“In order to blog about life, one must live it.”

That quote is from a very important person whose name I will not bother to make up, partially because I am too lazy and partially because I want you to know that I, in fact, came up with that quote myself this very moment.

The purpose of the quote, of course, is to let you know that I have not written for so many days because I have been out there in the ACTUAL WORLD soaking up potential blog material like a sponge, so busy enjoying the fullness of life that I had to postpone writing about it. The truth is, I have been more busy with babysitting and schoolwork and being tired than anything else. Also I have been making silly choices like actually going to bed instead of staying up till all hours of the night writing here. (Crazy, I know!)

This week was what I like to call a “Savanna Week.” Savanna is a delightful almost-eleven-year-old girl whose mother has been asking me to babysit her a couple weeks out of the summer for the last three years. Of course, “babysitting” is really the wrong word, as Savanna would be quick to remind me—a more appropriate term would be “responsible supervision of a highly independent individual who could probably take care of herself but likes to have me around.” At any rate, Savanna and I, as different as we are, have grown quite fond of each other over the years, and we both look forward to our “together” weeks during the summer.

Among other things, this week we have gone to lunch, the library, and Borders each once; we have listened to music and taken pictures, and we have done a lot of house cleaning and playing of Uno. (Savanna and I have mastered two-player Uno strategy like nobody’s business. You may say there is no strategy in Uno… but you would be wrong. So very wrong.)

I also already managed to accomplish one of my summer goals: Spending some actual time outdoors. (I don’t know that I accquired any new freckles, however. I’m still working on that one.) Savanna, unlike me, has no trouble getting herself outside. She loves to climb trees and jump on trampolines and go fishing and camping and generally be a more active person than I have ever been in my craziest dreams.

One lovely morning, after she had momentarily exhausted herself doing flips on her big backyard trampoline, we spent about a half hour lying in the cool grass underneath the trampoline, just talking and taking pictures and relaxing. It was such a pleasant way to spend time that I forgot to worry if there were bugs crawling on me or if I was going to get sunburnt or if I was missing calls on my cell phone inside the house. If I had not been “on the job,” I would have thought it was a fine place to take a nap, as well.

As it happens, through the years I have also come to be good friends with Savanna’s mom, Ann. So in the afternoon of that same day that we were underneath the trampoline (it was Tuesday, I think), Ann invited me to go with her and Savanna to the coast. I happily accepted—it had been at least a year or two since I had been to the coast, which is really inexcusable considering Florence, Oregon is only about an hour’s drive from Eugene.

For those of you who do not know, Oregon beaches are not the kind of beaches that you see on movies and TV shows—you won’t find any bikini-clad, suntan-lotion-toting persons here. In fact, you will often find very little sun at all… and unless you are planning on swimming, wearing only your swimsuit to an Oregon beach is pretty much insanity. We prepared for our walk on the beach by bundling up in our warmest sweatshirts and bringing ear-warmers and mittens. I kid you not; even in June, it is really that cold. Not to mention windy.

So, uh… what’s the attraction of going to the Oregon coast again? Well, I could tell you it is because of the natural beauty of those beaches strewn with driftwood and shells, or because of the vast presence of the ocean, or the sea creatures that you sometimes get to glimpse… but that would pretty much be a lie, because basically I just wanted to go take pictures. Yes, I was that crazy cheat-hoodie wearing, camera-toting geek running around in Florence like a total dweeb last Tuesday. Guilty as charged! Honestly though, I really do love the beauty of the Oregon coast… but I’m not sure I would be quite as willing to put up with the facefuls of wind-propelled sand if there weren’t some light at the end of the tunnel like reviewing my awesome pictures when I get home.

