We’re The Aunties Now

We all tried to rush it.  A ten year old can’t wait to be a teenager.  A teenager chafes at the restrictions parents place upon them.  We all want to be a grownup because we see freedom in being older.

Being a grownup isn’t easy.

Grownups often yearn for the “olden days”.  That’s because we miss the older generation that is now gone.  We miss their wisdom.  Their personalities.  We miss the traditions they “forced” upon us when we were kids.

I spoke with a cousin not too long ago.  We reminisced about the good old days.  Surrounded by aunts and uncles that ruffled our hair and asked “How is school?” The aunts and uncles that held family reunions.  The ones that never missed a christening, First Communion or wedding.

“We’re the Aunties now.” my cousin counseled me.

It’s a natural phenomena to miss your childhood.  It’s human nature to think that the past was easier.  The world was a better place.  People were kinder.  It’s easy to think that this is all true.  Some people even become bitter about it.

Today………….I’m here to tell you that the olden days were not easier.  The world was a messed up place even then.  Wars were fought.  Politicians were crooked.  Some neighbors were kind and some were to be avoided………….even, back then.

The difference?  You were a child.  You were protected.

I hope that you were.

My father might yell at the TV in the living room.  He was watching a whole generation of young men lose their lives in a jungle.  He spoke to the TV as a WWII veteran.

“Dear, God!  Send in the Marines!” he’d say to Walter Cronkite.

Daddy would notice me in the door and he’d get up and switch off the television.

“What’s the matter, Daddy?” I’d say in the newly quiet room.

“Not a thing that you should be worried about, Little Girl.  The grownups will handle it.  All you should be worried about is your spelling test tomorrow.  Go and get your book.  I’ll test you on your vocabulary words.” he’d say.

Daddy would hold me and my spelling list on his lap.  He’d sniff deeply of my hair.  He’d hold me a little too close because the television news had upset him.  He would find that I was a very good speller.  But, he didn’t want to let me go.

“What is Santa going to bring you this year?” he’d ask.

“Daddy.  It’s May.” I’d reply.

He pushed the news of the world further away by saying “But, there are millions of children, Little Girl.  And, they all deserve something special.  All those toys need to be made now.  Santa needs to know what to make the most of.”

“I want a typewriter.  A real one.  I’m going to be a writer.  So, I need to type like the wind.” I replied.  Thinking about what I wanted for Christmas in May was nothing new to me.

“So, you want to be a journalist.  You will scribe what’s happening in the world for all to read.  That can be a burden to the wrong person, Little Girl.  A burden.” he murmured into my hair.

“No, Daddy.  I won’t be Walter Cronkite.  I will write stories about fairies.  And, lightning bugs.  I will describe the North Pole.  I will make Santa Claus real to people that don’t believe.  I will write your stories.  And, Mom’s.  I will remember this day and write about it too.  Someday…………..I won’t be Little Girl anymore.  But, I will remember what it was like.” I explained to him.

I remember sitting on his lap.  I remember being protected.  I remember spending every Sunday in church.  I remember all the family reunions.  I remember the special occasions and the long summers where every day felt like the last.

I loved those days.  I write about those days and bring those that are gone back to me with the stories that I write.

But, here is the message………that I’m finally getting around to saying.

I love today also.

I miss those that are gone but I revel in the ones that are in front of me.  The husband that just cooked me a fantastic steak.  The sight of my son trying to give our very unfriendly cat a kiss.  The latest email from my mother in law…………….she says that nothing is new and then fills a page with what she thinks about it.  The last phone call from my daughter with more good news than bad.

I don’t have all the answers.

But, I do know a few things.

If you miss receiving Christmas cards like the old days…………….buy a box of cards and a book of stamps and mail them out.  You will receive some in return.

You miss the good old days when carolers would sing at your door?  Quit moaning about it and ask some neighbors to join you on a certain night…………at a certain time……………to go around the neighborhood singing.

You miss family reunions?  Can’t do it all yourself?  Make a few phone calls and ask for some help.  Pick a date.  Make some potato salad.  Mess up the children’s hair and ask them “How is school?”

Why?

Because ……….this is still a wonderful world full of wonderful people………….and, we are the Aunties now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Neighbors

“What will the neighbors think?” my mother said often.

Often enough………….well, I don’t give a crap what the neighbors think.  Of my going to the mailbox in my pajamas ……at noon.  Cooking a steak on the grill at midnight.  The bright blue I painted my front door.

