Longing for Youth

There comes a point in your life when you say, "What the hell happened to my childhood? Wasn't it just yesterday I was climbing trees, playing in the dirt and riding Barbie RV's down Third Street?!" In a blink of an eye, you're an adult. Ok. That's it. I don't want to adult anymore. Adulting is hard work! You have to get up and actually MAKE your bed! Then get in the shower, do your hair, put on your face, brush your teeth and get dressed in uncomfortable work clothes and shoes and go to a job. A JOB! the toughest job I had as a kid was cleaning my room! But then, that was tantamount to Hercules 12 tasks and the cleaning of the Augean Stables, according to my mother. When I was a kid, I rolled out of bed, threw on whatever was not balled up on the floor and wasn't dirty or didn't smell, ran a brush thru my hair, brushed my teeth and ran outside. I had things to do! Grasshoppers to catch, toads to locate, bikes to ridden, baseball to be played, swings to be swung, dirt to be thrown... I was a busy kid. All this adulating is starting to get on my nerves. Now I have little clones of myself and my husband to get up in the morning all while getting myself ready for the day. To son and daughter from my bedroom upon exiting the shower "Hey you two! Time to get up and get ready for school!" Silence. Yell again, "Hey! Up and at 'em!" Deafening silence. Put on robe and stomp down hall, throwing open bedroom doors and flipping on lights, "HEY! Get up! time to get ready for school." Groan, heavy sigh, whine, followed by covers pulled over head. Stomp to bed, pull covers off boy- "Up!" Groan "Gimmee a minute..." Stomp down hall to girl's room, open door, flip on light, "Time to get up." No response. Grab dog, toss him on bed to wake up girl. Lick lick lick... Girl "umph" Ok, that was productive. After 10 minutes I hear the sounds of children moving about their rooms. None too quickly. Yet, on weekends... up at 7 am. What. The. Hell. Not only do you have to get these mini-me's up in the morning, you have to clothe and feed them as well! Now wait a single minute... I don't remember being this needy as a kid! But, rest assured, I was, according to my parents. As a kid, I had a lot more freedom to be, do and say what I wanted. If I did that today I am considered "Not professionally dressed", "inappropriate behavior at work" and "incorrigible". Well gee... that's harsh, isn't it? I never signed on for Adulting. I long for the days of carefree childhood "fly by the seat of your pants" and daredevil antics. I could ride that Barbie RV down Third Street and no one would bat an eye. I do that today I would get arrested...and probably a broken RV trying to hold the weight of this adult. I want to go horseback riding without a saddle and barefoot thru the alfalfa fields with the neighbor kids of my youth. I want to go ice skating. I want to go to the pool with the bunch from my childhood. I want to climb a tree and throw acorns at the cousin and his cronies. If I did any of that now, I would most likely kill myself from over-exertion. But hey! I am willing to die by NOT Adulting, I would die happy!

The Diving Board

*Gulp* Dear God, what was I doing up here? How do I get myself into these messes? Why did I take the boys up on the dare to do this just to save face? Am I really not as brave as I thought? I wonder if I wet myself right now what would be more embarrassing? Standing on the diving board, twelve feet above the water, knees knocking, hand and shoulders shaking in uncontrollable fear. This is the furthest up I had ever been in my eleven years. I stared at the rippling blue water of the twelve foot pool from the high dive watching the sun reflect and dance across the water like fireflies, promising me a refreshing bath of warm pool water, only if I had the guts to jump. The longer I stared at the water, the more the water seemed to taunt me. "You can't do it. You are too much of a chicken to break the even surface of me. You don't have the guts!" Gulping again, I dared to hazard a look down at the bottom of the ladder from the high dive. I felt like I was thirty stories up. At the bottom stood my cousin and his friends, staring smugly up at me. The looks on their faces calling me the coward that I was, just waiting for me to climb sheepishly back down the ladder and run crying into the girls locker room. But then, I happened to look at Tanya. Her eight-year-old face staring intently back at me. The look of anger on her face at the taunting boys, but what I noticed more was the look of confidence in her eyes. "Come on and jump! We don't have all day!" One of the boys yelled, followed by a chorus of other cat calls and snarky comments. "Shut up! She's gonna jump just let her alone for a minute!" Tanya yelled back at them. She turned back to gaze up at me, her green-gold eyes showing her faith in me as if to say "You got this! Show them you can do it!" I smiled tremulously at her and looked back to look at the water below my dripping toes. "Get her down! She is too chicken!" one of the taunters yelled. I saw the life guard stand up and start to climb down his perch to come fetch me. No way! I was not going to let the beefy high schooler come up the ladder and drag me back down. I was already humiliated enough! I would never be able to show my face at the public pool again! With one last glance at Tanya, I turned, sucked all the air I could into my lungs, closed my eyes and jumped. I fell for what felt like an eternity. I was sure that I was falling to my death into the depths of Hell from whence I would never return. The warm summer air rushing around my body as I plummeted toward the water. The blood pounding furiously in my ears. My own heartbeat drowning out all sounds around me. When would I hit? Was this a test? Would I live to see tomorrow or would I shatter into a million pieces upon impact? Just before I hit the water, I heard one sound and one sound only. The sound of my cousin, Tanya, yelling, "ALRIGHT!" I plunged into the bright blue depths, the warmth enveloping me in a watery caress. Air exploded from my over inflated lungs as my feet touched the bottom of the twelve foot pool. Forcing my eyes open, I stared upward and saw the watery sun above the pool. The chlorine burned my eyes and my now empty lungs were starting to crave oxygen. I crouched and pushed off the bottom of the pool with my feet, sending me rocketing to the top. I broke the surface of the water and sucked in fresh air. I could hear Tanya yelling excitedly and taunting the boys that I was NOT a scaredy cat or a chicken or a wuss. She was dancing around and pointing at them and taunting them. I wiped the water from my eyes as I treaded water. I made eye contact with the boys and promptly stuck my tongue out at them and then swam toward the ladder of the pool, pulling myself out and shaking my head. Tanya came running up to me, ignoring the life guard yelling "No running!" she grabbed me and hugged me. "See! I told you you could do it! Those guys are idiots." She kept up a steady stream of confidence building chatter as I went to grab my towel. The boys, who were now bored with the fact that they couldn't make me cry, took off to play a game of Marco Polo in the six foot. ignoring us completely. I turned to Tanya, "Thanks. I was scared as heck to do that." "Yeah," she said enthusiastically, "I know! But you showed them! Bunch of idiots." (this was her favorite word at the time.)she grabbed her towel, "Come on, let's go to the Dairy-O for a large chocolate cone. You deserve it!" The moral of the story~ Chocolate Ice Cream fixes everything!

