This is about Hawaii except it isn't really about Hawaii.

This post is long overdue. It's been about a month now since I came back from Hawaii and I still haven't posted about it. I just haven't really known what to say about the trip. It was great. Tiring. Fun. Exhausting. Beautiful. Stressful. Relaxing. Hectic. Simple. Eye-opening. Momentous. See what I mean? How am I even going to explain any of that? Maybe I should just end this post now and hope those adjectives suffice.

No, no, no. This trip deserves more than eleven adjectives.

Last month, I met my mom and sister at Intercontinental Airport in Houston to accompany them to Honolulu (my Aunt Ernie also met up with us later in Honolulu.) Stef was going to start college at Brigham Young University- Hawaii in about a week. Most of Stefanie's friends had already started classes at their respective schools in Texas. She was the one to see all of them go while she waited patiently for September 7th when we were to leave for Hawaii. That day had come and her eyes were puffy from her own goodbyes. It was time to go.

Once we landed in Honolulu, we met up with one of my mom's good friends, Beth, at the car rental place near the airport. Though we were exhausted (I had left my house in Georgia around 3am and had been flying for ten hours), it was only about noon in Hawaii and we had the rest of the day ahead of us, packed with things to do. First item on the list was Stefanie's job orientation on campus in Laie, about an hour's drive from the airport which was perfect since the orientation started in, oh, about an hour. We sped off to Laie, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the lush, green mountains, amazed by the trees, the deep red dirt (that stains white shirts really well), and then the water. Oh that water. The water was so blue and it stretched out as far as we could see. We saw mountains juxtaposed with the beach and the many green trees and plants and I realized how Hawaii was the combination of all the places I'd lived except perfected-- Galveston's warm beaches, Utah's towering mountains, the abundant trees of both Seattle and Athens. Hawaii was a combination of all the things I loved. And then I kicked myself for deciding to go to BYU in Provo when I could've gone to BYU-Hawaii. Blah, blah, yeah, my life would be completely different right now if I'd gone there instead. But look!

I mean, seriously.
Hawaii's beautiful. There's no doubt. I could write several posts about the beauty of that place and I could write several posts about all the things we did there. But those aren't the things I wanted to focus on, which is a little funny, by the way, considering that in anticipation of this trip all I could think about was how beautiful Hawaii was and of all the fun things I was planning on doing there and just how excited I was to be there. It was Hawaii! People dream about going there. Ever since my last trip to Oahu, I certainly did. I was finally going back and it was going to be an awesome vacation.

My expectations were set much too high for the purpose of our trip. We were taking Stef to college. We weren't on a vacation. And during the time it took me to realize this, I was grumpy and selfish. It didn't help that I really wasn't getting enough sleep but even that isn't a good enough excuse for my initial attitude. Here's a shout out to my mom and Stef for tolerating me while I was being such a bum. Thanks guys!

When I stopped being a brat for the most part (hey, I was still sleep-deprived) and started looking beyond myself, I saw a few things I hadn't been paying attention to. Like the fact that my sister was in Hawaii to start FREAKING COLLEGE. Wasn't she just starting high school, like yesterday? I heard this stuff all the time growing up. Still do. "I can't believe how much you've grown!" "You were just a baby when I last saw you." "I remember when you were this high." And then the person holds her hand up to her knee or her waist to indicate just how small you were and then grabs your cheek between her fingers and makes such a weird face at you while calling you cute that you have to remind yourself to not run away because this is one of your mom's oldest friends and she's just trying to be nice. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about.

Well, I was on the other side of that exchange this time, minus the cheek grabbing. Stefanie was starting college? When did she graduate high school? When did she go to high school? She finished middle school already? But I remember when she watched Gullah Gullah Island and Blue's Clues and Little Bear and she had that doll I gave her for a present, Lucy, I think she named her, and she had that Barbie workbook she never worked on even though I pretended to be her teacher. I remember picking her up out of her crib and racing outside one day because my dad burned potatoes on the stove and I thought the house was going to burn down. I remember when she said "lellow" instead of "yellow" and "hangabooger" instead of "hamburger." I remember her obsession with Pocahontas. I remember her being too small for her school jumpers and the cute bob haircut she had and the big bows she wore in her hair. I remember jumping on our bed and turning our desk lamp so the light could shine on our wall and pretending we were on TV. And then I also remember those times I ignored her. I remember when siblings do that thing that siblings sometimes do and I hurt her feelings. And we grew apart because I pushed her away. But she never let go. And I'm so glad she didn't. Because I remember those times when she was this little *gestures to knee* and I don't want that to be all that I remember.

