Memories

So you’d think with the kids home with me every day I’d have so much to tell you about, there’d be lots of sweet stories about brotherly/sisterly love and all the fun crafts we’re doing and the cutest thing that darling Jack said, and blah blah blah.

But instead I’m just going to tell you about some memories of mine.  The blogpost last week with the old family photos was really fun to write, and I enjoyed thinking about things I hadn’t thought about in a long time. I’m also going to show you some recently taken pictures of bugs and flowers because blogs generally need photos, no matter how brilliant my personal memories are.  Ahem.

So what pops into my head for some reason is my first memory, which is spilled Spaghettios on the linoleum.  I spilled them off either my high chair or the table and I remember looking down and seeing them on the brick patterned linoleum and thinking, “Mom is not going to like this.”

I don’t remember if she liked it or not.  I’ve just got the visual.

The grasshopper is in the house, Jack is outside of the house.  We switched them out after the photo shoot.

Since I started so young, I think I’ll keep going from there!  I remember getting one of those babies that you can feed (Baby Alive, maybe?) when I was about 3 and what did I do to that lovely baby on Christmas morning, mere minutes/hours after she was pulled from her box for me?  I scribbled on her belly with pen.  I didn’t know it was wrong until mom pointed it out, not so nicely, and then I couldn’t believe I had ruined my new baby.

I learned my lesson though and am proud to tell you that I never, not even once, scribbled on my own actually real babies at any point during their infancies.   Though I was mighty tempted.

Children (not just my own, but the children for whom I substitute teach) are always fascinated with my right thumb.  It’s kind of wonky looking thanks to a bike accident I had when I was in second grade.  My friend Kelly and I were racing our bikes down our road.  I was winning and Kelly was mad, so she rammed my bike with hers.  I flew over my handlebars, my bike landed on me, and Kelly and her bike landed on top of all of that. 

My thumbnail was ripped clean off my thumb as a result.

We stumbled to the nearest neighbor (and Kelly was now being very nice to me, that stinkin’ little…thing) who wrapped my finger in a tea towel and got me home.  My parents rushed me to the ER, and I don’t really remember much except

-my dad fainted

-I got shots in my thumb (I still don’t know why) and I kept begging when would this be over and my parents (probably my mom who was still conscious) kept  telling me we’d be heading to Dairy Queen as soon as we were done.

-So I started begging when are we going to Dairy Queen?

And then I got to go to Dairy Queen and I was a hero in school the next day!

We had the WORST neighbors ever when I was a kid.  It was a family with three boys and here are some of the things they did:

-one of them dropped a sledgehammer on my head from the roof of their shed (another ER visit).

-one of them chased my bratty brother Dave with an axe (Dave probably deserved it).

-they shot our cat Satchmo with an arrow and they cut our cat Rosie with a knife.

-they threw stones at my mother.

-they had a big dog who ran over and ripped a kitten out of my hand and ate it.

-they made my school bus rides miserable and are the reason I cried when I put Maddie on a bus the first day of kindergarten.

They moved away when I was in college and I have heard since then that 2 of the boys have done prison time.  And I just bet they drew on their children’s bellies with pen.

When I was in high school I watched a cooking show and thought I’d try to be creative in the kitchen.  I made pickle soup (my own recipe!)  Surprisingly, it was not good.  Don’t try to make your own version.  This is good advice, people.

After my college graduation ceremony, my parents helped me load up my car (and theirs) and then we drove home.  I asked to drive alone because I was feeling a little teary.  A little teary?  I sobbed, and I mean SOBBED for the first hour of the drive.  I can’t believe I didn’t get into an accident.  I loved college with all of my heart.  I think I knew that life would never be as awesome again as those four years were.  I’ve explained this to Dave and added, “Not that life with you isn’t awesome,” but he understands because he loved college too.  Life now is wonderful and I’m so happy with the choices I’ve made, but college was all about new found independence, parties, studying a subject I loved, road trips, being silly, staying up late, and hanging out with the best friends ever, who all lived mere feet away from me(I grew up with no friends my age on my little street).    I knew I was headed back home and was excited to find a teaching job and start my “real” life, but it was dawning on me that my college years were a gift with an expiration date. 

My favorite wedding memory?  Between our ceremony and the reception, Dave and I rode in the limo to have some wedding photos of just us taken.  Dave had the limo stocked with champagne and snacks and we spent the next hour of what was a whirlwind day just hanging out, the two of us, relishing our newlywed status, all alone (except for the limo driver and photographer, and they don’t count) and dressed to the nines, and it just made the perfect day that we shared with family and loved ones even more perfect.  I often suggest to engaged couples (who don’t even ask my opinion, can you imagine?) that they should sneak a solo photo session in.  They’ll probably rarely look at those albums they’re planning to fill with photos of their ushers and bridesmaids, but the memory of that sweet, calm, eye-of-the-hurricane hour alone will be a lasting, meaningful, memory.

My worst memory ever: hearing a crash upstairs, running up to investigate, looking in Maddie’s room and finding it empty with her bedroom window open with no screen. That’s it, that’s all I can tell you. I don’t like to think past there too much.

And finally, do you know those times you crack up when you shouldn’t?  Like maybe during church or during a funeral (Chuckles the Clown, anyone?)  One time when I was in my twenties or so, my mom and I and one of her friends went to the Lebanon County Playhouse to see a play.  I don’t remember what the play was, but at one point, there was a fake gunshot that was part of the storyline, and the sound of the shot made the man right behind us scream out.  That struck us as funny, so now, in the middle of a silent, serious death scene, the three of us were shaking and giggling and struggling to regain control of ourselves.  Things would calm down. But then, one of us would start to titter again, and that would make all of us titter.  And then control would be regained.  And then someone would mentally recall the gunshot and the scream and try to stifle a snort, which would make the other two snort too.  Oh my heavens.  If I were a teenager, I’d have been embarrassed, but luckily, I wasn’t and I appreciated my mom’s sense of humor and ability to laugh and not be an old stick in the mud. 

That’s it…thanks for walking down Memory Lane with me!