Mopping

As a kid I wasn't too wild about doing chores (who is?), at least not the ones assigned to me, i.e. sweep,vacuum, dust. But, there was one task that I thought looked fun: mopping. Whether it was the bucket of sudsy water, or the shininess after the fact, for some reason I was fascinated by the whole process. As any responsible mother would, my mom kept this project to herself while we children were young, so the magic of the mop remained a mystery.

When we lived in Pleasant Hill we had two regular babysitters- the great one, and the pretty one. Being a superficial 6 year old, I preferred it when the pretty girl was the babysitter; my mom on the other hand, preferred the girl who was actually responsible. That girl took great care of us, and she would tidy up after we went to bed.

One evening, because the good babysitter was unavailable Seth and I were being tended by the pretty one, so I took it upon myself to help out Mom. I decided to do the mopping. What a good daughter, right?

So I got out the supplies: mop, check; bucket of water, check; cleaner fluid, hmm. What does she use to make those bubbles? It must be shampoo- that is what I use when I want to take a bubble bath. Ok, shampoo, check.

I knew the mop goes in the bucket and then is rubbed around on the floor. What I didn't know was that in between the bucket-dip and the floor-rub, is the squeeze out. I just assumed that little lever halfway down the handle was to make steering easier.

Fast forward 3o minutes: the pretty babysitter hangs up the phone and exits my parents room, in preparation for the imminent arrival of said parents. They come in the door, pay the girl and she is on her merry way. Mom, meanwhile, does a quick check of the house; living room fine, bathroom fine, kitchen soaking wet, bedrooms fi-- wait, what!? She hears a clunking in the closet and opens the door to see me holding the mop, one foot in a nearly empty mop bucket, wearing pants wet up to the knee.

I quickly show her how I was almost done- See Mom, the bucket is almost empty! I did it all by myself! It was supposed to be a surprise for you- I know you usually do it, but I was helping!

I don't really remember what happened after that, but I'm sure it involved early bedtimes, more of my regular chores, and probably some sort of mop ban for the next 8 years or so.

Fibber

A few years ago, when Don and I were dating, I was at his apartment making a milkshake. I had the ice cream, milk, and oreos all set out on the counter. My first mistake was thinking I needed to use the entire sleeve of cookies in order to make this treat extra special. After the blender was going for awhile I noticed that the mixture was too thick (because of the 15 oreos I crammed in there) so I figured I'd better help things along. Here is where my second mistake was made: for some reason, unbeknownst to me, I decided to break up the clumps with a knife. While the blender was on. Yep- I, a girl of 20 and with much experience in milkshake-making and blending in general, stuck a metal knife in an operating kitchen appliance.

When Don came in, it was to this scene: me with globs of milkshake in my hair and on my glasses, standing next to a blender oozing brown goo from a hole in its side. He asked what happened, and when I didn't answer right away (because I was trying to decide how to not show what a dope I can be to this boy whom I was hoping would someday be my eternal companion), he went on to say, "Oh, did that just break?" At that instant I had an epiphany: just go along with this story. He'll believe it because the blender was a cheapo Wal Mart one, and that makes me come across as the innocent victim of Sunbeam Appliance's faulty manufacturing practices. So I replied in the affirmative, and proceeded to give a flimsy account of rouge blades and weak materials, all the while hoping he wouldn't notice the slightly bent knife and corresponding hole shape.

After much sympathy and reassuring words, I was comforted and we went on to joke about why the heck I used so many cookies, when probably four or five would have been plenty. In my shame I kept the truth of this incident locked within my heart, until sufficient time had passed (i.e. after the wedding).

You Can Do That?

The joy, the excitement! Being unable to wait a minute longer to experience it for yourself... it was a wonderful day when I first heard the news: you can record the radio. I was a lowly fourth grader, riding the same old bus on the same old route, when a wise-to-the-ways-of-the-world fifth grader first told me. Her name was Krissy, and she opened my eyes to the magic of the record button on my Sony tape player. Apparently, if you have the radio on, and a tape is in the cassette drawer, by simultaneously pressing the record and play buttons you can capture the music and have it forever.

