“Living at Home is Hard to Due”

Let’s face it, college is hard, college is so hard that at times you just want to throw your 100 pound book across the room, or maybe for those 21 year olds, drink a whole bottle of Crown Royal. It’s difficult to focus on studies in your own dorm room surrounded by parties, hot guys, and new experiences. It’s even more difficult to focus when you live at home with your family in a house full of stuff. So when you have a major paper that is due on one of your two days that you drive all the way to campus, it becomes very difficult to keep up. My house has cable, internet, a fridge full of real food, a big comfy bed, among a million other things right at the tips of my fingers. In a dorm room you don’t have access to half the stuff that your home conveniently has for “free.” Luckily, I am blessed with parents that have spoiled my selfish ass and haven’t kicked me out of the house.

I find that when I have a major paper due I save it till the last night, after a long day of work because yes, that does indeed sound like an amazing plan. This is my fourth year of college; normally I have one class I struggle with, but not this semester. This semester everything that I have to do has become an obstacle that just does not override “The Club” in importance. I have found myself ditching papers to go out and dance every Saturday night, maybe it’s because I just turned 21 this year or maybe it’s because I have stopped caring. Perhaps, it’s because I’ve discovered amazing things called life, guys, and friends. Somehow the two years I lived at school I stayed out of trouble, but now that I’m at home I have frequent run-ins with the cops and drunken escapades.

Four years in college is like an eternity… an eternity in hell that is. If I don’t come out of this and get an amazing job I might just run away to Mexico where I can sit back relax maybe house sit, teach some English to Spanish children (something that I’ve always wanted to do but am too poor to do… oh wait, I guess now I’m even more poor after four years of loans.) L

Time to Grow Up...or Not?

As a 21 year old my friends are growing up, me not so much. They are all in serious relationships, living in their own apartments, moving away, graduating college, and having children. I have yet to accomplish any of these things, is it me? I like not having the adult responsibilities. I like not having to worry about paying bills or the next big step. I like not having a baby at home to worry about. I’ve always been considered the responsible one, but maybe I’m not. Maybe I’ve avoided any sort of responsibilities and avoided any sort of trouble. Looking at it now makes me think that I’ve wasted a lot of time.

            I didn’t realize just how little growing up I’ve done till recently when I watched a baby for the first time. I’ve babysat before but never a little one year old. As I try to spoon feed the baby spaghettios I realize I’ve never had to feed a baby. Getting some of it their mouth is an accomplishment, in between her fascination of the TV screen and juice bottle. I’ve never had to play endless amounts of hide and seek, patience is definitely a virtue. I’ve never had to decide if an object is ok for her to have her little fingers on, hoping it won’t find its way into her tiny little mouth. I’m completely shocked by the things that they find fascinating such as single strands of hair and the necklace that dangles from my neck.  I’m surprised by how similar to grown men they are when they grab at everything and have to stick it in their mouths, or how the word “no” flies over their heads. But in the end there smiles and giggles are everything.

            Lately I’ve been wondering what it would be like to have a baby, to live on my own, to have a real job. I wonder if I could handle it, if I’d still be responsible or fall apart completely under pressure. I’m beginning to think these things aren’t in the books for me, that I’m just going to skate by on life not having to face anything of major concern. I don’t want to skate alone anymore. I want the hassles if in the end there is someone looking at you like I’m their world.

Sneaky Business

When living at home as a 20 year old you must consider the downsides.

Privacy, we all love and want it occasionally. It’s hard to come by when you live “under someone else’s roof” or with anyone in general. When you have to sneak your goods into the house so that they don’t see just exactly what you’re spending your hard earned pay checks on, you have a problem. Recently I spent a large amount of money at my favorite store Victoria’s Secret, I excitedly looked to my friend “I only have to hide it from my sister, since my parents are out of town!” We then discussed how ridiculous it is that 20 year olds have to hide things from their parents.  My family doesn’t understand my addiction of buying things especially from VS whether it is panties, bras, perfumes, hoodies, and the list goes on… They think I can spend it on things I need, but in my mind I really need a large variety of bras.

           

The point is there is very little privacy while living with your parents. You can forget about having a private conversation with anyone because the whole house is going to end up hearing parts of it and it ends up being a game of telephone. The only time I get time to myself is when I snap at everyone about letting me read because obviously being part of a trashy romance novel is way better than life itself.

Their Muffins Bring me to the Store

Recently, I was handed my mother’s credit card and told to go grocery shopping. Confused I ask “Like, for the whole house?”

“Yes, get enough groceries for the next two weeks and take your sister.” Ugh, it was fine till the ‘take your sister part.’ My 14 year old sister drives me up the wall; sister bickering is taken to a whole new level in my house.

“Is there a list of things we need?” My mother shakes her head and tells me to make one, that’s part of the grocery shopping process, that and finding recipes ahead of time to find out what to buy. Frantically, I rush around our kitchen from fridge to cupboard, to freezer, back to fridge, back to cupboard. What a process.

