Those Were the Best Days of My Life…Or Were They?

The other day I was jammin’ out in the car to Summer of ’69. As I was singing (and likely annoying the crap out of Brian), I started thinking about the places that this song takes me.

As a little girl, I was a junior cheerleader for a K-8 football and cheerleading organization. I was with the same team from 3rd through 8th grade, and we competed in poms against other suburban cheer teams. One of our first-place routines was choreographed to Summer of ’69, so it certainly has fond memories for me. I almost busted out a kick line and imagined myself ponying. In the car. In case you forgot.

But this time, instead of just reminiscing to my childhood, I found myself listening to the lyrics as I belted them out to Brian’s dismay (the singing, not the thinking).

In the song, Bryan Adams sings about the good ol’ days when he was carefree and in love, before responsibility and adulthood.

Those were the best days of my life…

And I looked back on my past (all *cough*29*cough* years) life and thought about it. Which of those years or experiences were the BEST days of my life? Where would I go back if given the chance? What summer truly seemed to last forever?

And the answer was simple. I’m living the best days of my life. Good, bad and ugly, my present is so much better than my past. Because my past led me here. And the here and now will lead me to my future, so that I can always say that my present is the best days of my life.

Those were the best days of my life…

I have had some absolutely wonderful experiences, childhood vacations and camping trips. Family memories full of love. Friendships that have withstood the test of time. A growing circle of friends that has expanded and multiplied with more friends and their families. Relationships that helped me realize who I am and what I want so that I could find (and pester until he finally took me out on a date) and recognize the person that I am meant to be with.

I’m lucky.

But for every bright day, there was a dark one. For every memory of love, I have a memory of being bullied or watching my brother get bullied. For every memory of friendship, I have a memory of deception or cruelty or loneliness. For every memory of sheer happiness, I know and understand depression. For every heartwarming relationship memory, I’ve known gut-wrenching heartbreak. For every success, I also recall the failures.

Our lives are not measured solely on the successes. Nor are they measured on the failures. Each piece of the puzzle has added a layer to our personality. Every triumph, every stumble. But each of these experiences is merely a stepping stone to the next. And the days, whether dark or light, that shall come to pass will be wiser steps to a brighter future.

Those were the best days of my life…

We are unique. Our experiences are shared, but different. Alike, but completely one of a kind. We empathize (or don’t).

I struggle. I have a hard time keeping it all together. Working a full time job. Commuting more than 10 hours a week. In total 55+ hours devoted to work. Looking for ways to progress my career, to learn more, to see more, to be MORE. Looking for a new home by buying a house and making it a home. Writing for me. Blogging, but also creating characters and stories, so that one day I may have that best-selling novel all writers hope to attain. Living a life that I can be proud of. Enjoying time with friends. Family. Experiencing things so that I can have something to write about.

I struggle, but I’m not alone. I’m surrounded by my family. My friends. You.

You make this blog worth writing. Because of you, I am here. And for that I thank you.

Do you agree? Do you think the present is full of the best days or is there another, more relevant time in your life that constitutes the best? Do you wish you could go back or are you always looking ahead?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Rest in Pieces, Delilah: A Eulogy

In honor of my dear friend of 19 years.

She was a true champion. We met the summer between 7th and 8th grade. She kept my little brother and I occupied, distracted, and entertained that first summer she arrived, when Mom was sick. She taught me about responsiblity, maintenance, and pride in a job well done. She helped me practice my flip flops in high school. She gave us a place filled with memories. Something to do early in the morning and late at night. She was the life of every party.

Although she had no name for much of our friendship, she will forever be known in my heart as Delilah. Thanks to a few beers with Dad and my little brother.

My brother sent me a picture last night as I was heading home on the train. And I knew. Delilah was a goner.

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She passed slowly, starting last night, and carrying on until morning. Now, she’s merely an empty shell in my parents’ backyard.

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I called Mom immediately to see what happened. Apparently everyone was in the pool but me. I had always joked that I wanted to be there when she exploded so, of course, my first comment was, “I can’t believe you didn’t wait for me!”

We had dozens of inside jokes, from Pool Cheese (Kraft singles, wrapped in plastic, still taste like Kraft singles-gross, even when they come from the bottom of the pool) to her name, Delilah, which Mom hated (I think it had something to do with naming inanimate objects).

