Liza's current blog has got me thinking about the naughty things kids do. I think it's time for everyone to come clean--I'm not talking about stuff that's best left between you and your bishop. I'm talking about the crazy stuff you did as a kid that made your parents (if they knew about it) momentarily consider investing in handcuffs and leg irons.
I got my punishment the next day when Sam and I were playing a game of fire cracker "chicken." We would light firecrackers and see who could hold onto theirs the longest. I "won" when one exploded in my hand. Luckily, I didn't lose a finger. But I had to come up with a good story for my parents about why my hand was all wrapped in gauze and tape.
So I'll go first...
In the summer of '71, I was home from my first semester at BYU, and we were living in Bozeman, Montana. Like Liza, we also had carpet in the kitchen. It was a very busy pattern in orange and brown. Truly, truly, ugly. It was the Fourth of July weekend and my parents had gone out of town leaving me "in charge" of my brothers who were 15 (Sam), 9 (Paul) and 3 (Charley). Sam and I got a hold of some fire crackers and one "accidentally" went off in the kitchen. It left little black burn holes all over one area of the carpet. We panicked. We knew that our mother, a black belt house keeper, would notice immediately. Sam (the fink) took off for some Fourth of July fun with his friends and left me to deal with Paul, Charley, and the carpet mess. Being very resourceful (and in high panic mode) I came up with a brilliant solution. I took a razor blade and shaved the carpet along an edge where it wouldn't show. Then, carefully matching colors, I glued the shaved fuzz into all the holes. She never noticed.
In the summer of '71, I was home from my first semester at BYU, and we were living in Bozeman, Montana. Like Liza, we also had carpet in the kitchen. It was a very busy pattern in orange and brown. Truly, truly, ugly. It was the Fourth of July weekend and my parents had gone out of town leaving me "in charge" of my brothers who were 15 (Sam), 9 (Paul) and 3 (Charley). Sam and I got a hold of some fire crackers and one "accidentally" went off in the kitchen. It left little black burn holes all over one area of the carpet. We panicked. We knew that our mother, a black belt house keeper, would notice immediately. Sam (the fink) took off for some Fourth of July fun with his friends and left me to deal with Paul, Charley, and the carpet mess. Being very resourceful (and in high panic mode) I came up with a brilliant solution. I took a razor blade and shaved the carpet along an edge where it wouldn't show. Then, carefully matching colors, I glued the shaved fuzz into all the holes. She never noticed.
I got my punishment the next day when Sam and I were playing a game of fire cracker "chicken." We would light firecrackers and see who could hold onto theirs the longest. I "won" when one exploded in my hand. Luckily, I didn't lose a finger. But I had to come up with a good story for my parents about why my hand was all wrapped in gauze and tape.Now it's your turn...
One that I remember happened when I was like four or five. Me and my bff Stephan Lovestedt cut all the orange middles out of our very honery Philipino neighbors flowers. He took a lot of pride in his yard. We thought they looked liked carrots and wanted to feed them to Golda our family dog. I remember he came over so me and Stephan hid under my bed while he chewed Mom out in Tagolag. Sorry Mom, you had to take the wrath of the angry neighbor! We were always up to something, quite the little duo!
ReplyDeleteI remember kicking the front door down, wait, you noticed that didn't you.
ReplyDeleteHere's one for you... I don't think it's a secret that I'm a big time snuggler. I have always loved to cuddle up with someone while I slept. At night I would often end up sneaking into bed with either Sarah or Clare (Em was never too inviting). I can remember one night I fell asleep in Clare's bed when she was pretty little (I think about 3 or 4). At some point in the night I ended up wetting the bed but was horrified and didn't want anyone to know that it was me. I quietly got up and changed my clothes then I went back to Clare's bed and poured a little water on her nightgown to so there would be no question as to who the bed wetter was. I knew that Clare was still young enough to get away with a little accident now and again. Sorry Clare :(
ReplyDeleteHi Sara's mom. I am Sara's friend here in St. George and I always get on your blog and I just had to tell you how funny you are. I love reading your blog. I really like the one about the bras. You are a riot. Now I know where Sara gets her sense of humor. LOVE IT>
ReplyDeleteBrittney--
ReplyDeleteYou are always welcome! Sarah has told me many times that I would really like you.
Sarah's Mom
I know lots of stories about Bill....
ReplyDeleteI have heard lots of stories about Bill....
ReplyDeleteLets here some of these stories about my Dad. Although they might of come in handy fifteen years ago!
ReplyDeleteI can only think of one instance that I never took the heat for:
ReplyDeleteBill the Candyman was blasting that music from his ice cream truck outside one day, calling to me. I was probably 6 or 7 yrs old and, therefore, without money at my disposal. I think Liza was babysitting. So I snuck onto Carl's room and took his 2-dollar-bill that he had been saving along with other collectable coins and treasures. I ran right out with that crisp bill in my hand and got some sweet treats! I'm sure Carl noticed at some point and he was probably really mad (is that why you punched a hole in the wall?) but I don't remember feeling sorry. Now I do feel kinda bad. Sorry Carl- I'll pay up next time I see you.
What do we have to do to hear some of these stories about my dad?
ReplyDeleteHe always led me to believe that he was a perfect child! The only story he ever admitted to me was a time he tried to make fried chicken in the oven, on a cookie sheet, and the overflowing grease caused a fire in the oven. Of course, it happened in the course of trying to serve his family...
ReplyDeleteWe need Laura and Rhonda to pony up with some stories--come on, put your money where your mouths are!
Another thought...Emily has been strangely silent during this little sharing session. Come on, Em--confession is good for the soul!
ReplyDeleteHello Mom Reed,
ReplyDeleteI am a friend of Eliza, Emily, and Sarah. Claire was my son's sunbeam teacher and she did a fantastic job (there's a story there... but for another time). I was moved by this post since my parents had three of the most unruly children to ever exist. I was the most mild of the three but still no angel.
So... when I was little our favorite game was mess monsters. Whilst our yard was being landscaped, there was a HUGE dirt hole in the grass. It was a good 3 feet deep and 4 feet wide. My brother (who was old enough to know better) and I would fill the hole with water, put on our BEST Sunday clothes (his idea) and romp in the mud for hours. Then we would chase each other up and down the block. It was a great game until the day mom came home from work early. Then it was just a heap of trouble.
As a teenager I didn't have a curfew. My parents figured since I didn't drive, I was at the mercy of my friends, and I was for the most part an okay kid. I was however encouraged to be in at a reasonable time. Their bedroom was right off the living room. The front door was always creaky which would assuredly wake my parents. So, I WD40ed the front door. Then I would tiptoe to my room carefully avoiding looking at any clocks. Then, I would tell my parents that I didn't notice the time when I came home (I am also a miserable liar... any outright lie would surely be known). This proceedure worked out fine until 18 when I got my license... and a 10pm curfew.
Willow Moore