Speaking of pictures… I think I have created a monster. I let Savanna play with my camera as much as she wanted this week. (Only, of course, after giving her a severe lecture about how precious that small hunk of plastic and glass and circuitry is to me and how I would probably die if she forgot to put the strap around her neck and dropped it and how she should offer her own life as a sacrifice should anyone attempt to take said camera from her.) (I am SO kidding, Ann! ) I think she was rather lukewarm about the whole idea at first, but on our trip to florence she spent a good fifteen minutes on a boardwalk we visited taking pictures of anything and everything—just like I do. And, I have to say, her photos were really good! After she got the hang of the auto focus and stuff like that, she took some very interesting shots of lampposts and bolts on the side of the bridge, among other things. Looks like I’ve discovered another budding photographer…

As we were getting ready to leave the beach that evening, Savanna was playing in the sand near the shoreline while Ann and I sat behind a big piece of driftwood to stay out of the wind. After we had talked there for a while, Savanna came walking up and announced that she was ready to leave. We asked her what she had been working on out there… so she showed us. There it was, in the kind of huge, sand-scrawled letters I always knew would someday be announcing my presence: ERIN WAS HERE. The sign was too big to take a decent picture of, so you’ll just have to take my word for it… it was, as Savanna put it, “big enough for aliens to see!” I’m trying to decide whether to be touched by the fact that she thought to write my name in the sand, or worried that she’s trying to get me abducted. She’s probably hoping to inherit my camera.

(Psst… you can see an album of the photos we took on this day here on Flickr.)

One year ago today I rode crammed in the back seat of a retired airline shuttle appropriated by Elijah’s church to be used as youth group transportation. Along with me rode twenty-some fidgety teens and preteens and several harrassed adult supervisors. None of us had gotten very much sleep for the last few nights. (We started our journey at 3:30 am, June 17th, 2005—and Elijah and I, in particular, had stayed up the entire night beforehand watching Star Trek episodes.) So as we jostled down the freeway towards Nogales, Mexico, we spent a great deal of time fighting over gameboys and seats and taking things too personally. Two and a half days is a long time to be cooped up in a bus.

I used to brag about the fact that I had never been off the west coast of the U.S. in my entire life. (And by “brag about” I actually mean “justify by making into a joke.”) I live in Oregon, and I had visited California and Washington a few times, but before last summer those were the extent of my travels.

When the opportunity to join Elijah’s youth group on their mission trip to Mexico last summer presented itself, I knew the trip would include a lot of “firsts”: first trip without my parents, first time in a foreign country, first visit to Arizona, first stay in a place where the possibility of seeing a live tarantula in the wild was frighteningly likely (this almost stopped me from going). But the trip proved to be far more than the sum of the various new adventures it provided. It became an experience that taught me lessons I didn’t even know I needed to learn, and it opened my eyes to a whole other world out there.

After the afore-mentioned bus ride, we arrived in Nogales. We slept and ate at a seminary in the city; we also helped with the construction of a new building they would be using for more classes. On my favorite day of the trip, we visited (for the second day in a row) a church started by one of the alumni of the seminary. This tiny church sat perched at the top of a steep hill. The road that we traversed to get there was lined all the way up one side with “houses” made out of cardboard and car doors or, if they were particularly nice, wooden planks. The other side of the road was a sheer dropoff. On one of our visits to this church, the old schoolbus we were traveling in (not our youth group bus) was having such difficulty getting up the hill that we had to get out and walk the rest of the way on foot. A lot of Mexican children peeked their faces out of doorways to watch us and smile at us. I’m sure we looked very out of place to them.

I’ll let my words from that day speak for themselves. I wrote the following paragraphs in an email to my parents on June 22 of last year:

So after lunch, we all crowded into the same dirty old school bus that carried us to the church we visited yesterday. I don’t remember if I told you, but we invited area children to play soccer at 2:30. We got there, and kids started arriving. Little boys and girls approached cautiously from all directions… eager and yet obviously a little nervous. Virginia quickly won them with her vibrant personality, however. As we were standing around talking, we heard some muffled thunder in the distance, but didn’t think much of it. Then we all walked to the soccer field. (I use ‘field’ in the broadest sense possible… it was a high up, wide open space covered in… red dirt and rocks. It did fine, though.)

(We soon dicovered that only the boys wanted to play soccer. The little girls who had come were either bringing their little brothers or just wanted to meet us. So Virginia, one of our translators, led some activities with the girls.)

