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Thursday, March 02, 2006

Susie: The Early Years

There are some schools of thought in psychotherapy, that place very heavy emphasis on earliest memories. These theories say that earliest memories may reveal to us messages about life that we keep with us throughout the years, and also may give us a foreshadowing of what will remain important to us for the rest of our lives. I don't particularly practice those therapies, but I have a new client who had a previous therapist who did, so we are spending time looking at those things, and that's fine with me.

And it has gotten me thinking about some of my very earliest memories. For some reason, two stand out today.

The first day of school, first grade. Mrs. Schabinger's class. Mrs. Schabinger was writing words on the blackboard (confusing that she called it that, because that board was green), words like "cat," "car," and "no." Of course, we couldn't read yet (this was long before anyone knew you were supposed to teach 2-year-olds to do physics), but many of us had memorized a few words from our travels. We were allowed to call out without raising our hands, if we knew the words. I felt wonderful because I knew every single word. That is, until Mrs. Schabinger wrote, "go." Everyone in the class, even the quiet kids, even the kids I suspected of being dumb, knew this little word. But I didn't know it. Only two letters and I did not know it.

To make matters worse, Mrs. Schabinger made the kind of "g" that is two circles, connected by a squiggle, with a small ear on the top right. Not only did I not know "go;" I didn't even know the first letter! My mother had lied to me. I had been led to believe that I knew my ABCs. And clearly, here was one ABC that I had never encountered. This was my first experience of embarrassment in school, and it was only years later that I realized no one else was aware of my deficiency. I thought everyone knew that I did not know. When I got home that day, with my mother eager to find out how first grade was, I burst into tears and accusations.

"I didn't know 'go!'" I shouted at her. "Oh, Mommy," I sobbed, "you didn't teach me 'go.' You should've told me about 'go.' You should've told me about the g with one ear!"

The message: From this I could have learned that human beings will let us down, without meaning to. That even the very best, and those who love us the very most, will sometimes disappoint us profoundly, just because they are human beings. Looking back, I could have learned that lesson then. But I didn't. It would be over 30 years before I really got that one.


The second memory that has drifted to the top this week is from a few years later. I was about 10. My mother, younger brother and I were driving from Delaware to North Carolina to visit my grandmother. We stopped at a gas station, and I put money in the soda machine. I got my soda . . . probably at that time my choice would have been an Orange Crush, and my 35 cents came back, too. I told my mom, and in typical my-mom fashion, she had me go into the gas station and give the attendant the 35 cents. The attendant was a boy, probably not over 16. He was very tall (I was 10, he may have been 5'5"), had brown hair, blue eyes, just a hint of fuzz on his upper lip and cheeks. He had a sweet smile, and the most perfectly beautiful skin -- fair, smooth, luminous -- which was blushing for some reason. I handed him the money and told him what had happened. He pressed my quarter and dime back in my hand, and told me to keep the money and the soda, "for being honest." And he gave me a bag of Sugar Babies and a pack of Juicy Fruit, too. Are you imagining this scene? Imagine little cartoon hearts coming out of my 10-year-old eyes :) The boy, the blushing, the treats -- the sweetness nearly knocked me out.

I got back in the car with my mom, and told her most of the story. She said, "See, honesty is the best policy."

Several miles down the road, still thinking of . . . um, how important it is to be honest, I said, "Mom, you know that boy back there? Is that what they mean by a 'peaches and cream' complexion?"

My mom looked at me with what I now understand was a mixture of amusement and terror. I only just understood that last weekend, when my 10-year-old asked me if I think Jesse McCartney is cute.

The message: Honesty is the best policy, for sure (almost all the time). And . . . it is fun to get gifts from cute boys? I don't know, still working on that one.



And the foreshadowing
of what would always be important to me, from these two memories? Let's see . . . education, words, sweet boys and treats. Yea, that works :)


So, when you think of your early memories, what messages stuck with you? Was there something in those memories that remains important in your life today?

45 heads are better than one . . .

Blogger Traci said...

Holy crap! A therapy question? Where the hell am I??? I thought I came to Susie's! LOL

My earliest memories are mostly scary and yucky. As for something from them remaining important in my life...I'm still in therapy so I guess they have all had an affect in one way or another.