The Great Record Debate

"Who got potato chip grease all over my Barbara Streisand record?" That is not a question that comes up in every day conversation, but for some reason it was par for the course at my cousin's house. Now, I will admit, Tanya and I had been listening to "The Main Event" ad nauseum for the past half hour, but we had turned off the hi-fi and retired to the playroom for a delightful afternoon of Barbies. We were in the middle of the GI Joe and Bionic Woman wedding when we heard the screech from the living room. My Aunt came bursting into the toy room, "Were you two eating chips while listening to this record?" Both of us shook our heads in the negative. Nope. No chips. "There is chip grease all over this record. If you didn't do it, then who did?" Tanya and I looked at each other in bewilderment, looked at my Aunt and said "I don't know." She gave us a stern look and walked back into the living room. "And where is the record jacket?!?" She yelled. Tanya looked at me and said "It should be in the console where it always is." Nothing. No reply. Ok... must have found and we are good. Back to more important things, the wedding of the decade. The wedding went off without a hitch until we heard big brother come downstairs with his buddies. The came into the toy room eating a bag of chips, disrupting our reception, "Whatcha doin'? Playin' with your dollies?" I just ignored him, Tanya told him to shut up. "HEY!" he yelled, "Is that my GI Joe?" He snatched GI Joe from his chair at the elaborate head table we had made for the new couple, knocking over the Bionic Woman and the play-dough cake we had made. His friends snickered. Tanya yelled at him to knock it off. I took a different approach, "Not unless you play with dollies." Big brother got a little red in the face because I was being a smartass, but it did get the desired effect I was looking for. "It's not a doll, it's an action figure!" Oh. Ok. An action figure the same size of a Barbie Doll. "Fine! You can play with GI Joe." he tossed his back on the floor. It was at that point that we realized GI Joe had potato chip grease all over his black tuxedo he borrowed from Ken. Now we knew who got chip grease all over the Barbara Streisand record! Tanya jumped up and ran out to the kitchen, "Mom! Chad's eating potato chips in his room! He got the chip grease all over your record and he got it all over GI Joe's wedding tuxedo!" Chad stormed off after her, leaving me in the toy room with a greasy GI Joe, a prone Bionic Woman and a smashed play-doh wedding cake, as well as some of Chad's buddies. "So, I said," who wants to celebrate a wedding?"

Driving Lessons

I am 15 1/2. I'VE GOT MY PERMIT!! Yes, I am on my way to becoming a licensed driver! I am going to jump into a sports car and drive around town, my hair whipping in the wind, tunes cranked and looking awesome. Reality check...you don't have a sports car/convertible and your hair is pixie short. No wind whipping for that style. The first time I got behind the wheel of my mom's car was the day I got my permit. I immediately broke out into a cold sweat and started hyperventilating. So much for looking cool behind the wheel of a car. My mother drove a 1984 Renault Encore- who's tagline was The One To Watch! (my dad added the "fall apart" after it started nickel and diming them)It was a tiny black 4 door hatchback with a tan interior and an awesome tape deck. At least I could crank the tunes! No such luck. First thing my mom did was turn off Huey Lewis and the News "Sports" cassette and turn to face me. "No music until you have learned to drive without distractions." What?!? This was not looking as cool as I thought it would. Ok, get into driver's side, adjust seat, buckle up, adjust mirrors (check teeth and hair), put car into drive with my foot on the brake, look to my left, my right, my left again, turn on left blinker and pull carefully into the road. Ah, if it was only that easy. After checking my mirrors, I put the car into drive...and stomped on the gas. I peeled out, gravel flying everywhere on the right side of the car, squealing the tires when I hit the pavement, sped along for about 20 yards and then slammed on the brakes rocking the car back and forth for several seconds. Shaking, I turned to my mom, eyes huge and expecting to get the reaming of a lifetime. All I got was, "Gently." Seriously?! I should have heard at least a bloodcurdling "we're all gonna die" scream while digging her fingernails into the dashboard and bracing her feet on the floorboards. Instead, I got one word, "Gently." I will admit, she was a little white in the face, but she looked utterly calm and serene as she spoke to me. "Gently." I checked my mirrors again, gently took my foot off the brake and gently touched the gas. This time, the car slowly crept forward onto the road. I concentrated on keeping the car straight and gently giving it some gas. The little hatchback puttered along happily. As I approached a turn, I heard my mom again, "Gently." I eased off the gas and carefully applied the brake easing into the turn. Coming out of the turn I touched the gas again. "Gently." I maneuvered the car down the road, past the park, over the bridge, around the curve by the church, across the small bridge and to our lane. Switching on the right turn signal I pulled into the lane toward our house. I drove along the lane and pulled up into our driveway. Putting the car into park and switching off the engine, I turned to my mom. "Well," I said, "that, was an adventure." My mom smiled somewhat shakily at me. "It was, wasn't it?" I smiled at her, feeling rather proud of myself and my first driving lesson. I was going to do just fine as long as I remembered my mother's softly spoken word, "Gently." I gave myself a mental pat on that back. In the next instant, my proud balloon was deflated. "Next time," she said, gently, "you are driving with your father."

