After my adventure growing forget-me-nots last summer, I decided that this year i wanted to grow a mini garden. I am so excited! We went to a nursery yesterday and picked out some different things. We are probably silly for growing our squash in a planter outside, but I can't wait to see how they turn out. I get ridiculously excited about watering them every day and I'm super impatient for them to actually start growing!
I give tours at the natural history museum on my college’s
campus. Usually these tours consist of
field trip groups from elementary schools.
I had two such tours thursday – a group of first graders and a group of
fifth graders. The first grade kids were excited to be there. They had questions, they participated.
The fifth graders did not.
And most of them (yes, most of them!) had out their smartphones the entire time. I feel like there's a correlation. But maybe fifth graders are to the point where they think field trips like this are lame. I don't know.
I don’t like smartphones.
And it drives me crazy when I see little kids who have them.
I know I’m not a mom, or even close, but I can tell you
this: my kids aren’t going to have tv.
Movies will be plenty. My kids
aren’t going to have iPods or smartphones when they’re eight years old, just
because that’s what they asked for for Christmas. I think that’s absolutely ridiculous. I didn’t even have a phone until my senior
year of high school, and I think that’s just fine. There is no reason for a kid to have a phone
unless they’re driving, out and about, and need a way to contact their parents. Even then it shouldn’t be a smartphone. A dumb one will do.
I have little cousins, and they are plugged into their
electronics all the time. It makes me
super sad to see a five year old who throws a tantrum over not being able to
use his dad’s iPad to play angry birds whenever he wants, instead of finding
something better to do. It’s hard to
talk to a kid when he totes an iPad everywhere he goes – including dinner – so
he can watch Netflix. It bothers me that
even little kids think they need to carry the internet around in their pockets
all the time. I don’t even want to do
that. I’ll stick to my dumb phone,
thanks. (though, husband went in
to upgrade his phone and was told that soon, dumb phones won’t even be an
option. So that stinks.)
How about we all just go outside, read a book, or, heaven forbid, talk to each other instead?
Having a house is pretty high on my list of dreams for the near future.
I want a house at the moment more than I want a baby. And I love babies.
I've spent years dreaming about what I want it to look like, how I want to decorate it, et cetera.
I'll be content with a pretty white house with a blue door and shutters.
(I just googled "white house, blue shutters" and came up with a whole bunch of pictures of the notebook. How cute.)
The night before we signed the contract for our first apartment, I cried.
It was a basement. And I'd spent the last eight years (minus about eight months) living in basements.
It had wood paneling on most of its walls, concrete floors, and a shared laundry room.
I didn't want it.
It wasn't going to be home.
"You will make it ours," Husband told me.
So we moved in. It was close to school. It had a nice yellow kitchen with a lot of counter space, but not a lot of cupboard space. It had lots of shelves where we kept our pictures and books. We had a cozy bedroom with space heaters and a Christmas tree night light for when husband had to work graveyard and I was all alone.
Unfortunately some conflicts with our upstairs neighbors got us thinking it was time to move.
We found a new apartment.
We moved this week.
It has carpet. It has two bedrooms and two bathrooms and quiet neighbors. It has lots of storage space. It was going to be perfect. I couldn't wait to leave that awful basement.
As we packed up the last of our things today, I realized the basement wasn't awful at all. I let it sink in how much it had grown on me, and it was a lot.
I'm going to miss the wood panels on our walls. I am going to miss our cozy bedroom, and how the closet lights were so finicky that I usually found what I needed and turned them off again before they even came on. I am going to miss my yellow kitchen. And I cried again.
Boxes are filling up our living room. Our new house is a mess. Our new house isn't home.
"You will make it ours," Husband told me.
I hope so. But until then, I am hoping lots of snuggles and listening to the cd this dear friend made before he left on his mission will help it to feel that way.
And someday, we'll have a place that can be ours forever, but until then, we will be okay.