Every kid learns the same thing — lying is never okay. Right? I think it's a pretty universal lesson we all learned...and then at some point had to unlearn. Writing Prompt: When did you first realize that maybe it IS better to lie sometimes...despite what you'd always been taught?
This morning I was watching a YouTube channel I love, Natalie Bennet Vlogs, and this family was celebrating their two-year-old daughter's birthday. It really brought back so many memories of how my parents' celebrated me and my siblings' birthdays. And MAN, did it also give me some toddler fever for Mackenzie! She's just 7.5 months now, but ever since she hit half a year (which was the point I had looked forward to ever since she was born), she's grown so fast! Her first tooth just broke through today, and I literally don't think I've ever felt prouder ヽ(´▽`)/
When we got hurt as little kids, there were different tiers of accidents. The accidents involving the least amount of pain were covered with the cheap, boring tan band-aids, and then the animated band-aids were saved for bigger bumps and scrapes. And then of course there were the toilet paper and medical tape band-aids that my dad liked to make for us when we were out of the real thing, but that has nothing to do with today's story.
My family's favorite set of cousins lived in upstate New York. If you've ever been there you know it's the total opposite of what most people think when they imagine the big NY. You can drive hour-long stretches where the stench of cow manure fills your nostrils, and when I was little, I believed that only the hardiest of people can say they appreciate such a raw, earthy scent. Now I know it just reeks.
There are a few stories I never want to forget the details on, though I wish I wrote the back when they were still fresh. I'd have so many more details than I remember now, but better late than never! One of the stories I want to remember is the first day I met my husband in person (we met online).
Let's skip the preamble. I have a sweet little babe now, which means who knows how long I have to write? Dang it, I just heard her give a little squeal in her sleep. This might have to be shorter than I thought! Writing prompt for this week: What kind of ridiculous things did you do while fighting with a sibling?
My father chose to heat our house with a wood stove in the basement, rather than the conventional American heating method. I know — you and everyone else thinks I was Amish growing up. Other than the belief system part of it, you wouldn't be that far off. Using a wood stove, however, meant that every summer my family spent a lot of time down by our shed chopping logs for the winter months. Man, the more I type this and start throwing out phrases like "winter months", the more I'm starting to think we really were Amish.