Life Under Construction

Archive for the ‘When I was little...’ Category

One of the things I heard most often as a small child was “Take your sister and go play outside.  And stay out of The Gravel Pit.”

Of course that’s right where we headed.

In the way back of our backyard at The Gray House was a hill you could drive a car down that led straight to The Gravel Pit.  Almost at the bottom of the hill there was a little path through the woods that led to The Old Oak Tree (basically just an old tree that had fallen down that we claimed as a fort), so Alli and I would veer right down that path to go to The Old Oak Tree just in case.  I mean, you couldn’t see the path or The Old Oak Tree from the house but we were kids and being overcautious.  We didn’t want to get in trouble!  Alli and I usually climbed on the fallen tree (that wasn’t really an oak tree, but how were we supposed to know that?) and sat for what we deemed was an appropriate amount of time in case mommy came looking for us, then we’d sneak the remaining twenty feet or so to the edge of The Gravel Pit and run around the very edge to another path we’d discovered toward the very back.  It was a weird place we found, and we got in trouble one time because we definitely couldn’t hear anyone calling for us from there, but we liked it.  There was a discarded mattress we could jump on without getting in trouble.  There were some old baseball cards (my favorite was a Darryl Strawberry – I didn’t know anything about baseball at the time except that my dad said Rocket Roger was the best pitcher and Wade Boggs had a hole in his glove – and I really liked strawberries….) we’d look at and it was just our extra special secret place.

There was an unspoken code of honor when Alli and I were kids.  The I won’t tell if you won’t code.  And even then if one of us slipped up and told on the other, the offended party wouldn’t retaliate.  Because to retaliate would mean that we probably got into MORE trouble with the grownups, and if there was anything we understood as children it was that we had to stick together.  We understood what it meant to get in trouble, and we understood what we had to do to keep each other and ourselves OUT of trouble.

As we’ve gotten older that code has sort of dissolved.  I’m still the big sister, the protective one (the enabler).  But instead of being my partner in crime, Alli has taken another path through the woods so-to-speak.  She’s on some super secret path of her own that I can’t see ever going down, and our only interaction is when she reaches out because she wants something or needs something.  Do we adventure anymore?  No.  Not together, at least.  Our friendship, like our partnership, has started to dissolve over time.

The Old Oak Tree is crumbling and breaking and decayed.  The secret path to the discarded mattress and our super secret hideout is no longer discernible through the forest.  And Alli and I can’t rely on each other the way we used to.  Sometimes growing up is no fun.

But no matter what happens, I’ll always always always love my little sister.

I’m going to tell you this story about how I hijacked a van when I was a wee child, somewhere around ripe old the age of 5 or 6.

Not to be confused with the time that same year I had decided to see what smoking a cigarette was like when my mom left one burning in the ashtray of the old blue Chevette in the driveway at The Gray House to run back into the house to grab something, and thought I would die but hid my discomfort because I didn’t want to get in trouble as she came back out and got in the car to take me to I Don’t Remember Where.  Yeah.  Not to be confused with that day.

We were in the van – I don’t remember who’s van it was – in the driveway of my grandparents’ new house (( at least I’m pretty sure that’s where we were… I think… )) with both of my sisters, Alli and Sarah, and our cousin Jerin.  I don’t know how I got the notion in my head that pulling the lever next to the steering wheel was a good idea (( come to think of it now, there might have been a lit cigarette involved here, too )), but I did it and suddenly we were in what I now know to be ‘neutral’ and the van was slowly rolling backwards.

Toward the street.

I was crying in the front seat while Sarah and Jerin were panicking, and Alli was “reading” a Winnie The Pooh or Where’s Waldo? book – completely oblivious to what was going on the entire time.

Where were the grown ups, you ask?  And why were we children often left unattended in vehicles?  Well, I’ll tell you.

It was the late 80’s.  There were no rules about leaving children or pets unattended in vehicles for any period of time (( or wearing seat belts, for that matter )).  I mean really, how much trouble could 4 kids aged 11 and under get into while waiting in a van in the driveway?

Quite a bit, the grown ups learned, as my uncle ran around the back of the van to try and stop it from rolling into the road.  I’m pretty sure Sarah jumped out too and was trying to help him, but I was in full on panic mode by that point (( what can I say, I started early )) and all I remember from between fits of sobs is that a) Alli in all her 4 year old glory was still oblivious to what was going on, and 2) I was terrified that my sister and uncle were getting sucked under a gigantic moving vehicle and it was all my fault.

Oh, and I think the front driver side door was open beside me.

That’s a lot for a small child.

