Another Sister Story

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So I should really be writing a philosophy paper right now.

(Sorry, Dr. M)

Instead, I need to write something that’s been on my mind this past weekend.

I will be writing about one of my sisters, as usual.

Only this time, she’s the biological one.

The Princess.

I’ll admit, I’ve been jealous of her on more than one occasion.

Y’all, the child is skinny, blonde, and gorgeous.

I honestly thought that she had this whole life thing made.

“What’s she got to feel bad about?” I thought.

 

Well, this weekend, I learned.

Yesterday it was hot as mess.

I, studying for a religion midterm, stayed in my pajama shorts all day, and didn’t put on shoes until I left my house.

The Princess, however, has an abundance of “friends” (I never know which one she’s friends with on what day) who come to our door on the daily.

On her way out the door, she put on her clunky tennis shoes. (Originally bought for me, but they fit her better, don’t ask)

Mama said, “Why don’t you wear flip flops?”

She replied, “My feet are embarrassing, and I don’t want my friends to see them.”
Wait, WHAT?!

The Princess has eczema on her hands and feet, but it’s not that bad.

Not bad enough for you to notice unless you lay on the ground and stare at her feet, which is weird.

 

Then, later on, she asked Mama if she could give herself and mani-pedi.

“I want to take the attention off of my “foot boo-boos””

 

It made me so sad.

This child, who is seemingly perfect, and acts like she’s got it all together, is self-conscious about her feet.

SHE’S NINE.

 

At nine, I was still pretty happy with my body and who I was.

Ten was a different story, but nine, I was cool with life.

It makes me sad to see my baby sister so scared of being made fun of for something we think is so silly.

But it’s real for her.

 

There is something SERIOUSLY wrong with our society that the nine-year-old can’t go outside for fear of being made fun of.

I wish I knew what to say to her to make it all better, but to this day, I still struggle with some of my demons–having curly hair, being curvy, and not wearing makeup everyday is socially unacceptable.

The only hope I can offer her (and Mama) is that Wesleyan changes things.

Yeah, initially she will want to fit in or hide in the “crowd” but eventually she will find people who encourage her “weirdness” to come out.

And it will be beautiful.

Pssst, Mama, only nine more years 😉

So today, tell a girl she’s beautiful, 9 or 89, because they are.

–aub–

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My Southern Big

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Y’all, I am incredibly lucky.

I write a lot about my losses, and for that, I’m sort of sorry, but it’s a good way to work through it, and for that I’m not apologizing. 

However, despite the more-than-enough losses I have had, I have also had some terrific gains. 

That is something I’m definitely trying not to take advantage of.

I’ve got a friend who will fight for me like my Cap did.

The same friend cracks jokes like my daddy did.

I’ve got a friend with the same old soul and class as my great-grandmother.

And a myriad of others, who while can never take the place of those I’ve lost, sure help to patch my heart back together.

And then, there’s CSG. 

She will squeal with me over how adorable any number of country singers is, fawn over southern quotes on Pinterest, and give me really good, solid advice about life, boys, anything.

She embodies the spirit of the strong women in my family, and doesn’t let me get away with cutting the fool, either.

She is JUST like my grandmother, just younger. 

(Yes, Mama, I am definitely taken care of)

We have the most spontaneous, most fun times together. 

Last night, at oh, almost midnight, she picked up a scarf she had been crocheting (I swear, we are related) and wrapped it around her neck, and asked if it looked long enough.

I texted my mom right after she did that and said she is our family.

That’s the funny thing about Wesleyan, I have people who have become my family.

And it’s the kind of family where no matter how much time we hang out, it never seems like enough.

THAT’S why people go to Wesleyan people, no matter how shy or nervous or crazy you are, you’ve got people, your people.

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This is for my peeps, you know who you are. ❤

 

–aub–

 

Dreaming Dreams and Setting Goals

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I was watching a show today and they were talking about dreams.

How we set up this goal that is going to be “everything” and then when it comes, it becomes a landmark, and we move on to the next dream.  

If there were a definition of Auburn, that’d be it.

All my life, I wanted to be loved; more specifically, by a *gasp* boy.

And so I drooled over Aaron Carter, Rhett Akins, his son Thomas Rhett.  

And then the Ex came.  

i thought everything was going to be great, but when we finally became “official”, I set my eyes on bigger things, graduation, college, life.

And when we broke up, I was surprisingly unmoved. 

I wasn’t devastated, I just did the next right thing–submersing myself into school, which eventually ended up with finding out I would graduate early.

Scholarships! Interviews! Senior Pictures!

My goal was to get accepted.

I did, and instead of it being the happiest moment of my life; I set a new goal, moving in.

I moved in, and my goal was to survive.

I did, and here I am, already looking at grad programs, eventual jobs, and places to live after I graduate in three years.

I’m not sure how to handle it.

I’d like to say that we should all just enjoy the moment, but if we did that, we’d end up failing tests, losing jobs, and having starving children, I’m afraid.

So instead of simply “trying to enjoy the moment” I think I’m going to try to live my life in such a way that when I do go to grad school, get married, and have a job, the memories of all that’s happened up to those points make me happy and proud to reminisce.

Life goes by too fast to only have one set goal in life, I’ve learned, because you will meet your goals faster than you ever realized. 

It’s kind of a good thing to have all these crazy dreams that just build up on top of each other though, because it gives you so many more experiences. Which I am a fan of.

 

 

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–aub–