Today, after three years and five months of being metal-mouth, I am braces-free.

It started out terrifying, with brackets being popped off and an evil drill-like tool to remove the cement that jarred my entire head. Then, my teeth got polished with this strange cinnamon-y goo. And then, I was allowed to brush my new teeth. I can't stop licking them -- I know that probably sounds kind of gross, but if you've experienced this phenomenon, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

Then I got my picture taken, for their records and for the wall of new smiles. Haha. One with Dr. Hal, because he's great. That one I got to keep, which makes me happy. And then, he handed me maracas, and he grabbed a tambourine (because, he "is the doctor".) - and we were just about to dance down the hall to "Respect" by Aretha Franklin, when the CD stopped. My dad and I cracked up -- LOWMAN LUCK strikes again. So, with the song started over, my orthodontist and I danced down the red carpet rolled out in the hall with the noisemakers, and I was presented to the world a new woman.

It's a good day.

"That is my largest crime... the years that I wasted. How tragic that time, once spent, can ne'er be renewed.
Nor relived.
Lately, I have found comfort in a verse: And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten... Although it will take some time, I vow to dispel my guilt regarding those lost years. For the Almighty will restore them, in His own time, in His own way.
Perhaps He is restoring them even now.
It is my newest prayer.
Which I add to the rest."

-- Jane Austen, Just Jane by Nancy Moser

(Yes, my layout is a winter one. Deal with it; my basement is freezing and I am finished with summer.)

So, my birthday ended up being not as terrifying as I previously imagined. And, it was made all the better by the wonderful comments, most of which by people I don't even know! Thank you, Old Hat, for the recommendation, and everyone who wished me a happy birthday. :] It was indeed a happy one. Laid-back, but happy.

I've been working with my dad and brother, hacking up old ceilings and pulling wire and rooting through insulation... So much glamour, being the daughter of a master electrician.

Secretly, I've been daydreaming about going back to college. If only money would allow.

Because lately, I'm trapped in an hourglass, watching my life pass me by like background scenery in an old film. I'm so, so tired of being stuck. But I have no idea how to move forward.

is this a new year, or just another desperation?

I don't know, Jon Foreman. I don't know.

...but this Switchfoot song is essentially how I'm feeling at the moment.
(Anybody wanna take me with them to see them in concert? Any takers?)

         i am twenty today.
                    ♥

{Highlights [so far; list ends @ midnight]: a voicemail song from my best friend sometime around midnight (song reference intentional), coming upstairs to find my decorated cake & a polka-dotted gift bag on the counter, outlets with the girls (Mom, Abbi, Aunt Sherry, Elle and Karrington), finding the best tshirt ever in Rue21 out of nowhere (in my friggin' size), getting my sweet DC Comics library bookmarks in the mail, tons of Facebook wall comments & text messages, Vlogbrothers videos (including the best quote ever by John Green @minute 3:30)...}

1. Sleep in ridiculously late.
2. Don't bother cleaning my room, or making my bed.
3. Get a long shower.
4. Take a while getting ready.
5. Read.
6. Watch movies.
7. Eat junk food.
8. Draw on my walls. [Don't ask. It's an art project thing.]
9. Take pictures. Lots and lots of pictures.
10. Make a mix CD (or 2, or 3) to commemorate the occasion.
11. Use the word "whatever" (and "like" - too much, of course).
12. Burn my old Powerpuff Girls soundtrack to a new CD.
13. Play video games.

Any suggestions? All ideas are good until midnight, eastern standard time.
I still have two hours! Help me!

I haven't done like, anything I planned on doing today. I'm kind of sad. Instead I got dragged to the grandmother's. :[

My brother and I are supposed to be cleaning out/organizing my Dad's shop for him today, since it's a work day and we now both work for him. Dad has meetings to go to so he said he'd pay us to tidy up the shop and garage.

Well, guess what... Ben is still asleep. And I don't know where most of the stuff goes because I've been working with children for the past year, not learning about tools and parts. He's supposed to be teaching me. And I don't want to be out there until 10pm.

Sometimes, I want to smack him.

This one is about my sister.

Completely beautiful, brilliant, hilarious, freckle-faced, perfect-haired, sassy, tomboyish, deep-hearted, eleven-year-old Abbi.

She and I have our ups and downs just like any pair of sisters. We annoy the hell out of each other, we laugh together, we give each other looks behind our mother's back when we think she's being ridiculous. We share the same favorite TV show (Gilmore Girls, of course), a passion for reading, crooked teeth, nail polish, and unfailingly giant, easily-broken dreamers' hearts. In fact, we're so alike, I think it's to our detriment sometimes. We butt heads constantly, get irritated (and angry) with each other easily, and fight about the stupidest things.