My parents may get a new pool, but it’s also time to pass the torch. When I was a kid, Gram had a pool. Then, when that pool died, Mom got a pool. Now it’s my turn. House. Then pool. It’s the natural state of progression.

I made my way over to the parents’ place to say goodbye and offer my condolences to Dad, who was Delilah’s closest companion since I moved out.

For the last 5 years, Delilah had been living on borrowed time. Pool life support in the form of rusted caulk and Gorilla Glue. FIVE YEARS, you guys. I stand by Gorilla Glue for LIFE knowing that 10,000 gallons of water were held together wirh this magical glue…however unattractive it may be.

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But in the end, the pool rusted out.

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This is what the pole used to look like:

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So here’s to Delilah. You were a reliable and loyal friend. You’ll be missed.

Did you ever have a pool? Do you want one? Have you ever witnessed a large appliance or structure in your home kick the bucket?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Um Girl Scout Cookie Flavored Creamer? WHAT?!

Last week, Brian and I bought several boxes of candy from our Girl Scout connection. I got to thinking about Girl Scouts and my own experiences…

I was a girl scout. And a boy scout (but that’s a tale for another time). And pretty much…I was awesome, apparently. I remember being in first grade, and joining up with Brownie Troop 182. I also remember when my mom became a troop leader, and got us into all sorts of crafts and fun things. So in honor of the new Girl Scout flavored creamers from Coffee Mate and their adorable new representative, Abby from River Falls, Wisconsin (the best cheese state on the planet,) I’m going to go ahead and tell you all of the great things I learned from being a Girl Scout.

  • Francis Scott Key wrote the Star Spangled Banner. I’m not even joking you guys, I never would have remembered this if it weren’t for some flag ceremony we did in 1st grade in which I remember my one line of, “It was written by Francis Scott Key.”
  • How to make a pizza. My mom knew the manager of Domino’s Pizza, so we got to go over there and make our own pizzas! It was super fun.
  • Life long friendships? Totally possible. I know this because I’m still friends with my very best friend from grade school/the old neighborhood/ballet/Brownies/cheerleading. Even when you add new people to your world, you can always have the friends you started with.
  • How to identify animal tracks in the snow. We went out into some wildlife preserves and followed tracks. Mom’s kinda nature-lady…
  • How to sell like a boss. I’m not in sales, but let me tell you. If I was…LOOK OUT, world. I could sell sand in a dessert. Or Girl Scout flavored Coffee-Mate Creamer on a blog…not that I’m trying or anything. *wink wink* Seriously, though…unlike a lot of kids today, my parents didn’t sell the cookies for me. Even though they owned a bar, I had to march in there by myself and walk up to every. Single. Person. And ask them if they wanted to buy some girl scout cookies. I was persistent. And always sold a ton.

So about those creamers…

Girl Scout Coffee Mate Creamer

Omigod. SO good. We’ve got some SERIOUS coffee fiends in my office (Thank God for free coffee.) On my team, we drink a lot of coffee. And we were definitely tired of powdered creamer…so when these delightful add-ins arrived..thrilled doesn’t begin to cover it. We have Caramel Delight (caramel coconut) and Thin Mint in the office right now, and my entire team is consuming it super-fast (because I’m nice, and when I receive delicious free products in the mail delivered to my office from Coffee-Mate…I share them.) They’re definitely a hit with everyone! My one co-worker wants to pour the creamer over ice cream. I’m not going to lie…That’s in my plan of things to try in the near future.

When I was a kid, I would use my allowance to buy my own boxes of Caramel Delights. And then hide them so my boy babysitter didn’t eat them all in one sitting (like he did that one time…) This creamer brings me RIGHT BACK to that joy. That delicious cookie joy.

By the way, did you catch the commercial for Thin Mint Coffee-Mate? Because it’s HILARIOUS. Ambitious Girl Scout, Abby, rocked with her snarky ‘tude directed at corporate office guy. You can see the video on the Coffee-Mate website. Trust me. TOTALLY worth it. I like to think I was that sassy when I was 10.

For the record? Just because Coffee-Mate hooked me up with some tasties, doesn’t mean that these opinions weren’t all me.

Blog Friends, were you Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, Campfire Boys/Girls, Indian Princesses or the like? What did you learn?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

I Was Born on Memorial Day

I wanted to tell you the story of my birth, but even my near idydic memory isn’t that good. So I enlisted the help of someone who would know better than anyone else.

