Disappointment

Wednesday was a great day. It was one of those days when you learn something about a friend, and your friends learn something about you, and it's just wonderful. My best friend generally hates Wednesdays, for who knows what reason, but this time he was smiling until we left the parking lot. We played euchre, ate pizza, drank pop, joked around, and had band rehearsal until nine that night. I sit right by my best friend in band, so it made the rehearsal even more fun. It was one of the best days I could have asked for. We all left in a good mood. On the ride home, I realized that I had forgotten to tell my best friend, Ian, something, so I called him, and told him to call me when he got home; his ride would be longer than mine. He laughed, and said okay, and we hung up so I wouldn't be on the phone while driving. When I got home, my world fell apart.

There was a letter for me. It was from U of M. It was thin. Dear Anne, it said, You're not good enough for us. Thanks for trying.

I just stared at it for a while. What was I supposed to do? Cry? I think that's what my parents were expecting. I'm not one to cry. At least not over something like this. I turned my phone off so I wouldn't have to talk to Ian. Once I got sick of my parents' stumbling for words, I called Marianne. She had wanted to room with me at Central, and I knew she would be excited to hear this news. She seemed happy and sad. She was glad to room with me, but had no idea she would actually be able to, since she was positive I would get in to U of M. But she was still driving home from band, so I let her go. I wasn't sure if I really wanted to tell Ian yet or not. He's a bigger Michigan fan than Paul (if that's possible) and he was positive I would get accepted. He was the only one I actually believed when he said that. I decided to turn my phone on, and soon, I got a call from him. He asked for a friend's number. Still on his ride home. I told him he didn't have to call me back. He gave me a confused okay, and hung up. Within seconds, I realized that he was the only person I wanted to talk to. So I called him back.

I lied. I do want you to call me when you get home, I said. He said okay, then asked if everything was alright. I said no, it's not. He said okay, then hung up the phone. I laid in my bed, with my phone on my stomach, rising up and down with each strained breath. Finally, the Michigan Fight song announced a phone call from a certain Michigan-obsessed friend of mine.

Hello? I strained.

Hey, he said.

I have something to read to you.

Okay...?

Here goes: And I read him the letter, beginning with the date, and ending with the title of the man who signed my letter.

Half an hour later, I felt partially better, but he had a government test to study for, and I had distracted his mind. That night, I took a half hour shower, then painted my fingernails and toenails. I was up until one-thirty finishing them. They are a very intricate checkerboard design with two splotches of bright colors on each nail. I have matching socks.

I fell asleep reading a history of Michigan football. The next morning, I didn't brush my hair. I got up, brushed my teeth, and went to school. I was the first vehicle in the main parking lot, including teachers. I went straight up to my locker, and sat there reading from seven-twenty until eight o'clock, when my best friend showed up to talk in person. Neither of us knew what to say. He had cried. I showed him the letter. We were able to squeeze in half a game of euchre in before school; we lost. His recent bad luck in cards had not left him. By the end of the day, though, I was feeling better, what with being able to talk to Marianne, and staying after school until five o'clock "doing homework" with friends. My mom brought home bubbles from the grocery store. We had spaghetti for dinner.

Friday, I brought the bubbles to school, and they were a big hit. I blew bubbles in every class, and friends and classmates all got a chance to blow some, too. A few friends of mine were stressed and/or depressed for various reasons, and they all said that the bubbles helped.

I have accepted the fact that Central will be a good fit for me. I am excited to room with Marianne. I might even join the marching band. We'll see. I'm still in high school. I have every opportunity ahead of me.

Cookies Say I Love You

My wonderful sister wrote a brilliant blog post on her blog that I must recommend to you. As I read it, I kept nodding and smiling, nearly moved to tears at how true it was, and how true it could be. Since I cannot put it any more eloquently, and copying her would be plagiarism, here is a link to the most true blog post I have ever read. Thanks, Mary. I love you.

Senior Year

Everyone's making a big deal about how exciting it will be. I'm thinking... college applications, AP classes, getting INTO college, passing AP classes, stress, more stress, being cheerful and friendly on top of this, and anything else that can be packed into one year. When am I going to have time for fun? Oh, yes. Wind Ensemble and marching band. The fun stress. :) It's good to know I have awesome family and friends to help me through. Or... wholesome friends. I like that. :) Thanks, mom...

Post

I realized today that it has been a month since I last posted. I really don't have much to say. I haven't had any profound epiphanies, nor have I had anything happen so drastic about which I had to write. So I will take this post to congratulate my brother and his fiancé. You get married in a week! How exciting is that? I hope to see you live long and happy lives. And maybe come visit your sister once in a while. :)

I love you

I must be one of the luckiest people on earth. I have four amazing siblings and two of the best parents anyone could ask for. As of today, they have been married for thirty years. What an achievement!

Nowadays, divorce is common, but the thought is not even relevant in my household. My parents made all the right choices in marriage, and I am glad they chose each other. I have not seen them fight in ten years.

They went out to dinner today, to celebrate. Before my dad got home from work, Mom went upstairs to change into her new dress. When she came down, I could see the sparkle in her eyes, She was absolutely beautiful. She had on her new blue dress and a gorgeous shawl over her shoulders. I could tell she felt beautiful. Dad had gotten her a pearl necklace, bracelet, and earring set that matched her outfit. I helped her put on the necklace, and she put on the bracelet and earrings herself. I could not stop smiling. Her face sparkled.

She was beautiful.