I do remember being in a restaurant with my parents when I was about 5 maybe. I had the ugliest glasses you could imagine and my mom had just cut my hair so short even I wondered if I was a boy! Anyway, this lady looked at me as I walked into the bathroom and said "I think you have the wrong room...the boys room is over that way." As I left the bathroom to go back to my parents (without using the toilet I might add!) I heard this woman tell the other person in the bathroom "that was the ugliest little boy I've ever seen."

So, are you happy now? I haven't remembered that in a very long time! LOL What a way to wake up today...thanks girlie!

 
Blogger ieatcrayonz said...

Who is Jesse McCartney? Man, am I out of the loop.

One of my earliest memories is of being in the hospital when I was about two years old, wearing yellow pajamas, and draped in an oxygen tent. I was a sick little baby. Then there was another time I was in the hospital when I was about four or five. The nurses played that Connect Five or whatever it's called game with me, and I loved it. One morning I got sick on my pillow and turned it over because I was embarassed. I didn't tell the nurses.

One of my fears is to have to admit my daughter to the hospital. We've been through RSV and the rotavirus, and so far, so good.

 
Blogger Susie said...

Oh, traci! I hadn't thought of it as a "therapy question," but yea, I guess so. Because I don't really use that technique, I wasn't thinking about work, just about ME. However, my dear, I hope the message that you take from that memory (and I am picturing you as ADORABLE, by the way), is that some adults can be real ASSHOLES.

crayonmouth, I had to Google him, too. Teen singer. Not as cute as my gas station boy, but OK. Early hospitalizations do have very lasting effects. Is that where you learned to eat crayons? I join you in hoping Lauren doesn't have those kind of experiences. And in being thankful her mama is well now :)

 
Blogger Jim said...

Loved the second story. That was sweet (pun intended).

I can relate the first one and the horror you must have felt you can probably still feel a twinge of it, can't you? I had to read aloud one day in our class and pronounced "official" as 'Office-All' and was corrected by about 5 people. A horrible feeling.

Earliest memory is feeling the leg of my mother's friend, Mary Curtain. She was wearing pantyhose and I thought her leg felt WONDERFUL.

No foreshadowing THERE whatsoever.

 
Blogger Traci said...

Uhhh, my therapist doesn't use that technique either darlin'! I'm thinking "Thank Gawd" to be sure! Weird the things we remember from our littler times eh? Have a beautiful day sweetie.

 
Blogger Jim said...

Oh..and here's something for you to hand out to your clients.

 
Anonymous Emma said...

My earliest memory is of going to see my mum and new baby sister in the hospital just after she was born. 'The baby' gave me a Tiny Tears doll and I spent my visit sitting on the end of the bed, hugging my dolly and looking at my sister with the enormous brown eyes and curly hair.

It surprises me that I remember that because there's only 18 months between us but I could even tell you what I was wearing that day. Weird, but a nice memory.

 
Blogger Bucky Four-Eyes said...

Hmmmm, mine aren't nearly as interesting.
My earliest memory has to be before I was two, because I was in a high chair in the kitchen doorway of the house we lived at in Louisville before we moved to Michigan. I was watching my mom watch some repair guy put a new handle on the refrigerator. No lessons there, just a few seconds of memory.

My next earliest memory is when I had just turned two, and we moved to Michigan. We drove, but our two cats got to fly. So we went to the Muskegon airport to pick up Josephine and Tiger. They were in a cage, and they were all drugged up and groggy. I remember Mom, Squirl and I went up and poked our fingers through the grate on the cage to pet them and they just looked at us like "What the fuck is going on? Who are you people?"

The lesson there? Um, not sure. Groggy pussy is more cooperative?

 
Blogger eclectic said...

I remember being tickled till I couldn't breathe by my older brothers who liked to hear me laugh. They didn't realize I couldn't breathe until I started crying. They were very, very sorry and quite solicitous after that. I was probably around 3. I also remember intending to get them in trouble from time to time by leaving the breakfast table to run down the hall to Mom and Dad's room where Mom was showering and waiting till I got to her door to start crying about some supposed wrong one or the other of them had committed at the table. Lesson: don't tickle little people -- they can carry grudges...

 
Anonymous kalki said...

One of my earliest memories is when my brother was born. I was five, and my grandmother picked me up at school to take me to the hospital to meet him. Mom and Dad were there and they proudly showed me my new little baby brother. And I pronounced him ugly. (In my defense, newborn babies are red and wrinkly and have funny-shaped heads!) Mom was rather, um, offended.

Lesson learned: Don't tell people you think their baby is ugly, even if you do.