I live by neighbor rules though.  I don’t play loud music when people are sleeping even though I’m a night owl.  I don’t mow my lawn when my adjoining neighbor has a porch full of people celebrating something or other.  If one of my trees falls on someone else’s lawn?  I arrange for it to go away.

I have some nice neighbors.  We visit at the property line.  We take care of each other’s pets during vacation time.  We pick up each other’s mail.  We’ve been known to share a glass of wine and a meal.

But, then there are the others.

The others don’t wave back when they are waved at.  “Nice day!” is met with silence.  We wonder about them.  How can so many people fit in one house?  How many cars can play Rubik’s Cube on their driveway?  How many watts is their security light bulb that made me buy room darkening shades for the front of my house?

They break neighbor rules all the time.  Trash cans take three days to make it back to their garage.  An autumn festooned yard full of leaves only gets raked once every two years.

I can live with that.  I’m used to that.

It’s the crap they put at the end of their driveway with “Free” signs on it that are on my last nerve.

Two months.  For two months I looked at a whole suite of worn out corduroy living room furniture.  It sat there all saggy and forlorn.  Through rain.  And sleet.  And snow.  I wrote a story about it where I fantasized about throwing a party at the edge of their driveway at midnight.  Sangria.  Snacks.  Fireworks.

Another neighbor took care of that problem.  He’s the one that is worried about his property value.  He wrote a letter to the town.  The furniture was finally hauled away.

I’m not a letter writer.  I don’t complain enough to know all the people at the town hall by name.  I kind of rely on grumpier neighbors to finally take care of this stuff.

I’ll just write my stories to get it all out.

A shiny broken aluminum BBQ grill now takes up residence at the end of the driveway across the street.  When the sun shines on it…………….you need sunglasses.  There it sits and sits and sits.

Ruining my view.  Aggravating me.  Causing me to write another story to get it all out.

I tried to turn it into a game.  I asked every one in this house to bet.  How long will it stay there?  I bet six weeks.  I’m almost there.  The problem is………….there is no prize for being right.

I don’t have the nerve to really do it……………….but I came up with a plan.  It involves a bag full of potting soil.  Six geraniums and a few marigolds.  If I have to look at that broken grill all summer long?

I may as well sneak over there in the dead of night and turn it into a planter.

But, I know that motion sensor security light will catch me for sure.

 

The Easter Parade

I sat in the church pew and held my breath.  The priest was about to doom the Easter Bunny.

I was pretty little.  Catechism classes were new to me.  I brought my crayons to church school every Tuesday.  A nice nun sat among the children.  We colored while she sang songs about Jesus.

It was Palm Sunday and Father had stopped talking in Latin.  This was the part of mass where he switched to English and told us all how to live our lives ……………according to scripture.

Whatever that was.

The priest that Sunday was the oldest of them all.  He was the sternest.  He roamed the hallways during catechism classes.  He shooed children out of bathrooms and told them to go to the toilet on their own time.  He was like that.

“So, next Sunday is Easter.” the stern priest reminded us.  “You all know what that is about.  You know that Jesus died for your sins.  I wouldn’t mind a moment of silence on Good Friday.”

My parents stiffened up in the pew.  They thought they knew what was coming.  A ban on egg hunts.  No chocolate bunnies.  Jelly beans thrown in the trash.  No dying of hard boiled eggs.  No smell of Saturday night vinegar and stained fingers.  No plastic grass in baskets.

They were going to have to choose between Jesus and the Easter Bunny.  They were already imagining the wailing coming out of their three kids that were deprived of chocolate.

But, that priest surprised them.

“I’ve gotten quite a few phone calls this week.  Phone has been ringing off the hook.  Unless you’re dying or sick or in trouble……………….please, lose my number.  Because, you know what all these phone calls this week were about?  The darned Easter Bunny.  Some of you parents have read somewhere that if you believe that Jesus died on the cross for you……………..well, a good Catholic has to give up on the Easter Bunny.”

I held my breath.  Here it comes……………..

“What a bunch of crap!” said the priest.

“Jesus has risen!  And, Jesus loved the little children.  And, I sure as heck don’t know if he ever tasted chocolate………..or jelly beans………..or marshmallow eggs.  But, I have.  And, I like them.  I also like the bunny that delivers them.  I like ham.  I like scalloped potatoes.  I like them both on Easter.  I like coconut cake shaped like an egg or a rabbit.” he went on.

He was deadly serious.  This is the priest that never cracked a smile.

