Cover of Spark :)

http://www.print2webcorp.com/news/DelawareOnline/Spark/20101201/p01.asp

Count your blessings...

(I don't take credit for this picture.)

A Bond Never to be Broken

Our Relationship: A Bond Never to be Broken

Glaring out my window, staring at the gloomy grey skies I study the rain striking the road.  I reach into my purse in the secret zipped compartment for a folded piece of paper. In my tiny hand lies the words I have grown to cherish. As I open this folded treasure, a tear begins to trickle down my flushed cheek and I am overcome with unhappiness. I miss my mother.

 Linda Pastan's "To a Daughter Leaving Home" is written on the aged torn paper. As I sit clutching my pink blanket that I brought from home, I can still smell the sweet smell of fabric softener my mother used to wash them.  I start thinking of the many miles between my mother and me. I chose to go away for college. I have this poem memorized, but I still choose to read it aloud as if the words were new to me. Memories of home begin to flood my mind. I remember waking up on Sunday mornings to the smell of my mother cooking pancakes, or every afternoon snuggled up in her bed watching all of our favorite shows. Then, the memories of my senior year begin to flash through my head. Everyday I would go to school and dream of one day getting out of Delaware to experience a new innovative and thrilling lifestyle. All I wanted to do was stroll across that stage, diploma in my hand and depart. I would leave this small state and never think to look back. Fear and uncertainty by no means crossed my mind. Neither did the thought of my relationship with my mother changing.

      “Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for awhile and leave footprints on our hearts. And we are never, ever the same.”  Relationships are comprised of fear, uncertainty, pride and so much more than that.  I will always be my mother’s little girl, but by going away to college on my own has developed a new sense of understanding in our relationship. Children eventually grow apart from their parents, wanting to expand their experiences by themselves, but this does not mean one should lose their relationships. This poem, folded in even amounts, also remains in a small pocket in my mother’s purse. I open up my cell phone and dial my mother’s number, ensuring her that the relationship we share will never be broken despite any distance between us.

CAA Blood Drive Challenge

I once signed up to be a member of the Blood Bank because they were giving out free t-shirts. This is a true story. That was my only reasoning behind doing this. Well come to find out being a member involves a lot more than just getting a t-shirt. I now have to donate once a year, pay a fee, or find someone to do it for me. Who is going to willingly donate blood FOR ME? And I am a starving college student. There is no way I am paying close to $50 when I could just donate for free. So that is the route I have always taken. And I must say... It has been an unsuccessful one the past 4 times I have donated.

But because of my wonderful roommate Chelsea, why not donate for a 5th time? She informs me that she signed me up for the CAA Blood Drive Challenge. This came as a minor shock to me. Let me recap just what happened last semester when I participated in this challenge.

 I was sitting there in the chair... squeezing my stress ball every 10-15 seconds as my pint of blood filled up. All of the sudden I start feeling nauseous so I politely inform the lady. Then BAM! I was gone. I regained consciousness and had ice packs down my shirt, my uggs were off my feet, and I was completely reclined. So the fact that I was about to sit in the chair AGAIN made me a tad queasy.

So this year...

We go through all of the questions together and then onto the physical. Chelsea and I had the same appointment times so she was right next to me going through the same process. It is finally my turn to go find my chair where I will be drained of my blood for the next 45 minutes. Iodine covers my arm when I glance up to see Chelsea standing there with a pouty look on her face...

"I can't donate," she says.
"Excuse me?" I say back.

Turns out you can't give blood when on antibiotics which Chelsea had been on for the last week. Awesome. So the person who signs me up for this can't even give blood. Go figure.

I am stuck with the needle and passed with flying colors. No thats right. I said passed. Not passed out. Not even the slightest bit of nausea or lightheadedness. Must have been the Snickers, lifesaver, fruit bar, and kit kat I consumed moments before. All in all my blood donation today became a success story. The one success story I have under my belt.

Donating blood is free and you become a hero. Having the power to save someone's life. Plus you get awesome snacks in the end. :)

Read more on how important it is to donate at, http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/50439/donating_blood_important_factual_information.html?cat=5

And find out where the next blood drive is in Delmarva so you have the chance to be someone's hero.
http://www.delmarvablood.org/

Advice from Bob

How I Met His Mother...

