My Earliest Memory

I have been tagged by Sheethal Susan Jacob at "Scribblings" to share my earliest memory.  After much thought, the following memory surfaced.

       I went to stay with my babysitter, Dorothy, daily until my mom quit her job when I was in first grade.  When I was about 3 my mom had a hysterectomy and had to be in the hospital for a long time.  Unfortunately at that age, I simply didn’t understand where my mommy was.  My dad was an over the road truck driver all of his life so it wasn’t unusual for him to not be around.  What was unusual was the sudden disappearance of my mommy.  

      Even at such a young age I knew what time my mommy normally came and picked me up.   Right after I watched Bugs Bunny on television, she always came for me.   I would wait watching out the front window until I seen my mommy’s car pull into the driveway, and then race to the door to greet her.   One afternoon, my mommy didn’t come.  I waited and waited, growing more upset the later it got.  Tears streamed down my cheeks.  I wanted her to come get me.  I had always gone home.  I had never spent the night at Dorothy’s house before and I was scared.   All I knew was I didn’t want to stay there anymore.  I wanted my mommy and I wanted to go home.  When supper was ready, Dorothy would coax me away from the window and sadly I would go eat.    Every afternoon from that day on I would wait in front of the window crying for my mommy, and Dorothy would try to comfort me the best she could with plenty of hugs and by keeping me occupied with toys and games.

        Finally my dad came and took me to the hospital to see my mom.  I remember being so happy.  The hospital seemed like such a big place!  Now that I had her back, I didn’t want to leave her there at the hospital.  I wanted to stay with her!  While there, my mom gave me a collection of little plastic cups to play with that she had received every single time the nurse had brought her pain pills.  She had saved them just for me.

        I sat on my mommy’s hospital bed, playing with those little cups, perfectly content to be at her side once again.  When it was time to go I was careful not to hurt her when I hugged and kissed her goodbye.   She promised me she would be home soon and told me to be a good little girl.  I took those little cups back to Dorothy’s house and took care of my dolls and stuffed animals, giving each a single M+M as their medicine.  Somehow I was convinced that if they were all well, mommy would come sooner rather than later and take me home.  One day she did.

Now it is Hema Anavatti’s turn!  Be sure to visit her at "Pixie's Take on Everything" and read all about her earliest memory!

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O is for Oreos

      Delicious Oreo cookies have been tempting folks for over 100 years.  They were first developed and produced by Nabisco (The National Biscuit Company) in 1912.  They were sold in the United States in novelty tins with clear glass tops for 25 cents a pound.  Since that time the love affair with the chocolate sandwich cookie has circled the globe.

      I love Oreos!  Like the big kid I am I still eat the filling first and then the cookies.  When I was a kid I got a hold of a package of Oreo cookies and ate the fillings out of all of them leaving the chocolate cookies in the package.  My sister was pissed and my mom was not amused.  Who would have thought indulging in a little Oreo cream would have brought all the vengeance of hell down on my head?  After that episode and a good old fashioned spanking, I learned my lesson.  I learned to appreciate the chocolate cookies too. Everyone likes the filling best and leaving naked cookies in the package was just not acceptable.  I learned the hard way to appreciate the chocolate cookies too.  I still didn’t eat them first, but at least I ate them.  If the people of Nabisco had meant for people to only eat the filling they would have just sold the filling without the cookie.  I never pulled that stunt again.

       Since I have become an adult I have discovered so many other ways to enjoy Oreo cookies!  I have tried and fell in love with countless recipes using Oreos.  I have made cakes, pies, and ice cream treats and each was just as good as the last simply because of that one special ingredient.  Seriously, with Oreos in the recipe how in the world could you possible go wrong? 

Bedtime Story

     My mom would tenderly tuck me in and kiss me good night.  If she read to me, I can’t remember because it wasn’t an every night thing and let‘s face it, it was a long time ago!  However, I do fondly remember my dad reading to me every Christmas Eve without fail.  He would always read “The Night Before Christmas”.  One year Santa Claus left me a much treasured copy of “The Grinch Stole Christmas” and from that time on, I insisted he read that story too.  It became my absolute favorite!