So there we were, in Hawaii, at the nearest Walmart (about a 45 minute drive from campus) buying stuff for her dorm, picking out school supplies, grabbing snacks off the shelves. And I just thought, was it really four years ago when Stef and the rest of my family were doing the same thing for me? Stefanie was an adult now. No question about it. And she was starting college. I watched her for the week and a half I was there. I saw the initial excitement and then the trepidation as the date of my mom's and my departure grew nearer. You could see it in her face. She couldn't wait to get going but wasn't quite ready to leave. She was excited but she was also scared and understandably so. Moving across an ocean to live in a place she had never even seen before? That girl is crazy. Crazy awesome, that is. Crazy courageous. Crazy amazing. Or maybe just amazing, no crazy. Stefanie is amazing. Yes, that sounds right.

While the Hawaiian sunsets were painted with every beautiful color you could imagine and the weather was perfect and the fruit was ripe and sweet and delicious and the people were friendly, it was my sister who amazed me the most while I was in Hawaii. She made friends easily, her bubbly personality burst through her nervousness, she went to work at the Polynesian Cultural Center, she went to her classes. I watched her and thought about how much she'd grown in those years I was away at college. I walked her around the campus to all of her classrooms the day before school started (I guess I read maps better than she can) and thought about when we were little and I would hold her hand while waiting for our mom to pick us up after school. I didn't need to hold her hand anymore. That realization alone made my brain go haywire. And I wanted to take her back to Texas. I wanted her to go to school in Georgia where she could live with me and Brenden. And I suddenly really, really didn't want to let go. Stefanie is the baby of our family. She was the one we always protected. I saved her from the nonexistent potato house fire! But I guess babies grow up and they learn how to pronounce "yellow" and "hamburger" and they let their hair grow and they switch from jumpers to skirts and they drive cars and sometimes they move away and go to college so they can keep growing.

Hawaii is fertile ground for Stef. She is going to grow so much there. She has already grown so much there. I'm happy I got to help her get settled in. I'm happy I got to help her figure out her classes and schedule. I'm happy I got to be there for her first day of college. I'm happy I matured enough to realize what a remarkable little sister and amazing friend I have in her.

Hey Stef! Guess what! I think you're AWESOME!

A few pictures of us through the years:

Dancing (or something like it)

College visiting (I was really excited.)

Girls camping

Pink posing

And a few pictures of us from Hawaii:

Dole Plantation Visiting

Luau-ing

More dancing (or something like it)

Waikiki Beach-ing

Posing while other tourists were stopping and staring

Ladies of the Family-ing

And here's a list of a few of my favorite things about that trip (besides being with my mom and sister):

• Staying in Haleiwa on Hawaii's North Shore. The town itself reminded me a bit of the Philippines and that made me very happy.
• The Polynesian Cultural Center
• The Ala Moana Mall Food Court where 10 of the 16 restaurants served Asian or Hawaiian food: 4 Japanese, 2 Chinese, 1 Vietnamese, 1 Korean, 1 Hawaiian, and 1 Thai. Yes, I counted.
• Driving down the Likelike Highway
• Visiting Pearl Harbor
• Fruit stands. Farmer's markets. Fresh fruit every day all the time.
• Light rain every day and the accompanying rainbows
• Wearing my hair down and not feeling weird about having such long hair.
• The beach, duh.

(Some more of my Hawaii photos are in my Facebook album.)

A Haircut (finally!)

Well.

