Wacky Wednesday and Beautiful Peruvian Baby Girls

Wacky's (and my) mom didn't like last week's post about Wacky's poor Brussel sprouts behavior. She thinks Wacky is going to need therapy now...but she's resilient...and she's the one that reminded me about the story. But there is another chapter in the saga.

I could not get the hang of riding a bicycle. I remember getting my first little red bike with training wheels when we lived in Ohio. I'm fairly certain this is the one. (I have some pics with me on it...but my scanner is broken.)  I remember the day my dad took off my training wheels and decided I would learn how to ride on 2 wheels.  It didn't go well.  I think there was a lot of cussing and yelling. He refused to put the training wheels back on and when we moved to Michigan it went into our storage unit in the basement of our apartment building. I kind of forgot it was there.

The summer (after the brussel sprouts incident) when I was 8, my nephew, Kirk, got a really cool bike...he was 6. It was a stingray with a banana seat and the high handle bars. And much too my embarrassment...he could ride it...without training wheels. I was really humiliated...after all, I was older, smarter, and prettier. I remember sitting on it in my sister, Pat's driveway. It was a little too big for me...but I felt like I could ride it...really ride it.  I couldn't wait to get home and see if I could now ride my own little bike. My mom picked me up from my sister's after she got off work. I remember begging her to help me get my bike...but she was tired...had to make dinner...etc. I think my insistent whining  pleading, finally worked on Jackie.  As soon as we were finished with dinner, she went into the basement with me, to dig out my little red bike.  It was filthy...covered with dust and cobwebs...but Jackie cleaned it up as good as new...and with her help (and no yelling/swearing), I was able to finally take off and ride...free as the wind.  Seriously...I remember that feeling...like I could do anything.  And as if that wasn't enough...she took me for ice cream afterwards...not just any ice cream...Baskin Robbins ice cream...yep...the kind with bubble gum.

I know this may sound corny...but it is true...Wacky gave me my wings...the confidence I needed...to do anything.  And she is still my biggest encourager and fan.  So, yes, there was one brussel sprout story, but there are millions of little red bike stories.

And one more (not so) quick story. My friend, MaryJane, had the best idea about my ugly yarn...and that was to over-dye it...I LOVE that idea...so I will do that soon. I love MaryJane...(even if I haven't seen her in 16-17 years.) She was with me during the most whimsical time of my life...living in Peru while adopting Caitlin. She was adopting twin baby girls, Luiza and Turza. The three beautiful Peruvian girls were about the same size and as we traveled through the streets of Lima, everyone thought they were triplets. MJ and I went through a lot together in Peru, more than most people do in a lifetime...a cholera epidemic, an earthquake, several terrorist bombings, terrifying cab rides, scary unexpected birthmother visits, sweet potato chips, pajama meetings with attorneys, and gelato.  We spent our last weekend in Peru at her attorney's beach house...which had flooded not too long before our arrival. There was sand everywhere...and I literally slept on two chairs put together...because I refused to sleep in a sand-filled bed.  Our best adventure, though, was several weeks before that. We were watching Three Men and a Little Lady...when there was a loud boom and our building shook. It took a few seconds for us to realize what had happened, but a bomb had gone off near us. Now...most people would be terrified...but not MaryJane. She got someone to watch our babies and grabbed me...and headed out the door...yep...to the bombing. As we got closer, glass was everywhere from where windows broke.  (Oh yeah...we were in slippers...she didn't want to take the time to put on shoes.)  And of course...she found a piece of the car that was used for the bombing.  Now most people would leave it there for evidence...but not MJ...she picked it up and brought it back as a souvenir. MaryJane...thank you, for also giving me wings to fly...you took me places that I never would have gone alone...XOXOXOX

Wacky Wednesday (plus Ugly Yarn)

I decided that Wednesday blogs need to be dedicated to Wacky...so whimsical and not so whimsical tales will follow.

When I was 7, my parents and I moved from Ohio to Michigan (where they were born and raised.) We moved into a lovely 2 bedroom apartment with a deck (this was a big deal to me...we never had one before.) After Wacky married Jim and he left for Vietnam, she joined us. While I remember almost every detail of that apartment...I don't remember the bedroom I shared with Jackie. (Except that I had a goldfish on a bookcase that Sudsy overfed while she was supposed to take a nap and he/she died...but that is another story.) I must be blocking out some horrible childhood trauma...like Wacky made me sleep in the closet or something. It must be so bad that that only hypnosis will drag out of me. I do have another Wacky trauma that I will never forget.

At this point in my young life, I never had been rollerskating (or iceskating). I always blamed that on the fact that my parents were over adventures like that by time I came along. (My mom always blamed it on my "weak" ankles.) But my Brownie troop had a rollerskating activity planned. I was so excited. I envisioned myself whirling and twirling around the rink...gracefully gliding...perhaps on one leg, hands perfectly poised in the air. I knew I was going to be fantastic.

