about a month ago i participated in a battle of the blogs at tracy's place, it's an average life, where i was given the topic of flatulence & the postion of pro. tracy is over the blogging business and has resigned. since this post never made it on my own site, i decided to post it here today. i've got a post in my head that i'm working on, but it may still not be ready for a couple more days, so if you haven't already read this one, and you're not grossed out by tooting, here you go.
i've been assigned the task of being a fart advocate. creating fervor for flatulence. giving props to the poots. and sadly, this is not much of a stretch for me.
i decided to take this business seriously, so i did some research: ie, i asked on my facebook status if anyone had any gassy wisdom they'd like to share with me. thankfully most of my friends are low class, so i got some positive feedback.
as it turns out, according to nurses nationwide, farting is something that is beneficial for your health. when i had surgery to remove a human from my body (aka c-section) i was told that i couldn't go home until i farted. clearly, there must be something very valuable about the removal of gas from the ass if holding it means you're held hostage in the hospital. the nurses cheered & clapped when i blasted a big one 2 days after birth. never had i been so proud of my ability to cut the cheese.
this brings me to a suggestion for all of us, when it comes to selecting a mate. in other species, the male and female choose the suitor who is most desirable, physically. they want the largest or strongest or in the case of the lion, the ladies pick the dude with the darkest mane. they want to know that their mate is healthy and will likely produce offspring with alpha potential.
forget sexy legs or piercing bedroom eyes, i think we should start evaluating each possible mate based on health & vitality. one sure sign of heartiness and a diet high in fiber is the quality & quantity of toots.
imagine, if you will, a bar filled with speed daters. there are 40 people in the room, all looking for a love to last through the ages. they've all suffered from heartache and squandered dreams in the past, but this time, they're determined not to make the same mistakes. this time, they all came prepared. they've filled up on garbanzo beans and broccoli, brussel sprouts and asparagus & they're ready to find their mates. each person spends 2 minutes with the other mating candidates. their goal is to impress and be impressed. they skip past the small talk, who cares about jobs or astrological signs? she coyly raises her eyebrow as she raises her butt cheek, allowing for the optimal amount of noise and smell enhancement. she waves her hand seductively to waft the smell his way & then smiles and lowers her chin to gaze at him through her lashes while he takes it all in. he smiles and nods approvingly, then turns his back to her and arches his back. he lets forth with a bellow from below, turning his head to look over his shoulder, not wanting to miss her reaction to his power. he winks at her, then leans across the table toward her to whisper something in her ear. one word was all it took. "cabbage."
a love connection was made that night and one couple left together, awash in gastrointestinal bliss.
this, my friends, is a fairy tale with a happy ending. and one that can be yours if only you'll put your best toot forward.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
mothering in the new millenium
being a mom in 2011 is a complicated business. maybe it's always been complicated forever & always, but with technology comes this whole new world of stuff to figure out.
i've got a youtube account where i'll post things sometimes, mainly so that i can share our lives with the family members far away, and sometimes i let brooke post one of her own silly little videos of her playing with toys or one of her kitties. but i also posted some videos of when the stray outside cat gave birth last spring. brooke was in some of them & she was clearly very excited & nervous, sometimes crying as she gave the cat pep talks to help her through the birthing process. i just checked & since i posted it in may, it's had 5,497 views, which seems insane to me because i figured no one but my mom & maybe a couple friends would ever watch that.
that's all fine & dandy, but sometimes i get comments from dumbasses who feel the need to comment on my videos saying things like, "that brat needs to shut the f#*k up." or "why don't you just smack the kid already & get her the hell away from that cat?" the first time that happened, i think smoke blew out of my ears & i started breathing rapidly, adrenaline racing, and wanting to throw down with the rude trash who would dare to say such things about my baby. i figured out how to delete the comments & block the rudies so they can't comment on me & mine again, but it leaves me perplexed about how to deal with some of this stuff in the brave new online world.
brooke has been begging for her own youtube account for months, but we've been very hesitant to allow that since there are so many nuts & undesirables lurking around the interwebs. but then again, she's got her own blog & she & i both post pictures of us online. so we recently decided to let her have her own account, with certain stipulations, in order to keep it as safe as possible. i've got comment moderation on & she can't post anything without one of her parents viewing it first. i think she actually likes that part because i have to sit & watch all her goofy little videos of littlest pet shops and zhu zhu pets playing and acting out scenarios.
another thing is helping her deal with getting hacked. she's got a webkinz account where (don't judge me) i play games to earn her money (stopit, i see you mocking me with your eyes) so that she can buy anything webkinz land could possibly offer. i can't give her all of her heart's desires in real life, but darn i'm a fantastic provider online. if only i could get paid real money to play silly games rather just kinz cash. last week her account got hacked & someone played with her animals and spent all her money. it was distressing to her to feel like her own private space had been invaded, even though it was only online. maybe this will be a good lesson on not giving out passwords & always remembering to lock doors.
