So.. this weekend I am making cupcakes for Miriam’s old roommate’s wedding. She requested two flavors, orange and boysenberry (also her colors) and is expecting about a hundred guests. This is my biggest baking project to date, and I’m excited to see how it all turns out.

A couple of weeks ago I saw boysenberries at the farmer’s market and planned to go back to get some this weekend to do a batch before the real deal. By the time we got to the market, they were out of boysenberries. And we couldn’t find any in the store, not even frozen. I guess they aren’t that popular – although, popular enough to sell out. So I had to revise my plan but all will work out fine, and photos will come shortly.

Looking for these berries reminded me of my grandparents. I never had the “typical” grandparent people think of; the one who teaches you how to fish or sew, the one who bakes cookies with you and lets you do things your parents won’t. I didn’t meet my mom’s mom until I was 9, and she lived up in Washington. She made us use a port-o-potty because we weren’t allowed in the house, except one afternoon when she wanted all the grandchildren to practice a song we were to sing at her church meeting that week. We had to wear little booties and were only allowed in one room.

My dad’s dad lived 3 blocks from us my entire life, and yet we only saw them a couple times a year. I think Mom would invite them to Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, and Grandparent’s Day of course. But the day I think of most when I think of them is Thanksgiving. Every year we would all go to their house and eat dinner and it was a race to see who would fall asleep first, my dad or grandpa.

My grandparents had a pretty large lot and on it they had a chicken coop. Sometimes we’d go out and look for eggs. Honestly it was digusting, but as a kid I don’t think I minded that much. We would play hide-and-seek or Apples, Peaches, Pumpkin Pie.

All along their back fence, they had blackberry bushes. We would go out and pick lots and lots of berries. And eat lots and lots of berries. I remember my fingers getting purple from the juice. I remember all the thorns and sore fingers and thumbs – but still picking because what’s better than a fresh berry? MORE fresh berries. I don’t remember what we ever did with the berries we picked. You’d think we would have lots of berry pie, or on ice cream or in a cobbler. We might have. But all I remember is the picking.

My grandparents are both dead now and I drove by their house recently. My grandma’s son owns it now, I think. I wonder if there are still berries.

So.. last night I went in search of new blogs to read and I found several. One was somewhat new so I read back through all the posts this year (very entertaining dating stories). One I shared with a friend. One I saved for later to go back and read, because, well, to be honest – her story is my story, and I wanted to see what happened to her. Her about me page said it was all behind her now, a year later. It said that now this blog was about just her and her life, but the old posts were there. The past that mirrors mine.

I went back to her first post and read it. And seriously, it’s insane how much it felt like me. I could have written it. I certainly felt it. I have never written out what happened, or how I felt entirely, because at the time I didn’t want to believe it was real, I kept thinking things would go back. I was also maintaining the “privacy” since there are people who know those involved but don’t know the story.

She talked about his “calm” and his “zero feeling.” As I read her post, my heart just hurt, all over again. I remember that sound. The cold way he kept saying, “Let it go. Move on.” I think that’s what hurt the most. The emotional ice cube he became. And even while I cried, he didn’t show a single emotion. It was like he turned it off. He didn’t care. I could sob and he just stood there, almost like it annoyed him.

I’m sorry but after the ‘I love you’s’ and the ‘we’ll be together’s’ I think a girl is allowed to cry when you walk away.

Her second post mentioned that he became a person she didn’t know. Again, that’s me. How can you one day stand in front of me, proclaiming love and devotion, and the next be hard as a stone? Uncaring. Unfeeling.

When I got to her third post, I had to stop. I realized I was just pulling back things I had already moved on from. I’m ok, now. I still have my moments. I still think of him sometimes and miss him. That ache returns faster than I would like to admit. But I’m ok. I’m better off, I tell myself. I really am. He’s not who I was in love with. Not anymore. Maybe not ever, maybe it was always just a game to him.

Maybe someday I’ll write out more of the story. The way he stood in front of me, me on the 2nd stair, hands on his shoulders, begging for some explaination. I never got it. I never will.

