Me
When my grandchildren, Christopher, Shai, and Caalab were little, my daughter Amy stayed home with her kids and babysat Christopher for her sister. It was such a blessing, because Corrie and I would come over at lunchtime and have lunch with them. Corrie was able to spend precious time with Christopher, and I was able to spend precious time with my kids and grandkids…at least the ones we had then. Joshua would join our family later on.
Amy’s house was a lively place those days. The kids kept her running and there was never a dull moment. I’m sure she was exhausted many times, but I hope she knows what a blessing she was to Corrie, Kevin, and me. The knowledge that the children were happy and well cared for, as well as loved, brings a peace of mind that cannot be matched. And most daycares do not allow parents to stop by for lunch, as it disrupts their day, and the children can get cranky when the parent leaves, but, while he hated to see his mommy go, Christopher was fine, because he was with his Aunty Amy, and his cousins.
Don’t get me wrong, there were the normal fights and competitions during the day, but because of the close surroundings, a close friendship grew. Since Christopher was 1 day older than Shai, they had spent all their lives together, and would do so until they started grade school. First, in Amy’s care until she needed to work full time. Then in their next sitter, Dani’s care, and finally the pre-school/daycare they would go to before grade school began. Theirs would be a friendship to last a lifetime. And when Caalab came along, they would work very hard to be big helpers to Amy, even though they were only 17 months older than he was.
The kids got personalized care from Amy, because she had just the two, then three. She would not babysit Joshua, because she went to work before he arrived. I feel a little sad for him, because he did not have that special time with his Aunty Amy like Christopher did. She taught the kids things, played games, trained them in walking, pottying, and talking, although she might regret that part sometimes. Amy played a big part in those kids early lives, and I was
always glad.
The days the kids spent together with Amy were filled with giggles and laughs, and a few tears, but she would kiss the boo boos and stop the fights, and get things back into fun mode very quickly. Whenever I was there, I could tell that the kids were so happy and blessed. I wish I could tell you about everything they did during those days, but unfortunately I didn’t get to see that part of the day like Amy did. I just know that the babies grew into happy children, and we knew that they spent every day in the company of friends.
Today I went to my niece’s graduation party. There were a number of small children at the party, and a good time was had by all. In particular, there was a incident in which one of the small children, Zackary, was being held down, and tickled by two adults. As they gave him a moment to breathe, another niece, Jessi said to her boyfriend Jason, who was one of the adults tickling him, along with her sister Kellie, that when it came to tickling, you must show no mercy.
Well, that got me to thinking about another child, who was very ticklish…my sister, Caryl. She was always quite a giggly kid. She had a laugh that was infectious, but it was not her laugh that really got my sisters and me laughing…it was the tickle torture!!! Caryl was so ticklish that it is something none of us will ever forget. After performing the tickle torture on Caryl several times, we had given the attack that name. And the name was fitting, because it truly was torture for her, but we did it in the spirit of fun.
Caryl had to be one of the most ticklish people in the entire world, and she would scream and kick and laugh, but it was so funny that we just couldn’t get enough of the tickle torture. We would all get in on it. We held her down and tickled her until tears rolled down her face and she was begging us to stop. I suppose that was mean of us, but it was just so funny…and she did survive it, after all.
And because my sisters and I were, horribly mean, we would often descend on Caryl without warning. She would start begging us not to even before we got started. But, it wasn’t our fault, it was Caryl’s, because she was so funny…and we were, after all, just kids.
As I said, Caryl did survive our torture, and has grown into a wonderful woman. She became a Respiratory Therapist and works in the Cardiopulmonary Department at Memorial Hospital of Carbon County. She still has a great sense of humor and yes, she is still very ticklish. I like to think my sisters and I played a small part in the lovely woman she became, but I seriously doubt if she would say that the woman she became was due to the tickle torture.
We all do it. Many won’t admit it, but it is true nevertheless. We all hear voices. They are the voices of our past. Our parents, grandparents, teachers, friends…whether they are living or not. Our mind is a big storage facility, a flash drive if you will, that holds the things we have heard, read, seen, tasted and smelled. If you think of a favorite food, that taste will suddenly appear, not as strongly as if you were eating the food, but you know the taste of your favorite food. You know it’s smell. You remember events of your life. Things you have seen, good or bad. They are burned into your memory. You remember stories you have read, or text books, maybe not word for word, but the knowledge you gained is still with you today. And you remember the voices, can even hear them very clearly, of loved ones who have gone on before you, or friends you haven’t seen in a while, teachers from your school days, parents, grandparents, speakers, singers, movie stars and even just the passerby who said something that struck you at the time.
