Rizzle

Today I had the distinct pleasure of driving the in-laws mini van across town. As I fired up the Dodge Caravan the distinct sound of the motor buzzing gave me a sudden, not so pleasant flashback.

You see, in High School I had to drive my parents mini van. Actually, even harder to admit is that it was kinda my mini van because my parents had purchased a newer one that my mom drove around leaving the older mini van as my primary vehicle. Not cool, right? It was hard enough being in High School trying to wear the right clothes, have the right friends, say the right things, make it to every home football game, camouflage the teenage acne which still seems to be a problem despite that high school has come and go. But I digress.

I recall being especially embarrassed when James from 6 period English class would write Dodge mini van on a piece of paper next to the Mercedes logo he’d so carefully sketched. Only to show me the paper, draw a large X over the “Dodge mini van” and point and tell me how cool his Mercedes was. In retrospect, his Mercedes wasn’t so cool. It was very old and probably didn’t make it many months after graduation. I wonder what James drives now?

In conclusion, never make your teenage child(ren) drive the family mini van, unless they want to of course. Leave the mini vans to soccer moms. Hey, maybe someday I’ll be driving one again. On second thought, probably not.

Guess who I’m picking up from the airport today? My Best Friend Forever, Aleisha! We have an adventure packed weekend planned in Santa Barbara, California. I can’t wait to tell you all about it next week. In the meantime, you can enjoy a picture of us from a long time ago. I promise we’ve gotten cuter over the years.

Rizzle

This morning I took a little walk. Along the well landscaped sidewalk, I noticed a gardener shoving dead leaves and other vegetation debris into a garbage can. With one leg in the can, his big, rubber, shin-high boots stomped the yard waste like he was kicking down an enemy. Watching this, I recalled a time when I was in kindergarten. I know…crazy that I remember kindergarten. This particular day in Kindergarten was craft time. The smell of minty paste and many shades of crisp construction paper were scattered about the table. The sound of safety scissors crunching through paper was echoing off the walls covered with large, colorful sheets of butcher paper. Our principal was in the classroom that day. Looking back I’m sure she was there evaluating the teacher and not me. But something inside of me thought I was being watched and all the notes being scribbled on the principal’s clipboard were certainly about me and no one else. So I went into brown-nosing, “I’m the top of the class” mode. Just like the gardener who packed the yard debris, I took the liberty of throwing away my construction paper scraps from my project and I took my black, rubber goulashes that were on my little 5 year old feet and crammed the life out of the contents of the garbage can and made sure any excess space was eliminated. I clearly wanted the principal’s note to read, “(My name) is very helpful and even helps out our janitor by compacting the garbage. Award this child with Student of the Month immediately”. Good thing I don’t own any goulashes now. I’m sure my superior would view me as a freak if she saw me pounding down garbage with rubber boots. The only note she’d be writing would be one to HR recommending I get information on the mental health services available to employees ASAP.