Maybe I’ll tell all about the summer nights I’d take him dinner at work. We’d sit at the picnic table outside and eat and talk about life, our future, our dreams.

Looking back now, it’s like they say.. hindsight is 20/20. The things he chose to miss, the way he would start to distance himself, and then come back. My therapist told me I shouldn’t say, “I should have known” because, well how should I? And what good does it do to say that? The past is the past. What happened happened.

I guess the question is “now what?” Where do I go from here? How do I make sure to keep moving forward, and when do I stop looking back?

So.. that’s the last thing my father ever said to me. “FINE!” right before he stormed off like a child. That was a year ago, exactly.

My younger brother, Andrew, is serving a mission for the LDS church, and it’s a tradition for their families to have a little get-together before they leave for friends and family to come and chat and give well-wishes (and sometimes gifts) and say their goodbyes for the next two years. There were a lot of people there, and as my relationship with my dad was already strained, I figured we would avoid each other (as usual) and it would all be fine. Except at one point, while I was watching my brother-in-law play with a bunch of kids (seriously, I love watching men play with kids and be real fathers!!), he snuck up on me. Ninja style. Except he is missing half a foot and really isn’t ninja-like at all, besides the fact that I didn’t notice him there until he said, “So, tell me about your new house.”

And to avoid a scene and to handle this as rationally as I possibly could, I simply said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

We hadn’t talked in years, he had already gone against everything he had been told would be a good idea to help have a relationship with anyone left in his family, and I just didn’t want to deal with it. I didn’t need him to congratulate me on my house. I didn’t need him to ask me questions about it. He certainly doesn’t need to know where I live.

And my response, while maybe not the most grown up, was calm and truthful. And instead of just taking it, he stood up quickly, said “FINE!” loudly and stormed off. Scene NOT avoided.

And since then, I haven’t seen him.

I did hear from him, twice. Once, for my birthday last year, he sent me an ecard. I was shocked. But, Sariah had told him a few months before that he should make an effort, a small effort, and that might help. I replied back with a thank you, and that I appreciated the thought. (I was in therapy at the time. LOL)

And then, well, this post documents the holiday season.

January 12th my dad e-mailed me. He had found my blog and had read the previous posts I had written about him. And while he apologized for some of the things I mentioned, and admitted he was wrong, he would always turn around in the same sentence and somehow justify it.

Some of my favorite parts:

Yes, I have been very selfish. You’re correct that I have put my self before your needs and I’m very sorry for that. But in my defense, how did things change when your mother took over the finances in 1996?

I did not call Ruth at 5pm Christmas eve, because I was getting ready to go to my second job. I probably called the Tuesday before and I know it was last minute and I would still like to take you out to dinner sometime.

I texted Ruth on my way to work saying she would not believe who had e-mailed me. And then she went to her computer and realized he had copied her, and all our siblings. I asked them all what they thought. I wasn’t sure what to say.

My brother, David, responded to my dad, taking his letter paragraph by paragraph and logically ripping it apart.

“Yes, I have been very selfish. You’re correct that I have put my self before your needs and I’m very sorry for that. But in my defense, how did things change when your mother took over the finances in 1996?”

Perhaps they would have if you didn’t continue to secretly spend and accumulate debt…as I recall that was the biggest issue.

“I did not call Ruth at 5pm Christmas eve, because I was getting ready to go to my second job. I probably called the Tuesday before and I know it was last minute and I would still like to take you out to dinner sometime.”

She received the call Christmas Eve; I doubt there was any weird time warp involved.

The fact was, I was standing in my kitchen when Ruth received the call from my dad on Christmas Eve. No, there was not a time warp at all!!!

I did respond, and tried to remain calm and concise. Here is some of what I said.

As for getting to know me, or having a relationship with me: I can’t say what the future will bring. Right now, as you saw in my blog post, I don’t have a need to be around you. I am trying to take care of my own health, mental and physical, and right now I don’t see you as a positive influence in my life.

I know nothing I have said is anything you want to hear. I don’t believe in avoiding confrontation because it’s easier, I don’t believe in hiding my feelings anymore, because all it does is hurt me in the end.

