A big ole' thank you

The other day at the little Wal-Mart, as I like to call the Prairie Grove Wal-Mart Express, I was in line buying regular groceries for me: cereal, milk, lunchables, uncrustables, yogurt, oreos, cereal, milk, laundry detergent, minute rice,  you get the idea, and these two kids who I think if I remember them correctly, are in the sixth grade were behind me in line. Both of them had cell phones, and both of them had a gallon of milk in their hand. One of them had a twenty dollar bill.

This started a pandemonium of thinking about how differently my time was as a sixth grader and how sheltered I have made myself to this weirdo world, and all of the parenting that went along with it.
Not that these kids were rude, but they were on their phones the whole time. Maybe they were texting. Maybe they were instagramming. Facebooking. Twittering. Snapchatting. Minecrafting.  Maybe they were cruising the Washington County Sherrif's Office site. Who knows. Anyways, as I was walking out of the store with my groceries, I saw the minivan with the tired mom in the driver's seat. Car still running. Obviously had her two sons run into walmart to get some milk.

Now when I was in the sixth grade, I still carried my baby doll into the MLK Wal-Mart with me. I had a pretend cell phone in my pretend purse. My mom made our grocery shopping into a weekend affair, and we went in with her and were on our best behavior. And my mom never would have sent me in for a gallon of milk. Never.  I have been thinking ever since this recent Wal-Mart event about all the things that I am so grateful for that my parents did to keep me a little girl.

You don't have to agree with me, but I don't feel like I am old enough or mature enough in this world to live with a boyfriend or get married or have kids. I am still figuring out how to be my own person! How to put myself first and be a WOMAN. Not taking care of a child or a man. I am just so appreciative of my parents this month, as I said, for their role in keeping me a little girl.

So here it goes.

Thank you mom and dad.
For letting me take my baby dolls into Wal-Mart when I was 12 years old.
For never letting what was on my shirt or in my hair brighter, bigger, or better than what was in my head.
For not letting me group date. Ever.
For not letting me have a cell phone until I was 15.
For making me pay for my cell phone at 15, cause I talked to no one fast.
For making my first vehicle a V8 350 small block Chevy truck. Cause that thing vibrated going 65 miles hour down the paved roads.
For not letting me date until I was 16. So that I was never trapped somewhere without a way to get myself home.
For not letting me date until I was 16, because I didn't even get my first kiss til I was 19 and had moved out of my parents home.
For making my curfew 11pm. Cause you were right. No one going anywhere good was on the road after that.
For all our arguments that now show me that you really cared.
For paying for my tuition to UofA only if I attended church. Because who knows where I'd be right now without that.
For never helping me with any bills of any kind so that I would be taking care of myself.
For never keeping a few beers in the fridge until I was legal to drink myself.
For never taking a second glance at my outfits.
For teaching me to never wear out on a Saturday night what I wouldn't be willing to wear in church 10 hours later.
For never judging who I brought home and never prying before that.
For letting me move back home even though I swore it would never happen.
For not killing Hugo, although I know you might want to on a weekly basis.
And for letting me have my own room back, so I can continue to grow from that little girl.

I think that little girl I used to be would be proud of who I am today. And I'm thankful for that.
Thank you Mom and Dad.

Running down hills

When I was seven years old, in the second grade of Ms. Jaber's class, I used to run from the boys at recess. Everyone from Prairie Grove knows that at the Lower Elementary, on the playground, there was this long deep hill that everyone would run down. All the girls would spend most of their time being chased by the boys down this hill. Or jumping on the black slats of rubber on the south side of the playground, kiss boys and get married under the yellow tire by the swing sets, burn their bottoms on the metal sheet of a slide, or the merry go round that I think you had to be in the third grade to ride or operate. But even in my seven year old, second grade self, I was a problem solver. Yes, an opportunist of calculations. I had figured it out. If you stopped running before everyone went down the hill, the boys wouldn't chase you, or "get" you, or whatever reason we were running our lungs out away from them. I would just stop, and the boys would run on past. Brilliant. I had solved the problem, and told all of my girl friends- hey! I got it! If you stop running, the boys don't chase you. To which I was informed that you WANTED boys to chase you.
Oh.
That was news to me.
I had no clue.



I guess I still have no clue.
I don't remember the last time I drank.
I don't remember the last time I went out.
I have been working on Christmas cards for the past 6 days and that includes both the past Friday and Saturday nights at home in my Harley Davidson pajamas hot gluing paper together. At home as in I am 24 and still live with my parents. And our 10 cats.
Yes, 10.
And did I mention that I don't think I ever want to get married because I'm terrified of commitment and divorce?


Maybe I need to start running down hills again......

~Amber