From Our Front Porch Looking In: May 2010

I would bet it is safe to assume that anyone who went to high school gets nostalgic sometime in the month of May. My nostalgia is present for most of the month of May. I love that every time I walk outside it smells like the end of a school year. I love walking outside around 3 o'clock and remembering when I would pull up from school or work to see Mom on her hands and knees in the flower patch--or crossing the street from the garden, and the kids would be jumping on the trampoline, because who really cares about homework at the end of a year? I love that I still assume teachers are more laid back when it gets even remotely warm. I love remembering high school during May--especially my Senior year. I think it took me until I was a Senior to fully appreciate the high school experience. So, it's what stands out most.

Some things I remember:

**Jess and I would sit by TJ Adams in Concurrent English. He was the only one that wouldn't get offended by our sarcasm, and he pretended he was partially interested in our petty conversations. His comments about other people were highly entertaining. As was his poem about romantic rain, or when he tried to read aloud from Beowulf. The fact that Lynda called on him to read every time assured me of her sense of humor.

(In Lynda's class; she may or may not have been lecturing)

**Pandi Elison always claimed to despise me, although I was sure it was just a threat (now I'm not so sure). She would complain that her computer had it out for her; she would randomize a new seating chart and it would always put me right in the front row (right by her podium) or next to Brooks Moser (we had to be the biggest nightmare when we were next to each other in that class), or worse--Brooks AND me together on the front row.

(Me, Brooks, Jess at graduation practice; Brooks-very sarcastically nicknamed the 'Genius'-and I had a love/hate relationship)

**Mocking Michael Kelley's walk in the cafeteria. That poor kid, I put him through a lot. One time, a sign was magically posted on his locker that read, "Is Michael a good kisser? Check 'Yes' or 'No'" He didn't appreciate the creativity, or the fact we were just trying to help. The night of our all night party after graduation, Michael hopped in the Jump Kings with us. He would push us down, or hit us until we fell (too tired to fight back). We would laugh like 3-year-olds and get back up, only to have him do it again. I'm pretty sure he was taking out a serious amount of pent up rage from that year.

**Dressing up for all sporting events in school colors. Especially sporting our 'Mr. Universe' t-shirts. These were made to poke fun at Brooks Moser (I made a comment one day that he acted like he was God's gift to the universe--thus, 'Mr. Universe'). Brett would get so angry when we would lose, whether she was playing or not. Then, of course, you have to hit up Big J's (this was especially important after a good basketball game, you'd get free fries). Banana/brownie shakes are superb after a good win. One night that especially stands out is the night Brooks indulged at our table; he was attempting to explain Michael--the best he could do, "Well, Mike's a fag. That's why we call him--'the fag.'" He was always so good with words.

(Preston Pride, it's a necessity)

**Wearing my pink sweat pants (that were too short because they had been dried), or my yoga pants to school almost everyday--just because I could. Just because I could not care that much.

**Lynda Hamblin. My hero, but nobody tell her. I worked really hard at trying to keep my nonchalant-don't care about English-can't hear your lectures cause I'm talking too loud-reputation. Also, don't let her know I'm now majoring in English--mostly because of her.

(There are no words for how much I adore this picture; I can say that I don't think I deserved a hug after what I put her through that year)

**Michele complaining about her overly large ribs. Yes, this is the only thing she has to complain about on her otherwise perfect body. Heaven forbid, large ribs.

**Jess and I hanging out in the Exec. room, acting like our opinion mattered. I'm pretty sure we decided where prom was held, what the theme song was, and what DJs would come to dances. We spent hours decorating for election week, drawing on sidewalks, painting windows, etc. Ask me if I was in anyway on the Executive Council. (The answer is no.)

**The last football game it poured rain the whole game.

(Salena and I after the game. Thanks for that last touchdown, Brooksy, it would have been pretty awful if we had lost after all that)

**Washington DC with the Close Up Foundation. Cami Cole didn't wash her feet for at least a week, and I had to share a bed with her; Mr. Womack was the teacher that accompanied us; Brittin got locked in the bathroom on the bus--enough said.

(Cami, me, and Teddy; yes, those are gems on my pants, and I am 17 years old in this picture)

**Speaking at Seminary Graduation (pretty sure that was Brother Pugmire's way of getting back at me for laying on the floor everyday during class my sophomore year).

**Mrs. Anderson yelling at us everyday. For being a French teacher, she sure could swear in English. I did learn a poem about a beautiful castle...and how to count backward from five in French (she would make us count down with her when we were being too loud).

**Miss Elison not giving me my diploma at graduation. She always has to have the last word.

**Nerve wracking Senior Projects. Well, I think they were supposed to be, I wrote my paper the night before. I did a blood drive and couldn't even donate because I was so anxious-my pulse was too high, due to the strep throat I had picked up just in time.

(TJ and Michael were all to willing to volunteer to get out of class)

**Dodge frantically scurrying the halls, scrambling to pull together activities or assemblies. Michael Kelley begging him to swear, just once.

(Dodge, Me, and Jess-notice, he's on the run, like always)

**The senior assembly that totally flopped. The slide show didn't start for at least a half hour, and half of it was depressing. They took away the 'lighting your own candle' idea, and made us use flashlight candles. Most of the class carried them across the stage in their fist, upside down.

I can't say I would repeat High School. I am lucky enough to look back with very few regrets. But, I do love remembering it. I love looking back at more carefree, relaxed time.
Don't think I don't think about it.

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Here's a shout out to the woman who I am forever indebted to. She rocks. Everyone that knows her agrees; I know this because they tell me. I am always being told how much people appreciate my mom. How hilarious she is, how helpful she is, how willing, how concerned, how understanding, how strong, how spiritual. I could go on.
I watch my mom, tough as nails, going through things that the average person would cringe simply imagining, but she's not average. She highly exceeds all expectations in all she does.
When dad got sick a couple of years ago, I called her at the hospital to let her know all was well at the house, that I was going to hit the sack, and find out her plan. She let me know she would be home in a few minutes to try and get some sleep. She then told me how grateful she was for me. I remember being shocked. Why would she be grateful for me? She was the one pulling the family, bareback. She was getting the kids to school, making calls to the neighbors, family, and friends--and never leaving my dad's side. I can't imagine what was going on inside her. All I was doing was eating the casseroles that were being provided almost hourly. Being me, I never told her how amazing she is--how it totally floors me sometimes to watch her, how in awe I am. So, now I would like to. Mom, you are amazing. I wish I could say it in a more eloquent way.

(Mom on Christmas 2008)

Good ol' Andrea runs marathons, and drives faster than dad, and shovels the sidewalks, and lays her own slate floor at the same time she is re-rocking the fireplace and remodeling the kitchen, and paints the whole house (and everybody else's), and decorates for weddings, and raises seven (somewhat intolerable) children, and goes to all sporting events, and fulfills her callings in the church, and supports and sustains a husband who overdoes everything he does, and keeps in touch with family, and plans vacations, and deals with legal issues, and still makes homemade bread (her signature), and remembers every one's "favorites," and keeps up the yard, and watches the NCAA tournament like it's the last one, and gardens, (Well into October, I might add--well after frost has hit. Find me someone else that covers their tomatoes for 2 months in Idaho weather.), and volunteers at the schools, and finds good deals shopping (our cereal variety competes with Albertson's), and still looks young...

You think you get it, but you don't. You don't get it because that is only a glimpse. I dare you to find a better mom. Dare you. It's impossible.

Mom, because I'm awful at doing it at the right time, I love you. I'm more than grateful for you everyday-for more reasons than can ever be named. Thanks for being my mom.

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