Monday Memories: My Siblings

I'm a few weeks behind in the Monday Memories posts- but I won't lump too many into single posts. Instead, I'll just start with the siblings and beg forgiveness.

This is a re-post from a while back since I have already written about my siblings.

While growing up, I found that there are advantages to being an only child.  This is especially true when there is doting to be carried out because you are the only receiver of said doting. And, for the first twelve years of my life I was doted on to the point of embarrassment. Of course, there are down sides. The obvious one being if someone broke the lamp, forgot to feed or water the dog or didn't take out the trash, there was very little detective work needed to identify the guilty party. There is also the loneliness of being an only child. When it's raining outside and everyone is stuck inside, you are stuck inside alone. Well, your parents might be around but what fun are they? Mine weren't really the type to be playing with their kid. (I am a much cooler parents than mine were..shhhh.) My dad's only sister lived just across the street and down a couple of houses from us and she had four children- two girls and two boys. The third child in my aunt's brood was my cousin Diane and there was but a mere six months difference in our ages and we played all the time. I loved to go over to their house or have Diane over playing at my house. When we all got together we would play football or softball; hide and seek or freeze tag; all the fun, active outside greatest games of all time! They had a big family and it was FUN! But, when the weather was bad or it was time to go inside for the evening, they got to go in together. I had to go home alone. I was always so jealous of my cousins and their big family.  Oh and, adding insult to injury, at lunch time during the summer? They got to have Kool-Aid. Oh yeah. Even my best friend during those years (CM) had three younger brothers. I thought that I was, perhaps, the only girl in America without siblings. But, in the fall of 1970, all of that changed.

My parents had considered adopting a boy-- a brother for me, a son for themselves. We had been through the countless interviews with DSS and, finally, our caseworker called and to tell my parents they had a boy for them to adopt. I went to stay with CM while the parents went to meet the boy. CM and I spent a good portion of that afternoon discussing brothers. All I really knew was how to be a spoiled only child. A role I not only took seriously, but also portrayed quite well (let's be honest- I relished it). Even so, I was, actually, very excited that there would be someone around to spend time with when the other kids weren’t around. Late that afternoon, my parents called to say they were on their way with my brothers. Wait. What? BrotherS?  I couldn't believe their words. They were bringing home THREE brothers instead of one. We had grown from a family of three to a family of six in only one afternoon.  

My brothers were three actual, biological brothers, ages 9, 10, and 11, in need of a home and our parents decided that we could give them just that. Surprisingly, there didn’t seem to be much of an adjustment period…or maybe I just don’t remember. I do remember that I went right up to each of them on that very first day and gave them great big hugs and it was like they had always been with me.  When I look back on my childhood, I can remember things I did before the boys came to live with us, but only spurts here and there and most of those precious memories involve my wonderful grandparents. However, I have tons of memories with my brothers.  TONS! And they are good memories. When the neighborhood kids got together to play, my brothers and I joined in the fun. And, when it was time to go home? My brothers and I went home together. If something was broken, or forgot to feed or water the dog, or a chore remained undone—the parents had to play the guessing game or interrogate all four of us! Rainy days? No problem. We played inside! Together.  

Oh, and that thing about being a spoiled only child? The only thing that changed there was my only child status. My brothers swooped in and made the spoiled trait of mine worse than ever! And protective? Oh yes! I never had to worry about anybody doing anything to me EVER. By the same token, I was extremely protective of them as well. I never cared what anyone said or did to me but, if they messed with one of my brothers? Jump back Jack! We had our fair share of fights disagreements but nothing that ever lasted very long. Mostly, we just had a great time being a family.   

Through the years we’ve all gone in different directions…traveled our own paths. One brother is still trying to find his place in this world though he never fails to keep in constant touch with us. He’s the baby of the family but still calls me ‘baby girl.’ One is so busy being resentful of everything and everybody for whatever he decides they are guilty of that he keeps his distance—trust me, he’s really happiest when he can host pity parties and, from him, we have learned that misery does NOT love company. One followed his path via the Navy but lives close now. He is still the one who tries to take care of all of us. He’s the one who took our parents aside on that first day and told them that he would be fine but would they please take his little brothers (OMG, that is SO him—always thinking of everyone else). He’s also the one who keeps us all laughing all the time.

Am I still a spoiled princess? I've really outgrown it. Except where my brothers are concerned. They still treat me that way. And I'm ok with that.  

Monday Memories: My First Job

Hey, y'all! Monday which brings us one of my favorite memes and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! 

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

This week's prompt is: My First Job

I'm assuming that by, FIRST job, we're not talking about babysitting. Right? What about the first job I had when I actually had to go to a place and do actual work? Or the first job I had when I was no longer in college? Or grad school? Which one????? Argh!!!! LOL

How about a list of first jobs? 

My first job as a teenager was at Carowinds. And it was back in the days when the amusement park first opened. Yes, I am older than the internet and Carowinds. 

All age references aside, the job was fun. I didn't have one of the most glamorous jobs like a friend of mine did. I worked in food service and she worked with the live birds. Yeah, I had one of the peon jobs of the amusement park industry. Not a whole bunch of fun but, there were times, after the park closed at night, that we did have fun running around in there.They actually left it open for us sometimes and we got to do all the fun things that we had to watch others do during the day. That was nice.

The only real job I had in college was an internship in grad school. Nothing more than waiting tables during undergrad as I was quite busy learning how to party and study all at the same time. I would never have been able to a job that required thinking. The internship, however, was a thinking job and I loved it. I conducted therapy with and tested special needs children.

After grad school I decided to flounder a bit just doing a bit of the old table waiting until I figured it all out and that's when I ended up married and having the first lovely which led to the best real job after college- being a SAHM. I can't believe it has an acronym these days. It's like mom's who stay at home and raise they children believe they are the first generation to do so and, therefore, are more special than any other mom during any other time who did the very same thing. Only better. And no, I am not kidding. But that's a whole separate blog post.