Rushing around the kitchen trying to figure out what to buy wasn’t even the hard part. I had to figure in the spending limit. How does she do this!? Frustrated with the list making, I decide to wing it. I drag my sister out of the house and drive us to the local Hannaford (never will I be a Shaw’s person, Hannaford chocolate chip muffins are like heaven to me).

We enter Hannaford and immediately I’m in people’s way with the huge grocery cart and sister pinned to my sides. I blurt out sorry; the Mass-holes roll their eyes. Get out of my town! I want to scream. They stalk up like there is an ice storm coming; really they’re just spending a weekend in town for skiing. They rush around the store on the phones, “YEAH I GOT THE DOGS? YOU WANT BURGERS?!?” I roll my eyes to them.

“So you want a muffin?” I ask my sister, a giggle almost escapes and she rushes to the choices. I already won bonus points with her.

Hmm… fresh bread?  Fresh cheese?! Hell yes! Ok Emily calm down! You need to get real food to last for 2 weeks. “So if there is anything you want just grab it-well grab the Hannaford brand of course.”  We make our way through the store, picking out random things hoping I will later be able to put together a feast.

“So, this should be good right?” I look at my sister. We both look down at the cart, it’s full of lean cuisines, a massive amount of juices, the bakery items (which last a day tops), frozen snacks, bacon (the only meat). All in all it added up to about $70.

It was a long two weeks.

From Broil to Boil

After years of being banned from the kitchen I decided it was time to face my fear. I made a new year’s resolution to cook more. It wasn’t to cook anything extravagant. It was just a simple goal of actually cooking. My mother was excited and timid, timid because she was the one who banned me from the kitchen after the fire incident.  She was only aware of one of the incidents that occurred. I thought the “broil” button was the same as “boil.” It wasn’t, and it set all the pans in the oven on fire, instead of heating the water up like I wanted. The other incident was when a friend and I were making one of those oven top popcorns. I thought you had to open it. My friend corrected me and we sealed it back up, so we thought. The kernels popped out and under the burners, causing another fire. I decided that I no longer wanted to even attempt to cook even if it was pop-corn or macaroni and cheese, however, waiting for someone else to make food got very old and boring. It occurred to me that something had to be done.

I started with simple things like baking cupcakes or cookies for the guys at work. They were basic snacks that were as simple as add water, stir, and bake. After seeing how much my co-workers enjoyed the goodies, I decided I should try bigger and better things. It wasn’t easy and my mother was getting annoyed with all my stupid questions. Those questions included, “Is baking powder and baking soda the same?” or “Was I supposed to spray the pan?” “What’s the abbreviation for tablespoon?” Desserts were basic things; I still hadn’t even faced a dinner item that wasn’t a salad.

When 2012 rolled around I decided as a 20-year-old I should really know how to cook food. By food I meant meat. I had yet to ever touch raw meat. The idea of it really grossed me out, especially with my mother yelling, “Don’t touch anything! Wash your hands immediately!” I was beginning to think we would all end up in the hospital if I accidently touched something. She was annoyed, but at the same time my ignorance kept her amused. Among these were, “So this is what a cow’s butt feels like.” After the fear of touching it came the fear of cutting it. A slippery chicken breast and sharp knife didn’t sound like fun to me. After conquering that I had to face the oil when you put it in the hot pan. On a number of occasions my hands were covered in little red spots that I thought were mosquito bites. They were actually burns from the flying oil. After the process of preparing and cooking everything was the end result. Finally I got to taste what all my hard work had gone into and it was delicious.

It wasn’t an easy journey for me or my family but I like to think that I now could survive on real food and not TV dinners. I’ve actually done well since I haven’t set any more fires. Now I can proudly say that I can make chicken parmesan and stuffed shells along with yummy desserts from scratch. I guess you could call me the next Julia Child.

Welcome to my World,

Emily Holtgrefe

My Dog Charlie

The greatest day of my life was when we brought home our family dog, Charlie. One of the hardest parts about going away to school was leaving the little guy behind. We all fear that we’ll lose them when we leave. I’ve always remembered the movie My Dog Skip when it comes to this sore topic. If you’re not familiar with My Dog Skip maybe Marley & Me brings back the rush of emotional tears. It’s a hard topic to deal with since we get so connected to them.

On a lighter note, we spoil our pets. It’s in our human nature to baby our babies. In our house it’s taken to a whole new level.

Household Rules (Regarding Charlie)

1. Most mornings my mother finds it necessary to open my bedroom door (which almost always wakes me up) to allow him in. She sets a blanket out beside my bed, so he has a place to sleep (his favorite past time). The other morning I woke up to her digging under my bed, moving my personal things out of the way so he could have a place to lie down. Needless to say I was not pleased with her touching my things.

2. In our house Charlie comes first. Charlie gets fed kibble 3 times a day, breakfast time, dinner time, and snack time. When he finds it is time to eat, he reminds us by taking his bowl and throwing it in the air, lying with his paws in the bowl, while either licking or chewing on it until someone caves. I guess my families just easy because we all cave. It is a common rule in my house that if you have toast you must save the last bite for him, if you don’t my mother will actually go in the kitchen and find something to make it up to him.