Circus Clowns are Evil

I am terrified of clowns. I will admit it. Clowns are the epitome of evil. It all started when I was 4 years old and my big sister's friend asked her if she could go to the circus with her and to be nice they even offered to take me. I was psyched! I had never been to a circus before and I was excited to see the elephants and the tigers and the tightrope walkers and whatever else a circus had. It was going to be exactly like what was in my Richard Scary books that I liked to read. All week I kept asking my mom what I was going to see and she would say "A whole bunch of fun things!" Well...that was non-specific. Finally the day came when we could go to the circus. I was excited more than Big Sister and when her friend and her parents came to pick us up it was everything I could do to not ask umpteen thousand questions about the circus. It was a short ride into town and it seemed to take an hour to get there we were so excited. Finally, we pulled into the fairgrounds and saw the red and white striped Big Top tent and the multicoloured flags flapping in the breeze. The big "Barnum & Bailey Circus- The Greatest Show On Earth" banner boasted a white-faced, red smiling, pom-pom hat wearing clown making the circus seem like the greatest thing in the world. As we made our way into the circus tent the smells of popcorn, roasting peanuts and sawdust filled my nostrils. Everything was so BIG! The ceiling of the big top seemed to be 100 feet tall and the tightrope stretched between the giant posts looked like a thread between needles. We found our seats on the bleachers, right down in the front where we could see the action up close and be able to get to the bathroom quickly with less hassle if needs be. Friend's parents bought us some cotton candy and popcorn from the vendors weaving thru the crowds yelling "POPCORN! HOT BUTTERY FRESH!" and "SWEET FLUFFY COTTON CANDY!" The noises all blended into each other making a lovely cacophony of sounds to my 4-year-old ears. It was wonderful. With a blare and a crash, the brass band started playing a circus tune and the lights dimmed. A spotlight glared into the center of the ring on the red jacketed, black pant wearing Ringmaster and he spoke in a loud booming voice into the microphone, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Children of AAAAAALLLLLL ages! Welcome to the Barnum and Bailey Circus!!" The crowd cheered and everyone clapped, my eyes were riveted on the Ringmaster as he announced the different acts that we would be seeing. Then with another blare and crash he shouted "Let the FUN begin!!" The spotlight went out and the tent went dark. Suddenly, bright multi-coloured spotlights started circling around the center ring and out came the clowns! They were all dressed in such bright and colourful costumes and honking horns and laughing raucously, tumbling and jumping over each other that it was difficult to watch them all at once. Their crazy actions and bursts of laughter scared me a little and I crawled up into Friends daddy's lap. He looked down at me and said, "Are they scaring you, Jenny?" I nodded in the affirmative as fear had closed my throat and my eyes were as wide as saucers. Suddenly, one of them catapulted over the ring barrier and headed right in our direction. His wide red grin, huge eyes painted with bright blue eyeshadow and dark eyebrows were staring at me like he was going to do serious harm to my 4-year-old self. He no longer appeared funny, he was now the devil in disguise and hell-bent on taking me away with him. Scared out of my mind, I leaned further into Friends daddy hid my face in his coat and held on to him for dear life. Evil clown was not taking me without a fight. The closer he got the more I shook, I would peek at him quickly and see him still advancing on me and turn my head back into Friends Daddy's chest,eventually pulling his coat over my face and body. Finally, Friends Daddy had enough, in a firm but nice voice, he looked Evil Clown straight in the eye and said, "You are scaring her." I dared a quick look from behind his coat and Evil Clown tried to make me smile, shaking uncontrollably, I once again hid inside the coat praying that he would just go away. Finally, Friends Daddy became a little angry with the Evil Clown, "Please," he said in an angry tone, "that is enough. She is very scared. Go. Away." Evil Clown looked at him, shrugged and moved off to terrorize another small child. The rest of the circus was anti-climactic for me. The elephants came and went, the lady hung by her hair from a rope and did all sorts of amazing stunts, the tightrope walkers balanced precariously from their thin wire above our heads, the beautiful white horses pranced and danced through the ring with lovely riders and daredevils on their backs, and the trapeze artists were breathtaking and heartstopping in their performances. Yet, everywhere you turned, their were clowns. Red smiling clowns, sad faced clowns, sleepy clowns, evil clowns with seltzer bottles lurking in the shadows waiting to grab you and run. And then, years later, Stephen King introduced us to "It" and Pennywise the Dancing Clown. The most evil clown in all history who haunted your nightmares. Yeah, Mr. King....thanks for that...

BUSTED!

Just for the record, never try to a pull a fast one on your mother because she will ALWAYS find out! Once upon a time, I tried to get away with something that was completely harmless and relatively normal by most high school age standards. I tried to cut school. Yes, it's true. This girl could show a little rebellious streak upon occasion. Unfortunately, my rebellions always ended up an epic fail. I really should have learned from those... On this particularly warm spring day, a couple of girlfriends (who shall remain nameless)and myself decided to ditch out of study hall. At the time, we had two study halls- back to back- and had permanent passes to the band room. So, no one would miss us, right? I said Right?!? Wrong. Going out the back door of the band room, up the block, over a block and then down the block to head toward downtown, trying to avoid being seen from the high school windows and the students trapped therein. We were clipping along at a pretty good pace and chatting as we were walking along not paying attention to much of anything until we hit the Dime store (Schultz Bros.) downtown. We were checking out the albums and cassette tapes among other things when all of a sudden I hear "Ahem!" I looked up and felt myself turn pale as a ghost. There stood my mother with a look that would have frozen water. If looks could kill, I would have been lying on the floor. I swear to God she nailed us to the floor with that look. We stared at her in absolute horror- good feelings gone. Oh great. That's it. I'm toast. I am going to get the electric chair for certain. thirty seconds may have only passed but it felt like forever. She pointed a finger at us and then to the car outside the store. With each of us hanging our heads, we all but ran to the car and scrambled in. Mom stomped out the store, climbed in, started the car and drove us back to school. That was the longest 3 minutes of my life. She never said a word the entire time but, Boy Howdy! Did her silence speak volumes! You could feel the anger wash over you in waves and the tension was so think you could have cut it with a chainsaw. No knife could cut thru that type of tension, baby! When we got to school she drove around and dropped us off at the band room back door (which surprised us and made us very relieved to not be marched into the front office to serve a detention for skipping class). I could barely look at her as I opened the car door. My friends mumbled "sorry and thank you" and jumped out of the car as quickly as they could. I put one foot out the door and she grabbed my left wrist- not in a tight grip, but enough to let me know that I was in some very deep doodoo. I turned to look at her and she gave me a radiant smile and said "Have a good afternoon!" Now, don't be fooled by that smile. It wasn't the "hey, nice try, that was funny that you failed!" it was the "you better enjoy your afternoon, because this may be your last one on earth!" How did she know we were there? Simple. People saw us walking past their houses, one just happened to be my aunt's house, she called my mother at work and asked if we "didn't have school today because Jenny just walked past my house with a couple of other girls." It was 115 in the afternoon. Note to self...next time you decide to do something stupid like skip school, make sure you don't walk past a relative's house.