I have another outside the home job now. It's my first empty nest job- even though the nest filled back up somewhat, I do still work at my empty nest job which is teaching in the computer lab at an elementary school. It's the same school the lovelies attended when they were growing up.

And that is IT as far as jobs go. When you stay home and raise four daughters, you have many jobs but it's not the same as getting money for going out and working. It's something that you do out of love and fear of letting others raise your kids. Ha! By far, it was the BEST 'job' I ever had.

Monday Memories: My Favorite Teacher

Hey, y'all! Monday which brings us one of my favorite memes and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! 

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

This week's prompt is: My Favorite Teacher

Believe it or not, this is probably the hardest post so far for Monday Memories. Why? Because I didn't really ever have a favorite teacher. I never really had that one teacher who sticks out as the one who made all the difference. There was one teacher in high school that I did like very much but I can't even remember her name. She taught government, I think. I can't even remember her name. But I do remember her being nice and nonjudgmental. I also remember her as someone who liked teaching. 

However, I can tell you the names of every outstanding teacher that the lovelies ever had as well as the grade and class each of them taught (Price, Morton, Oulla, Hopkins, Watkins, Brunnick, White, Wright, Woods--just to name a few, the list is quite long.) We're still in touch with most of the these outstanding teachers. 

Throughout their school years the lovelies had teachers who taught them more than information in their books. They taught them to think for themselves. To question. To make discoveries and be creative. They were challenged and encouraged and guided with love, care and patience. 

The influence of these wonderful women on my daughters has lasted through all the years. The solid foundation that they helped lay for the lovelies has been beneficial is many different ways--life lessons, if you will. These amazing teachers remain in touch with the lovelies and check in on them from time to time. 

Perhaps not having had teachers such as these was a good thing. I believe it was a factor as I chose the schools that I felt offered the best of the best teachers for my girls. And it paid off beautifully. 

So, no favorite teacher for me, personally. But, for the lovelies, a long list of wonderful educators who touched all our lives in a positive way. 

Monday Memories: My School Years

Hey, y'all! Monday which brings us one of my favorite memes and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! 

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

This week's prompt is: My School Years

I enjoyed, as much as any kid can, my school years for the most part. Grammar school (what we old timers called elementary school) was uneventful and my teachers were ok. Except for that second grade one. She was horrid. One of my most favorite things about school was the first day of school outfit. I got a new one every year and couldn't wait to wear it on the first day. AND, it was store bought which I loved because my mother made a lot of my clothes and I never appreciated that. 

Junior High (they call it middle school now) went by in a blur. I remember enjoying my academics but not much about anything else during those years. Except I do remember some really hateful kids. Mostly girls. And yes, I recall their names. Looking back, I suppose you could almost call them bullies. Not that they physically bullied others but their gossip and the spreading of it was vicious. They never sought truth but could spread a lie quicker than a match following a trail of gasoline. Small town girls they were. OH, and the time my 7th grade science teacher (Ms. Elmore???) putting those disgusting earth worms on our desks for observation. I hated her for that. Still do. 

High school flat out sucked. We moved just before my freshman year- from one small town to another- and life during those years were the worst ever. Except for most of the academics. I did enjoy Latin and history and English. Anything else, not so much. 

College was good until my junior year when it turned into great. And, once again, I quite enjoyed my academics. So much so that I changed my major 5 times before getting it right. Or, them right, as I ended up with two degrees. I finished my college years off with a master's degree. 

Having introduced my school years with a brief summary, I'll re-share a tale of the second grade teacher from hell. (My entire school career was not like the following tale. Most of my teachers were fantastic and I learned so much from them.) 


The year was 1965 and her name was Miss Garrett.  She was young and sported a very blond 60s haircut, you know the one--poofy with the big flipped up curls that lay above her shoulders--and mean as hell very strict.  There was never any doubt that Mrs Garrett was the head bitch in charge the one and only boss in her second grade classroom.

Back in those days, when people still thought that the earth was flat when elementary school was called grammar school, corporal punishment was a teacher's best friend THE acceptable form of classroom management and, most likely, Miss Garrett's sole reason for becoming a teacher.  She absolutely adored made swift use of this method for even the slightest infraction of the breathing classroom rules.  The particular method that gave Miss Garrett such pleasure was a ruler slap to the palm of any 7-year-old hand belonging to any second grader foolish enough to commit a classroom felony (including taking too many breaths in a minute, scratching an itch, or turning one's head in the direction of the blackboard too slow or too fast).  Miss Garrett would marched proudly towards the cowering 7-year-old and demand that he/she hold out their hand which she promptly grabbed by the 4 fingers--to assure connectivity with said hand--and slap the wooden ruler against the uplifted palm--from 1 to 5 times depending on the infraction.

The thorn in my side during second grade was George--the little George not the big one.  LG was a short little dude with straight blond hair and the devil on his right shoulder (no angel on the left side.  He gave up and moved on- most likely during LG's kindergarten year).  Our class was having a share day which meant we could bring one item from home that was special to us.  It was quite an exciting day as, back then, students were not allowed to bring any items from home that were not pertinent to the learning experience.  I, on that fateful day, brought in my favorite book at that time- the story of BAMBI.  Each student had a turn to stand up, show their item, make a brief statement about the item, and then pass it around the room for the other students' viewing pleasure.  Our desks were side by side in a huge, square around the room- when you handed the item to the right it would return to you on your left.  When my turn finally rolled around, I made my statement, held up the book and passed it to my right--on purpose because LG sat on my left and I was not about to let him be the first one to touch my cherished book- and sat right down like the good little soldier prisoner student I was.  Once the book reached LG's mitts, he immediately raised his desk top and shoved my book inside all the while wearing a smug little grin on his face.  (I know I was only 7 but I thought something like, WHATTHEHELL?).