:)

 
Anonymous kalki said...

Oh, and please tell LG that I think Jesse McCartney is totally cute. I saw him perform on Oprah (or maybe The View? - either way, he must be a good guy if he's on one of those shows, right?) awhile back and bought some of his songs on iTunes right away, just b/c of the cute factor. "Beautiful Soul" is a good one.

 
Anonymous lawbrat said...

When I lost my first tooth, I was eating a 'slo-pok' sucker thingy outside. My tooth came out and I lost it in the grass.
I got in trouble by my mom, and she said the tooth fairy wouldnt come if I didnt find it. I never found it, and the tooth fairy never came.

I went to kindergarten a full year before I was supposed to. The school was right next to our apartment building, and I just got up and went. The school would call my mom, and she would get out of bed to come get me. The next day i'd be back. Finally, the school just enrolled me.

 
Blogger lawbrat said...

Kalki- i'm cracking up at your 'ugly baby' memory.

Brennen was a very pretty baby- very pretty.

Hunter- I couldnt believe that 'thing' came out of me. He looked like a wrinkly old man with bad skin! I felt horrible that I thought my own baby was ugly. I loved him just the same, but he was ugly.
Now, he is very handsome, and already has girls after him. His only in 2nd grade!!!

 
Blogger Amy said...

Oh your cartoon heart eyes!

I remember holding onto my baby sister for dear life when I was three and we were getting our picture taken. I remember my mom, this figure of comfort, looking down at me in a restaurant washroom asking me, "Did you go pee pee?" Those are my earliests.

 
Blogger MrsDoF said...

Earliest Memory is probably my next sister (who would have been about a year old) and I (not quite age 3 but definitely potty-trained) getting our baths in twin wash tubs. Did you know the kind? They are up on legs and stand ready to receive the clothes coming out of the wringer.
Anyway, Dad was washing her and Mom was shampooing my hair and next thing ya know, there's a little brown thing floating in her side. I remember thinking I was SOOO GLAD the barrier was between us.

Another memory was close to that same time. The Christmas play at church, and I was to be in the angel choir. I would be wearing one of my dad's white shirts on backwards and have tinsel in my hair. We Practiced!
I got my hair shampooed in the morning and Mom put it up in those little pink sponge curlers. All day long I kept bumping those things on different tables and cabinet doors.
Finally, it was time for them to come out. Freedom! but my hair did look frilly and girly.

We got to the back room of the church and everybody was getting ready to go on stage. My mother wanted to put the halo thingy in my hair. There was NO Way anybody was going to be messing around anymore with my hair! I ran down the hall until my uncle stopped me. My mother was so mad. She tried to jam the halo onto my head and I kicked her with my patent leather shoes and ran off again. No Angel Choir was worth this trouble!
However, my Sunday School teacher, herself the mother of 8 (the youngest was in Sunday School with me), dropped to her knees in front of me, looked directly into my eyes and asked if she could pin the gold to my hair. She placed it ever so gently, didn't even bother my scalp with the barrette.

I still don't like anybody messing with my hair or having anything there to hold it back from being able to see, which is why I keep it short and easy care.
I'm sure Biscuit and his eyeholes can relate to my plight. And the picture you had before, with the girls playing with each other's hair would never have included me.
And I learned that working with children means seeing the world from their view and being able to get things done from another direction.

 
Blogger Circus Kelli said...

My earliest memories are just little flashes:

A photographer coming to our house to take our family portrait once. I must have been about 3 or 4 years old.

Mom and Dad yelling at each other while I was holding on to a pillow in the livingroom. I think we were getting ready to stay overnight somewhere, but I don't remember if it was just my sis and I, or if Mom was coming, too. I was probably around 4 or 5 years old.

What remains important to me today? That my kids' first memories are happier ones.

 
Blogger Karen said...

Here is one memory I haven't already blogged about, a happy memory: I remember the exact moment I finally "got" silent 'e', when I understood that the pronunciation of cake was not ca-keh but cayk.

I also remember that my parents taught me to read when I was three. They were tired of sitting through the credits of TV shows and having to read every single line to me because I wouldn't shut up with the "What does that say? What does that say?" (I remember the show that broke the camel's back was "Family Affair" -- with Brian Keith and Sebastian Cabot.)

Earliest memory: Lying in a hospital bed in the burn ward under a metal arch there to keep the sheet off me. I would have been somewhere between 12 and 18 months old.

