My dreaded weekly spelling homework in second grade really had me distraught from time to time. I remember laying sprawled out on the kitchen counter while my mom quizzed me on all twenty words until I had them down. I remember the songs she used to make up to help me remember the spellings of particularly difficult words ("e-i-g-h-t-yeah!") and the sound of her voice enthusiastically chanting the repetitive choruses as I jumped out of the car with a bow in my hair the size the average Kindergartener on the day of my test, one last time so I'd remember.
I remember my Texas History class in seventh grade where I made up an entire ballad about the Texas Revolution whose chorus went, "Boo yah, boo yah Santa A-an-nahhh!" just to help me study for my text. (No one is proud of seventh grade, please remember.) I'm sure my parents loved me for that one....
And it occurred to me today as I sat in my bedroom in my apartment at 7:00 this morning trying to decide which of my three research papers to work on that I'm not at all sure how I got from learning to spell my numbers, to acing my test on the Alamo, to simultaneously researching Southern cuisine as a symbol for Southern identity, the fusion of evangelical and postmodern theologies, and the redemptive role of religiously-themed poetry for females in Christian history.
And then I was looking through pictures from England and I realized that the first photo album I made back in January was entitled "Dear England, let's get married" and was filled with pictures that I took in the snow on the way to my art history class literally right across the street from Jon's house in Chester, before I had ever met him.
And now I'm trying to figure out what kind of UK visa I need to go live there as a permanent resident in less than a year when I marry him.
Yesterday I was meeting with my boss for an internship I'm doing next semester (with the youth ministry at a local Methodist church - I'm so excited!), and she asked me if I was 21 yet. I had to ruffle my eyebrows a bit and possibly even tilt my head as remembered that I'm now 22. Twenty two?!
I still remember my first day of youth group at our new church back then that my parents had to make me go to because I was so shy.
I guess I lost the hair bow between second grade and then. However, I find myself rather attracted to wedding dresses that tie around the waist in back with a subtle, pretty bow.
I think I tried that on my Barbie one time.
When did I stop being seven?
2 comments:
And do you remember that little boy that sat beside you in 1st grade, who, when i said "how did you do on your spelling test, Michelle," said "she made a 100 AS USUAL!" He was SO dejected. I can't remember his name. AND, do you remember having about 25 lates on your report card b/c i couldn't get you to get ready b/c you wanted to watch Gilligan's Island?
I LOVE YOU!!! Mommy
Hey Girl,
I wrote a paper senior year on southern cuisine as a symbol of southern culture. If you need any more sources I can send you my bib. I'm pretty sure it's still floating around somewhere. (It was for a Capek class, if it's the same class, she'll let you conduct interviews-- I got to interview both my grandmother and momma)
KadyMac
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