and we've also had a couple times lately when someone sent me a chat msg & she was the one at the computer. brooke likes to reply to them, but she's not much of a speller yet. one friend wrote back after brooke's second or third weird response & wrote, "are you drunk?!" brooke thought that was about the funniest thing she'd ever read & is now determined to impersonate me online, any opportunity she gets. she once even hacked my facebook account & told the world that i had SBD's (silent but deadly farts) which i didn't, i might add. not that day, anyway.
i'm open to any thoughts or suggestions you guys might have about online safety or parental policing. we're only just cracking the surface on all the ways that parenting has changed in the age of technology and it seems like it's all a big pile of trial and error. God help us!
i've got a youtube account where i'll post things sometimes, mainly so that i can share our lives with the family members far away, and sometimes i let brooke post one of her own silly little videos of her playing with toys or one of her kitties. but i also posted some videos of when the stray outside cat gave birth last spring. brooke was in some of them & she was clearly very excited & nervous, sometimes crying as she gave the cat pep talks to help her through the birthing process. i just checked & since i posted it in may, it's had 5,497 views, which seems insane to me because i figured no one but my mom & maybe a couple friends would ever watch that.
that's all fine & dandy, but sometimes i get comments from dumbasses who feel the need to comment on my videos saying things like, "that brat needs to shut the f#*k up." or "why don't you just smack the kid already & get her the hell away from that cat?" the first time that happened, i think smoke blew out of my ears & i started breathing rapidly, adrenaline racing, and wanting to throw down with the rude trash who would dare to say such things about my baby. i figured out how to delete the comments & block the rudies so they can't comment on me & mine again, but it leaves me perplexed about how to deal with some of this stuff in the brave new online world.
brooke has been begging for her own youtube account for months, but we've been very hesitant to allow that since there are so many nuts & undesirables lurking around the interwebs. but then again, she's got her own blog & she & i both post pictures of us online. so we recently decided to let her have her own account, with certain stipulations, in order to keep it as safe as possible. i've got comment moderation on & she can't post anything without one of her parents viewing it first. i think she actually likes that part because i have to sit & watch all her goofy little videos of littlest pet shops and zhu zhu pets playing and acting out scenarios.
another thing is helping her deal with getting hacked. she's got a webkinz account where (don't judge me) i play games to earn her money (stopit, i see you mocking me with your eyes) so that she can buy anything webkinz land could possibly offer. i can't give her all of her heart's desires in real life, but darn i'm a fantastic provider online. if only i could get paid real money to play silly games rather just kinz cash. last week her account got hacked & someone played with her animals and spent all her money. it was distressing to her to feel like her own private space had been invaded, even though it was only online. maybe this will be a good lesson on not giving out passwords & always remembering to lock doors.
and we've also had a couple times lately when someone sent me a chat msg & she was the one at the computer. brooke likes to reply to them, but she's not much of a speller yet. one friend wrote back after brooke's second or third weird response & wrote, "are you drunk?!" brooke thought that was about the funniest thing she'd ever read & is now determined to impersonate me online, any opportunity she gets. she once even hacked my facebook account & told the world that i had SBD's (silent but deadly farts) which i didn't, i might add. not that day, anyway.
i'm open to any thoughts or suggestions you guys might have about online safety or parental policing. we're only just cracking the surface on all the ways that parenting has changed in the age of technology and it seems like it's all a big pile of trial and error. God help us!
Friday, February 25, 2011
do it yourself pedi
i'm feeling compelled to admit to a stupid foot issue. i'm afflicted with scaly old man feet, much like al penwasser's. they are the bane of my existence, but i can't usually afford to get pedicures to keep them properly maintained. i haven't found any balms or creams that make much of a difference, so sometimes i resort to using one of those razor scraper things that are illegal in some states. the first time someone used one on me while i was paying for a pedicure, i was giddy to see all those slices of skin falling off my feet. i knew they'd be so soft by the time i was done & i was pleased with the results. so i bought one on those nifty razor, cheese grater thingies for myself a couple years ago so that i could keep the softness going for free. the first time i used it, i perched on the edge of the tub for a good soak before starting up with my deadly weapon against dry crackliness and then when i deemed my tootsies to be sufficiently soggy, i started scraping. it was mesmerizing to see those snowy layers peel away like the garbage they were, leaving my feet pink & fresh. i kept it up for so long that i'm pretty sure i had about a pound of dead skin removed. i was delighted with the results. for about half an hour. then i realized my heels were starting to hurt. my skin wasn't just a rosy pink anymore, it was rapidly approaching a blood red, mainly due to the fact that i had removed almost all of the pesky skin that's generally used to hold my blood inside my feet. i was about 2 layers away from a free flowing bloody foot situation. i had to walk around on my toes for days to avoid my heels having any contact with the floor. or shoes.you'd think i would have learned my lesson, but alas, i wasn't that smart. by the time the pain subsided i was so happy to have soft, childlike feet for the first time in my adult life, that i managed to block out the previous pain & shortly thereafter, i did the very same thing again. i'd vowed after the first incident that i wouldn't make the same mistake again, but like a woman who suffers through childbirth, once the pain is gone, all she remembers is the happiness and joy that her new child brings. i thought i could do the job without getting carried away, but clearly, i have no restraint when it comes to grating the skin from my feet. i get so happy about the storm of skin showering down around me that i can't reign in the urge to just keep scraping.
after the second round of near-death by foot shaving, i wised up & put the razor away. until today. i broke it out again tonight, determined to do the job without overdoing it. all was going well till i sliced a hunk of meat out of my heel & started bleeding. and not just a wee bit of a bloody dribble, it was practically a gusher. i tried to put some peroxide in it, but that just turned into a disgusting, foaming red sludge plopping into the water. i was glad there were no sharks nearby because i was definitely calling to them with my blood. then i shaved off a strip of ankle skin on the other leg when my hand slipped & that created a second bleeding situation.
i guess it's time to put the cheesy foot grater away again until another year, when the pain is gone and i only have memories of soft, delicate girlie feet. until then, i'll hobble around on my toes and keep a tube of antibacterial gel handy. maybe next time, i'll try the fish.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
guest post - family food fondness
i asked nari from narislife wrote a post for me about a childhood memory after she gave me such a wonderful lie story for how we met. here's her fun post about being a kid in a new country, learning about new foods. she's got another great one up on her own blog right now too about going camping, somewhat unprepared. i hope you enjoy it as much as i did!
Family Food Fondness
I was asked to write guest post about a childhood memory. This is what came to mind:
It seems that most people are able to associate various food items to fond childhood memories. When we go to California to visit my In-laws, my Mother-in-law has my Hubby’s favorite foods ready and waiting for us. There are taquitos with home-made guacamole and salsa, Spanish rice, menudo, tamales and she will fill her fridge and cabinets with all of the items he loved as a kid. Everything is delicious and my Hubby will reminisce about his younger days, prompted by the scent or flavor of something at the family table.
I’m fully aware that this isn’t an unusual phenomenon for most people. I have tried to do the same for my girls throughout their childhood. I just didn’t grow up with the same experiences.
I was born in Thailand and moved to the states when I was three. My first real food memory was from Southern Florida. I was at a neighbor’s house on a Saturday morning. The neighbor kids were about to have breakfast and I had been invited to eat over because they were taking us all to a place called Lithia Springs for the day to play in a shallow lagoon full of large algae covered rocks. We would swing on ropes hanging from tree tops into this slimy, rocky pool of potential broken bones and concussions. It was great! I was four years old and the only rule was that I could only swing off the ropes I could reach on my own.
As I sat at their dining room table with a bowl, a spoon and a glass of orange juice before me, a box and a pitcher of milk were set on the table. I watched my friend grab the box and pour stuff into her bowl which sounded just like the cat’s food when my mom filled its bowl in the mornings. I grabbed the box a little warily and filled my bowl. I could feel my eyes bulge as I saw what lay before me. It didn’t look anything like cat food. This was colorful and smelled sweet. My friend then handed me the pitcher of milk which she had added to her bowl of what must surely be some sort of candy. I followed suit and only ended up having time for about three bites of this crunchy creamy concoction of milk and pure sugar.
When I got home that day, I asked my mom if she would get this box of goodness for me. I didn’t know what it was called so I described it to her and she said she would look for it. She came home the next day with a very small box that didn’t look quite right but she said she didn’t want to waste money on something I might not really like. In my childish heart, I knew that wouldn’t be a problem but I didn’t argue. I waited eagerly for morning to come and was up and at the table about twenty minutes before anyone else had even woken up.
Once my mom finally woke up, she got out the little box and poured the contents into a bowl. She added milk and set it in front of me with a spoon. I dipped my spoon into the bowl and pulled it out carefully, making sure I had the perfect milk to sugary crunchiness ratio. I opened my mouth and filled it with what had become my newest obsession. I closed my eyes to better savor the flavor…and proceeded to gag. I spit the soggy disgusting mess into my bowl and stared at it in horror. My mom just took the bowl away from the table talking about how she was glad she bought a small box instead of getting the full sized one.
I didn’t eat cereal again until I reached high school. I was convinced it was one of the most disgusting things in the world until the day my mom idly asked me if I remembered when we first came to the states and I had asked for cereal. She laughed as she told me she had actually bought Cracker Jacks by mistake because it was smaller and cheaper and it seemed like the same thing.
My mom never really cooked much and I ate what I was served. She was always looking for a bargain and unfortunately, quality sometimes paid the price. My mother believed that Kraft Macaroni N Cheese was only cheap because they had a deal with the milk and butter industry, since the directions required the adding of both of those ingredients. But not MY mom, she would cut the butter amount in half and add water in place of milk. There was no way she was falling victim to the food industry.
So I guess you can say that I do indeed have family food memories. They just aren’t the ones you would expect. (In case you’re wondering, it took years before I was willing to eat Mac N Cheese again.)
now go, visit nari & make a new friend!
Family Food Fondness
I was asked to write guest post about a childhood memory. This is what came to mind:
It seems that most people are able to associate various food items to fond childhood memories. When we go to California to visit my In-laws, my Mother-in-law has my Hubby’s favorite foods ready and waiting for us. There are taquitos with home-made guacamole and salsa, Spanish rice, menudo, tamales and she will fill her fridge and cabinets with all of the items he loved as a kid. Everything is delicious and my Hubby will reminisce about his younger days, prompted by the scent or flavor of something at the family table.
I’m fully aware that this isn’t an unusual phenomenon for most people. I have tried to do the same for my girls throughout their childhood. I just didn’t grow up with the same experiences.
I was born in Thailand and moved to the states when I was three. My first real food memory was from Southern Florida. I was at a neighbor’s house on a Saturday morning. The neighbor kids were about to have breakfast and I had been invited to eat over because they were taking us all to a place called Lithia Springs for the day to play in a shallow lagoon full of large algae covered rocks. We would swing on ropes hanging from tree tops into this slimy, rocky pool of potential broken bones and concussions. It was great! I was four years old and the only rule was that I could only swing off the ropes I could reach on my own.
As I sat at their dining room table with a bowl, a spoon and a glass of orange juice before me, a box and a pitcher of milk were set on the table. I watched my friend grab the box and pour stuff into her bowl which sounded just like the cat’s food when my mom filled its bowl in the mornings. I grabbed the box a little warily and filled my bowl. I could feel my eyes bulge as I saw what lay before me. It didn’t look anything like cat food. This was colorful and smelled sweet. My friend then handed me the pitcher of milk which she had added to her bowl of what must surely be some sort of candy. I followed suit and only ended up having time for about three bites of this crunchy creamy concoction of milk and pure sugar.
When I got home that day, I asked my mom if she would get this box of goodness for me. I didn’t know what it was called so I described it to her and she said she would look for it. She came home the next day with a very small box that didn’t look quite right but she said she didn’t want to waste money on something I might not really like. In my childish heart, I knew that wouldn’t be a problem but I didn’t argue. I waited eagerly for morning to come and was up and at the table about twenty minutes before anyone else had even woken up.
Once my mom finally woke up, she got out the little box and poured the contents into a bowl. She added milk and set it in front of me with a spoon. I dipped my spoon into the bowl and pulled it out carefully, making sure I had the perfect milk to sugary crunchiness ratio. I opened my mouth and filled it with what had become my newest obsession. I closed my eyes to better savor the flavor…and proceeded to gag. I spit the soggy disgusting mess into my bowl and stared at it in horror. My mom just took the bowl away from the table talking about how she was glad she bought a small box instead of getting the full sized one.
I didn’t eat cereal again until I reached high school. I was convinced it was one of the most disgusting things in the world until the day my mom idly asked me if I remembered when we first came to the states and I had asked for cereal. She laughed as she told me she had actually bought Cracker Jacks by mistake because it was smaller and cheaper and it seemed like the same thing.
My mom never really cooked much and I ate what I was served. She was always looking for a bargain and unfortunately, quality sometimes paid the price. My mother believed that Kraft Macaroni N Cheese was only cheap because they had a deal with the milk and butter industry, since the directions required the adding of both of those ingredients. But not MY mom, she would cut the butter amount in half and add water in place of milk. There was no way she was falling victim to the food industry.
So I guess you can say that I do indeed have family food memories. They just aren’t the ones you would expect. (In case you’re wondering, it took years before I was willing to eat Mac N Cheese again.)
now go, visit nari & make a new friend!
Sunday, February 20, 2011
so much happy, so little time
this weekend i've been visiting my family who live 6 hrs away from me and it's been positively delightful. we brought brooke's bike with us so that my dad could teach her how to ride it without training wheels. one fell off last summer & since she's 8, i decided i wasn't going to be replacing it, but rather taking them both off so that she'll have to learn how to ride for real. last summer she wasn't ready or brave enough to even try, but since we've had a warm few days, she's been sitting on her bike in the driveway & mentally preparing herself to learn how to ride it.
yesterday, she got it out while i was walking out front with my sister & she spent half an hour fuddling around on the bike, trying things out until suddenly, she got it! with no help from anyone, she was out there pedaling around the driveway! my dad took her out & put air in the tires & bought her a helmet & now she's quickly becoming a biking pro & wants to spend all her time riding around the driveway & yard. this is extra exciting to me because i've read several stories by adult aspies recently, saying that they never developed the coordination necessary to be able to ride a bike. so, yay, brooke!
then last night i went with my parents to a surprise party for my middle sister who just turned 25. her boyfriend put the whole thing on & he did a great job, cooking a really nice meal & decorating everything to make it all fancy and fun. sarah seems to have been really surprised to walk in & find about 45 people waiting to yell "SURPRISE!" at her. then, after she blew out the candles, she turned to find her boyfriend down on one knee with a ring in hand, asking her to marry him. apparently several people knew it was coming, but i wasn't on that list, though i'd been tipped by my other sister who was guessing earlier in the day. i managed to catch it all on video, and it's so cute to see them at the biggest decision of their lives so far. i'm really glad i was able to be here this weekend so i could be a part of it with them.
tonight i went to visit a friend who i haven't seen since brooke was a tiny baby. she's got a daughter less than a year younger, and we were looking forward to letting our girls meet. they hugged each other immediately upon meeting & then ran straight upstairs to the new friend's room where we could hear them squealing & giggling for the next few hours. it was fun hearing them up there, sounding all happy, all the while far enough away that the moms got a chance to really chat and catch up on 8 years of life. as we got into the car to go back to my parents house tonight, i asked brooke, "did you have a great time with kylie?" "YEAH!" "you sure laughed a lot. she must be really funny!" " she was SOO funny! she kept doing this!" brooke then made a motion of throwing something up into the air & catching it. i asked what kylie was throwing. she said, "well, not just kylie. i tried it too cuz it was really fun and funny!" i asked again, "what were you guys throwing that was so funny?"
"the hamsters."
"the zhu zhu pets?"
"no, the real ones."
"you threw them? into the air?!"
"yeah, you should have seen how they flailed their legs and kicked their little arms so fast! it was hilarious!"
"brooke, don't you realize that they were kicking and flailing because they were terrified and probably thought they were going to die?"
silence.
silence.
and so ended my wonderful, wacky weekend.
yesterday, she got it out while i was walking out front with my sister & she spent half an hour fuddling around on the bike, trying things out until suddenly, she got it! with no help from anyone, she was out there pedaling around the driveway! my dad took her out & put air in the tires & bought her a helmet & now she's quickly becoming a biking pro & wants to spend all her time riding around the driveway & yard. this is extra exciting to me because i've read several stories by adult aspies recently, saying that they never developed the coordination necessary to be able to ride a bike. so, yay, brooke!
then last night i went with my parents to a surprise party for my middle sister who just turned 25. her boyfriend put the whole thing on & he did a great job, cooking a really nice meal & decorating everything to make it all fancy and fun. sarah seems to have been really surprised to walk in & find about 45 people waiting to yell "SURPRISE!" at her. then, after she blew out the candles, she turned to find her boyfriend down on one knee with a ring in hand, asking her to marry him. apparently several people knew it was coming, but i wasn't on that list, though i'd been tipped by my other sister who was guessing earlier in the day. i managed to catch it all on video, and it's so cute to see them at the biggest decision of their lives so far. i'm really glad i was able to be here this weekend so i could be a part of it with them. tonight i went to visit a friend who i haven't seen since brooke was a tiny baby. she's got a daughter less than a year younger, and we were looking forward to letting our girls meet. they hugged each other immediately upon meeting & then ran straight upstairs to the new friend's room where we could hear them squealing & giggling for the next few hours. it was fun hearing them up there, sounding all happy, all the while far enough away that the moms got a chance to really chat and catch up on 8 years of life. as we got into the car to go back to my parents house tonight, i asked brooke, "did you have a great time with kylie?" "YEAH!" "you sure laughed a lot. she must be really funny!" " she was SOO funny! she kept doing this!" brooke then made a motion of throwing something up into the air & catching it. i asked what kylie was throwing. she said, "well, not just kylie. i tried it too cuz it was really fun and funny!" i asked again, "what were you guys throwing that was so funny?"
"the hamsters."
"the zhu zhu pets?"
"no, the real ones."
"you threw them? into the air?!"
"yeah, you should have seen how they flailed their legs and kicked their little arms so fast! it was hilarious!"
"brooke, don't you realize that they were kicking and flailing because they were terrified and probably thought they were going to die?"
silence.
silence.
"were you guys also throwing them to each other like balls?"
a tiny little voice from the backseat whispered, "i don't want to talk anymore."
and so ended my wonderful, wacky weekend.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
stupid, stupid girls
i've had a couple people write out a story from their childhood memory bank for me lately & that's gotten me to thinking about my own ancient history. one certain thing keeps coming to mind, but i cringe every time i remember it.
between the ages of 9 and 16, i lived in this one house in a suburb in new york state. it was typical suburbia, with neighborhoods never far from shopping or restaurants. i'm not sure how old i was when i finally convinced my parents that i was old enough to walk to the store, but eventually i was allowed to walk down to the stores and fast food places about a mile from my house. at first i could only go if my older brother went, but eventually i was trusted to go, as long as i was with one of my girlfriends.
it was an easy walk, no hills, and we'd just meander along the shoulder of the road since we were really only going for fun, not because we needed to get somewhere. sometimes, when we girls were walking, people would honk at us as they flew past in their cars. at first it startled us. but then we realized that many of the drivers were actually guys who we presumed were checking our fine selves out. sometimes they would yell things out of the window as they sped past, like "woohoo!" or "yeah, baby!" or "nice rack!" it was shocking and offensive and amazingly exciting all in one rush of wind as a car went past, leaving us foolish girls in a wake of exhaust and excitement.
one summer, somewhere between the ages of 14 and 16, a friend and i spent a lot of time walking. we walked in my neighborhood, her neighborhood, the mall, the local pool, the beach on vacation together. anywhere we could freely go, we went. and we were getting so many honks and yells that we decided to start counting them. i have no idea what our final count was, but it was fun trying to keep track of our percieved awesomeness by seeing how much honky feedback we could collect.
sometimes a car would slow down or stop to talk to us. we knew we should get away from cars who stop in the road for girls like us, but there were times when we couldn't resist the urge to see if maybe our parents were wrong. if maybe the world wasn't out to harm and destroy us like we'd been warned, but instead might have wholesome intentions and just want to ask for our phone numbers or tell us we were cute. there were times when a driver would stop and ask us where we were going or even offer us a ride. there were a few times when it was adults, generally couples or a mom-ish woman who probably legitimately wanted to be helpful, but mostly it was teenaged or young adult guys. and i'm horrified to admit that sometimes we would climb right into those cars with strangers and accept a ride to the nearest grocery store or hardees.
we would huddle together in the backseat, scared and thrilled to be living dangerously. we made small talk with our drivers and hoped that this wouldn't be our last day on earth. we hoped that the person who's car we were riding in would actually drop us off where we intended to go rather than drive into the woods & do unspeakable things to our clueless, naive selves.
every single time we accepted rides from strangers, they really did take us to our intended destination. the couples and moms would warn us that we really shouldn't be getting into cars with people because not everyone was as nice as them. the boys would ask for our names or numbers and we'd give our aliases and fake digits, thinking we were the smart ones by not giving out our real info.
at this stage of my life, as a mom of a little girl, i pray and teach and warn my child about the very same things my parents told me. i thank God that he never let me or my friends be stolen or hurt or even really scared, in spite of our own stupidity. all i can say is that i think the prayers that my parents were praying really worked because my safety and well-being clearly cannot be attributed to my clear-headed thinking & wise decision making process.
between the ages of 9 and 16, i lived in this one house in a suburb in new york state. it was typical suburbia, with neighborhoods never far from shopping or restaurants. i'm not sure how old i was when i finally convinced my parents that i was old enough to walk to the store, but eventually i was allowed to walk down to the stores and fast food places about a mile from my house. at first i could only go if my older brother went, but eventually i was trusted to go, as long as i was with one of my girlfriends.
it was an easy walk, no hills, and we'd just meander along the shoulder of the road since we were really only going for fun, not because we needed to get somewhere. sometimes, when we girls were walking, people would honk at us as they flew past in their cars. at first it startled us. but then we realized that many of the drivers were actually guys who we presumed were checking our fine selves out. sometimes they would yell things out of the window as they sped past, like "woohoo!" or "yeah, baby!" or "nice rack!" it was shocking and offensive and amazingly exciting all in one rush of wind as a car went past, leaving us foolish girls in a wake of exhaust and excitement.
one summer, somewhere between the ages of 14 and 16, a friend and i spent a lot of time walking. we walked in my neighborhood, her neighborhood, the mall, the local pool, the beach on vacation together. anywhere we could freely go, we went. and we were getting so many honks and yells that we decided to start counting them. i have no idea what our final count was, but it was fun trying to keep track of our percieved awesomeness by seeing how much honky feedback we could collect.
sometimes a car would slow down or stop to talk to us. we knew we should get away from cars who stop in the road for girls like us, but there were times when we couldn't resist the urge to see if maybe our parents were wrong. if maybe the world wasn't out to harm and destroy us like we'd been warned, but instead might have wholesome intentions and just want to ask for our phone numbers or tell us we were cute. there were times when a driver would stop and ask us where we were going or even offer us a ride. there were a few times when it was adults, generally couples or a mom-ish woman who probably legitimately wanted to be helpful, but mostly it was teenaged or young adult guys. and i'm horrified to admit that sometimes we would climb right into those cars with strangers and accept a ride to the nearest grocery store or hardees.
we would huddle together in the backseat, scared and thrilled to be living dangerously. we made small talk with our drivers and hoped that this wouldn't be our last day on earth. we hoped that the person who's car we were riding in would actually drop us off where we intended to go rather than drive into the woods & do unspeakable things to our clueless, naive selves.
every single time we accepted rides from strangers, they really did take us to our intended destination. the couples and moms would warn us that we really shouldn't be getting into cars with people because not everyone was as nice as them. the boys would ask for our names or numbers and we'd give our aliases and fake digits, thinking we were the smart ones by not giving out our real info.
at this stage of my life, as a mom of a little girl, i pray and teach and warn my child about the very same things my parents told me. i thank God that he never let me or my friends be stolen or hurt or even really scared, in spite of our own stupidity. all i can say is that i think the prayers that my parents were praying really worked because my safety and well-being clearly cannot be attributed to my clear-headed thinking & wise decision making process.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
guest post - over and out
one day last week i asked my readers to tell me how we met, but to make it a total fabrication with points for creativity. i said that i'd pick a couple of my favorites & ask those people to be my guest author over here for a day. and it just so happens that my mom was the first of my two favorites. i asked her to write out a childhood story and here is the delightfully naughty tale of 2 little girls who lived in a different and much safer world than the one where we currently dwell. i hope you'll enjoy it as much as i have. thanks, mom!