 

       I have always been surrounded by tons of books.  I took great pleasure in turning the pages and staring captivated at the colorful pictures.  When I got old enough to read, I was the one reading the stories.  I lost myself within those pages and many of my games for pretend originated from those precious books.  I have always loved books.  As I grew older, books replaced the playmates and friends I didn’t have.  I filled my time with them.  At school, my friends often acted out the scenes from our favorite books.  I recall vividly playacting out the “Little House” books under the trees of my elementary school playground.

       How ironic that my favorite job was in a position ordering mountains of books for a local library.  Even when I reached adulthood I surrounded myself with books.  When I became pregnant, I began reading the books I was reading myself aloud to share with the baby that was growing inside me.  I have shared my love of books with my children from the very beginning.  They have both been entered into the summer reading programs from the precious age of one.  I would check out tons of books, and before bedtime I would read each and every one of them with my kids snuggled tight against me.  When I was pregnant for my son I was put on bed rest.  Since I couldn’t do much else, I read mountains of stories to my daughter that summer.  So many in fact she won top prize for most books read in the local library’s summer reading program.  I continued the tradition with my son.

         Every night before bed, we still gather on my bed and I read 3 stories.  If I am not too tired I read more.  Lately the winds of change are in the air.  My twelve year old has started to abandon story time with mommy more and more to retreat to her own room so she can read her own books.    Not only has my daughter retreated to read alone, but my son is starting to read a story to me.  We trade off reading so he can practice his skills.  One day they will both grow too old for mommy’s story time and I will be back to reading to myself at bedtime.  It seems I have spent my entire lifetime between the covers of a book getting to know the characters and becoming apart of their lives if only for a little while.  Until the day when neither of my kids want mommy to read bedtime stories, I will continue to read to them and enjoy the precious moments while they last until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

Blue Moon-BFF 225

      Blue moon ice cream fascinated me as a kid.  My folks loved ice cream and bought it often.  There were times when my mom was on a weight loss binge that ice cream was all she ate.  Seriously, she would go through gallons and gallons of the stuff and lose oodles of pounds.    I am not sure if it works for everyone, but it sure worked for her.

     My Dad indulged in a bowl of ice cream each and every night before bedtime.  Even though the usual favorites around the house were butter pecan, rocky road, or strawberry, every now and then Mom would indulge us with a gallon of Blue Moon ice cream.  I never remember eating the stuff from a dish.  Mom always loaded a cone with several scoops and I would take great delight licking up every single drop usually emerging after with a blue face, blue tongue, and blue sticky fingers.   I was a kid and messier than hell.   It used to drive my mother insane that I managed to get ice cream everywhere and didn’t eat it before it began to drip and melt all over hell.

 

      She would chase after me in disgust ordering me to change my shirt, wash my face and hands, and giving me all kinds of merry hell for eating like a pig.   She made a lot of noise, but she never stopped indulging me.  You will be happy to know that I now can eat ice cream with little evidence that is what I have been up too.  It is a skill that I still struggle with.  I rarely can walk away from eating or cooking without leaving a remnant on myself.  Then, much like my mother I have to change and put stain remover on the offending spot immediately.  In the end she did instill in me a sense of cleanliness.

      Paybacks are hell and the sloppiness of youth comes back to haunt you when you become a parent.  While my daughter can eat virtually anything without getting a drop on herself, my son takes after me.  He eats like a pig and manages to leave half of whatever he eats all over his clothes, hands, and face.  I can’t say much considering I was the queen of the slop hogs when I was a kid.  All I can do is clean him up, strip off the dirty shirt, and make him presentable once again.  I fuss over my kids something fierce and can not tolerate seeing dirt on my kid period.  It made for endless loads of laundry during the toddler years as they learned to use utensils and find their mouths.

      Heaven knows that is why G0d created soap and water!!  It is one of my greatest comforts in life that most things wash off.  Once I got over changing diapers and cleaning up vomit, being a mom wasn’t so bad.  The smell could kill you, but the fact remains that $hit, vomit, and most stuff washes off.  I am even happier G0d allowed us to live in a world with big full blue moons in the sky and blue moon ice cream to eat.  Until next time I will be happily devouring blue moon ice cream and barking at the moon.