"Give it to me." (whispering)
Silence.
"Give me my book!"  (whispering louder)
Silence.
"Give. Me. My. Book. NOW!"  (maybe a bit louder than a whisper)

LG took my precious possession out of his desk and handed it to me BUT HE DID NOT LET IT GO.  He had put a death grip on my book and I was one pissed off second grader.  I yanked that book out of his death grip and whacked him right-up-side-his-little-second-grade-head!  That's when I noticed Miss Garrett standing in front of my desk.  Wooden ruler in hand.  CRAP.  This was NOT going to end well.  At. All.

Miss Garrett's classroom policy was shoot first and NEVER ask what happened.  She was not the least bit interested in whowhatwhenwherehoworwhy.  NoSir-eeBob.  She merely took my hand and whacked my right palm with her torture weapon wooden ruler and then carried out the same punishment on LG which was totally unfair because all I did was get my book back and, IF I had to be punished, LG should have gotten way more than me because it was all his doing.

Now, what lesson did I take with me throughout my educational years from this experience?  First, take care of LG outside the classroom. Second, do not blindly trust authority figures to render just judgments.

At least I had plucked the thorn from my side.  LG was afraid of me from that day forward!  Which means he wasn't as dumb as I thought he was.                

Monday Memories: Family Life Continues

Hey, y'all! Monday which brings us one of my favorite memes and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! 

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

This week's prompt is: Family Life Continues

For 25 years, give or take, I stayed home and raised the kids. Actually, staying home is something one rarely does while raising children. I spent that quarter of a century volunteering, chauffeuring, managing, doctoring, nurturing, encouraging, making priceless memories, laughing until it hurt, praying, creating family traditions--a good deal of which took place outside the home at school, gymnastics, piano lessons, soccer games/practices, cello, band, dance team, competition dance, chorus, softball, rehearsals, performances, and so on. 

To say the least, our family life was active. Busy. Never dull.

But, when I think of our family life when the lovelies were growing up, I think of our dining/kitchen area…

The kitchen has always been a gathering place for my family for as long as I can remember.  The women in our family have probably spent over half of their lives in their kitchens and I am no different.  I spent countless hours conversing with my grandmother as she prepared meal after meal- three meals/day seven days/week and while she baked cakes and breads from scratch.  I also enjoyed listening to her sing while she worked in the kitchen.  Our family ate all of our meals at the kitchen table and, if someone had football practice or a meeting, we waited for them to get home and we ate together.

People are always pushing togetherness during meals at the family table--like this is something new or perhaps they believe families have strayed from this particular type of family quality time. Meals at the table with everyone around are the only kind I have ever known (and not just during the holidays) so it is no surprise that I would continue this tradition with my own kids.  Certainly our kitchen table saw thousands of meals over the years.  Sometimes we were even a bit creative with our meals- candlelight dinners; no manners night; dessert first night; etc.  However, saying our table only satisfied family time during meals would diminish the importance and quality of the times our family shared while sitting there together.  

   

Our kitchen table provided space for creating school projects; ginger bread houses; Christmas cookies; Easter eggs; colorful art work. The lovelies also studied and read books there. Many a game of telephone has been played at the table as well as hundreds of hours of playing board games, card games and putting together jigsaw puzzles. The laughter still resounds if you listen carefully. This table has seen more than anyone’s fair share of Girl Talk, both serious and silly- the sharing of the deepest secrets and fears that young girls harbor as well as the silly thoughts and stories of a day in the life.  Our kitchen table has witnessed the tears and anger brought on by disagreements as well as the tears, hugs, understanding, and smiles the resolutions brought.  It heard the intense discussions of the injustices of the world and the ways to make changes.  It heard us telling our girls that they could be anything in the world they wanted to be.  The table has been the meeting place for friends both young and old as each of their friends sat and discussed their lives with me as well. How amazing it was to know their friends almost as well as I knew my own girls. They all knew that there was no judge or jury at the table, only listening and an attempt to understand.  

While I was growing up, the kitchen table was the center of our family life.  It was the same while I raised the lovelies.  The kitchen table is still a meeting place for the living-at-home-lovelies and myself and it remains our center when everyone comes home as it stirs past memories, and encourages the sharing of present goals and  future dreams. And those games and all that laughter? Yep, it still takes place right at the kitchen table. 

Monday Memories: Family Life

Hey, y'all! Monday which brings us one of my favorite memes and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! How wonderful it is to have a platform for sharing our precious memories with friends and family.

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

This week's prompt is: Family Life 

I was an only child for the first 12 years of my life. My parents did not adopt my three brothers until that time so, family life was, more often than not, lonely. Looking back, however, I realize that those times were probably more alone than lonely and gave ample opportunity for me to discover my creative side. Both of my parents worked outside the home and I believe that is one reason I decided to stay home and raise my 

Our first picture as siblings. 

A lot of what we did as a family were the same things that other families of that time did- Sunday dinners either out or at home with a pot roast that cooked while we were at church; Sunday afternoon football games on TV; weekend camping trips or Saturdays at the lake in the boat; a sit-down family meal every single day of the week...

All set to go to the lake. 

Some of my fondest memories are of family game night when my dad's mother and other family members gathered at our house for a game of cards or Scrabble or whatever. These people LOVED to play games and, to say that there was a competitive soul or two there, would be an understatement. I loved to hear them yelling (good-heartedly) and laughing. Our game times now remind me just of those times. I'm glad this tradition lasted!

When I was growing up there were plenty of kids all around the neighborhood. And, right across the street were my dad's sister's kids- all four of them. Being an only child for the first twelve years of my life, having my cousins close by was a treat!