Blog Friends, meet Mom. Mom, meet the Blogosphere. (I’ve taken the liberty of adding my own two cents in pink).

Chrissy and Mom

This is my mom and I at the White Sox game a few weeks ago.

Well, I was awakened by my daughter this morning at 9:11am to write a blog post…which she’s wanted to do for a while. Oh, if only 30 years ago today it had been so easy. You see, she was born on Memorial Day. Although, it was actually May 30th, it was Monday, Memorial Day, 1983.

None of our friends had children. For the past 5 months or so, I had been their slave. I was the designated driver everywhere (hmm that still has not changed). I was very sick of the drunk people, especially my sister and my husband! So the Sunday night before Memorial Day was party time. At our apartment. Larry (Chrissy’s dad), Susan (my sister) and her then-husband, Jay, had me making drinks all night…until 1 AM! I kept complaining my back hurt and they called me a baby.

After falling asleep for a couple of hours, I awoke to a leaking water (and some other stuff that Chrissy edited out). I was thrilled!!! She’s coming! Christine Regina! The enjoyment of waking up my husband was twofold. Number one I wanted to get to the hospital and see her as quickly as possible. Number two, I knew he was still drunk! Hello payback!

I was calm and collected for the next few hours. My father-in-law arrived to witness, or at least be there for her joyous moment into this world. Yeah, well…that didn’t happen.

Hours went by, and still, no Chrissy. After 8hrs I was still only dilated to 1. At 12 PM, they decided it was time for Pitocin to move the LABOR along. After several hours of this nonsense, and much screaming involved, a nice shot of Demerol may help. GO FOR IT!! A few hours later, still no success and no doctor. You see he had a feeling I was going to need a C-Section, and went home to sleep for a few hours. I was positive that I was dying. My father-in-law went home. My parents and family were told we would call them.

The doctor came back and ordered an X-ray of my pelvis. NOW??? It was 10pm!! And I had been on Pitocin for 10 hours!!! Now an X-ray?

Showing that it would be very doubtful Chrissy would be able to come through my tiny body. (I would kill to be as TINY now, 9 mos and 3 days pregnant I was still 60lbs less than today). At this point, I had been screaming for hours. Loud, piercing screams. NO offense to Chrissy, but I was yelling things like…”Get this fucking thing out of me!!!” That’s not very nice, Mom. The doctor was furious with me. I was scaring all of the other mothers..the ones who had not been in labor for 20 and 1/2 hours and on Pitocin for nearly 12 hours.

Ay 11pm I was prepped for the c-section and as soon as that needle went into my spine, I was like “THANK YOU!” Numbness was good…no pain. Ahhh…where’s my baby!!! I was awake for her birth, but could not see. Larry could not watch it. he had been drunk and happy when it all began. He was now tired beyond measure (poor baby), hungover, and had stood by my side for nearly the entire 20 1/2 hours of labor. Good things take time. He had to wait to see her. She was perfect! Of course, I was.

Aside from the very pointed head, Hey! Who you calling pointy? because she had tried nonstop to come out, I thought she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Happy almost birthday, darling…I love you.

P.S. 10 months and 2 days later, her brother Brian was born. The doctor looked at me after his birth and said…Are you going to listen to me now? I did. Ew.

You guys, I love this story, because my dad was all hammered and had to suck it up and deal with it. And then I took my sweet, sweet time. So I knew I had to share it with you.

Blog Friends, I know a lot of you are moms. Were your kids as much of a pain in the ass as me?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Monday Memories: Dress Code Discrimination?

I read about this controversial dress code from Delightfully Ludicrous and I just knew that a rant had to happen.

So I thought I could make it more fun by offering you my very own dress code story and incorporating it into Monday Memories.

Monday Memories

So today, friends, Monday Memories is all about dress codes.

First and foremost, I want to state for the record that it’s a sad sad state of things when the dress code of a child in kindergarten is considered compromised. The fact that it needs to exist at all? Baffling.

I got in trouble in grade school for wearing a tee-shirt featuring Spuds McKenzie, because it represented beer.

