freshman year of college.

Feisty

I’m proud to say that when I was three years old I discovered the art of feistiness. When I was in the hospital at age four with a shattered femur, my granny came to visit my body casted self. I laid there in the hospital bed SURROUNDED with stuffed animals and other various toys. People pitied me. It was great. Anyway, when Granny came she brought another toy for me. Some sort of toy that rattled. My response was, “What am I? A baby?” You think being in a body cast in the hospital would have humbled me. Apparently not. I blame that on my age at the time.

It seems as though Granny remembers my feisty attitude the best—probably because I picked up that gem of a trait from her. She reminds me frequently that it was common for me to tell people to get a life. She also reminds me that I would tell her that she had cracks in her face. I guess I was blunt, too.