Ah Thanksgiving. The first of the holiday dinners at Gramma's house. Well, not so much a dinner as a feast. There was more food and fellowship than the VFW on a Friday night.
When Gramma and Grampa still were on the farm, the kitchen was the gathering place. I remember walking in with Mom, Daddy and Big Sister and the women were all in the kitchen running around like a bunch of raped apes getting the dinner ready. The men were in the living room watching football. The kids were...everywhere. We pretty much ran around like a bunch of crazed lunatics, darting in between tall people legs, crawling under tables, upsetting kool aid glasses and trying to hug Gramma.
Gramma was awesome. She could mash potatoes, baste the turkey, cut a pie and hug 5 grandchildren all at once. She had more love in that one little hug and by God, you felt it!
I, of course, was in the heart of it all with the older cousins trying to snitch a taste here and there of the delights that were being put out on the table. I mean, who wouldn't? Pumpkin pie, lefse (sugared and non-sugared), cookies, salads and of course, the famous 7 Layer Jello made by Aunt Jean.
7 Layer Jello was an unbelievable confection of jiggle goodness. It was quite literally 7 full layers of jello. One with the clear coloured jello followed by a layer of whipped cream induced jello followed by clear coloured jello and so on and so on and so forth until it was 7 layers. She made it for Thanksgiving and Christmas every year. It was the epitome of the holiday season when 7 layer jello was involved.
You ate this jello layer by layer. Peeling each one off as carefully as possible to try and make it a full piece. It became a competition between cousins on whom could pull the first layer off successfully. The kudos went to the one who could successfully separate all 7 layers in full pieces.
I am not certain any of the adults paid close enough attention to our little competition but my cousin, Steve, got pretty good at it over the years. my cousin, Chad, would always open his mouth and stick out his tongue with his pumpkin pie. Yeah, that would send the other girls into gales of "gross! disgusting!" I would laugh and copy him. (My admiration for him would change after the whole ghosts in the graveyard incident.)
Thanksgiving was the entrance to the holiday season for my family. After a robust dinner and clean up, Gramma, Mom and the Aunts would chat in the kitchen over coffee and pie, the men would fall asleep watching the football game and the kids would just be...everywhere.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Excuse me?
I have the funniest kids on the earth. They have great senses of humour and are very quick on their feet.
The first time I recognized this was with my daughter at the age of 2. We were driving along, me in the driver's seat and she in the car seat in the back. We were driving along singing Barney songs, like you do, when some obviously blind person decided to pull out in front of me. Not being around children on a daily basis for 30 years of my life, I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. "Jackass!" Oops. Quickly I tried to cover my bad choice of words, "I mean, JERK!"
Too late. From the back seat in a tiny little voice came the Mimic. "Jackass." Obviously trying out the word on her two year old tongue and deciding she liked the taste of it. Ok. Bad parenting 101. There was your first lesson, moron. Solution? Ok, watch your mouth because little pitchers DO have big ears.
A few days go by and I am once again driving with said child. Once again, I am cut off in traffic by someone without a license. I didn't even get a breath in when from the back seat I hear, "Jackass." Not only do they have big ears, they obviously have the memory of an elephant.
Well, at least she used it in context.
Three years later, along comes baby brother. Chynna was positive she was having a baby sister and was somewhat disappointed when she learned she was getting a baby brother. When asked what she was going to name him I feared for the reproachful look I would get from the doctor. Luckily, she did not reply Jackass, she replied "Harry." Whew. Obviously, she moved on to Harry Potter. The reason I suspect this? She walked around the house and would say Bloody hell in an English accent.
Fast forward 5 years. Lucas has become the newest comic relief in our family. He was forever asking questions. sometimes a little more than we preferred.
One day while driving them to school, he blurted out "Hey Mom! Did they have cars when you were little?"
How OLD does this kid think I am?! So, thinking I could get one over on him I replied, "No, Luc, we ride dinosaurs."
"Huh...that's cool. Did you tie their mouths shut so they didn't eat you?"
Kids-1 Mom-0.
The first time I recognized this was with my daughter at the age of 2. We were driving along, me in the driver's seat and she in the car seat in the back. We were driving along singing Barney songs, like you do, when some obviously blind person decided to pull out in front of me. Not being around children on a daily basis for 30 years of my life, I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. "Jackass!" Oops. Quickly I tried to cover my bad choice of words, "I mean, JERK!"
Too late. From the back seat in a tiny little voice came the Mimic. "Jackass." Obviously trying out the word on her two year old tongue and deciding she liked the taste of it. Ok. Bad parenting 101. There was your first lesson, moron. Solution? Ok, watch your mouth because little pitchers DO have big ears.
A few days go by and I am once again driving with said child. Once again, I am cut off in traffic by someone without a license. I didn't even get a breath in when from the back seat I hear, "Jackass." Not only do they have big ears, they obviously have the memory of an elephant.
Well, at least she used it in context.
Three years later, along comes baby brother. Chynna was positive she was having a baby sister and was somewhat disappointed when she learned she was getting a baby brother. When asked what she was going to name him I feared for the reproachful look I would get from the doctor. Luckily, she did not reply Jackass, she replied "Harry." Whew. Obviously, she moved on to Harry Potter. The reason I suspect this? She walked around the house and would say Bloody hell in an English accent.
Fast forward 5 years. Lucas has become the newest comic relief in our family. He was forever asking questions. sometimes a little more than we preferred.
One day while driving them to school, he blurted out "Hey Mom! Did they have cars when you were little?"
How OLD does this kid think I am?! So, thinking I could get one over on him I replied, "No, Luc, we ride dinosaurs."
"Huh...that's cool. Did you tie their mouths shut so they didn't eat you?"
Kids-1 Mom-0.
The Best Playmate Ever
My Dad. Hands down. He wasn't much more than a kid himself when Big Sister was born and then I came along a mere 11 months later. My dad was all of 20 going on 21 when I entered this illustrious world. I think that is why I have the bizarre sense of humor that I have.
My parents were 21 years old with 2 girls under 2. I, personally, would have been an alcoholic. My kids are 5 years apart and I wonder how people have 2 kids in diapers at once. Hats off to you people. I could never do it.
But, back to my Dad. Yes, Dad was the best playmate my sisters and I could ever have had.
Before baby sister came along, Big Sister and I used to make up games to play with Daddy. One of our favourites was "Mountain Lion". Daddy would get down on all fours and start growling at us. We would scream and run to the couch or chair and climb up on it. Obviously, a Naugahyde sofa was like kryptonite to deranged bloodthirsty felines. We would wait til his back was turned and then scramble down off the couch and try to run across the living room to the chair without getting caught. If you were caught, you had to suffer the mountain lion's wrath. You were usually tickled til you squealed- or wet your pants, whichever came first.
A lot of times we would get loud and Mom would yell from the kitchen, "Mark! Keep it down! You are worse than the girls!"
Well, duh...that is what made the yelling and screaming ok. Daddy was doing it, so could we!
Dad would make up words to songs. He was the original Weird Al Yankovik. Constantly making up songs and singing them in bizarre voices to get us kids to laugh. And we generally did. Heck, even at 41 I still will sing them and he will join in then we will laugh like a couple of loons.
I have one that still runs thru my head about Star Wars. It was sung to the "Empire theme" (google it and then listen to the words) it went a little something like this..."My name's Ralph and I hail Tattooine..My name's Ralph and I hail Tattooine...My name is Yoda...I hail from Dagobah...."
Yeah, it was a real had to be there moment. But it was funnier than heck when you were 8 years old.
My parents were 21 years old with 2 girls under 2. I, personally, would have been an alcoholic. My kids are 5 years apart and I wonder how people have 2 kids in diapers at once. Hats off to you people. I could never do it.
But, back to my Dad. Yes, Dad was the best playmate my sisters and I could ever have had.
Before baby sister came along, Big Sister and I used to make up games to play with Daddy. One of our favourites was "Mountain Lion". Daddy would get down on all fours and start growling at us. We would scream and run to the couch or chair and climb up on it. Obviously, a Naugahyde sofa was like kryptonite to deranged bloodthirsty felines. We would wait til his back was turned and then scramble down off the couch and try to run across the living room to the chair without getting caught. If you were caught, you had to suffer the mountain lion's wrath. You were usually tickled til you squealed- or wet your pants, whichever came first.
A lot of times we would get loud and Mom would yell from the kitchen, "Mark! Keep it down! You are worse than the girls!"
Well, duh...that is what made the yelling and screaming ok. Daddy was doing it, so could we!
Dad would make up words to songs. He was the original Weird Al Yankovik. Constantly making up songs and singing them in bizarre voices to get us kids to laugh. And we generally did. Heck, even at 41 I still will sing them and he will join in then we will laugh like a couple of loons.
I have one that still runs thru my head about Star Wars. It was sung to the "Empire theme" (google it and then listen to the words) it went a little something like this..."My name's Ralph and I hail Tattooine..My name's Ralph and I hail Tattooine...My name is Yoda...I hail from Dagobah...."
Yeah, it was a real had to be there moment. But it was funnier than heck when you were 8 years old.
Friday, November 12, 2010
'Tis the Season
Lately I have been listening to Christmas music in the car... and at work...and at home. I recently came across a tape (yes, I said tape as in cassette) that Dad made me 20+ years ago of the Christmas albums we used to listen to when we were growing up.
Since my car is one of the rare few that a cassette player comes standard in this day and age of cd changers, I popped it in and gave it a listen. As the strains of Andy Williams "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" filled my car with Christmas cheer, I was whisked back in time to the excitement of Christmas that I felt as a kid.
Amazing how music can evoke so many different emotions at the same time; joy, humor, sadness, humility all roared through my 40 year old self. I remembered dancing in the living room of the parsonage where we lived when I was a newborn until the age of 4. I remembered jumping from couch to chair at the farmhouse from age 4 to 6.
As kids, my parents blasted the Christmas music while we decorated the tree for Christmas. It was always a special treat when Dad put the angel on the top of the tree while Big Sister and I ate milk and cookies and watched in 3-4 year old awe. It was at that time that we were on especially good behaviour because Santa WAS REALLY watching then. (Of Course, Mom will tell you that we weren't perfect angels, but we sure tried hard and only fought twice a day.)
Dad was always goofing around during the holidays and making up his own words to Christmas songs. Many of which, I can still sing much to his chagrin. It is true that little pitchers have big ears. I heard even the nasty versions, but I won't tell if you don't.
The first Christmas in the new house was in 1976. I was 7, Big Sister was 8 and Baby Sister was 1. True to form, when it was time to put up the tree (back in the day we had a real tree), Mom would put the Christmas records on the stackable turntable and the music filled the house.
Listening to the songs in my car made me realize, I missed my turn and have to drive the long way to get the kids.
*Note to self~ Pay attention to the road, Doofen Claus...
Since my car is one of the rare few that a cassette player comes standard in this day and age of cd changers, I popped it in and gave it a listen. As the strains of Andy Williams "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" filled my car with Christmas cheer, I was whisked back in time to the excitement of Christmas that I felt as a kid.
Amazing how music can evoke so many different emotions at the same time; joy, humor, sadness, humility all roared through my 40 year old self. I remembered dancing in the living room of the parsonage where we lived when I was a newborn until the age of 4. I remembered jumping from couch to chair at the farmhouse from age 4 to 6.
As kids, my parents blasted the Christmas music while we decorated the tree for Christmas. It was always a special treat when Dad put the angel on the top of the tree while Big Sister and I ate milk and cookies and watched in 3-4 year old awe. It was at that time that we were on especially good behaviour because Santa WAS REALLY watching then. (Of Course, Mom will tell you that we weren't perfect angels, but we sure tried hard and only fought twice a day.)
Dad was always goofing around during the holidays and making up his own words to Christmas songs. Many of which, I can still sing much to his chagrin. It is true that little pitchers have big ears. I heard even the nasty versions, but I won't tell if you don't.
The first Christmas in the new house was in 1976. I was 7, Big Sister was 8 and Baby Sister was 1. True to form, when it was time to put up the tree (back in the day we had a real tree), Mom would put the Christmas records on the stackable turntable and the music filled the house.
Listening to the songs in my car made me realize, I missed my turn and have to drive the long way to get the kids.
*Note to self~ Pay attention to the road, Doofen Claus...
Monday, November 1, 2010
Ghosts in the Graveyard
Thinking back, playing Ghost in the Graveyard in an ACTUAL graveyard may not have been the wisest thing to do at the ages of 11 and 8. Why? Well, you asked...
So, Halloween that year fell on a Saturday I think. I was fortunate enough to be allowed to go into town with my City Cousins. Score!
After three rounds of trick-or-treating in three different costumes and about 39 lbs of candy in my pillowcase, my cousin and his buddies coerced Tanya and I to go play in the graveyard. Now, "go play in the graveyard" could have been the equivalent of my father's "go play in the traffic", but not in this case. We really went and played in the graveyard.
My cousin, Chad, and his neighborhood hooligans gathered together and decided to play Ghost in the Graveyard. We were all about the same age 11 and 12-ish, except for Tanya who was 8. But HEY! Who cared? We were the only girls in a group of about 9 boys and we felt singled out and special.
Yeah, that warm and fuzzy feeling did NOT last very long. Little did we realize that we were the stool pigeons for their sick and twisted games.
So, grabbing our flashlights, we rode our bikes up the hill and over to the cemetery. Making sure we were nearly invisible in our dark clothes that would cause many an accident if we darted out in front of cars like an errant deer.
Pulling into the cemetery we just dumped bikes and took off running into the darkened and eerie graveyard we switched off our flashlights so the "hunter" wouldn't find us. Making our way into the middle of the cemetery and scrunched down behind a particularly large headstone, Tanya and I held our breath and tried to calm our pounding hearts. We could hear the boys running, tripping and smacking into headstones followed by a lot of 11 year old curse words. "Ouch! Crap!" "ooof" "Dang!" I think I even heard a "damn" but since we weren't allowed to swear I didn't want to snitch.
I could see the hunter's flashlight creeping in our direction so I grabbed Tanya's hand and hauled her over to one of the few mausoleums in the cemetery. My intent was to hide behind it. Her's was to hide INSIDE it.
Now, normally these tombs of the dead were locked by a padlock or something, this particular one...was not. Quickly Tanya ducked into the tomb pulling the grated door shut. I could hear the metal scrape against the granite as she pulled it shut. What a creepy sound.
All was quiet. For about 5 seconds. Then Tanya obviously looked around and realized that she had shut herself inside a tomb with a couple of sarcophagus (or, plural? sarcophagi?) containing none other than (DA DA DAAAAAHHH creepy music) 2 dead bodies.
She tried pushing on the door only to realize that it was stuck against the granite. She tried pulling it only to find that it would not go any further inside. She pushed and pushed and I heard the panic start to rise in her voice.
"Jenny! JennY! HELP! I'M STUCK!!! HEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLP!"
I didn't really want to lose my hiding place but decided that Tanya was more important than my winning the game. What game? This wasn't really a game anymore, it was a nightmare come to life.
I ran around the side of the mausoleum and could see Tanya's eyes as huge as pie plates in her tiny white face. She was clutching the bars of the grate like a prisoner on death row. "GET ME OUTTA HERE!! CHAD! I'M GONNA TELL MOM!"
I tugged on the door and it didn't budge. In fact, it only seemed to grind further into the granite. This was going to be WAY more difficult than I thought.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I realized that we could no longer hear the boys and their taunting laughter or the noises they were making trying to scare us. This was WAY scarier than those dumb ole boys.
I kept pulling and pulling on the grate and Tanya kept pushing and pushing. We were getting know where fast.
Finally, one of the boys, Gary, by name, came running and tried to help me get her out. He kept talking reassuringly to her to try and get her to calm down. She reached thru the bars and grabbed his arms and had him in a death grip.
He turned to me "Office Chicker lives right over there in the yellow house with the porch light and the big light up pumpkin in the front yard. Go and get him. His lights are still on."
From the tomb, "NO! Don't leave me here!"
Gary held her hands and nodded me to Officer Chicker's house. I nodded to him and took off like the hounds of hell were after me. I ran up to the door and rang the doorbell. I seriously thought I was going to wet my pants I was so nervous.
Officer Chicker opened the door. "What are doing out so late? Does your mother know-"
"OfficerChickeryougottacomequickTanyaislockedinthemausoleumacrossthestreetandcan'tgetout!!!!"
Amazingly, enough, he understood every word I said. He grabbed his hat and car keys. "How did she get in there? How any times have I told you kids that the graveyard is NOT a playground?!"
Looking back, I think it was a rhetorical question because I answered' "I think 9 times."
Nine times.
He grabbed his tool box out of the back of his truck and ran across the street with me leading the way.
When we got there, Tanya was crying hysterically while squeezing bruises into Gary's arms.
"Well," Chicker said, assessing the situation, "I guess we won't be playing in the graveyard ever again, now will we, Tanya?"
Blubber blubber sob sob gasp "N-n-no s-s-sir!"
Officer Chicker grabbed the metal grate and lifted up while pulling out. The door swung open with a loud "SCRRREEEEEE" and Tanya ran out straight into his arms. She cried and cried while Gary and I stood there looking and feeling very foolish. If we would have just looked we would have noticed that the grate had a broken hinge and if would have just lifted up on it, the door would have swung open and Tanya would have gotten out without incident.
After Tanya calmed down and my heart stopped racing, we got the lecture, "Now, I think we have learned a little lesson here, didn't we?"
"Yes, sir."
"Just think that one of you could have fallen and split your head wide open, or broken a leg or worse."
"Yes, sir."
"How many more times am I going to tell you NOT to play in the graveyard."
"None, sir."
He stood and looked down his nose at us with a menacing look on his face for a few seconds. "Alright, now, I want you to go straight home and I don't ever want to catch you playing in the graveyard again."
"Yes, sir!"
That was the last time we were ever conned into playing Ghost in the Graveyard with Cousin Chad and his ruffian friends. They got a good laugh at that when we walked in the door and they saw Tanya's tear stained face.
Needless to say, they weren't laughing later when they got into a bed and sleeping bags filled with shaving cream.
That reminds me...I owe my Aunt Vickie some shaving cream...
So, Halloween that year fell on a Saturday I think. I was fortunate enough to be allowed to go into town with my City Cousins. Score!
After three rounds of trick-or-treating in three different costumes and about 39 lbs of candy in my pillowcase, my cousin and his buddies coerced Tanya and I to go play in the graveyard. Now, "go play in the graveyard" could have been the equivalent of my father's "go play in the traffic", but not in this case. We really went and played in the graveyard.
My cousin, Chad, and his neighborhood hooligans gathered together and decided to play Ghost in the Graveyard. We were all about the same age 11 and 12-ish, except for Tanya who was 8. But HEY! Who cared? We were the only girls in a group of about 9 boys and we felt singled out and special.
Yeah, that warm and fuzzy feeling did NOT last very long. Little did we realize that we were the stool pigeons for their sick and twisted games.
So, grabbing our flashlights, we rode our bikes up the hill and over to the cemetery. Making sure we were nearly invisible in our dark clothes that would cause many an accident if we darted out in front of cars like an errant deer.
Pulling into the cemetery we just dumped bikes and took off running into the darkened and eerie graveyard we switched off our flashlights so the "hunter" wouldn't find us. Making our way into the middle of the cemetery and scrunched down behind a particularly large headstone, Tanya and I held our breath and tried to calm our pounding hearts. We could hear the boys running, tripping and smacking into headstones followed by a lot of 11 year old curse words. "Ouch! Crap!" "ooof" "Dang!" I think I even heard a "damn" but since we weren't allowed to swear I didn't want to snitch.
I could see the hunter's flashlight creeping in our direction so I grabbed Tanya's hand and hauled her over to one of the few mausoleums in the cemetery. My intent was to hide behind it. Her's was to hide INSIDE it.
Now, normally these tombs of the dead were locked by a padlock or something, this particular one...was not. Quickly Tanya ducked into the tomb pulling the grated door shut. I could hear the metal scrape against the granite as she pulled it shut. What a creepy sound.
All was quiet. For about 5 seconds. Then Tanya obviously looked around and realized that she had shut herself inside a tomb with a couple of sarcophagus (or, plural? sarcophagi?) containing none other than (DA DA DAAAAAHHH creepy music) 2 dead bodies.
She tried pushing on the door only to realize that it was stuck against the granite. She tried pulling it only to find that it would not go any further inside. She pushed and pushed and I heard the panic start to rise in her voice.
"Jenny! JennY! HELP! I'M STUCK!!! HEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLP!"
I didn't really want to lose my hiding place but decided that Tanya was more important than my winning the game. What game? This wasn't really a game anymore, it was a nightmare come to life.
I ran around the side of the mausoleum and could see Tanya's eyes as huge as pie plates in her tiny white face. She was clutching the bars of the grate like a prisoner on death row. "GET ME OUTTA HERE!! CHAD! I'M GONNA TELL MOM!"
I tugged on the door and it didn't budge. In fact, it only seemed to grind further into the granite. This was going to be WAY more difficult than I thought.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I realized that we could no longer hear the boys and their taunting laughter or the noises they were making trying to scare us. This was WAY scarier than those dumb ole boys.
I kept pulling and pulling on the grate and Tanya kept pushing and pushing. We were getting know where fast.
Finally, one of the boys, Gary, by name, came running and tried to help me get her out. He kept talking reassuringly to her to try and get her to calm down. She reached thru the bars and grabbed his arms and had him in a death grip.
He turned to me "Office Chicker lives right over there in the yellow house with the porch light and the big light up pumpkin in the front yard. Go and get him. His lights are still on."
From the tomb, "NO! Don't leave me here!"
Gary held her hands and nodded me to Officer Chicker's house. I nodded to him and took off like the hounds of hell were after me. I ran up to the door and rang the doorbell. I seriously thought I was going to wet my pants I was so nervous.
Officer Chicker opened the door. "What are doing out so late? Does your mother know-"
"OfficerChickeryougottacomequickTanyaislockedinthemausoleumacrossthestreetandcan'tgetout!!!!"
Amazingly, enough, he understood every word I said. He grabbed his hat and car keys. "How did she get in there? How any times have I told you kids that the graveyard is NOT a playground?!"
Looking back, I think it was a rhetorical question because I answered' "I think 9 times."
Nine times.
He grabbed his tool box out of the back of his truck and ran across the street with me leading the way.
When we got there, Tanya was crying hysterically while squeezing bruises into Gary's arms.
"Well," Chicker said, assessing the situation, "I guess we won't be playing in the graveyard ever again, now will we, Tanya?"
Blubber blubber sob sob gasp "N-n-no s-s-sir!"
Officer Chicker grabbed the metal grate and lifted up while pulling out. The door swung open with a loud "SCRRREEEEEE" and Tanya ran out straight into his arms. She cried and cried while Gary and I stood there looking and feeling very foolish. If we would have just looked we would have noticed that the grate had a broken hinge and if would have just lifted up on it, the door would have swung open and Tanya would have gotten out without incident.
After Tanya calmed down and my heart stopped racing, we got the lecture, "Now, I think we have learned a little lesson here, didn't we?"
"Yes, sir."
"Just think that one of you could have fallen and split your head wide open, or broken a leg or worse."
"Yes, sir."
"How many more times am I going to tell you NOT to play in the graveyard."
"None, sir."
He stood and looked down his nose at us with a menacing look on his face for a few seconds. "Alright, now, I want you to go straight home and I don't ever want to catch you playing in the graveyard again."
"Yes, sir!"
That was the last time we were ever conned into playing Ghost in the Graveyard with Cousin Chad and his ruffian friends. They got a good laugh at that when we walked in the door and they saw Tanya's tear stained face.
Needless to say, they weren't laughing later when they got into a bed and sleeping bags filled with shaving cream.
That reminds me...I owe my Aunt Vickie some shaving cream...
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