It seems I can’t turn on the news, surf the Internet, or send a carrier pigeon without receiving some sort of bad news. I’ll spare you the specifics; we’ve all heard something awful this week.
So here I am, with my blog, to attempt to provide a brief distraction; Maggie as a kid. In all my glorious weirdness. No joke, I was a strange one. Weren’t we all?
So let’s take a trip down memory lane. I hope it brightens your day a bit. Off we go!
Here we go. All it took to remember Incident Number One was the brilliant Why is My Kid Crying Blog. Such gems include, “I asked him for a high five.” and “I wouldn’t let him play with the dead squirrel he found in the yard.” The point being, us youngins have all lost our marbles for whatever reason, ranging from the benign to the truly bizarre.
Enter the fish pillow. I distinctly remember this being an activity in preschool, and a popular one at that. Each of us got a giant fish, which we painted as colorfully as we pleased, and then stamped it to a pillow. Art in it’s greatest form.
All was going well until the post-stamp step, where I quickly realized what was going on. I then dissolved into hysterical tears, I had killed a fish for my art. What if he had a family? Or friends? That was all gone now. And I was inconsolable. Who knows how long the tears lasted? I imagine for awhile, at least until they distracted everyone with snack time. Probably. That’s typically how preschool works. One crises to the next.My brother returned from preschool two years later with a similar fish pillow, so I know my wailing wasn’t enough of an upset to discontinue it altogether. In fact, they’ve probably seen it all before. Live and learn.
Next story requires context. I live in Kansas, otherwise known as Tornado Alley. Friendly, right? My younger brother was (is?) fascinated with natural disasters, but tornadoes took the cake for him. He even asked our preschool Italian teacher how to say tornado in Italian (spoiler alert: tornado).
Where my brother had endless curiosity, I had fear. While I had never personally experienced one up close and personal, tornadoes scared me senseless. Every first Wednesday of the month when the siren testing would commence, I curl up in a ball in tears. Tornado drills in school were frightening. God forbid there would be a tornado watch going on. I’d camp in the basement with snacks and my stuffed animals, too terrified to go anywhere else.
This drove my mom insane. Some nights I wouldn’t even sleep I was so scared. I kept her up too, until she finally couldn’t take it. She sat me down and explained to me, didn’t I know, we lived in a tornado-free zone! The only one in the state, in fact! Yep, this particular street in this particular location was absolutely tornado-free. I rested much easier.
I used to be appalled when parents lied to their kids. Now, I all but encourage it. My poor mother!
Finally, the princess drawings. Ye gods, the princess drawings.
My mom has held onto them all (Why?!). In case you think my problem was contained, here’s the shelf where they live.
Lord knows why my mom has held onto these for so long. For the lolz perhaps.Where most kids have a brief Disney princess phase, mine was full on obnoxious. A new day meant a new princess drawing. Or another chance to watch “Snow White” for the millionth time. Or both! The day is young!
This became headache inducing for my parents when I found out princesses came in Barbie doll format. I wanted them all. Barbie + Disney = parental disaster.
It got even worse when my 7th birthday rolled around. I’m not quite sure how I found this out (since this was the pre-Pinterest era) but I suspect my best friend’s mom started this. This incredible woman had figured out how to bake a cake that was both an art and a monstrosity.
For context, this was it…
Incredible, right? Naturally, 7 year-old-me wanted exactly that. If I recall correctly, there were ten people total at the party. Which required ten cakes. That had to be baked individually. For Lord knows how long.It took hours. It was exhausting. I only know this second hand because my parents kept me out of it, but if you ever want to test your strength as a couple, bake a few Barbie cakes together. If you don’t kill each other by the end of it, you’ve probably got a few good years left, at least. It’s basically the IKEA furniture assembly for couples with kids.
All in all, the party was a success and I look back on it fondly. My parents look back on it with trauma and malice.
Raising kids is like that, I’m told.
Do you have any stories of the weird shit you did as a kid? Tell me while we bake Barbie cakes together!