Sunday, May 13, 2007

My Calving & Hobbes Childhood, Why I did not Die Then, and Mom

Crazy school photos? Check
Parachuting off of the roof top with a blanket? Check (only once)
Battling fierce dinosaurs and space aliens? Check
Main cause of teacher insanity? Check
Main cause of babysitter insanity? Check
Main cause of Mom's insanity? Check
Out of control science projects? Check
Living room forts (no girls allowed)? Check
Survived super snow sled of death? Check (barely)
Multiple attempts to dig to the front yard? Check
Wildly inappropriate snow figures? Check
Getting in trouble at school? Check
Getting in trouble at home? Check
Getting in trouble at church? Check (Amen)
Getting in trouble at market? Check
Late night battles with the boogey man? Check
Destruction of major appliances/furniture? Check
Attempts to jump over pond with my banana-seat Schwinn? Check
Creative new clothing alterations? Check
Creative interpretation of permissions and grounding? Check

I gave so many opportunities for my parents to have a legitimate excuse to explain why I was no longer among the living, it is unreal. I figured it was because I was invincible. Dad grumbled that he just wasn't that lucky. When mom eventually figured out that eating (most) insects, falling from stationary and moving objects, and finding new and creative ways to pass the time (resulting in another trip to the hospital) would not (usually) kill me, I think her whole outlook on parenting changed. After my childhood and by the time my siblings were of age to start running around and getting in trouble, she had relaxed quite a bit (probably due in part to extra sacramental wine).

Brother figures letting the neighbor girl cut his hair, trim his eyebrows & eyelashes, and apply make-up would be a neat way to get ready for first grade? Not a peep from mom.

Sister decides to deposit some change at the bank in her tummy? A call to the doc to verify, and then...nada

Sister has her new car (?!?!) for a week before the first dent? Dad raised holy hell, but mom...silence.

When my brother came downstairs for his first formal dance with a girl, he had a Mohawk that nicely complimented the bright-orange braided and nubbly 'do of his girlfriend. They both wore formal attire, he in a tux and she in a dress. They wore matching combat boots. Mom took lots of pictures. When asked why she was only taking pictures and not hitting the roof like she would have for me, she mumbled replies of "evidence for the courts", and "blackmail for when you cretins have kids".

Mom had it all figured out.

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