Heirloom

The greatest gift I could have ever received from my parents is my sense of humor. It has gotten me thru bad times and good times. It has gotten me thru difficult situations that had no possible pleasant outcome, it has gotten me thru arguments with family and friends, it has gotten me thru sad times, thru church services, thru graduations, thru weddings and funerals (some could argue that this is the same thing) and it has gotten me thru long and tedious car rides (so did sleeping). REcently I paused to reflect on my- some would say bizarre and twisted- sense of humor and realized that because of my parents, as well as my grandparents, I have learned to deal with a lot of day to day occurences with my wit. For example, when that guy flies by you on the interstate just to pull in front of you because he needed to be first off the off ramp, I generally quip "Well, that was productive. I was worried I wouldn't have some jackass to follow to work." Or, if they go flying by you at Mach 12, I say "What's the matter, cowboy? Are you late for your accident?" Now, some may call this sarcasm, and they would be correct. I am fluent in sarcasm. I practice it every day so I don't appear rusty when the proper situation calls for it. Which, is pretty much every waking hour of my life. Although, I have been known to be rather sarcastic in my dreams as well. Some people understand sarcasm, some do not. It is the ones that do not understand sarcasm that I have the most fun with. But then, I am a bit sadistic in that aspect. I have learned thru careful teaching and example that life is too short to be so serious all the time. Oh, don't worry, I know when it is time to be an adult and address certain situations in a serious manner. That I have learned as well. But it is when the situation that has been blown completely apart or you are dealing with a particularly difficult co-worker or telemarketer that the best sense of humor comes out. Me: Hello? Telemarketer: Yes is Mrs. Jan-dit there? Me: No, Mrs Jan-dit is my mother-in-law, you can call her at (555) 555-5555...click. If you cannot pronounce my name then obviously, you are not looking for me. Or when dealing with those annoying political phone calls...Me; Hello? TM: Who are you voting for in this year's election? Me: (in my best British accent) Oh, I'm sorry, dear, I'm not from your country so I am not allowed to vote. Cheerio!...click. I have a tendency to look at the humor in nearly almost every situation. To go around being serious all the time has got to be such a chore! I wake my children up each morning with a song. Generally a song I have made up and is particularly annoying to my school age children who find that 630 am is far too early to wake up on weekdays (but totally acceptable on weekends). I make up words on the spot and frankly, I think they are pretty brilliant. Even more-so when I get stuck on a word and one of my children sings a rhyming word that fits perfectly. Humor is hereditary. It is something you think of every day, goofy songs or jokes you remember doing as a kid and running gags within a family unit. So, I would like to say a great big THANK YOU to my parents, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles and cousins and my sisters and my dear friends for enriching me with their sense of humor every day of my life and for listening to my stupid jokes, silly songs and witty comments. It is the best heirloom there is.

Happy New Year!! zzzzzz...

I have come to the realization that I am becoming too old to enjoy New Year's Eve. Why? You ask? Is it because I am in my early 40's and I really just want to go to bed and enjoy a good night's sleep? Well, yes, that is part of it, but the main reason is, I find that I do not suffer fools gladly any more. I cannot tolerate people who become so inebriated that they either wet themselves or vomit all over themselves or poor innocent victims in the general vicinity at the time of stomach explosion. These people need to be slapped in a cab and driven to the nearest hospital for detox. I am too old to go hang out in bars full of college age kids or wannabe college kids who are acting ridiculous and spilling drinks and close talking all night even tho they are yelling in my ear above the outrageously loud and horrible music that is blaring. I don't like crowds. And that is fine. Everyone has their "thing." I would much rather spend New Year's Eve with a few close friends in my home having a nice dinner and some drinks and perhaps a board game or two and perchance a movie. Call me boring. I don't care. When I was in college I had a couple of New Year's Eves like the afore mentioned partying. Did I regret it the next day? Generally not because I do not enjoy the feeling of "being drunk" or out of control. I really don't. Most of the time I was the one driving people home or holding their hair while they worshipped at the "porcelain god" in the ladies room. I was a good friend. Now that I am older, I am thankful that I remember more New Year's Eve antics than most people have forgotten or can remember themselves. Most of the time I have pictures to prove that people actually really did dance on the bar or table, or they actually did wet themselves or perhaps do drunken cartwheels. I am a good friend.

That's Amore'!!

PIZZA!! What kid doesn't love pizza? That tasty lip-smacking round (and sometimes square in certain areas and countries)tomato-y, cheesey slice of heaven? I always loved pizza night at our house growing up. Mom would make some dough from scratch and other times from Peter Pan Instant Pizza Dough (just add water and oill)and whip out the pizza fixin's. Mozzarella cheese, hamburger, green olives...mmm-mmm! That's good eatin'! Nothing was better than Mom's homemade pizza. Pizza night rocked because we would get to drink Pepsi with our pizza. When we were much younger we would drink Kool-aid there was only 1 sccop of sugar in that. But, Pizza and Pepsi night was something we really looked forward to. It was usually before 4-H meetings or Trick-or-Treating because it was fast and easy and the caffeine/sugar rush helped to keep us awake for a few hours. When I was a teenager I would to stay at my friend, Lisa's, house and we would add our own toppings to a pizza. Extra cheese (nearly an inch and a half thick), a can of mushrooms (just the small can), green olives ( a lot of those...) and pepperoni. Had to make sure we had the meat on there for protein, you know. We had all four food groups on that bad boy...and it only took nearly 25 minutes to bake because it was so huge. It would take two of us to lift it to get it in the oven then, we would sit back and wait. in the meantime, we would play a game of Trivial Pursuit to keep us occupied. *DING* Pizza's done!! Do you smell something? Something...burning? NOT THE PIZZA!! Quick, throw open the oven, reach in grab the pizza, burn your hand before you remember to get an oven mitt, turn off oven because...DUH!, grab oven mitt while Lisa fans the smoke out of your face, grab the pizza pan quickly and throw it on the counter, throw baking soda on the burning cheese at the bottom of the oven to squelch the flames, run to the smoke alarm and rip the batteries out of it to shut it up, throw open the front door to get the smoke out of the house, remember that you burned the hell out of your hand, run to the faucet and put it under cold water to prevent blistering, ask Lisa about the welfare of the pizza. "Pizza's fine, oven is not.." Wait 10 minutes for the pizza to cool enough so you can cut it with a pizza cutter, pick up a slice and watch all the good stuff slide off and land with a plop on your lap, run screaming to the bathroom to jump into a cold shower fully clothed because you are burning a hole into your upper thigh, peel your wet cheesy jeans off and wrap a towel around your waist while asking where the burn ointment is, locate said burn ointment and slather it on thickly to injured area, find your pair of sweatpants that you were going to wear to bed and put those on so they don't rub against your injured thigh, go back to kitchen that is nearly smoke-free, cautiously have a seat at the table while smiling weakly to your best friend. "How's that pizza?" "Pretty good. How's yours?" Smartass...

Conniption Fit

"Your father is going to have a conniption when he sees this!" I heard this a LOT growing up and just recently found out just exactly what a "conniption fit" actually was. Mainly because, I was the one having the conniption fit. This was pointed out to me by my 8-year-old son after I told him repeatedly to pick up the pieces of cardboard box that he had strewn about the living room. He was cutting apart a box to make a pair of "wings" for God knows what, and had failed to clean up after himself. So, after telling him more firmly each time to "Clean up this MESS!", I finally lost it. I stormed into the living room and started picking up everything and throwing it into the garbage can. Cardboard, pieces of duct tape, entire rolls of duct tape, scissors, movies, pillows, cats, small children, couches...it all went into the garbage. The entire time I am yelling nonsensical phrases like, "I have had enough...crap.." and "how many times..." and my personal favourite, "shmiggermiggermahger." Now, I really have no idea what that last word/phrase was supposed to be, I was just so incensed about my request being ignored that I apparently started speaking in tongues. My 14 year-old daughter burst out laughing, "What the heck does that mean?!" she said laughing at me until tears rolled down her cheeks. I don't think she understood the threat of death at this point I was so furious, but seeing her laughing at my angry outburst made me stop and take a look from their point of view. A middle-aged woman stomping around the living room, hair flying, eyes shooting fire, arms flailing and throwing stuff in a garbage bag al the while muttering and yelling to no one in particular. At first I was astounded that they weren't terrified of the Wrath of Mom, but stepping back, I realized how ridiculous I must have looked. Less threatening than the Hulk and more bordering on angry/insane clown. "Don't laugh at me! I am really ticked off!" I tried the threatening voice but it came out more like a hysterical scream. That, of course, sent my daughter into more gales of laughter. At this point, I turn to glare angrily at my son, who turned twinkling big brown eyes to me and said, "Geez Mom, don't have a conniption." Deflated...rant over...

