Roadkill

I hit a squirrel two Saturdays ago. I tried to miss it – really, I did. I slowed down to let the little fellow decide which way he would run (squirrels are incredibly indecisive when it comes to directions). Then he just sat there, so I thought: Ok, my car is still moving. I’m not going to slam on the brakes, so I’ll just aim to have the middle of the car go over him, thereby not hitting him. And as I was driving over him, I felt the bump. You know that dreaded, terrible, sick-to-your-stomach feeling you get when you feel the bump? Well, I had not known it until two Saturdays ago.
When I first started driving, I remember saying something like this: “The day I hit an animal, I’m gonna bawl my eyes out.” I just knew that it would tear me up. But in years since, I had wondered if it would really affect me at all. The road leading to my house is like a two-mile magnet for roadkill – had my bleeding heart become dry from all the years of seeing dead animals almost every time I drove home?
As soon as I felt that bump, I let out a loud “ohhhh noooo!” Then I cautiously looked in my rear-view mirror, hoping that perhaps I had just hit the squirrel’s tail and that he had run off. But instead, I saw his little body in the middle of the road. And then I let out an even louder, more emotional “ohhhh noooo! Then...I cried. I didn’t quite bawl, but I definitely cried and felt that pain I always had thought I would feel. The truth is, I was already feeling a bit emotionally shaky that day – which didn’t help matters. It was like all I needed was to hit a squirrel to just push me over the edge.
It was something that didn’t go away quickly. Later on that same Saturday, I was talking with my boyfriend – discussing something that was making me emotionally stressed out – and just out of nowhere I suddenly said in a tearful, whiny voice: “I hit a squirrel…” And then I started crying. The next day I had a couple close calls with some other squirrels (probably family of the one I had hit the day before) when I was driving. A couple days later, I passed a dead squirrel on the road who had – and I kid you not – a line of blood spilling out from its mouth onto the pavement. It looked just like a dead soldier in Saving Private Ryan. A little overly dramatic, I would say. Then, just the other day, a friend saw a picture of me and said I looked like a squirrel. Great.
I’m over it, though. Do I still see a lot of road kill? Yes. When I see roadkill, do I still think of that little squirrel I hit a couple weeks ago? Of course. But after all, I did cry when I hit the squirrel – and that’s therapy enough for me.

Christmastime

It’s Christmastime. I love Christmas – it’s definitely my favorite holiday. Ok, so maybe it’s a pagan holiday and yes, I am guilty of being one of the many Christians who forget the main point of it all. But I can’t help but savor the sights and sounds of the season – the lights, the music, the romance, the foods, the general goodwill of most everyone you see (excepting those crazed shoppers at the mall). I think it really all comes down to traditions. We grow up enjoying certain ways of celebrating Christmas, and often, we celebrate the same way every year. But then how do we handle the shock when, for some reason or other, we celebrate Christmas differently?

I used to be a real brat. I still have my bratty tendencies, to be sure. However, on the whole, I believe that I’ve definitely grown out of a lot of those not-so-attractive traits. But I was a brat and a control freak as a child. Hard to believe? I know. Yet there’s evidence to prove it.

Example: A classic home video of the Gerard children (Alli at age 4; Andy, age 6) sitting at the grand piano in the living room of their home in Berrien Springs, MI. The kids are adorable – a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy and a curly red-headed girl – and they are even more adorable because they’re pounding on the piano keys as they sing Christmas carols (Alli was actually singing “Park” the Herald Angels Sing). Adorable. Until the little girl thinks to herself: why should I be singing a duet when I could be singing a solo? And so little Alli starts telling little Andy to “Stop it, stop it – listen to me! I’m going to sing it by myself!” And sweet little Andy – ever the model child – just smiles and lets his younger sister sing the wrong words to Hark the Herald Angels Sing.

When it came to Christmas traditions, the control freak in me came out pretty strong when I was younger. I had to help put the ornaments on the Christmas tree, I had to arrange the Nativity scene exactly as I saw fit, we had to eat the same foods every year for Christmas dinner, and we had to watch the movie “White Christmas” on Christmas Eve and only on Christmas Eve – that’s right, it could never be watched on any other day of the year. I’m pretty sure I drove my family crazy.

I’m not sure exactly when I began to loosen up on my rigid Christmas stance. Maybe it was when we moved to southern California and I had to come to grips with the idea of not having snow in my front yard. Or maybe it was when I realized that having the same foods for Christmas dinner every year was actually quite boring, and so we made Indian food one time. In general, I think I just began to enjoy variety in life more and more (I trace this back to our family moving to new places and traveling out of the country), and I began to enjoy trying new things more often. I began to enjoy being adventurous.

Last year, I was in Argentina from September up until the week before Christmas. It was summer there in November and December, and Thanksgiving day was the hottest day of the whole year. Christmas in Argentina isn’t as big a deal as it is in the states – you just don’t see the lights and decorations all over, and you don’t hear any Christmas music. So, in my mind, the Christmas spirit was somewhat lacking.

As Caressa Rogers and I traveled around Patagonia and then spent our last week in Buenos Aires, we were craving Christmas. We wanted holiday spirit, and we wanted it bad. I remember the day that we walked into a big shopping mall and saw in the main pavilion a gigantic, beautifully decorated Christmas tree. We almost cried. We definitely took pictures. We were ridiculous.

I also remember my mom asking me over Skype if I wanted her to go ahead and put up the Christmas decorations without me, or wait until I got home. I told her that I wanted to come back to a house full of Christmas and that she should definitely put up the decorations without me.

Once again, this year I was not present when the Christmas decorations were put up. I’m about to go home for the weekend, and I’m pretty excited to see them, but it doesn’t bother me a bit that I didn’t help put ornaments on the tree or that I didn’t get to arrange the Nativity scene exactly as it looked at the birth of Jesus (since, yes, I knew what this looked like when I was 4 years old).

So it’s Christmastime again, and I’m excited about the season. I love the sights, the sounds, the romance, the lights, the traditions. But this year I think I’ll let Andy sing Christmas duets with me, I might make Thai food for Christmas dinner, and I’ll probably still force my family to watch “White Christmas” with me on Christmas Eve. After all, some things never change.

My first marriage, my first child, and my first blog

This is my first blog. "Thankfully," Ben Schnell has forced me to start this blog. "I love him. He knew exactly what I need right now, to share my thoughts with all my friends using this medium."* So I guess I should write about what's going on in my life.

A few firsts: My first marriage, my first child, my first blog.

A couple weeks ago, as I was driving through Chattanooga with Nick in the passenger seat and Chelsea in the back, Chelsea exclaimed: "I feel like I'm your kid." This led to a conversation: If Nick and I actually got married, could we legally adopt Chelsea as our child, providing that she requested this? Then, just this last weekend, I was driving through Chattanooga again with Nick in the passenger seat and Chelsea in the back. We decided that Nick and I should definitely get hitched, and then promptly adopt our friend (and now, daughter) Chelsea. This is our first awkward family photo. Awkward for a few reasons, but mostly because, yes, Nick's hand is placed lovingly on my knee.

So this is my first blog. Ben told me that I had to write at least a little something to start things off. I'm not sure what I'll start writing about, but don't worry - I promise to make the following blogs better than this one.

*These quotes come from some guy who really likes blogging.