Several of us are getting together at the Omaha Children’s Museum this Friday from 5 p.m. to 8 p.m. If you print this coupon or show it from your mobile, you’ll get a free admission upgrade to the special Wizard of Oz exhibit.
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Years after I received a number of plastic storage bins from my mom, I decided to finally dig them out of the garage, dust them off, and crack them open to see what was inside.
I was shocked to see how much she actually kept. One of my favorite finds was a small, checkbook-sized diary from 1992.
I was a sophomore in high school that year and boy-oh-boy did I have a lot on my plate.
I had to multi-task between attending movies (which, incidentally, cost me $2.95 a ticket), playing sports, falling in and out of love, singing in musicals, DRIVING FOR THE FIRST FREAKING AMAZINGLY AWESOME TIME, recording love songs on audio tapes, hosting sleepovers, attending school dances and serving as class president (you bet your backside I’m bragging about being a goody-two-shoes).
Sigh. The list of priorities goes on and on.
You know what’s funny?
I have such a bad memory that I don’t remember having this diary. My handwriting has changed so drastically that I wouldn’t have even know it belonged to me.
Yet, clearly, it’s mine.
I know this because some of the stories I told and friends I mentioned would’ve been something that only I could’ve recalled.
A sampling of journal entries:
Feb. 14 – Bob asked me out! (I took the liberty of calling him “Bob” to protect his anonymity. This particular entry was surrounded by hearts.)
Feb. 18 – Going to Lincoln with Bob this weekend.
Feb. 21 – Went to Joslyn. One-week anniversary with Bob!
Feb. 22 – Spent day with Bob (more obnoxious hearts).
March 6 – Bob and I broke up (sad face).
Although it’s not documented, I’m fairly confident I spent the next several days holed up in my room listening to Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes,” and singing my heart out.
So much documented in that book used to be the center of my universe, but those people and places are mere memories now.
The older me wants to go back in time and shake the younger me into realizing how stupid I was for letting trivial stuff — like preparing for summer vacation — stress me out.
Marriage and children quickly put things into perspective.
Sure, I still stress about dumb things every now and then. I’ve come to the conclusion I will never have a clean house, nor will I ever host a Thanksgiving dinner — and that’s OK.
Because grown up Heidi no longer has to worry about shellacking a two-inch lift to her bangs. (Whew!)
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Tell us about your teenage memories.