Virginia had made out cards with our Spanish names on them to give to the kids… our first activity was for them to try to find their American ‘buddy’ by asking our names. (My Spanish name is ‘Juliana’, btw. It’s pronounced ‘Huliana’. They just can’t get their mouth around ‘Erin’. ) The little girl ‘assigned’ to me was very shy at first… I used the few phrases I knew.. What’s your name? My name is… How old are you? That was basically it. But I played with her by making faces and stuff, and she started to have fun. …

… That’s when we noticed the thunder and lightning were getting closer. A little girl sitting next to me kept saying ‘Agua!’ (water) over and over… we thought she was thirsty, but then we began to feel the raindrops too. Virginia and a few of the girls from our group decided to walk all the girls back to the church to continue our little lesson in there, out of the rain. Well, we got the key from the pastor of that church and walked back. We stood in the rain for five or six minutes while Virginia tried to unlock the door… but it was no use. She couldn’t get it. There was a little overhang over the door, but the church is at the top of a hill and the wind was blowing directly toward us. So while Virginia tried the door, I led the group around to the other side of the building, in the lee of the wind. We kept fairly dry there, but Virginia determined she had to go back and get the pastor for help.

So she left me in charge… of ten or fifteen children who couldn’t understand me, and two or three American junior high girls who were terrified of the lightning. I put my arm around the little girl who was ‘mine’ to keep her out of the rain, and tried to reassure Hannah that the metal poles around the church would get the lightning before we would. Virginia and the pastor were back soon… but that was a very interesting moment. Standing there, trying to stay out of the rain, in charge of people whose language I did not speak… yet, I felt very empowered.

Once we got in the church, we had a fun little lesson, teaching them a few English words and singing some little songs. We could hear the thunder growing. When it was time to leave, we walked out into POURING rain… and ran to the bus. Our trips in the bus yesterday were a little scary, because the bus is rickety and the streets are bumpy and the drivers are crazy. BUT today’s drive was INCREDIBLE…. As we got a little farther away from the church, we saw STREAMS of water flowing through the gutters… and then we turned onto the DIRT road on which the seminary is. It was amazing… the street was transformed. It was a RIVER of red mud… We all gaped out the window, taking pictures and exclaiming as the bus plowed uphill through it. Our driver told us that the road is sometimes closed because of all the water. The whole afternoon was a great adventure… what wonderful memories. =)

I should be honest: I was very reluctant at first to go on this mission trip. Although I am not shy about or ashamed of my faith, I seriously dislike the idea of shoving it into people’s faces and saying “Say uncle or you won’t be saved!” Christianity is not a one-time decision. It is a total recommitment of your life, and that kind of change can’t forced by any number of brightly-colored pamphlets in Spanish. (Just to be clear: I don’t think that the church group I went with believes this either. I just feared that they might before we left.)

I have this theory about youth mission trips. Perhaps it is terribly self-centered and near-sighted of me to say this, but I do not think the main value in youth mission trips (or at least the one I attended) lies in the work done through them. Of course, it was great that we could help out the Nogales seminary and make friends with those kids; goodness knows God can use any tool He wishes to bring people to Himself—even clueless, pamphlet-toting teenagers who don’t speak a word of Spanish. But although I have no way of knowing whether God chose to work in the lives of those children through us, I do know how He used that whole trip to work in my life—and, I suspect, in the lives of the other kids who experienced it.

The trip taught me responsibility by forcing me to deal with things outside of my comfort zone. It forced me to not be so lazy. It forced me to get along with people. It forced me to consider the fact that my needs are not the most important needs in the entire world. It even forced me to be brave, in a lot of ways—just as much when I was standing on the top of that hill during the lightning storm as when someone told me that tarantulas lived all over the area where we were staying. On that note: I never actually saw a tarantula, thank goodness. But I believe I reached the point where I would have been able to deal with it. That was a breakthrough moment for me—when I realized that I didn’t have to keep nervously searching the floor every time I walked into a room, because if I happened to find one of those creatures I would just DEAL with it. If you know me very well, you know how significant that is.

Of course, none of that means that I retained any of those valuable lessons… merely that I have now learned them at least once. I’m sure God will have to use other means to remind of them time and again.

Suffice to say, my trip to Mexico with Elijah’s youth group made a big impact on me. A year later, I can still remember the stuffiness of that bus and the dusty heat of Nogales and the huge smiles on those kids’ faces when we sang songs with them. Last year on Father’s day, while I was busy trying to nap in the back of our noisy bus, Mom took our first Father’s Day picture that did not have me in it. (Well, actually, she took a picture of Brian and Dad holding a picture of me, but that hardly counts. )

This year, as you can see, I’m back in the picture. I’m very glad I was able to spend this Father’s Day here in Oregon with my family; but I wouldn’t trade the opportunity I had last year for anything. I hope I never forget it.

