Homesick

I am sitting in bed, watching an inflatable bat that is hanging from the ceiling spin slowly in circles, and this particular bat is making me very homesick.

My mother brought me my inflatable bat—along with some fake spider web and a skeleton that looks like he is spending all of his afterlife tripping on acid—this past weekend during their visit. My mom and dad, as well as an estimated four thousand six hundred other parents, descended upon the campus last weekend for Family Weekend.

“I thought you might like these—since you love to decorate so much,” she giggled with a wink, as she pulled the Halloween decorations out of the duffle bag of goodies my parents brought me. We spent the next hour oohing and awing over my loot, and turning my taupe colored dorm into a very, very small haunted house.

In many respects, my family’s first Family Weekend was a lot like Christmas. Not just because my dad looks eerily like Santa (I actually thought he was Santa when I was little because he had a workshop and wore lots of red around Christmas. He wears the red, I later found out, because so many children stop and ask him is he is the real Santa Clause.), but also because of all of the great presents, the wonderful food, and the company of family. It may have been the happiest day of my life when my parents told me that their goal was to treat me to all the food I normally couldn’t afford on a student budget.

It was wonderful to have my parents around again—even for a little bit. I have struggled to really talk to them over the phone when one or the other of us is always running off to deal with something. It is proving surprisingly tough to synch separate lives. So, l loved having them be a part of my life for a few days, and to be able to have complete, face-to-face, conversations with them. I missed them.

But, eventually we ran out of talks to attend and pictures to share, and the weekend drew to a close. After very long hugs, and three our four attempts to say goodbye, they loaded the car and drove away. And, perhaps the most unexpected aspect of the entire weekend was not how much I had missed my family, but was how I was ok when they left. Once they were gone, I simply walked back to my dorm, chatted with my roommate, and once again dove into the large pile of homework waiting for me at the foot of my bed.

They say you don’t realize how much you change until you revisit the places you came from. I would say the same holds true when those places visit you. It feels like I have been in college for a lot longer than a few months. I have gotten into the swing of my classes, I am starting to build lasting friendships, and I have even come to refer to the dorm as home (sometimes).

I would say I have begun to form a makeshift family at CU. My roommate has gone home this weekend, and I realized that I feel her absence most acutely of all. It is nice to have someone who will be there to ask you how your day went, and to listen to you rant about some impossible assignment or annoying kid in class. I miss having someone to say goodnight to. I believe my biggest change since arriving here has been that I no longer think I am here to “become my own person”, but instead to become a person who understands how we all support each other.

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Band.

Per Request (Logan) here are some pictures of the CU band doing a pre-game show this past parents weekend. My window faces Farrand field, so I get the joy of hearing these students play the fight song for a good six hours or so on Saturday before the game. But, despite my desire to tear my ears off after the first three hours of repetition, they are actually very talented. Go band and go Buffs! Yay for winning last weekend!

What Would You Like To See on the Blog?

As I am sure you can tell, we are in the process of revamping the blog. As readers, is there anything else you would like to see go on the blog? Any topics you would like to discuss. Any videos or pictures you would like to see? Please let me know!

My Knight Rode in on a Shining White Mini-Van

“I give up,” I wailed to my friend after more than an hour of wrestling with every bus in Boulder—only to end up on Broadway and Baseline (less than a block from campus). “I take it you are in need of a rescue, then,” she asked, chuckling. “That would be wonderful!” I replied with defeat my two very heavy bags and I sunk down in the grass in front of Starbucks to wait.

Public Transit has posed my greatest academic challenge. I can handle double entry bookkeeping, standard deviations, and post-modernist philosophies about the role of comics in allowing people to feel, but time charts, rout maps, and transfers are beyond me. Maybe it is because I grew up without public transit, but seriously, why do the transportation gods have to make it so downright confusing? I have been in Boulder for nearly half a semester, and I have only successfully made a round trip on the bus (without help) once.

On the one hand, this is probably a good thing. I have no car, so my choices are bus, bike, or walk. Since I am hopeless on the bus, I tend to stray toward the latter two, which provides much needed exercise for someone condemned to eat seventeen meals a week in the dining halls. In fact, I think my inability to use the bus may be the sole reason I have dodged the freshman fifteen.

But, I hear that the bus can be faster than my current options (I wouldn’t know, it takes me at least forty-five minutes to get anywhere on those god-forsaken contraptions). Also, it has become a point of pride that the bus will not beat me. The Hop, the SKIP, the DASH, and the Bolt have turned from mere motorized vehicles into arch-villains of comic-book proportions. The sneaky devils are out to make a fool of me and foil me in my ends. But they will not win!