But when she comes into my room at 2:30 in the morning, in pain (because she's female, and we sometimes have cramps so bad at night they wake us) and asking for my help, I throw the covers off and follow her, groping on the nightstand for my glasses and walking sleep-drunk toward the hall light. We go up the stairs, I instruct her on the best remedy (heat), drawing her a hot bubble bath. I give her medicine (Tylenol, and Tums for her upset stomach), search frantically all over the house for the heating pad (that I do not find), I get her socks for when she is dry and feeling the air-conditioned bathroom stealing her warmth, and three blankets to keep her warm when she goes back to sleep. She whines, and freaks out, when she gets out of the tub and is kind of dizzy and still a bit nauseous. I instruct her to dry off, get her pajamas and socks on, and get back in bed. She obliges, but not without more over-tired moping and tearing up. I pull her covers back, tuck her in, and stack blankets on her. "I'll have heat stroke," she mumbles sleepily, and I yank the extra blankets back off and toss them to the floor. "Close your eyes," I tell her. She obeys. I cup her chin in my left hand and stroke her forehead and hair with my right as I pray over her - that she would be able to calm down enough to sleep, and that the pain would stay away so she could rest. I stand there after my quiet "Amen," watching her. She peeks to see if I am still there, and I stroke her head again. "Come wake me if you need me," I tell her, and she nods. "You won't, though. You're going to be able to sleep now." She doesn't nod this time, and I stare at her for a long moment, watching her chest slowly rise and fall before turning back toward the door.

I come downstairs and it's three-thirty in the morning. Now I am keyed up, and worried that she is going to come right back down and tell me she can't sleep. Now I'm the one with insomnia, and a bit of a stomachache. I wonder absently if that's what being a mom feels like. I'm sure it's a fraction of it. I know my own mom did this same thing for me when I was younger and not used to my icky, painful girl-days. I was glad Abbi chose to wake me up, because Dad has to work tomorrow, and I didn't want him disturbed. Mom wouldn't have cared -- she would have run to help Abbi, and Dad would've fallen back asleep -- but still, I'm glad she chose me.

I'm lying on my back, staring into the dark, thinking about how much I love Abbi. Five of us girls - me, Mom, Abbi, Klare (Ben's girlfriend and our honorary sister) and Nana (Klare's grandmother), all went to see My Sister's Keeper today. Let me tell you, without giving anything about the plot away, it tore my heart out and stomped on it. I felt every moment of that film so deeply, I can't even describe it. It was very real, and completely beautiful. It captured so many emotions. And one stuck in my throat, as I lay there in bed, trying not to wake Klare up with my stirring.

Resentment.

A small part of me feels that my mother favors Abbi because she was born almost exactly a year after Faith died in her womb. I mean, could you blame her if she did? Here, she loses a daughter, and then she gains one. How could she not want to cling to her and lavish love on her? And she should. 

But I was young when all of this happened. Eight, then nine. And those sorts of bitter thoughts can start young. Whenever fights break out, Mom tends to jump to Abbi's rescue, even if she's wrong. And she's admitted to this - I'm not embarrassing her by saying so - but she also expects me to be more mature since I'm the grown-up sibling here. And, rightly so. Still, I can tell the difference between normal expectations and over-protective pouncing. It can get frustrating. But that's not why I feel like I'm resentful. It's just the fact that she's the miracle child. She was God's gift to us after we lost Faith, and lost hope. I would never take that from her - it's the truth. And nobody's said that - nobody put that label on her. She just... deserves it. How could I possibly expect my mother not to look at her like the wonder that she is? And because she's a wonder, does that mean my mother loves me any less? Absolutely not.

My own jealousy will kill me, if I keep letting it try.

I watch home videos of when Abbi was really little, and how bonded my brother Ben (who just turned sixteen) and I have always been. But it's like, I ignored her. She was there, and I didn't care that she was. It makes me sick to my stomach. I don't think my parents saw it that way, because they didn't comment on it (and trust me, our family comments on everything that comes to mind). But I did. I saw the lack of contact. The gap. I wanted to climb in the television and smack my younger self. "Don't you realize you'll miss this - you'll miss out on her?"

I'm tired of missing out on her. (On her, and the rest of my family.) I'm tired of protecting myself, and being bitter, and holding ridiculous grudges over stupid things that don't matter when everything falls away. And everything does fall away.

