Lying to my Mom

Though I pride myself these days as being honest to a fault, Lord knows I've done my fair share of lying in the past.  Likely even more than my fair share.  I am going to attribute that to being the middle child...not quite sure why, but I feel that my birth order gives me some leeway for being manipulative. 

Not surprisingly, I can list off a whole string of lies that I've told and been caught in, but today I feel a bit preoccupied by three lies in particular, varying degress of "so what?", and all of which were told to my mom.


In Kindergarten
Long before I learned to respect hygiene, I had to be reminded repeatedly to bring my gym clothes home to be washed.  My mom would tell me before I got on the school bus in the morning, and ask where they were when I got home in the afternoon.  Each day I would both forget to bring them home and be unconvinced why it was important to have clean shorts.  She tried a new tactic one day, of writing me a note and sticking it in my lunch bag.  Being that I was in kindergarten and just learning to read, the note was mostly comprised of the types of hyrogliphics that children can read.  It looked a little something like this:

I remember finding that note, reading that note, and liking that note.  I remember using my gym clothes, thinking about that note, and stuffing the note into my little red gym clothes bag with the sweaty garments after gym was done.  And then I remember going home without the bag, without the clothes, and without the note.  My mom was exasperated and wanted to now why I didn't bring them home this time.  I knew I was out of "I forgot's" so I resulted to an "I can't read" instead.  It was probably one of the first lies I told my mom and I remember feeling horribly guilty about it.

I'm pretty sure I brought them home the next day.

(here's another Kindergarten lie I've told)

In Middle School
This one is a bit on the silly/irrelevant side, but it's something that's stuck with me over the years.  I found a piece of maroon chain-mail once at a secondhand store.  I don't have a good reason why I liked it so much, other than it was fun to play with and tickled when you dragged it over your skin.  I used to keep it slung over the arm of my couch and liked to drape it over my face like a mask.  No excuses, I am a bit weird.  One Christmas during middle school my mom bought me a little black cocktail purse that had a patchwork of black, silver and white chain-mail decorating one side.  She was really excited to give it to me.  She said "It was expensive, but I knew you'd love it". I didn't really like it, but I didn't want to hurt her feelings so I said "thanks" and tucked it into my closet where it collected dust between the metal hoops for the next few years.

Now that I'm older I've grown to like it and every time I use it I get compliments on it.  However, using it always reminds makes me a bit sad.  That one purse has become an embodiment of all the things that I never appreciated or knew enough to acknowledge for my mother.  I wonder if she was disappointed at my lack of enthusiasm over the purse that she spent too much on, thinking that I'd love it.  I know in the grand scheme of things that even though she probably forgot about it before too long, I probably never will.

Strange how sometimes the small things get carried forward with you.



In Highschool
When I was in grade 9 we were entering a new school and meeting all kinds of new friends.  My parents were quite a bit more strict than most of my friends' parents.  My dad was clear on how he felt about me dating, I still had an enforced bedtime, and it was a struggle to convince them that I should be allowed to a sleep over at a friend's house.  On one special night, I managed to disobey all of the above policies.  Tammy's mother was away for the weekend and she was having a house party that nearly all of grade 9 was invited to.  I HAD to go.  It was imperative.  My girlfriends and I collaborated and each told our parents that we were sleeping over at each others houses.  All our parents knew each other so there was no need to call, check up on us, or ask too many questions.

 In hindsight, my parents were totally right in not wanting me to go to that sort of function.  If I was a weaker girl or had shitty friends I definitely could have gotten myself into some pretty bad trouble that night.  Some examples are:  Craig got high for the first time, and Richard he put an imaginary box on his head.  Craig was near tears.  I remember trying to reason with him that that was no box on his head, but one cannot reason with a high 14-year-old.  Laura at one point was dared to get into the dryer.  She did, and she fit perfectly, even with the door closed.  Luckily we were around to prevent people from being really stupid, and she emerged safely without incident.  A couple boys then suggested she go outside with them, and we dutifully went after her once we realized she was gone.  She returned without incident.  Mark decided he need to puke, a lot, and immediately.  Very few shoes escaped without incident that night.  My first boyfriend was also at that party, but he had a hockey game in the morning so his mother came to pick him up.  She allowed him to date, so she knew who I was, and she tried to drive me home.  I lied to her too, and said I was leaving soon with my girlfriends, but in fact we just spent the whole night at the party. 