I loved to go over to their house or have them over playing at my house. When we all got together we would play football, softball, hide and seek, freeze tag, Simon Says, Mother May I, Pickle--and there wasn't a tree in the neighborhood that we hadn't climbed or at least made the attempt--all the fun, active outside greatest games of all time! 

The four big kids belong to my aunt. The little one belongs to my uncle. 

Of all the games we played, freeze tag was my favorite. And I'm not sure why. Maybe it was the fact that we were all out there just running around like a bunch of wild things while our parents sat in lawn chairs chatting about whoknowswhat holding cigarettes in one hand and drinks in the other with the ice clinging against the side of the glass every time they took a drink or laughed hard surrounded by the off and on flashes of light from the lightening bugs and the summertime calling of the cicadas...

These were some of the most fun days of my childhood. Days spent with friends and family, outside, enjoying each other. Feeling good about ourselves and each other. Safe. Happy. It was great!

My cousins and I had a stint where we were really into playing the Ouija board and having seances.  We just couldn't get enough of calling forth the spirit world because it scared us and for some inane reason, we liked being scared.

One day we went to the house of the girls who lived behind my cousins- Beth and Hope-  to play.  These girls lived in a huge two-story house and the closet in their bedroom was as big as most people's rooms.  After just goofing off for a while, we decided to use the Ouija board to call up some spirits which was NOT a big surprise, we always ended up doing this, so we all went into the closet.

I seem to remember us all in dress up clothes, looking like gypsies.  We carefully place our hands onto the planchette (don't be impressed, I Googled it) and Beth or Hope began to call the spirit of Mary Todd Lincoln (I don't know...maybe we were into history also--or maybe she's the one we heard the story about who was buried alive because her fingernails had grown and there were scratch marks on the lid of her coffin--Geez, we really WERE weird).

We had also heard all the stories about people going into trances and not coming back and hearing the voices of the spirits they called forth, etc.  Well, as we were all concentrating, we heard noises coming from the bedroom and started getting a little bit scared.  We looked at one another with wide eyes and whispered things like, "What was that?"  "Did you hear that?"  "What are we going to do?"

About that same time, we noticed that my cousin D's eyes were closed and she was ever so slightly moving from side to side.  CRAP!  Was she in a trance?  Our eyes got wider and our whispers ceased.  We were too scared to move or speak.  This was creepy and we had no idea what to do about any of it.

The next thing we knew the closet door burst open my stupid cousin T (a boy of course) is standing there going, "Boooooo" with a sheet covering him.  First we screamed.  Then we laughed.  And then we tackled him and pounded him a few good ones.

Oh, and the trance, that was just to throw us off from the noises in the bedroom.

Of course, this was NOTHING compared to the seance we had at a Halloween party when we were in fifth grade.  But, that's enough of those kinds of stories. 

Whether we were just running around like wild, crazy things or putting on plays in the garage of someone down the street or laughing at the teen age girls being silly over boys, sledding when it snowed and making snow cream, we kids had fun. I don't recall us noticing the summer time heat or the winter cold. But that was because we were so busy enjoying every second of every day.

Christmas 1959 with the cousins. That's me in the red overalls.

My favorite thing to do at lunch during the summers was eat at my cousins' house. There were four of them and, until I was 12, only one of me so, going to their house was pretty awesome. But lunchtimes over there were there best because they had KOOL AID! WHAT?! It was so great! (Of course, that was before we were told that white sugar is bad for us. And before we ingested so much white sugar in our daily diets that it led to the discover of its killer ability).

The cousins at my third birthday. I think it was the third. I can't see those candles well enough. Ha!

I spent quality time with my grandparents every opportunity I got learning how to bake, peel apples without breaking the peel so that it spiraled down until there was none left to cut off, put salt on a slice of water melon and spit seeds, take afternoon naps on the porch... To appreciate time- taking time to do things right, to see things, to understand, to teach, to learn, to make real, personal connections and to just be.

Sitting on Granddaddy's car. 

My dad's mother, GrandMoore, was the librarian in the town where I grew up. There were many days spent at the library with her. Sometimes I got to help make bulletin boards and shelve books but, mostly, I spent hours lost in book upon book upon book throughout the year! How I loved to read! Something I still enjoy today. 

GrandMoore at the library. This picture was in the paper- I think it had something to do with some donations. 

It seemed that an afternoon thunderstorm paid us a visit every single day during the summer. They only lasted about thirty minutes but they were amazing! With no air conditioning, all the windows were left open. I knew a storm was coming when the sheers in my parent's bedroom window would begin to flow, slowly into the room. As the storm got closer and the winds built in intensity, the sheers would billow into the room and I loved lying on their bed beside the windows watching those sheers billow up and over my head and back down again. The feel and smell of the air became cooler and thunder rumbled in the distance. And you could smell the rain long before it began to fall.

Me with my parents sometime around 1964...maybe???

As the sun went down and darkness begin to change the shape of daytime objects into curiosities and scary things that made you close your eyes and peek through slit eyelids just to make sure it was ok, we chased lightening bugs. We put them in jars with holes poked in the lids so they wouldn't die. I always let mine go quickly though. I didn't want to be responsible for killing something that brought so much simplistic joy to our lives. 

Every winter we had just enough snow to be out of school a few days here and there and to get sleds for Christmas. I lived on Main Street and, just across the street from my house, was a street with an AWESOME hill. It was so steep and it curved! Some of our best sledding took place on that street. Afterwards, there was always hot chocolate to drink in front of the fireplace.  

We had relatives who were mill workers AND farmers when I was growing up. Every summer, my grandmother and I (and my brothers when they came to join our family), spent weeks 'putting up' fresh off the farm vegetables for the winter.

We put up corn and green beans and peas (of all sorts) and tomatoes and pickles (cucumbers) and water melon rind pickles (so good!). And then there were the preserves- strawberry, peach, fig. And the fruit- peaches, strawberries, blueberries, blackberries.