 
Blogger Mr. Bloggerific Himself said...

*wishing this were two separate posts*

I'm going to be ignoring the question and re-reading the post. I remember lots from my childhood (mostly because I'm still a child and damn proud of it) and this post causes me to remember a lot of the good old days.

In fact, as Susie pointed out, I even have a few photos up today from wayyyyy back when.

 
Anonymous kalki said...

Hee, lawbrat, I'm chuckling at what you said about Hunter. And THANK YOU, because my mom insists that all mothers think their babies are beautiful. And I'm always like, "Mom, if I have a baby that looks like [my brother] did, I will NOT delude myself." Yeah, to this day she takes offense. :)

 
Blogger WILLIAM said...

Very cool post. Not knowing the double circle G is totally acceptable. I really find it annoying. Everytime I use Google now I will think of you.

I have toom any memories from early childhood all from the same time period I was 4 or 5. hrlping my dad lay the foundation of the addition. Fist fighting with my best friend. Granny putting my shoes on the wrong feet. Mom mom yelling at me for drawing on the condensation on the kitchn windows. Too many.

 
Blogger Susie said...

jim, you know how I'm always hoping to "turn" you, and there you go teasing me, giving me a glimmer of hope with the pantyhose story ;) Your school story reminds me of another time, travelling to NC with my older bro also in the car. I was just learning to read, and I kept seeing signs at all the motels that said "Office," but I didn't know that word, I thought it was "off ice," and I remarked, I thought, very intelligently that there must be a problem with the water supply in the area, or with the ice delivery, because everyone's ice seemed to be a little "off." Of course, I had to explain myself, and was teased horribly for quite a while, for being so stupid :(

traci, well, you know, you should tell her this. In fact, that goes for everyone here, tell your therapists these stories! I have too long a list of other things to tell mine, or I would, too :)

jim, that is so wrong. I've ordered several. Seriously, the funny thing is, it must be someone in the mental health field who came up with those things. Sometimes, it IS appropriate to share with a client what you think their diagnosis is, and wouldn't it just go more gently if you could hand them a nice, soft T-shirt at the time? PWAHAAHAAAA Some day, someone from my licensing board will stumble in here . . . and I'll be working at Target after that . . .

emma, that is lovely. I hope you and she are close, starting out with such a nice memory :)

bucky, only you could inspire me to have um questionable images of a refrigerator handle :0 And as for the um, sleepy kitties, I cannot argue with you there, I know that some people count on that being the case.

eclectic, oh, I did that too, with the timing the tears for maximum brother trouble! And please share with Bucky your wisdom about what can happen if you tickle little people. Did you see those videos she's promoting?

kalki, OK, I'll tell LG, and I'll listen to Beautiful Soul. I have always used, "Oh, doesn't he look like a HAPPY baby?!" when I really can't say the pretty thing ;)

lawbrat, no disrespect to yo mama, but once again, I'd like to kick her ass. I'll have her know that it is perfectly acceptable to leave a note under one's pillow for the tooth fairy! And the getting yourself to school thing is PERFECT. So perfect; now there's a case where this theory makes some sense. It does remain important, even if you have to do it all yourself :) And I really thought all parents thought their kids were beautiful. In fact, I had wondered that, and when LG was born, I thought, yep, wouldn't matter what she looked like, I would think she's beautiful. We have learned something here today.

amy, those are precious, I can just imagine the pictures. Here are some cartoon-heart eyes for YOU :)

mrsDoF, that was certainly not typecasting for you, was it? And all these years later, you're using what the Sunday School teacher taught you. Kids do respond better if you go to their level -- physically speaking -- and treat them with respect :)

ck, hmmm, notice the memories here are two early ones, but they are not my earliest; or even my strongest. I just needed something a little lighter around here today. And YES, if we take care with what our kids' early memories will be, that's a good thing. As always, don't you get sidetracked by a wienie ;)

karen, oh, what a tough first memory. Have you written about that?
Your silent e comment reminds me of what I hope will not be one of LG's earliest memories. She was in first grade, learning what they called "sneaky e." It sneaks onto the end of a word and changes the vowel sound, she was told. Jif and I were in bed, not sleeping, when we heard giggling down beside the bed. Time stopped - as did we - until we heard a little voice say, "Did you know I was here?" We said no. She said, "Because I sneaked in here like an E!" If she heard or saw anything, she would have asked about it, because that's how she is; I think she was too focused on her own giggly sneakiness to pay attention to us.
Oh, I loved Family Affair. I can still hear the theme song and see those swirling jewels.