One last thing, the only thing I really want to comment on. You said it was unforgivable to threaten to make Ben live with you half the time, but have you ever apologized to HIM for that? The rest of us felt strongly about that because of our love for him, but he is the one you wronged, and you really should tell him that you are sorry for putting him through any of that.

And that’s the last communication I had with him. I don’t know where this goes from here. It’s been a year since I saw him, and I don’t see anything coming up where we will be at the same thing for ANOTHER year, when Andrew returns home.

So.. last night for some unknown reason I couldn’t sleep. I woke up three times, the last time for at least two hours, laying there thinking about random things. And one of those random things was “if my house was on fire, what would I grab?”

I think it started off because I smelled something smokey and I just thought “uh oh is the house on fire?!?!” It wasn’t. Obviously.

But, it led to an interesting thought. Here is my list..

1) My dogs, of course.

B) If I was upstairs, I would grab my teddy bear I’ve had since I was a baby. If I wasn’t, I don’t know if I’d risk it..

3) My phone, so I could call for help. It’s always nearby anyway.

4) The blanket my sister-in-law made for me for Christmas a year ago. I also thought about the scarves my mom has made me, but they aren’t as handy to grab so I’d just have to ask her to make more. And I thought about the plates Miriam made me for Christmas this year, but again, not handy so probably not.

5) My external hard drive. All my photos are on there. And I realized, it was in my laptop bag, which was in the trunk of my car, parked in the garage. Not exactly the quickest grab. So I think I will not be leaving it there anymore, JUST IN CASE.

Anyway, I realized most of what I own is replaceable, and as much as I like them, I could live without. And I liked the feeling of realizing what matters most to me are things that bring me closer to my family.

If anyone wants to share their list, you can post in the comments or blog it and post your link. I’m curious!

So.. I don’t talk about my dad on here much, with good reason. Earlier this year, I wrote a series of posts about him and some of the issues I’ve had, past and present.

I hosted Thanksgiving this year and I told my siblings that if he contacted anyone a week or more prior to T-Day, he would be invited to dinner. No one heard from him, so he wasn’t. Honestly, it was a great holiday. I loved not having the stress of him there, the tension he causes just by being around. It was one of the best Thanksgivings I can remember.

A week or so later, Sariah talked to him and he told her he was hurt he wasn’t invited. She told him the background to it, basically saying what he’d need to do for an invite to the future (like, Christmas coming up in a few weeks). She then e-mailed us all telling us about the conversation and her opinion on the situation.

Ruth and I discussed a few times about the upcoming holiday get-togethers (I was hosting Christmas Eve, she was hosting Christmas) and how we’d handle if/when he contacted us. Since Sariah clearly told him we had waited to see if he’d contact us for Thanksgiving and he didn’t, we thought for sure he’d call someone about Christmas.

Well, he did. About 5pm on Christmas Eve, he called Ruth to ask what the plan was for that night. Yeah.. he also apparently invited us all out to lunch or dinner at some point.

The thing is, I realized I don’t want or need anything from him. Ruth asked me last week if there were any conditions to my feelings, anything that would change my stance. And right now, I don’t think there is. I’m done with him, I don’t feel the need to be around him, to invite him to anything, to try to spare his feelings or care about his thoughts. For my entire life, he hasn’t cared for my feelings, and I am not going to go out of my way to make him feel welcome or loved.

I know my line in the sand is way further out than my other siblings, but, I’ve made my peace with my decision. My emotional well-being is more important to me now, and I have worked so hard to not let other people bring that down – and that includes him. I don’t think it’s unfair, or wrong, and I’m certainly not afraid of any Judgement for my decisions. I love and care for my family and friends – the ones who are there for me, and who care about my health and wellness. No one else matters.

So.. Ruth recently posted about not liking photos of herself, which maybe runs in the family. I hate photos of myself. Except for the photo of me when I was three, and one photo of me holding Esther back when she was less than a year old (probably only because I am so bundled in a snow jacket you can’t really see me), the only photo I like of myself is from Thanksgiving several years back, of me with my sisters. I think it was just chance that the lighting was right, because we all looked good.