For whatever unprecedented reason the universe came up with, early the next morning my mom needed to call me at my friend's house which turned into a chain of phone calls among our parents, dismantling our lies.  When I got home that afternoon:

Mom - Did you have fun last night?
Me - Yes.
Mom - Where were you again?
Me - Jackie's.
Mom - Wanna try that one again?
Me - Um...Tammy's?

And it all went downhill from there.

Truth, Truth, Lie

I recently learned a new road trip game.  It's called "Truth, Truth, Lie", and as it's fitting title suggests, you and your companions take turns telling stories, two of them true, one of them a lie.  Let's play!

My stories below all evolve around a family road trip to Prince Edward Island when I was about 7 years old.

Story 1
On the ferry boat crossing to PEI, we were given permission to wander around the boat so long as we stayed together.  Sarah was only 3 at the time and was harnessed on a leash, so Trevor and I decided to take her for a walk.  The ferry was quite large, with the lowest level full of cars and two decks for passengers to explore.  The upper deck was entirely open air, and the lower deck was partially enclosed with a wrap around observation deck.  Upstairs was a bit too windy for us; Sarah's leash turned out to be a saviour as 3 year old's in high wind proved to be great kites.  Downstairs was much more fun, with a snack bar and pin ball machines inside and the great view outside.  I had never been on a boat before and was very excited to lean over the edge and water the water churn out behind us.  It all felt very Titanic, and we even passed some huge chunks of ice (icebergs to my young mind) with penguins on them.

Story 2
Also on the ferry boat as we approached PEI,  Trevor and dad were on the upper deck of the boat, and my mom, Sarah and I were on the lower deck.  We were approaching shore, and I decided I wanted to see from the top level.  I ran upstairs, but wasn't able to find my dad or Trevor.  The boat was beginning to dock so I rushed back downstairs trying to find someone from my family amidst the crowd of people exiting.  They weren't downstairs either.  I ran laps around the ferry until I was the last person on the whole boat, terrified that I'd been forgotten.  As the crew was raising the ramp to depart, they realized I was a stowaway and ushered me off the boat, alone.  Just as I was approaching a complete nervous breakdown, I saw my family gathered at the bottom of the dock, watching and waiting to see what I'd do.  It was one of those classic "I thought YOU  had her" parenting moments, but they somehow turned it into a "and that's why we don't wander away" lessons.  At least it reaffirmed any self-consciousness about having one of their children tethered to a harness.

Story 3
While in Prince Edward Island (on Prince Edward Island?) we were staying at the house of some friend's of the family who had two kids a bit older than we were.  Their play room humbled me...it was in the loft above their laundry room, and was accessed by a ladder.  One afternoon they took Trevor to the beach to see their secret cave, but my parent's wouldn't let me go since they thought I was too young to climb the rocks with big kids.  I was pouty and wanted to go sulk it out in their awesome playroom.  While climbing up the ladder, I slipped and fell, bashing my nose on the way down.  Too prideful to admit that I fell from the ladder - thus proving that their point about not being able to hand climbing to the cave -  I stiffed my nose bleed with one of the family's guest towels, and then hid the bloody evidence behind their washing machine.

So which one is the lie?  Guess below :)

Running Away from School - AKA - In the Trees Talking to Birds

If only I were this cute...

I was fortunate enough not to have to grow up with having a terrible last name.  Or at very least, was fortunate enough not to grow up around terribly clever children.  I embraced "Rotten" myself fairly early on and so even if the other kids had though of calling me that, it wasn't an issue for me.  Other than that I was only ever called Otter, but otters are wicked clever and freaking adorable so that's hardly an insult.

Back in grade 5, we had a substitute teacher for French class.  Childhood rules clearly state that no work is to be done while under the supervision of a substitute teacher.  As such, Jeremy was testing out how I responded to being called an otter.  In kind, I tested out how he enjoyed being called Frosty the Snowman.  After a short period of consideration,  he let me know that he'd rather be cool than swim well.  The two of us were at a standstill.  Lesrick decided to try jumping in, but neglected to realize that with a name like Lesrick, he was a bit vulnerable to being called "Lessy-rick".  And by sitting across the desk from him, my shin was vulnerable to a good swift kick.

I was too proud to show weakness and cry, despite feeling like my bone had cracked.  Luckily for me and the poor substitute teacher, the lunch bell rang then and we were able to leave for lunch.