I’m sending out Christmas cards this year, and I’m pretty darn excited about it!  I was totally going to MAKE Christmas cards this year, but I’m at a loss as to how to do such a thing in a short period of time (read: by Friday – which is when I’m sending out cards).  I am plagued by such questions as How thick can an envelope be for just a regular stamp? and Where on Earth would I get envelopes that take one stamp for construction paper cards? and the like.  Also Who even does that anymore besides first graders?.  You know?  I’ll do it next year when I’ve had more time to prepare.  Probably next year.  Maybe next year.  I’m up in the air about it (( at least I didn’t say “we’ll see” )).

So I’ve been sitting here trying to write a blog that doesn’t sound like I’m writing in in novel form.

I AM OUT OF PRACTICE, PEOPLE!

I’ve come to realize in the last few weeks that I love writing a lot more than I thought I did.  I mean, I knew I loved writing.  I’ve loved writing creatively since I was in the 9th grade.  But recently I’ve developed a desire to do it all. the. time.

When NaNo was first over, I was all like I am never doing this again! and Walter was all like Yes you are. and I was like I know! but I totally thought I’d at least give myself some time before I started working on another project.

Nothing like 50k words in 30 days, mind you.

But last night while I was laying in bed trying to get some shuteye my brain was working up a storm.  One of those furious-ideas-shooting-off-like-thunder-and-lightning-in-the-cloud-that-is-my-brain storms.  I keep a wee notebook by my bed for such occasions so that I can get them out and they don’t float around up in there trying to keep me awake, so I wrote them down (( I also wrote ‘fixed width columns’.  Whatever the Hell that means  o.0 )).  I’ve been thinking about trying my hand at short stories and this writing project Badass Geek asked me if I was interested in helping out with.

I look at all these fantastic pep talk emails from the people over at NaNoWriMo and I think “I can do this!”  I’ve never wanted to BE anything, as I said in my things you probably could have gone the rest of your life without ever knowing about me blog.  I haven’t ever seriously wanted to do anything with my life.  I’ve wanted to just ‘get by’ and do as little as possible since I was in the second grade.  I remember Mrs. Hammond telling me I was the laziest child she had ever met in her years of teaching, and that I was so smart and it made her sad.  And now?  It is like the gods of What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up? have finally smiled upon me.  MRS. HAMMOND WOULD BE SO PROUD.

I wonder if she remembers me.

Maybe what I’ll do today is design a new header for my blog.  Maybe.

Do you know what you want to be when you grow up?
How old were you when you realized what you wanted to do with your life?
Should I buy the Twilight series or just ask for it for Christmas?

…

Gwen Bell’s Best of 2009 Challenge:
December 2 Restaurant moment. Share the best restaurant experience you had this year. Who was there? What made it amazing? What taste stands out in your mind?

This one is a tie:

1.  Breakfast in NYC with Lauren, Pham, and Katie.  It wasn’t the food, because the food sucked so bad.  It was definitely the company.  I ♥ them.  I already knew Lauren (we drove there together DUH), so it was fantastic and fun to meet Miss Dot Com and Mr. Pants.

2.  Breakfast at Bagels ‘N More with Walter.  It felt so normal, so good.  I wish every day could feel like that.

I got this idea from Shauna’s blog a couple weeks ago and thought I’d do the same thing.  You know, only with my things instead of hers, though hers are much funnier and more interesting.

