Author: hubbabubba98

Adulting

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So adulting is hard. It’s not what you imagine when you’re a little kid. Yes, you are able to stay up late and you don’t have to listen to mom and dad. Yes, you can eat whatever you want, but with that also comes having to buy your own groceries – because guess what? If you don’t buy those groceries, you won’t have any food to eat. If you don’t do that dirty laundry, you won’t have any clean clothes. If you don’t set your alarm clock the night before, you will most definitely sleep through your 8am class (luckily that hasn’t happened to me yet, just my roommate, every Monday and Friday.)

There are so many things that I used to take for granted when I lived at home – there was always food, cleaning supplies, and cold medicine, and everything was just at my fingertips. Now that I’m living on my own I realize how truly lucky I was. So, thanks mom and dad.

I’m three weeks into college (when this was written) and I’m incredibly sick. And no I don’t mean homesick, which is surprising since I’m living in Massachusetts, across the country from California. But the kind of sick I mean is high fevers, throwing up, stuffy nose, headache, dizziness and cough, also known as a chest virus, also known as the flu. And it sucks. Trying to navigate through two different busses to get to class while making it to work on time and rushing back for soccer practice is enough to handle, and then to add being sick on top it is far from fun.

Sickness Creates ProblemsAnd to those who are about to go off to college, let me tell you, the first time that you get sick away from home is terrible. It might not seem like a big deal but when all you want to do is lay in your own bed but you can’t because it’s 3,112 miles away, it becomes a big deal.Well Hello, Sickness

So today, after not really being able to breathe for about a week, I finally went to the health center. I only got lost in the building about three times before I finally found the student health center. After my appointment, I was prescribed some medications that would help. Of course these were insanely expensive, and as a college student that’s an issue.

I can’t wait until next month when I have to pay my credit card bill.

Never fear though, while it might seem like I’m hating life right now, I’m not. Even though my family is far away and I low-key can’t really breath or taste anything, I have another family taking care of me right here. My teammates and friends are constantly checking on me and bring me tea and saltines, the perfect (cheap) get-well combination.

September 11th

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September 11th, a grave day in history that will never be forgotten, forever looming over our history like the dust and debris that was left after the world trade center was hit. To some this day is almost insignificant, and to some this day means more than anything else.

Most people remember it as the day that the United States was attacked. Before the attack, September eleventh was simply just another day of the year. But after that attack, just mentioning the day “September 11th” brought a hush to a crowd, or caused someone to look down in sorrowful remembrance. For some people it made them feel uncomfortable, for some people sad, and some people resentful. I’ve seen all of these reactions. But what I saw the most was acceptance, not because people didn’t care, but because to a certain extent nothing could be done; the plane crash couldn’t be taken back, the lives lost couldn’t be brought back and the birthdays, as insignificant as it might seem, would never be the same.

My older sister had her 7th birthday on September 11th. Now, being that I was three years old when the attack took place, I don’t remember what I was doing, or what we were doing that day for my sister’s birthday, but I can almost promise you that with a catastrophe like that, her birthday was altered in some way.

I remember that I didn’t really understand what was happening when my parents tried to explain to me that the plane had crashed into the world trade center. For a three-year-old, death is an unfathomable idea, let alone combined with the catastrophe of 9/11 accompanying it.

As the years have rolled by, September 11th has become less of a painful reminder of what was lost that day. However, the pain that was caused will never fully disappear. The disheartened look that people get in their eyes when my sister says that her birthday is on September 11th will never go away, the damage that was done to hundreds of other families, to the world trade center and to our nation will never go away. But like human nature, we learn how to deal with it and accept it. 

Photo Credit: http://www.911memorial.org

Playing an Instrument

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I’ve never really been one of those people who has an emotional connection to music. I’ve played so many instruments that I could be a one woman band, but never did I actually feel a strong connection to playing.

I started out with the piano, “the base of all music” said my parents. I played and performed in recitals for years, hating every single moment of it. I remember the lessons seemed to drag on forever and ever, making a one hour lesson seem like a decade. My piano teacher,  an older lady with no sense of humor or compassion for children, was also conveniently my next door neighbor; making it impossible to miss a lessons. Finally after a few years of sitting through endless lessons and playing out of key notes, I was allowed to stop play.