But never in a million years would my mother have let me out of the house in a freaking push up bra at 7. Or a thong. A freakin’ thong. I see younger and younger girls at Victoria’s Secret every time I stop in. (Which is a lot, because I have an obsession. And it’s not with their underwear. Yoga pants. Yoga crops. Yoga leggings. Yoga shorts.) But these little girls are buying thongs.

I STILL don’t like thongs.

So back to dress codes. After watching the news clip of the little girl who got in trouble for wearing a hello kitty outfit with a skort and tights (for the skort being “too short”), I was appalled. And annoyed. Because school administrators are very picky about who has to turn their shirts inside out, who has to wear their gym clothes, who has to be sent home. I feel like they may have discriminated against this girl. Not necessarily because of her race, but for anything. Maybe the school didn’t like the way her mother dressed. Maybe the school admins didn’t like the mother. I don’t know, but I don’t like it.

It happened to me once in high school. Because I was the chubby girl. Now in high school, I wasn’t fat. But I was bigger than a lot of the other girls. One of my favorite go-to warm-weather clothing items (when I wasn’t wearing pajamas to school-which I did a lot) was a tube top and overall shorts. I know. Classy. But I liked it. I thought I looked nice. My mom thought I looked nice. The overalls had straps that fit the school’s dress code criteria and lots of girls dressed that way. It wasn’t revealing. At all.

But one day I got pulled to the side by an administrator who politely informed me that it was gym shirt or get sent home. I had a sweatshirt in my locker that I was able to throw over my outfit (though I was sweltering) and I made it through the day. She was discriminating against me, because I was the chubby girl with boobs. She basically told me it was because girls with chests shouldn’t wear clothing like I was wearing. There wasn’t even cleavage showing (well, not any more than the skinny girls showed, anyways).

dress code discrimination

This was not the set in question. This was actually MORE revealing than the one that got me in trouble. I wore this on the last week of school as a “Fuck You” to the administrator who called me out the first time. Guess what? No one said a word. So they pick and choose their battles.

I was pissed, but I survived. And fortunately so will the little girl in her Hello Kitty cuteness. Let’s just hope she doesn’t start shopping and A&F or Victoria’s Secret for bras and thongs next year when she’s 7.

Go visit Lily at It’s a Dome Life for more dress code memories!

So what about you guys? Ever felt like someone in charge was calling you out because you were different?

 

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Bookish Memories

This week’s Monday Memories is all about books! My story is a short, but sweet one…and by sweet, I mean I had a teacher who didn’t know who she was dealing with…and by that, clearly I mean my mom.

Monday Memories

(Note to Mom: If I get this wrong according to the story in your head…just you know…keep it to yourself 😉 )

In 3rd grade, back when I didn’t have a large collection of chapter books for kids, I would read children’s books. Rapidly. I mean, I also chewed through Ramona Quimby, Fudge, Roald Dahl, The Babysitters Club, and other kid-themed books faster than a lot of kids…But sometimes, I would read several books in one night. Especially if they were my Little Golden Books.

There was all that Book-It stuff in which you got free Pizza Hut personal pan pizzas for reading books. And we got extra credit for the more books we read. I’ve always been a fan of extra credit. Always. Of course, upon reporting these to my 3rd grade teacher, she thought I was making shit up.

When my parents went in for parent teacher conferences? She told them I was a liar and had a problem. So my mom asked, what does she lie about. She says she reads all of these books and it’s impossible to read that much. (Bad teachers don’t do research on the names of the books that kids are reading. Bad teachers assume that the kids are telling the truth that the book titles they list exist, unless of course, there are too many books on the list. THEN, those kids are liars. Bad teachers tell parents that they’re doing a piss poor job of raising a kid who stays up late at night to read books instead of sleep.)

I’m pretty sure my mom went off on her. She was already holding a grudge that I wasn’t in the “gifted” program at school. I just made my own gifted program. By reading more than anyone else. Whatevs. I was reading flipping picture books and writing that shit down. Documentation, my friends. Documentation.

Speaking of which, I wish I still had that shit.

The Best Reading Chair

I’ve been reading in this chair since I was old enough to read. It lived in my Gram’s house for years…she gave it to me when I grew up, because she knew I loved it so much.

Want more bookish memories? Go visit Lily over at It’s a Dome Life. I swear she and I are kindred spirits. If you like me, you’ll love her!

Tell me your favorite bookish memory? What was your favorite book when you were a kid?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Monday Memories: Hoarder? Who, me?