We determined it was time to end our little hair growing experiment. Brenden's beard is still growing strong but we have finally chopped off a good portion of the hair on top of his head. We had lots of friendly reminders that Brenden's hair was getting a bit longer than we usually let it. A big reason it took us so long to cut his hair was my reluctance to hold a pair of scissors to his head. I have a tendency to be a bit of a perfectionist and I was SO SCARED I was going to ruin Brenden's hair and perhaps take out someone's eye in the process, that I simply let it grow. I pretended the longer hair went well with his beard. (Not saying it didn't, honey!) Also, during those rare moments I had worked up enough courage to think about cutting his hair and I'd asked Brenden if he wanted a haircut, he usually didn't. He had homework he needed to work on. Or we just wanted to read books. Or watch a movie. Or save an eyeball. And so his hair grew. And it grew and it grew and it grew. To make a long story short, it didn't stop growing. The hair on the back of his head was now long enough to tuck into the top of his nice collared shirts and we both knew it was inevitable. There was no way we were going to be able to hold out until Thanksgiving break when his mom or grandmother could cut his hair nicely. I was going to cut his hair or die trying.

We went in search of the haircutting kit Grandma and Grandpa Binns had given us as a gift. We grabbed a chair from our computer table and set it down in the kitchen. I wrapped our fancy haircutting apron around Brenden and then I cut his hair.

The End.

Oh. Just kidding. It was definitely not that simple. Back to where I put the apron on Brenden. I proceeded to walk around him, holding the nice sharp scissors in my hand, worrying out loud, muttering, "I don't know what to do. I have no idea what I'm doing. Oh my goodness, I'm going to ruin your hair. Your hair is going to be awful. I am so sorry." This process took about fifteen or so minutes. Brenden initially tried to comfort me telling me I could do it but his words of encouragement grew to agitation the longer I circled him while he sweated under the hot apron. "Just make it shorter. We can shave it off if we need to." With this option now available to me, I took heart and began snipping away. Snip snip snip. Snip. Some more snipping. There were quite a few breaks while I was cutting his hair where I repeated my pre-haircutting speech. Brenden informed me I was not helping him feel good about his haircut and I informed him he needed to be a bit more encouraging towards me because frankly, "I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING." Also, I'm the one wielding the scissors.

We got through it somehow. It took me an hour and a half. Really. It did. When Brenden took off the apron, the thing was covered in his sweat. I couldn't stand to touch it. So gross. And I began to feel a little sympathy for my poor husband sitting with that apron on him for an hour and a half sweating like he had just run a marathon in Houston in the middle of August. But then I remembered that it was me who had to take full responsibility if his hair looked like total crap and I felt completely justified in having him sit in that chair for so long. I mean, I wanted his hair to look good. It wasn't my fault the apron was a heater. Geez.

Anyway, the Before and After pictures, of course:

What I didn't tell you was that somewhere in that haircut Brenden also became Batman.

His hair is still a little longer than it usually is when he gets a haircut but he says he likes it. I trust that Brenden's telling the truth but I think part of the reason he likes it is because if we keep it the way it is, he doesn't have to wear the apron of death again immediately. I'm fine with that. I like to know what I'm doing most of the time and when I hold those scissors all of my self-assuring thoughts fly out of my brain and take cover under Brenden's apron-- completely out of sight and apparently very warm.

I don't think it turned out too bad. In fact, I think I did okay. The shorter hair definitely balances with the beard better at least.

DIY Fun!

Since Brenden and I moved into our new place we have been short a single nightstand. This wasn't a problem at our old, closet-sized apartment when the only logical place for our bed was shoved up into a corner against the wall. We only needed one nightstand. We didn't have a bedroom furniture set so we kinda pieced things together as we collected them. That's how most of our house is right now- a conglomeration of cheap particle board, real wood, and plastic. It's a one-of-a-kind collection from IKEA, thrift stores, and family donations. We once read a woman's motto in a home decorating magazine, "My only rule is that there are no rules." Out of necessity, we have adopted this as our practice and have done so with pride.
See Exhibit A. (Click image for enlarged view.)

This couch was a lovely find at our local Goodwill. It's a good size, sturdy, and comfy. We'll probably get a slipcover for it eventually, but right now Brenden really likes its look. And I must admit, it's definitely unique.