“So, in conclusion.  Come to church on Easter.  Look at the altar decorated with a hundred lilies.  Come up and get communion.  Thank Jesus for loving you and then go home and see what the Easter Bunny brought you.” he said.

“Get a grip, people.  Stop with the phone calls.” he finished with.

It was a joyful ride home from church.  Three kids in the station wagon were now fans of the meanest priest in town.  My brother the altar boy said “I always told you he wasn’t half bad.  He just can’t stand idiots.” to my parents.

My other brother said “Yes!  Easter candy………….next best thing to Halloween.  Best day of the year!”

My mother whirled around the next week.  Dusting.  Polishing furniture.  Washing curtains and windows.  I asked her if it was Jesus or the Easter Bunny that insisted on such a clean house for Easter.

“It’s called spring cleaning, Little Girl.  We have a house full of company coming to eat ham and snitch your jelly beans.  Instead of asking me questions go and make nice stacks of all my magazines.  Give the dictionary a good dusting.  Here’s a cloth.  You’re low to the ground.  Wipe down all the floor moldings that you can reach.  And, don’t go sticking your fingers into any sockets.”  she said as she whirled by.

Ma was ahead of the curve.  The house was shining.  Groceries were bought.  All of our fancy clothing for Easter was all ready.

I glared at the princess dress with it’s scratchy crinolines.  The slippery patent leather shoes.  The lace gloves that would make my fingers itch.  The bonnet with the dreaded elastic band that would leave a dent in the soft skin of my throat.  I would have another good five years of this stuff before I finally won the war on crinolines.  And, bonnets with elastic bands.

“I hate hate hate dressing up like this.” I told her as I stared at my Easter finery hanging from my bedroom curtain rod.

“Tough.” my mother replied as she hung my quilt out the other bedroom window.  She beat up my pillows and changed my mattress pad.

As she freshened up my bed and shined my room …………she explained.

It was short and not so sweet……….but, I got it.

“I was a Depression girl.  I was one of twelve kids.  Smack in the middle.  I only DREAMED of wearing an outfit like that to church on Easter Sunday.  I could only DREAM of it.  So, I’m fulfilling my dream by dressing you up like a doll one day a year.  Get used to the idea.  Quit moaning because I just don’t hear you.  La la la la la!” she sang at me.

My middle brother waited until Thursday night at dinner to throw a wrench into her plans.

“Um…………..so, teacher says………….um, sorry I forgot to tell you………….but, it’s not a big deal…………..so, teacher says that there is an Easter Parade at school tomorrow.  I need an Easter Bunny costume…..for tomorrow…………..you’re a good sewer………….should have told you like a week ago………….but, I figure you can handle it.” my brother said to my mother.

She threw a roll at his head.  She connected.

My mother glared at me instead.

“You!  You go to the same school.  Have you heard anything about an Easter Parade?” she demanded.

“Um………….well…………….can I have another pickle?  No?  Okay………..all I know is that the whole class has made bonnets out of crepe paper and silk flowers and ribbons and stuff.  Maybe there is going to be a parade?”  I answered.  “I hope there will be cupcakes.”

My mother half threw a dill pickle at me.

Then she glared across the table at my brother.

“Are you sure?  Maybe you’re supposed to wear your Easter clothes?  All shined up for school.  No, that can’t be right.  What crazy teacher would have you wearing your best suit to school on Good Friday.  What if it got dirty.  Cupcakes while wearing your best suit?  Is this teacher nuts?  No, she’s not.   An Easter Bunny costume……………well, alright.  I guess I can figure something out.” she said in defeat.

So, my brother went to school dressed like a rabbit.  My mother finally went to bed after she pushed us out the door to school.

I remember he was yellow.  Footsie pajamas that he had outgrown with the feet cut off of them.  Red lace up sneakers on his feet.  A white fluffy ear muff was sewn to his butt.  Good luck sitting down in that getup I thought.  My pink scarf was tied tightly under his chin.  Two rabbit ears made out of cloth covered coat hangers bopped around on his head.  He even had a basket.

My eldest brother took one look at the grammar school bunny and uttered “What a freaking nightmare.” as he got on the bus to the big kid’s school.

The two of us walked to school.  We split up.  I went in the door for little kids.  He hopped around to the big kid’s hallway.

My brother came around the corner and realized he’d gotten it all wrong.   He knew this when he encountered long lines of boys all dressed in their best suits.  Girls in their second best dresses wearing bonnets made out of paper and pipe cleaners.

He turned around.  Escape.  Escape was all he could think about.  But, it wasn’t to be.  The teacher had gotten a good look at him.