Better...Faster...Stronger...

I used to think that Lee Majors was pretty awesome mainly because the faster he ran, the slower he would go. I mean, seriously! Even tho the bad guy would see him running at a snails pace at him and try to run for some reason he was held back by some invisible force field that only allowed him to run in extreme slow motion therefore leaving him wide open for capture by The Six Million Dollar Man. For YEARS (ok, that is an exageration...it was only for about the first 30 minutes of the episode) I thought that the faster "Steve Austin" ran time would stand still for the villian no matter what his infraction was. It could have been jaywalking and Steve Austin would have tackled him to the ground. Then I figured out they just slowed down the film. That was a disappointment... My cousin, Tanya, and I used to play The Six Million Dollar Man and The Bionic Woman a lot as youngsters. And of course, whenever we were getting ready to pounce and capture the bad guy, as per the television show, we would start running real slow with exagerated movements. Even our speech was slow. Hey, sometimes art imitates life! I usually was Steve Austin (I was older and bigger) and Tanya was Jamie Summers (because she had blonde hair- duh). Unfortunately, we didn't have the cool track suits that they wore so we put masking tape down our sleeves and pant legs. That helped us to be "better...faster...stronger" obviously. And our "recharging tent" was a blanket hanging over the swingset. Hey! You had to make do with what you had available and we definately weren't running short on imagination! After an exhausting afternoon of saving the world from imminent peril and destruction, we liked to cool off with a nice Diet Rite. Because that is what the Six Million Dollar Man Lee Majors would drink after a long workout or a day of saving the world. Or maybe I should have had a Rondo... (google it)

Back To School

Ah! Back to school time... the time for notebooks, pencils, crayons and new tennis shoes! The time when parents go broke buying the required gear for the start of a new school year. As a kid I looked forward to getting my school supplies, a new backpack, new tennies and that treasured of all school supplies...a new lunchbox. Back in the day we had our choice of lunchbox themes and not only that, they were metal lunchboxes with a matching thermos! I recall my first lunchbox was when I was in First grade. It was a Peanuts lunchbox. Charlie Brown, Snoopy, Lucy, Linus, Sally and Schroeder graced my lunchbox in colourful cartoon panels and came with a matching thermos that had Snoopy doing his dance of joy that said "LUNCHTIME!" above his dancing head. For first grade, it was a pretty cool lunchbox. I used that lunchbox for two whole years until the hinges finally wore out and broke and frankly, I had outgrown it by Third grade. I was growing up and Charlie Brown and Snoopy were so First Grade. Mom took me shopping for Third Grade school supplies and it came time to pick out a new lunchbox. I scanned the shelves for one that fit my fancy...Dukes of Hazzard (nah, that's a boy's lunchbox), The Beverly Hillbillies (weren't they from the 60's?), the Brady Bunch (another oldie but goody), Scooby Doo,The Bionic Woman, The Six Million Dollar Man...and then suddenly...(insert Halleluia music here)there it was...a Wonder Woman lunchbox. Lights shown down on the beautiful sparkling red and gold double "W" and white stars on a field of royal blue. The front panel had Wonder Woman in action with her lasso of truth and the back panel had her in her invisible jet. I had to have it. The thermos inside had Wonder Woman on one side and Diana Prince (her alter-ego) on the other. It was mine. I used that lunchbox everyday for 3 years until I hit 6th grade. Wonder Woman was still cool but I didn't want it to break as the hinges were getting rusty. So, I moved on to a Miss Piggy plastic lunchbox. Miss Piggy was cool since 'The Muppet Movie' had just come out and hey! I wanted to trend! However, I still held on to that Wonder Woman lunchbox because, after all...I AM Wonder Woman. Recently watching an episode of "Toy Hunter" on the History Channel, the host of the show Jordan found that exact lunchbox, the one I treasured quite highly from my youth. He bought it from the owner for $35 without the thermos. He then proceeded to take it to Comic Con in San Diego and sold it to a collector who HAD the thermos but needed the lunchbox for (are you ready for this?) $300!!! All of a sudden, I am not feeling too attached to this lunchbox anymore...

Completely Unhinged

As a kid I had a temper. Yes. I had a temper. But, it wasn't people who used to make me angry. No. It was inanimate objects. If something did not fit in a spot it was supposed to, or if it wouldn't do exactly what I wanted it to do, I would eventually go all "HULK SMASH" on something and beat the crap out of it. I did this with a little red wagon once. I believe I yelled at it- which in hindsight was the stupidest thing to do because, HEY!, it isn't like it is going to yell back at you or have any reaction to your angry outburst because...well...it's inanimate. It doesn't have feelings. But when you are angry you just have to vent...or smash something. I remember yelling stupidly at my roller skates once because my shoe didn't fit into it. You remember those kind, rigth? The ones that you strapped on to your tennis shoes? Yes well, obviously my feet got too big for them and instead of unscrewed them and extending the length, I decided to start yelling and slamming them on the ground. Big Sister Amy smacked me in the back of the head in disgust and grabbed the offended toy, extended them to fit my shoe, handed it back to me and said (rather sarcastically and deservedly so) "There..isn't that better?!?!" and skated off in a huff. It was at that point that my nine-year-old self stepped back and took a good long look at myself. What the heck is the matter with you!?!? I asked myself. I'm not sure. I replied. Well, here is an idea...calm down and think! Ok. I decided that my inner voice was right and also kind of mean, but I did deserve it. As I grew older I would still have moments when I would go completely unhinged- like when the lawn mower wouldn't start and just shoved it back into the garage and it hit the workbench and bent the wheel (I had to explain that to Dad- that was not fun), or when I couldn't get my locker door open and I punched it and damn near broke a knuckle, or when I locked my keys in my car in the biggest damn storm of the year and ended up denting the side of my car because I was stupidly angry. Now that I am older, I have realized how fruitless and useles it is to lose your temper over objects. Although, every once in a great while the She-Hulk rears her ugly head and makes an appearance. My husband stands back and lets me go and when I am deflated from the energy that it takes out of me, he says in a very snarky tone, "All done? Do you feel better now?" Funny...but that is the same thing I got from my Mom and Big Sister growing up...sometimes you just never learn...