It is the morning after a big college party and everyone or those who actually got out of bed is walking to class hung-over. Students wear book bags slung halfway on their shoulders, sunglasses blocking the sun that never quite beamed this bright, and chugging water like they had just ran a 5K. Sneaking through the woods, still dressed in high heels, a bright pink party dress, and her less than perfect ponytail is the girl who did not quite make it home that night. She is performing what most students refer to as: the walk of shame.

Shane and I were most definitely boyfriend and girlfriend. We shared drinks, met each other’s friends and had a slight tolerance for each other’s bodily functions, but I had still not met his parents. Everyone knows that it is not about meeting his parents, it is about meeting his mother and sooner or later, every girl has to take this courageous stride. I cannot say that I had ever partaken in my very own walk of shame until the morning I met his mother.

While driving home one night from dinner I glanced out the window of his Ford pick-up truck and noticed a thin blanket of fog covering the fields. Pulling into his driveway butterflies formed in the pit of my stomach at the thought of meeting his parents. Fortunately for me, they were already in bed. We cuddled on the couch having to lie on our sides to keep from falling off. Shane wrapped his arm around my waist and we began to watch a movie. My eyes grew heavy as I was blinking every second. I had at least a 30 minute drive home and with the fog it would add additional time, but I could not leave his side. I also could not stay the night in his parent’s house. Imagining them waking up the next morning to a girl on their couch, nestled next to their son that they had never met was not how I had pictured it. I ended up falling asleep. An hour later I opened my eyes and squinted to see the credits scrolling up the screen. I jumped up as fast as I could and proceeded to leave. Then, the excuses came.

“It is too foggy out to drive home,” Shane said. “It is already so late and you are tired.”

This was all very true, however staying at his house was not an option. I was not going to be “that” girl.

“You can just stay here,” he said. “Other girls have stayed here before and my parents do not care.”

While his last remark brought up some questions to how frequent these girls stayed, I chose to overlook it. Somehow his lame excuses convinced me that just maybe his parents really did not care. Dressed in my black spandex pants and pink tank top that I had worn that day, I tiptoed past his parent’s bedroom, opened his door and we both climbed into bed. Not only were we sleeping in the same bed, we also closed the door. It never occurred to one of us that maybe the couch would have made for a more suitable sleeping arrangement. Oh young love...

The next morning the smell of freshly cooked bacon and the sound of eggs frying woke me up. I rolled over to discover Shane was nowhere to be found. Go figure. I looked over at the window and contemplated my escape. It would have been perfect if there was not one problem. The location of my keys was the kitchen table where everyone was participating in family breakfast. I was not about to just waltz out from behind this closed door after staying the night, and casually introduce myself.  I knew what kind of girl I was however his parents did not. Moving at the rate of a turtle, I fixed my hair and wiped the eyeliner from under my eyes not wanting to look leftover. I opened the door and stood for a complete five minutes, eyes closed imagining what would come next. I would get that “look”; the one that comes across as nothing but a pure judgment of character. The look where his mom’s eyes would travel from the tip of my spandex pants all the way to my sloppy bun, the up-down. I took one step forward and the floor boards creaked. Only I have this kind of luck. There was no turning back now. As I rounded the corner I just stood there. Shane’s mom, step-dad and Shane sat, forks filled with eggs pressing to their lips. Everyone kind of froze which was such an awkward moment. I took a deep breath, cleared my throat and managed to say,

“Hi, I’m Liz.”

His mother and step-dad smiled, introduced themselves and told me to take a seat. As I was cautiously walking to the table, Shane said it; the three words I will never forget.

“Walk of shame,” he said.

My face turned bright red and the eggs on the table could have possibly been cooked on my forehead as I could feel the heat beating off of it. I knew he was kidding; however I had no idea how his parents would take his witty comment. I was in utter shock. The look on his mom’s face was that exact look I had just been thinking about.

“Wow I really won your mom over now,” I thought.

 Feelings of coming across the table and ringing Shane’s neck flashed through my head, but I did not think that would be appropriate. Still no one said anything which made for awkward moment number two.

Miraculously Shane and I survived that incident and his mother has gotten to know the real me. She explained to me that it was Shane who she was mad at that day; for disrespecting not only me, but her as well. She knew he was kidding, but did not want either one of us thinking our slumber party was acceptable.

After a more than humiliating personal introduction to my boyfriend’s parents, I offer you this advice. Meet your significant other’s parents, especially his mother before cuddling up in his bed for a sleepover and do not be the girl walking across campus reeking of last nights festivities, still in the party dress you wore the night before.

If there is one thing I have learned about love...

Picture: I took this in Telluride, Colorado