Now that I’m seeing the light at the end of this tunnel full of graduations and goodbyes and parties and pictures, I am suddenly faced with the fact that summer, that elusive, free-time-filled land of joy and fulfillment, is staring me in the face—and I’m NOT READY FOR IT.

This is what happens every year. Throughout the school year, I encounter dozens of little projects that recquire my attention but which I am too busy to deal with because of school. The solution? Simple! Put it off till summer, when I will of course have free time flowing out of my ears by the bucketful.

I never seem to learn that summer is just as busy as, if not more busy than, any other time of the year. And, recently, the fact that the school year has ended has not necessarily meant that my schoolwork is finished. Last year I didn’t finish my “leftover” schoolwork until August—not because I couldn’t have finished it in a much shorter period of time, but because I didn’t find a deadline that motivated me sufficiently until then.

Luckily, I do have a concrete, highly-motivating deadline set: July 5th, the date I have agreed to begin work on a large, time-intensive web development job. That means that I will have finished my remaining schoolwork by then… all ten bazillion Calculus lessons included. With sufficient determination, my productivity rate is amazing. I can’t guarantee, of course, that I won’t have a number of sleepless nights immediately before that deadline, but I will be done on time.

If I have enough energy by then to crawl my way to the computer, expect some kind of celebratory “Hurrah! I’m done with school!” post on the 4th of July (A holiday in the U.S.). Then I’ll go chill and have a picnic and watch some fireworks and collapse in heap of sleep-deprived relief. (This doesn’t mean I won’t post between then and now, though. Goodness, no!)

So what am I doing this summer, anyway? I’m so glad you asked. Here are a few of my goals/plans:

• Begin the process of saving as much money for school as possible. Besides my job at a local retail store, I will be seeking employment as a web designer, photographer, babysitter, etc.
• Read Bulletproof Web Design and CSS Mastery cover to cover. (These seem to be excellent resources, btw. I recently purchased them and have been skimming them a bit, and I am quite impressed. Dan Cederholm and Cameron Moll, author and co-author of the books mentioned, respectively, are two of my favorite web-designers/writers.)
• Hopefully I will spend some actual time outdoors. I would dearly like to accquire some more freckles.
• Keep a reasonable sleep schedule. (hahahahaHAHAHAHAHA! Yeah right.)
• Learn how to use my camera as if it were an extension of my arms. I want to OWN that thing by the end of this summer.
• Then, of course, there are the typical goals that I never actually accomplish: Exercise more! Reorganize my room! Paint and draw more! Become a completely responsible, well-balanced, productive individual! You know, those kind of things.

BUT. As I believe I already mentioned up there ^, summer never works out the way I think it will. So your guess is as good as mine what will actually end up happening. But I’m sure you’ll hear about it, whatever it is.

P.S. Speaking of parties, I have a a set on flickr of photos from a couple recent graduations.

In case you haven’t heard (this has all happened rather quickly, so I can’t really blame you): 1) I ordered a brand new Canon Digital Rebel XT last week. 2) It made a surprise appearance on our doorstep Friday afternoon, when it was not scheduled to be delivered until Monday. 3) I have been thinking about NOTHING ELSE all weekend.

As the inimitable Glynnis once said, soon after receiving her own Digital Rebel in the mail, “Friday afternoon I have an appointment scheduled to surgically attach it to my face, so get used to seeing me this way.” Couldn’t have put it better myself.

Truth be known, as much as I absolutely love this camera, I don’t really feel like I have broken it in yet. I spent the weekend shooting boring scenes over and over again trying to learn how exactly to set the shutter speed and aperture and mundane details like that. But I did still manage to achieve at least a few fantastic shots this weekend, of which this one is certainly the best: (Be sure to click on over to flickr to see the un-resized version; this is eight megapixels in all its glory.)

I realized when my bundle of joy arrived on Friday that I didn’t even have a camera bag yet! So it got to travel in the fresh air this afternoon as my parents and Brian and Melanie and I drove around town to visit a used books store and a few other places (some of them in search of a camera bag). So if you happened to see a redheaded girl walking around Eugene today maniacally clutching a Digital Rebel XT in her small hands, that was probably me.