Needless to say, that afternoon I scoured the house for blank (and some not so blank) tapes for my stockpile, and then got down to business. I'd listen with my hand poised over the buttons, and as soon as the best songs started I'd press them with glee. The drawback was I kept missing the beginning of the songs. I realized it was better to just let it record straight through, and then I'd fast-forward the commercials and DJ jabber. If I didn't catch any good songs I'd record over it.

I was forever changed; in the past my musical enjoyment was at the mercy of 104.7 Kduk, but now I could have Waterfalls and Gangster's Paradise booming on my Walkman all the time. Thanks Krissy.

Car Wash

One day in the summer of 1998 I was broke. Actually, pretty much every day that summer and all the days before and after it... anyways, I was short on cash but I wanted to go to the mall with a couple of friends. Since neither of them had any money either, it became imperative that we come up with some funds or the whole trip would be a bust. "Hmmm," we thought, "what can three 14 year old girls do for some quick cash?" After wracking our brains for awhile, we struck gold with that ever popular fundraising event almost everyone participates in for one reason or another: Car Wash! Now, being children of goodly parents, we didn't want to lie, but when the inevitable question, "What is this car wash for?" came up, we had to have a worthy cause. We reasoned that since we were all on the same basketball team the previous winter, and we would most likely be on the same team in the upcoming season, it would be an acceptable stretching of the truth if we told customers that the funds were in support of our team.

We called up WalMart and asked if we could use their parking lot. They agreed, and even offered to match the amount of money we received! I knew that would be crossing the line, so I politely declined (which I'm sure was curious to the lady on the phone, but she didn't press the issue). We made posters and collected buckets, soap, and sponges. We were there for a few hours, and it went pretty well. We made 36 dollars, so 12 bucks each. Boo-Yah! Gateway Mall, here we come!

If there were any customers who thought it a bit odd that there were only three kids participating in the event, and not a supervising adult in the vicinity, they didn't mention it.

Queen

My favorite game to play when I was a kid was Queen. This most enjoyable pastime was the brainchild of a haughty child's brain (mine). I have what some may consider a bossy streak, and there were few things I liked more than lording over my siblings. I found that the best way to do this was to make it a game. I'd get all the pillows and stack them in the recliner, tie a sheet about my shoulders, and ascend my throne. Poor Sarah and Whitney, they were my unwitting prey; I would let them play with me, but their character assignment was always 'Servant'. So I'd sit upon my feather dais and order them to fetch me milk and cookies, or my book, or occasionally I'd trick them into doing my chores ("Time to sweep the kitch- uh, royal stables!").

To enhance the experience I made myself a tinfoil crown, found a very shiny robe in the dress- up box, and I wasn't above having blankets spread out to serve as red carpets. Many a reflector-on-a-stick went missing from the end of the driveway because they made for a much more realistic scepter than the wire whisk I had been using.

After a few years, the girls no longer accepted being my humble slaves, so I promoted them to Princesses. Little did they know that real princesses don't have to get the Queen snacks and rub her feet. Seth played sometimes, but the highest title he received was Captain of the Guard.

A Thief in the Night

I've never been a very good sleeper. For various reasons which are best saved for a therapist, I have a hard time going to sleep, especially if I wake up in the night. Consequently, I have been known to do a great deal of late night reading. At some point early on in life, I realized that a good book is best enjoyed with a good snack (another issue I should probably take up with a professional). When a person is the last one awake in a house full of forbidden treats, it is only natural that a wily youngster like myself might seek out that which can only be had on the sly.