mr.b, I probably shoulda made two posts, especially since I'm having a hard time making time and words these days. I do love your photographs today, and I highly endorse your remaining a child ;)

kalki, as I said to lawbrat, she's the first I've seen to come out as the mom of an ugly ;)

william, ooh, you reminded me of some things. I beat the crap out of a boy who was bugging my little brother. I saw that boy just last year, at a funeral. He flinched when I went to hug him! hahaaaa I don't think I could take him, now, though. I STILL like to draw on the condensation on the windows. What's the big deal, a little Windex and you're good to go again . . .

 
Blogger Circus Kelli said...

Oh, Susie... I forgot to say one thing...

WOOOOOOOO!!! to you, too! :D

 
Blogger Bucky Four-Eyes said...

CKelli - LMAO!

 
Blogger Andrea said...

My earliest memory is from when I was about two (I know from the fact that the tractor tire sandbox I was playing in only existed in my life when I was two, from what my mom says). Anyway, I was sitting in this sandbox, and a couple of my little friends were there. One of them was eating Cracker Jack, and offered me some. (Of course it occurs to me now: CHOKING HAZARD. But whatever...). The proffered handful dropped into the sand. This did not deter me. I picked it up and ate it. I can still remember the grit of the sand in my teeth.

Lesson learned: Sand sticks to Cracker Jack :)

 
Blogger Squirl said...

All right! I couldn't get in to comment earlier.

I remember in first grade we were learning to read. I didn't go to kindergarten and, like your school, we weren't expected to know how to read yet.

Sister Michael Marie was teaching us the word oh. She said it was pronounced like the first letter in the word and asked for someone to say the word. Of course my hand shot right up. But as soon as she called on me my self-confidence plummeted, I was wracked with self-doubt and about all I could do was mouth the letter o. No O face jokes here folks, I was only 6 years old. I was horribly embarrassed. Even though I was one of the top two in the class I still felt stupid.

My earliest memory is when I was about 2 and I was in a darkened room in the hospital in recovery. I'd had my tonsils out. No big deal, just an early memory. Funny how hospital memories can go back so far.

I could fill pages full of comments on early memories. Especially of being embarrassed as a kid because I took everything so personally. It took me a lot of years, and no therapist, to over the worst of it.

Blogging is good therapy, though.

 
Anonymous lawbrat said...

Hunter was just perfect in my eyes anyway, and I never loved him any less- he was just not even close to a 'cute' baby.

 
Blogger Mr. Bloggerific Himself said...

Yes! I have an endorsement! I can have my name on products everywhere!

There'll be: Mr. Bloggerific Candies, Mr. Bloggerific Underoos, Mr. Bloggerific T-shirts, Mr. Bloggerific Teefbrushes, Mr. Bloggerific Toilet Paper, Mr. Bloggerific Cereal, Mr. Bloggerific The Action Figure...and Mr. Bloggerific TV Dinners (not because they're all that good, but because I like ZZ Top).


[We had our very own Coke machine in the business in that one photo Susie. We also had a small candy counter. I woulda given ya all the caramels you wanted.]

 
Blogger Nina said...

I was three and we were playing Tarzan and Jane on the swing set. The neighbor boy was playing Cheeta he jumped off the swing set and bit me in the side and took a chunk of skin and tissue,I was bleeding. I was afraid of him after that and if he was outside playing with the other kids I would just watch out the screen door, but wouldn't go outside.

I lived with my grandparents for most of my first five years. When I had to start school I had to live with my parents and siblings and even though I was told I was going home. Once there I was homesick for my grandparents. I lived for every school holiday and summer so I could go and stay with my grandparents again, the only place that felt like home.

I learned not to trust boys who pretend to be a monkey. :)

 
Blogger abcd said...

WOW-This is like opening up Pandora's box. I may be back to share. I have
one that shaped my entire life.


