Freeze Frame

This afternoon was the annual onslaught of the Erdelatz extended family, including Aunt Heidi and her seven, count 'em, seven young kids.

Granted, the crowd was a bit smaller this year, what with Megan in college, Ryan and Jimmy working, and Dani and Alex in Lake Tahoe. But in keeping with tradition, we all plunged into Uncle Eddie's deliciously nature-inspired saltwater pool (complete with spa and waterfalls) and splashed around.

And in betweeen diving contests, splash fights, and stealing a moment away from the gleeful screaming to hide in the hot tub, I rested on a rock in the deep end and had a thought as I watched six-year-old Andy giggle and dogpaddle his way around.

Someday he and his twin sister Mary Kate will be in high school. They'll be my age, and have cars and phones and significant others and I won't have to coax them into a hug every year.

But suddenly, I didn't want anything to change.

I want Maddie to always be the redheaded, rosy-cheeked 13-year-old she is now, because isn't that how it's always been? Headstrong Mali should never age past her confident age of 9, and Emmy should remain bubbly, carefree and 7. Bobby should always be his fiery, loud 10-year-old self, and the twins should always, always be just old enough to plunge into the pool without arm floaties, but young enough to need time to warm up to me again every year when I visit.

That's how it should stay, because I can't remember a time when it hasn't been this way.

But it's not. I'm going to be coming home from college soon, and Maddie will have her first kiss, and Emmy and the twins will be in the torrential waters of middle school, and before we know it, we'll all be married with kids while the twins are applying to colleges.

I got so overwhelmed with the speed of time, and the need to keep this picture in front of me the same just swelled up inside me, and I almost cried right there in the deep end.

Because unlike last summer, this time, for a moment, I was truly happy. At that moment, just being there with everyone the age they should be, I was so happy and full of, okay, love.

I was.

Sunburnt Shoulders

It's that time of the year again.
Summer.

As usual, mine is never quiet, nor does it suffer from lack of activity. But the quiet moments of happiness sometimes mean more in the midst of chaos.

Like the relaxing ferryboat ride to dinner, accompanied by a soft breeze.

Like a much-needed phone call after a long and wet day.

And a late night game of Truth-Or-Dare.

Those things make me smile even wider this week.

I Believe the Term is Sheer Terror

Why is it that if a college conversation with my parents lasts for more than about five minutes I get flustered and panicked and overwhelmed and just want to run upstairs and jump under my covers and bawl like a baby?

Why do the rings around Sacremento that my dad drew on Google Earth give me a welcome excuse to narrow my search while simultaneously scaring the crap out of me that I might overlook some dream school in Los Angeles or something?

Why do I tell my parents to give me a financial amount to work with when I really really don't want to feel limited by money, or lack of money?

Do I want to stick with the safety of in-state and reduce the overwhelming-ness of this search by a lot, or do I want to go ahead and look around in New England because my perfect school just might be somewhere in Boston that I can never afford?

The answer to all these questions is my least favorite sentence.

I. Don't. Know.


Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to begin my descent into madness by crying in a ball under the covers.

Dear Girl Who Holds My Memories,

I kept the moments that we were in,

and I hoped in my heart

 you'd come back to me, my friend

and now I've got you...

Words can't express how happy I am that you're back to stay. 

The afternoon of prom, when you surprised me by coming to visit and helping me get ready before we said goodbye (for the third time in our childhoods, it seemed), it was bittersweet because I was mentally preparing myself to really never see you again. 

And when I got home that night, and quickly changed for after-prom, the note you left me on my pillow had me in heartbreaking tears for a good twenty minutes because I thought I was losing my other half.

But you're back! 

And you'll be here for good. 

Today, cross-legged on my bed, bouncing around excitedly as we caught each other up on noteworthy happenings,

and giggling over little things I would never in a thousand years laugh about with many others,

and squeezing in a hammock in wet hair and bathing suits as the smell of grilling burgers perfumed the air,

I felt like we were ten-year-olds on your trampoline all over again.

I feel like my whole heart just took a deep breath of fresh air. 

Dear Small Hurricane,

Today might have been good. Overall, I mean. But sometimes last impressions remain more vivdly than first ones.

And you didn't deny my request, persay. I mean, there were people around.