Both feelings and shin bruised, I opted to walk home and play sick for the rest of the day.  Unfortunately, as my mom wasn't expecting me home for lunch, my house was locked and I couldn't get in.  No matter, I went next door to camp out at Aunt Barb's until mom returned.  Wincing in pain from my shin, Aunt Barb believed I was sick, called the school to report my absence, and I spent a relaxing afternoon lying on her couch watching The Flintstones and Out of This World.

An hour or so later, my mom is at the door and looking very serious.  She had arrived home to find teachers looking in our windows and in our backyard.  My homeroom teacher had noticed that I was missing after lunch, causing a school wide lock-down (or what was then known as all grade 5's hang out in the gym with minimal supervision) while the teachers combed through the parks and creeks between my school and my house.

Holy crap was I in trouble.

My mom sent the teachers back their classes and I was due to meet with the principal the next morning.  My fake-sick day turned quickly into a real sick day thinking about the heap of trouble I was in for.

The next day my mom drove me to school and we went to meet with the principal.  She gave me a reaming about how they nearly called the police thinking that I'd been abducted.  They sent teachers combing through the creek just in case I had drowned.  Everyone was worried sick about where I was, and my teacher had been in tears.  At this point, so was I, so my mom calmly turned the discussion around.

Did they check the auto-absentee phone line?  No, they didn't, otherwise they'd have known where I was.

Did they call my emergency contact?  No, they didn't, otherwise Aunt Barb would have told them I was there.

Should they have called the police without checking those two basic first steps?  No.

I had never been so grateful.  I was able to walk out of the principal's office with my head held high and most importantly without detention. 

Back in class, I was a bit of a star.  Everyone was really pleased about the free gym time and wanted to know where I had gone.  My story wasn't that exciting (I didn't tell them that I left because of being kicked in the shin) but apparently the rumours flying around the school were.  The best one, and consequently the only one I remember, was that I had climbed a tree and was talking to some birds. 

The icing on the cake is that while I was missing, Lesrick and Jeremy were bragging that I had run away because they called me Otter.  Both of them got detension, while I did not.

Vomit Stories

Bargain Herold's
Remember "Bargain Harolds"?  I like to think I had somewhat of a role in it's eventual demise.  When I was somewhere in-and-around 10, my mom took Trevor, Sarah and my cousin Amy with her to the Rat Plaza, with Bargain Harolds at the entrance.  As soon as we entered the mall, my stomach turned and I paused to puke while my family carried on ahead of me without notice.  When I was done, I realized that I had ralphed from one end of the Bargain Harolds threshold to the other, completely carpeting their entrance way with my undigested lunch.  I ran to catch up with my mom to tell her what I had done, but didn't make it further than 20 feet before I hurled again.  When I was done my floor pizza, I realized that now I had effectively sealed all the unfortunate Bargain Harolds customer's inside the store with my vomit force field.  I definitely needed my mom to sort this mess out for me, so I caught up and told her I barfed.  Except in my family we weren't allowed to say barf (or puke, or hurl, or yak.  Not sure about vomit force field, though as I just made that one up now) so I had to say 'throw up'.  She stopped in her tracks.  I thought I was in trouble for sure.

Mom - "Where?" 
Me - "Bargain Harolds door"
Mom -"Which one?" 
Me - "Both of them"

Whereas I would have been tempted to run away and pretend that it wasn't my kid that just made a guttural (pun!) statement on the quality of products and services at the store, my mom did the honourable thing and marched back to Bargain Harolds, jumping over the chuck and informed the Manager what had happened.

Manager - "Where?" 
Mom - "Your door"
Manager -"Which one?" 
Mom - "Both of them"

As we all left, my mom and myself quite embarrassed, Trevor, Amy and Sarah all dying of laughter, the unhappy Manager threw some cardboard down on top of my refurbished lunch.

Later, while exiting the Rat Plaza, we noticed that the cardboard had been removed and stacked up next to the mall's candy machine.  That nearly caused us all to puke again.



Doorway Vomit
Here's another quick one that still makes me laugh.  When I was really young, let's say 5, I woke up suddenly in the night and couldn't make it to the bathroom in time to throw up.  My mom had super sonic hearing and always knew when one of us was awake at night.  She came out of her room to see what was wrong.