3. Recently, I mentioned that Charlie has a throne of a bed. Well I failed to mention his other sleeping spots that are almost completely dedicated to him. My bed is by far his favorite and every time he curls up I feel the need to take pictures, because he’s just the cutest boy I’ve ever seen in my life. He also has a recliner downstairs in our den along with a couch, Charlie’s chair and Charlie’s couch. Nobody uses either of them except him, they are Charlie’s.

 4. In our house nobody, NOBODY, is allowed to have ice-cream without giving Charlie a scoop. It doesn’t matter on the flavor, he must have a bite or you will be severely punished.  (Desserts are a major issue in our house, I’ve begun a whole entry dedicated to this topic, and it is soon to be released.)

5. He gets special trips to the dump each week, of course, so he can smell all those wonderful smells. He also enjoys trips to the bank (to get his special bank treat) and long walks in the woods.

6. Charlie will not, under any circumstance (expect his tragic case of pneumonia) go to sleep without some sort of doggy treat. Then he must be tucked into his throne.

7. One must not throw away Charlie’s toy scraps. These are his toys, he worked hard to make them what they are today, scraps. As children, my sister and I were forced to get rid of toys if we no longer played with them, this is not the case for the baby.

8. Recently, Charlie was tragically struck by pneumonia. With this came pill time. Like a child, Charlie makes pill time impossible. He likes to spit the pill out. It’s a game, so he can have more treats. The trick to the game is sticking it in peanut butter on white bread, he can’t pick it out and my mom insists that he only likes white bread.

9. One must sing, “It’s Charlie’s birthday, go Charlie! It’s your birthday!” when he is rolling around on his back. It seems ridiculous, but my sister and I are almost guaranteed to belt it out. Another obnoxious thing we like to do is the cat call at him, since he’s definitely hot stuff.

These are just the top ridiculous things we do for our baby. Being a boomerang has its ups and downs but at least I get to see him almost every day. He’s getting old. It’s sad, just thinking about it makes me choke. We have to make arrangements to meet his age, now he no longer can jump up on the couch, so one of us will almost always sit on the floor with him. I don’t want to get emotional so I’ll just say if you don’t like the baby, I may just hold a grudge.

Welcome to my World,

Emily Holtgrefe

No More Easter Bunny?...

I’m mostly seeing this blog as a “get to know me blog” and since I really like to tell stories, even if they are pointless, and I really like to rant, here it goes.

This is a glimpse of my household.

"No more Easter bunny for you! No more Easter baskets, no more candy, you're 21." my mother tries to be serious. My sister and I laugh, she’s not fooling anyone. We’re the babies and we know it, well besides our family dog that seems to be of royal descent. No joke, this dog gets monthly doctor visits, while I haven’t been to the doctors since it was required freshmen year of high school. If you don’t believe me about how spoiled he really is you should see his “throne” as I like to refer to it. It consists of a dog bed (like any dog should have), multiple throw blankets, a pillow (that says Please Feed the Animals), a sheet, a towel (to tuck him in), a bathrobe (don’t ask), and my favorite, a down blanket. He is by far the favorite.

My first response (in my head of course)  to my mother’s comment about no longer loving her children, is “mother I am not 21, if I was 21 I would spend a whole lot less time here and a lot more time going out with all my friends who are all now 21.”

I've been hearing for about three years now that I will no longer be getting Easter baskets, Valentine's Day chocolates, birthday presents, or gift's from Santa. I have yet to see any of these amazing things come to an end and I don’t plan on it happening till I move out. When I make a comment about the topic, the response is, from my mother and my father, “find a boyfriend to buy you these things, it’s no longer our job.” I didn’t realize there comes a point in life in which you no longer feel the need to spoil your babies. I guess I’m already quite spoiled living at home anyway.

Yes, I sadly still live with my parents. I remember being a freshman in college and thinking, “wow what a loser he still lives with his parents and he’s 21.” Now I’m that loser but I’m not alone. I’ve seen many articles popping up about students that live at home even after attending college; we’re considered the “Boomerang generation.” Who’s to blame? When in doubt always blame the economy since it’s in the hole and it just keeps getting deeper. How anyone pays for school loans, along with all the other expenses that are necessary to live on your own is beyond me.

What is the real reason I haven’t considered getting an apartment? I like to think of it as my mother not being emotionally ready for me to move out. I’m the first born and once I move out, I’m afraid my mother won’t know what to do with herself, my sister may be a handful but she’s no me. That is definitely (hint of sarcasm) the main reason why I have yet to move out, when people I ask, I always say “well I’m student, so it’s ok.” Which I know is ridiculous; many students have their own place and work multiple jobs on top of going to school, I am obviously not one of them. Plus I really like my room, and I can do what I want, when I want. Hopefully I’m not the next Failure to Launch or anything but for now I will milk it till I can.

 Welcome to my World,

~Emily Holtgrefe~

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