The Fantastic Weekend of March 2011

This is what I imagine Vinny looks like, but a bit meaner. He and I are on bad terms. As of last week, I tried to make him offerings of a new medicine that was fan-tastic at first, but five days into it Vinny got bored and gave me arrhythmia. Thanks, Vin. I switched back to less effective medicine and he started going to town on me again every few hours. Now it is a matter of finding whatever triggers him.

Stress?
Acid?
Gluten?
Anything nice?

I started a gluten diet a few days ago to see if it would help and it will be a few more weeks before I know if it works. Do you know what has gluten in it? ALL THINGS THAT ARE GOOD TO EAT. For a cereal-addict, that is a problem.

You know what, though? Even though I've hated it, this week has made me closer in my walk with God. On the night when my heartburn wouldn't stop and everyone else was eating chocolate chip cookies, I had to stop myself from writhing in self-pity and say, "I don't know what's going on with my body, God, but for some reason you've restricted me from getting what I want." (ha, listen to that. When does he ever do things like that? HA!) "I have to trust that you know what you're doing." ...So even though this stresses me out to the point of tears (when can I eat? what can I eat? did I take my medicine? what is triggering it this time? when will I have time to exercise and de-stress?), I have to see that an enforced fast may be a good thing. However, watching everyone else eat chocolate cupcakes today was rough...

Apart from that, this weekend was awesome and will forever be know as "The Fantastic Weekend of March 2011".

NIGHT ONE: My sister's 15th birthday party.

Me, five high school girls, and a minivan with blaring music. A skating rink with men who leered at any girl over the age of 20 without kids (namely, me). "Decaf" Starbucks drinks for them. UTTER EXHAUSTION by ten o' clock for me.

And they loved it.

NIGHT TWO: Fritz Formal

We classy ladies of The Fritz decided to ditch Spring Formal and go out on our own. Fancy dresses, Olive Garden (where virtually everything has flour in it...POO), the mall, Tangled at the cheap theater, and Disney music all the way home. 

Tremendously good time. 

NIGHT (well, afternoon) THREE: Bridal shower. 

Shelly lived on the hall last year and now she's getting married (like half of Covenant campus). So we showered her. Some fun girly games, a tad bit of awkward conversation, and some good finger foods. 

She'll definitely be using this wine bottle holder from The Fritz....especially since she won't be on contract anymore. 

ALSO. I found a house for next year! I'll be living with a couple girls (one of whom I was in Uganda with...YAY) one minute down the road from campus in a quaint yellow house with a dog. This should be lovely. 

And now to begin another week of "God knows what he's doing, Laura. Promise."

There's a reason Vinny is a bad-guy name.

Some people spend Spring Break at the beach getting a tan and forgetting about the world. Last time I did that, I got a sunburn so bad that I had to take steroids. This Spring Break, I got two cavities filled and went to the doctor. I don't think Spring Break likes me.

First: my teeth.

 On Monday, I go in for a cleaning, thinking no problem, I floss and brush plenty. My teeth will pass with flying colors. By the end, the dental-lady (who is really nice, but whose name I can never recall) was stabbing a hook into my tooth, going, "Looks like you've got a little cavity--oh, two little cavities!"

WAH...?. 

Ok, no big deal Laura. Last time you had a tooth filled, the big mouth shot only hurt a little bit and you were ok. 

No. I went in this morning expecting the tiny mouth  shot and got two big ones in a row, with the dentist flapping my cheek back and forth to make sure it all got in there. OW. OWOWOWOW. STOP LACERATING MY RAGGED CHEEK. 

Thankfully, this meant that I felt nothing as they took care of the "little" cavities. For the next few hours after, the entire left side of my jaw felt like dead weight and I kept accidentally biting my tongue when I talked. From now on, I'm brushing for three minutes every time. Promise. 

Second: St. George

St. George is the G.I. doctor whose name is actually Dr. Brown, but I prefer to call him St. George because I expect him to kill the dragon in my belly. For all intensive purposes, I'm naming the dragon "Vinny". 

Anyway, yesterday my mother and I dragged Vinny down to meet St. George. I was scared he would actually try to meet Vinny face-to-face, but no one stuck me with anything or looked inside me and I was beyond thrilled. No, St. George was a very nice man and we talked for a while. He even used the phrase "the beast within", so I knew he was perfect. 

He said that Vinny was probably of the Acid Reflux species. He wasn't sure where Vinny came from, but maybe when I had the first stomach bug the valve between my stomach and esophagus--the one that's supposed to hold Vinny hostage--got loose and hasn't healed up. 

