Leftover make up and nostalgic nights

In the morning (or afternoons, lately), when I wake up, one may tell what happened to me the night before by mere observation of time and appearance. If I wake between the hours of 8am-10am, this means I had a very boring night and retreated to bed early, due to lack of happening events. (This happens very infrequently). If I wake between the hours of 12pm-2pm, I had a really great night full of friends, lots of exercise, good food, and any illegally obtained movie on the internet to put me to sleep when I get home around 3. 

Now the time of when I wake up  gives subtle indicators, but the biggest giveaways are my hair and smeared makeup. If I have a good night where I stay up long past the time I naturally would have fallen asleep and exhausted myself, I wake up in the morning looking exactly the same way as I did when I hit the sack. I am normally so tired that I don't move at all in my sleep. It's the smeared makeup on my face and pillow, as well as my messy, unpredictable hair that gives away a restless and uneasy sleep. 

Nighttime seems almost magical to me. Deep conversations flow easily and emotions seem to float effortlessly in the air. Most people find my nocturnal habits peculiar, but I find them very suiting to me. I love the feeling of knowing most everyone around me is unconscious  and dreaming. It's not that it gives me a sense of power or loneliness, but it makes me feel like the world has just naturally created a time for everything to sleep and me to think and write alone when everything is peaceful. This sense of nirvana is what I love and I find it awaiting me every night when I come back to my apartment. It feels like the nostalgia you get when thinking of your first kiss (the foot popping one), the first snow or summer nights with your friends.

Thanksgiving+Family=Bleached Burned Fingers and Inappropriate Jokes

Thanksgiving+Family=Bleached Burned Fingers and Inappropriate Jokes:

My least favorite part of every holiday is the preparation. For those of you who might know my mother (which I am sure is a lot due to her teaching Jr. High and High for for many years) might have seen a little glimpse of her obsession with cleaning. Now I love my mother but I do see that she has a slight problem with wanting to see her reflection in everything from the table to the floors to to to dogs. She loves everything to glitter and smell either like Mr. Clean or bleach at all times. Whenever a holiday comes around the cleaning begins. 

Now most people when cleaning a house will vacuum the house, wipe down the counters, put everything away and make sure that the bathroom that will be used by quests is clean. This is very normal, but for my mother this isn't even close to clean enough. All furniture is moved cleaned and cleaned around, windows are removed and cleaned, spices are re-alphabetized , the tile is bleached down and brushed multiple times with at toothbrush, all the rooms are scrubbed clean (even the garage), all walls are washed from top to bottom, the dogs are shampooed 3 times and conditioned twice, and more. Now this might seem like I am exaggerating but I have done all of these chores in my life, preparing for the holidays. 

This holiday season, although I still do not live at home I have still been asked to come and help clean, which I am more than willing to do. So on my way to my parents house I made sure I had a full stomach, gloves to protect my fingers from the bleach (my mother didn't believe me I am allergic too even though it always makes me throw up), my iPod with full batteries and a smile on my face ready to spend at least 5-6 hours helping out. 

After all of the cleaning is when my family can finally relax. My oldest sister Shannon normally sit and talks about her exciting chemistry, biology or math glasses or explaining how one should be able to receive an ecclesiastical endorsement from a tree, while her husband Ken tells inappropriate jokes or talks about the latest Quinton Tarentino film. There son Liam normally just plays on his own (Liam who once asked me when I took him to a museum at the age of 9 if i saw the irony of a cougar and a wolverine sitting next to each other and then when I asked if he wanted to be a cougar and go to BYU or be a wolverine and go to UVU like his mother to which he replied "Lindsay, I am going to Harvard to become an Egyptologist") or sits and listens to my father talk about politics (this year I believe it will hold more of a blissful note than the previous 8). My other sister, Annelise normally sits and voices her opinions along with my father and tells of her experiences in Palestine while my mother putters in the background finishing the 9 pies she is making for 13 people that will disappear somehow in 1 hour of finishing the feasts regardless of the extreme pain our stomachs are all experiencing.  My brother normally sits next to me with his tattoos and gages pulling them out of his ears and trying to force other to smell them. We then argue until we are either separated or one of us locks the other in bathroom, but then they get to avoid doing the dishes. 

All in all holidays are very eventful and full of many surprises. Although, my family is wacky and crazy I can not help but love the warmth of their love and laughter every holiday season.  I am very thankful for them all and love them all dearly. I think if it wasn't for my family I wouldn't know how to bake amazing tarts, write better than a 3rd grader (at least I hope), swear at inanimate objects because they have failed me yet again, properly clean ceilings, care for animals weighing over 100 lbs and read Shakespeare for hours without ever getting bored. I love my family and I think that this Thanksgiving we should all take a break to look back at all of the reasons we love them, regardless of their political stances, tattoos, obsessions and their excessive amounts of emotions on insignificant matters.  

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone!