Super Kids Day......
I am impressed. A day spent entirely outside winning various contests and participating in challenging physical activities. Finally, a time set aside to test real strengths.
Ability. Agility. Wit. Fortitude. Leadership.
I excelled. I brought home several blue ribbons. Whenever I could force a boy to get a red ribbon, I felt particularly gratified.
At the end of the day, we got to show off our ribbons. I couldn't wait to display mine.
There was one dark spot. (Isn't there always?)
The stupid "Eat A Cracker, Don't Swallow, And Try To Whistle" game. Three years, I tried to win this task. For three years, I have failed.
Until it finally dawned on me.....I can't whistle. So, why would I be able to with dry saltines in my mouth?
For all remaining Super Kids Days, I bypassed this game with my nose in the air.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Friday, May 10, 2013
Twisting the Night Away
I am going to surprise and shock you.
The best times of my life weren't always driving go carts or big wheels. There was something else I liked to do just as much as playing kickball and dodge ball with Scotty and Kirk.
It's kind of girly.
I liked to dance. But not like a ballerina.
Like Annette Funicello. Or Anne Margaret. Or....like my parents.
All the parties at Jo and Noah's house usually turned in to a dancing party. We'd start out playing outside, then upstairs, then we'd try to play a game, end up screaming at each other, and saying, "Girls in Roxi's room, boys in Jack's room!"
It took about 5 minutes for us to make up. Usually about the time we heard the music of the Beach Boys or the Four Seasons blasting the speakers downstairs. We'd all go racing down to the den.
We'd take over the room and do our best versions of the twist, the jerk, the swim, and the jitterbug. Mom, Jo, and Grace would get out there with us. I would have to say that I learned to "shake it" from them. (As they read this, Mom and Grace are probably laughing hysterically, while Jo is saying, "Of course you did!")
We'd leave our troubles behind and celebrate life through that music. It is the music of my childhood, the music that takes me back.
And I'm convinced that Jack, Georgie, and Phillip are great dancers simply because we made them start at such an early age. (I am also convinced that they wanted to do the jitterbug....there was no forcing needed.)
The best times of my life weren't always driving go carts or big wheels. There was something else I liked to do just as much as playing kickball and dodge ball with Scotty and Kirk.
It's kind of girly.
I liked to dance. But not like a ballerina.
Like Annette Funicello. Or Anne Margaret. Or....like my parents.
All the parties at Jo and Noah's house usually turned in to a dancing party. We'd start out playing outside, then upstairs, then we'd try to play a game, end up screaming at each other, and saying, "Girls in Roxi's room, boys in Jack's room!"
It took about 5 minutes for us to make up. Usually about the time we heard the music of the Beach Boys or the Four Seasons blasting the speakers downstairs. We'd all go racing down to the den.
We'd take over the room and do our best versions of the twist, the jerk, the swim, and the jitterbug. Mom, Jo, and Grace would get out there with us. I would have to say that I learned to "shake it" from them. (As they read this, Mom and Grace are probably laughing hysterically, while Jo is saying, "Of course you did!")
We'd leave our troubles behind and celebrate life through that music. It is the music of my childhood, the music that takes me back.
And I'm convinced that Jack, Georgie, and Phillip are great dancers simply because we made them start at such an early age. (I am also convinced that they wanted to do the jitterbug....there was no forcing needed.)
Friday, May 3, 2013
A Realized Hero
The doctor's told my mom that after his seizures, Bill would never walk or talk.
They didn't count on his quiet, strong, and consistent determination.
It's probably a good thing Bill was too young to understand the experts thought he wouldn't grow like normal kids. The power of suggestion is so very strong. Most of the time we are battling our own ability to cope with our self-image and self-concept. We do have the power to affect how others see themselves, but only if we are giving them that power. Therefore, I am most grateful Bill was an infant when my parents received this news. Of course, he is so quietly stubborn, that I highly doubt he would've failed anyway.
It did take awhile. He wasn't crawling until he was two. (I think some of that was because he was either on my hip or my mother's.)
He didn't really talk until he was two. Even then, it was a funny language. But we figured it out:
1) Does (pronounced doughs) was girls. Mom would say, "Bill, go get the girls." He would call, "Does!"
2) Pisten was his word for Maria.
3) Chiyi was his word for Wendy.
4) Mama Doe was his word for me.
5) When he didn't like his food, he'd dump it in his milk. (Okay, that one was pretty easy to figure out.)
6) Every morning he had a fit with crying and all sorts of carrying on. We figured out his socks had to be perfectly straight.
7) When he was ready for a nap, he'd fall to the floor and start pushing his head around on the carpet.
8) His "Dukes of Hazzard" matchbox cars had to be in a perfectly straight line on his window sill.
9) Mom had to carry an extra set of these cars in her purse.
He was the cutest thing ever. He might've learned to speak clearer quicker if it hadn't been for us. We knew what he was trying to say and always translated for him. Therefore, he didn't always have the opportunity to work on it.
But he prevailed. And learned to talk. And learned to walk. And run. And kick a ball -- which would become very important.
After my dad, he is my hero. He overcame major difficulties with silent strength and a calm outlook. I'll always look up to him, my baby brother, Bill.
They didn't count on his quiet, strong, and consistent determination.
It's probably a good thing Bill was too young to understand the experts thought he wouldn't grow like normal kids. The power of suggestion is so very strong. Most of the time we are battling our own ability to cope with our self-image and self-concept. We do have the power to affect how others see themselves, but only if we are giving them that power. Therefore, I am most grateful Bill was an infant when my parents received this news. Of course, he is so quietly stubborn, that I highly doubt he would've failed anyway.
It did take awhile. He wasn't crawling until he was two. (I think some of that was because he was either on my hip or my mother's.)
He didn't really talk until he was two. Even then, it was a funny language. But we figured it out:
1) Does (pronounced doughs) was girls. Mom would say, "Bill, go get the girls." He would call, "Does!"
2) Pisten was his word for Maria.
3) Chiyi was his word for Wendy.
4) Mama Doe was his word for me.
5) When he didn't like his food, he'd dump it in his milk. (Okay, that one was pretty easy to figure out.)
6) Every morning he had a fit with crying and all sorts of carrying on. We figured out his socks had to be perfectly straight.
7) When he was ready for a nap, he'd fall to the floor and start pushing his head around on the carpet.
8) His "Dukes of Hazzard" matchbox cars had to be in a perfectly straight line on his window sill.
9) Mom had to carry an extra set of these cars in her purse.
He was the cutest thing ever. He might've learned to speak clearer quicker if it hadn't been for us. We knew what he was trying to say and always translated for him. Therefore, he didn't always have the opportunity to work on it.
But he prevailed. And learned to talk. And learned to walk. And run. And kick a ball -- which would become very important.
After my dad, he is my hero. He overcame major difficulties with silent strength and a calm outlook. I'll always look up to him, my baby brother, Bill.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Spring Fever!
Spring time in my town brings lots more than wishing flowers. Let's see....lightning bugs, love bugs, cool evenings that are perfect for playing kickball, strawberries, ice cream, and cowboys.
My town has a rodeo. This is a competition where men do a bunch of different activities with livestock. Such as ropin' calves, wrestlin' steers, and ridin' bulls.
It was held near the bus barn. No, we don't store our school buses in an actual barn. That's just what we call the big parking lot where all the buses go to sleep at night.
At this point in my life I don't much care for cowboys. I care for the bright lights of the carnival.
This is not a competition, but an obstacle course of sorts. The game was to ride as many rides as possible before your parents decide they are tired and need to go home.
I start with the carousel, then move on to the sack slides. There was the train, and the mini-roller coaster. And a whirly gig kind of thing that turns you upside down. The only break I took was to sit down and watch the pig races.
I save the ferris wheel for last -- always.
Usually, I win this game because let me tell you -- I am fast.
The only feat I never succeeded in was getting cotton candy. My parents were dead set against me enjoying the spun sugar treat. Guess I didn't need any more fuel than my normal rarin' to go attitude.
I consoled myself with more than one ride on the ferris wheel.
My town has a rodeo. This is a competition where men do a bunch of different activities with livestock. Such as ropin' calves, wrestlin' steers, and ridin' bulls.
It was held near the bus barn. No, we don't store our school buses in an actual barn. That's just what we call the big parking lot where all the buses go to sleep at night.
At this point in my life I don't much care for cowboys. I care for the bright lights of the carnival.
This is not a competition, but an obstacle course of sorts. The game was to ride as many rides as possible before your parents decide they are tired and need to go home.
I start with the carousel, then move on to the sack slides. There was the train, and the mini-roller coaster. And a whirly gig kind of thing that turns you upside down. The only break I took was to sit down and watch the pig races.
I save the ferris wheel for last -- always.
Usually, I win this game because let me tell you -- I am fast.
The only feat I never succeeded in was getting cotton candy. My parents were dead set against me enjoying the spun sugar treat. Guess I didn't need any more fuel than my normal rarin' to go attitude.
I consoled myself with more than one ride on the ferris wheel.
Friday, April 19, 2013
"Please Come Over and Stop My Husband." -- Mrs. Huxtable
"Drummond?" my mother calls.
"Yo!" he answers back.
"The dishwasher is broken. I'm going to call the repairman."
My father comes shooting into the kitchen. "Don't do that. I'll fix it right now."
I look up from my coloring books spread over the kitchen table and watch the exchange.
My mother looks a little pale. My lips twitch as I try to hold in a giggle.
"Well, do you think you have time?" she asks. "I thought you were supposed to go meet Noah for golf."
"Probably gonna rain," he explains.
As he walks into the garage to get his tools, her shoulders slump, and she sighs. I understand that sigh. God bless the man, he always has to fix things on his own. If it doesn't go smoothly, cuss words will fly out of his mouth quicker than ice melts in July.
Mama comes and falls into a chair at the table, probably mentally preparing herself for what's about to happen. She looks at us girls as we all carefully color pictures of Winnie the Pooh or Minnie Mouse.
Dad comes back in and sets his tool box down. The banging commences. We're only a few minutes into the fixing when the cussing begins. I feel bad for my dad, but sometimes, his irritation is really quite funny. Just picture Yosemite Sam, and you'll understand.
"Yo!" he answers back.
"The dishwasher is broken. I'm going to call the repairman."
My father comes shooting into the kitchen. "Don't do that. I'll fix it right now."
I look up from my coloring books spread over the kitchen table and watch the exchange.
My mother looks a little pale. My lips twitch as I try to hold in a giggle.
"Well, do you think you have time?" she asks. "I thought you were supposed to go meet Noah for golf."
"Probably gonna rain," he explains.
As he walks into the garage to get his tools, her shoulders slump, and she sighs. I understand that sigh. God bless the man, he always has to fix things on his own. If it doesn't go smoothly, cuss words will fly out of his mouth quicker than ice melts in July.
Mama comes and falls into a chair at the table, probably mentally preparing herself for what's about to happen. She looks at us girls as we all carefully color pictures of Winnie the Pooh or Minnie Mouse.
Dad comes back in and sets his tool box down. The banging commences. We're only a few minutes into the fixing when the cussing begins. I feel bad for my dad, but sometimes, his irritation is really quite funny. Just picture Yosemite Sam, and you'll understand.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Granter of Wishes
It takes some time for Dandelions to turn into Wishing Flowers. I know. Because I checked everyday.
When they hadn't changed, I wasn't sad. Seeing the yellow dotting the field made me just as happy. You might be surprised to know that I didn't pick them. I let them live.
My extreme patience surprised even me. It was, of course, further proof to my mother and everyone else that I could control my impulses. Therefore, talking during instruction and standing still in line were possible for me.
Geez...I was dumb to show adults that side of myself. But...the flowers lived longer, swaying in the breeze, and pushing their happiness up through the ground.
Then the day came when there were Wishing Flowers as far as the eye could see. As Maria tells it, I declared, "These flowers go all the way to Hazard County!" (Not Harris. Hazard. Fans of the General should know to which county I refer.)
I run into the lot, ready to make as many wishes as possible. I do pick a couple. I close my eyes and make my wish, raising my head to the Heavens. After I used the most beautiful words, I open my eyes and blow at the white, fluffy seeds. Watching the wind catch them, I smile in glee to see my wish carried away. Hopefully to the place where wishes are granted.
Eventually, though, I get a better idea. I certainly can't pick every flower. There are hundreds of flowers waiting to be wished on.
Instead, I close my eyes and make all my wishes at once. Then, with lightning speed, I dash through the flowers, my legs and arms kicking up the soft seeds, sending them flying and spinning into the air. Thousands of wishes swirl around me as I run through the lot.
I stop and look around, my smile splitting my face. I lift my arms and glory in the sight of those white, fluffy seeds flying. All my wishes, shooting through the Heavens....
And the best part was I knew those seeds would hit the ground and grow new flowers. I was sending Wishing Flowers to others. It was a good feeling.
When they hadn't changed, I wasn't sad. Seeing the yellow dotting the field made me just as happy. You might be surprised to know that I didn't pick them. I let them live.
My extreme patience surprised even me. It was, of course, further proof to my mother and everyone else that I could control my impulses. Therefore, talking during instruction and standing still in line were possible for me.
Geez...I was dumb to show adults that side of myself. But...the flowers lived longer, swaying in the breeze, and pushing their happiness up through the ground.
Then the day came when there were Wishing Flowers as far as the eye could see. As Maria tells it, I declared, "These flowers go all the way to Hazard County!" (Not Harris. Hazard. Fans of the General should know to which county I refer.)
I run into the lot, ready to make as many wishes as possible. I do pick a couple. I close my eyes and make my wish, raising my head to the Heavens. After I used the most beautiful words, I open my eyes and blow at the white, fluffy seeds. Watching the wind catch them, I smile in glee to see my wish carried away. Hopefully to the place where wishes are granted.
Eventually, though, I get a better idea. I certainly can't pick every flower. There are hundreds of flowers waiting to be wished on.
Instead, I close my eyes and make all my wishes at once. Then, with lightning speed, I dash through the flowers, my legs and arms kicking up the soft seeds, sending them flying and spinning into the air. Thousands of wishes swirl around me as I run through the lot.
I stop and look around, my smile splitting my face. I lift my arms and glory in the sight of those white, fluffy seeds flying. All my wishes, shooting through the Heavens....
And the best part was I knew those seeds would hit the ground and grow new flowers. I was sending Wishing Flowers to others. It was a good feeling.
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Wildflower
I stretch. I yawn. I scratch my head and then jump out of bed. It's Saturday.
I get dressed and brush my teeth as fast as I can. I do NOT brush my hair. Who has time for that?
After I scarf down my cereal, I rush outside, my heart pounding in anticipation.
I race down the front walk as fast as Speedy Gonzalez, but come to a grinding halt at the end of my driveway. I stare straight ahead of me, my eyes wide, my mouth wreathed in a cheek-breaking smile. Even though I knew it would be there, I'm still amazed.
A field of yellow flowers waves in the morning wind before me. The lot across from my house has turned into Heaven as Spring has sprung.
They are Dandelions. Otherwise known as Wishing Flowers. Isn't that fabulous? I live right across from a field of Wishing Flowers. God must REALLY love me.
I sit down at the end of my driveway and take in their beauty. And my good fortune.
I sit for more than hour, soaking up as much of their happiness as I can.
But...I am also waiting...
I get dressed and brush my teeth as fast as I can. I do NOT brush my hair. Who has time for that?
After I scarf down my cereal, I rush outside, my heart pounding in anticipation.
I race down the front walk as fast as Speedy Gonzalez, but come to a grinding halt at the end of my driveway. I stare straight ahead of me, my eyes wide, my mouth wreathed in a cheek-breaking smile. Even though I knew it would be there, I'm still amazed.
A field of yellow flowers waves in the morning wind before me. The lot across from my house has turned into Heaven as Spring has sprung.
They are Dandelions. Otherwise known as Wishing Flowers. Isn't that fabulous? I live right across from a field of Wishing Flowers. God must REALLY love me.
I sit down at the end of my driveway and take in their beauty. And my good fortune.
I sit for more than hour, soaking up as much of their happiness as I can.
But...I am also waiting...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)