Over the years, Mom's treat stash was mysteriously depleted. At first I'd only take one cookie, or a few Heath Bar pieces but, as so often happens with criminal ventures, it spiraled out of control. Soon, whole bags of M&Ms were missing, as were all the blue Freezer Pops (not a good thing to sneak- they stain when they spill). Rows of Symphony bar were gone, and near-full boxes of Mystic Mints would suddenly have only 3 left. On any given day, a peek behind my blue pillow would have revealed a jar of peanut butter and a bag of chocolate chips.

I thought all this stealthy hording was behind me now that I'm a grown up, and all the treats are mine (hehe), but no. The other day I bought some Mint Milanos and when I got home I actually put them in my closet beneath some shirts. I must just miss the game. Or, I need to find that therapist sooner than I thought.

Peanut Butter

All my life I have loved peanut butter- it is a yummy topping for practically everything, it is great in sandwiches, but it also has a rare quality not often found in spreads: it is just as enjoyable on its own! As a child there were few snacks I liked better than a spoon full of PB.

I recall an evening many years ago, when I was like 3 or 4, that I'd helped myself to a homemade Jif lollipop, and made a mess of my clothes. Mom sent me to get in my jammies, and when I came back to the kitchen she was nowhere in sight. I must have figured I deserved a reward for my prompt obedience, so I grabbed the jar of gooey goodness. With time being of the essence, I decided to forgo the spoon and just scoop out a glob with my hand. I ended up darting out the back door to finish my treat, perhaps just to enjoy the beautiful evening, but more likely because I heard Mom coming back. Despite my evasive action, she knew what I had done. Even if I'd been able to lick clean my hand and face, there was no hiding the sticky state of my Cinderella pj's.

Quotes

I like quotes. In high school I spent countless hours reading random quotations by famous (and some not so famous) people, and I'd copy & paste them onto word documents. Then I sorted them into categories and printed them in a notebook. So much time and effort went into the creation of this little project- time and effort that turned out to be wasted.

A few years ago I walked into Borders, and on the Bargain Books shelf there was a 1000 page book called Quotationary. Yep, it is just what it sounds like: a dictionary-like arrangement of quotations, first organized alphabetically by subject, then cross referenced by author. Ten dollars was the price of this masterpiece, whereas the price of my feeble attempt was measured not in dollars, but in precious minutes that I'll never get back, eyeball-aches from staring at the computer screen so long, calluses on my copy & paste fingers, and sheet protectors for each and every page lovingly placed in that 3-ring binder. Ten dollars- a bargain indeed.

BeeBees

Tony has a BB gun. Our good friend Pat wanted to give him a 'manly' present, and that is what he chose. It apparently is a good one- Red Ryder, or something...When I see it in the garage, I can't help but remeber my own BB-ing experiences.

When Seth and I were younger (10/12 ish) we had BB guns. We also had a stack of targets that we could staple to a tree and shoot at. Dad taught us safety things, like don't keep it loaded, don't put your finger on the trigger until you are ready to shoot, and don't aim at each other, the house, the cars, or Sarah and Whitney. Got it.

He never mentioned the bees.

Along the edge of our front yard was a strip of ivy, and every summer it was swarming with bees. We determined that, since were were such expert marksmen, we deserved harder targets than paper circles. Our quest for more formidable foes was short, as we both looked out from the front deck and our eyes settled on the vile weeds, all abuzz.

Our relentless attack on the small invaders was a costly one. Many a tear was shed when they retaliated, and when Mom discovered the fault was our own, we, brave hunters and defenders of hearth and home, were stripped of our weapons. And grounded.

The BugVac 2000

My parents gave me a bug vacuum for Christmas one year. It was kind of like a skinny dustbuster- but with an extendable sucker-part. It allowed the user to stand far away and capture the spider without having to look too closely at it, or risk it jumping from the wall into your hair. It was great until I realized that the spiders weren't instantly killed (they were sucked in and stuck to some sticky paper I think); after that I was too afraid to use it in case they somehow got un-stuck and decided to attack me in force.

It's the thought that counts right? And it did spare Dad one or two middle of the night rescue operations, so that's something.