Me - "I threw up"
Mom - "Where?"
Me - (pointing at her feet) "There."

Luckily for both of us she was wearing her slippers.

The Turtles

As well as frogs and toads, I also raised a host of turtles growing up.

When I was 6, my mom and I went to Big Al's and the turtle tank was right near the front door. I studied the tank for a long time before choosing the tiniest turtle they had. I had saved up my allowance to buy Shelly and I distinctly remember he cost $7.99. Shelly lived on the kitchen counter in a plastic container called "turtle island" that had a bridge and plastic palm tree. He ate a boring diet of turtle pellets peppered with the squashed body of any fly who tried to make our house it's home.

After reading my journal, my grade one teacher Miss Maynard invited Shelly to join my class for show and tell. Always eager for a chance to show off, I happily complied. A week or so later, miss Maynard told me she had some exciting news for me. Her daughter found a little turtle in their backyard and named him Freddy (after Kruger, based on his claws). I was super excited, thinking that she was going to give him to me, after all why would her daughter finding a turtle be exciting for me? Sadly, this was not the case, but it did spark a series of careful backyard inspections and finally the accumulation of another $7.99.

Shelton brought new living accommodations with him, and joined Shelly on the kitchen counter. They got along well, sharing flies and playing with the cat.  Blackie and the turtles had a good dynamic.  Since salmonella didn't seem to be a concern in our house, we used to let the turtles walk around the kitchen floor.  They were zippy little suckers, despite the rumours about them.  Blackie would let them get fairly far away from them, then pounced and smack their shells with his paw to make them retreat into their shells.  Then later, if Blackie got distracted  by something, the turtles would attack his tail.  

When Sheldon reached maturity he starting trying to eat and/or kill Shelly.  Shelly was the size of a small dinner plate at this point so we decided to send him to university. That's not a euphemism for killing him, by the way, we literally took him to the conservation area at U of Guelph and let him free.  Now regarded as an unacceptable threat to biodiversity, at the time we thought we were doing a good thing.


Not too long later, I was playing at Fung-Ying's house when I saw a little turtle in an empty margarine container sitting on their kitchen counter.  I was upset and asked why he was in such a small container. Her brother had bought him for a friend's birthday, who wasn't allowed to keep him.  Thus, a margarine container.  To the delight of both myself and Fung-Ying's mom, Rocky joined Sheldon on my kitchen counter that day.

At this time I'm going to invite you to feel free to stop reading at any point...I have another 5 turtle stories to make my way through...

Still here?  You must be bored.  Or love turtles.  Possibly both.  Alright then, thanks for humouring me.  Carrying on...

Laurie and I were bike riding around the twin ponds one after noon when we saw a turtle near the edge of the water.  We got off our bikes to go check it out.  We were quite familiar with those ponds and as far as we understood, didn't support life outside of perhaps three-eyed Simpson-esque fish.  I'm ashamed to admit this, but I was too scared to pick up the turtle.  It was Laurie who grabbed him.  Despite having had three of my own at this point, this pond-caught turtle frightened me.  It might have had razor sharp teeth or some sort of venom.  But of course, it did not.  In fact, he didn't even see her hand coming because he was nearly blind with a disease contracted by neglect.  All of a sudden, me letting my turtle go in the conservation area doesn't seem that bad, does it?  Thus, "Pebbles" came home with me, and my allowance was diverted into turtle eye medication.  Because, yes, such a thing does exist.

At some point in this disjointed memory (remember the whole point of this blog is because my memory stinks), my Sunday morning habit of pouring through the penny saver and flyers got the better of me, and I bargained with my dad to buy a great big aquarium, complete with three turtles.  I was allowed to keep Stoney, Buddy, Frisky, and Sunshine (at this point I ran out of rock-related names) for the rest of the summer and my dad got the aquarium for his tropical fish afterward.

The story stops being interesting here (if ever it was actually interesting to begin with...).  I had six turtles for one summer, and all six went to post-secondary education in September.  I recall very little else about them, but having that many turtles at once must have been a trying summer for me, as it effectively ended my turtle-keeping.

____
Update: May 13
I just found this You Tube video of how turtles bully cats.  Mine weren't quite this vindictive, but it just goes to show you that turtles aren't pushovers. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFP6kzZJGOs&feature=endscreen&NR=1

My First Stitches

Another one of my first memories involved the combination of golf balls, blood and freezies. Let's set this story up in chapter headings, just to shake things up a bit.

