My very long story

There’s no About Me page on this site. I know this, if my husband wasn’t so busy with work I would bother him once in a while to help me make this site cooler – oh wait, I do that already. One day, I promise … this site will be worth coming back to more than once.
So until then, here’s my story.
I’ll start in the beginning. I was born in 1983 in Nigeria Africa. Yes that makes me 23 (and a 1/2). My parents were missionaries at the time, my dad was flying planes on the mission field. He mostly brought supplies to other missionaries and the hospital or transported patients and natives from place to place. I don’t remember the planes. I remember our house and my bedroom. I remember the feeling of our cement flooring on my feet and the smell of the breeze right before a storm came. I remember the taste of a mango mixed with the saltiness of my fingers because they were so messy.
We moved back to the states in 1986 one month before my 3rd birthday. My family settled in Washington State for a little less than a year while my dad figured out a job and schooling (he decided to become an airline pilot). The most vivid memories I have of this part of our lives is the fact that my sister and I shared a bed, and a bedroom for that matter – and my brothers had to walk through our bedroom to get to theirs. The door handle frequently fell off the door and I remember FREAKING out because we were locked in our room. One afternoon in particular I woke up from my nap and saw my mom mowing the lawn outside the window … the door handle had fallen off so I had to yell to get her attention. When I did finally get her attention she came upstairs, strapped me on her back in true Nigerian form and finished mowing the lawn while I slowly woke up and sucked my thumb.
I love Washington. Both of my parents were born and raised in Washington and all of my grandparents and most of my aunts and uncles and their families live in Washington. One day I’d like to live there, too.
From Washington we moved to Texas where my parents built a house, a dream house (after living in a rental for a year or so in Texas). In order to get it finished on time for us to move in and my dad to start his job they arranged for each of us (there are 4 kids in my family) to stay somewhere for 2 weeks in Washington while they went ahead of us and stayed up through the night painting and putting up trim and in general being crazy and delirious from lack of sleep.
I stayed with my Uncle Duane and Aunt Jill – and my one year cousin at the time, Katie. I hated them. I mean, really … I cried every day. I wouldn’t come inside when they let me play outside. I begged nightly be allowed to stay with my sister or my brothers.
I love them now – I just didn’t know them, at all.
Well I lived and we moved into our new big blue house in Dogwood, Texas. I learned how to ride a bike and lost a lot of teeth at that house. This new house was the first time since Nigeria that I had a bed to sleep on instead of an army cot and I thought I was the bee’s knees. My bed was brass and had a pink comforter. So did my sisters. We were totally awesome. We got a family dog at this house – a mutt that we named Ki-Ki. She had 6 puppies one year that we had to give away after naming them. I got the runt, whom I named Jessica. All of my dolls were named Jessica.
We lived in Texas for 4 years before my dad transfered to Michigan and we moved here. We moved into another rental while my parents built another big blue house. This house was in the woods – oh the woods. We loved the woods. And it was in this house that my parents got a divorce. From the big blue house we moved to a rental down the road from where we lived – it wasn’t blue. It was maroon. And kind of gross. My mom and dad were both dating the people they would both end up remarrying. And we moved a lot in the next 2 years until we settled in a big beige house in a sub division. I was 12. My dad bought a house in Middleville, Mi that has since been updated and remodeled and added on to.
I started Middle School somewhere in there and the drama only gets more intense from here. I started to like boys, ok I always liked boys … but in Middle School it’s more interesting. You know – the first kiss might happen, more like WHEN IS IT GOING TO HAPPEN. Middle School was as awkward as they say it is. I didn’t do sports – although I started try outs for a number of things, I would get half way through it and decide this wasn’t what I wanted to do. Plus I had a pretty big chip on my shoulder about having school spirit for the school I attended.
I was in 8th grade, 14, before I had my first kiss with a boy I would end up dating on and off for a few years. It was awful. The first kiss. Very bad. And I told him. He didn’t kiss me again for A WHILE. I also told my brothers about the first kiss, and my reaction – they couldn’t have been happier that I hated it. I dated other guys and kissed a few more too … and then I met Aaron. Which is a long story in and of itself. We dated for 3 years before we got married – and that was almost 4 years ago.
Somewhere in there I traveled, a lot, got a few tattoo’s, suffered a broken heart, broke a few hearts, wrote a book and changed the course of my life. I do have a few regrets – but none that haven’t taught me something valuable.
I could have gone with a paragraph About Me – like, I like to cook. I have a daughter, she’s 2. I garden and write and take photos. I don’t drink coffee but I like the smell of it. I like to decorate and I often dream of the chicken coop cottages I want to own and rent out. And that’s interesting, but over done.
So there you go.

2 thoughts on “My very long story

  1. What a wonderful story, Jodi ~ there are things in here I had never heard before! In a silly way ~ it is almost like you are following my syllabus ~ first, on a former post, you write in a Scarlet Letter-ish way just as we finish the novel, then you write an autobiography ~ which I just also assigned my students!! We just went over Ben Franklin’s, Carl Sandburg’s Able Lincoln, Marian Anderson’s My Lord, What a Mornin’ autobiography, and Jesse Stuart’s autobiography from The Thread That Runs So True ~ he was a teacher in the Kentucky mountains. All in the same week! And now here is yours!
    Keep writing, my dear, keep writing!!!

  2. Wow, maybe you should send me your syllabus and I’ll see what I can do šŸ™‚ I’ll keep writing. Thanks for the encouragement!! Any requests??

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