The camera bag search proved to be a lot more involved than I originally anticipated! Dad and I ended up visiting pratically the whole city before we finally found that one perfect bag. By the time we reached store number five I was swimming in brand names and sizes and pocket options (and prices! :-p); but I knew the right one as soon as I tried my camera inside and found that it fit just snugly enough, with room for my few accessories and a bit to spare.

It may seem silly, but now that my camera has its own little home, it seems more “real” that it is actually MINE and staying here with ME. I guess I just felt like I was borrowing someone else’s awesome camera all weekend… turns out it was mine all along. And I love it to death.

Oh, I almost forgot. So, you’re probably wondering what the second part of that title up there is all about? You remember when my car got stolen and returned without its hood, right? And do you also remember way back when Elijah’s bag got stolen from his car in front of our house? Well, apparently our neighborhood is turning into the slum of Eugene (it NEVER used to be this way), because Saturday morning when I went outside to go to work, I discovered that my door was ajar, my glove box was open, and my trunk was popped. “GREAT,” I’m thinking, “JUST. DANDY.” I looked inside, and sure enough… the faceplate from my CD player was gone. Not the CD player itself, mind you! THAT it still in there. I just can’t use it anymore, because someone stole the part that makes it work.

I’m honestly having a hard time being too bitter about this because I’m too excited about my camera. But it has hit me when I’ve gotten in the car this weekend and not been able to listen to music… I will really miss that. *sigh * Perhaps after the shell shock of my recently purchased camera leaves my wallet, I’ll look into replacing my CD player’s faceplate. Oh, and getting a car alarm. :-p

It looks like I need to come to terms with the fact that there’s someone in the near vicinity who has no trouble breaking into my car—and who feels free to help themselves to whatever’s inside. What’s next? Engine parts? The rest of the CD player? Well. One thing’s for sure. I will never leave my camera in my car unattended.

I’ve been keeping an eye on the shipping progress of my Digital Rebel for the last couple of days. The first day it said that it had left Memphis, Tennessee, and the next day it arrived in Dallas, Texas. I figured it was a good sign that it was heading in the right direction. Its scheduled delivery was Monday the twelfth.

This morning, for some reason, the website said that the package had been scanned upon arrival in Kentucky… KENTUCKY! In case you were not recently forced to refresh your geographical knowledge of the United States, I will remind you: Kentucky is RIGHT NEXT TO TENNESSEE! And it is DEFINITELY not closer to Oregon than Texas is. I was a bit confused by the fact that my camera had trekked all the way to Texas and then turned around and headed straight back instead of travelling the rest of the way to my house! But I nevertheless trusted the website when it said the camera would be delivered Monday.

Well, this afternoon, approximately two minutes before I had to leave for work, a UPS truck pulled up in front of our house. The thought BRIEFLY flitted across my mind… could this possibly be my camera arriving early? “Of COURSE not, silly person,” I told myself, “It was in KENTUCKY this morning.”

“I REFUSE to get excited.” I wisely proclaimed to nobody, “This is NOT my camera.” I briefly checked the return address, of course, after the UPS lady walked the package up to our door, but it said nothing about Newegg.com so I felt that settled the issue.

I resumed my “getting ready for work” routine while Mom opened the package. I was halfway through putting my hair up into a ponytail when Mom called from the living room, “Canon Digital Rebel XT?”

“AreyouFREAKINGkiddingme???” I shrieked. I swear I was back in that living room in 0.5 seconds. The next few moments were a happy blur of smiling and jumping up and down and screaming and lots of “Holyfreakingcow!”s and disbelief and… then I had to go to work. :-p

So anyway… I really need to go to bed, but I just wanted to let you all know that my new baby is here! I’m truly sorry that there are no pictures to accompany this post, but as I did not get a chance to even open the box until I got home from work, I have taken no pictures of great interest; nor have I installed the camera drivers on my computer yet. But soon. VERY SOON. You will be seeing a LOT of pictures from this camera.

Tonight we gathered in the Puccinelli gallery (aka the basement of Gutenberg College) for a little post-art-class soiree. Our teacher set up a wall for each of us with our artwork and a photo of ourselves (taken by me). To see a set of photos from our art class, including from the party tonight, go here.

