They Called Me Midget...

The WRONG Side

2011-04-21T15:12:00.000-07:00

Kindergarten picture day...and all I remember is how excited I was to wear that necklace!

It was 2-sided. One side was emerald green...and the other? The other side was the most beautiful, sparkly thing I'd ever seen in my whole 5 years.

And when the pictures came back? OH, I was mad...the green side was face-up!

Now, looking back, I realize that the necklace looked fine anyway.

But the hair? (OH, the hair!?)

And then I remembered...it was the 80's. And that's enough said, no?

A few short years ago...

2010-02-26T04:43:00.000-08:00

...this was me. In Mrs. Elliott's kindergarten class. In 1987.

Memorable moments from kindergarten, in no particular order:

Meeting all 26 of the letter people (Miss A, Aaa-choo! is still my favorite)
Discovering the big thick crayons that were flat on one side
Not getting to watch the Price Is Right with my mom during the day anymore
Having my very own lunch box
Using the silver shiny scissors with black handles
Hearing the aide, Ms. Junkin, tell me that my coloring skills weren't so good (no, I haven't forgotten...or forgiven her)
Playing in the play-kitchen
Taking naps
Not really sleeping while everyone else was taking a nap
Having the teacher ask if I was the one velcro-ing and un-velcro-ing my shoes during nap time while everyone else was taking a nap, then playing dead and not answering back
Not ever getting my name on the board (nope, not once)
Learning the Pledge of Allegiance
Having a "Self Concept" lesson each day
Getting the chicken pox the last 2 weeks of school
Being healthy enough to go in on the last day of school for a few hours...in my sparkly red dress with rhinestones
Meeting these other little people, some of whom I still keep in contact with

Going back...

2010-01-29T05:08:00.000-08:00

One of the things I was most afraid of when we went back to FL this summer...was driving by my old house.

When I graduated from high school in 2000, I went back to FL to visit my best friend. Seeing the house then (just 2 years after we had moved) was very unsettling. I remember just driving by and feeling like someone had punched me in the stomach.

The house was dirty on the outside.
The flower-beds were overgrown.
The lawns were clearly uncared for.
Someone else's cars were in the driveway.

And I realized that it wasn't ours anymore.

So when we went back in this last June, I had geared myself up for another punch in the stomach.

We drove through the old neighborhood. There were pink stickers in many of the windows, indicating that many of the apartments were abandoned. The streets and sidewalks were old. It felt almost unfamiliar...like it had all been another life.

But, as we got closer and closer (and my heart started racing), it suddenly felt familiar again. Just like it always had been.

When we pulled up...it wasn't quite as bad as I'd envisioned it would be.

The house was a little better looking than I had remembered it in 2000, the last time I was there.

And then we drove around the back. And I lost it.

How could it be?

How could the grass really be that long?
How could the fence be that old?
How could the trees be that big?
And most of all, how could they not be caring about that house?

How could the new owners not remember...

...all of the birthdays we celebrated?

...the perms my mom gave me at the kitchen sink?

...the sleepovers I had in the bedroom that I was afraid to have all the lights off in?

...the new babies we welcomed?

...the fun we had in that outrageously huge backyard?

...the memories, the birthday cakes, and the blown-out candles?

...the numerous family pictures against a background of neatly trimmed grass, our swingset, and our trampoline?

How, really, could those people and that house have forgotten this family that called it home?

I cried that day. For missing the way things were. For missing the life we had built there. For all of the evidence of our time there being gone.

And, then I remembered something that my parents told us as we pulled out of that driveway for the last time in June of 1998.

We're taking all of the important stuff with us.

And we did.

We took the family with us.
We took the pictures with us.
We took the memories with us.

And 407 E Shell Point Road was just the place we made them all.

In hindsight, I'm glad I went back. I got to show my husband the place where I grew up. Where I lived. Where I made memories. Where I rode my bike. Where our rich neighbors lived. Where my elementary school was. Where my life was.

And, I think it took going back to realize...that I had the most important stuff with me.

Just like we did in June of 1998.

On my way back...

2009-06-21T18:46:00.000-07:00

I'm on my way back to FL this week for the first time in 9 years. Brian and I are going on vacation, and FL seemed like a perfect destination. Old friends, theme parks, and more beach than we know what to do with!

I'm excited to go back.
I'm wishing I still looked that good in a swimsuit :)
I'm nervous to see the old house.
I'm thrilled to see a few of the people that helped raise me.
I'm ecstatic to go to the beach.
I'm worried about Brian getting a bad sunburn.
I'm afraid I might not be able to stomach all of the Busch Gardens roller coasters of my youth. I'm looking forward to taking a thousand pictures.
I'm weirded out about how much I know things have changed.
I'm jazzed to see old friends!
I'm wishing my family could go with us.
I'm anxious about being emotional after seeing everyone and everything.
I'm pumped to go the Orlando temple.

I'm only 4 days away. Wish me luck.

I don't touch meat

2009-05-06T21:30:00.000-07:00

I have never been able to touch meat. Can't do it. Hate it. Loathe it. Can EAT is just fine (stop freaking out), but I sure just can't touch it.

Another weird thing about me? I can't handle making the association between the live animal and the actual meat while I'm eating it. I went for quite some time without being able to eat eggs for this reason.

