A different kind of musing.

12/27/2011-12/30/2011

I’m a little tired of the narrative version of things..so to spice it up I’m gonna recount some memories the past days have stirred up. If I were home I’d upload old pictures but I’m silly and haven’t scanned them in yet. …so here comes nostalgia lane. (Plus it also doesn’t help that I’m listening to Chopin waltzes).

Seeing the girls with their NanNan is rather heartwarming and reminds me of the Christmases that were spent travelling 12 hours down the road, I’m sure torturing my parents the entire way, wishing they could pop us some Benadryl. Just a short drive an hour away and my girls are asking every five minutes the cliché, “are we there?” I now have such sympathy for my parents and pray that my faulty memory doesn’t hold that my brother and I were cretains. I digress. I remember us taking trips and stopping at the “Castle Motel;” where I do distinctly remember scratching the hell out of my leg. (Funny isn’t, how we only remember those traumatizing moments in our life.) There was the hot tub where my dad and I would go streaking out in the snow in nothing but our bathing suits and make snow angels, there was some justification for this by telling me that Monks did it too. I have hazy memories of pulling up to my Grandma’s house late at night, her porch light on and creeping in. The images of her house are so vivid in my mind but yet so hard to paint with words. After opening presents we’d be on the road again to my aunt’s house for Christmas brunch with people I hardly knew.  I can remember being in the car asking how Santa knew where we were and coloring with my magic marker book. I can remember my grandma before the aneurysm, contently watching golf, teaching me how to play Rumikub and rolling out massive quantities of cinnamon rolls. I remember at Christmas time looking forward to seeing the words NOEL in children’s blocks displayed on her bathroom shelf. It makes me want to go back and sit on the curb, close my eyes and recreate the childhood memories.  

I've never told my parents this but (they do read this, so they’ll soon be finding out J) we were at the mall and I spotted my Dad running almost full kilt to the car with a box of wooden doll chairs, only for them to appear under the tree later from Santa.  The same is true for the mad dash from the toy store with a huge box of plastic animals while my mom tried earnestly to keep us distracted.

I remember the Christmas of giving my Grandma the world’s biggest smooch for there under the tree was a Barbie dream camper/van. For being six or seven this, was heaven.  I can still feel in my veins the excitement that rushed through me ripping open the paper. I remember the cheesy plastic rotisserie chicken and volleyball set.

Dolls these days are disturbing. Since when is a child’s imagination helped by popping off its head, shimmying up a skin tight latex outfit and bending its arms like a contortionist. (looking at the picture will explain). When I was a kid Polly Pockets were little miniature (and by miniature I mean no bigger than my pinky) non- “dressable” dolls that lived in awesome plastic seashells and hearts. They were the kind of dolls your mom threatened to vacuum up and then later your dad had to rescue them from the crevices of dirt and debris. Maybe I’m biased by the sheer awesomness that was Polly Pockets in my days but I just don’t believe that dolls should have removable hair and plastic mini mini-skirts.  

The girls Dad let me tag along to a ride down to Homer, about 60 miles south of Kenai.  It was described to me as “patchouli.” This is rather amusing because my co-worker at home used to accuse me of wearing the stuff, which in turn is also funny as I’ve never heard of it before. Yes, I was described as the hippie in the office due to my peace signed purse, my bamboo cutlery, my eating of tofu and greens, bringing home paper to recycle and constantly ruining peoples days by telling them how un-nutritious their meals were. I freaking loved Homer, boarded up and all. The spit was chalk full of touristy shops, describing various stock of sea food, ice cream and brick a brack.  It was a quaint sort of town where you feel like people actually know one another. We had to go to the supply store so that J could check out some boat accoutrements. It’s not exactly easy keeping two young girls occupied in such a butch place, with various trophy heads pinned to the wall and hardware bins lining the aisles.  We made the most of it, dancing in the aisles, going on number and letter hunts and taking silly pictures with giant stuffed bears. I think the thing I liked the most was seeing the various old curmudgeons sitting around a coffee pot eating vanilla wafers and discussing the weather.

There is a certain rhythm and hum by which I operate as an au-pair and I was beginning to wonder if I was losing my touch. However, having a normalish house to operate in, whether or not it’s our own has restored my confidence that my tune is still humming along. Even though we drove in a random circle at one point, we did spend the morning coloring pictures, playing Monopoly Jr., dancing to kiddo music and came home and played restaurant. The girls got such a kick out of making placemats and signs for their dining room establishment. I wrote out little menus for them, took their orders and made them pay by singing me a silly song and dousing me with hugs and silly faces.  I spent a lot of raining days inside with my kiddos at home, faced with a box full of craft supplies and had to make stuff up on the spot. There’s nothing like a good noggin work out than three wide eyed kids expecting you to pull magic out of your cranium. There’s also nothing worse than having a million.2 kid songs stuck in your skull and when asked to perform can only get a lullaby to come out and even that you stumble through.

Experiencing these memories with the girls stirs up all sorts of childhood spells that were once locked away inside. I love thinking about my kiddos back home and the fun we used to have together and how I can share what I learned with them with my girls. I love reminiscing about the past in my life and it’s swirling with the current adventure that I’m experiencing. I’ve had a couple of rough days but I’ve come to appreciate that no matter what I’m currently stressed about, pales in comparison to the fact that I’m here trying to make each day unique and different.  If you really think about it no matter how mundane and rote each day may feel, I betcha you can find a kernel of difference tucked inside.