For some reason, my mom wasn't home that night. So it was Jackie's job joy to make dinner for my dad and me, and then take me to the rollerskating rink. That is went everything went terribly wrong. I'm not sure if she was given a menu by our mom...or if she thought this one up all by herself. I have no idea what meat she served...but I do know the vegetable...BRUSSEL SPROUTS!!!! I don't even think I had ever seen one before let alone eat one. They were the most absolutely horrible thing I ever ate. Even now, I shudder.  But she wasn't going to let me get away with not eating them.  I remember yelling and screaming...and lots of tears...but I'm not sure if they were hers or mine. Then there was the dreaded threat that brought me back to reality..."If you don't eat them, I won't take you rollerskating." (Looking back, she probably didn't want to take me and was hoping this would be her way out...she was so devious.)

Faced with the potential of not living out my rollerskating fantasy, I managed to get them down. I was pretty certain on the way to the rollerskating rink, that I would never love her again. (I was wrong.) Putting the vegetable trauma behind me, I excitedly put on my skates and stood up...ready to show everyone my skills and grace. Little did I know that it was called rollerskating because the skates rolled. I couldn't get one foot in front of the other...I have no idea how I made it to the actual rink. What I do remember is clinging to the walls and rails all around the rink. As my Brownie friends skated by me, they encouraged me to let go...once or twice I got brave and did...only to fall flat...just like my rollerskating dream fell flat. I didn't go skating again until college. (I still didn't know how...but cute boys were always willing to help me...which was a definite plus.)

So, the moral of this story is don't feed your children (or adorable younger siblings) brussel sprouts, otherwise, they will never learn to skate. And you will have to pay for their therapy when they are adults.

And now to the ugly yarn (...and this isn't even Wacky related.) I belong to a "luxury" yarn club. Every other month, I receive a surprise kit with fabulous and outrageous yarn. A pattern is provided with a project to make out of the yarn. June's yarn is really luxurious in theory. It is a soft, wonderful cashmere sock yarn. But the pattern was for a lame eye mask with lavender. (The lavender was included in the kit, BTW.)  So, 2 problems...1) I don't want a lame eye mask and 2) the colorway is horrendous.

Incase, the pictures don't capture the full horror...the color is a mid 1980's country blue and peach. But, the actual feel of the yarn is incredible. I decided to get over the ugly color and buy another skein and make socks that might not be stylish...but really comfy. Unfortunately, this skein must really be from the 80's, because I couldn't find any more, anywhere.  Not even the store that sends the kit had anymore. (Don't even get me started on that one.) So, I need your help and ideas. Get creative...tell me what you think I should make out of 160 yds of hideous cashmere. If I pick your idea...I'm going to make you something...and it won't be a lame eye mask!

I look forward to hearing from you, but right now, I need to go rest my weak ankles.

Wacky and the Butts

My life isn't totally void of whimsy...there have been some pockets of whimsy (sort of like pockets full of posies...) 


Last November, my sister, Jackie, took me with her to LA. She went for a conference...I went for FUN! It was my first time in California. We stayed downtown in JW Marriott at LA Live...it is right next to the Nokia Theater and there was always something outrageous going on. The good news is Jackie is my partner in (whimsy)crime. She gets me...she gets my need for whimsy...and she is always willing to go along with it, even if others give us strange looks and shake their head in disbelief as they walk away.   (Don't judge those people...you will also be shaking your head in disbelief by the time you finish reading this.)  

Wacky and me

I think to really excel at whimsy, you need someone like my sister.  Each of us has some whimsy on our own (her daughters call her Wacky, if that tells you anything) but together, we have whimsy synergy. For example, I don't think either one of us would have done a photo like this alone...but together...let's just say we had to fight each other for the pink hair. (I let her have the Elton John glasses.)

That trip had many whimsical moments. But the one I want focus on is our study in butts. It all started with an event at her conference.  This guy stood right in front of me most of the evening, and well, all I could see was his backside. I became quite fascinated with his navy blue-trimmed pockets, and as you can see, I had to have a picture to commemorate the night. And that was the humble beginnings of our LA butts pictorial. You have no idea how hard it is to get these shots without being caught. Hence the need for a partner in (whimsy)crime...imagine if someone saw me (by myself) taking pictures of behinds! If we had to pick a favorite butt...I think it would be this guy's. I know he looks like a sad, homeless guy...but really...he was just a guy that couldn't keep his pants up...need I say more?

So, if you are going to join me in my quest for whimsy...you have to start out by finding yourself a Wacky. (You can't have mine, sorry!)  And one more thing, if you see my sister, don't tell her I put her picture in my blog...she hates when I post pictures of her.