Teacher threw her head back and roared with laughter.

My brother’s face turned red.  Tears threatened to fill his eyes.

Teacher screeched “This is WONDERFUL!” just in time to stop the water works.

“How terrific!  We have an Easter Bunny to lead our parade.  Now, usually the school parade is lead by a sixth grader…………….but, look!  Children!  We have our very own Easter Bunny to lead us to the cupcakes!” the teacher sang to the kids.

That night at dinner my eldest brother brought it up.

“So,  the Easter Parade thing.  You were the only one dressed up like a bunny, weren’t you?  You were supposed to wear your church clothes, right?  That must have been a freaking nightmare!” the eldest said to his younger brother.

“Nah! All the cupcakes I could eat.  Won a prize!  Big solid chocolate rabbit.  Thanks for the costume, Ma.  Best day of my life.  Almost as good as Halloween.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love Never Dies

Photo:  Donat and Dorilla Turenne with Michael, Norman and Nancy 1959

When we met…….we knew right away.   “You are the one for me!” we both thought at the same time.

We married young.

We talked and talked.  We built blanket forts and listened to music while the wind and snow howled outside.  We made snacks and played cards or cribbage for hours on end.

My husband became my best friend.

We got used to each other when we were newlyweds.  Oh, it wasn’t hard.  I learned how to flip him over when he started to snore.  He learned how to avoid me until I woke up in the morning.  We didn’t hide anything from each other.  We discovered who was the type to leave three tablespoons of orange juice in the container.  Who forgot over and over again to buy toothpaste.

We learned to let that stuff go.

We worked hard and saved money to build our own house.  We were often very tired.  We found out that we both get pretty giddy when exhausted.

We built a house during the day.  I did so with a baby on my hip.  Then my husband would go off to work second shift.  Day after day of this resulted in a beautiful new home just in time for Christmas.

My husband got a little weepy one night in our new living room………….instead of giddy with exhaustion.

It seems the tears leaked out of his eyes because……….he missed his grandmother.

Oh, I’d heard a lot about her.  She had died when my husband was a young teenager.  She was special and full of love.  According to him………..he was her favorite.  I’m sure that every one of her grandchildren felt the same.  She was that good at being a grandmother.

“I used to feel her with me.  All of the time.  I couldn’t see her anymore.  But, I felt her.  I could say her name and tell her anything.  And, somehow…………….I know she was still listening.” he said as he sniffed through the tears.

“Well, you can still talk to her.” I said.  “It won’t bother me.  I believe you.”

He wiped his eyes and said “It’s no use.  She’s not around anymore.  I haven’t felt her near me since I met you.”

Well!  What could I possibly say about that except “I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to bed.” said my husband.  “I’m just really really tired.  This kind of thing only happens when I’m on empty.”

He went to bed.  I gave the baby her last bottle and put her in her crib.  I went to bed soon after.

My husband puffed steadily next to me in the bed.  I lie on my pillow and stared at a ceiling I couldn’t see with my arms crossed.

I had a little talk with his grandmother.

“Hey!  I know we’ve never met.  But, I feel like I know you.  No one can make him feel special the way that you could.  I don’t mind.  This isn’t a competition.  But, you know what lady?  I have a problem with you.  Who makes their presence known………………let’s someone know that heaven is real………………..and that love never dies……………and, then poof!  Just disappears?  What is your problem?  You know what?  You need to fix this.  And, soon!” I yelled in my own head.

Yes, I was over tired myself.  I was yelling at a dead woman in my imagination.

I turned to my right side and got my pillow just the way I like it.  I sighed and let out imaginary steam.  Sleep didn’t come so I turned towards my husband.  I usually don’t sleep facing that way.  We don’t like to puff in each other’s faces.

I was just getting comfortable when I noticed a bright light through my closed eyelids.

I opened my eyes and witnessed the most incredible thing I’d ever seen.

A column of iridescent light shimmered at the side of the bed right next to my husband.  The light was bright and was a white that contained every color known in nature.  Within seconds the column became the shape of a person.  A hand of brightness stroked him on the forehead for a full minute as I sat up straight in the bed.

Two hands then cupped his face as the figure leaned down and kissed him on the forehead.

And, then a sweet female voice came and gave me a message for him.  Oh, you wouldn’t have heard it.  The sound wouldn’t have shown up on a tape recording.  The voice was in my head.