Nikki

 
Blogger Susie said...

ck, put your nightie down, girl! Did you mean to comment on the LIVE NUDE GIRLS post? ;)

bucky, don't encourage her! (I think she's been drinking...)

andrea, I never cared that much for Cracker Jacks. All that sticky stuff ruined perfectly good popcorn, IMO. However, I did like the prize. Yep, I loved me some Cracker Jack prizes :)

squirl, oh. Oh. My heart hurts for little squirl. I was very shy, for a very long time. Still am, in many situations. You're right, blogging is mostly good therapy. Hey wait, I'm not supposed to say that. Blogging is free . . . NEVER MIND ;)
Oh, I didn't go to kindergarten, either. And Jif never lets me forget it. Any time I won't share, he cites my lack of a kindergarten education ;)

lawbrat, I know you loved that ugly little baby :p You are fun to tease, you are so cute.

mrB, yes, until you can find an actual celebrity, I will do your endorsements . . . and I would like to order . . . the Underoos and . . . an Action Figure!
Your own Coke machine and candy counter? I woulda been your very best friend ;)

nina WTF with the little cannibal?! Ohmygosh. You're right, don't trust little monkey boys, but do trust grandma :)

nikki!! Well, of course you have to tell us now!

 
Blogger abcd said...

I recall when I was 5 or 6 when it would thunder I would hide. Either
Shoshie or Sarah would come and find me. To this day I hate thunderstorms.

Lisabeth

PS I especially remember this because they would hold my hand. For a long time it was "our secret".

 
Blogger Von Krankipantzen said...

I am really not sure what my earliest memory is. Perhaps it is rolling off my air mattress and seeing the water rush up over my face. I wasn't scared but my mom had me hauled out of that lake in an instant. I probably was only in a foot of water.

 
Blogger Lori said...

Great post, Susie!

This is not necessarily my earliest memory, but it has always stood out in my mind for some reason.

I basically began teaching myself to read around age 3-4. I always enjoyed reading and spelling and such.

One day, when I was in first grade, the nun who taught our class asked me to take a note over to the second grade teacher, Mrs. Campbell, whose classroom was across the hall.

I knocked on Mrs. Campbell's door and one of the second-graders let me in. For some reason, maybe because I'm an only child, the "older" kids always intimidated me. So I was nervous as it was, standing in front of the second grade class while Mrs. Campbell read Sister Margaret Rose's note.

She turned to tell me that I could go, but then she looked at me closely and said, "Wait a minute...you're that little first-grader who reads so well, aren't you?"

Before I could even answer her, she turned to her class and said, "Wait until you guys hear this girl read. She'll put you to shame. And she's only in first grade!"

Then she shoved their reader into my arms and made me read a story to the entire. second grade. class. My face felt like it was afire, I was so embarrassed.

As soon as I finished, I clapped the reader shut, tossed it back to Mrs. Campbell, and got the hell out of that classroom!

I never liked it when people made a big deal over my supposed "abilities." It made my skin crawl, actually. So I guess the reason this memory stands out for me is because I'll always remember that feeling of extreme embarrassment.

 
Blogger gina said...

I haven't been here in awhile -- I like what you've done with the place. Took me awhile though to figure out that Gumby wasn't just waving at me. Boy, is my arm tired.

Most of my early memories aren't so good. So I'll just skip that part.

 
Blogger JessicaRabbit said...

Im in with the crowd of not so good early memories, so Ill share one that I think sums things up pretty well for me.

My dad was sleeping on the couch, I wanted him up, he was snoring and loud and I was about 3 or so. I had my little play kitchen toys out on the floor and I grabbed my little mini cast iron skillet and in true Bugs Bunny form I smashed him right between the eyes and across the bridge of his nose as hard as I could. He woke up. Tears in his eyes (he had broken his nose 3 times in highschool) and he left the room.

Probably to go see if he needed to go to the hospital, but I didn't much care he was gone and I could play without being bothered.

The lesson in all this that I kept? I don't care how big, mean or tough you are, if you treat me like crap one of these days your going to fall asleep, and then your ass is mine, and I will be just fine without you.

Either that or dont let little kids watch Bugs Bunny and then give them realistic cookware....

 
Blogger Susie said...

lisabeth, that is so sweet. And it makes me think of a book that I would love to give to you and Grace, if you'll let me have your address and trust me not to stalk you. You can email it to me, if it's OK, or tell Nikki and I'll ask her for it ;)

kranki, oh, wow, that brings back one for me, too. A good one, at about 3, seeing a baby turtle in the water in a pond where I was playing, and a tough one, later, when I almost drowned, but Ruthie Smith saved me. Thanks, Ruthie, wherever you are...

lori, nice cat in a hat, there! Oh, that story is excruciating. One would hope that people who work with kids would have a greater understanding of what those kids are like INSIDE, and not go steamrolling their insides like that . . . but I'm afraid that happens a lot.

gina, he is SO waving at you :) This new blog was a gift from a friend, back on . . . 1/31, I think. Many of us here, myself included, are picking and choosing memories carefully ;)

jess, I must say, I like your message: "if you treat me like crap one of these days your going to fall asleep, and then your ass is mine," wish I had thought in those terms at that age. AND, remind me never to piss you off then go to sleep ;)

 
Blogger Bucky Four-Eyes said...

