I have 2 brothers. One older and a younger brother that came along after my dad remarried my step mom and is 12.5 years my junior.
My older brother and I were friends as children. We played a lot together as we were closer in age. He is 3 years and 1 week older than me.
Usually he was a fairly level kid. But every now and then he would pull one off on our mother that made us all roar with laughter.
After we were settled into our home with mother, we started back to school. I entered kindergarten and my brother entered 3rd grade, that would have made him around 9 years old.
At that time my mother did not work outside the home and looking back now it was nice to have her there to see us off to school and nice for her to be there when we jumped off the school bus in the afternoons.
Early one morning my mother came into our room to wake my sister and I up for school and left our room, crossed the living room and went into my brothers room to wake him up. We heard her tussle around on his bed and say his name several times in a questioning manner. Mother came out of his room with a questioning look on her face and asked my sister and I if we had seen our brother. She began to look around the house, half calling his name. She checked the bathroom, the back porch and finally went outside calling his name.
Back into the house she came with a concerned but irritated look on her face. Hmmmm. Where could he have gotten too. Back to his room she went. Going over to the bed she threw back the covers to make sure she hadn't missed him somehow in the wadded up blankets on his bed. As she leaned over to shake them out, calling his name again.....
out from under the bed came two hands grabbing her ankles like a vice.
MY. POOR. MOTHER.
She let out a blood curdling scream and sorta fell onto my brothers bed. In the next instant my brother was out from under the bed, holding his stomach and doubling over with laughter.
I think she did fairly well. She wanted to clobber him but keeping herself in check ordered him to stop laughing.
From that time on she woke him up from his bedroom doorway. I'm sure she also had to resist the urge to jump onto her bed at night for fear of the monster under her bed.
Showing posts with label Days of My Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Days of My Life. Show all posts
Monday, June 6, 2011
Friday, June 3, 2011
My Best Girl, Rosie
I love blogging about my older sister. She is still so true to who she has always been. When I mentioned to her that I had blogged about us Charging our mother before I could even tell her that I had said she still denied coming up with the scheme...she denied coming up with the scheme. She makes me laugh.
After my parents divorced (I was 4 when they seperated) it was mostly my sister, brother and I together. They looked after and out for me and we were loyal to each other.
Soon after we were situated in an old family house with our mother, our neighbors dog had puppies. We three children found any and every excuse to visit the neighbors back porch where the puppies were housed. Some how or another my sister talked our mother into letting us get puppy.
My mother was not a dog person. She liked cats quite well because they kept themselves clean and could be litter box trained. But dogs? She had a strong dislike for them and their doggy smell. For my mother to agree to a puppy was huge.
Rosie, as our puppy was was named was originally supposed to be my sisters dog. My sister however quickly lost interest in the dog. The task of feeding the dog became my chore and I have to say, I loved her and I liked taking care of her. Rosie was a Sheltie mix of some sort. She looked just like a collie, only with short legs. She provided me with lots of entertainment. She was a sweet dog with a good, playful nature.
I have to say that she endured a lot to keep me happy. As a child I would get one idea and from there it would rabbit trail several different directions. Once I had the bright idea to climb a tree with Rosie. I could see us sitting together in the top of a tree we climbed a lot as children. I couldn't climb the tree and hold Rosie at the same time so I devised a plan to hoist her up into the tree.
Going into the house I secured my brothers school belt and a piece of clothes line rope. I cinched buckled the belt around Rosie's waist and tied the rope onto the buckle. Tossing the rope over the lowest limb, I tested the strength of the rope a few times by hoisting Rosie up and down. I feel the need to insert here that a cat would have NEVER been so patient with me as Rosie was.
After hoisting her up and down for awhile, I remembered my original plan to climb the tree with her. Up I went and managed to get Rosie up to the top with me. Rosie was not as happy about being way up there as I was. I hollered to some of the neighbor children and felt pretty big sitting up in the tree with my dog.
After a while sitting there got old and Rosie could not get comfortable. It was when I started to try to get down that I realized it was going to be a chore getting Rosie and I both down safely. I stayed awhile longer. I hollered several times for my mom and she came out of the house looking up to find me in the tree. With the dog.
I think I was one of those children that leavetheir parent(s) wondering how they end up in such spots. My mother said my name in an exasperated tone a lot when I was a child. I think she couldn't figure out my thought processes. We were in the same boat as I couldn't either.
The look on her face as she took in the scene of me in the tree with the dog said it all. Whose kid was I anyway? I always seemed to be in a scrap...yet it didn't seem like a scrap to me. It seem perfectly logical to want to sit up in the tree with my dog. My poor mother...after two normal children she got me. :)
Mother hollered a few times, to no avail, for my brother and sister. She ended up climbing up the tree. I managed to hand Rosie down to her. I then climbed down below her and she handed Rosie back to me. We tag teamed this way until Mother reached the ground and I handed Rosie down for the last time.