I don’t know what it is, I am just not good in 2-D. I think (know?) that I’m good looking (and humble, even ), but for some reason every photo seems to accentuate my flaws.

I got my hair done yesterday and love it. Adore it. Think it’s my best hair cut ever. The color, the style, everything is perfect and screams DEBI. I took this photo at the park today at lunch but even this one blurts out flaws – my overly freckled shoulders, my Robarts’ girl chin (or would that be from the McGuiness side, more likely?), my inperfect complexion. And even though I am perfectly content with my current weight (ok, I would like to lose 15 pounds, but if I never do, so be it!), I feel like every photo makes me look fat.

Why is it that photos are so much harsher than reality? Real life just seems more forgiving; maybe my personality distracts from my physical flaws, maybe I just stay in really dark rooms a lot and don’t really see myself. I don’t know.

I’m not asking for everyone to tell me I’m beautiful, because like I already admitted above, I know I am. I just would love if I was more photogenic, but I don’t know how that’ll ever change.

[Apparently this is a weekly installment, although that was not my original intention. Read part one and part two if you missed them earlier.]

So.. I posted about my childhood, and then about my dad’s way of announcing his upcoming second wedding. There are many details in between that I have left out, that at some point I will cover, but I guess to explain the most recent events, those details aren’t important.

Right before Christmas 2006, my “in town adult” siblings & I (meaning me, Joe, Miriam, Ruth & Tom) sat down with my dad and talked about some of the stuff going on, issues we had with him, things we expected of him and how he could improve his relationships with each of us. This talk was a big deal, as before it Ruth & I (and maybe others) had mentioned there would be issues with sharing Christmas if he reacted badly. After the conversation, I e-mailed the “out of town” siblings (meaning Sariah & Ryan and David & Teresa; and also my mom, I forgot I included her) with an update of what we talked about. The whole tone of the e-mail was about how great the talk went, how receptive my dad seemed, and how we were all positive and hopeful for how things would proceed.

The following August the divorce was final, then was the crazy Thanksgiving with the fiance. With the out of town siblings in town for the holiday, and with the whole “dad is getting remarried” thing going on, we decided to sit down and talk to him again about certain things, especially rushing into a new marriage, and to go back over things we had discussed previously.

Even though after the first talk he hadn’t “kept up his end of the deal” on certain things, we were hopeful that he would be receptive and listen to what we said. After the talk I think we again all felt that it was positive, that he heard what we said and maybe things would change.

We told him we expected him to do certain things. And the fact is, even though he sat there nodding and listening and agreeing, I think even shedding some tears as if he cared, he never did any of those things.

Things like: making sure that my younger brothers were financially taken care of, and not just by way of paying his court-mandated child support. Specifics like taking them out to buy clothes now and then, be sure they had everything they needed. Also: paying back, or at least starting to work at paying back, my mom the $30,000 he owed her (yeah that could be a post in itself..).

He’s never done either of these things. And yet somehow it always slips by and we never say or do anything. He was still invited to family dinners and events.

Last year, the first year filing taxes since the divorce, I remember asking my mom who was claiming Ben (the only minor child) as a dependent. She told me he was, and I was shocked. Then she said he asked her to sign a paper stating he always got to claim Ben until he was 18. Thankfully my mom didn’t sign it. I figured they’d do a 50/50 and each claim him every other year. (Although I think she should be able to, since Ben lives with my mom full-time.)

So fast forward to this year’s taxes. I forget how it came up a couple weeks ago, but it did and my mom started stumbling and beating around the bush, saying my dad was claiming Ben again this year, and every year after. Why? After some coaxing, this is what she told us, and what shocked us beyond my belief. Phone call between my parents went something like this:

Mom: Who is claiming Ben this year?
Dad: Me.
Mom: Ok, then I get him the next two years?
Dad: No, I do.
Mom: … Why?
Dad: Because if you don’t let me, we have to split custody 50/50.