THINGS

• I do not like pets.  I do not want to own pets of any kind.  Not dogs or cats, nothing with fur or scales.  Nothing that requires regular care but won’t outlive me.  Children = yes plz.  Pets = big fat no.
• My mother told me that she wanted a boy, and if I had been a boy my name as going to be Christopher.
• She also told me once that I was an accident, and that before I was born she always had at least $60 in her pocket on any given day of the week.  In light of this new information (given to me at some point before my mother got pregnant with my brother and after my parent’s had gotten married), I realized that my parents probably got married because they had two kids together and it seemed the right thing to do at the time.
• When I was in the first grade, my first crush was on a boy in my class.  I loved dinosaurs and I used to take books on dinosaurs out of the library every week.  When I found out he liked them too, I traced a picture of the Tyrannosaurus Rex out of one of the books and gave it to him.  He didn’t like me back and thought I was weird.
• When The Little Mermaid first came out, I wanted to marry Prince Eric, and I pretended to be Ariel in the bath tub.  Sometimes I still pretend I’m Ariel in the swimming pool.  I guess I’m still weird.
• My first high school crush was on a gay boy.
• So was my second.
• In high school I was in the Drama club.  I performed in Cabaret, Pippin, Charlotte’s Web, Go Ask Alice, and a few others.  For me it was the best part of high school, making friends, learning lines (what little lines I had), wearing costumes (except for that horrible real fur coat I had to wear in Auntie Mame…), and being part of something.  I loved the way my heart pounded, the rush of getting it just right.  Oddly enough, these days I get stage fright whenever someone asks me a question I’m not prepared for.  I like to rehearse everything in my head before it happens.
• My right leg is longer than my left leg and my right hip is higher than my left one is, probably to compensate.
• I used to pick my nose and eat it.  For a long time.  That was probably the toughest habit to break ever, and so I compromised with myself.  I still pick my nose, I just don’t eat it.  And don’t even pretend like you’ve never picked your nose before.
• I smell everything.
• I’m terribly afraid of alligators.  Like… really afraid.  Irrationally afraid.  I live in Rhode Island, where the only alligators you’ll find are in the zoo, and they might not even be there (I haven’t gone since I was in elementary school).  Sometimes I think they’re out to get me, alligators, even when I’m in broad daylight and there’s no sign of water anywhere around and nothing for them to hide behind.  Everything about them frightens me, but at the same time I think they’re beautiful and I’m fascinated by them.
• I’m afraid of the ocean.
• Growing up, I never knew what I wanted to be.  As a small child I wanted to be normal things, like a paleontologist (the dinosaur thing, remember?), or a singer (I loved Madonna), or a back-yard-in-the-mud-maze-builder.  But once I hit the 2nd grade I developed this lazy view of life, and my aspirations were (and still are most of the time) very short term.  Pass a test, sleep through the night, make it through the day without crying.  Now, as a small adult (lolz), I still don’t know what I want to be… but if ‘happy’ is an acceptable answer, then I want to be happy.
• I’m extremely sensitive and easily offended, but not about the kinds of things people usually get upset about.  It usually comes out of left field, even for me.  I can go from passive to the super defensive OMGATTACKMODERIGHTNOWZLOOKOUT!11! in about .0000001 seconds.  Srsly.
• I read most of my own blogs about ten (thousand) times after I post them.  I love my own writing.  It’s kind of sick, really.  This one in particular?  I’ve probably read it more like a hundred (million) times.  And counting.
• I. Hate. Ground. Beef.  It grosses me out.  Therefor I do not eat things like lasagna or Hamburger Helper or meatloaf or meatballs or burgers.

…

Gwen Bell’s Best of 2009 Challenge:
December 1 Trip. What was your best trip in 2009?

Best trip this year was the first trip down to Mississippi.  I got to go to Drew’s wedding and meet his wife, I got to spend time with Walter for the first time in almost 3 years, and I wore a dress or skirt almost every day that trip.

The title of today’s blog is stolen from an episode of Doogie Howser I watched last night.

It was riddikulus.

The episode went something like this:
(very shortened version)

Doogie: I want to buy a car.  I hate mom’s station wagon, it’s for losers.
Daddy Howser: No car.
Doogie: But I make my own money, I should be able to spend it the way I want!
Daddy Howser: No.
Doogie: I’m getting emancipated.  I’m moving into a hotel.
Daddy Howser: No you’re not.
Doogie: You can’t stop me.
Mommy Howser: Go ahead.  Move into a hotel.
(the episode progresses and Doogie moves into a gross $25 hotel room)
Famous singer: I wish I hadn’t run away from home when I was 15!
(Doogie hugs her, does an operation on her, then goes home)
Doogie: I was wrong.  I’m coming home.
Daddy Howser: Take out the trash plz.
Doogie: Ugh.  OK.
Daddy Howser: Your mom and I missed you.
Doogie: Good night, Dad.

Seriously.  This show makes me giggle!

Once when I was about 7 years old I tried to run away from home.  There was a gravel pit beyond my back yard that my sisters and I loved to play in with piles of dirt five times my size, and that’s where I went this particular day.  I was convinced I could live at The Old Oak Tree and that my mother would never find me.

I don’t remember now why I was mad at my mom this time.

Whenever my mom pissed me off as a child I would go there.  I would yell at her, tell her she was a bad mommy, and leave her to cry, usually going to my room so I could partially witness the damage I was causing.  I felt so grown up at The Old Oak Tree.  When I was there, I was in charge of me!  Unless Sarah was home, then she was in charge because she was the oldest, but she wasn’t always at our house.

This particular time I stayed out of the house for a few hours.  I told myself I was never going home again, that I would live on my own and that would teach my mother!  It was pretty normal for me at that age to never want to come inside, even when it got dark.  My back yard was my favorite place in the whole world.  But this time?  It was really getting dark and my mom didn’t call for me.  Even at such a young age I was aware that my actions didn’t have the desired effect I was going for.

She wasn’t crying.  She wasn’t calling for me to come home.  She wasn’t sorry!

So I snuck back up to the house and listened, but she still wasn’t calling for me.  I loudly came in the kitchen door and I sat on the floor under the table, pouting (under the table was another favorite spot of mine).  She didn’t even notice I was gone!  I remember trying to be as small as possible so I could make her feel bad.  I don’t remember much after that, but I do remember that I slept in my mom and dad’s bed that night.

That was the only time, until I was 20 years old, that I tried to leave home.

Have you ever run away, convinced that you didn’t need your parents?
How did that work out for you?