Say Ahhhhkward

I did a very grownup thing a couple weeks ago.

I went to my very own doctor appointment. Without my mommy.

She couldn't make it, so she gave me the insurance card and a copay and sent me on my way. Because I don't have my license yet, my grandma came with me and a few of my sisters tagged along, so I wasn't totally alone, but it was still weird.

Because when I finally found the stinking doctor's office (which, in fact, was not the ESD building...) I was told that my appointment really wasn't at 2:30, but 2:20. Then it took a while for her to verify things. Then I had to fill out a bunch of stuff.

As I scribbled in the spaces, the nurse came out. "Kaylee Beutler?"
I awkwardly stood up with my clipboard. "Do you want me to fill this out first?"
"No, just come on back." Then she mumbles, "You're already late, so..."

Ok, so at this point we aren't friends.

The door closes behind me and I'm all alone.
I uncomfortably followed her back to the scale, and she just waited by it expectantly. I just stood there like an amish kid in an elevator.

"Get on the scale."
They didn't use the stethoscope on me that day, but her icy voice had the same effect on my mood.

I stepped onto the scale and she demanded I put my hand out so she could hook that little oxygen-thingie to my finger.

"You need to put down your purse," she said flatly.

I just wanted to do what she said so she wouldn't hurt me, so I tried to put my purse down. Which wouldn't have been a problem, had she asked me before she hooked me to the oxygen-thingie. I didn't know what to do, so I awkwardly shrugged my purse off my shoulder and let it wait at my wrist, as it threatened to zipline down the cord that stood in its way to freedom.

Even though she didn't outwardly roll her eyes, I could sense her entire being casting itself up to the heavens and asking, "why me?"

She grimly announced which room I was in (Room 13, go figure), and I walked to it like a prisoner awaiting their execution.

Something told me it wasn't the end of this awkward encounter, and I was right.

Because she sat down and asked me all sorts of questions I didn't know and probably should have. I felt like I was on a trivia show for my own life and I was losing.
"Do you have any allergies to medication?"
"Um, Sulfa... I think..."
"You...think?"
"Well, I was a baby, so I don't really remember..."

"What pharmacy do you go to?"
"Uh... I'm not sure..." I laughed nervously. She looked at me like she'd just asked me my name and I gave her that answer.
"I think it's Fred Meyer...?"
"Ok... which one?"

At this point she hated me.

When the interrogation was over with, she huffed out of the room, but didn't take with her the awkwardness that staled the air.

I went through all that to be told I wasn't drinking enough water. (Which is good, actually). But... yeah.

I learned a little something that day: Never. I mean ever. Be late for a doctor appointment. Unless you need exercise and the kind of motivation being chased by an angry mob can give you.

Memory Monday: Chinese Poison

This story shares the same properties of most medical conditions: It’s embarrassing, but it needs to be told. (Mostly for my love of dramatizing the heck out of my pathetic, embarrassing endeavors. ;)

First off, I’m not really what you’d call a pessimist. I’m normally somewhat optimistic with bouts of short-lived pessimism. I guess you could say that I’m like Oregon: I could be sunny one moment and rainy the next. I also tend to jump to conclusions.

So with that knowledge, we can move on to the story where I was almost poisoned by Chinese people (or something like that...)

When I was 13, my sister, Karissa, started taking up art lessons.The studio was located in a little shopping center with several stores, delis and random surrounding businesses. It became something we’d all look forward to: Karissa would have her fill of acrylics and canvases, we’d all walk around for a while and look at the other stores, and if we didn’t wait at the deli during the lesson, we’d stop there afterwards and have lunch.

The deli was right next to the studio, and was owned by one of the nicest Asian couples ever. They were always very cheerful and welcoming, had really good food, and a great collection of fashion magazines I read through while we waited for Karissa. I don’t remember us talking to the owners a *ton*, but I remember my mom and the owner’s wife chatting and enjoying each other’s company on a few occasions.

It was one week in particular that I might have, more or less, distorted this sweet little picture into some sort of psychotic tale from a poorly-directed "Lifetime" movie.

It was your typical day in April, right before Easter. We had our typical art class day, and while we waited for her, we made our typical stop at the deli. Mom visited with the deli lady again (I don’t think we ever got her name...), and we sat and ate our sandwiches. By the time we were ready to leave, “Nice Asian Deli Lady” offered us some Easter candy from a basket. We eagerly obliged her by taking some (I mean... we didn’t want to be *rude*...). We thanked her, then we went happily on our way to pick up Karissa.

Before we left the parking lot, we all just sort of sat in our car. I handed Karissa her piece of candy, and went to open mine.

I remember the wrapper looked a little unusual, almost somewhat peeled open... but I didn’t really say anything. I opened it up and popped my bite-sized peanut butter cup into my mouth. But something was still amiss.

“Hm...” I said out loud, “This tastes kind of funny...”

“Maybe they poisoned it!” Karissa teased.

I laughed it off, but there was something about the suggestion that hung humid in the damp caves of my mind. You know... that part of your brain where all the dark, haunting things remain?

I brushed it off and ate more candy.