Sports + Me = Bad Idea

    Wouldn’t it just have been special to be one of those remarkable tomboys who excelled in sports, always was picked first for teams, and played hard and well at everything she did?  I think so too.  Unfortunately, that wasn’t me.  I was the shortest kid in the class who was the last one picked for games.  I was the one the whole team would audibly groan if they got stuck with me.  I was never very athletic.  I had no coordination and always sucked at every sport I tried.  Some kids like me are just not meant to rule the athletic fields.

     When I was little, a bunch of kids would get up a game of soccer at recess.  For some reason that seems completely beyond me at this point, I usually joined into this mad a$$ chase after the soccer ball.  I may have gotten the opportunity to kick the stupid ball once or twice in the whole time I made an effort to look like I was playing but I never did anything remarkable like score a goal.  If I would have, my classmates would surely have died from the shock.  I was always placed as far outfield as I could get without leaving the schoolyard when playing kickball or softball.  I would stand out there and pray the ball would not come my way so I wouldn’t have the opportunity to make a complete fool of myself.  Ahh, those were the days.

      All things athletic escaped me and didn’t really improve as I grew older.  The powers that be forced all students to participate in gym class through the 10th grade.  I used to despise the obstacle courses that my gym teachers would set up to torture me in front of my peers.  In junior high I made it to my last event before I puked my guts.  My gym teacher had the balls to saunter up and ask me if I intended on completing the event. Was he kidding?  Hell no!!  I just tossed my lunch on the gym floor.  I am done.  Be happy I made it to the last event! 

       In tenth grade an elephant vault was included in the course.  Basically you had to run up, jump on a springboard, which would effectively catapult you up to the top of the parallel bars which had gym mats laid across it, and then you were supposed to jump to the ground and haul a$$ through the rest of the obstacles to the finish line at record speed.  It was a lovely thought in theory, but the gym teachers hadn’t counted on someone as hopeless as me coming along.  In front of my whole class, I ran up at top speed, hit the springboard, and smashed right into the mat.  SPLAT!!!  I fell backwards on my a$$ with the whole gymnasium exploding in laughter.  It was one of the most mortifying experiences of my life.  Like a Charlie Brown cartoon you could literally see the “HA HA HA HA’s!!” in the air.

     It shouldn’t have come as any surprise when I got the brain fart to run with the girl’s cross country team in senior year that those witnessing the debacle of me arriving after running 4 ½ miles were in complete shock.  I remember bending over gasping for breath while sweat literally poured off of me when the senior quarterback of the football team sauntered up and congratulated me on my achievement.  Unfortunately I was to busy dying at that precise moment to come up with anything cool to say so I puked on his high priced tennis shoes instead.  

       I was completely shocked and thrilled when I was awarded a lettermen’s jacket at the conclusion of the season.  I certainly couldn’t have received it because I had won every race or because I had been an asset to the team.  Maybe they were so amazed that I actually survived the season and lived to tell the tale they figured I deserved a token of their esteem.  Whatever the case,  I flaunted that letterman’s jacket like I was top athlete on campus until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

Recess

     It always amuses me when I ask my kids what happened at school they begin and end by telling me they had recess and lunch.  OK, you had recess and lunch and then came home?  I am not buying it!  I have to literally drag what else they did out of them kicking and screaming.   When I think about it when pressed at that age, I probably would have said the same thing.   Let’s face it; kids live for food and recess.  It is the best part of the day.  It is fact.

         Even if they did enjoy school and learning it would be a rare kid who would actually admit it to an adult and go into elaborate detail.  
 At the elementary school I went to the playground was in a huge dusty field with room to get up a rousing game of no rules soccer or perform a top of your voice recital to the audience of trees that lined the back of the property.  The playground was filled with everything a person could hope for: slides, swings, a teeter totter or two, monkey bars, and a merry go round.  

        One time one of the boys in my class convinced me to try the teeter totter with him.  I had always been a little leery of the teeter totter but didn’t want to look like a big chicken to him.  I bravely got on and for all intents and purposes made it appear I knew exactly what I was doing.  You would have thought I was in a hall of fame somewhere for my expertise of riding teeter totters.  I was the female version of Joe Cool personified.  All was going well until he jumped off sending me crashing to the ground.  My chin slammed against the handle I was holding, HARD.  An explosion of pain engulfed me, my eyes filled with tears, and blood poured from my chin.  If I had been a cartoon, little animated stars would have been swirling over my head.    I began screaming and wailing as only a little girl could do.  Before I knew what hit me, the teacher on recess duty was rushing me into the building to see the nurse.  I got a bandage the size of an elephant’s a$$ for my trouble that day.

