Saturday. It's room cleaning day. And laundry day. And dance party day! Here's what I'm listening to today:

Do you have plans? I do! I'm excited!

There's a big Sweetheart's Dance for all the young adults from church on Saturday, but I don't think I shall go. Being in a room filled with people alll hopped up on sugar and hormones is not my idea of a fun time.

Nope, my plans do not include any traditional romantic activities whatsoever! Instead, I will be having a Galentine's Tea Party, handing out valentines, and telling all my favourite people that I love them.

When I was seven years old, my family moved from a small town into Saskatoon. We moved into a quieter part of the overwhelming city, a house in a new development with empty lots for neighbours and so close to the airport that we fell asleep to the sound of planes landing.
A week or two after we got there, a little girl from down the road asked me if I wanted to play at her house. Delighted to have a playmate other than my brother, I ran in the house to check if it was okay, then followed her a couple houses over. The minute we got through her doorway though, I froze. A huge wave of discomfort and anxiety washed over me, and not knowing what to do, I made up an excuse to go home.

My mom looked at me puzzledly as I walked in the door. I'd only been gone five minutes.


My seven year-old brain couldn't come up with a reasonable explanation as to why I didn't stay. All I knew was that I had a bad feeling, wanted to go home where it was safe, and felt embarrassed about it. I didn't think she would understand, and knew I needed to tell her SOMETHING. So I said the first thing that came to mind.