It wasn’t until later that something felt... off. Something wasn’t right. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I just felt kind of... weird...

Then I started to get a headache.

It was at that point that my previously ridiculous thought I had earlier clawed its way out of the dark caves of my mind and started to gnaw at my logic. The words echoed in my head once more... “Maybe they poisoned it!”

Maybe... they poisoned it...

...Poisoned...

Oh my gosh. I’ve been poisoned!

See, at this point my logic had only been slightly injured by its attacker, so I still didn’t want to look like an idiot in worrying about it too much. So I started out calm. “Hey mom... I know this might sound dumb... but do you think there was something... *wrong*... with the candy I ate at the deli? I feel kind of weird.”

She assured me that everything was fine, and she didn’t think it was anything to be worried about.

I waited a little bit, then I asked her again, just to make sure.

The battle between my logic and worry raged on, and it wasn’t looking pretty. At this point, logic had lost its limbs, and was inching helplessly away from the beast who sought after its life. What if she were wrong? What if her daughter has been poisoned and she’s just letting it go?

So I asked her again. And again. And possibly again after that. She didn’t care! Why wasn’t she worried? Horror stories I was told of deranged psychos messing with kids’ Halloween candy came into play at some point.

Alas, worry had completely ingested logic, leaving behind nothing but a few sad, useless remains.

It was at that point I was a blubbering pile of worry, crying on the bathroom floor and awaiting my impending death that was to come at any moment. I was so young... oh, woe was my judgement that led me to eat that tainted candy!

My mom finally found me and was able to console me, and I began to feel a little better about the whole situation.

I finally calmed down and called it a night, slipping into my nice, warm covers and watching a movie.

...Only to be awakened by a fever and the chills.

Yeah. Wanna know the real reason I felt weird? It wasn’t because I was poisoned by sweet, Asian deli owners.

I had the flu.

So... next time you see me worrying about something that sounds completely ridiculous, just slap me. Hold nothing back. I’ll probably thank you later.

Photo Cred:

Skull

Piggy

i's homeskeweled

nope, none a dat fancy book-lernin for me.

s'ok though, i knowed the alfabet, i's can reed, do rithmetick, and i's the goodest speller in dese here parts. not to brag or nuffin. :)

(Ouch. That sentence was actually painful to write. I think I winced every time I didn't capitalize...) :P

When I tell people I'm homeschooled I get one of a few different reactions.

"Wow, that's awesome! I wish I was homeschooled..." (Or if they're an adult, I get "That's great! I wish I could homeschool my kids...")

"Yikes, that sucks... I'm so sorry."

Or they just nod their head read slow, smile cautiously and say, "Oh, that's nice..." :P

I think homeschooling, like pretty much everything, has its stereotypes. When we don't know a lot about something, we're bound to either play guessing games on how it really is, or take another misinformed person's word on it.

... Or we watch a lot of TV.

For a while, I got really annoyed at how homeschoolers are portrayed on TV (Ok, I still do, sometimes...), But now I'm able to laugh about it more. It's ridiculous how ridiculous they make us look. :P

So for those who aren't sure, homeschoolers aren't like this

... Nor are we like this

(Although, in 2009 we scored 37 percent higher than public schoolers on standardized achievement tests... ;)

And for gosh sake, we're nothing like this

Basically, we're like public schoolers in a lot of ways. Why? Because mostly these things aren't a homeschooler/public schooler thing... they're a human being thing.

We're all different. There's a wide diversity of homeschoolers out there. Some of them are strict, public-school-at-home homeschoolers, others are un-schoolers, others are somewhere in-between.

We aren't all anti-social. Actually, some of the most talkative people I know are homeschooled. It's not a homeschool thing; it greatly depends on an individual's personality. Some people are introverts, some people are extroverts, and you're going to find that just about anywhere. So come up and say 'hi,' it's ok. I'm not going to bite, and I know you don't.

We have "cliques." Well... in a sense. I think that people just naturally have tendencies to hang out with other like-minded people, so you get groups. We have the "techies", the "brainiacs", the "athletes", the "girlie-girls"... but I think the only difference here, is that these "cliques" aren't exclusive. That I've seen and experienced, homeschoolers seem to be more apt to welcome people into their groups, and we're not restricted to that group... we can bounce around and talk to everyone. :) People also aren't reduced to a mere title, and can be themselves more.

We live everywhere. Sure, if you ever somehow got stranded in a barren dessert outside humanity, I'm sure there'd be a homeschool family there that could help you out. ;)

But we don't just live in the middle of nowhere. Ironically enough, I live right by a high school.

We aren't child prodigies. Although homeschoolers seem to be a little more focused on academics than public schoolers are, that doesn't mean we're all going to win a nobel prize. And on the flip side, we're not idiots, either; I can count to ten and tie my shoelaces just fine, thank you. ;) Truth is... we have our weak subjects, and our strong subjects. I do pretty well with English, Writing, Spelling and Grammar; I'm not too keen on Math, Science, and History. Everyone I know, homeschool or public school, is the same way.

Anyway... there's my little rant. :) Probably majority of you who read this are homeschooled anyway. But hey, you can probably relate!