Ok I’ll wait while you pick your jaw up off the floor.

Yes. My dad used my little brother as a pawn in an effort to get slightly more money back on his taxes. As it is, the custody is set that my dad gets “a reasonable” amount of time with Ben. What that has meant so far? My brothers go over and play video games at my dad’s house every couple of months, when Andrew makes an effort to reach out to my dad. He doesn’t even make the effort himself to invite them over.

So, really I think my mom should have called his bluff. No way would my dad really want Ben around half the time (even though Ben is totally awesome). My dad is selfish and only wants to take care of himself, why would he want to be responsible for a child half of the time? But, my mom of course gave in.

Apparently the conversation with them took place sometime late last year, and my mom didn’t say anything to us because she knew how we would react. Which is like this: we are done. This is just the final straw and the perfect example of his selfishness.

To make things worse: both my parents work for the State of California. For those who don’t live in CA, there are major budget problems and they have started enforcing mandatory unpaid days off (2 a month, which is 10% of your pay). My mom is affected by that. My dad? Yeah his department isn’t affected.

You would think that if he had an OUNCE of decency, after finding out he was not being hit by the furloughs and my mom was, he would tell her she needs the money right now more than he does, and let her claim Ben.

But whatever. That’s the kind of guy he is. I’m disappointed but not really surprised. He puts himself first and money is more important than anything and everyone. And you know what happens to people like that? They end up alone.

Please read part one if you missed it earlier.

So.. I’ve spent the last week trying to figure out exactly what to say next and where to go from here. There is just so much and it bounces around in my head and I can’t figure out how to put it into words. I am sure at some point I will come back and detail more of the events from my teenage years, but after tonight I want to jump to this part of the story.

I forget when my dad moved out of the house exactly, but my parent’s divorce was finalized in August 2007. Strangely enough, the divorce didn’t affect much of our regular traditions. Our family gets together a couple times a month (except when busy) for dinner, and my dad was still invited. Everyone I know would tell me how strange that was, but considering how we were raised, and the relationship my parents always had, it really didn’t seem that strange to me at the time.

But, Thanksgiving was just around the corner and I was hosting. I remember asking people to RSVP so I’d know how many place settings to put out. My mom called me one day while I was at work and told me she had just been to the dentist and saw my dad there (how weird they had an appointment on the same day at almost the same time!) and he told her he had a girlfriend and wanted her to come to Thanksgiving.

Just a few short months after their divorce was final (from a 30+ year marriage!), he had a girlfriend he wanted to meet the family, including his ex-wife. I was so confused on how to act. For one thing, I didn’t even know he was dating anyone, let alone to the point of inviting her to a holiday dinner. It just seemed so crazy and rushed. You’d think after being married for over thirty years you would want to spend some “ME” time and figure yourself out. Learn to be on your own, to be yourself, before jumping into another “we.”

So I again sent out the question of who would be attending and if they were bringing anyone. Still no response from him. I was frustrated and angry. For anyone not to respond to the hostess is just rude, especially when I kept saying I need to know…

I forget when it came out, but at one point we found out he wasn’t bringing his girlfriend, she was now his fiance.

And yet he hadn’t responded to let me know if he was coming or bringing anyone. I repeatedly said if he just showed up on Thursday I would not allow it, there would not be a seat for him and he would not be welcome.

He worked his way through calling all of my siblings and finally got to me.

[Actually, this is funny: I went to the dog park (one near my mom's house) one day the week before Thanksgiving and as I was walking up the path back to my car, I saw my dad's car right next to mine. I thought for a minute, IS HE STALKING ME?? Then I saw Andrew in the car. Apparently my dad took him there for privacy to tell him what was going on. I guess he took each of my little brothers out. What's so funny is my dad didn't recognize my car, or notice me walking up, getting me and my very large dog in the car, and driving away.]

