perception

low self esteem. hitting hard. i'm good for certain things but other things i see and just think "if only...". things i can't control no matter what.

deprevation.

so i failed at keeping up that blog. i think i come back once a year and post twice and then can't keep it up. went on the leadership retreat with all the cool seniors and had a blast. i miss it already, at least i miss the people. i feel socially deprived just in the hour i've been home. made me think alot. about how much i've missed in the past two years. boyfriend is good sometimes but it keeps me from doing things with people in my grade and alienates me from them to the point where i don't even know how to socialize. luckily a certain few people were extra friendly to me on the trip.

i miss cuddling. i miss flirting. i miss when every little touch - brush of the arm, legs next to each other on the couch - was so exciting. i got a small hint of that on the trip. it was fun. lots. middle school magic. giggly girl. smiles. shy eye contact. got enough to tide me over.

price point furniture commercial is terrible.

day two

i'm managing to keep my word!

today monsieur vaughn and i are going to the mall to buy him some clothes and eat some malibu chicken from california wraps. that stuff is both disgusting and amazing at the same time. let's just say that eating one of those wraps pretty much maxes you out on daily cals. but it's SO worth it.

on the other hand, if you haven't experienced baja burrito you haven't lived. that place tops the charts, and you feel healthy after you eat it too. go there today. get a chicken burrito with rice, beans, sour cream, lettuce, CHEESE, and then whatever else you want. you can add chips and a drink to your order for like $1.50. BAJA BURRITO ROCKS THE WORLD!

i'd like to take this moment to thank my barn girls for introducing me to the magical resto. without them, i don't know where i'd be eating.

promise that will last about 2 days

i am going to ressurect my blog, except no one looks at it except tracy.

so.

i forgot how to do this.

today i rode tippy. she was a good girl. dad and i went to subway, i went home, and then i cleaned my saddle for the first time in lord knows how long. it drank that oil up.

it was a good day, for the most part.

i went to visit pacey! i'm still his mommy, as far as i am concerned. though the child services have taken him away and found a different girl to adopt him, i will never succumb to believe that he's not my big boy. i love pacey!

i have returned

here i am! i'm back!

we gun' huntin' fer dem chrissmus trees yestiday and daddy hesa buy'd a bigun.

am i just in hillbilly mode today? yes, sir.

sketching the character.

first of all - this is not the real girl. and secondly, my character sketch needs help so if you've got some time on your hands go ahead and copy what i have, print it out, edit it, and give it back to me. it would be much appriciated. not to mention i have yet to finish the end.

My darling Amelie bent down to pluck a yellow daffodil which she added to the small bouquet held in her other hand. Her white dress patterned by pink and green flowers ruffled in the gentle breeze of warm summer air, and I called her name through the open window that funneled the sweet smell of freshly mowed grass into the house. Amelie turned her small, pale face towards me, inquisitively bearing her accenting intense chocolate almond eyes into my own. I smiled as she held up the glorious bouquet to her pleasant face. After a moment she returned to her barefoot business in the lush green grass. I observed my daughter, a creature of mystery to everyone but myself. People asked frequently about her coyness, but “Amelie,” I told them, “isn’t like others”. Five years old and she’d already developed a multi-faced personality; she rambled about everyday things one moment and grew silent in an analysis of something that caught her attention, things that her contemporaries overlooked. Her quiet nature, mistakenly characterized as fear or timidity, was merely a hushed and reclusive easiness in which her imagination, constantly yearning for something new to satisfy its wonder, was free to fly. The wheels of my young explorer’s pensive and curious mind never ceased their turning.
Left of the window, where Amelie had wandered, floated her faint voice, naturally soft like the beating wings of a hummingbird. My ears had been trained to detect this nearly silent sound. “Mama,” she called, “will you come push me?” I heard the creaking of the swing set and moseyed outside. My round-faced five year, poised on the swing with a purposeful posture, watched me with patient anticipation as I approached and pressed my fingers into the softness of her back in a push. Her two-toned blonde hair, paired with wispy bangs, fell choppily directly under her small ears and bobbed with swaying of the swing. As she rocked higher and higher, grace radiated from the powerful movements of her pumping legs dimpled with traces of baby fat. Her arms extended gently like a dancer’s and showed hints of muscle. The tiny padded hands loosely gripped the swing’s clinking chains.

And it was during these moments when I was reminded of the beauty of a child.