A little teensy bit of a story I wrote

I guess you can say I'm average. Average looks, average smarts, average personality. Nothing special. I'm basically the extra in the movie. The girl that's just there to add to the mix. Just a filler. Just an extra touch.

That's pretty much what I'm going for. To just be normal. I straighten my hair. I wear makeup. I'm pretty much, well, ordinary.

Unfortunately, my name says otherwise.

Bird brain. Tweetie. Big bird. I've heard them all.
What do you expect when your name is Robyn?
I ask my mom, who has a part time job teaching yoga at the Relaxation Station, where the heck she got such a name.
She tells me the same thing everytime: "When you were born, and the nurse handed you to me, I saw something absolutely breathtaking. Your eyes were a piercing blue, like a robin's egg. And holding you in my arms, I knew that it was right to name you that."
Little did she know that my eyes turned out to be brown.

Yep, that's my mom alright. She can find a deep, inspirational meaning to just about anything. The other day, it was raining like crazy and she was driving me to the orthodontist(I was getting my braces tightened. Fun stuff.).
I was staring at the raindrops as they trickled down the car window when out of the blue she told me, "You know, rain is like tears. The clouds must be crying because they are mourning the loss of another cloud. Then, when the sun comes out and a rainbow is formed, the clouds have moved on."
No, my mom has no past of mental illness. That's just her personality. She wonders out loud. And thanks to her, I can't help but feel sorry for the clouds when it rains.
As for my dad, he isn't around much. He's in the army. I haven't seen him in person for a long time. In fact, it'll be a year in eleven days.
But we Skype and FaceTime at least once a week. We talk about school, sports, and our favorite TV show, Dr. Who. I give him summaries of each episode, since he can't watch them.
People always treat us differently because of our family. They leave gift baskets on our doorstep, they tell us that we're 'in their prayers'. It's sweet I guess, but it gets irritating. We're doing fine financially. My older brother Nick babysits for the filthy-rich family down the street, which gives us loads of cash, and my mom's job earns a decent amount too. Emotionally, my brother and I are doing okay. Mom gets a little cranky, and sometimes I catch her watching The Notebook in her bedroom. But most days, she's the  calm, happy woman that I know and love.