Too Many Branches

Today, over a lunch of Chinese food and fortune cookies, my sister, my mom, and I discussed our family tree...which we decided has way, way too many branches!

My mother's father, or my maternal grandfather is the youngest of fourteen children. There is a span of fifty years between the oldest grandchild and the youngest, which makes things really really crazy. For instance, my grandfather was an uncle like twelve times before he was even born, so my mom's cousins are like my grandfather's age. Which is weird, because I will see my grandfather talking with a man who looks his age, but who is really his nephew. See how this can get confusing? (It's like the Fox family in You've Got Mail. You know, Tom Hanks' character, who is around thirty-five takes his brother and his aunt to the carnival and story hour, because both of them are under the age of twelve.)

And to continue the confusion: We see random people all the time, and my mom says, "Oh see that girl, she's your cousin." Having never seen that girl anytime ever before in my life, it's slightly strange. But it happens all the time! And that's just one-fourth of my family!

My father's mom, or my paternal grandmother, is the second oldest of six children. But what makes this family so crazy is that every one of my grandmother's siblings just happened to produce about six kids themselves, who also produced around six children... which makes for one very, very large family.

And all along, I thought I only wanted to have like two or three children! But then I think about these huge family get-togethers and how sad it would be for only two children to come and see me when I'm old and can't walk, when there is the possibility of six or seven kids and their families visiting... I mean, I just don't want to be responsible for the end of my family name! (Even though I am a female so I will most likely take my husband's name anyway... but you get what I'm saying, right?)

Pretty much the only downfall is that I won't be able to fly for like twelve years straight... or drink... or play sports... and I probably won't ever get my figure back...

Yikes! My maternal great-grandmother is my hero!

Another Iowa Storm

Yes, it's another Iowa storm... go figure. A one hour drive home, just took my family and I two and a half hours. I mean, gees...January has barely begun, and we have already had huge amounts of snow. This winter is beginning to feel like the winters I remember as a child. I remember ungodly amounts of snow, for what seemed liked months and months at a time, because for kids, everything is exaggerated.

But as a child, I hated the snow. The only reason I ever went out to play in it was because my sisters were all going out, and what's the fun in staying inside alone? But I just hated getting snow in around my neck and up the sleeves up my jacket. My fingers and little tiny toes were always completely frozen before my sisters decided they wanted to go in.

I remember one winter in particular, my Dad, my sister, and I headed for the neighbors with our truck. We got out of the vehicle by what looked like an old, abandoned car behind our neighbor's shed. My dad told us to be very quiet, because we were going to steal the car hood right off the car, and we didn't want to get caught. I remember looking at my sister confused and scared. We proceeded to take the car hood from the car and then creep away slowly from the house. My sister and I didn't really know why we needed a car hood, and we had no idea why my dad had just encouraged us to steal. We had no idea my dad had just been fooling with us.

Within an hour, my dad had that car hood flipped upside down and attached to the back of our four-wheeler like a sled. He must of hauled us around on that thing a dozen times. It was one of the best sleds ever. So fast!

And now this year, this winter, my dad "stole" us another car hood, and Christmas weekend, he hauled us around on the back. Even though we are a little heavier than we used to be, that thing still slides around on the snow brilliantly. This might sound slightly hickish to anyone not from the Midwest, but don't knock it until you try it!

So while I've never really loved the snow, I really don't think I could ever live anywhere else. I think somehow, I would miss the fluffy white stuff. I think somehow, I would miss the Iowa storms, because the weather anywhere else, just wouldn't compare.

A Tribute to My Best Friend

I have a best friend...and she's one of those people who I can talk to about anything, literally anything. Even when I haven't seen her for months at a time, we get together, and it's as if we were never apart. I've never had that with anyone but family. I guess that makes her family.

After yesterday's post, of course she was there for me....Thank God!

"What I think about your blog... I believe that you are using your talents everyday. Being kind, supportive, and being a "big sister," reaching out to the younger ladies in your sorority. I know you have impacted my life in a great deal and have inspired me, and you used your gift of friendship to do it. There are many things you can do to volunteer then maybe you would feel more needed in the world..? You rock as my best friend!! :).. and I love you. That's all."

See what I mean? The funny thing is, she and I were in the same class all through middle school and high school, but it wasn't until junior year of high school that we started really hanging out, thus beginning one of the best relationships of my life. And now we go to different colleges and have separate lives, but somehow we make it work. For some reason, God has reserved her as my best friend. Lucky me.

When we were in high school, the two of us decided that when we were older we would marry rich doctors and then kindly divorce them and take all their money, only to move in together, so our kids could be best friends... just like us. Of course we laughed as we said this, but now that I think about it, this might just be the perfect plan.

Another time, I told her that she would definitely be the maid of honor at my wedding. She replied, completely serious, "What is a maid of honor?" So Messy Jessie, since you didn't know that the maid of honor is the title given to the bride's chief attendant and closest friend, I will remind you:

You, my dear, are my closest friend. My sister by fate. You are irreplaceable and have an absolutely beautiful soul. It's no wonder that you are becoming a nurse, because you take every chance possible to help others out. Thank you for being there for me. Thank you for helping me blossom and learn and be a better person. Thank you for choosing me to be in your life, because you have truly blessed mine. I love you.

