Shameless

I might have mentioned a few times how much I miss my family. I miss them... quite a lot. Intensely. Let me try to get you to understand the feeling.

I'd like you to imagine for a moment that you have to move far away from everyone you love. You're not moving to a place where other family members live, or are nearby. You move someplace so far away that you feel pretty alone most of the time. You have a few good friends close by, but for holidays they go spend time with their families, so on the most important days of the year they're not around.

Now, add to that "circumstance" the inability to visit home--at all. You don't know when you'll be able to go back permanently, and you definitely don't know if you will ever get to visit home while you're gone.And I'm not talking about a couple of months. I'm not talking about one year. I'm talking about years. YEARS. Years of just phone conversations, just Internet communication, just letters sent back and forth.

Driving home is not an option, because it would cost upwards of $1000, and your car--while it isn't quite a clunker--probably would need extra maintenance to survive the trip, which you can't afford. It would also take three days to get there, three days to get back, so you'd be taking a lot of time off of work. Flying would also cost about $1000--because, I forgot to mention, you're married, so there are TWO people that need to get back to see their families. Two roundtrip tickets for that great of a distance (approx. 2000 miles) are at least $400 each. Taking the train or bus is out of the question. The train is slightly less than flying or driving, but you have to buy food no matter which you choose. These are definitely more cost-effective options, but like driving, they take too much extra time.

Every time you have a birthday, every time something fantastic happens, you can only talk about it. At Thanksgiving and Christmas you can Skype, or send presents in the mail. You can take lots of pictures and e-mail them back and forth and obsess about Facebook in a way you never wanted to but now you have to because it's the only way you can keep in touch with 90% of your family (because Grandma doesn't have one.)

...Now, before I get ahead of myself, I know what some of you will say. Get an extra job. Sell stuff on eBay (which I've done). Be more frugal, blah blah blah. Or, as one friend so blithely put it during our first Christmas here, "Make your own memories!" (We spend 90% of our time with each other and only each other, we've got plenty of "happy newlywed" memories.)

But my husband has had so many jobs in Illinois I don't know how to describe that chaos to you. Right now he's working 40+ hours as a manager at one job, but will soon be adding a second job (both paying just over $10 an hour.) And do you know what those jobs have amounted to?

Last year, I spent half of Christmas Day alone. That's right, I sat in the apartment all by myself because he was at work. He also worked on New Years Day. And the day I graduated from college, I didn't have anyone to celebrate with except for my husband, but at the last minute he got called in to work. So I, again, spent the day alone in the apartment. I also spent my 25th birthday... alone in the apartment.

Somewhere out there, some military spouse is probably growling at my blog because they have to live without their loved ones all the time. I have a few things to say about that too.

A. You probably still have more ability to see the rest of your family than I do..
B. The average length of deployment for the military are as follows:
-Air Force 4-12 months (120-360 days)
-Army 12-15 months (National Guard & Reserve is only 12 months) (350-450 days)
-Navy 6-12 months (180-360 days)
-Marines 7 months (210 days)

As of right now we have been away from our families for 819 days.

This is the last time I hugged my mom, 819 days ago.
Also, check out my pasty white legs.

I'm not writing this to complain. I have a good life and I love my tutoring job and my husband and my church. But I want to go home for Christmas. WE want to go home for Christmas. I'm not afraid of shameless self-promotion.

So I'm asking you again, to watch this video. I'm asking you AGAIN to please visit our GoFundMe page and to donate--even a small amount helps. I'm telling you again, that there are awesome prizes handmade/handwritten by me if you donate. Please watch the video, please share the site with your friends, and please consider donating. And pretty, pretty please with a gingerbread man on top... share, share, share!

Home for Christmas

I know. It's only October.

But every year I'm here without going home is another year you have to hear me whine on this blog about how much I miss my family.

So here's the deal. I stared a GoFundMe account. I made a fantastic video with Sufjan Stevens music in the background and lots of cute pictures, so that you know what's up. On the GoFundMe account, there are PRIZES for donating certain amounts! And most of them are HANDMADE by ME! I make awesome stuff, and you know it.

Here's the video. It's nothing spectacular, but it gets the message across.