One Speed Bikes

Recently, Dad had decided to do a little "housecleaning." This translates into "take the toys from your childhood home to your house and get them out of mine." Ok. Easy enough, much to the chagrin of my husband. After nearly 40 years, my banana seat bike came back into my possession. It is aptly named "The Dove", a lovely white bike with a blue banana seat and a cloud with a flying orange dove. This was the most beautiful bike I had ever owned. I remember when Mom and Dad purchased this bike for me for my 8th birthday, Big Sister Amy got the same exact bike for her birthday. (Our birthdays were only 2 weeks apart and we often had a combined birthday party.) Mine, however, had an awesome white wicker basket on the front with bright flowers embellishing it. That way we could tell them apart. Cool thing about this bike? I had awesome ape hanger handlebars, a banana seat and a sissy bar. And it only had one speed. The speed at which my legs could pump the pedals to make the bike move. I rode that bike all over our tiny town/village. At first, Mom didn't trust me to ride on the road winding thru our tiny town for fear of me getting hit by some random driver. I think it was perhaps more that I had a tendency to day dream as I was bike riding and she was afraid I would veer into oncoming traffic in one of my inattentive moments- this is most likely true. When I was 9, however, I was able to ride across town and visit my friend, Kelly. Sometimes I would stop at Connie and Rhonda's for a chat and then meander off to wherever my bike took me. As I got older and my legs got longer, we couldn't move the seat up anymore to accomodate the growth spurts that I seemed to have every 3 months. So, I would ride Mom and Dad's bike. Now I say "Mom AND Dad's" because there was only one adult bike and they would share it. When baby sister was still small, there was a child's bike seat attached to the back so that she could enjoy our family bike rides, too. By the time I was able to ride the bike, Baby Sister was too old to sit in the seat so Mom took it off. I mean, what 12 year old wants to be seen riding around on a bike with a baby seat on it? It was enough to get you beat up on the playground. Lately I have been looking for a bike for myself, since my children are old enough to ride their own bikes. I would look at the bike displays and think...what the?!?! I don't need a 21 speed bike that has a built in pedometer, heart rate detector, blue light for night riding, gel padded seat, arm rests for leaning forward when going uphill, automatic braking, AED machine, and a Life Alert button. No. I want a basic bike. One that I pedal with my legs at a sedate pace so that I don't have a heart attack. I am not going to ride the Tour de France...I am going to ride the streets of in my town with my children. I informed Mom that I was looking for a bike and she offered up a suggestion. "Would you like that old bike of mine that is hanging in the shed?" WHAT?!?! Did she honestly still have that terrific bike of my youth? OF COURSE!! Dad pulled it out, pumped up the tires (that were still in excellent shape after all these years) and I gave it a test drive. I whizzed down my parents driveway, down the quarter mile lane I used to walk down every day during school to catch the bus,felt the breeze on my face as my hair whipped in the wind, turned around in the road and rode back toward the house. I noticed that I had to work a little harder than I did at 12 to get back up the small slope to Mom and Dad's house, but it took me to use my legs a little harder and not wimp out by changing gears! I pulled into the driveway, heart pounding, wheezing, sweating, dizzy and feeling every bit of my age, but I was exuberant! I could still do it and the bike tires didn't deflate, the metal rims didn't bend or crumple under the weight of a 43 year old woman who had birthed two children, had a desk job and a penchant for chocolate. So, this year for Mother's Day, I was the grateful and giddy recipient of a 38 year old bike that reminded me that I may be old but I am nowhere near ready for the trash heap! Best Mother's Day. Ever.

Barbie vs. the EZ Bake Oven

My cousin, Tanya, had an EZ Bake oven. Big Sister had an EZ bake oven. I did NOT have an EZ Bake oven. I think my mother was afraid of what I would do with it. EZ Bake ovens were a cool way for young girls (and I am sure the occasional boy) to make delicious bite sized cakes under a 100 watt bulb- because, as we all know, that is how a "real" oven works. Big Sister would never let me use hers. It was a Hollie Hobbie EZ Bake oven. It was cute and came with these wonderful little pans and plastic spatulas and plastic knives. It also came with a cake pan "shover" that you used to push the tin pan under the bulb in the oven so you didn't end up with third degree burns on your fingers. Unfortunatley, it didn't come with pot holders. That would have been smart KENNER to include something to pick the TIN PAN up with after the cake was done cooking! Tanya and I were bored one summer and decided that "Barbie" (tm) was going to open a bakery and so we fired up the EZ Bake oven. Apparently, it was an industrial bakery because when you compared Barbie to the size of the EZ Bake oven it looked like she worked at Dolly Madison Bakery Factories, but I digress... Opening up the tiny package of cake mix and adding the water (sounds delicious already doesn't it?) we put the cake tin in the oven. Then sat back and waited. It apparently took 15 minutes for the cake to bake under a 100 watt bulb. So, we decided to play with the Jamie Summers (Bionic Woman) doll and Steve Austin (The 6,000,000 Dollar Man) doll when we got this brilliant idea. Let's say that Barbie was in a horrific EZ Bake Oven accident and was unable to escape from the factory. Let's send in the Bionic Team and have them save the poor helpless girl! **Now, here is a little side note...for a woman who owned a convertible, an RV, a camper, a jet, a townhouse AND a Dream House, and more clothes and shoes that I would ever own in a lifetime, why exactly WAS Barbie working in a Bakery/Factory?!? Apparently, she had to support her lavish lifestyle. I mean, two mortgages and multiple car payments and an obvious shopaholic problem is going to have to get money somehow because it is obvious that Ken wasn't supporting her. He was Captain of a boat and an Airplane for Pan Am, for cry-yi-yi! He didn't have time with his playboy lifestyle to see that Barbie was clothed and fed and living in the lap of luxury without having to work!** So, back to Barbie and her perilous situation... Barbie was sitting on top of the oven, trying to escape the imaginary flames that were beginning to lick at her long (and completely unrealistic length) legs. Tanya kept up a steady stream of "Help! Someone Help Me!" as I went about getting the Bionic Team to break thru doors and walls and jump over flames and falling flaming debris. It was quite the palm sweater. All of a sudden, this smell began to fill the air. It didn't smell like the delicious chocolate cake the package claimed. It smelled of burning plastic. Like something caught under a 100 watt bulb... HOLY SMOKE! Barbie's bottom was melting to the top of the EZ Bake oven!! Tanya yanked the plug out of the wall and the bulb went out. Without thinking, I pushed the cake pan out with my fingers, burning and blistering them in the process. I dropped the pan and watched our cake explode all over the floor. Tanya went to pull Barbie off the EZ Bake oven, she came off the oven with a melted bottom and strings of plastic going from the oven to her bum. The smell of burnt plastic and rubber filled the room making us gag. I opened a window to let in some fresh air and stare at the mess we created. The floor was covered with partially cooked chocolate cake, the EX Bake oven lay smoking on its side,the Bionic Team lay sprawled in a forgotten heap and Barbie...poor Barbie was the victim of a tragic industrial accident. He bum and thighs melted beyond recognition. How would she ever fit into her tight denims again? How could she show herself in a bathing suit? Would Ken throw her over for that with Krissie? Barbie-0; EZ Bake Oven-1

Is There Anyone Out There?