Today’s Memories are all about childhood collections. I have a feeling that my soul sister in New Mexico (Lily from It’s a Dome Life) is going to have a similar tale to tell, so go check her out!

So I may or may not have mentioned my childhood bedroom. I collected everything. EV-RE-THING. It looked like a tornado had come through, tossing Barbies, Barbie clothes, books, dress up clothes, Cabbage Patch Dolls Little People, She-Ra, My Little Pony, trolls, cassette tapes, key chains, buttons, pins, patches, birthday cards, photographs, and a crap ton of LEGOs around like a boss. The piles of single socks, clothes, and toys that adorned the floor of my bedroom was astounding. In a not-cool sort of way. For some reason if everything was “organized” in a pile, it was okay…for me anyways.

These days, I still have piles of clean laundry (in a laundry basket, though). But my crazy collections have finally ceased. Sort of.

The Nook helps with the book hoarding. It really does. I saved only the cards that have personal notes in them. or the ones that were from my grandparents. or the really funny ones. But I got rid of the dumb ones. The Barbies and their accessories are boxed up on my parents garage shelves…collecting dust, but who cares. They’re freakin’ Barbies! With pretty dresses! The trolls, little people, she-ra, and the ponies disappeared, though I’m not sure where. Mom gave away all of my children’s books. I suppose that’s what happened to everything else. I mean, I’ve still got the important stuff. The original CPKs.The BARBIES. The Disney VHS tapes…You know…the important stuff.

Now I just collect…clothes. And shoes. And purses. That I don’t wear or use. And seashells. That are sitting in shoe boxes on my closet shelf.

OK. So maybe I’m still a hoarder. Just a little bit. But I mean…two closets and three dressers full of clothes. Plus several Rubbermaid crates…Hmmm…Maybe I should get rid of things I don’t wear.

Well if that wasn’t the rambliest post ever, I don’t know what is. Next Monday, we’ll be writing about BOOK MEMORIES! Write about your favorite memories with Lily and I. Just let us know that you’re in so we can link to you!

Did you collect strange things when you were a kid? Did you collect anything?

 

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Stargazing, Meteor Showers, and Me

Today’s Monday Memories is brought to you by FIRSTS. First loves, first kisses, first free ride in a police car, first meteor shower…you know…whatever you want as long as it’s a first.

Monday Memories

In honor of the Lyrid Meteor Shower this weekend/last night/this morning/whatever, I’d like to take a moment to remember my very first (and I think only…) meteor shower.

I was in college. A sophomore. In a city. In the middle of Cornfield, IL. And there was going to be a meteor shower. Like every quasi-teen-girl in the history of ever, the idea of watching a crap load of shooting stars is ridiculously romanticized. Especially when the girl in question has a ridiculous crush on one of her dude friends. One of her dude friends who suggests an evening of meteor gazing.

OBVIOUSLY this was fate calling.

Except that we were a part of a fearsome threesome (Get that dirty image out of your minds, blog friends. Not THAT kind of threesome. Just FRIENDS. UGH. It’s like you don’t even know me.)

And so we made a plan. Robert, Cletus and I would venture out to the cornfields to watch the stars fly. I was so excited I thought I might pee myself. (Not really; that’s gross. It’s just an EXPRESSION, guys.)

Except that much like this weekend, it was FUCKING cold out.  (Don’t even get me started on the torrential flooding rains turned snowy icy death pellets two days later.) So we stayed up all night with a South Park marathon and left in the wee hours of the morning to watch the shower of meteors. After packing a comforter and some folding chairs, we were set.

We drove to the middle of nowhere, “parked” the car, and set up the chairs. In the middle of a dark two lane highway in the cornfields. And watched the stars. And it was GLORIOUS. For 5 whole minutes. Before both Cletus and Robert gave the fuck up. 5 minutes of stars and those whiny bitches were DONE?!? (I mean that with the utmost sincerity of love for my pals). I sat out there shivering for another 15 minutes before they made me pack up and get into the car.

I watched the stars out the window all the way back to Peoria in awe. This were some amazingly beautiful performance put on by the galaxy. And I wanted to soak it all in.