Laughing with GrandMother on my 13th birthday. 

Our early summers were filled with canning/freezing these summer delights that we enjoyed year 'round thanks to Grandmother.

We would shuck bushel upon bushel upon bushel upon bushel of corn and Grandmother would scrape the kernels off the cobs. Her glasses and kitchen windows would be covered in corn spittle. It was hilarious! She put up the best corn I've ever eaten in my life to this very day. No matter what veggie or fruit she was working on, Grandmother took care and stayed with it until the job was completed to perfection. All the while humming her favorite hymns.

No, not every day or every season was nothing but fun and games. But I like to edit and, through editing, I prefer to keep the good ones. The memories that remind me fondly of my childhood. I tend to internalize the dark moments- though none were so dark as others I've read and heard tales about. And, for that, I am truly grateful. My darker memories have to do with abuse outside of the home in the form of bullying and manipulation. Inside the walls of my family, we had none of that. 

So, the memories today are edited clips of the good times. The best times. The ones worth keeping and sharing. Luckily, those are the ones that made up most of my family life.

Monday Memories: More Vacation Memories

Hey, y'all! Monday which brings us one of my favorite memes and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! 

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

This week's prompt is: More Vacation Memories

Vacations are pretty much synonymous with summer. So many people take off to their favorite fun, relaxing spot at some point during the summer months. Not this family. We don't take vacations (except for the one I took to the mountains.) I don't think it was that big of a deal when the lovelies were growing up since the beach is a mere 3 miles from our front door. Closer if we draw a straight line from our backyard to the shore. So we pretty much spent every summer day at the beach, the lovelies and I.

When I was growing up, we did take vacations. And I loved them! Our recurring vacation was the annual trip to the beach. This one was the one we took with everyone- grandparents, aunt, parents, kids. We all went and we all had a blast. We stayed in the same house every single summer and we left at 4:00 AM every single year. By the time we arose, the car was packed. All we had to do was get in the car and fall back asleep for the three and a half hour trip to the Myrtle Beach area.

We never stayed in Myrtle Beach- it was just too commercial even at that time. We stayed at Crescent Beach which is now considered North Myrtle Beach. In all the years we went on this trip, we always stayed in the same house. It was a huge house right across the street from the ocean. It was a two-story monster with a row of wooden slat enclosed showers lining the back separated from the house by a wooden slat walkway. We always stayed upstairs as it was big enough for our family. The downstairs was divided into two, smaller apartments. We only stayed in one of those one year and it was the last year we went. Most of us were up in age and couldn't make the trip.

We spent every day of our week at the beach, on the beach. We awoke to a fully prepared breakfast- eggs, grits, bacon, homemade biscuits and sometimes pancakes and then headed off across the street to the ocean. After waiting the traditional hour following eating breakfast, of course. We would come back across the street, rise off in the outdoor showers and back up the stairs for lunch- usually sandwiches and chips- and then head back to the beach. Again, waiting that hour after eating to enter the water. We built massive sandcastles and had fun riding the waves on those canvas floats with the nylon ropes around the edges. Remember those? And wearing the t-shirts due to the sunburn from the day before?

Nights were spent eating a big family dinner and playing games into the night. There was not a television or radio to be had. No cell phones back then either. Just a fun, family filled week without the stress of everyday life and technology that was created under the guise of making our lives better. What in the world was better than spending time together like this?

To this day I cannot smell Noxzema without thinking of Grandmother. She smothered us in that stuff every night as it took the burn out of our sunburns. It really did help and the smell does hold memories for me.

 One night of our beach vacation was always reserved for going to the Pavilion riding rides and another was reserved for standing in those mile long lines at one of the hundreds of Calabash seafood houses. The food was so worth the wait. I still remember my Granddaddy always sat at the head of the table and, if you sat next to him, he would reach over with his fork and take a bite of your food. I loved it and never could figure out why no one else wanted to sit beside him. No matter where we were, if it was a seafood place, Granddaddy always had fried catfish. And Grandmother always started off with shrimp cocktail. I was a perch or flounder girl.

We never left the beach at 4:00 in the morning. We always left in the afternoon. We were always just a little sad to leave but we knew there would always be next year.

Until there wasn't because we all grew up and outgrew family vacations. Or moved away and the miles led to distance separation. Luckily, we never let the distance in miles lead to distance in our hearts. We always visited and called and wrote letters---actual letters with actual pens and paper. And now, we know that Grandmother and Granddaddy were the best ever at creating memories. Memories that are still cherished today.   

Monday Memories: More Christmas Memories

Hey, y'all! Monday which brings us one of my favorite memes and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! 

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

This week's prompt is: More Christmas Memories

When I was a little girl, the preparation for the arrival of Christmas was the most wonderful part of the entire event. There were trees to decorate and parades to see. There were goodies to be baked and eaten. There were gifts to buy and adorn with brightly colored, foil paper and puffy bows and curly ribbons tagged with the names of recipients in cursive (we searched for our own and remembered each and every one from the moment they were carefully placed under the fragrant Douglas Fir until Christmas Day-though remember our multiplication tables we could not). There were relatives to visit and Christmas cards to address and post. There were carols to be sung and pageants to attend. There were parties to attend and stories to be read. There were advent candles to light and Christmas lights to behold. There were Christmas movies to watch and the Charlie Brown Christmas special, of course.

Love those holiday traditions of childhood as we may, they tend to change as we grow up and, when marriage and/or children become part of our lives, those traditions can really be transformed. In our family, the biggest change was simply location. Though their father's side of the family lived in the same town as we did, my family was further away. I've always felt cheated that we ended up staying in town for Christmas more than traveling. I know it was easier with all the Santa surprises, but it was never the same for me. I can honestly say that the only reason I tolerated it was that my family would, more often than not, come over the holidays. 