Anyway, I digress. So I was the last to be told. I’m not surprised I was the last to be told, because I think he was scared of my reaction, as I am the one who likes him the least and is the most vocal about my feelings. He actually tricked me, first he called from a number I knew, and I let it go to voicemail because I didn’t want to deal with it right then. Later that evening he called from another number I didn’t know and I answered… *sigh*

When he called, he told me this very long story about meeting this woman at a church dance, going out with her to Apple Hill, and then about a date they took to the Mormon temple. He went on and on about how while he was there, he was impressed upon that this was the woman for him.

Now, everyone knows I don’t go to church, so I found it funny he used the religious story to tell me about his new woman. Ruth told me when he told her about it, he didn’t go into that part, but told her something else. It just goes to show how much he knows me..

She came to Thanksgiving and I’m sure she’s a nice enough woman. But anyone who would be with my father I seriously have to question their judgment and possibly their sanity.

My dad told us they were going to get married in just three weeks, and I was once again shocked. As siblings we decided to talk to my dad, express our concerns and how we were feeling. This was not the first time we did something like this, we actually had talked to him the year before about certain things, and what we expected of him and how the divorce would be handled. I’ll write about that another time, as it ties in perfectly to the events of last week. (We actually even talked to him BEFORE the final decision for them to divorce, with plans of how to possibly salvage the marriage. He ignored all advice given at that point.)

Anyway this time we talked to him about things that concerned us, about him rushing into marriage, about whether he had been honest with her about why his previous marriage ended, about how things were going. I don’t know what all he said to her or what the real reasons were, but they didn’t get married three weeks later as planned. She was sick or something, was the excuse, but obviously there was more to it.

According to my dad they are still seeing each other, although she did not come to Thanksgiving this year; we haven’t seen her since Easter of last year when she came unexpectedly. Who knows what’s really going on with that. Honestly, who cares.

I think my main point in sharing this part of the story is just to show once again how my dad makes bad decisions and thinks about himself above all else. I know the story may seem like bits and pieces but as it all falls together it just shows a selfish man and how he has pushed his entire family away, despite them trying to help him again and again.

To be continued…

In an effort to fully be able to write what happened this week regarding my dad, I really need to give some background. I also thought that maybe by revisiting events from my past, and being able to process and think about them again, it may help me in the challenges ahead.

So.. for as long as I remember growing up, I pretty much knew my parents would someday get divorced. It was never an “if” for me, it was a “when.” I even distinctly remember talking to my friend from elementary school about divorce, because his parents were divorced. My dad was never really involved in raising us, my mom was the one to do everything around the house, get us to school and activities, help us with our homework. With eight kids, that’s hard enough when you have a helpful and involved spouse, I honestly don’t know how she managed what she did on her own with so little help from him.

I only have one real “positive” memory of my dad actually BEING a dad growing up. I was home sick one day and I am not sure why he was the one there, but as I threw up he held my hair back.

Sad, right? The only positive memory of my dad is that he held my hair as I puked.

My parents didn’t communicate much at all. Things were generally left unsaid until it escalated to a point of an argument. I think that was the main problem in their relationship. The other main problem is my dad is extremely selfish.

We always had hand-me-downs, and what we did get “new” was often from a thrift store. This really isn’t a big deal, you make do with what you have. What was a big deal is that my dad always had nice things. And it wasn’t just like a few nice suits to wear to work, it was always more than necessary. Hidden electronics. Multiple pairs of shoes, when the kids all pretty much had one pair for play, one for church. I remember finding a little game system, like a Game Boy, hidden in his room. Why a grown man needs a Game Boy, I don’t know. Especially 1) when his kids don’t have much and b) when he feels the need to hide it.

There are so many examples of his selfishness: he had special laundry detergent that was used for his clothes, while we all used something cheap from Costco; he had special nice fluffy towels, while we all used old towels that often were ripped or worn bare; he had a special universal remote control that he would take back in his room when he was done watching tv.

My dad ran up major credit card debt and my parents had to file bankruptcy. Money from my mom’s inheritance went to paying off my dad’s debt.

Besides the selfishness, my dad is also very impatient and has a temper. Kids are noisy, messy and annoying. When we would be playing, my dad would snap at us, yelling to be quiet with no prior warning. He kicked over tables, leaving a mess behind. He kicked a hole in the wall in one of the bedrooms. I had nightmares of my dad shoving me into the wall in the dining room.