Please click on the link, watch the video, and consider donating. We're not asking for anything fancy. We just want to go home for Christmas. And the link is below, again, just in case!

-----> Click here! GoFundMe! <---- p="">
Share the link with your friends, ask them to donate! If guys can get a GoFundMe account asking for donations so that he can go on a basketball tour in Europe, then SURELY someone wants to send me and my husband home for Christmas.

Please. Click the link. I love you all.

A Patient Heart

I am a creative soul. I thrive on both the act of creation, and appreciating the creations I am surrounded with--whether they are sculptures at the Tacoma Museum of Glass or the desolate beauty of the South Dakota desert.

Like this, but with colors, and a rattlesnake or two. Courtesy of Toothpaste for Dinner.

The other thing I am, quite often, is an introvert. Technically I am an ENFJ (emphasis on the E = Extrovert!) but I definitely "recharge" in solitude and tranquility, with lots of books and not so much human interaction. I try not to focus on this--I'm a person, I'm not just an introvert, and it doesn't keep me from functioning so in all honesty it matters very little. But, in some circumstances, it matters quite a lot.

Being both of these things (a creative semi-introvert) can cause me to be intensely critical of myself. Katie, you don't have enough warm colors in this doodle. Katie, stop staring at your phone (you don't even have texting!) and smile at that acquaintance who's walking by. Katie, write more sonnets. Katie, stop reading and make new friends. Katie, if you really loved sitting in a meadow full of daisies you wouldn't be so prone to getting ants in your socks. Katie, be this, do that, this isn't good enough, you are not good enough, blah blah blah blah blah.... 

We, as in human beings, are ALL our own worst critics. We are not patient with ourselves. We encounter self-hatred in myriad ways on a daily basis, in circumstances grandiose and mundane, so much that we don't even notice. And when we don't notice, we don't stop ourselves. We have patience with our friends and spouses and children (or at least we try) but for some reason it's simply too "weak" to be patient with ourselves. I am not patient with my creative self. I am not patient with my social self.

But this last weekend, I got to be both.

I went on my church's women's retreat in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. This is terrifying on a few levels because women have always intimidated me more than men. I've grown out of that, for the most part, but I was a little anxious about the weekend.

 I was in a room with four other young women, three of whom I was already friends. When I got back to the room on Friday night they were all getting ready to sleep on the roof outside our window. Naturally, they invited me to go with them while they excitedly pulled on layers of socks and hoodies, and insisted that it would be worth it. 

Honestly, I had to fight myself to go out there. I thought, I'm feeling shy, and I'll have to spend the whole night with these girls. But, I know, I KNOW, that if I stay inside by myself I will feel immensely depressed and miserable. I will regret not going with them. So I climbed out the window, which took strain and stretching and twisting my body in ten directions at once, thinking that I would come outside just to "test the waters" and then make my decision. I wasn't pushing myself, or forcing myself to do or be anything just yet--I only knew I needed to try.

It was beautiful. The stars were in these textured clusters like a kid's sloppy glitter-glue art, and the air was cool and calming. I wanted to be there. By not forcing myself to think I had to do it, I allowed myself to want to do it.

The next challenge was getting five mattresses out the window, as well as getting myself back inside to get ready for an outdoor sleepover and then returning to the roof. But once we were settled in I was extremely grateful, to myself, and to my friends, for letting me be adventurous and intrepid. With friends on all sides we stared up at the sky, breathing in the autumn night and marinating in the glory of creation.

But there was one last thing I wanted--something I've always wanted. A photo of the night sky--and this sky, let me tell you, was photographically desirable by anyone's standards. So I whipped out my camera, because I was prepared and brought it onto the roof, and tried for half an hour to get a good photo. I took probably thirty pictures, on different settings, zooming in and out, desperately aiming upward in hopes that I could capture the night I'd given to myself.

In the back of my mind I could hear that voice, telling me to try harder, to be a better photographer with my unimpressive point-and-shoot camera, to be somehow more artistically skilled with this small, digital device. I pushed the belligerent voice away. I thought, if I just keep trying, it might happen. And if it doesn't, I still got to sleep out here, I will still remember the experience even if I can't show it to anyone.