After seeing that film today, I realize just how much I take Abbi, specifically, for granted. How poorly I treat her. How much I dismiss her and her needs to favor my own selfish, trivial wants. How much I've basically sucked as a sister -- especially these past four years. But I've gotta be honest. I am damn sick of wasting time.

I just want to hug her and kiss her and spend time with her. Talk to her, and learn about her, and be there for her whenever she needs or wants me -- not just when it's convenient or comfortable. To make up for time lost wallowing in my own stupidity. I don't want it to just be today, to just be an emotional reaction to a movie that I saw. I want my whole heart to change.

And that's what two thirty in the morning, being my sister's keeper, taught me.

I keep taking naps. Both days in a row, because of migraines. Probably my teeth. Maybe because I'm overweight and don't realize that I'm dying. Either way, I don't care.

Yesterday I found out that I'm losing my job as of July 30th. They're closing all of the Treehouses except for five, in the "Superstores". I can't believe it. I can, because they've been cutting our hours and trying to get us to do things in the main part of the store. But it's unfair. I called out the only day they tried to make me bag groceries for four hours. Hell no, I won't. Giant won't have me as an employee after this, after they board up my chance to touch the lives of and interact with kids, even in a small way. And, they lied to us and told us that the hours-cut was just a temporary thing because of the economy. Even though I knew better, the lying bastards won't have to worry about paying me anymore.

I have discovered the hard way that you never, ever ask God to get you out of a sinkhole.

Because, He takes you seriously.

In a small bit of worthless happy news, I got a new perfume today. I needed a new scent since my favorite one has been gone. I sprayed too much on earlier and made my head hurt worse. But, it is adorable, and smells nice and feminine:

I liked the Music, but my mom said it smelled like disinfectant. Wow. I smelled it harder and tried to agree with her, afraid that if I bought it and put a lot on I'd smell like we may as well have just plopped down cash for a cutesy bottle of Lysol.

I still kind of wish I'd gotten it.
But oh well. Regret seems to be the story of my life.

I officially have one month left of teenagedom today. On August 10, 2009, I'll be twenty years old.

It makes me want to act like a total idiot, and do everything stupid and impulsive I possibly can before becoming a twenty-something.

I won't, because I'm way too afraid not to look before I leap, but it really is a lovely thought.

Today is kind of a rant day. Well, usually when I blog, it's because I have something to say. Too bad it's not more often... Who knows, maybe that's appreciated by users of the world wide web. ;] I can't really speak for my small number of readers. You can thank my friend Ryan, whose Facebook message to me today prompted a response which prompted my gears to turn which prompted this blog entry.

ANYWAY!

First of all, I'm pissed about Transformers, though hardly surprised. My dad and Uncle Erik saw it, and Dad told me that it was nothing like the wonder that was the first one. He said it was plotless, and that Megan Fox and her skankiness was basically the focus. I can believe that -- sex sells, after all. Now, usually, I will take others' opinions into consideration (especially people I respect, and people who know me well), but see it for myself anyway. (Which is what I planned to do even though Ryan hated the film and told me it sucked -- I didn't care, because he didn't like the first one. Haha.) However, when it comes to sci-fi and nerdiness, my dad and I usually have similar tastes. While I am the Star Wars freak, he agrees with me on the originals vs. the prequels -- the prequels were a waste of life. (Although three was decent, one and two ruin the whole trilogy.) Anyway. The point is, I'm not going to see it. I personally am not a young male with no brain or morals, so I have no desire to see a sweaty, fake-tanned, nearly-naked Megan Fox having an orgasm for two hours. Sorry, Transformers. I used to like you.

Second of all, the other half of my family (my mom's best friend Heidi and dad's bff Erik, whom we call Aunt and Uncle because, well, they're honorary Lowmans, and that's what my family does) left to go back to Florida today, and I cried. Which made my teeth-caused headache worse. I don't know when we're going to get to see them next, so it's kind of depressing. Mom and Dad are talking about going when it's really cold here, and Aunt Heidi mentioned Thanksgiving... but as much as I love them, I like my Thanksgiving weather to be cold -- on the verge of snowing. I don't think I could handle the weirdness of being at the beach after eating the huge turkey dinner.

I don't know. We'll see.

If you saw it... What did you think of Transformers?
(Would you compare Megan Fox's "acting" to Jar Jar Binks, as my father did?
Or did you think it was totally worth seeing?)

edit;
I totally cried all during Michael Jackson's memorial, and cried even harder when his daughter spoke into the microphone about what a great Daddy he was.
Could I be any more of a wimp?