It’s hard to believe that I won’t be having classes with these familiar faces next year. I know I will still see them… but I don’t know how often. And that thought is a little bit scary. I can hardly imagine a week going by without Natalie’s sweet presence or Noah and Jared’s side-splitting hilarity. But worrying accomplishes nothing, so I will just have to do my best to see them all as often as possible.

Tonight at our art show, our teacher Susan (who is also Noah’s mom) encouraged me to continue pursuing photography. She liked the the portraits I took of her students, and she told me to “really go for it,” to not stay “safe” in my photography, just as she taught me not to do in my drawings.

Funny she should mention that, because…

I love our little Canon Powershot G2. It was the first digital camera we ever owned, and it was my introduction to photography. Some friends of ours (who may be reading this ) gave it to Dad for his birthday a few years back, but they might as well have given it to me, because I have basically adopted it. Sure, it’s not as nice as the really nice cameras these days. But, bless its heart, it sure doesn’t know it. It has worked like a dog for me in the last six months—and has captured some of my favorite moments. It may not be the fanciest of the fancy, but all in all, I am very fond of the little beast.

Why do I bring this up?

I ordered a Canon Digital Rebel XT from Newegg.com tonight.

HASTA LA VISTA, Powershot G2!

Art class may be over, but I feel that I am only beginning my journey in this magnificent art form called photography. Stay tuned for ridiculously exciting new photos. I. CAN’T. WAIT.

After a grueling 4+ hours filling in bubbles this morning, I am fully prepared to say that no matter what my SAT score ends up being, I am not taking that test ever again. I am also prepared to say this because I felt very good about my performance on the whole test. (Even at the end when my eyes were throbbing and my head was pounding and my arm was begging me to please PLEASE not fill in another circle.) Now only time will tell. But at least I can stop thinking about the SAT.

I was scheduled to meet with a web client this afternoon. But after I returned home in all my exhaustedness, I called him, and it turned out he was busy as well. So, mercifully, we were able to reschedule for next week, and I judiciously used my extra time to its full advantage by passing out on my bed for three or four hours—a nap that can only feel quite that good after a week of sleep deprivation and a strenuous morning.

This evening Mom and Dad and I watched In Good Company, a movie that they had already seen but which I have wanted to see since it came out a couple years ago. I was not disappointed; the story was interesting, the characters were compelling and well-acted, and the writing was witty and insightful.

The story was, in a lot of ways, about growing up—or more generally about moving between stages in one’s life. There is a moment in the middle of the film when Topher Grace’s young hotshot boss character reminds Dennis Quaid’s middle-aged father character that the latter cannot afford to lose his job—he has people counting on him. In the next shot, we see Dennis Quaid’s character returning home late at night, and as he walks up the stairs in his home to go to bed, he cracks open the door of his younger daughter’s bedroom, as he always does, to make sure she is asleep and safe. And we realize, as we see his home and his children and his wife, and remember that he has another child on the way and a daughter to put through college, that Topher Grace’s character was right. He can’t afford to talk back to his new boss or risk his job—he has to have a means to support his family.

And in that moment, for some strange reason, I was suddenly reminded of my own situation. Not because I’m a middle-aged father or because I have to have a paycheck (I am still in highschool, for goodness’ sake), or even because I have that many people counting on me, but because I recognized the feeling of weight on that character’s shoulders. He had a load of very real responsibilities which he could not ignore—he could not squirm out of them or procrastinate them away. They were his to keep, and he had to look them squarely in the face or destroy the life he had built.

I don’t know if you’ve picked it up yet, but my natural tendency is to push away things that make me feel uncomfortable or panicky. That can include any number of responsibilities; schoolwork is probably the most obvious example. But in the last several months, I have been faced with the reality that I cannot operate that way. I cannot just dismiss my responsibilities. I’m not sure why this has hit home so much recently; perhaps it is the number of (very helpful) talks my father has given me on the subject, or perhaps it is the fact that I have been taking on more and more responsibilities that simply cannot be pushed away. I can’t just tell my client that his website isn’t ready on time because I “didn’t feel like working on it.” That doesn’t cut it in business or schoolwork or really anywhere in life.