Anyway, back to our nightstand dilemma. We have been to several thrift stores in the area, checked out craigslist a few times, and gone to IKEA. We've looked up garage sales and even planned our routes but when that Saturday morning comes, we haven't quite had it in us to get out of bed before 7am. (This has happened three times so far.) And so we have remained nightstand-less. It's a terrible place to be.

We were hoping to find something along the lines of this:

Or even just some simply shelving on it like this one:

But this past Saturday after a full day of driving around town to several thrift stores and finding absolutely nothing useful, Brenden had a brilliant idea.

I thought it was a great idea but apparently Brenden was joking. I insisted we do it and after sketching out some plans, he was convinced. And so we did it.

Cardboard Nightstand

For this project, all you need are:
- two boxes (one large and one small that will fit snugly into the larger one)
- box cutter
- packing tape
- pencil (OPTIONAL)

The actual process of making this nightstand is pretty self-explanatory so I'll just skip the tedious details. Here's a picture of our work in progress:

We considered keeping the box flaps for the smaller box to make a cabinet but we couldn't figure out a way to keep the flaps closed. So we cut them off.

And here's a picture of the finished product (Paris lamp and all!):

Look at that craftsmanship! We made sure to keep some of the original details of the boxes we used, like the wording on the side indicating "THIS SIDE UP."

(You may have noticed in the above picture our lack of a headboard. Another DIY project in the future? Perhaps.)

"Everybody, I know you can believe in yourself!"

Tomorrow I'm taking the GRE. I'm feeling uneasy about it, which is strange considering how much I actually enjoy standardized testing. No, you didn't read that wrong. I enjoy standardized testing. Favorite week of school in elementary and middle school (omitting Catholic Schools' Week, of course, oh you poor souls who never experienced that joy) was the week we took our standardized tests. We were allowed to have snacks in our classrooms and there was no homework! All week long! And in seventh grade I volunteered to take the ACT for some Duke TIP thing. But then for some reason, once I got to high school, we no longer had specific standardized testing, no TAKS or whatever. I'm not really sure why. Instead, my beloved standardized tests came by taking the PSAT freshman through junior year. And then, just for fun, I took the SAT my sophomore year with a friend who was taking it for college applications. Because I just couldn't get enough of my standardized testing. I ended up taking the SAT a total of three times and the ACT once (unless you count that time in seventh grade.)

And then the testing stopped. At least until about a month and a half ago when I decided I was going to give myself a month to prepare for the GRE (there was no way I was going to study while I was in Hawaii for a week and a half.) Right after I signed up for the exam Brenden and I headed out to Barnes and Noble, seeing as we now had a good excuse to spend money there (I always feel guilty buying new books knowing I have unread novels, memoirs, poetry, drama lining my shelves already), and bought a GRE prep book. I've had great fun with this prep book- learning clever ways to outsmart ETS (the evil testmakers of the GRE) and, you know, figuring out more of those standardized test questions. I even signed up for a free practice test with Kaplan which I took on the computer, simulating the actual test day procedures (though getting the program to work on the computer took awhile which frustrated me to no end. I actually gave up and took a shower to get ready to go shopping instead while Brenden fixed the problem and got it up and working. What a good husband supporting me in my love of standardized tests.) I did fairly well on the practice exam and was so pleased with my score I didn't study at all the next week. Overconfidence, much? BAD. I did pick up the prep book again, I mean, come on! I paid twenty bucks for this soon-to-be-absolutely-useless-to-me practice book, I needed to at least get my money's worth out of it. I studied some more. Did a little better on the book's practice exam. I'll probably review some more stuff tomorrow and then I'll take the test at 1pm.

And then it will be over. And I won't have to worry about it anymore. And I will be FREE of the GRE! (I said that in a sing-song voice in my head, so that's how you should read it. I wasn't quite sure how else to convey those directions except by explicitly stating them.)

Thank you for letting me rant. This was a post to calm my nerves and remember that, HEY! I CAN DO THIS! And because you actually read through all of that, you deserve something nice. So here's a cute boy who's inspired me and given me confidence in myself. Enjoy!

Yeah...

I've been meaning to make this for awhile now. Is this totally puerile or what?
(go go GRE vocab!)
edited 10/5/11: A better aligned gif file! Thanks Alan!