Now let's find us a couple of doctors... :)

Half Way to Forty-Five

I know I have been writing a lot of inspirational blogs lately, trying to tell myself (and inspire you all) to get out there and change the world in the best way you know how. But as it turns out, I am a hypocrite. I feel like my own life is slipping away... and this realization hurts.

My sister and I just finished watching 17 Again. You know the movie with Zac Efron and Matthew Perry, in which Mike is given a second chance to go through his senior year of high school. While the movie was decent, it really got me thinking, and I made this comment to my sister.

"That makes me sad. I mean, I know I'm not forty-five or anything, but I'm half way there."

This was yet, another blow. Because my senior year of high school seems so far away. And while I'm right on track as far as my plan goes, what if I died tomorrow? I would have done nothing to make this world better. I would have done nothing spontaneous or worthwhile or book worthy. I would have helped no one and seen nothing.

I have spent the last twenty-two years telling myself that I am a Christian and an all around good person, but have I done anything to prove this? No. Have I shared the gifts that I think I possess with anyone? No. Have I wasted God's gifts? Is my life a waste of His beauty? I am constantly concerned about my plan, what I want to do with my life...but what about God's plan for me?

While I know this all sounds over the top, because I am only twenty-two, I could very well be saying these same exact things in another twenty-two years. And that scares me. So I hope that this time, I take it to heart. I hope this time, God works through me and shows me the way.

God, I am your servant...use me.

Leftovers

I just had myself an amazing piece of leftover all-meat pizza... which is actually really crazy, because I used to hate leftovers. I remember never ever eating leftovers. I didn't care what it was or who had made it, you couldn't make me eat any food not made with in the last hour. I used to believe that food was not meant to be reheated. It just wasn't natural.

But isn't it interesting how your tastes change? My parents always tell me how they could never get me to eat any type of meat as a child. Now, I don't know how vegetarians make it through the day! I never used to like any kind of oranges or mushrooms. Now, I consider them both delicacies. I find myself eating ketchup and pears and pigs in a blanket and broccoli and deviled eggs and now leftover pizza. All things I never enjoyed as a child.

And I guess I kind of wonder... do our tastes really change? Or do we just become more open to trying new things? Or maybe we become more tolerant of foods we don't really like? I don't know the true answer. But's it's interesting...just some food for thought...

I think I'll warm up another slice...

(Photo taken from Yahoo images)

Memories

Today my sisters and I sorted through a bunch of our old school papers, drawings, report cards, and class photos. It was really fun to see all the things we did when we were younger!

"Look how talented I was!" I yelled, as I showed my parents a picture of a fish I had drawn when I was in elementary school.

"The Most Valuable Freshman Tennis Player!" my sister announced, as she flashed us an award.

"Check out my house!" my other sister screamed, showing us a poster of a house she had created in high school Design class.

I always enjoy looking at old photos and souvenirs. They really help me to remember the good times, like family vacations, award ceremonies, high school proms, and sporting games. But no one usually has enough room in their house to keep all this stuff. So you have to be realistic, deciding what to keep and what to throw away. For instance, a twenty-page binder of your progress on the ABC's...trash! Your name constructed of noodles...keep! High school diploma... definitely keep! Old boyfriend photos... definitely trash!

I will admit, it was really hard throwing away things that documented my life or celebrated my accomplishments. It was like tossing out a part of me...

But now I have ten times more room for future documentation and future photos. It's a fair trade off I think.

Shopping for My Identity

Today I went shopping with my mom. You know to take back and exchange some Christmas items that either didn't fit, or we decided we didn't need. Overall, it was a successful day! But along the way I struggled a bit... with a lot deeper problem than should have to be pondered or decided in a mall or superstore.

While shopping, I had to decide my identity, who I wanted to be seen as. Because whether we want to accept it or not, our clothes help define us. They play a huge part in a first impression. They quite honestly help to determine whether or not someone approaches you or extends conversation. People notice your attire, way before you have a chance to speak.

And while shopping today...I struggled to decide what "me" I want the world to see. One part of me still wants to be young and hip. I want to wear racy tees and tight jeans and Converse sneakers and pleather jackets with fake fur. But another part of me wants to be taken seriously as a grown up. So then I feel like I should be out looking for blazers and suit jackets, buying lacy scarves and high heels and red lipstick. And yet a third part of me wants to be that athlete, all decked out in a sweatsuit with my Nike Shox and IPOD Nano armband, constantly timing my breathing and checking my pulse.

And ultimately, no matter what I decide, I never feel like it fits me or goes with my personality or matches who I want to be perceived as. Because while wearing the heels, I always feel like a child. And while in the Converse, I just happen to run into a top Executive. So I put on the heels, only to decide that I feel like a good game of volleyball. Nothing seems to fit the real me.

So...what to do? Should I buy nothing? Or buy it all? Should I mix and match? Or actually choose one? It's tough... which is probably why men don't shop. They can't handle the pressure.