yardstick

Throughout my life I've been told that I'm;

Too serious.

Too sensitive.

Too cold.

Too irreverent.

Too uptight.

Cry too easily.

Too honest.

Too closed off.

Too afraid.

Too broken.

Too healed.

What yardstick is being used to measure me?

Did anyone ask for my measurements?

pb&j picnic

Sometimes on hot days mom would take us to the pool. In Iowa we didn't romantically call summer days "sultry" they were called "humid" in plain, Midwestern English.

In the icebox of the air conditioned house mom would pack up some squishy pb&j sandwiches, baby carrots - looking like creepy, wet, orange baby fingers, and a bag of neon Cheetos, or Pringles. Cheetoes were my favorite. 

I'd put on my bright shorts that looked like bicycle shorts and a colorful shirt over my swimming suit and we would all get in the massive blue van. The blue van was more like a house on wheels than an actual vehicle. There was even a TV and VCR inside! But we weren't allowed to use them unless our trip was two hours or longer.

Arriving in Monticello we'd lay down an old, worn blanket and picnic in the park next to the pool. After eating we'd play in the park for awhile because we observed the classic rule to avoid the Bends. There were some great wooden structures of playground equipment and I remember a large swing like you would find on a Victorian Veranda. I think we fit six kids on it once.

Once danger had passed we entered the dungeon-like locker/bathrooms assigned by gender and passed through to the pool.

Aquamarine aqua. Is there anything more beautiful on a humid Iowa day?

I stripped down to my chic green and blue two piece. Jumped in with my siblings and we felt great. 

GIRLS

"Let's have the type of night where it's, like, 5 a.m. and one of us has definitely punched someone who's been on a Disney Channel show." -Elijah

yeah.

I never expected that to happen to us.

imposition

Compelled to wander.

Don't settle here.

Permanence; the illusion we protect.

Fiercely.

Home is only made of concrete.

Home is not concrete.

What am I looking for?

The last goodbye.

A prized possession.

So sweet upon pink lips. 

academia

Starting school in August is comforting to me. It feels like a worn quilt; softened with age and love. A patchwork quilt for wrapping up by campfires or next to a lamp for late night reading. Familiarity. I belong in academia.

The beginning of school has always heralded my favorite part of the year; crisp, cozy, spicy fall! That's part of what gets me excited. The other part is the indulgence, the privilege of learning. I've wanted to return to school and finish my degree for years. It's strange to finally be here doing what I've hoped to.

I do miss the bustle of being on campus. Helping freshmen figure things out, greeting old friends and  planning adventures. That may return one day. But for now I'll sit here happily surrounded by books, papers and cats - barely believing I'm not dreaming.

dry

I'm using this dry shampoo today. I feel suspicious about dry shampoo just as I do about dry cleaning. As Jerry Seinfeld says, "The problem with dry cleaning is that we all believe that this is actually happening."

According to my new hair stylist I have basically spent my life abusing my hair between washing it everyday, using Tresemmé products since college, braiding it when wet and probably proving remiss in my duty to educate it culturally. So I'm trying to make up for lost time. (And bad parenting?)

But I miss the fresh scalp feeling... I cannot deny that my hair looks better but at what cost to my fragile psyche?

It's only day two...

Can you say #firstworldproblems ?

How often do you wash your hair? Do you use and like dry shampoo? If it wasn't obvious yet I'll point out that I'm not exactly into hair... Educate me.