Golf Beats Freezie:
My dad was practicing his swing in our Georgetown backyard, facing the woods. Not that anyone would confuse him for an environmentally-conscious man, but I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was either simply swinging, or using biodegradable balls. Anyway, as it were, my two-year-old self wandered up behind him, wanting to request a Freezie. As would become an unfortunate theme in my later life, I exercised poor timing and was caught mid-swing in the face.

Blood Beats Golf:
This is actually where my memory kicks in. My dad burst into the kitchen, holding me in his arms. My mom ran over yelling "Cope, what happened?!" and held a blue jay cloth to my mouth. When she pulled it away it was saturated with blood. If I wasn't crying before then, I was wailing now!

Freezie Beats Blood:
We went to the hospital to get my face mended. I have no recollection of the actual stitching process, but I remember being told afterward that I was very brave. Then the doctor came back with the biggest Freezie I had yet to see in my young life.

I don't know if the scar on my lip or forehead was from this experience, but I know whichever it was, it was totally worth it.

The Georgetown Snake

This is one of those family memories that has continuously been brought up over the years. I myself have very limited memory of it, but I think it's worth writing down.

When we lived in Georgetown, our house backed up onto a small forest. My dad often hit golf balls into the woods (more on that another time) and would sometimes accidentally mow over a snake when cutting the lawn. We had no back fence so our yard was often subject to woodland visitors.

One day Trevor was out back playing in the sprinkler with a friend when he stepped on a snake with his bare foot.
He started to scream. While my mom rushed outside with me in tow (I was about 2 at the time), Trevor ran into the safety of the house, slamming and locking the door behind him.

Being the early 80's, no one had cell phones and neighbour's were friends, so my mom went next door to call my dad to come home and let us inside. While we waited, we tried to find the offending snake.

We found him in the neighbors bushes. Or rather, my mom and the neighbour found him. Even though they tried to point him out to me, I just couldn't see it. This is the only memory I actually have of this incident...crouching on the cement patio square, staring into the bushes and feeling very angry that I couldn't see the snake.

When my dad got home, he had two upset out kids...one because he saw a snake, and one because she didn't.

A letter to my parents...GOLD

Here is a letter to my parents when I was 17.  The forward and all italics are from Sarah:

And I have something that I've been saving but thought it went well with your second last post and would share it. Dad dug this gem up over the summer. The junk in the brackets will be my mocking.

Why Julie deserves to be treated as a 17 year old

Responsible

• held down stead jobs since 15
• Maintains honours with straight A's
  never had a grade lower than a B
• babysat on regular basis on a Thursday night during school until 1 o'clock am and still managed to go to school on Friday (I imagine that if you didn't, you wouldn't have been allowed to keep that babysitting job)
• When given a time at night to come home at, always is home then or earlier
• Editor of yearbook
• represented all of grade 10 at Hoby Leadership workshop    (You had a lot of difficulty spelling Leadership there and couldn't be bothered to white it out or re-write the letter to fix the mistake... Not going to lie: it undermined you, Julie. I lost a bit of confidence in you there.)

Mature

• most valued yearbook contributor
• Bronze award for academics and extra caricular activities    (Well, Ms. Yearbook Editor, I hope you paid more attention to the spelling in the yearbook than you did with this letter. Also, the inconsistency of capitalization at the beginning of these bullet points...)
• makes own money and pays for everything except medical needs etc. (Which, lucky for them, the government picks up; so you were a freebie for our parents!)
• doesn't smoke,    (Commas do not ever end bullet points. I'd like to inspect the yearbook you edited next time I'm over, please.)
• doesn't drink    (... doesn't tell the truth...)
• doesn't do drugs
• hasn't had allowance since 15
• handles work, school and soccer at once

expectations (Seriously? Underlined title without a capital?)