In spite of the clarity that a dvd will suddenly bring to the hazy memories of childhood birthday parties, babies' first steps, and Junior sharing his ice cream cone with Fido, some of the best memories are those that were never captured on film of any kind. Those are the spontaneous moments that burst from our creative youthful psyches, demanding their release in some form, often referred to as foolishness by the parents. I can't speak for what others do with such memories, but I find myself playing them over and over with great delight in the halting, cloudy, imperfect manner in which they were originally stored in the gray matter file labeled "Life was Good". Since it is rare that anyone besides myself will ever view these files, it is of little consequence that some scenes are blurred and most of the sound track has gone missing. What matters is the warm feelings that are evoked when the worn tape is run again, taking me back to a time when the biggest concern of a summer day was whether to spend my dime on a popsicle or save it until next week when I would have two dimes and could purchase an ice cream sandwich.
On one such day, of which there seemed to be no end until suddenly they were over, my best friend had invited me for a sleepover. My mother seemed to be as excited as I was whenever I got such an invitation. Perhaps it was her shared joy in my happiness, but more likely it was her secret relief to have one less child under her roof fighting over whether to watch Bugs Bunny or Lassie on the one television set shared by eight of us. Grabbing a paper grocery bag and quickly stuffing it with a few things any ten year old tomboy would consider necessities, I raced out the door, jumped on my bike, and after five minutes of pedaling through the village I was there. Really there. Overnights with Kathy were the open doors of my childhood when anything was possible, and I threw myself into these opportunities with the careless abandon that adults rarely experience and barely remember.
In typical fashion, we sat among the clutter on the floor of her fabulously untidy bedroom, petting her cats, rearranging the rocks and twigs in our woolly bear aquarium, smoothing and braiding the colorful hair of her troll dolls, and squishing the occasional flea we picked off our legs. And, predictably, a plan began to hatch for an adventure.
Being normal kids, our adventures generally broke some rules of social conduct or personal safety, but we were not being rebellious, just allowing our childish dreams and fantasies to be our guide to fun. On this particular evening we thought it would be great fun to play outside after dark. The obvious obstacle, however, was the parents. How to get around that obstacle? That was the challenge to be solved, and solve it we did. Kathy's family lived in an old clapboard house with three bedrooms downstairs and one very large bedroom and huge closet upstairs. Since she was the only girl in the family, she was given the coveted upstairs bedroom as her personal kingdom, and rarely did anyone venture up the stairs other than Kathy and her best friend. If we could just figure out a way to reach the ground safely from the porch roof we would be golden.
image found here
So there we were. Two little girls in their pajamas standing in a once familiar backyard in the dark, not sure what to do next. These were the days when children in small towns were allowed to roam freely during the day. Parents didn't concern themselves about a child's absence for hours, because the whole village was a playground and when they got hungry they would come home. We were familiar with every street in the village, and our curiosity to experience our well-known world in its darker version propelled us out of the backyard and down the block. Wow. Everything looked so different. It was like looking at negatives of photographs, where the normally dark colors were light and the light colors were dark. Windows that were dark during the day were lit up, many uncovered, revealing bits of private lives that we knew we were not entitled to gaze upon so boldly. But with a defiance we believed the darkness would hide, we gazed and gazed. There was a fascination with seeing a man move across a room toward a television, or a woman standing with her face to the window in what appeared to be a posture of dishwashing, knowing that these individuals had no idea they were being watched. It was the naughtiest thing we had ever done in our lives and we crept through the town looking for uncovered windows to gawk into until we began to get cold. We had had our fun and we were ready to call it a night.
Not until we stepped back into Kathy's backyard and saw that white sheet rope dangling five feet above the ground did it occur to us that we couldn't reach it to climb back up. As panic threatened to devour us we held each other, shivering, and devised a new plan. We would simply have to wait it out. There was no habit of door locking in those days. What was the need for locking a door when crime in our village was almost unheard of? So we figured if we could just be patient we would be able to enter the house through the back door once her parents had gone to bed and they would never be the wiser. For the next hour we did what our exhausted bodies could do in an effort to keep ourselves warm in the damp, rapidly cooling night air. We were rewarded with the amusing scene of her teenage brother staring at his reflection in the kitchen window, apparently admiring what he saw. But for the most part the wait was long, cold, boring, and a little frightening as silence magnified the night sounds of unidentified creatures.
Over and Out
It is trendy these days among the baby boomer crowd, of which I am a certified member, to blow the dust off their old Super 8 home movie reels and pack them off to some high tech digital world where the memories can be rescued from oblivion and mysteriously transformed into dvd's which then have the potential to make their grandchildren howl with laughter. This is all good family fun which I wholeheartedly endorse, although I myself haven't yet braved the depths of the storage closets where such dusty reels of youthful memories may be found.
In spite of the clarity that a dvd will suddenly bring to the hazy memories of childhood birthday parties, babies' first steps, and Junior sharing his ice cream cone with Fido, some of the best memories are those that were never captured on film of any kind. Those are the spontaneous moments that burst from our creative youthful psyches, demanding their release in some form, often referred to as foolishness by the parents. I can't speak for what others do with such memories, but I find myself playing them over and over with great delight in the halting, cloudy, imperfect manner in which they were originally stored in the gray matter file labeled "Life was Good". Since it is rare that anyone besides myself will ever view these files, it is of little consequence that some scenes are blurred and most of the sound track has gone missing. What matters is the warm feelings that are evoked when the worn tape is run again, taking me back to a time when the biggest concern of a summer day was whether to spend my dime on a popsicle or save it until next week when I would have two dimes and could purchase an ice cream sandwich.
