meet little amy

I have a new blog header. Isn't she just about the loveliest little thing? My fabulous friend Mo Jackson surprised me with her. She made it so that I can change her all around like a little Amy paperdoll. I animated her so that her wings flap a little. I wish I could hold her on my finger like a butterfly.

If I had that little version of myself now in my hand, I would tell her so many things. I would tell her to be herself, even though that means being wierd a lot. I would tell her not to listen to mean ol' George Case and all of those other mean boys who liked to daily torment her. I would tell her to keep a diary because I really wish I could read about her now. I would also tell her how lucky she is to have two of the very best friends in Mia Reid and Tonya Wajciechowski.

I have two stories to tell you about this little Amy, of about the age of that picture in the banner. The first one is bittersweet. Although it really hurt me at the time, I do know what a funny story it is. It's okay to laugh just please scroll down so that little Amy doesn't see you. She's very tenderhearted.

I'm from a very, very small town. There were only 49 classmates and almost all of them I knew from kindergarten through graduation. I rode on Bus 8, Second Trip. One day something really terrible happened on Bus 8, Second Trip. It is permanently inked in my mind as perhaps the most humiliating experience of my life. If not that, it was at least the most humiliating of all of my then 8 years.

As I sat quietly in my seat, staring out the window and daydreaming, unbeknownst to me, George Case was filling my curly hair with straw that he was picking from his busted seat. He must have been doing it for the entire trip because he built quite a nest. Once or twice I felt something and turned my head but I was used to spit balls and other meanness and I knew it was best to ignore these things.



And then it started...a little tweat and then another. And then full out laughter. Everyone, every single one on the bus, except me, laughing. My sister even. Et tu Jessica? And when I walked out of the bus and turned back to look, the bus driver too. I ran all the way home, hot tears streaming down my face.



The second story is not sad. My mother used to make all of my clothes. She would find a pattern she really liked and then make a bunch of clothes with different material. In second grade, she had a pattern for reversable quilted vest and pant sets. She also made me a round of wrap-around skirts. My favorite was the same color as my favorite soup, cream of tomato with a little bit of cheese. I loved to wear shorts underneath. As I ran outside for recess, I would strip off the skirt and then tie the wrap-around skirt around my neck to wear it as a cape. Isn't that a great idea?

p.s. I know I said I had something to tell you about (with pictures) but it didn't work out. Sorry to be a tease.

p.p.s. I used Mo Jackson's doo dads to make the dear diary page.

p.p.p.s. If you see George Case, kick him in the shin for me. hard.