So do you want to tell me why I think I'm going to cry myself to sleep?

This may come as a shock, but you weren't the only one who got hurt.

I think I'll just leave it at that.

Dear Small Intrigue,

I was breathing hard when I reached my next class. Your over-the-shoulder closing remarks still rang in my ears, and now I'm wondering if that was to be my last memory of you.

If so, it ended, overall, better than I expected.

I don't think you realize how big that yearbook signature was for me. I hope you appreciate it in all it's boldness.

Anyway. It's been real.

A Mighty Circle

Tonight was such a fulfilling experience for me. I got to fellowship with a wonderful group of Christians, which is something I've been desperately needing as of late. They played one of my favorite songs, the people around me harmonized with the lyrics (something I've often been the only one doing in worship circles), and the study was so Spirit-led, it was refreshing.

And it just now reminded me of something someone very wise said to me a few years ago. When I expressed my feelings of being so small. In this world of sinners, who am I to think I make any difference? I'm no better than the person next to me. One word that has never, and will never describe me, I thought, is mighty. I'm not physically strong or imposing. I don't have passionate preaching skills. In a circle of nonbelievers, people don't hang on my every word by any means. How am I supposed to be bold if nothing sets me apart?

And he said, "Abby, you're different because no matter what kinds of people you're around, you have the awesome power of the Holy Spirit in you. Jesus has set you apart because you're his daughter, and you have the ability to praise His name anywhere you are. You have the power of the one and only living God inside you. And that makes you pretty darn mighty."

I'm paraphrasing of course. But that has never left me. And sitting among people who have the same burning inside them... it made for a powerful presence.

I want that in my life more.

The Modesty Clause

Shopping for bathing suits has never been so irritating.

If you know me at all, you know I prefer not to wear the shortest skirts, tightest tops, or even the highest heels. This applies to bathing suits. I didn't really wear bikinis until a few years ago, and even though I do wear them now, I still don't wear string ones. It just seems to me that if people are going to be looking at me in a swimsuit, it should be because I look good without having to show everything.

Plus, I don't want to look like a... well, you know.

So this year I decided to opt for a one-piece in addition to my regular swim wardrobe. One that was attractive, but not to revealing. Classy. Girly. (But not too girly. No ruffles.) I went online. I searched. I scrolled. I clicked. For. Ever.

First of all, the grand total of 7 one-pieces I found on one website was nothing compared to the 200 results I got for bikinis, most of which were fluorescent eyepatches connected by elastic string. That alone bothered me. Are there no other girls out there who want to buy something that's attractive without being immodest?

I found one on Old Navy, though, that was pretty much perfect. It came today.... and didn't fit.

But part of the reason it didn't fit was because there were pillows of padding in the chest, which made the top part bulge weirdly and sit all wrong.

And I just got so frustrated. It bothers me that the world seems to think that no teenage girl would want to look attractive on a beach in a swimsuit without flaunting everything about her body that she can. I wanted to yell at Old Navy, "I can look good on my own! I don't need your padding!"

Society seems to have hammered the message into the minds of adolescent girls that if we can't get a guy to drool over us, we'd better make sure we do. We shake our heads at stars who expose everything on live TV, but when all we provide to wear are the same kinds of things, what are we telling thirteen-year-olds going through puberty? That this is all there is?

One afternoon several years ago, my mom and I were shopping at a department store. I had gone to get another size in something, and when I returned my mom asked me if I'd heard the conversation two or three dressing rooms down. Another mother-daughter duo was trying on clothes. I said no.

Apparently a skirt or something was being debated, and the daughter didn't like it because it was too short, too tight, etc. It made her feel uncomfortable. Naked. Her mom (her mom!) had said something like, "Do you want boys to like you? Do you want them to think you're pretty? This is what you have to wear. This what girls your age need to wear."

It saddens me that this is the only message we're getting now. And maybe this is the way it's going to stay, partially because they don't make attractive and modest bathing suits anymore.

Oh sure, I have a couple bandeau tops. They're cute. They still cover me well enough. But for once, I'd like to show up in California this summer, in the midst of all my cousins and their friends wearing tiny swimsuits, and look just as hot without feeling nearly naked. Is it too much to ask for a girl blessed with a small waist and natural curves to be able to wear something attractive and modest?

I don't think so.