And then it happened.

These photos don't capture even 1/100th of the beauty we saw that night.

Two photos. Seven shooting stars. One patient heart.

Dreams. And a short letter.

When you hear somebody complain about trouble sleeping it's likely you don't think much of it. I mean, we're adults , and adults can't possible have a problem falling asleep--adults are hard-working and tired people. Unlike toddlers, we like taking naps, and we don't cry about it if someone says we're too tired to be social or share our toys. I myself am an avid fan of naps, and would take them often, except that they seem to add to my very-real, very-adult problem of not being able to fall asleep, not being able to stay asleep, and then not being able to sleep peacefully if and when I actually experience the glory of slumber--I'm talking about intense dreams.

Most grown-ups will probably tell you they have nightmares every now and then, but not ones that sincerely scare them, or even wake them up in the middle of the night. I might also add that the majority of adults I've talked to A. Unless they're experiencing some traumatic stress, don't dream that often. B. Don't remember their dreams when they happen. C. Don't talk about their dreams if they have them and remember them.

I don't fit into any of those categories. I dream often, intensely, and usually remember my dreams for several days, and (if I think it might interest others) I talk about my dreams. I don't mean "I dreamed that I could fly" or "I dreamed that I was falling" sort of things. I once had a dream that I was Superman, flying around in my boxers and a white-collared button-up shirt. (As Superman) I stopped at a hotel, took the elevator to the top floor without anyone making a fuss about my attire, and once there a grungy, leather-clad biker pushed me out of a window and I died. At the age of 10 I dreamed that I was Brendan Fraser (whom I've realized it actually quite creepy looking) but the dream was a little more complicated, and I was decapitated at the end.

And yes, it had an end. All of my dreams have a beginning, a middle, and an end. I can blame this on my love for books, or stories, the fact that I'm a writer, blah blah blah. Or, I can blame it on the fact that my father is the same way and somehow dreaming in this manner is hereditary. Personally, I'm not really sure, but it's important to know that we dream the same way, and also have nightmares the same way.

I don't talk about my dad a lot in this blog, but today it's necessary. The next paragraph might embarrass him, but he can handle it. 

My dad has crazy nightmares. I don't know much about them, except that when your father starts screaming at 1:00 am, it might as well be a nightmare for you too. I only ever heard about one of them, in which he apparently was running from something and ran straight through a glass door, then woke up screaming.

(Dear Mom, if you read this, don't tell Dad unless you know he won't get upset. Dear Dad, if you read this, well... you're the one who woke up screaming, damaging my fragile psyche as a child, and this blog is cheaper than therapy.)

To be fair, my dad has also had plenty of crazy-awesome dreams, and we've talked about those together too. The point here is the intensity with which we dream, despite the fact that you only hear about adults dreaming in books or movies, or maybe on television when it can add to the hilarity of your favorite sitcom. 

Now, the last two nights I have had two very similar dreams. This might make sense if I had a normal sleep schedule, but I don't. I really, really, don't. Two nights ago I took 3mg of melatonin along with one PM acetaminophen. This allowed me to (miraculously!) fall asleep quickly and then stay asleep for a good 8 hours--typically taking both of those things allows me to stay asleep, but it takes me awhile to get there. Last night I decided to test my luck, so I didn't take anything. Fell asleep quickly, but woke up a few times.

Both nights each dream was about me and a friend--a "long-lost" friend, if you will--and how desperately I wanted to reconcile our friendship. This sounds juvenile, and dramatic. Except that it's part of real life. I have this dear friend who won't speak to me, won't respond to phone calls or e-mails, and won't tell me why we aren't friends anymore. Most of the time I try not to think about her, because as you can imagine, it's incredibly painful and sort of pointless to just focus on how horrible it feels. There are times when it's impossible not to think about her, because we were friends for many years, and there's this pen I still use--and she bought one to match mine. There are inside jokes that linger in other conversations, photos on my computer. Unless I make the effort to remove all memory of her, I will still think about her periodically. 