Our favorite part of the holiday season remained preparing for Christmas. The advent calendar, decorating, baking, getting the tree. Everything! We always waited until the second week of December to get our tree... until 1991. Prior to that year, we would pack the lovelies up and head to the family farm land where they were attempting to grow Christmas trees and either cut one down or dig it up live and replant it. But 1991 changed all of that. The FIRST tree we brought home that year was just perfect.  Except that it died within five days. We undecorated it and, this time, we bought one (hurricane Hugo pretty much wiped out the tree farm and the pickins were slim). It died.  WTH?! We had to buy another one. We had brought THREE trees into the house, decorated twice, undecorated once and now WE HAD TO DO IT ALL AGAIN. Way uncool. The third tree didn't last too long but we did get through Christmas. The next year, we went with an artificial tree and have used one ever since because I refuse to risk the 1991 multiple tree decorating disaster ever again!  While the lovelies were growing up, the decorating of the Christmas tree was followed by watching the town Christmas parade--although, after the first few years, there always seemed to be at least one daughter IN the parade which meant that one of us had to walk along and, by one of us, I mean- me. 

Getting a tree circa 1991

There was, of course, the annual letter writing campaign to Santa at the North Pole (we still have every single letter--to AND from) and the making of gifts.  The girls made gifts for relatives for many years including ornaments--wooden, ceramic, crab shells, corks, craft sticks, etc.  But, in 1994, we made a Christmas anthology of sorts.  Each daughter made up a story about Christmas, retold the birth of Jesus and 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, and answered 10 questions about Christmas.  These were treasured so much more than 'store bought' gifts. This tradition has continued. This year, Birdie gave Deanie a handmade quilt. Birdie useda few of Deanie's college t-shirts---

Once school was out for Christmas break (actually called Winter break) the BIG fun began.  The girls and I spent hours making Christmas cookies--rolling out the dough, cutting out the shapes and getting icing and sprinkles all over the house decorating them with icing and sprinkles.  Next, we made the annual gingerbread house.  Which, as it turns out, is NOT THAT EASY.  Oh, decorating it with the candy is a cinch.  It's putting the walls up and, the granddaddy of the difficulty, the roof on top.  Yep.  Not that easy at all. The next step in the cooking/baking department was the Christmas goodies for the Christmas Eve gatherings--the ham; cheese and olive balls; sausage balls; spinach balls; fudge- butterscotch and chocolate; meatballs and little smokies; Chex Mix; cheese balls; cream cheese and pepper jelly; etc.  And, in the middle of the table, the lovelies always insisted on a birthday cake for Jesus.

Breezy with a tray of Christmas cookies and the ginger bread house of 1991.

We tried the ones with the cardboard instead of ginger bread but they were not any easier. 

There was (and still is) the writing of the annual Christmas 'newsy' letter to be included, with the Christmas photo of the lovelies, inside the Christmas cards. One year, I couldn't get the picture in time to be included so I mailed the letters inside the cards but NOT a picture. We have our family reunion (this is the huge side, my mother's side) every August and I had to hear about them not getting a Christmas picture from December until the reunion in August. That Christmas, I sent them TWO pictures, one from the year before AND the one for that year. If you send something like this to your relatives, please don't ever NOT send one. You'll pay dearly for it!

The Christmas photo, 1991

Christmas Eve, especially when we hosted the gathering, was very similar to the ones when I was growing up--the family gathered, the food was nearly identical, and the excitement was abundant.  The lovelies wore coordinating outfits handmade each year by Mimi (my mother) up until they developed their own, individual styles. Even then, they coordinated colors most of the time. We generally started out with the man's family for the opening of gifts followed by the Christmas Eve service at church (which changed to the midnight service as the girls got older). The night continued with the gathering of my side of the family where the girls were allowed to open another present--the Christmas pajamas that Mimi (my mother) gave them every year--she still does this! All of the evening's festivities were topped off with a good reading of Clement C. Moore's 'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS and the perfect placement of the milk and cookies. Finally, it was time to await the arrival of Santa and, until they started getting their own homes, they all slept in the same room. 

The 'Santa' sleeping arrangements. 

Christmas morning was a hullabaloo of brightly colored wrapping paper all over the place everyone talking all at the same time and the shrills of delight that only children have the ability to project at Christmas, or any other time for that matter! The sounds of laughter and toys filled the morning and stopped only for a moment while we ate Christmas dinner--traditionally, like Thanksgiving, until 1993 when we traded in the turkey for prime rib. Later, I began preparing a Christmas brunch instead for any and everyone who wants to join us.  Changes in our family do not usually go over well but everyone seems to enjoy Christmas brunch.

The hullabaloo of color still occurs no matter how old they get. 

When the lovelies were growing up, we did all these things because I wanted them to experience the pure joy of the preparation and anticipation of the holiday so we decorated the trees and attended and participated in the parades. We baked goodies and ate them. We shopped for the gifts and adorned them with the brightly colored paper, the bows, the ribbons, the tags ( that were specially labeled with codes yet the lovelies searched for theirs and had no trouble figuring out which was which nor did they have trouble with their multiplication tables). We visited relatives and addressed Christmas cards. We sang carols and attended (and participated in) the pageants. We attended and hosted the parties and we read the stories. We lit the candles and rode around looking at the lights. We watched the Christmas movies and the Charlie Brown Christmas special.

Life, during the weeks before Christmas were busy, yes. But it was a good busy. A busy that revolved around fun, laughter, joy... A busy that reflected that our hearts were full and overflowing with all things good, happy, loving... A busy that pulled us closer together with a bond secured by a love so deep that, no matter how hard they tried, no one could sever. A bond that lasts a lifetime and beyond.