That freedom only lasted for a little bit. The next year I was forced to pick another instrument. This time not forced by my parents, but by my school.Every fifth grader in the public school system had to pick and instrument and either join the orchestra or the band. Of course I chose one of the largest/most awkward/ hardest to transport instruments. I chose the cello.

I played the cello for four years. I took private lessons, played in the school orchestra and played in 2 other out side orchestras. You could say I was a band nerd. I am one of the many that can actually say, ” that one summer at band camp…”.

Its been four years since I’ve played, and for some odd and unexplainable reason, I kind of miss it. I’m not really sure why because  used to fight my mom every single day about practicing and I used to dread going to rehearsals or lessons.

I think I miss it because it resembles my childhood. A time where things were so much simpler, a time where the only thing I had to worry about was making sure that my Halloween costume was cool enough, a time where I wasn’t being forced to make decisions that were going to impact my future.

Only 73 days left

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So for my senior project I decided to run a marathon. For some reason I actually thought that would be a good idea. I’m not really sure what I was thinking when I decided this.

Now I’m not saying it has all been bad, but I am now entering into my seventh week of training and I’m really ready to be done.

Don’t get me wrong, I love exercising, but there is something about it loosing its appeal when you have to stick to a specific schedule everyday.

Wednesdays have become my favorite days. Why you may ask? Because I have every single Wednesday off. Not one Wednesday in my 16 week training plan do I have to run. Just having one day off might not seem like much, but to someone who is running around 30 plus miles a week, having one day off is amazing.

Only 73 more days of running left.

I can do this.

Time Flies

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I now understand what people meant by “enjoy being young, time flies.” I feel like my childhood has raced past me and I am at the end of it, looking back, wishing for more time. I just turned 18 and while I am technically and adult is still feel like a kid. The number doesn’t mean anything. I feel like a kid who is being told to act like an adult.

I feel like I’m not yet ready to make the decisions that I’m expected to make. Deciding where I will go in my future, if I will be able to afford it, where I will be living, and what I will be doing with the rest of my life.

I just want to go back to those endless days of summer vacations where the only concern on your mind is making it home in time to catch your favorite TV show.

 

http://i3.cpcache.com/product/1545734974/growing_up_is_optional_wall_clock.jpg?height=225&width=225

It isn’t so easy

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I think I’ve gone completely brain dead. After being away from school for two weeks, I have no recollection on how to get back into the swing of things.

“It’s easy” they say, as they stand at the front of the room handing me piles of worksheets and assignments to make up.

Yes, of course it is easy, WHEN THEY ARE THE ONE GIVING ME THE WORK AND NOT DOING IT.

I have a math test in two days. I don’t even remember how to use my calculator.

I know eventually I will fall back into my boring, monotonous routine of classes Monday through Friday and homework, Saturday through Sunday. But I know it will feel like an eternity until I fall back into those deep tracks.

Of course, as soon as I get myself back in the groove, it will time for yet another break and I will repeat this whole cycle over again.It

Child Brides

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There are somethings about this world that just sicken me. Somethings that I cannot fathom or understand why they are integrated into society.

Child brides are one of those unexplainable and nauseating tragedies that society is plagued with. Thankfully, the United States is not one of those countries that participates in this horrific custom. I couldn’t imagine living in fear of being married at eight years old to a man who is old enough to be my grandfather.

I understand that the reasoning behind these marriages are often for financial reason, but what I do not understand is how the parents are okay with practically selling their adolescent child to an grown adult.

Don’t these parents have any compassion for their young child who has not yet lived their life, had an opportunity for an education or fallen in love?

Just because this is a custom that has been long ingrained into particular cultures I am blown away by how parents are content with doing this to their children. Do they not have a basic understand of what is humane, just because they are from a different country?

 

 

 

 

It is finally here my friends

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Hello my fellow lactose intolerant friends,

If you haven’t heard, I am happy to announce that Ben & Jerry’s has created four new flavors… DAIRY FREE!