Just let me be the one to step up and say it - many, many, MANY babies look like a canned ham when they pop out their mama's hoo-hoo-dilly.

 
Blogger abcd said...

See I was right this is like opening
up Pandora's box-but in a good way.

And no this isn't my blog-but for Gina
and Jessica and anybody else who had
"sucky" childhood memories. I hope you have someone in your life that you can share those times with-but if not. Come here and Gumby is great at waving
troubles away. I come lots of times
just to watch Gumby wave at me.

I am still thinking if I am going to
relate the one event that shaped my
life.

And for "Little Miss Susie" this was
a really good post. Like really good
as Shoshie's kids would say to you.
They love putting really about 10 tines in a sentence.

XO
Nikki

Why do I always get the word verifications that are 44 letters long?

 
Blogger Susie said...

bucky! May I see you out in the hall, please, young lady?

nikki, come on . . . come on, you know you want to . . . you know you REALLY REALLY want to ;)

 
Anonymous lawbrat said...

I LOVE Buckys comment!! LOVE IT!

Ok, two non-moms and one mom agree!! WooHoo!

Yea, I know. I'm the only mom that will agree. Oh well.

 
Blogger LadyBug said...

I don't have time to read all the comments, so I've no idea if we're being silly or serious on this one, but here's mine...

I don't know if this is necessarily my earliest memory, but it's certainly one of my most vivid and painful, and it comes back to me more frequently than I'd like to admit.

I must've been...oh, six, maybe? I had a "Lady and the Tramp" coloring book. I LOVED that coloring book. I oh-so-carefully colored a page full of dogs and puppies, using all my favorite colors (at that time)...pink, purple, blue, turquoise. It was the best coloring job I'd ever done. It was....perfect. I carefully tore it out of the coloring book and proudly presented it to my mother, who said...

"Now, [LadyBug], you KNOW that dogs aren't really blue and purple and pink and turquoise. Why on earth would you color them that way?"

I was absolutely heartbroken. (Even now, just typing that, I'm tearing up. It still hurts, I guess.)

Lesson learned and never forgotten: No matter how hard I try or how hard I work, nothing I do will ever be good enough for my mother. I'll never be able to please her. She'll never be proud of me.

 
Blogger Susie said...

lawbrat, I'll see you out in the hall with Bucky....

ladybug, we're being both serious and silly here. Now. You bring tears to me, too. But THEN. Then I see beautiful little ladybug, with an exquisitely beautiful coloring page, with, truly, all of MY very favorite colors . . . and then I smile. I have a mom a lot like yours, baby. Listen to me, now. You see that beautiful picture, that that beautiful little girl colored? You take it, and in your lovely mind, you hang it up on the fridge. And you tell her that it is wonderful, and magical, and that if God had given it a little more thought, He would have made puppies those colors. And hug her. And hug her again, from me. I love you, girl. You have to be your own good mom.

 
Anonymous lawbrat said...

LadyBug! Big hug to you. I think our mothers are sisters. Kinda sucks. Really sucks. At least we're different with our kids than our mothers were with us.

Lesson learned- you can learn how to be a good parent, even when your role model was not.

 
Blogger Traci said...

LadyBug, honey...I think our mothers were related. I'm so sorry that happened. It makes me cry too. I love Susie's comment about being your own mom. It's hard...it's doable though. Keep practicing, it will happen. I'm giving you a giHUGic hug. {{{{{LadyBug}}}}}

 
Blogger eclectic said...

Whaddaya mean puppies don't come in those colors??? Has she never watched Clifford?????! Cleo is purple EVERY day, and Max is blue.... ooooooooph -- that makes me angry! Ladybug, I saw a Lady & Tramp coloring book at Target just the other day. If I'd known about this, I'd have gotten it and sent it to you, along with a whole box of nuthin' but your 6-year-old favorite colors to use!!

 


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