I ask this question of myself on a daily basis and thanks to social media the answer is a resounding "Yes!" Now, the real question is, where exactly IS "out there?" As I check my stats on my blog I see that I have a pretty good following in Russia, Germany, Israel as well as the States. I find it intriguing that my little inconsequential blog is seen by so many people in so many far away and fascinating countries! Many of these countries, I would love to visit some day- when I win the lottery, that is. The current salary of an accounting assistant isn't exactly exorbitant. The furthest I could get on my salary is Wisconsin Dells. I, have, however been able to learn much about other countries and cultures through some of the most reliable sources out there. Historical Romance Novels. I mean, come ON! That takes a LOT of research to get the specifics on a country and a culture just to let the main characters have "relations" there. And trust me, I have read a lot of those books, but purely for the historical aspect and reference. (insert scoffing sound and winking icon here) I started reading these types of books at the age of 13- much to the chagrin of my mother- but I wasn't reading them for the risque' parts (although they made the story more worthwhile at times) I read them to escape from the boring humdrum life in a small midwestern town. And, Lord knows, nothing ever happens in a small sleepy Midwestern town. So, I escaped through reading and movies. I learned a lot about harems in Turkey and India, brothels in Regency London, Elizabethan fashion and ettiquette, Highland Lairds and clan systems in Scotland, winters in St. Petersberg Russia and a plethora of other wonderful cultures and climes in our wonderful world. I must admit, my favourite stories are the ones about Scotland, but then I have Scottish roots so I tend to be a little biased. It is strange how big this world seems at times but when it comes right down to it, we are all connected in one bizarre way or another. So...leave me a comment! Let me know who you are (first name only please) and where you are from! I would love to know who is following me and be a little more connected to the world! :)

Imaginary Friends

I think all of us at one time had an imaginary friend. Me? I had an imaginary brother. His name was Timmy and he was responsible for all sorts of shenanigans at my house and was a tad bit accident prone. As my mother tells it, I was about 3 years old when Timmy made his first appearance. She said I had told our Pastor's wife that my brother Timmy fell out of a tree and broke his arm. The dear woman was sympathetic and asked her husband, "I didn't know Sandy had a son." Pastor gave her a confused look and said, "She doesn't. Obviously, Jenny has an imaginary brother." Thus started the stories of my brother Timmy. Timmy lasted for several years and we had many adventures together. I mentioned him to a family friend, Roger, who owned a horse ranch and regaled him with the tales of Timmy and those adventures throughout my pre-school years. Whenever we would go visit him, he would always ask "How's Timmy?" and I would have another story for him. Once I started school and started making new friends, Timmy started to take a backseat to my daily routine and eventually disappeared forever. Timmy was replaced by my friend, Kelly, who grew up only a mile away from me. As we moved from kindergarten into first grade, Timmy "died." I remember going to Roger's house and he asked me "How's Timmy?" I told him quite plainly that Timmy had passed on. Apparently he had been playing by the train tracks (we had no trains near our house) and got hit by said train. It was very tragic. Roger said "That's too bad. I liked hearing about the things you and Timmy did. He was a funny guy." and thus, the imaginary brother was laid to rest. Even as I got older Roger would always ask me "How's Timmy?" and wink. Roger is long gone now, too, and I hope that he and Timmy could finally meet in the afterlife. I wonder what kind of stories Timmy would tell about me?

Childhood Heartthrob...

My first crush was David Cassidy. I think I was 4. My cousin, Dawn, had his poster in her bedroom, along with Donnie Osmond and a couple of 70's teen idols, but David Cassidy was my favourite. He had awesome hair, come hither eyes and that cool hemp necklace. He was dreamy. I told Dawn that when she didn't want the poster anymore that I would take it. True to her word, when she outgrew David, she took him down, rolled him up and gave him to me. I think I was 6. As I got older and my music tastes grew, I added many different posters to my bedroom walls. Duran Duran in 1984/85 was my wallpaper of choice. I think I had about 250 posters and pictures adorning the walls of my teenage bedroom, but on the back of my door hidden behind pictures of John Taylor, was David Cassidy. His eyes staring at me out of the Duran pics. Eventually, I outgrew Duran Duran and took their pictures down and packed away. I moved on to Classic Rock; The Beatles, John Lennon, Janis Joplin, The Doors. I outgrew those and down those went. Next up, Yngve Malmsteen, Whitesnake, Aerosmith, Bon Jovi...those, too, took a dirt nap eventually. But David never came down. He was a balm to my teenage soul of quieter and much less tormented times (in my life- not the world). Eventually I moved out of my bedroom and moved off to college. Everything came down and much of it went into the garbage. But not David. I rolled him up and put him in my trunk where he wouldn't get crushed. Years went by and I graduated, got married, had children, got a job and bought a house. I added a lot of memories to that trunk and removed a few (like old graduation cards and birthday cards). Recently I sat down with my daughter as I rifled thru the memories of that trunk and came across a rolled up poster. I chuckeled to myself as I lifted it out and carefully unrolled it, knowing full well what it was. "Mom? Who is that?" she demanded. "That's David Cassidy." I replied, staring into David's beautiful blue/green eyes. "Well, he looks lame." she replied scathingly. I just smiled at her and said "He may look lame to you, but he was my first crush and I think he is beautiful." I rolled it carefully back up and put him back in my 150 year old trunk that holds all my other treasures. My children's baby books, by high school graduation diploma and mortar board (That funky flat hat that professors wore), my marriage certificate, my high school year books and baby pictures of my kids. Just knowing he is there and has survived nearly 40 years in my room, on my wall and in my trunk without a single tear or rip, makes me feel content. Part of my childhood that will always be there when I need it.

