It’s Throwback Thursday!

In honor of TBT, I’m going to have a little fun. First, with my dad and brother.

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Two and a half years ago, my dad and brother were kind enough to drive across the country with me (and most of my belongings) in a moving truck. One morning, somewhere in Nebraska, we left our hotel to find that right next to it was a Sod House Museum, complete with the World’s Largest Plow (which was disappointingly small). Neither my dad nor my brother would put his face into the toilet seat labeled “just another pretty face” (worst photo-op ever?), but they were happy to pose with this fine painting. The highlight of the museum, for me, were the buffalo, horse and American Indian made entirely from barbed wire.

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This was Christmas, 1977 or ’78. Julie’s and my silk jackets were the height of fashion. Santa knew what was up. Santa had also brought the car race track for my brothers, and we even let them play with it! The matching cowboy shirts the boys are wearing were made by my mom. They thought those shirts were the coolest things ever (we won’t talk about Julie’s cowboy hat, which was not).

That was fun. Kinda wish I’d brought some photo albums with me when I moved across the country, so I could embarrass more people.

Weekly Writing Challenge: I Remember

I don’t often participate in the writing challenges, but this week’s looked like fun.

Freestyle memory. Write I remember at the top of your post, hit start on the timer, and write about the first memory that comes to mind. Ten minutes. Don’t stop.

Of course, I ran out of time – I still had a few things I wanted to add, but them’s the rules, so this is what we’ve got. I went through it once for typos, but other than that, it’s 10 minutes worth of freestyle writing. Should I apologize now, or once you’re done reading?

I remember …

It was a Thursday night in March, and our family’s watching of the yearly basketball tournament was put on hold in favor of a trip to the hospital. We arrived, my mother and I, and discussed what was happening with the nurses.

Two days old, four generations.

Two days old, four generations.

They didn’t seem convinced that we needed to be there. A nurse phoned my doctor, who was at a black-tie dinner.

“Put her on a monitor,” the doctor instructed. He didn’t believe me, either. The contractions were five minutes apart by then, and lasting almost two minutes apiece. I was pretty sure I’d come to the right place, but because the labor pains were all in my back, and not in my abdomen, nobody believed me. After a couple hours of rubbing my back to help ease the pain, my mother believed me.

One week old.

One week old.

The maternity unit was full that night, so I had to share a room with another laboring mother. She must have been on some good drugs, because she slept, snoring loudly, the entire time we were together. Upon settling, I asked my mother to turn on the room’s TV so we could watch the game.

UNLV vs. Arizona in the Sweet 16. Tark the Shark vs. Lute Olsen. I was not missing this. Soon, a nurse came in and checked the monitor. “You’re in labor!” she announces. No kidding. Thanks for the update. She then walked to the TV, announced,

“You don’t want to watch this!” and changed it to some nature show. I waited until she left, then looked meaningfully at my mother. Mom walked to the TV and changed it back to the game. Soon, my aunt came in. She decided she needed to be

Happy baby.

Happy baby.

with us every step of the way, including the delivery. I didn’t want to be Momzilla, so I remained calm and figured one more family member in the room would only make the event more joyful. Then my aunt thought she’d help me out by slapping a wet washcloth on my forehead. Again, a meaningful look to my mom, and she immediately and gracefully removed the washcloth. Ah, the nurse is back. No, really, we do want to watch … OK, Mom? And she waits till the nurse leaves and puts the game back on the TV where it belongs.

Eventually, we move on to the delivery room, a surgical suite, with windows on the doors. My delivery nurse is a woman who grew up a few miles from me. Her father was my elementary school principal and her mother was my first 4-H leader. The doctor is the same man who delivered me and my siblings. Peeking through the window is another nurse, who I knew from 4-H. In time, a bouncing, 7 pound 6 ounce girl was born, and there was much rejoicing. Took a bit to get her to cry, and I was worried, but the doctor assured me she was

Merry Christmas! Age 21 months.

Merry Christmas! Age 21 months.

perfect. My mom took pictures of each of us with the baby, and my aunt took pictures of my mom with the baby.

We went to my new room (without a snoring roomie), and my mom and aunt went home to get some sleep. It was 4 a.m. Around 10, Mom came back, this time with my dad and brothers. Flowers arrived. More pictures are taken. Teenage uncles with their new niece. Grandpa holding his first grandchild. It wasn’t until two days later my mom realized there was no film in the camera.

Happy Easter!

Just popping in to wish any of you who celebrate it a happy Easter, and share a photo from Easter past. Oh, to return to those carefree days, when all you had to worry about was whether the whale had left any chocolate coins in your Grandpa’s dresser drawer since your last visit. Yup, those were the days.

Best Easter ever. My Grandpa (the man in the picture) made doll beds for Julie and me, and my Grandma made mattresses and blankets for them. I have no idea what became of the buckets, but I still have the doll bed and blankets. Also, for the record, whenever I post old pictures like this, and you're wondering which of the kids is me - I'm the cute one. As if you didn't know.

Best Easter ever. My Grandpa (the man in the picture) made doll beds for Julie and me, and my Grandma made mattresses and blankets for them. I have no idea what became of the buckets, but I still have the doll bed and blankets. Also, for the record, whenever I post old pictures like this, and you’re wondering which of the kids is me – I’m the cute one. As if you didn’t know.