That is the time that makes my Christmas season special. Meaningful. Wonderful.

Now that the lovelies are all grown up, they come to help with some of the preparations when they can. Of course, they are making their own preparatory traditions because this time is special to them as well. This year we had Christmas eve at my house and Christmas day at Birdie's new house. She and SILExtrordinaire wanted to host. And it was lovely! Maybe now that the nest is empty, I can just enjoy Christmas without 'doing' Christmas. Ah...the advantages of an empty nest. 

Monday Memories: My Children

Hey, y'all! Monday which brings us one of my favorite memes and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! 

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

This week's prompt is: My Children.

Once upon a time (beginning in the mid 1980s) there were 4 Perfect Princesses...

Yeah, I know. This one was soooooo predictable. What can I say?

Pride. There are four things I take great pride in. Well, not things, but people--the lovelies.

It's just too easy. They give me such cause to be proud of them. And not just because of the usual things- their intelligence (which borders on genius, of course), their talents (which abound), their creativity (what box?), and so on.

It's the little things about them like...

• their individuality- my dad's mother always told me to let each lovely be who they are and never compare them with one another. This was great advice- each of the lovelies has her own, individual personality/quirks/etc. that make them the princesses they are.
• their willingness to be there- each of the lovelies is always ready, willing and able to lend a helping hand in their own, individual way. If their way isn't called for, they're also willing to volunteer their sisters. Or their mom. 
• their support and encouragement of one another. There's no jealousy among the princesses. They are happy for one another during successes and they commiserate then lift and encourage during the down times.
• their compassion for the under dog. This is a blessing and a curse. I know because this one, they get from me. 
• their ability to love unconditionally. It's amazing but true. They probably did not get this one from me. And, by probably did not, I mean they didn't. 
• their ability to find the humor in life. They can find that chuckle, that ray of sunshine, that glimmer of hope in nearly everything and everyone. 
• their continuous thirst for knowledge. Not a single one of them has ever stopped learning whether in the classroom or in life. 
• their work ethic. They get this from my side- and it goes WAY back. Not a single one of them is afraid of working hard or hard work. And they always give at least 110%.

Yes, there are many other great and wonderful things about the lovely Perfect Princesses. But I didn't want to sound like I was bragging or anything. :)

Are the four lovely princesses truly perfect? No.

And those imperfections? Well, those make me just as proud as the other parts. I am amazed at how the lovelies recognize those things about themselves that need work. Their imperfections set them apart. They make the lovelies work harder. They keep the lovelies on their toes. They teach lessons that the lovelies might otherwise not have learned.

Am I a proud mom? Darn right.

Does it embarrass the lovely princesses? Darn right.

But do they ever have to question whether their mother is proud of them? No.

I'm so grateful that I was given these four blessings to love and admire. Even though they're not living in the nest any longer because they're all grown up, I still listen to them and find new things to be proud of every day.

Daughters. They're just the BEST!

And so, here they are, in chronological order:

Breezy:Daughter number one, the one who has been with me the longest, is brilliant to the point of genius. She is an avid believer in our Constitution and talented beyond compare in the areas of writing (poetry and short stories); music- cello and guitar (self taught on the latter,); paintings- her paintings are stunning.  She is THE comic relief in the family, never failing to regale us with tales of hilarity or causing raucous laughter merely while conversing. Breezy is outgoing, generous, loving, loyal, passionate, compassionate... She is protective of her sisters to the point of...well, just don't mess with her sisters. She plays the role of mother hen quite well. If something happens to me, I know she will step right in the mother role no matter how old they all are. She's the one who was often called acid tongue at the ripe old age of...two. She's been questioning authority without fear since the age of---three. She will argue a point to death even after winning a debate because she had "one more point to make." She has, through the years, entertained us all with getting things stuck on her fingers and falling after tripping over---nothing but air. When she played basketball, she would politely hand the ball to the defensive player trying to take it away from her. Breezy does everything her way in her own time which is frustrating because her way is far from the 'normal' way and her own time is lengthy at best. BUT, when all is said and done, it is far better than anything any of us could do. Breezy thinks outside the box because she's not aware that a box exists. She will give anyone the shirt off her back expecting nothing at all in return. She loves tradition and change is something she is not a fan of AT ALL. The year I wanted to start making prime rib for Christmas dinner instead of turkey nearly pushed her off the edge. And she was only ten. Now, she is facing the big 3-0 in eleven days and that bothers only me because, how in the world do I have a kid who is 30 years old????

Deanie: She’s been a delight and blessing for almost 28 years now. And the time really did fly by.  Yes, she was born on April Fool's day, but she's nobody's fool. Deanie is my ‘keep the peace’ child.  She does not like anyone to be upset or angry and she absolutely insists on truly appreciates status quo in the family. She is our ‘prissy missy’ who would dig in the dirt, while dressed in her cutest outfits, pull worms apart and then promptly wash her hands before turning around and doing it again.  Her birthstone is diamond and she loves them- the bigger and more sparkly they are the better though she is, at the same time, just as happy with the simplest things. She has a voice that truly makes the angels in Heaven’s choir jealous (No joke! When she was auditioning for high school chorus I was standing outside the door and heard the most beautiful voice. When I peeked in to see who it was-- it was Deanie!) and is a dancer extraordinaire (seriously she even turned down schools after high school because, in her words, “Mom, being a dancer is just like being an athlete.  If you get injured, your career is over and then, without a college degree, what are you going to do?” Point taken but she truly was poetry in motion.)  Deanie loves life and would have majored in partying social life had they offered it in college. She never meets a stranger and everyone just loves her. She is sweet, kind, loyal, respectful, responsible, and diligent. She can talk anyone, and I mean anyone, under the table and the same can be said of her about shopping. She is a fashionista.  She is a true southern belle and yet able to take down a chauvinist male with the flick of a wrist. She will go out of her way to surprise or encourage or uplift a friend. She enjoys big city living without forgetting her small town southern charm. She loves traveling and organization and sports and meeting new people and she is devoted to her friends and family.