As I was sitting in the grass, glaring at the Dash, I realized that I was engaged in this epic battle of wits with the conniving creatures. I saw two plans of action—I could become the poltergeist of the Bus Station, sneaking in and slashing their unsuspecting tires, clogging their menacing tailpipes, and pouring Kool-Aid into their evil gas tanks, or, I could beat them at their own game, and humiliate them as they had done to me!

I suppressed a maniacal cackle as my rescue rode up in a white mini-van. It may not have been the prince on the white horse I had envisioned to accompany me in my quest, but at that moment I would take it! Lugging my bags into the car, I greeted my dinner party with profuse apologies, and the promise that I would get the hang of the buses eventually. My friends laughed, and spent the car ride back explaining that there were these things called bus schedules, and how they worked.

Armed with my new knowledge, I headed out to the bus the next day—only to wait forty-five minutes, realize that I had missed two busses I could have caught, and finally board the 203 half eaten alive with frustration. I wish I could say the ride went smoothly, but it was full of bumps and jostles (both literally and metaphorically). I did manage to get off at my destination (an hour after I left) when a very kind four-year-old showed me how the string to request a stop works.

I doubt that the bus and I will ever really get along. But, every few days I work up the courage to give it another try, and stumble through a trip or two before taking a break. The way I see it, so long as I master this bus thing before I become a college graduate, I can preserve a shred of my dignity. So, I will slowly, reluctantly continue to try, and hopefully I will eventually succeed by sheer persistence. Maybe that is what they will call me during the re-telling of my bus stop showdown—“That’s Persistent Girl,” they will whisper, “Watch out for her on a bus near you.”

What To Do With My Parents?

Hey everyone,

Thanks for the suggestions on where to find the best mac and cheese! My friend and I had a blast this weekend. Now I have a new puzzle facing me. My parents are visiting next weekend. They are the type who need constant entertainment, so do you have any suggestions for what we can do?

I Want My Mommy!

When I was a little girl, I used to sneak into my mothers bed while she was sleeping and burrow under the covers as fast as I could—making a little “cave” with the blankets to hide in. After about a minute or so, my mother would pop open her eyes, leap out from under the covers, and stick her head in the cave, while attempting to tickle my cover swathed body. “Who is that hiding in my bed?” She demanded while we both spasm with laughter.

I am lying in bed, sick and bored, and I have never wanted my mommy so much. I keep hoping that if I burrow under the covers, maybe some magic will make her face appear like it used to when I was little. But, no matter how many times I try, my trick never works—she is still in Oklahoma.

Getting sick is probably the most difficult part of college. Back home, I would be curled up on the living room couch right now, watching endless episodes of West Wing, while my mom made me split pea soup. Instead, I am stuck in my noisy dorm (which fluctuates between being frigid cold and balmy more often than a woman in menopause), eating an only slightly repulsive dining hall salad, and avoiding a small mountain of homework—I miss my mommy.

The thing I hate the most about being sick is having to get my own soup. I know that sounds very spoiled, but I liked that I never had to exert the effort to get up off the couch and get my own food. And, I miss being hugged—a lot.

Earlier in the week, when I first got sick, I was determined to be a trouper and suck it up. I don’t need my mommy. “Rebecca, you are a college student,” I tried to tell myself in a mom-style slap down, “Suck it up, getting your own soup is not that bad. It is not like you are in the hospital!” Despite the annoyingly surly side of my mind, which pointed out that at least in the hospital there would be a pushy nurse in Scooby-do scrubs who would bring soup to me, my self talk did sort of work.

It worked, that is, until I talked to my boss…who is sick as well. “I hate not having my mom when I am sick. That is the worst—still.” That small comment quietly dropkicked my shaky resolve not to mope. You mean this feeling never ends?!? This woman is a mother herself—if she still misses her mom, than I am forever doomed!

But, I am hopped up on enough medication to still feel the need to learn something besides self-pity from this experience. So, here it is—no matter how mature and put-together we may seem, no matter if we are mothers in our own right, or simply striving to convince ourselves that we can be adults, when life give us lemons, we all need our mommies to sit by our bed and tell us everything will be alright.

But, I have managed (and the help of some happy, symptom relieving little pills) for the last three days to pull myself away from my pillow and self-pity, and get myself a cup of soup. Even though I know I can manage without her, I think I will succumb to the temptation and call my mom.

Where is the Best Mac and Cheese in Boulder?

My friends back in Oklahoma and I were on this quest to find the best restaurant Mac and Cheese in Oklahoma City. We are not talking any blue box, Kraft excuses, this is real Mac--the kind with at least three cheeses (and on one eventful night black truffle) in it. Now, one of those friend is coming up to visit, and I have a sneaking suspicion that she will want to continue the search in Boulder. Unfortunately, as a poor college student, I don't eat out a lot, and don't know where we should start looking. Any suggestions? Also does anyone know of any cool places/events I should take her to while she is in the area? She is coming this weekend, so please tell me about your ideas ASAP! Thanks!