I want to be able to spend time with my friends. All of my friends work and therefore the only time we are able to get together is at night. The majority of my friends don't have curfew's (Not the correct pluralization.) and those who do are at midnight. During the school year their curfew's are at 10pm. 4 of my friends have their G2's & I plan on getting mine by the end of the summer so transportation is no longer an issue (Oh, boom! I beat you at something; I got mine when I was sixteen!). All I ask for is permission to go out (And, apparently, to take the car after the end of the summer). I argue because your decisions aren't justified as there are no reasonable reasons for them (HATE that sentence.). When I have no obligations for the next day & I am not asking to be out all night, there's no good reason why I should have to stay in. I am basically the ideal daughter (LOVE that.), grades, job, sports, nice, I even have a boyfriend in case you worry I'm out picking up strangers or something (I'm very fond of the last two reasons). With teenagers, you have to give and take (Says the expert who has raised so many teenagers of her own). I give all I am able to give, there is nothing I can give or improve myself on (Your humility, I think, could stand some work.). When you have bad kids, you give them more slack & privliges (Close.), so why benefit the bad & punish the good? I want a midnight curfew, one o'clock on special occasions. I give no more screening in return (Your generosity, also, could probably be improved upon.).

It's a good effort, but I'd give your very first mark below a B for this. Do you remember if they went for it?

Hope you like this at least half as much as I did!

Love,

Sarah

My House Rules

We had a bunch of house rules. Some were followed and others not so much. We were spanked as kids sometimes, but the biggest threat of all was the unhappy-face paddle. Reincarnated from a paddle ball, my mom drew a sad face on it with a thick black sharpie, complete with tears. I don't know if my mom knew those were symbolic gangsta murder tears but they certainly got the message across either way. When we were bad, the threat of "don't make me get out the unhappy-face paddle" was all we needed to hear to straighten up. I don't think it was ever actually used though. I wish we still had it; I would hang it on my wall.
We also had the classic "wait until your father gets home" and "1...2...". 3 never actually materialized. Whether from us smartening up or if my mom didn't want to have to follow through with the mystery that happened after 3, I don't know.
We would always try to run when we knew a spank was coming. My dad was good at catching us by the arm as we tried to run by, and we were pretty good at crying before he ever touched us. Fear and threats seem to be the most effective parenting techniques.

Rules:
- Dinner at 5:30 sharp
- No individually packaged snacks. Strictly for school lunches only
- Ask before eating anything that wasn't healthy
- Must split 2 pops between the three of us
- Don't eat the chocolate chips or the baking chocolate
- no colouring on the fire place
- no smushing cheese slices under the coffee table
- Don't walk up the wrong side of the banister
- don't jump on the furniture

That's all I can think of for now. I'm sure there were many more.

My household was also very egalitarian. Treats were split equally between us...right down to the mm of pop or meniscus curve of chips.
The only fluctuation for this rules worked in my favour. Neither Trevor or Sarah were "activities" people, so I got to go to all the Brownie and Girl Guide camps, do all the swimming/skating/dance classes I wanted to. I never really felt that "forgotten middle child" thing. I was pretty demanding as I recall.

When Trevor was 8, his allowance was x and his bedtime was y. I could also expect x and y when I turned 8. That was a rhythmic progression until we were teenagers. All of a sudden those rules didn't apply any more because I was a girl. My curfew stayed early despite me pointing out that I was better able to handle myself better than Trevor should I get into an altercation. I also tried to spin the angle that Trevor didn't often use his curfew and that I should be able to use his overage. No dice. Eventually I wised up and started telling them when I'd be home instead of vice versa. Cell phones had entered the picture by then as well, which might have helped my cause.

Neighbourhood kids

Growing up in Brampton was really fun. We had a lot of kids in our street and here are some random recollections of them:

Lindsay and Gregory lived two doors down. Gregory was my age but I was later told that I preferred talking to his mom over him. I used to go ring their door bell and when she answered, I'd say "guess what!" and launch into an epic tale of what I must have considered of monumental importance. Being that I was about 5 at the time, I'm sure it revolved around my cabbage patches or the bugs that I found.

When the they's moved out, Jennifer and Billy moved in. Jennifer was too old to be my friend but she was nice. Billy was a bit tough and intimidating to me. Once when we were all out front, I found a worm the size of a gardner snake and thought he'd be impressed if I showed it to him. Unfortunately for both me and that worm, he reacted by throwing it on the road. I wanted to go get it and put it back under the rock where I found it, but I was too embarrassed by his reaction, so I didn't. Eventually a car came and ran it over. I still feel terrible about that.
Once I saw Jennifer kissing her boyfriend while sitting on the ping pong table. Might seem a silly thing to remember but he was Chinese and it was the first time the concept of interracial dating occurred to me. I think his name was Ozzy and he drove a motorcycle.