The last thing the voice said was “It’s very nice to meet you too.  I haven’t been told off like that in a good long time.  Now, put your head on the pillow and go to sleep.  No, this wasn’t a dream but you’re very tired.  You’ll remember it all in the morning.  Do not wake him now.”

So, I went to sleep.

Yup, just like that.

It took me a day to come up with the courage to discuss this all with my husband.  He was now rested.  He was again smiling and full of plans.  I’m sure he didn’t want to relive the moment when he got all weepy in front of me.

But, I sort of had to bring it all up.  Whether he wanted to hear it or not.  Whether he would believe me or not.  Especially, since the message seemed so weird and inconsequential to me.

Yes.  Weird.  And, unimportant.

But, I hadn’t been dreaming.  I saw what I saw.  I knew who it was.  I had understood the voice.

We ate dinner.  The baby was in her highchair.  She was giggling and decorating her hair with cheerios.  My husband was laughing and egging her on.

“Um, so…………………..last night I saw something special……………..after you went to sleep. ” I started to explain.

The baby threw her sippy cup at me.  I handed it back.

“I was lying next to you wide awake……………..and, I kind of told your grandmother off in my head.  Yup, gave her a good talking to.” I continued.

My husband stared me in the face as he handed over a graham cracker in the baby’s general direction.

“You told my grandmother off……………….” my husband said quietly.

“Well, yeah.  I did…………….I mean what’s with the disappearing act?  You think it’s my fault she’s not around you anymore?  Well……………that kind of aggravated me.  So, I had a talk with her…………….okay, I yelled at her a little…………….and she showed up.  Do you want any more mashed potatoes?” I sputtered.

“What did you just say…………….before the mashed potatoes part?  Did you just say that she showed up?” my husband said as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

So………….I described what I had said.  I tried not to leave anything out even though he might think I was rude to yell at his dead grandmother.  Then, I described what I had seen.  I told him that she had given me a message.  A message for him that made no sense to me and really………………was kind of weird…………….and………………….oh, I just ran out of steam because of the look on his face.

“What’s this message?” he asked gently.

“She said that when you miss her and you want to cry……………..to remember the swing.” I answered because I had to.

That’s how silly the message sounded to me.

His eyes filled with tears.  He grinned as he picked up the baby from her high chair.

“So, you met my grandmother last night!  Tell me it all again.” he said with joy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Babysitting

I was the baby of the family.  So, what did I know about taking care of babies?

Girls my age did babysitting to earn money.  I didn’t.  I baked and sold my chocolate chip cookies to all the ladies of the neighborhood.  I had a paper route.  I said a big loud resounding No!  every time I was asked to babysit.

I had good reason for this aversion.

I baby sat once across the street because my mother promised me away.

“You told her WHAT?” I wailed at my mother over the little kitchen table.

“I told her that you would babysit on Saturday night.  Oh, calm down.  Quit your dramatics.  They’re only going to Shady Glen for a hamburger and then to a movie.  Four hours of your life……………..so those poor souls can get out of the house and have a date.  Have a heart.  What is your problem?  Easy money.  That baby will probably be asleep before you even get there………………..quit looking at me like that.  Stop it!  You’re starting to freak me out.  Are you breathing?” my mother sputtered out.

My father shook out the newspaper he was hiding behind.  I heard him whisper “Oh, dear Lord.”

“I don’t babysit.  I know nothing about babies.  I’m not sticking a real live person with a big safety pin.  I’m not getting peed on and puked on for fifty cents an hour.  That is why I have a paper route.  I like newspapers. This is why I sell cookies.  I like baking cookies!  I do not like wailing babies.  You can just call that woman and tell her I said NO!” I yelled as I left the kitchen.

“I will do no such thing!” my mother hollered down the hallway.  “That woman hasn’t left that house in six months!  This was my idea!  I’m saving a marriage here, Little Girl!  And, you WILL cooperate.”

I slammed my bedroom door.  I slammed it three more times in maximum protest.

God, no one on earth could piss me off in ten seconds flat like my mother could.

“Do I have to get involved, Little Girl?” my father said gently from the other side of my closed bedroom door.  “Do I have to take this door off of it’s hinges again because of your slamming?”

Daddy always took Ma’s side.  Even, when she was wrong.

I found myself across the street on Saturday night.  I had done my best to get this whole fiasco cancelled.  But, there I was.  Standing on the front steps holding a plate of my chocolate chip cookies too.  Free cookies………..my mother might be an amateur social worker………she was not a very good business manager I thought.

