Category Archives: flashbacks

Anyone remember Geo’s?

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Did any of you ever have one of those teeny, tiny little Geo Metros?  The little two doors that almost had a back seat, but didn’t really have a trunk?

We had one.  It was a weirdly bright green.  After it got really old, Sibling 1 drove it for work.  I’m not sure if the tires were ever changed in the 8 or 9 years we had it.

Anyway…occasionally we would pile all 11 of us kids into that little Geo and drive somewhere fun.  Like the park.  Or an ice rink.  We all fit somehow.  Don’t ask.

I actually kinda miss cars that tiny.  I guess there’s the Coopers, but those are way too classy for me.  Are there any cars out right now as tiny as the Geo Metro?

Oatmeal. death.

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Oatmeal isn’t generally something you are too excited about as a child. That’s true.
But, as children we had a greater aversion to the stuff then most.

With good reason.

My mom would make oatmeal like this…

1. put water in a pot on the stove.

2. dump an amount into the water that may or may not be boiling (that part was just secondary. the boiling. Oh, and the amount too. That was just guessing.)

3. leave it for a while on the stove. stirring?? what’s that??

4. come back when you realize you forgot it.

5. tell everyone to eat. ignore them when they complain that it’s one big lump. that’s life.

Truly…oatmeal was a giant ball of uncooked mess. Or a soupy mess. One or the other.
We all still hate oatmeal as children. I don’t understand you all with your “oatmeal is good for you”.
Hello..oatmeal is death!

Hidden Stashes

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Our mother often tried to hide things from us growing up.  We don’t know why she thought that would work; I mean, there’s eleven of us!  Surely SOMEONE would be able to locate the hidden stashes.  And we always did (although I don’t know if she ever realized that).  The most popular things she would stash:

1) M&Ms:  Our mother is a sucker for M&Ms.  I don’t blame her, who isn’t?  But she would hide bags of them in her underwear drawer.  I think this is a reasonable hiding location–it takes a lot of courage to dig around in there–but she often made the mistake of letting us know when she had a fresh supply.  Her favorite thing to do while watching TV is to put a bag of M&Ms in the cushions next to her and “sneak” a few every so often.

She actually believed she was being stealthy…

But it’s kinda easy to figure out what’s going on when she’s chewing on something and every so often reaches into the cushions.  And refuses to let you see what’s in the cushions.

2) Romance Novels:  And not the “I’m-mostly-a-mystery-or-drama-or-chick-flick-but-have-a-few-overly-explicit-scenes” kind of romance novels.  Oh, no.  She has a constant stash of the bodice rippers.  The ones with the sweaty, shirtless men on the covers dipping a sultry woman wearing a little silky slip.  Those ones.  I don’t even want to speculate about why she has that addiction.  Yucky.  She also hides these in her underwear drawer; that makes more sense to me than the M&Ms.

3) Anything needed to make the TV work.  Yes, this one’s a bit more obscure.  I don’t completely understand it, but whenever she isn’t going to be around to enjoy whatever’s being shown on TV, she tries very hard to make sure no one else can watch TV.  Maybe she’s afraid of missing out.  Or thinks we’ll watch porn.  Or thinks of the TV as her “special someone” and doesn’t appreciate sharing.  Whatever her reasons, she tries to very subtly hide a chord, remote, or something similar before she leaves the house.  When she gets back she acts suprised that the TV wasn’t working.  She stashes her TV stuff in her underwear drawer, or sometimes in the blankets.

Mom’s Sewing…RUN AWAY!

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Clothes can be expensive when you are buying for 13 people.  To cut costs, we usually did the whole hand-me-down thing.  And a sibling sews. 

But one time our mother tried her hand at it.  She decided to make shorts for all the boys.  She chose some really hideous large print in a scratchy fabric, got an easy (and ugly) drawstring pattern, and set to work.

A few straight sewing lines later, and several hours, she proudly displayed her final product.

The lines were actually suprisingly straight, but she’d sewn the crotch on the outside.  She refused to admit it, and made one of the boys try the shorts on.  Of course, he was incredibly uncomfortable.

I really don’t remember whether he was forced to keep wearing them or not.  Fortunately for all of us, she decided sewing took too much time and never tried again.

Whew!  Potential disaster averted!

Speakin’ in Code

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It wasn’t until a few years ago that I realized most children don’t have code phrases they use when describing their parents, especially as teenagers.  I guess it might be a little weird…

But our code phrases saved our butts more than a few times growing up.

The most useful phrase (usually shouted) : THE PASTA’S IN THE PAN!!! THE PASTA’S IN THE PAN!!!