But two nights in a row, I dreamed of her--and I had not thought about her for perhaps a week or so. I dreamed she showed up somewhere with a group of other friends, and she wouldn't speak to me. The first dream it was in a church, the second dream it was at a Christmas party, but both times she appeared and would make eye contact but said nothing. Tears were streaming down her face, and I ran to her, I hugged her and held her and apologized--not because I've done anything wrong, to my knowledge, but because that always seems like a good course of action when someone is upset with you and you don't know why. In the first dream, she refused to hug me back and walked away, but was still within sight. In the second dream, she made some sort of random Christmas dessert, announced to the room, "It's a Christmas tradition!" When I ran to her, she returned my embrace, but she was still crying, and still wouldn't speak to me.

Both times, I awoke breathless and aching with a deep sort of sadness. Missing her. Overwhelmed and confused--especially today, because I still can't understand why I'm having these dreams. It's sort of similar to dreaming about someone after they die. There's nothing you can do about it. There is nothing I can do about this. I've given up on the ideas about calling her every single day, or messaging her every single day.

It would be different if I was home--being in the same state would give me more chances to possibly see my friend. But I'm here in the midwest, as I have been 100% of the time for the last 786 days. I've lost touch with a lot of people back home but usually if I call them or send them a message on FB they at least return my call or send a reply. At least to say hello. They don't delete me from their list of friends. They don't cut me out forever.

So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm just going to put this out there. This blog is about things I've lost--I've lost a friend. And it's about things you find--I want to find her again. If you know her, and you feel like it, you can tell her that I'm reaching out in the only way I can anymore.

Dear Alyssa,

I miss you terribly. I think about you all the time. I don't know what went wrong or why you won't talk to me. I don't know if it's something I did, or something you think I did, but whatever it is, I'm sorry. I miss you. Please talk to me.

Love,

Katie

Unexpectedly perfect

Several thoughts consume me this late night... early morning... whatever time this is during which I am unable to sleep. I've been 25 for a whole week now, and--surprise! No quarter-life crisis. I probably won't have one. It sounds exhausting.

So far, being 25 is pretty excellent. My husband gave me some lovely art supplies for my birthday: oil pastels, which I've used a lot, and chalk pastels, which I've used once or twice, and look forward to playing with. Apparently both are used best on watercolor paper, which is convenient, because my parents sent me some, along with a Scrabble mug. I'll probably have to take a webcam photo of me drinking from it, since that seems to be "my thing" with blog profile pictures.

My 25th birthday celebration is in three parts, 2/3 of which have already happened. 1. On Monday (the 26th) we went up to Wisconsin to visit Emily for the day. It was such a lovely break from real life. I hadn't seen Emily since graduation, and we weren't sure if she could come down for any party we might plan, so we finally took her up on the offer to visit. We went thrifting and antiquing and visited a lighthouse. The weather was breathtakingly peaceful, the company was soothing, and I came back a much happier person.

 

 




2. On my day of birth, I spent many hours at home, alone in the apartment. I was supposed to go with Joey down to Deerfield so I could visit with some friends, but ended up being sick and stayed home. It wasn't that bad. I don't even remember what I did. I think I read a book and watched Felicity and cuddled with the dog. That night we wanted to go to Caribou Coffee, because they give you a free drink on your birthday, so we drove down to Lake Forest but couldn't find the place. While in the area we called Danny, who said he was busy, and then invited us over to another friend's apartment for dinner. (Yep. That's what my friends are like. They just invite me to other people's houses so I can eat their food.)

We dined on smoked salmon, grilled apples, caprese salad, Spanish wine, white rice, a wheat baguette with olive oil, and (because men can't resist) bacon. Several hours were spent sitting and talking, drinking coffee, listening to Danny strum old John Mayer tunes on the guitar, and then we ended the night at a 24-hour Baskin Robbins--they insisted, because you can't have a birthday without ice cream.

It wasn't a group of people I expected to be with on my birthday. And yet, somehow, among all the bliss of eating with chopsticks and the exertion it took me to be social, it was a perfect day. Two perfect days in a row, that's pretty hard to beat.

3. My husband owes me a birthday party. I don't know when it's happening, but I am definitely getting one this year.

The other thoughts running through my head will come some other time. I'll try to sort them out a little. But for now, things are just good.

P.S. I started a new blog, about my novel. Click here to check it out! I would really appreciate it.

Free cable, nostalgia, and bead geckos

My husband and I have "free" cable right now. The internet is an extra $10 per month, so technically... the cable is $10 per months... but the bill says "complimentary cable" or something like that. Whatever you want to call it, it's allowed us to not only avoid re-re-watching out extensive collection of Disney movies VHS tapes, but we can now watch shows that have not been previously experienced. So far this summer, we've watched the first eight seasons of Grey's Anatomy. I initially started watching it because it's based in Seattle, and I miss home terribly. First I loved it, then I got Joey addicted too. We're waiting to see if they add season 9 on Tuesday, since that's when it comes out on DVD.

This week I started watching a new show. Er, a show, I've never watched... um... I started watching Felicity. You know, the one about the quirky college girl with frizzy hair. Stars Keri Russel. It's funny that I'm even explaining it, because I'm probably one of the only people on the planet who's never watched this show--the same way I felt when I first started loving Grey's. 

I'm always the last person to jump on the bandwagon. To be honest, when I first started watching Grey's, I thought the show was over--as in, no more seasons, no more episodes. Boy was I wrong! But, Felicity started in 1998 and ended before I was even through middle school--which is great, because it means I can experience all of the nostalgic feelings I get when I think about 1998, without worrying that I'm going to start hating the show once they introduce iPods.

But, the weird thing about Felicity is that it makes me miss a whole lot of other things too.  I'm not talking about late-90s cultural souveniers, like a Tamagotchi (now available as an app!) or bead geckos or that weird wave of platform sneakers.  I mean, it makes me miss things I shouldn't miss. Okay, let me explain that. Let me explain the whole thing.

Here I am, a married almost-25-year-old with a BA, a decent apartment, a respectable collection of books and shoes and normal adult junk, and a cute dog. (see below.)

Here are some things, as that person that I am allowed to miss right now:
1. My parents, brothers, and other family members.
2. My home state. (Washington)
3. My friends in WA.
4. Friends that have graduated/moved away/etc.
5. People who have died.
6. My childhood (ages 0-12)
7. My first car.

Things I'm not allowed to miss right now:
1. College.
2. High school.
3. Wedding planning.
4. My husband, dog, or anyone who lives within one hour of me.

Here are some things that I am not allowed to miss EVER:

1. Ex-boyfriends.
2. Having the chicken pox, or bronchitis, or other painful sicknesses.
3. Old places of employment from which I was fired.
4. People who beat me up or called me names.
5. Being single.
6. Living with my parents.
7. There's more to this list, but it's not important for this post.

But since I've started watching this show I have started to miss. A. High school. B. People who beat me up or called me names. C. College. How and why is this happening?!

A. During the first episode, Felicity is graduating high school and I though, man, that must be nice, to have your whole future ahead of you, nothing to worry about yet. I thought, man, what a great time that was. And maybe, just maybe, it was a good time but this (this being the life I am currently living) is supposed to be better. I hold onto a few enjoyable memories from high school but there were also many periods of misery and depression. I do not allow myself to miss high school as a whole, as an entity or concept that is worthy of my thoughts. People, certain circumstances, yes. But not the whole thing.

B. Yesterday I watched an episode where one of the main characters, Julie, gets raped by her boyfriend. (Calm down. You don't watch it happen. She confesses it. Sheesh.) Now, thankfully, I didn't think about any ex-boyfriends. Rather, for some inexplicable reason, I thought about another guy I knew in middle school and high school and I thought, man, he was a real jerk to me even though we liked each other. We were mutually "in like" with each other, but this one time he pushed me into a stack of chairs, and he said really demeaning things. We were friends by the time we graduated, but still. And then I started to get really sad, because he won't be my friend on Facebook, and won't talk to me. I should not miss him! I should not feel sad that he's not part of my life! And that horrible episode should not have brought on these feelings.

C. Today. Today I don't know what happened to cause this nostalgia. The whole show is about college, but it is MUCH different from my college experience. (For one, Felicity's dorm room is practically the size of my whole apartment.) But there I was, half-paying attention to the cluster of freshmen watching football on a TV with illegally installed satellite reception, and then half-paying attention to the crazy roommate with an infected nose piercing, I thought to myself... man... I miss college. And then, all alone in my apartment, sitting on the floor making paper bunting for goodness' sake, I laughed out loud. It took me five years to get through college, and I graduated just over three months ago.