The lessons my dad taught my sisters and me still ring strongly in my head. He told us things like, “Never let the sun go down on your wrath” and “go to church” to teach us the right things to do in life, but the things I remember even more, now that he had gone home to be with the Lord, are the teasing, funny things he said. He would do something, like tug on our hair and then pretend he hadn’t done it. When we would “retaliate” by flicking him with our finger, he would look at us in mock innocence and say, “You struck me!!” We would answer, “I wonder why??” He was an incorrigible tease. He thrived on it, and so did we. His teasing filled our lives with laughter. He never lost that…never. I can still see him coming out of their bedroom in the mornings and the teasing would begin. I would say, “Well, it’s about time!!” And he would shake his finger at me, looking shocked the whole time, that I would say such a thing. Our lives were filled with teasing and innocent pranks. I wouldn’t have it any other way. The pictures they create and the words I hear are with me always. He had an amazing imagination, and you never knew what he might come up with next.
I can also hear the things my favorite teachers said, as well as others who had an influence on me. Sayings with a positive impact are forever tied to the person who said them. I can repeat lines from movies and picture the scene, vividly. Songs I like run clearly through my head, sometimes over and over. Yes, like everyone else, I hear voice…every day. Voices from the past, as well as the present, run like a movie in my head, reminding me of right and wrong…of where I came from…and where I want to be. I would never change the fact that I hear voices.
My girls, like most kids had great cousins, but like most kids, there were good days and bad days. This applied to both sides of our family. Their relationships with their cousins have spanned 3 decades and have grown into beautiful friendships, despite the rocky starts.
Since I was the second child, my older sister’s children were the only cousins on that side for a long time. Her older daughters were always a source of goofy antics, while providing my girls with a little bit of a look at how the bigger kids acted, and what they did. Her son gave them a glimpse into what boys were like…quite a culture shock for my girls who were around mostly girls. Her younger girls were really the ones my girls played with, and also, where most of the fights occurred. There were fights of the real and imagined kind. Now many people might not know what an imagined fight is, but I know. It is when one child tells on another child for hitting them, when in reality no such event took place. I expect this type of fight happens more than we know. Thankfully, as time goes by, those same kids who fought like cats and dogs, and then turned right around and played until they dropped from exhaustion, grow up to become wonderful adults, who are the best of friends and the greatest allies for life.
On Bob’s side of the family, things were much the same. Great little friends, but also serious little fighters when they felt like their territory was being invaded. The would play together, quite happily, until someone had a toy or other item…such as the seat of an old tractor that Grandpa had, and the other one wanted. Such invasions of perceived territory, might get one socked in the nose…or even bitten. Because the kids were all so close in age, they each felt like they were the one in charge, and sometimes the only solution was to make them all come in and let them know that…none of them was in charge. We were!! Again, thankfully those years have passed and yet, the relationships survived.
There truly is nothing like family. It doesn’t matter what you agree or disagree on, you always love each other. You are friends forever, because you have grown up with all the 
secrets, adventures, and yes, fights that build the lives of children. You have survived the most embarrassing moments, the most horrible looks, and those awful fads that your parents still cringe about.
You are now adults with kids of your own. You have come full circle…and your kids are fighting with their cousins, wearing clothes and hair styles you hate, telling you that you don’t understand anything…basically after all those years of trying to be yourselves, you have become…your parents.
When I was a girl, the only kids who ate their lunch at school were the ones who rode the bus from the country, and the ones whose mothers worked. A working mother was more of a rarity in my grade school years. Moms back then made their children’s clothing, canned vegetables and fruits, made jams and jellies, went to PTA meetings, worked as room mothers, and helped with homework.
