I’ve written a couple of posts about “me” before, but in both of them (one about my childhood favorite things and another I describe as solemn), I do not give a clear idea of who I “am” (yes, I am using quotations marks to emphasis a purpose I am not entirely sure of). I've also been dealing witha spot of writer's block lately (which is not surprising), and have decided to tell stories from my childhood until something happens in my life that gives me a story to tell (such as breaking another bone). As a fair warning, there's no real flow to this post.
I. Whenever we talk about my birth, there are two things that get told over and over again:
1.] When I popped out of my mom three days early (to this day, I am always early to things), the doctor said I came out with a scowl on my face. I’d like to think that scowl has marked me as the realist that I am today.
2.] My oldest sister wanted a little brother, not another sister. When she heard the news (at this was before people knew what they were having), she said, “I wanted a boy baby!” She demanded they take me back and get a boy. Thanks, Stacey. Love you too.
I am currently wearing knee-high socks and a too-big shirt.
Some things never change.
II. We spent a good portion of my childhood in Ohio and when I started school, I gained a passion for learning. Okay, well, maybe not a passion at five. It was more of an interest in this place that allowed me to color any time I wanted and used to give out snacks. What ever happened to snack time?
Even at a young age, I was socially awkward. I was the girl who had the most organized backpack and desk. I never wanted to go out to recess (I didn’t want to play their stupid soccer game anyway). I never bought food from the school as my mom always packed me a lunch, complete with a juice box.
Today, when I was presenting a speech in class, I remember when I used to be the girl who made her mom sit with her at the front of the room during presentations. When I was in elementary school, the teachers used to invite parents whenever we gave speeches or talks or anything of the sort. I gave one on Amelia Earhart and my mom sat next to me while I stood (they made me). I have no shame about this. I wish I could still have a buddy with me during a speech.
|I still have that table.|
My parents decided to get me a desk one Christmas as well.
III. On more than one occasion, I found myself getting in trouble. I cannot tell you how many pennies I’ve eaten (at least three) and how much Play-Doh I have ingested. The worse of it all was when I was a toddler and my dad was watching me. I took my blonde-self and wandered into the bathroom where I found tub of Vaseline. I’m not sure what I was thinking—probably that I wanted to take a bath and wash my hair—but I opened it, and promptly smeared the entire jar in my hair. I don’t know if you know this about Vaseline, but it does not come out easily. Or, at all for that matter. My mom had to cut my hair and for about six months, I had a boy haircut.
IV. Fast forward from Ohio to when we moved to Colorado. When we lived on base, our house was across a tree line marking the beginning of the woods. You can imagine how many insects we would find in and around our house in an almost daily basis. Being the bright child that I was, I decided it would be fun to catch the insects and collect them. Whenever I saw a cool beetle or a flying thing, I would put them in some tupperware and watch them act like bugs. Except, I did not just catch beetles and flying things. I caught spider. Brown recluses to be exact. I used to think their markings were cool. I also liked the way they moved (yes, there was something wrong with me as a child). I would put my spiders in bags and chase my sisters around the house so they could look at how cool they were as well. (I'd like to point out that today, I hate most bugs and do not want anything to do with them.)
|This is the face of innocence, I'd like to point out.|
The thing most professionals will not tell you is that blonde does not work over brown unless you are willing to bleach your hair first (which I wasn’t). Months before dying my hair, I attacked it with scissors, wanting to get the split-ends out. Another thing professionals don’t tell you is things are opposite in mirrors and the way you meant to cut your hair, is not the way it gets cut. My long hair was gone, and soon enough so was the brown.
|I bought my homecoming dress when I was in Singapore.|
Except it didn’t stay brown for long. It turned orange and I looked like a pumpkin for my homecoming.
But an awesome one. Tell me about your fondest childhood memories?