So it occurred to me as I sat there watching this movie: maybe this intense pressure that is gripping me these days, the one that is making me realize how many people are counting on me and how I am not free to waste my time anymore, maybe that feeling is not a temporary response to the amount of responsibilities I happen to have at the moment—maybe it is adulthood peeking its head around the corner into my life. And maybe those times when I just wish it would all go away, so I could just sit by myself and hide from all the demands on my time and energy, maybe that is childhood trying to hang onto my life.

I know that I will never be completely “cured” of my procrastination. It is ingrained in my self in a way that I am only beginning to understand. But when life throws you a lemon, you can either sit there wallowing in sourness, or you can make lemonade. And it seems God throws us lemons for that very purpose. So I can either succumb to the effortlessness of letting my responsibilities and commitments slip through my fingers, or I can grab hold of those responsibilities, look them squarely in the face and realize: “These are my responsibilities. I have to fulfill them even if they’re not easy or they make me uncomfortable or unhappy.”

Even when the right choice is so obvious, however, I know my own sinfulness and stubbornness and forgetfulness will get in the way of my remembering those words as clearly as I read them on the page right now. But with God’s grace, I hope and pray that my life will be a story of moving toward responsibility and maturity, not away from it.

For just about as long as I can remember, Thursday has been “Classes Day.” As a homeschooler, I don’t have to go to school everyday, but on Thursday mornings for six or seven or eight years my friends and I have been shuffling into one of our living rooms and sitting there while one of our parents teaches us all about history or writing or math or science.

These days, as our highschool curriculum has amped up and we’ve all gotten more busy, we usually meet on both Tuesdays and Thursdays for classes. Many of us also have classes at other schools (like Gutenberg) on the other days of the week.

But the point is, for time immemorial, Thursdays have been class days. And, as a direct consequence, Wednesday nights have been “blow your brains out trying to finish all the schoolwork that you left until the very last minute” nights for the exact same period of time.

Last night was shaping up to be particularly traumatizing. Not only are the SATs (which I have hardly studied for yet) on Saturday morning (AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!), but I had to prepare a report for history class this morning and I was in the midst of making a marathon effort to finish my client’s website on time.

If that last paragraph didn’t make your blood pressure rise a little bit, I’m not communicating effectively.

But I wasn’t the only one feeling the pressure last night. Dear little Natalie is usually a model of student perfection. I have seen her this close to actual tears when she was afraid she would not finish an assignment on time. Next to the reckless abandon with which I usually show up to classes without my assignments completed, she is a complete angel. But due to a combination of circumstances probably outside of her control (I don’t think she knows how to procrastinate), she found herself with all of her Physics and History reading left to do last night, and not nearly enough hours before her normal bedtime in which to do them.

So she did the only logical thing, given her situation. She came over to the house of the only person she knew who would actually be staying up PAST MIDNIGHT finishing schoolwork. And I have to say, I’m very glad she did. Last night became immensely more entertaining for her presence. Even my rush to wrap up the website and get a report together didn’t seem quite as bad with Natalie collapsed on my bed trying to power her way through the History chapter.

And then, of course, we had to go and take pictures of each other. I believe that it was getting close to 2:00 am when we snapped these priceless portraits:

(There were some other pictures that Natalie took of herself, but she made me swear not to post them with the following admonition: “No. Those other ones you have (on Flickr) are just weird. But these. THESE. Are the most hideous pictures EVER. I look like I JUST THREW UP and gained fifty pounds ALL ON MY FACE.”)

We finally quit at about 3:00. Neither of us were finished to our satisfaction, but our exhaustion was becoming ridiculous. Every few minutes I had to slug Natalie in the shoulder to remind her that the reason she was lying on my bed was to do her homework, not to FALL ASLEEP.

What a fitting way to spend our penultimate rushed Wednesday night. Next Thursday is our final day of homeschool classes in our Junior year—which, for many of us, means our final day of classes together ever. Next year all of us will be pretty much doing our own thing. A few of us will be basically graduated already, a few of us will be taking classes at local highschools, and others will be… well, who knows what we’ll be doing. I’ll include myself in that last group.

So one more Wednesday-night rush. One more day of Thursday classes. And then no more pencils, no more books, no more teacher’s dirty looks. (Except, of course, for those directed at yours truly, since I still have loads to catch up on from the school year.)