I remember the bell ringing at lunch, and running out the doors of the school and off to the house. Mom would have soup and sandwiches waiting for us. My favorites were Chicken Noodle soup and Grilled Cheese Sandwiches, and Cream of Mushroom soup with toast. Yummy!! At that time, I was sometimes jealous of the kids that got to eat their lunch at school, but when I went to junior high and had to eat my lunch at school every day, I sometimes missed those days when I could run home and Mom would have our lunch waiting for us. Funny how you don’t really know what you have until it’s gone.
Bob’s family lived right across the street from the school during his early grade school years, so his experiences were similar to mine, and for him it was kind of cool on track day, because his mom could watch the meet right from her yard. My cousin, Greg, who was a friend of Bob’s back then, remembers her cheering them on from the yard. It was a memory of her that he mentioned to me just recently. Bob’s family would later move to the country and he would become one of the kids who got to eat lunch at school. I’m not sure which one of us got the better deal…I have to lean toward me.
Yes, things were different when I was a kid. Moms had the ability to be much more involved in their kids young years. It kind of makes me sad for the kids today whose mom’s have to work, but I guess that if it’s something you never had, it’s easier not to miss it. I don’t say that those were better times, but while we maybe had less “things” in our lives, we were so blessed in so many other ways.
Our definition of motherhood has changed through the years, but moms really haven’t. Even if they have to work, moms do their best to be a positive influence in their children’s lives. The love and nurture. They discipline and scold. They teach and they even learn from their kids. They wipe our tears and kiss our wounds. They wear so many hats. Sometimes I think that they have more skills that any other occupation, and yet they often receive the least amount of thanks. So today I want to take a moment to thank my mom and my mother-in-law for raise Bob and me up to be the people we turned out to be. We couldn’t have done it without you. We love you Mom!!
As a grandmother, I have been so very blessed. I have had the great pleasure and privilege of spending a lot of time with my grandchildren throughout their lives. Since my girls worked in one capacity or another, I transported the kids to sitters, school, etc.
When the kids were little, and with so many grandparents and great grandparents in their lives, they found it hard to figure out which name goes with which grandparent. And when the last names are long, it’s even harder. So they tried to figure out ways to distinguish one grandparent from another.
It’s funny, the things kids notice. Before long, I became known to my grandchildren as “Grandma Fingernail”, because my nails were always long and painted. Well, you can imagine my surprise when I heard that. It was so comical to me, and of course, it became quite the joke with my daughters and their husbands. The other grandparents might be Grandma in Denver, Papa in Denver, Grandma-Papa, Grandma Foxy, Papa Scruffy (Foxy and Scruffy are the dogs), or some such thing, but I was “Grandma Fingernail”. And it turns out, I kind of liked it.
My nails were a source of interest to my grandchildren…my granddaughter especially, but even the boys. They had to feel them, because of course they are long, unlike their own. They looked at them to see what color or design I might have on them this time, because I like to put flower stickers, or other design stickers on them. But it would be my granddaughter who would come up with the most interesting thing to say about my nails. She would check them carefully every time I saw her, and if they were in need of being painted, she would inform me. She would say, “Grandma, your fingernails are a meth…you better fixth them.” Of course, the translation is, “Grandma your fingernails are a mess…you better fix them.” That never failed to get a laugh, and then I would usually paint my nails…and hers.
Since Bob and I bowled from the time Amy was two years old, it just naturally followed the our girls would bowl on a league as kids. They started bowling when they were 5 years old. At that time, the league they were on needed a coach, so since I was there all the time anyway, I was elected. I took a class for 3 hours on a Saturday morning, and the deal was sealed.
We had some interesting moments during those early years. Corrie, had been bowling about a year when Amy started, and of course, she was an expert. One day she was bowling and doing ok, when she went up for her turn and threw her ball. It went into the gutter before it even got to the dots, much less the arrows on the lane. But, that didn’t make any difference to Corrie. She turned around and put her hands on her hips, looked me square in the eye, and said, “That should have been a strike!!” Do you think she was around bowlers much? Corrie would learn what really should have been a strike as time went on, but we laughed about that first use of bowling terminology for quite some time.
Amy had a little bit different experience however. She was pretty little at 5 years old, and isn’t very big now, but that’s another story. Her bowling ball weighed 6 pounds. 