I looked the young mother in the face and said “I have never taken care of a baby before.  I deliver newspapers and bake cookies so that I don’t have to babysit.  Totally up to you…………if you want to leave your baby with someone with absolutely no baby experience.  I suppose I can pin a diaper on without piercing the skin.  I suppose I can boil the milk.  Does this baby have teeth yet?  I brought some taffy.”

Oh, you know……………..things like that.  I thought I could get fired before the evening even began.

“Oh, you!  You’re so funny.  Your mother told me you’d say things like this.  You’ll do fine.  You look like a smart girl.” the lady said.

What she meant was “I’m getting the hell out of here.  And, you’re not stopping me.”

That’s when I heard the banging coming from the top of the stairs.

“What’s that sound?” I asked.  I’m curious that way.

“Oh, that’s the baby.  I’ve put her down for the night.” she said.

“What’s the baby doing to make that kind of noise?” I asked.  “Bouncing a ball against the wall?”

“Oh, no.  She’s too young to play with balls.” the mother said as she threw the car keys at her husband.  She nodded him out the door.  He started up the station wagon.

“So, what’s making that noise?” I asked again.  If the kid was already put to bed I might never actually have to lay eyes on the little person.  But, it was kind of noisy up there.

“That’s her rocking and banging the crib up against the wall.” said the Mom as she grabbed her purse and threw a sweater over her shoulder.

“Excuuuuuuuuse me?” I asked.

“Nothing to worry about.” the mom said  Bang!  Bang!  Bang!  Bang!  “That’s how she pacifies herself when she’s going to sleep. We’ve tried moving the crib to the middle of the room.  It’s the noise she’s after.”

As if that made any sense to me.

Bang!  Bang!  Bang!

“She’ll be asleep any minute.  We’ll be back by ten o’clock.  Hamburger and the early showing of Love Story.  I hear the heroine dies.  I brought tissues.  A sad love story. ” the woman said as she escaped out the back door.

“Help yourself to snacks!” she shouted through the screen.

Bang!  Bang!  Bang!

That car pretty much squealed out of the driveway in reverse.

I stood at the bottom of the stairs and listened for a few minutes.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

Bang!  Bang!  Bang!

I popped a cookie into my mouth.  I picked up the living room phone extension.  I stood in the window and stared across the street at my own house.

I dialed and my mother picked up the phone.

It was time to mess with Mom.

“Dear, Lord!  Little Girl!  They’ve only been gone for five minutes.  You can do this.  It’s just a little girl in a diaper.  Nothing to be afraid of.  You’re a good soul.  You’ll figure it out.  Just talk to her.  Sing her a song. ” my mother went on and on before I could even say a word.

I walked to the bottom of the neighbor’s stairs.  Good thing that phone had a very long cord.

“I want you to hear something.” I said.  “Shhhh!  Just listen.”

My mother went quiet and just listened.

Bang!  Bang!  Bang!  Bang!

“What the hell is that noise?” Mom screeched.  “Is someone trying to break in the back door?  Did you lock the door behind them?  What the hell is that noise?”

“That is the baby, Mom!  The baby is banging.” I answered.

I smiled and tried to keep my laughing silent.  I was kind of wheezing trying not to laugh out loud.

“What’s that hissing sound?  Oh, my God!  This phone call sounds like the Twilight Zone!  What the hell are you up to, Little Girl?  Quit pulling your weird sh*t!  And, tell me what that banging noise really is!”  my mother said in a mini panic.

She was now in our front window staring right at me.

I waved to her.  She waved back.

I did my best spooky voice.  I was going for a cross between Vincent Price and Rod Serling .

“The baby is banging.  Banging.  Banging.  This is how the baby puts herself to sleep.  They stick her in a crib.  She rocks and she bangs.  These people think this is normal, Ma.  Normal.  Bang.  Bang.  Bang! ” I said in my ghost story voice.

“What?  What?  What in the hell are you going on about?  Stop this bullsh*t.  Don’t you make me come over there.  Do Not Make Me Come Over there!”  my mother whispered into the phone.

When my mother whispered………….you were in big trouble.

I put the phone out again so my mother could get the maximum banging sound.

“That’s it!  You weird little fruitcake!  You’re in trouble now!  You’re making me come over there.  Forget that party next Saturday night.  I wouldn’t trust you to walk a dog.  What was I thinking letting you take care of a real live baby!” she said as she dropped the phone.

The last bang , bang, bang had totally unhinged my mother.

“Oh, dear Jesus!” my mother yelled as she went out our front door.

Mom came marching across the street with her arms pumping.

I never had to baby sit again.