Birdie: This is daughter number three and she has always, and I'm talking FROM BIRTH, been my easiest, most laid back, go-with-the-flow kid. She's my all American girl.  If she could live out of doors 24/7 and be surrounded by dogs and books, she would be happy. She likes to think of herself as a regular Joe. Ordinary. But I know, and not just because I’m her mother, there’s nothing ordinary about Birdie. Birdie is my athlete. She played soccer for 8 years and loved every minute of it. Until high school when she disagreed with and refused to participate in the politics that are a part of soccer in our area and quit playing altogether. It was at this time that she discovered athletic training and became a student trainer all through high school, majored in it in college and then left us to get a master's degree in athletic training in TEXAS. But that’s ok. She’s back now working as an athletic trainer in our area. Besides, the fact that she refuses to participate in the crap that goes on behind the scenes to play the behind the scenes game is one of the things I admire most about Birdie. This kid is always on the up-and-up. Birdie has a contagious laugh. She has what you might call a wry sense of humor. She loves old black and white movies and music that spans decades from the 1940s to the present day. She loves traveling and sports (especially soccer and football). She is loyal beyond belief to her sisters and has had the same best friend since the age of three. Birdie is independent and has better financial savvy than anyone I've ever known. She loves decorating for holidays and celebrations and is the best gift giver of us all. Her gifts are thoughtful and perfect for each receiver. And, if you’re really lucky, it’s something she made. Halloween is her favorite holiday and orange is her favorite color. She was a pumpkin for Halloween 4 years in a row. And wouldn't let Mimi make her a bigger costume. THAT was interesting. As she got older, all of her birthday party themes were Halloween related. Birdie has the patience of a saint and is creative in multiple ways. Birdie pays attention to detail. While she was in Texas, Birdie taught herself to quilt. She is strong willed and independent. She is my quiet child. The one who NEVER rocks the boat. She lives and loves purely and simply. She gets her feelings hurt but only a couple of us know because she doesn't put herself out there when it comes to feelings. You really have to know her to know this side of her.  When she was little and rode roller coasters (which she has always loved- they are never  too twisty/fast/high for Birdie), her expression was the same as if she was just sitting there reading a book. Birdie is a lot like my granddaddy especially in her practical jokes and that 'gotcha' giggle that is just like his. And the fact that they were both people of few spoken words. She is never jealous or possessive. She never ceases to amaze us.

I'm not sure what was going on in this one. They loved Santa...LOL

DoodleBug: The youngest lovely. She told me she would stay little and live with me forever. She lied. Well, she's still little- coming in at 5'5", she's the shortest lovely. But she did grow up. Though she does live with me right now. Two out of three... DoodleBug is the only one of our girls to give herself the proverbial kid hair cut. Her sister, Breezy, was watching her (and by watching her I mean watching television) and then next thing they heard was, "I DON'T LIKE IT!!!" Poor DoodleBug was not happy with her new 'do'. I took her to the kids' salon and she got a really cute little bob. DoodleBug HATED outgrowing things that she loved to wear. Like the Christmas dress that matched her Molly doll (from American Girl)- she wore that thing three years in a row. The first year it was a tiny bit big for her. The second year it was close to a perfect fit but bordered on a smidge small. The third year? Well, she wore it anyway. And then there were those shoes...they were just a pair of Keds' tennis shoes. She loved those things. I thought it was odd that she hadn't needed new shoes in so long. She was scrunching up her toes so she could keep wearing them. She adored, and I mean ADORED, her kindergarten teacher. Maybe worshiped is a better word. DoodleBug has wanted to be a kindergarten teacher since that time and she is now a certified early childhood teacher. Some teachers just make all the difference. By third grade she was reading Dickens by herself and, by the time she reached high school, she had already read everything on the honors English reading list for freshman and sophomore years. Avid reader? To say the least. DoodleBug still loves to dress up for Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. If she's not in a costume, she's in a sweatshirt made by Mimi (my mother) to fit the holiday. She LOVES elderly folks. There were tea parties with Mama Lil (my grandmother) and Chinese Checkers with Great Mama (her dad's grandmother). There were 4 birthday years in a row that she held her parties at a retirement community. DoodleBug loves baseball and ultimate frisbee. And she is fierce on the field. At 5'5" you would think she would be cautious. Nope. That child is not scared of anything. She has an extreme sense of sarcasm and when she's mad it's best that you leave her alone. She was a band geek in high school all four years and is, to this day, proud of that--and wouldn't mind me telling y'all that each of her four years our band took FIRST PLACE at state. Bright does not even begin to describe her intellect and, beyond intellect, she possesses wisdom. She is intensely loyal to her friends and family. And she's all about ladybugs. Once she decides to commit to something, DoodleBug gives at least 110%, regardless. She is passionate about civil rights and will fight to the death for what she believes is right. She is not intimidated by authority figures and will speak out against wrongs/injustices and speak up for what is good/fair/just. She does NOT back down. She is the baby of the family and she loves her sisters in a BIG way. She desperately missed each and every sister as they left for college and other towns/states to live. At the same time, she does enjoy living here without sharing a room. :)

Yes, I'm aware that that was WAY TOO MUCH to read but I did stop myself. Not that it appears that way. Ha!
 But t

Thanks for stopping by anyway! And I hope y'all are reveling in the throngs of friends and family this Christmas week! 

BTW, lovely hostess of this marvelous meme, I can click on 'Comments' on your blog but it takes me right back to your blog and nowhere to comment. So- I enjoyed reading about your children! And that's a crazy tale of the black hair vs blonde and being a girl or boy! So funny!