He gave me some new pills and I am scolding Vinny to take and use them. I also have a new battle plan to eat less, not eat after eight, sleep propped up, and take lots of Tums. If the war plan leads to victory in a couple of months, I'll be all clear. If not, then I have to have an acid probe. That means they would put me under, stick a tube with a camera on it down my throat to check Vinny out, and then leave a metal capsule in there for a couple days to track the fire he's breathing up my esophagus. Depending on how bad that is, there could be surgery (BUT I HOPE NONE OF THAT HAPPENS).

Today I tried the new medicine and had significantly less heartburn. Let's hope it stays that way.

The rest of Spring Break has been significantly less painful. I've spent some solid time with mom--shopping in Knoxville, going to the Bush's Beans family restaurant and museum (I'm slowly morphing into a gin-you-wine Tennessean. I've even fallen back into the accent. YES.), and making cupcakes. Last night Daniel made me go to Walmart with him to help pick out clothes for his new job--and then he talked my ear off about all his feelings. It was great. 

This family stuff--I'm afraid of losing it. I feel like I'm in the twilight of my childhood. Soon enough there'll be another sunrise and I will be a big girl, far away. Will I feel as close to them then? Should I stay here to keep as close as I can? Daniel's going to college soon and Audrey's going to get her learner's permit this month--when did that happen?? When did my mom get so weak? When did dad get so tired? When did we leave behind the days when we were together all the time, building forts and making mudslides out of the swingset? 

Deep breath, Laura. Life goes by fast for a reason. 

Also, my mother keeps talking about marriage and I think she's got it in her head that I'm going to meet my husband this summer. Oh boy.

Defying the filter

Dear Covenant College,
I AM AT HOME WRITING ON MY BLOG AND YOUR FILTER CANNOT STOP ME. I HOPE ALL CAPS MAKES THIS LOUD ENOUGH FOR YOU TO HEAR IT. HA.

Yes, folks, because a few rotten people created a Covenant-bashing blog using blogger, the Covenant internet filter has made logging into all blogger accounts impossible on campus. More than a few of us are upset. I understand the need to shut down the bashing blog--but not all of blogger. That was an overstep. Thankfully, I feel that this won't last long.

And it's Spring Break. YAY.

After the perfect weekend at my house, my life has felt miles long. Here are a few mile markers:

I'm really excited about what God's going to do with me this summer--as long as all goes as planned, that is. There' still time for Him to shake things up. So far I've been accepted into a discipleship program for college students that is only ten minutes from my house. I'd be living and working with 50-something college students at a campground for ten weeks while doing an intensive discipleship program. It's closer to home, which I was hoping for after a summer in Africa. It also sounds like a really good opportunity, and I'm all about jumping on those in this stage of life.

House hunting has begun. I have a group of people and a dog to live with next year, but no place of residence. I'm not too worried, we should be able to find something. But what does this imply? I won't have my roommate next year. I can't begin to tell you how upset this makes me

  (but it is a lot).

Why? Because sometimes she comes up with really good ideas, like having a late night star-gazing party with a Krispy Kreme donut run afterwards. And she makes me work on puzzles far into the night when I have already given up on homework because I was too tired to do it. And she drags me outdoors to play when I have a lot to do. 

That, and I'm pretty attached to her.

Also this week: I drove straight into tornado weather without realizing how bad it was, and at ten miles per hour I still thought I was going to die. Don't worry, I'm still here.

Part of my regular afternoon babysitting job teaching my two girls how to be awesome. This week I Chuck-Norrised a black widow and a dead mouse. Then one of them roundhouse-kicked the microwave shut. I was so proud.

Twenty minutes on a bicycle seat = two days of pain.

Tuesday was free pancake day. Unfortunately it was also the day that one of my eustachian tubes decided to burn with the fire of a thousand suns. Thank the Lord for a medical father who can call in fix-it-up medication at any time. When my future children get an ear infection and scream like banshees, I will absolutely sympathize. 

I have some bits of fiberglass stuck in my fingers.

 I just had four exams in three days. 

A cream soda bottle broke in the sink before I left today. That was fan-tastic.

Now I am home. My almost-fifteen-year-old sister has grown an inch in the last two months, putting her at almost six feet. We made sweet potato fries with mom (surprisingly easy, though slicing raw yams requires the muscles of a lumberjack). 

My mom used to be a cheerleader, so whenever someone is playing the piano she likes to dance around the living room. 

And as usual, my brother still thinks he knows everything.

In four days, I will visit the GI doctor to check out what's going on with "the belly beast" (as I affectionately call it) that is still hanging around, breathing fire from time to time. I've decided to call the doctor "St. George" after the man who kills a dragon in that famous fairytale St. George and the Dragon. Except that this story will be called St. George and the Belly Beast. 

May our saint be victorious.