Yes I am talking about the same Ben & Jerry’s that makes the amazing Phish food ice cream, that melts in your mouth. Yes, the same Ben & Jerry’s that is always there for you no matter what; anything from a birthday to a breakup.

I cannot express to you how excited I am to sink my spoon into these four new flavors. Due to my extreme excitement I have already decided what order I will try them in.

  1. Coffee Caramel Fudge
  2. Fudge Brownie
  3. Chunky Monkey
  4. P.B. & Cookies

They are marketing these new flavors as “Vegan”. Typically I stray away from the whole vegan trend. However, I am willing to over look that so I can enjoy my new dairy free ice cream.

To me this is a huge step forward in accommodating those who simply cannot stomach all the real thing.

I am extremely hopeful that these new flavors will be just as good as the others. I am ready to be able to eat ice cream without a stomach ache… However if these flavors do disappoint, I am willing to suck it up and deal with the stomach ache.

Photo credit to: media.philly.com

 

What House Arrest does to you

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So my dad is basically on house arrest because of his recent heart attack. Because of this house arrest that he has been sentenced to by his doctors and my mother, he has decided to take up and master the art of cooking.

His goal: to cook a new dish, EVERY SINGLE day.

Now this is coming from a man who usually NEVER cooks and when he does, we usually end up calling for a pizza late at night.

My dad has many great talents, unfortunately cooking is not one of them.

So far he has made the following dishes:

  • Cauliflower soup with WAY too much pepper, ( I think he missed the “taste as you go” memo).
  • Spaghetti squash pasta with a spinach sauce; lets just say he loves his food processor and we ended up having spaghetti squash with baby formula.
  • Fisherman’s Pie; coincidentally while he was cooking the power in our house went out and it was only half cooked, he still decided to serve it.

On top of all his glorious attempts of these new recipes, he’s sent my mom to the store every single day to get ingredients, not quite realizing that the ingredients we already have at the house could be used for cooking as well.

While throwing in his own changes to the recipes, he also likes to add some humor. He makes constant reference to the cooking TV show  Chopped. Every time one of his new “creations” doesn’t go as planned he says, ” Well I think the judges would have chopped me for that one!” or if it is a success( I’ve yet to taste one) he says, ” That one would have gotten me to the next round!”

While he is still going strong on his cooking binge, and I applaud his efforts, I wouldn’t mind having a pizza for dinner anytime soon.

 

Making Amends

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Photo Credit to: https://www.colourbox.com

Is it too late to make amends?

Is it too late to go back on something that has been 18 years in the making?

This past weekend I was given a painful reminder that things can change in an instant.

My dad had a heart-attack.

He had been on a two-week ski trip in British Columbia and it happened on the last day of his trip.  My mom told me Friday evening when I got home that he’d had a heart-attack and was being flown to Spokane, Washington for surgery the next morning.

That Saturday morning I woke up at 3am to drive my mom to the airport so she could be there waiting for him when he got out of surgery. After dropping my mom of at the airport I turned around and drove home, went back to sleep and woke up a few hours later to play in my soccer game.

Those 24 hours that followed my mom telling me that he’d had a heart-attack were a whirlwind. I don’t remember what followed after she said the words no one wants to hear, ” Dad had a heart-attack”. Everything blurred together. I remember thinking, don’t cry, because if you cry that means something is wrong and I wanted so badly to believe that nothing was wrong.

My dad came out of his surgery doing well, the doctors said that his good physical conditioning saved his life, that he was lucky it hadn’t been worse.

Despite the terrible circumstances, I felt lucky. Lucky to be reminded that things can change in and instant, lucky to be reminded that I shouldn’t take so much for granted and lucky to be reminded how much family means.

My dad and I have always had a rough relationship. My mom says it is because our personalities are so similar that’s why we butt heads. We disagree on almost everything and always find some way to annoy each other.

For so long we’ve been content with living like this. It broke my heart knowing that within the next 10 years any type of relationship with my dad would either be non-existent or intolerable. However, after this past weekend, I’ve decided to make amends. I’ve decided, even though I know it won’t be easy, to work towards the relationship I want with my dad.