I was never particularly close with our neighbour's who lived three doors down. Cristina was a couple years older and Stephanie a couple years younger. I do recall Cristina throwing my cabbage patch doll Angela into the garage. She got a white scratch on her face and I never forgave her for that needless act of violence. I'm sure Angela didn't deserve it.
An embarrassing memory I have of Stephanie is once while we were playing in her room I was so distracted by the clutter that I started cleaning her room for her. When my mom came to collect me for dinner, their mother commented that Steph's room has never been so clean. I said "all you have to do now is vacuum it and you're good to go". Did I EVER get an earful on the walk home on manners!! Mom was sooo embarrassed.
Michael was Sarah's friend since they were the same age. When they were a bit older he would come over to dinner, I think mostly as entertainment. Probably one of the funniest kids I know. He's recently filmed an indie zombie movie with some friends. I can't wait to see it.

Shanna and Cassie lived directly next door. Shanna was a year or two younger than me and Cassie was Sarah's age. Shanna and I used to play swimming lessons on our front lawns, which involved one if us jumping off the porch and running around in crazy circles with the other one following as if we were on a water slide. The game lasted until the eventual fall down, which meant we splashed in the pool. Then we'd switch. I'm laughing out loud as I type this, it's so ridiculous.
My favourite game with them was throwing the ball over the fence. It was exciting not knowing where the ball would launch from.
Once I turned 19 I have Shanna my old ID. Two years later when she was 19 she returned the ID in a thank you card left in our mailbox.

Adam and Ashley lived a few doors down as well. Closer to Sarah's age, I never really played with them, but once Ashley was mad at Sarah and reacted by taking off all her clothes and riding her tricycle home naked. My mom ran after her and dressed her on the sidewalk.
Their uncle Tom lived with them and was a cowboy. At least that's what he told us. We believed him because he had a hat, wore the boots and had a cactus in his room. Thinking about this now, it is incredibly inappropriate that I was ever in his bedroom. My assumption now is that he wasn't entirely of sound mind.

Laurie's family lived down the street; specifically 15 houses away. I was their Kimmy Gibbler and was always over. I often went there in bare feet and thought they were really prissy when they made me put on socks before coming inside. Now I know that my feet must have been filthy and their carpets were quite light. Their house always smelt like "clean"...mine smelt like cigars and crayons.
My family never went out for dinner. McDonald's was a very special treat for us, and very rare at that. The first time I went to Pizza Hut and Swiss Chalet was with Laurie's family. I thought they were rich because they went out for dinner and Laurie and Sarah went to camp all summer. Years later Laurie told me that she thought we were rich because we had so many toys.
Once when I was over for dinner, Laurie's sister Sarah was angry at us for something (probably Nintendo related) and said at the table "you know, Dad says you don't have to have Julie over all the time". Awkward silence. It confused me because I never stayed without being invited. My dad referred to Laurie as his fourth kid so she was at my place as much as I was at hers.

This is a long post. 6 hour bus rides can do that to you (PS: I'm in Peru!)

Nanny's house in Connecticut

I am bored on a bus in Peru right now...massive traffic jam on the way to Puno, allegedly caused by some race cars...so I guess I'll get lost in some memories.

Nanny lived in the States until after Grampa Les died. Her house was two levels with a dark wood paneled stair case. One of those kinds that goes a couple steps up, has a landing where you turn and continues the rest of the way up along the wall. As a child I was quite convinced that there was a secret door just a step or two above that landing that led to a different world. That world looked suspiciously like Fraggle Rock, now that I think of it.

JJ lived next door with his grandparents. We liked going to visit Nanny so we could play with JJ. He had this triangle red bum scooter that you sat on and wiggled and it would ride up and down the driveway. Mom and dad bought us each one when we got back to Canada.

There was a beach close by where we found these long tubular sea shells. Nanny said the seagulls smash them open on rocks and eat the slug inside. Dad used his cigar to smoke one out to show us. I remember that it smelled and I felt bad when they chucked it onto the water and a gull grabbed it. Seemed to me that it was doing just fine until we came along.

Then mom told us about how when she was a little girl, she was at the beach in England playing with her favourite doll, throwing it into the air and catching it. A seagull swooped by and snatched it out of the air and flew away with it. They chased it as far as they could but weren't able to recover her doll. I recall that story breaking my heart.