Once on the ground, Rosie was instantly herself again and licked my hands and face. My mother on the other hand, in no uncertain terms let me know that I was NOT to climb the tree with the dog again and I was to leave my brother school belt alone.
After my parents divorced (I was 4 when they seperated) it was mostly my sister, brother and I together. They looked after and out for me and we were loyal to each other.
Soon after we were situated in an old family house with our mother, our neighbors dog had puppies. We three children found any and every excuse to visit the neighbors back porch where the puppies were housed. Some how or another my sister talked our mother into letting us get puppy.
My mother was not a dog person. She liked cats quite well because they kept themselves clean and could be litter box trained. But dogs? She had a strong dislike for them and their doggy smell. For my mother to agree to a puppy was huge.
Rosie, as our puppy was was named was originally supposed to be my sisters dog. My sister however quickly lost interest in the dog. The task of feeding the dog became my chore and I have to say, I loved her and I liked taking care of her. Rosie was a Sheltie mix of some sort. She looked just like a collie, only with short legs. She provided me with lots of entertainment. She was a sweet dog with a good, playful nature.
I have to say that she endured a lot to keep me happy. As a child I would get one idea and from there it would rabbit trail several different directions. Once I had the bright idea to climb a tree with Rosie. I could see us sitting together in the top of a tree we climbed a lot as children. I couldn't climb the tree and hold Rosie at the same time so I devised a plan to hoist her up into the tree.
Going into the house I secured my brothers school belt and a piece of clothes line rope. I cinched buckled the belt around Rosie's waist and tied the rope onto the buckle. Tossing the rope over the lowest limb, I tested the strength of the rope a few times by hoisting Rosie up and down. I feel the need to insert here that a cat would have NEVER been so patient with me as Rosie was.
After hoisting her up and down for awhile, I remembered my original plan to climb the tree with her. Up I went and managed to get Rosie up to the top with me. Rosie was not as happy about being way up there as I was. I hollered to some of the neighbor children and felt pretty big sitting up in the tree with my dog.
After a while sitting there got old and Rosie could not get comfortable. It was when I started to try to get down that I realized it was going to be a chore getting Rosie and I both down safely. I stayed awhile longer. I hollered several times for my mom and she came out of the house looking up to find me in the tree. With the dog.
I think I was one of those children that leavetheir parent(s) wondering how they end up in such spots. My mother said my name in an exasperated tone a lot when I was a child. I think she couldn't figure out my thought processes. We were in the same boat as I couldn't either.
The look on her face as she took in the scene of me in the tree with the dog said it all. Whose kid was I anyway? I always seemed to be in a scrap...yet it didn't seem like a scrap to me. It seem perfectly logical to want to sit up in the tree with my dog. My poor mother...after two normal children she got me. :)
Mother hollered a few times, to no avail, for my brother and sister. She ended up climbing up the tree. I managed to hand Rosie down to her. I then climbed down below her and she handed Rosie back to me. We tag teamed this way until Mother reached the ground and I handed Rosie down for the last time.
Once on the ground, Rosie was instantly herself again and licked my hands and face. My mother on the other hand, in no uncertain terms let me know that I was NOT to climb the tree with the dog again and I was to leave my brother school belt alone.
Friday, May 20, 2011
On Piercings
My sister had her ears pierced when she was quite young. I would have to ask her to be sure but I think she was 3. That would have been in 1967.
I loved my sisters earrings. She had ruby (I'm sure not real rubies) post earrings that represented her birthstone. I love red as a child even and liked to look at her ears.
When I was three my sister generously offered to pierce my ears for me. "They will be just like mine" she promised. At three I didn't understand buzz words or statements like "Now, you have to promise not to scream no matter what" and "You have to promise you won't tell mom until AFTER I'm done." I gladly promised with all the innocence of a 3 year old being led like a lamb to the slaughter.
My sister grabbed a large needle from my mothers pin cushion and a potato from the bin in the kitchen. She then led me by the hand, up the stairs, into our room where she shut the door. Then she opened the closet door, pulled the light string on and into the closet we went shutting the door behind us.
My sister held the potato behind my ear and with confidence that comes naturally to an 8 year old girl, thrust the needle into my earlobe.
The rest of the story runs according to the obvious. I screamed and shrieked bloody murder while my sister desperately tried to quiet me, with no success. My mother heard my muffled screams from the kitchen and came to see what the problem was. Finding a long needle, a stray, very out of place potato and one child cluching the offended ear and crying, it was easy to surmise what had taken place.