On one such day, of which there seemed to be no end until suddenly they were over, my best friend had invited me for a sleepover. My mother seemed to be as excited as I was whenever I got such an invitation. Perhaps it was her shared joy in my happiness, but more likely it was her secret relief to have one less child under her roof fighting over whether to watch Bugs Bunny or Lassie on the one television set shared by eight of us. Grabbing a paper grocery bag and quickly stuffing it with a few things any ten year old tomboy would consider necessities, I raced out the door, jumped on my bike, and after five minutes of pedaling through the village I was there. Really there. Overnights with Kathy were the open doors of my childhood when anything was possible, and I threw myself into these opportunities with the careless abandon that adults rarely experience and barely remember.
In typical fashion, we sat among the clutter on the floor of her fabulously untidy bedroom, petting her cats, rearranging the rocks and twigs in our woolly bear aquarium, smoothing and braiding the colorful hair of her troll dolls, and squishing the occasional flea we picked off our legs. And, predictably, a plan began to hatch for an adventure.
Being normal kids, our adventures generally broke some rules of social conduct or personal safety, but we were not being rebellious, just allowing our childish dreams and fantasies to be our guide to fun. On this particular evening we thought it would be great fun to play outside after dark. The obvious obstacle, however, was the parents. How to get around that obstacle? That was the challenge to be solved, and solve it we did. Kathy's family lived in an old clapboard house with three bedrooms downstairs and one very large bedroom and huge closet upstairs. Since she was the only girl in the family, she was given the coveted upstairs bedroom as her personal kingdom, and rarely did anyone venture up the stairs other than Kathy and her best friend. If we could just figure out a way to reach the ground safely from the porch roof we would be golden.
In the next several adrenaline driven minutes we stripped the bunk beds of sheets and proceeded to tie the ends together with big clumsy knots. Two sheets from each bed produced enough length to reach from the window, across the roof, and over the edge to within five feet of the ground. Perfect! We were both good climbers on the ropes in our school gym class, so we were confident we could climb down the sheet rope and easily drop to the ground. I volunteered to go first while Kathy stood on the roof watching the window to make sure it didn't slide up and let loose of the knot that would be holding my life in its grip. In mere moments I was on the ground whooping a silent victory cheer while gradually becoming aware of a deep insecurity rising up within me as I gaped into that vast sea of darkness. My urgent whispered pleadings for my friend to hurry down and join me were finally rewarded, and together we jumped around and celebrated our success, confident in the security that each provided the other.
image found here
So there we were. Two little girls in their pajamas standing in a once familiar backyard in the dark, not sure what to do next. These were the days when children in small towns were allowed to roam freely during the day. Parents didn't concern themselves about a child's absence for hours, because the whole village was a playground and when they got hungry they would come home. We were familiar with every street in the village, and our curiosity to experience our well-known world in its darker version propelled us out of the backyard and down the block. Wow. Everything looked so different. It was like looking at negatives of photographs, where the normally dark colors were light and the light colors were dark. Windows that were dark during the day were lit up, many uncovered, revealing bits of private lives that we knew we were not entitled to gaze upon so boldly. But with a defiance we believed the darkness would hide, we gazed and gazed. There was a fascination with seeing a man move across a room toward a television, or a woman standing with her face to the window in what appeared to be a posture of dishwashing, knowing that these individuals had no idea they were being watched. It was the naughtiest thing we had ever done in our lives and we crept through the town looking for uncovered windows to gawk into until we began to get cold. We had had our fun and we were ready to call it a night.
Not until we stepped back into Kathy's backyard and saw that white sheet rope dangling five feet above the ground did it occur to us that we couldn't reach it to climb back up. As panic threatened to devour us we held each other, shivering, and devised a new plan. We would simply have to wait it out. There was no habit of door locking in those days. What was the need for locking a door when crime in our village was almost unheard of? So we figured if we could just be patient we would be able to enter the house through the back door once her parents had gone to bed and they would never be the wiser. For the next hour we did what our exhausted bodies could do in an effort to keep ourselves warm in the damp, rapidly cooling night air. We were rewarded with the amusing scene of her teenage brother staring at his reflection in the kitchen window, apparently admiring what he saw. But for the most part the wait was long, cold, boring, and a little frightening as silence magnified the night sounds of unidentified creatures.
The house had been completely dark for some time and we decided this was our chance to sneak back in, creep up the stairs, pull the knotted sheets back in through the window, and snooze the rest of the night away in the guilty pleasure of a successful adventure. The factor we hadn't taken into consideration was that an old house has more creaky spots than our grandmothers' arthritic knees. From the first step inside the door our presence was announced loudly by the tattletale floor boards. Before we had made it halfway across the kitchen our deception was exposed by a flood of light when her father, unashamed in his underwear, flipped the wall switch. Busted.
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