        I would like to say that I rushed back out to recess and had the balls to climb right back on the teeter totter.  That would be a lie though.  From then on I walked a wide circle around the teeter totter and never was persuaded to mount one again.  My fear of the infamous teeter totter continues to this day.  Playgrounds can be a wonderful place when you are a kid.  They can also be equally dangerous.  Just last week my son fell off the top of the tallest slide at school plummeting to the ground below.  He received a severe concussion which resulted in swelling to the lining of his brain and an infection which elevated his temperature to fever pitch for days.  To this day, he isn’t quite sure what happened.  If it weren’t for eye witness reports from the teacher on playground duty actually seeing his horrific fall take place I would never know what really truly happened.

      Let’s face it survival on the playground in elementary school can be compared to surviving the jungle where the natives are restless and anything goes.   Somehow a person survives the bumps, scraps, and bruises from the playground.   Even then, when remembering the recesses of the past the times when I left the playground bloody or hurt take precedence over any other memory of the countless games of hopscotch, kick ball, or Chinese jump rope until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

Toy Story- BFF 173

     I would have given my husband's left nut if my toys came to life and played with me when I was a kid.  Granted, it would have scared the living be Je$u$ out of me at first, but after I freaked out…I would have gotten used to it and welcomed the interaction.
   

      
   In preparation for this post I tried to rack my brain about any special toy stories of my own that stood out.  As I aged I progressed from baby dolls, to Holly Hobbie rag dolls, to the statuesque Barbie dolls with the killer b00bs, tiny butts,  and minuscule waists.  Back in those days Barbie was stacked. Today they have flattened her out so girls of today don't get a complex.  


        Back then I had this huge chalk board that divided my room.  On one side I had a little toy desk.  I would play school and have a ball teaching my dolls their ABC’s and 123’s as I was an authority.  On the other side of the chalkboard was baby heaven.  I had dolly beds with sleeping babies, a small cupboard filled with play dishes and bottles, and all things to make my baby dolls content from story books to play food.  I could escape into my room for hours and have a grand ole time.  I had so much fun with those toys and was rarely ever bored.  

        As I grew older the toys disappeared to the attic and were replaced by a stereo and television.  Once my daughter was born, I made a trip to my dad’s attic to find toys she could play with at Pa Pa’s house.  My old toys had lost their luster.  Over the years my folks house had seen their share of mice.  My mom used to complain she could hear them riding their motorcycles over the rafters at night.  I always let that one go. The last thing I wanted to meet was a bad a$$ed biker mouse.   Years later when I ventured into the attic to find my old toys I was completely disgusted to discover my stuffed Mickey Mouse that I brought home from the family trip to Disney World had been defiled.  Those sick pervert mice had eaten his pants right off of him!  Not completely, just the area in front near the crotch!!  They didn't touch anything else, just Mickey.  They also made sure to scatter their microscopic crap everywhere. UGH!   I got to go back to Disney World when I was 18, and rest assured…I replaced my stuffed Mickey Mouse with a new improved version.  Mickey Mouse will no longer reside in any attic.  Damn mice!!

          Even though I am 43, I am still surrounded with toys.  My kids have their fair share.     If toys really could come to life, I am sure at this stage seeing my son’s Batman toys  fighting evil or getting jiggy with my daughter's La La Loopsy's would send me just one step closer to a rubber room at the funny farm.  No one would believe me if I did witness any suspicious behavior and I am not stupid enough to share with the class if I did.  Still occasionally I like to settle on the floor and play with the best of them.  La La Loopsy's are cool, and Batman runs a close second.  Even cooler is the Harry Potter LEGO'S the kids have.  Although I feel a little silly "playing" like a little kid at my age, there are occasions I join in.  These days I am more likely to be found playing card and board games and leaving the imaginative games to them.

        With that said, is it any wonder I own the "Toy Story" trilogy?  I love those movies!! I love toys!!  I will never grow up because deep down I am a Toys r Us kid and always will be until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker's wife.