The combination of the light ball and the little girl made it difficult for her ball to do what a bowling ball should do. It would fall in the gutter half way down the lane, and stop. Someone would have to go get it and bring it back for another try. It was frustrating to her. One day, another coach who was helping, decided on the solution. He picked Amy up…ball and all, walked down the lane until she was about a foot in front of the pins, set her down and said, “Now hit ’em!” And she did. Amy would continue to struggle with the ball speed for some time, even having the pins stop the ball, but today she has made up for it. She throws one of the fastest bowling balls around.
Though she has definitely outgrown that stage, my younger daughter, Amy, was every bit a blond when she was little. She was forgetful and lost things we never found…in her room!! But while she was pretty ditsy back then, she has turned into very capable, responsible young woman. That is not what my story is about, however. There are two stories about Amy that come to mind today.
When Amy learned to walk, she, like all kids, took those first tottering little steps…then within days, she decided that walking was just not for her!!! She ran from that time forward, which I might add, her son, Caalab, would follow in later on. She was always in a hurry. And it didn’t take her long to find another interesting way to speed things up in the area of transportation. Yes, I know what you are thinking, behind the wheel of a car…right? Well, you’re wrong. Amy decided that it took too long to walk down the hallway. Or maybe it just wasn’t enough fun. Just as soon as she figured out how, her chosen method of getting down the hallway was to somersault!! From the moment she started that, until she was in about third grade, I don’t think she ever walked down the hall. It was entertaining, to say the least.
But, on an even funnier note…one day when Amy was 2 years old and learning to dress herself, she gathered up the clothes she wanted to wear and brought them into the kitchen to get dressed. She was doing pretty good with it. Everything was going on the right way, right side out, front in the right place, and so forth. I was proud of her for doing such a good job.
Then she started looking around. Under the table, on top of the table, behind her…obviously she thought she brought something from her bedroom that she couldn’t find. So I said, “What are you looking for?” To which she answered, “My shirt!!” Try as I might, I just couldn’t help but laugh!!! I said, “Amy!!! You have it on!!” She looked down…very shocked, I might add, and said, “Oh, hahahahahahaha!!!”
Never a dull moment in our house…lol!!
Few things are more exciting in the life of a young child than the day they lose their first tooth. Everyone knows what comes next. The tooth is placed in a glass of water, or under a pillow, and the child tries really hard to go to sleep, because they know that in the morning, there will be money, and sometimes gum, in place of the tooth that was lost.
I will never forget the day my oldest daughter, Corrie lost her first tooth. The tooth had been loose for a while, and she wiggled it constantly. She wanted it to come out so badly. For days that was all she thought about, and all we heard about.
Then one night…in the middle of the night, I awoke to Corrie screaming. Now when you come out of a deep sleep to a child screaming…and I mean a blood curdling scream…it can be hard to get your bearings. I tried sleepily to figure out what was wrong, thinking she had a bad dream. She screamed, “I’m bleeding” and showed me her mouth.
Ok, I was awake, and my mind had it all back together again. we rinsed out her mouth and I looked to see if the tooth was loose enough to pull it out. I tried to get a hold of it, and couldn’t. I said that it just wasn’t quite ready yet. Corrie said, “Just push it Mom!” And with that, she pushed the tooth toward her tongue, and out it came. I couldn’t believe that my 5 year old knew more about how to get her first tooth out, than I did.
Corrie’s teeth never presented any problems. She would go on the “push” them out easily as each became loose enough. Her sister, Amy’s teeth…well, that is another story.
Today is May Day. Most people think of it as just the first day in May, but to me it has a different memory. It goes back to when I was a little girl, and a tradition that my mom taught us and continued until she didn’t drive anymore.
Every May Day, my mom would help us, her 5 daughters, to make May baskets. We used construction paper to create beautiful and unique baskets. We decorated then with hearts and flowers. Then we filled them with candy. We were ready.
The fun was about to begin. We would take the baskets to the neighbor’s houses, and hang them on the door knob. Then, we knocked on the door and ran to hide. The neighbor had to come and try to find out who left the basket. We would try our very hardest not to get caught. Part of the fun was receiving the candy from a secret friend.
These days no one I know does May baskets anymore. And people don’t dare trust candy unless they know for sure who gave it, so if we did, we would have to make sure they found us. I guess May baskets, like so many other traditions, will live only in my memories now. Sad isn’t it that so much has changed in our world.