Our mother = the pasta

Our house = the pan

Yep, whenever one of us heard our mom pulling into the driveway (it was long), we would yell this phrase out repeatedly at the top of our lungs.  Once or twice our mom heard part of the code, but she had no idea what it meant.  But we did; it meant stop what you are doing and go pretend you’ve been spending the last four hours being productive.

Did you ever have codes growing up?  Maybe for teachers, or other people you didn’t like so much?

The Christmas Debacle of 2004 (or was it ’05?)

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So I don’t know if you’ve figured it out yet, but our mother can’t cook.

At all.

When big holidays come around, someone else always takes control of the kitchen.  We want to eat, and we don’t want to die.  We understand self-preservation.  But one year, our mother decided that she was going to do Easter dinner, and wouldn’t let any of us stop her.

So on Easter morning, she took a turkey out of the freezer and put it in a pan in the oven.

Twenty minutes later I came by (just to check up on it), and took the turkey out to remove the plastic wrapper.  You know, the wrapping that has the brand of turkey and nutritional info on it?

Twelve hours later, we had turkey for Easter dinner.  Nothing else.

We’ve managed to prevent her from cooking since then.

It’s okay, everyone doesn’t need to be a gourmet chef.  We don’t mind that our mom can’t cook.  We just mind it when she tries and forces us to eat it.  That’s just mean!

So if you can’t cook, you have a few options. 

Option 1: Learn, but please don’t force others to eat your crappy cooking along the way.

Option 2: Make other people cook.  I mean, it’s easier for you anyway!

Option 3: Become a take-out queen (or king)!

 And don’t offer to make Easter, or Thanksgiving, or Christmas Dinner.

Liver, head cheese, and spinach…oh my!

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Flashback….Food.

Let’s have 5 small children under 8 years old.
Let’s have them sit at say…the dining room table.
It’s supper time.
Enter mom with dinner.
Horrified looks amongst the children.

Liver and onions, head cheese, and canned spinach (straight from the can) are plopped onto each plate with these instructions…

“don’t leave your chair until every bit is gone”.

Huh? But…but…he’s only 4. He has to eat 4 head cheese AND liver AND spinach.

True story.

rock hard stomachs.
poison won’t kill us.

I plead the 5th!

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In the early years, before Sibling 11 showed up, our family lived in a place that had a really large yard.  And in this yard were two perfect rows of fully grown pine trees.  These rows were set just far enough apart for a couple people to walk through at the same time.

So we naturally decided the trees were set up perfectly for our use.

On one end of these rows we created a little seating area out of logs.  Along the “walkway”, we laid down an extra thick layer of carpet (okay, pine needles).  And then we spent most of the summer having weddings and playing lawyer.

I have no idea how many times I married my brother, or acted as part of the jury deciding whether my younger sister was guilty.

It was awesome.

And these trees served an additional purpose; they were a natural hiding place.  Whenever our mom called us into the house, we would ignore her (she usually didn’t have a good reason for wanting us to come in, anyway).  Usually, ignoring her worked and she would leave us to keep playing until we decided to come in ourselves.  Some days, when she had special energy for some reason, she would get annoyed enough to come looking for us and try to force us inside.

And we’d take to the trees.

All of us.  A couple of my siblings would hoist me (I was only 5ish) and my little sister into our trees before taking to theirs.  And then we would climb.

High.

And hide on the opposite side of the tree our mother was on.

When she left we would climb down and continue our rudely interrupted wedding.

This is what I saw when I came home from work at the end of the day…

No really…you can’t make this stuff up. 
They were hanging out of the trees saying hello. 
All 10(?) of them. 

A marble and a vaccuum.

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Flashback…memory

Coming home from…science class?…to find sibling #6 with a vaccuum up to his nose.
Why? Well, that’s what I wanted to know. Here’s the story….

Sibling 7 stuck a marble up his nose. Why? don’t know. That’s a question that he for sure needs to answer. But, he is male and under 10…I guess it’s to be expected.

Every means of removing the marble was attempted.
Ways such as…tongs, vaseline, blowing the nose, and more.
Nothing worked.

So…the mother tried the vaccuum.

That’s where sibling#1 enters and walks in to sibling #7 with a vaccuum attached to his nose and a deer in the headlights look.

Of course this wasn’t working.

“Ummm…maybe take him to the doctor?”.

Yes, they do that. With the vaccuum on battery and brought with the WHOLE WAY.
Poor kid had to have that to his nose the whole trip.

I giggle every time I remember walking into the house that day!