Dad came home and went up to kiss Mom. He must be the luckiest man on earth, and she is the luckiest woman. Dad opened Mom's card and they both opened mine. Dad found his present, an old map of the world, framed in a nice frame. His eyes lit up, and he managed to make a decision as to where he wanted it, rather than listening to his wife, who seemed to like it somewhere else.

They got all their stuff together and left to go out to dinner. When they left, I could not stop smiling. They love each other so much, and I know that as long as they live, they will stay married. I love them so much and I am glad they are still married.

Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad!!!

Siblings

I am very glad I grew up with siblings. It has taught me more than I can fit in a blog post and more than I know that I know.

• I learned how to fight with the people I love.
• I learned how to forgive the people with which I fight.
• I learned how to be called stupid or immature or any other recognizably insulting names and not be insulted.
• I learned how to deal with immaturity when I know I am just as or more so immature.
• I learned how to deal with authority and not having it.
• I learned to have fun at something I adamantly don't want to do.
• I learned how to entertain myself with something others see as work.
• I learned how to make myself heard when I need to be.
• I learned how to be silent when I have no seniority or authority.
• I learned to ask questions when I don't know an answer.
• I learned how to figure things out for myself when I can't find an answer.
• I learned how to clean bathrooms and wash kitchen floors.
• I learned how to do the dishes and clear and set a table for a meal.
• I learned that the more you know someone, the harder they are for whom to shop.

There are too many more to count, so I will shut up now. I hold firm to the fact that second to life, the best gift a parent can give to a child is a sibling.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

For the many years you've been my dad, my siblings' dad, my mom's husband, my uncles' brother, my grandparents' son, you are amazing, and I wish you the best and happiest birthday today.

Socks and Italian Food

I was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book about economics that was at a reading level much higher than my own. I desperately needed a dictionary, as every other word was at least a dozen letters long and indecipherable. Everything was normal, or as normal ast hings could be with me having been home all day Saturday. Mom was at the computer, and Dad entered the kitchen. In his hand was an advertisement. A perfectly normal advertisement.

"I came just to torture you," he announced. Flipping over the ad, I was face to face with mostaccioli. Wonderful, delicious mostaccioli, swimming in tomato sauce and covered in a delectable melted mozzarella that made my mouth water. Next to it was penne pasta with creamy basil chicken, sprinkled with shredded parmesan, and tortellini robusto that was smothered in a sauce so delicious I could have eaten it for a second dinner.

I laughed, knowing how much my dad kew and loved me. "Socks and Italian food," I told him as he left the kitchen chuckling. "Socks and Italian food."

All Alone

Well, the last sibling has left, and I am once again an only child. The whole house is to myself. This is sometimes good (when I'm having a teenage girl moment (that strangely don't happen too often with me) and don't want to talk to anyone at all) and yet sometimes bad (when there's no one to talk to in my generation). I know for sure I'm going to miss everybody (I already do), but it's kind of nice knowing that my family can go out and travel the western hemisphere and live good lives. It just makes me wonder where will I be when I leave high school? Will I get into a good college, or will I be stuck at a low-academic-standard community college that doesn't offer much? Will I get to live in Chicago when I grow up, or will I have to go where the job is? Will I earn lots of money or have to struggle to pay the rent? Will I have kids who can sit comfortably at a computer as I am now, or will I remain single all my life? I don't know where I'll be. But I sure hope I'll be as great as my siblings are now.

Because I feel left out...

I would just like to say, as the third and final daughter, and the third and final blog post, thank you, Al Gore. Because the only reason I started this blog was to be cool like my sisters. This means I have to write about the same things they do, so I'm cool, too. So, to be cool like my sisters, which I have repeated several times already to exaggerate their coolness, I have to thank Al Gore for creating the internet. You are the one and only reason I communicate with my sisters.

Left

A wise person once told me it's easier to leave than to be left. I didn't need a wise person to tell me that.

Since I'm the youngest of five children, I've watched my four older siblings move out in various ways. The first seemed to be the hardest. I was only 8, and was still playing with dolls. I have no memories of her living at home before the day she moved out. I was crying. I had no idea what was going on, or why my oldest sister was crying. All I remember was her repeating I have to do this, I have to do this. But what was she doing?

The next two were much less emotional. I wasn't as close to my brothers. They were big, strong, masculine men who had done wrestling and cross country, and I was just a weak little girl who had yet to reach high school. Sure, we had our ways of showing affection for each other. It mostly consisted of wrestling each other in the family room, but it was still there. I thought I'd die when my other sister left. But by then, I was so used to abandonment that it was the easiest release.

In the three years that my sister and I lived as the only children in the house, we grew very close. I still played the role of the annoying little sister, but she accepted that. As soon as I realized she didn't find me annoying anymore, I stopped being so annoying. She didn't mind me hanging out with her friends, and she became a friend of mine. I didn't know how I was going to live without her. The summer she spent working at camp didn't hurt. She was gone for two months, then back for two weeks. I learned how to get through the day without her random facts and infinite logic of why men are infinitely better than women. When she went off to college, I was able to keep myself busy with schoolwork, and never felt the pang of loneliness.

Now, it's a rarity that all seven of us end up in the same place at the same time. This is when it hurts the most. We're all together, and I get to sit back and watch them fly off one at a time, sometimes two a day, to their various destinations. And I am stuck at home for two more years, not knowing what it's like to do the leaving. But I will learn. I will most definitely learn.