I admit, in the future, I will allow myself to miss college--as a whole! I will miss the place, and the people, and the free internet. (I won't really miss the cafeteria food.) But right now, that makes absolutely no sense.

So I'm going to ponder this some more, maybe watch some more Felicity, and perhaps, if I get bored enough, I'll try to make one of those stupid bead geckos, because, hey, I do what I want. (I also only ever successfully made one of them. I just don't like geckos very much, I guess.)

A different kind of birthday list

A week from today I'm going to be 25 years old--that's 1304 weeks (rounded down), 9131 days, 219,144 hours, 13,148,640 minutes, or 788,918,400 seconds. It's a quarter of a century. It's also the last "exciting" birthday I'm going to have for another five years. Although, somehow, the prospect of turning 30 is not very exciting right now. There's a lot I want to do before then. I want to move back to Washington, get a teaching job somewhere I love, and have children. Mostly I just want to have children. But, more on that some other time.

The point is, whether or not 25 is a big important number, it is the last time I can really be thrilled to get older. After this I just have THIRTY looming ahead of me like a grubby cloud of boring adulthood on the horizon of responsibility. Not that adulthood or responsibility are necessarily bad things, but I certainly do not like associating them with something as lovely as a birthday. And birthdays really are lovely--so lovely, in fact, that I wish I could compile all of my favorite birthday memories and relive them next Tuesday. Of course, I wouldn't have time for all of them, so here are 10 of the memories I would choose to relive.

1. 1993, my 5th birthday. It was the same year that we moved from the tiny town of Trout Creek, Montana to West Seattle, Washington. In Montana, I didn't have a whole lot of friends outside of my family--although I do remember them: Katie (yes, I had a best friend with the same name!), Micah, and Abby. I missed them when we moved but I was so preoccupied with suddenly living close to more of my family that it didn't bother me too much. Needless to say, I didn't have much of a party. But there was an elderly couple down the street, whose names I have forgotten, that gave me some wonderful gifts: a doll, dressed like she was going to boarding school, and a matching outfit for me. I felt so special, so loved. Five-year-olds feel special pretty much 100% of the time, the world is just becoming real and everyone is always impressed with how much you've grown and the new things you're learning. But that day I really felt special, like I was valued, and worth love and attention, even from people who barely knew me.

2. 1995, my 7th birthday, possibly the first birthday I had actually lived somewhere long enough to have a group of friends. I was about to go into 1st grade (the curse of summer birthdays means you're always the oldest or youngest in your class; I was the former) and I had established several good friendships at school and in my neighborhood. I invited all these friends over, and we had a mini scavenger hunt. Despite being a moody teenager, my oldest brother planned it out. We had to find clues around the house and in the yard, and ended up with a cardboard box full of candy. Any 7-year-old would love such treasure!

3. 1998, my 10th birthday. I was finally in the double digits! But the day was quite miserable, to be honest. My grandma, Virginia, took me shopping for some new clothes. Sounds great, right? What girl doesn't want new clothes for her birthday? Except that she was also going shopping for someone's baby shower. All I remember about that day is trying on clothes I didn't like, then Grandma buying the clothes I didn't like, and when we got home I tried to peek at the cute baby stuff she'd bought and I got in trouble for it. So I sat alone in the hallway and cried. I know eventually she came to comfort me, although I couldn't tell you what she said. My reason behind loving this birthday is that it included spending time with Virginia. She was my favorite person. My 10th birthday is the last one I can remember her actually being "all there." (She got Alzheimer's a few years later, and passed away in 2010.)

4. 2003, my 15th birthday. We had moved again, but after 2 years in my new school district I had plenty of awesome new friends too. I was looking forward to being in high school with all the people I'd grown to adore. This was the year I decided my new favorite color was orange, so my three best friends bought me ALL orange things for my birthday--I still have some of those sticky notes. It also happened to be the year after I started taking Spanish, and I discovered La Tomatina. My parents wouldn't let us throw tomatoes, but we did have a sweet water fight with hoses and balloons. 