And, after looking at some pictures, I think I discovered part of the reason why I can't touch (or think about) my meats.

We went fishing with Grandpa Tibbitts a few times growing up. The rule was... everyone has to eat a little bit of what they caught.

Guess who sat at the dinner table forEVER, crying and begging to get out of it?

That's right. Fish was swimming and now fish is frying?

I'd rather die first.

(Just for the record, someone woke me up for this picture. It was SUNNY and I was tired, ok?)

Memories of Disney...

2008-04-27T18:36:00.000-07:00

Oh-so-long-ago when we lived in Florida, we went to Disney World. Steven got his Figment hat, and I got "the Goofy hat". Both have become childhood tokens, never to be forgotten. Grandpa and Grandma Sleight were with us for this trip, and Neil slept through it.

This is one of my favorite pictures from my childhood. I love the colors in this picture. I love how Steven and I appear to be getting along. I love the little kid look of excitement that comes out at Disney. I love that outfit my mom had me in. I love that we were matchy-matchy. I love that they had a nice camera and captured this picture, for me to always remember how fun it was to be at the Magic Kingdom.

Feeling "Wicked"

2008-03-16T17:58:00.000-07:00

I've been in love with the Broadway play Wicked since my mom first shared the music with me in 2004! I loved it even more when we went to see it last year.

And, now I'm figuring out why I was destined to love this musical so much...

Because I, without knowing it, wanted to be her for Halloween oh-so-long-ago :)

My favorite cowboy...

2008-01-27T16:43:00.000-08:00

Was writing on my other blog about my favorite cowboy, and thought I would post an old picture of being on Grandpa's ranch. He looks so young in this picture (and he's not the only one, I guess!). Love the smile on his face, and love that I was wearing his hat. The many times we got to wear his hat are among my favorite memories of being with Grandpa. Riding horses was great too...until that one summer, when I really discovered that pulling on the saddle-horn really didn't slow down a horse!

Would you believe...?

2008-01-21T20:59:00.001-08:00

Would you believe that I've been pulling faces for this many years?!

I've had a lot of practice...

From the beginning...

2008-01-21T20:54:00.001-08:00

When we were in Washington for Christmas, Brian and I were looking through some boxes of pictures of me from my childhood.

We came to this picture of me in the hospital. Brian gasped (!) and then started laughing hysterically. For some reason, he thought my fingers were short and stubby at some point. He was wrong :)

I believe I was always meant to make good use of those fingers. Quitting the piano was the first step to realizing my true calling in life... as a hand-model. Am surprised my mom and dad didn't recognize it sooner. :)

Jelly shoe...or is it "Gelly"?

2007-11-16T18:23:00.000-08:00

There was a beach about 5 miles from our house when I was growing up. It had a park, and the sand was pretty dirty. I remember referring to it as "the dirty beach". No good sand, too much brush, and seaweed everywhere. I had no idea that I'd eventually live somewhere where we wouldn't have that. "The dirty beach"? Now we have NO beach!

Anyway...I remember one time going there with my best friend Camie and our older brothers. We were swimming (wading) and I managed to lose one of my pink jellies (shoes). I was so upset. The waves were bigger than I could chase after, and I was really bummed about the missing shoe. There were probably tears involved, and undoubtedly some sort of trauma.

Then it happened. Camie's brother came barreling through the waves...holding the jelly shoe.

He. Was. My. Hero.

And, over the years, that eventually changed. But my love for shoes has never abated. :)

New sandbox

2007-11-16T18:19:00.000-08:00

I remember vividly the day we got our sandbox. Steven and I were so excited. We stood and watched as my dad dug holes in the ground (with the tool that you dig holes up for fence posts...this one was red) and built the frame. There was a big load of dirt, and I remember that it was DARK. It was REAL dirt.

We spent hours and hours in that thing. Filled it with water. Dug holes. Built castles. And left kitchen utensils out there (much to my mom's dismay!)

Eventually, the sandbox was moved to the other corner of our big yard, and that one had white dirt. SAND, in fact. I remember loving to dig deeply into the white sand...because it was much cooler underneath. Floridian summers were hot. And cool was GOOD :)

The younger kids eventually took it over. They had a tendency to leave naked, abandoned Barbies out there. And kitchen utensils. I guess that's in our blood.

Midget

2007-11-16T18:16:00.001-08:00

One of my best childhood memories is of waiting for my dad to get home from work. We lived in a white house in Florida (we would see alligators in the ditches there), and my dad worked on the Church Ranch. He is a big, tall man...and we had nicknames for each other. He was "giant" and I was "midget". I'd say "Hiiii, giant!" and he'd say "Hey you, little midget!"

He still calls me midget to this day. It used to be about stature. Now, at 5'11", it's mostly about the memory.

Sometimes

2007-11-16T18:10:00.001-08:00

For the longest time, I have worried about forgetting. I worry that I am forgetting the things that have made me into who I am today. The small things. The funny things. The dumb things. The moments of truth. The things of my childhood.

So, I'm starting a blog (all of its own) where I can jot dot small things. Things I want to remember.

Caution: This blog may be entirely too forthright. You may learn things about me that can be used against me. But that's ok. A small price to pay for having a place to write them down.