I grew up in a house where I could literally climb the walls.
I sometimes wonder if it is strange to have such a strong attachment to a building made of wood and bricks. But I’m not going to ask the question because I don’t want to really hear the answer.
I adored my house. It was like another member of my family to me. Seriously, I get sad that I was never able to introduce it to my husband or my kids. It is my first and last definition of Home. Everywhere else I’ve lived fits somewhere in between (although, the Blue Bungalow is not far behind).
Today I looked at this picture and could immediately feel the wood- the smooth banister, the rough walls. I get flashes of memories, in smells and sounds, mostly. I still breathe in the scent from the cedar wood. My mind tunes in with the echo of the stairs- the hollow sound of the twelve wooden steps that resounded with each smack of my feet. I still hear the creaking floors and feel of the warm winter sun through the west windows, by the piano. Yes, these details pull me home, and I wish I could go back.
And there are other things this picture reminds me of. I miss the walls that led to the children’s wing (it sounds like a mansion when I say “wing” but it wasn’t. That’s just what we called it -it jutted out of the house like, well, a wing and it was where we children slept and played). Back to the walls. They were made of brick. It was there that I would position my feet between each cube of stone, climb as close to the ceiling as possible, and wait. My goal was to jump down and scare the next person to walk down the hallway (usually hoping it was Guy), but I was never Ninja enough. It was always worth a try.
I was certainly dorky enough.
Have a great weekend! January Slide Show ends Monday.
This slide show is to remember Kodachrome’s 75 years on this earth. Click here.
The second El Jefe showed me this work of art he made, I immediately wanted to write something for my Chunk #2. A picture really does say a thousand words. I think poetry can do the same. The challenge is writing a piece that says a thousand words, without actually writing one thousand words, right? I haven’t been brave enough to share some of my work on this here blog. So, I’m going to break those shackles of self-doubt and just share already. I think, of those proverbial one thousand words, dare I say I might have caught two hundred and fifty of them in my poem? In any case…….love this girl!
Breathe your soul into those heavenly torches,
for they blink and wink at you.
The Sparkly Butterfly,
The center of their shimmering swarm.
You giggle a waltz in
a-rhythmic turns and steps.
Gild your days,
with ornate crowns and
Satiny play dresses too big ’round the shoulders.
Adjusting your sleeve,
jeans peering out the bottom,
you call to me
with the cadence of a twinkle.
This slide show is in honor of Kodachrome’s 75 years on this earth. Click here.
Ahem, if you have some serious feedback on my writing, please feel free to share. I can take it. I can.
Meet Cheater 1:
And Cheater 2:
I love playing games. I usually love playing games with these two. Cheater 1 is particularly fun because he is so competitive. Cheater 2 has been my friend for about 18 years and has always made me laugh. Put these guys in a room with El Jefe and me, and any kind of game, and it’s a par-tay. Seriously. Par. Tay.
Yes. Like most nerds across America, I think there is nothing better than game night (well, that and pizza and a movie). However, these two, on this particular night, while playing games, totally cheated. That’s right. Cheated. I felt it was time to out them on my own blog.
This is all part of January Slide Show. Click here if you’re wondering what all this nonsense is about.
When Chunk #1 saw this picture a while ago, he asked, “Who is that girl?” Uh, that’s you, kid.
I, personally, thought it gave him a Han Solo/Luke Skywalker vibe.
Today I’ll be cutting his hair. It’s starting to get a little shaggy. Not like above, I’m avoiding that look until I have to fight with him about it when he’s a teenager. He just really hates haircuts. And because he hates haircuts, I hate giving haircuts.
I found some shots of when we got rid of the shag. We tried to make it more fun that time, but really, it was all at his expense. We had way more fun than he did:
Step one: Just look at all that hair.
Step 2: While we’re here, let’s just give him an 80’s skater do:
Step 3: Keep treating him like your own little styling toy.
Step 4: Give him dad’s 8th grade hairstyle for more kicks and grins.
Step 5: Wash him off, slap a shirt on him, and the torture is over.
Don’t worry, I will not torture him like this today. I promise.
Why the slide show? Click here.
This summer we were driving to Idaho and stopped for Blizzards in Beaver (you know, Beaver, Utah, the town whose city slogan is “Best drinking water in the USA!” Before that it was “The Land of Four Seasons!” and before that it was “Beaver, Utah, Live a Little!” Yes, I notice these things).
About 15 minutes later I hear Chunk #1 say, “I think I just swallowed my tooth!” Wow. That was some Blizzard. I pulled over in case of any blood. After a couple rounds of rinse, spit, repeat, he was proud to show off his newest gaping hole.
Were you the kind of kid that, when you had a loose tooth, you couldn’t leave it alone? You’d wiggle and jiggle and pull and yank? I wasn’t. I might have messed with it with my tongue, gently, cautiously, under my own terms, but I hated the idea of possibly bleeding and therefore let it be.
My son is the same way.
I think he may be worse than I was, although I can’t be sure. He won’t touch it, and of course he won’t let us touch it. He lets it go until it’s hanging on a thread (or one tiny tooth ligament). It drives my husband crazy. I often hear him say to Chunk #1 “Come here, let me wiggle that tooth,” and the Chunk covers his mouth or tries to get away.
I love this picture, he’s just so stinkin’ cute!
Why the slide show? Click here.
So, yesterday, I presented Exhibit A on why I call my children the Chunks. Today I give you Exhibit B: Look at those cheeks (I mean on Chunk #2). She was just a day or two old here. At birth she became heavy weight champion on both sides of the family. That’s probably not something to brag about…
Have a fat and happy weekend.
Why the slide show? Click here.
If anyone wonders why I call my children Chunk #1 and Chunk #2, here is my first reason. Exhibit A: Look at that fat baby. He was only about 3 months old in this picture. He was the best little tub of cuteness you ever saw. His chubbiness was always a relief to me. You see, I had a very hard time, in the beginning, learning to feed this kid and my post delivery mind was frantic.
Frantic I tell ya!
So, when the nursing stars aligned and this baby plumped up, I was, as I said, relieved. The funny thing is, someone on my husband’s side of the family was concerned (maybe he’s too fat?!) and recommended that we do baby exercises. I could only laugh since fat babies are usually the norm on my side of the genetic pool. On El Jefe’s side they’re all cute and petite with tiny little frog legs. I can understand the concern when along comes monster baby and his rolls upon rolls of fat. No worries though, on our side, eventually they just stretch out and don’t stop stretching — which Chunk #1 has done and I constantly have a hard time finding jeans that will stay on his skinny little hips but still be long enough for his legs.
Eventually I will let him pick his own nickname, I don’t think he likes to be called Chunk.
Why the slide show? ‘Cause Mama took my Kodachrome away. Click here for more of an explanation.