I don't remember what happened after that. But to this day I never, ever, ever promise not to scream no matter what. :)
My sister was a stinker and while she grew out of most of it, she still has a healthy stinker streak in her . We are the best of friends these days. I count myself blessed to have her as my sister. I don't let her attempt to pierce my ears and we get along great.
I loved my sisters earrings. She had ruby (I'm sure not real rubies) post earrings that represented her birthstone. I love red as a child even and liked to look at her ears.
When I was three my sister generously offered to pierce my ears for me. "They will be just like mine" she promised. At three I didn't understand buzz words or statements like "Now, you have to promise not to scream no matter what" and "You have to promise you won't tell mom until AFTER I'm done." I gladly promised with all the innocence of a 3 year old being led like a lamb to the slaughter.
My sister grabbed a large needle from my mothers pin cushion and a potato from the bin in the kitchen. She then led me by the hand, up the stairs, into our room where she shut the door. Then she opened the closet door, pulled the light string on and into the closet we went shutting the door behind us.
My sister held the potato behind my ear and with confidence that comes naturally to an 8 year old girl, thrust the needle into my earlobe.
The rest of the story runs according to the obvious. I screamed and shrieked bloody murder while my sister desperately tried to quiet me, with no success. My mother heard my muffled screams from the kitchen and came to see what the problem was. Finding a long needle, a stray, very out of place potato and one child cluching the offended ear and crying, it was easy to surmise what had taken place.
I don't remember what happened after that. But to this day I never, ever, ever promise not to scream no matter what. :)
My sister was a stinker and while she grew out of most of it, she still has a healthy stinker streak in her . We are the best of friends these days. I count myself blessed to have her as my sister. I don't let her attempt to pierce my ears and we get along great.
CHARGE!
Early Memories
As children we watched a lot of TV. Some of our best and worst ideas came from the television. My sister, who is 5 years older than me, always seemed to think of the best plans. Those sort of plans that if anything went askew, she would look innocent and victimized, while my brother and I were obviously the evil villains whose wickedness knew no bounds.
One such plan ran this way.
At some point my sister and brother had watched some TV show where the star of the show and several other helpers had used a pole or beam of some sort to "charge" into battle. My brother was fascinated with the idea of "charging" as a means of attaining domination. My sister on the other hand saw an opportunity and with a steely glint in her green eye, hatched the following plan.
Taking the family broom, she placed herself as leader of the pack, holding on firmly to the end of the broom handle. My brother was placed at the middle of the handle as the brawn behind the brains. I, at the young age of 2.5 held on to the bristles and readied myself to run as fast as I could as my sister and brother prepared to take the enemy. Taking off running through the den, we rounded the corner into the kitchen where my mother was working. My sister and brother, not quite in unison, yelled "CHARGE" and before my startled mother could prepare for the blow or defend herself, we had ramrodded her with the broom stick and knocked her flat on the floor.
I don't remember her reaction. I remember hanging on to the end of the broom and trying to keep up. Years later though when my mother would retell the story, she would always laugh at the sight of me holding on to the bristles of the broom, barely big enough to hang on. She was a good sport. Mother never forgot to mention that my sister denied (and still denies) hatching the plan in the first place.
As children we watched a lot of TV. Some of our best and worst ideas came from the television. My sister, who is 5 years older than me, always seemed to think of the best plans. Those sort of plans that if anything went askew, she would look innocent and victimized, while my brother and I were obviously the evil villains whose wickedness knew no bounds.
One such plan ran this way.
At some point my sister and brother had watched some TV show where the star of the show and several other helpers had used a pole or beam of some sort to "charge" into battle. My brother was fascinated with the idea of "charging" as a means of attaining domination. My sister on the other hand saw an opportunity and with a steely glint in her green eye, hatched the following plan.
Taking the family broom, she placed herself as leader of the pack, holding on firmly to the end of the broom handle. My brother was placed at the middle of the handle as the brawn behind the brains. I, at the young age of 2.5 held on to the bristles and readied myself to run as fast as I could as my sister and brother prepared to take the enemy. Taking off running through the den, we rounded the corner into the kitchen where my mother was working. My sister and brother, not quite in unison, yelled "CHARGE" and before my startled mother could prepare for the blow or defend herself, we had ramrodded her with the broom stick and knocked her flat on the floor.
I don't remember her reaction. I remember hanging on to the end of the broom and trying to keep up. Years later though when my mother would retell the story, she would always laugh at the sight of me holding on to the bristles of the broom, barely big enough to hang on. She was a good sport. Mother never forgot to mention that my sister denied (and still denies) hatching the plan in the first place.
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