But the romanticized part about stargazing with one’s crush? Fucking ridiculous. That shit should be shared with EVERYONE. Except that now that I’m nearing 30, I’m old and cranky and can’t bear to think of waking up before 6:15 in the morning. Or going to bed after 11:30 at night. So no stars for me this week. But to all you stargazers out there, I’m with you in my mind.

Go visit Lily at It’s a Dome Life for more Monday Memories! If you’d like to join us next week, our topic is going to be: “Write about something you collected as a child.”

Ever seen a meteor shower, friends? How about a shooting star?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Innocence is in the Eye of the Beholder…Especially in New Orleans

Welcome to this week’s edition of Monday Memories to Make You Laugh! Today, we’re using a quote prompt instead of an idea.

“I don’t want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald

Innocence. When did I lose my innocence? I bet you’re thinking about virginity right now…but I’m not.

  • I’m thinking about the time I went to the dance club, even though I wasn’t supposed to and had to sneak into the house.
  • Or the time I went away to college and started drinking heavily.
  • But maybe the real downward spiral of my innocence truly was my first trip to The Big Easy.

What Happens in N’awlins…

I was 19. At a conference in New Orleans. Pre-Katrina. With more than 2,000 college kids. My fraternity brothers. (Co-ed service fraternity, thank you very much.) The week between Christmas and New Years Day. Unsupervised vacation for the first time in my life. It was glorious. Here are my top three less than innocent moments from that trip.

New Orleans Bourbon Street

5. Experiencing Bourbon Street in all it’s boozy glory. Now I was in my sophomore year of college, so I was no stranger to liquor…But I definitely indulged in all sorts of deliciously potent concoctions. That I got at bars. And not from older friends. Yes, blog friends, I snuck my 19 year old self into several bars, and ordered booze without being carded at others.

4.  Acquiring beads. Hear me out. This was a little unorthodox…but it happened. Instead of the traditional way of earning beads (which I may or may not have done…), my girlfriend and I set up a team effort to help our favorite shy guy out. Now, this was a guy who stayed in a room full of 4 very open ladies who believed You’re a brother…you don’t count…as we walked around in our underwear. And he would run to the window and stare out politely, waiting for us to cover our lady bits. So Mel ran the camera while I yelled down to the lady that our dear gentlemanly friend chose. “Hey! You! You down there with the green shirt! Show us your titties!” And then Mel would pop out from behind our pal and snap a shot with his camera. And then he gave us beads.

1. My first viewing of man bits. And then my second viewing of man bits. Yep. There were dudes just as willing to show their junk as ladies showing their tatas. And one of my newfound lady friends was ALL over that shit. And yes. I was a sophomore in college who had never seen man bits. And so, innocent little Chrissy fell down a little rabbit hole of crazy.

New Orleans Karaoke

For more Monday Memories, or just because they are awesome, check out It’s a Dome Life and First Time Mom and Dad.

 Tell me about a loss of innocence memory that YOU have (and no, I REALLY don’t want to hear about how you, you know…lost IT…unless it’s hilarious. Then you can share with the class.)

 

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Monday Memories: Are You Afraid of the Dark?

Yes.

No.

Well…not anymore anyways.

First things first: This post is a part of the Monday Memories to Make You Laugh Series. Each week, you can join me, It’s a Dome Life, and First Time Mom and Dad in our adventures of remembering. If you’d like to jump on our little bandwagon, we’d love to have you. Today’s prompt is all about being afraid of the dark.

When I was a kid I used to have these recurring nightmares.

  • A giant gorilla escaped from the zoo that smashes through our kitchen wall from the backyard. (I blame Disney)

  • A pack of wolves chasing me around my dining room table.
  • Vampires – hiding under my bed.

I couldn’t fall asleep without the hall light on. In the holiday season, I had to have Christmas lights in my room (but NEVER red ones. Red ones were evil. They made my pink room glow with scary red walls. I suppose my disdain for the color red makes it a little ironic that I wrote a poem about the color red…)

If I had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I would JUMP from my bed to the middle of the floor, so that anything hiding under my bed would have to come out from under there to grab me, thus giving me time to sort of run away. Really, it all worked out in my head.

Nowadays, I can’t sleep without complete darkness, but I’ll always look fondly on the days of vamps and wolves. Oh crap. My childhood was like a clip of Twlight.

Blog friends! Did you have nightmares when you were a kid? Crazy fears of the dark? Worries about something under the bed? Tell me about it!

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!