What always hurt the most as a kid, was the way he was at church. People would make comments to me about my family, how lucky I was. They would talk about my dad like he was a saint, a wonderful and generous man. And I would think, WHO ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? The saying about not knowing what happens behind closed doors was so true in my life. He had a “public” face and a “private” face. I always thought that you SHOULD give your best self to the people you love, to your family. Why was it that his best self was reserved for everyone else? Why was it that he cared more about the appearance of having a happy family than actually having a happy family? Why did he care so much about what everyone thought about him, except what his family thought about him?

To be continued…

So.. yeah, I’m trying to tell myself no pressure, but this is my 200th post (including photoblog) so I feel like I need to be uber* creative. Instead of being creative though, I’m going to re-post something I originally posted 6 years ago today, the day Tom & I almost died.

We went to the beach today and my camera died.

We got there in the early- to mid-afternoon. It was so beautiful. It was sunny and warm with a slight breeze. I had thought it would be cold so I didn’t plan to get wet so I didn’t bring an extra pair of clothes (mistake #1). We ate a yummy lunch and then walked down to the beach. Mom picked a spot and we said “Are you sure you want to be this close?” and she said this is where she was staying and we were free to move if we wanted. We stayed (mistake #2). Even though Ruth told us not to, Tom and I went out to the water (mistake #3).

We had only planned on getting a little wet, or at least, I had, probably him too. Anyway we played a little “Red Light, Green Light.” Tom said, “Green light” and we ran towards the water and then Ruth yelled “RED LIGHT!” and we stopped.. then Tom said, “Green light” so we ran towards the water again and then “Red light” and we stopped.. then he said, “Green light” and we turned and ran back cause there was a wave.. well I thought I could outrun it. But soon it was coming up too fast and I was like “oh well, I’ll get a little wet.”

A little wet.

It looked so small and yet it crashed up to my waist making me fall a little. As I got up I saw the same wave hit Tom and he stumbled a little as well. I looked straight ahead and realized the wave was going to hit all our stuff. And boy did it.

My first thought was, “Tom and I are going to die on family day**.” But then I realized we were going to be ok. Then I remembered my camera was in my bag. The bag that just got hit by a huge wave.

I ran so fast. Faster than I ever have, and yet I was so slow because the waves were still waist high. I kept screaming “MY BAG! MY BAG!” Mom and Ruth were both scrambling to get their things and looking for my bag at the same time.

I ran up there and finally grabbed it out of the water. It was soaked. Luckily, the pockets are somewhat water-proof so my make up, medicine and floppy disks all survived.

My camera was in the main pocket. The one that basically just has a flap over it.

It was full of sand and salt water. I pulled out the camera and sand was everywhere. The battery wouldn’t come out (I think sand had gotten it jammed in there) and it wouldn’t turn on.

Tom finally got the battery out when we walked back to the car. It was hot and smelled.

Of course I was soaked. I used the shower somewhat at the beach (it’s not really a shower, it’s a spot for surfers to hose off) to get as much sand as possible off me and off my clothes and shoes and bag.

I had to ride home in soaking wet clothes. 2 hours in the car.

Not fun, not fun at all.

This is probably one of those things we’ll sit back and laugh at later on in life. I hope anyway. Tom & I did laugh a little about how silly we looked and how shocked we were.

I don’t think the camera is going to make it. There was sand and salt water everywhere. And there is water in the lens. I only had this camera a little over a year. I’m so sad.

Now I have to save up and buy a new one. I was already planning to buy a new camera but I had been hoping to have this one also.

Stupid wave.

*I have always wanted to use the word “uber” but never thought I was cool enough. I have never, ever, said it in real life and this is the first time I’ve actually written it. I don’t know if I’ll use it again because half of me feels proud I finally said it and half of me is saying I still have time to edit…

** “Family Day” was a day my family celebrated because it was the anniversary of the day my family was sealed in the Mormon temple. Yeah, we don’t really celebrate that day anymore.