Sugar High

Easter- the time of year when children can eat their weight in marshmallow Peeps, chocolate eggs, bubble gum eggs and a chocolate easter bunny the size of a new born child and parents don't seem to care... As a kid, we would wake up on Easter Sunday early- as it was the Spring equivalent to Christmas- and start hunting for our Easter baskets that the Easter Bunny had hidden over night. Big Sister Amy, Baby Sister and myself would start in the kitchen and move stealthily throughout the house trying to locate our baskets and the sugary sweet convections that were left for us. Discovery! Mine was in the dryer- thank God Mom didn't have to do laundry that morning. I would have had chocolate encrusted t-shirts instead. Big Sister Amy's was in the pantry hidden behind the boxes of cereal. Clever. Baby Sister's was hidden in the coat closet on the shelf behind the box of colouring books and crayons. We would all then sit on the couch and compare our candy horde and trade stuff we didn't like. Big Sister got my Peeps if I could have her chocolate marshmallow eggs, Baby sister could have my jelly beans if I got her chocolate marshmallow eggs. Yes, I love marshmallow eggs. Don't judge me. Then after a few nibbles from our baskets it was time to get dressed and head to Easter service at church. We would get dressed in our new (or new to us) Easter dresses and have our picture taken holding our baskets in our pretty clothes. And, usually, I had chocolate around my mouth in most of these photos because like a chocolate Ninja, I would always have another chocolate marshmallow egg in my mouth. Hence, the closed mouth smile... Then we would pile into the car and wave goodbye to Dad as we drove to church. (Dad was a non-practicing Catholic and we were Methodists, and he said that he would be in trouble if he went to our church. I think it was just a way of getting out of church.) One year, when Baby Sister was still a baby (10 months I think) I decided to take a purse with me to church. It has all the important things in it- a key to something I wasn't sure what, a doll brush, chapstick, a pocket mirror and my illegal contraband- a box of Junior Mints. Now, I don't know about you, but Easter Sunday services can get pretty long and drawn out sometimes, and when you eat breakfast at 830 am and go to 930 am service, by 1030 am this girl is starting to get hungry! So, we settled into our pew by Gramma and Grampa. Mom next to Gramma, Baby sister in Mom's lap, me next to Mom and Big Sister on my left. Greeting and opening hymn commence, then Pastor starts the sermon...Yawn...I sit, swinging my legs back and forth and watching my black patent leather shoes flash in the sunlight coming in the window to my left. Big Sister starts to swing her legs. Back and forth, back and forth, we swing our legs opposite each other, then hook ankles and start to swing. Mom reaches over and puts her hand on my knee- the silent warning of "stop it and sit still." Pouting, I stop swinging my legs and glare at the back of the pew in front of us. I pick up my purse and rummage around inside for a bit and pull out my pocket mirror. I open it up and let the sunlight catch it. The mirror flashes in my eyes and I am momentarily blinded. Then I realize I can create a diversion with the light! I shine it onto the ceiling and watch it dance around as I move it back and forth in my hand. and then...Mom snatches it out of my hand and takes it away from me. I feel like Gollum from Lord of the Rings when he lost his "precious"...LOST! LOST!! Well...back to the purse. Doll brush...can't do much with that. The rogue key that no one knows what it is for...boooorrrrinnnng! AH-HA! JUNIOR MINTS!! I was starting to feel a little hungry anyway. This time, I leave the junior mints inside the box in my purse. Mom will never suspect anything! The congregation stands for another hymn. No one will hear the box rip open when they are singing! Victory is mine! I open the box and pour out a couple of mints into my hand, being the nice sister that I am, I give one to Big Sister to shut her up, if you will. I pop one into my mouth and chew quietly. Hymn's over so everyone sits down. I pop another Junior Mint in my mouth my head turned to the left so Mom can't see, and then hand another one to Big Sister just to keep her quiet. Suddenly I feel a tap on my arm. Rats! Caught red handed! I turn to Mom, she is staring at the front of the church and holds her hand out to me without turning her head. What the what? I wasn't sure if I was supposed to give her the entire box or just one. So, I figured I had nothing to lose. I pour a couple into her hand. She pops them into her mouth and looks at me out of the corner of her eye and winks. I grin up at her and sit throught the rest of church happily munching on my Junior Mints and sharing my sugary contraband with Mom. I am sure even Jesus would have understood that day...

Will You Go with Me?

Having a boy/girlfriend in grade school never made any sense to me. It's not like you could really go anywhere, right? I mean, what 10 year-old has access to a car? And even if they did, where would you go? Unless they had a really good allowance or something, then that is the person you want to hold on to. The system of "dating" in grade school usually involved three people- the childhood version of the "threesome." Generally, one person was the middle-man (or woman) to the "would be" daters. This would be the "go-to" person who would generally be the friend of the person who had a crush on a cute boy/cute girl in the class, this designated "go-to" person would walk up to the boy and say "Do you like so-and-so?" (or like my friends in Great Britain would say "So-and-so fancies you."). If he/she answered in the affirmative the next question would be, "Do you want to go with so-and-so?" Now, here is where my question would come into play; "Go where?" Like I said, this is grade school and a 10-year-old takes things pretty literally so you have to be specific. The "Go-to"-er would give me a look of confusion..."Uh...out?" I would reply in my 10-year-old wisdom, "We are already out. OUTSIDE!" Ok, I wasn't quite grasping what was going on here obviously. "Go-to"-er would roll their eyes and reply in a snarky tone "Go out with..be their girlfriend! Geez!" Oh! "Uh..ok...I guess so." The "Go-to"-er would go to said boy and say "She LIKES you likes you so she is your girlfriend now." To which said boy grins shyly at me and runs off to play baseball with the other boys. Ok, so now I was attached. Wasn't he supposed to come running and pledge his undying love and whisk me off my feet? Nope, when you're 10, it means that you have a boyfriend in name only and he just has laid a claim to you even tho' he has no idea what having a "girlfriend" means. 'Course, at that age, I had no idea either. I just know that so-and-so just decided I was cute and wanted to be the only one to tell me. As I went from grade school to middle school, things really didn't get much better. "Dating" was mostly meeting the guy you thought was cute at the roller rink and "couple skating" with him during the slow songs. This generally involved holding the hand of a sweaty pre-pubescent boy and doing your best to not fall down when his skate stopper snagged and he went crashing to the polished wood floor of the rink. High school "dating" meant going to the Friday night dances we had every week and sitting on the chairs with his arm around you because he didn't want to dance; other than the slow dances where he would hold you at arms length by your waist and go in circles until you were dizzy. As soon as the song was over (something like "Almost Paradise" by Mike Reno and Ann Wilson or "I Can't Fight This Feeling" by REO Speedwagon) he would grab your hand and drag you back to your designated chair and plop back down, effectively holding you in place with his arm and daring anyone to brave the possessive look on his face to come talk to you or even breathe the same air you are breathing. When you DIDN'T have a boyfriend you could actually dance with your other friends because, believe it or not guys, girls LIKE to dance. If I wanted to hold a chair down for 4 hours I would have stayed home and watched the telly. College dating...well, for privacy's sake, let's not go there...but let's just say there is a lot more than "dancing" going on.