5. 2004, my 16th birthday. This was the year I went on my first missions trip, and my circle of friends was ginormous and fabulous. The party was about a week after we all returned from the trip, and I wanted it to be a surprise so badly, but I was awful at being surprised. (Still am. Just ask my husband.) My parents set it up at the local Pizza Hut, but I carried my own cake into the restaurant. That's how much of a surprise it was. Despite that setback, the entire party was everything I expected. I was surrounded by loving friends, new and old, and was completely able to be myself around all of them. 

My dramatic 16-year-old self.

6. 2006, my 18th birthday. This was another time I wanted a surprise party, and sort of got one. A dear friend of mine planned the party for me, although I knew nothing about it save for the list of people I wanted to be invited. It was held at Deep Lake, a park not too far from home. All of the gifts were about an inside joke between me and whoever gave the gift. For instance, a few of my friends and I went up on the church roof once, so my friend Colleen made me a notebook with a roof shingle as a cover. The most memorable part of this birthday was when a friend's girlfriend's car was broken into.

7. 2008, my 20th birthday. At long last, first day of college. 19 had been an arduous and painful year, and being in Illinois all by myself, going to school, was a large step I had not foreseen. But it was a blessing. After a few days of orientation I had already made friends, friends that I hope to keep forever. After a day full of classes my suite had a small party for me and another girl whose birthday is the day before mine. We had cupcakes atop a Disney Princess tablecloth, and it was a beautiful beginning to my life at school.

8. 2009, my 21st birthday. This birthday happened in two parts. I had a party at home before I flew back to IL, and invited all my friends from the camp I worked at as well as old friends from school and church. This was also the first birthday I'd ever had a boyfriend--and he's now my husband! The kicker? He was supposed to bring all the people from camp, but he decided to go paintballing before the party, and made himself and all the camp staff four hours late.

Back at school, my friends threw me a real, bona fide, actual, legitimate surprise party! Under the pretense of going to a friend's apartment to watch a movie, my friends made a cake and rented Singing In the Rain (one of my all-time faves). Of course, the cake wasn't done in time, so then my bff had to stall me from going over there, and I started to figure it out. Still, it was one of the most cherished memories from college. Because it's a dry campus, I got to drink root beer from a plastic champagne cup, haha!

9. 2010, my 22nd birthday. My college has this trip they take at the beginning of every school year. They take a bunch of kids into Chicago for pizza at Gino's East, then a night cruise on a Wendella boat. It includes a tour of Chicago from the river, and at the end there are some fireworks. I had been one year before, but this year all of my closest friends came along. The trip happened to be on the same day as my birthday, so my buddy Pat got them to sing for me--twice. Once at Gino's, and once on the boat. Being surrounded by family is great, but being surrounded by people who love you and don't have to love you is sometimes even better. I also had a new camera that year, making the experience all the more thrilling.

10. 2012, my 24th birthday. Do you have any idea how long I've waited to be 24? Don't ask me why, I couldn't tell you. I just like the number. Last year, like a few other years, I started something brand new on my birthday. It was my first day of student teaching. Student teaching (or clinical practice, as they call it in the professional world) was a hurricane of anxiety and breathlessness, but my first day was extraordinary. During homeroom the new superintendent came to the classroom and sang to me, in a chipmunk voice. The principal caught it on camera. This was wonderful for two reasons. One, I was welcomed into the school. Two, it endeared me to the students I would be with for the next twelve weeks. It was one of the hardest parts of my college career, maybe of my life, but it was so worth it. Every time I felt out of place I just had to remember that first day.

So there you go. Ten different birthdays that hopefully conveyed ten feelings that I want to take with me, and experience next week. This is 6th birthday (as in actual day of my birth) that I've spent away from home. I haven't been home in over two years, but it's especially hard on my birthday. With that in mind, these memories keep me grounded, they help me feel the love of my family and friends that are far away. I know it's just a birthday. So what. So it's just my 25th birthday, and nothing exciting happens like getting to drive or vote or drink. But it's the last one I'm going to feel special about. It's my day, I'll do what I want! :)