Monday, June 18, 2012

Memoir

I promise, there is a Yellowstone post in the works.  In the meantime, we'll carry on with the list:

#20- Describe 3 significant memories from your childhood.

"Pat your tummy with a pat, pat, patty-pat, patty-patty-pat-pat-poo."  I'm pretty sure that was the song that was playing when the event occurred.  But, I get ahead of myself.  Let me set the scene: a long time ago my grandparents lived in a big house in Holladay. If you went up the million stairs and were brave enough to run past the witch that lived in the computer room at the top of the stairs (seriously, a room FULL of computers), you would reach the small apartment over their garage. Our parents would often send us up there to play while they did parent stuff downstairs. Well, one day (probably a Sunday, that's when we usually all went to visit) there were a bunch of the cousins playing up there.  Our parents had set us up with some toys, the Sesame Street record, and told us to have a good time.  One of us, I don't remember who, decided that we needed to explore what was inside the beanbag that was up there.  So, we unzipped the zipper, and were so excited to find little foam pellets in there.  We had a blast throwing them at each other, jumping in the bag to make them poof everywhere, and just making a general mess. Probably stunned that none of us had some down to tattle in awhile, one of the parents came up to investigate. What they found was a snowstorm of foam beanbag filling.  They wanted to be angry, you could see it in their faces, but they were too amused.  They dragged the shopvac up the stairs, put us in a line, and vacuumed us off one by one as they sent us out the door.

My family used to have the most wicked car ever.  Seriously.  I'm not even kidding.  It was an old (I use the term "old" relatively, I think it was from the 80's), diesel Suburban. It was rad. The middle bench seat folded down completely so there was an enormous amount of space between the back seat and the front seats.  Well, one day my sister and I were playing barbies, and probably getting underfoot of my mom, so she asked us to take the barbies somewhere else to play.  We got the brilliant idea to take them out to the Suburban.  We folded down the middle seats, hauled all of our crap into the back of the car, and proceeded to play barbies back there for hours.  It was a dang good time.  F'reals.

Once upon a time I was the only girl in a primary class with 5 boys.  There were other girls my age, but they were all born the year before me, so they ended up in the class ahead of mine, but I digress.  One day we were all sitting in class like good little children (ha!) when someone noticed a fly buzzing around.  Let me tell you, a fly is incredibly distracting to a room full of 8 year old boys. Anyway, one kid decided he was going to take it upon himself to do away with the fly.  He spent several minutes tracking it and trying to kill it.  Finally, it landed on the window.  This kid, we'll call him Karl (that is his name, after all), crept up on the fly, slowly raised his fist into the air, and then BLAM!!!  He got the fly.  He also ended up putting his fist through the window.  True story.

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3 comments:

Amanda Bj. said...

I was not in your class but I remember the event with Karl. Didn't he have a cast on his arm at the time? I don't remember.

Lena said...

Ha! Those are great memories. I can picture all the styrofoam flying around and sticking to the children. And and 8 year old boy would totally put his arm through a window at church and blame it on a fly.

Me said...

But seriously, why did no one get a picture of us covered in foam pellets? Greatest tragedy of the latter 20th century.

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