Earliest Memories

Here are a few of my earliest memories, in no particular order or relation. That's what you're going to get from this blog...a spattering of nonsense that probably doesn't interest anyone but me. And potentially anyone I happen to write about. I'll try to keep the bitchy-teen-angst infused comments to a minimum this time.

We had just moved from Georgetown into our new Brampton house, which would have made me three. Our basement was unfinished, dark, and potentially full of monsters. Trevor, 6 at the time, was scared to go down there and as an act of defiance and bravery, I decided to upshow him and go down there, alone, in the dark. It was terrifying and I was pretty sure I was going to die, but well worth it in the end. This was probably the turning point in our relationship.

Again, basement story:

The neighbourhood kids were all in our basement, and as dumb kids do, we were running the circular path around the stairs for no particular reason. As I ran by, I accidentally knocked down a 2x4 into the path, but as the race was on, I didn't want to stop and pick it back up. In fact, I probably prided myself on a successful obstacle for the next runner to overcome. The next runner was unfortunately my toddler little sister, who stepped on the board and got a nail through her little shoe, into her little foot. I feel TERRIBLE!!!!!

That last story I held onto in shame until just last year, when I finally felt it was time to tell Sarah what I had done. She obviously didn't remember, as she was really young, but upon confirmation with our dad, he said that it didn't happen. Perhaps she just fell and there was no nail, or maybe there was a nail and she narrowly missed it...or maybe I dreamed the whole thing up. Don't know, but it's still a memory. So onto the blog it goes.

The day I got Blackie:

Mom had told me that I could get a kitten as soon as the fences were put up in our backyard. I was sitting in the kitchen looking out the patio doors, emphatically telling her that the fences were there, but I still didn't have a kitten. I was really angry about it and sulking my five-year-old face off.
Aunt Marg and likely Nanny opened our front door, as they came over every Wednesday for lunch. I was too sulky to go say hi, so I just sat slumped in the kitchen against the back wall. When I looked over, Aunt Marg was carrying a little black kitten and handed him to me. I vividly remember that moment, and how happy she looked to be able to give him to me. I felt nearly sick with guilt for being so angry at my mom.

Why is it that my earliest memories are charged by guilt?

Proof that I'm a thoughtless and unfeeling person:

When Grampa Les died, he and Nanny lived in Connecticut. Mom and Dad only took baby Sarah to the funeral with them and left Trevor and I with Aunt Caroline and Uncle Lambert for the weekend. I was probably about 4 if Sarah was a baby. It was the first time they'd been away from me, and it was over my birthday. I remember being very excited to spend a sleep over weekend with A Caroline and U Lambert, because they had a pinball machine in the basement and the little mushroom houses for their smurf figurines. Before Mom and Dad left us there, they gave me a birthday present to open. It was a girl-transformer, which transformed from a cat into a lipstick. It thrilled the shit out of me. Grampa Les, who?

Random, the day I became a "Big Girl":

One afternoon before I was old enough to go to school, I asked Mom to take me to the park. I decided to test her to see if she'd let me into the stroller and was really surprised when she let me. Feeling pretty pleased with my lazy ingenuity, I took the stroller ride congratulating myself the whole way. Until we passed my brother's friend Lindsay. She was 3 years older than me, and someone who I considered a "Big Girl". I was humiliated at being caught hitching a stroller ride, and never rode in one again.

Random, possibly the origin of my bathroom insecurities

More on the subject of Lindsay, she was an only child, had two cats, and super long hair. Though I wasn't aware of this word at the time, to me she seemed very bohemian. Once when all the kids were playing hide and seek, I thought she was going to go hide in the bathroom, so I followed her in there. She wasn't in there to hide, and didn't seem to mind taking a poo in front of me. Also very bohemian. She explained that when you got to go, you got to go, and once her mom didn't poo for a very long time and the doctor needed to sit his hand up her bum and take the poo out. I really wish I didn't know that story. When I went to high school and Lindsay was there, that story was all I could think about every time I ran into her, with her cropped green hair. Confirmed: Bohemian.

Short and Sweet...wallpaper:

My first room in the Brampton house had strawberry shortcake wallpaper. I was quite convinced that it was scratch and sniff, and used to sniff the different characters all the time. In fact, I remember giving it a lick, just to confirm whether it was also tasty wallpaper; it was just regular wallpaper flavour.