In an earlier blog this week (The End of The World…Before Breakfast) I referred to the “Mother’s Curse” coming to haunt me, since I was a HORRIBLE child. I saw the handwriting ( there is the The Daily Prompt) on the wall. Several readers have responded on our FB Group (Just Shave You Legs with us on FB) that I couldn’t have been THAT horrid of a child… OOOOh allow me to let me enlighten you sweet, naive subscribers. There are so many incidents to choose from, but in order to present a semblance of order, I figured I would begin at the beginning (or in the case the first MAJOR incident that I am able to recall):
Warning/Disclaimer: Before reading through the latest blog Do NOT drink anything hot, carbonated, alcoholic, etc. that will cause damage shooting out of your nose. Do NOT read this until you have gone pee first. If you have bladder control issues, gird yourself with a fresh pair of “Depends”. Do NOT read this if you are supposed to be working, or are in another environment where you cannot laugh, chortle, snort or guffaw freely… This blog is based on actual, true events. No toddlers were harmed (at least physically) in the events that ensued.
All clear? Okay NOW you may proceed.
“Picture this: Sicily 19…” wait a minute, this isn’t “Golden Girls”! wrong TV Series… Seriously though, it was probably 1985 or 86 and I was somewhere around 3 1/2 , and my next youngest sister (whom we will refer to by her nickname: “Ri”) was 2 ish. My dad’s grandmother was in her 90’s and had just suffered a stroke. My (at the time youngest) baby sister (who shall be referred to via her nickname CiCi) was suffering horrendous health issues, and due to health issues and dad missing work, money was tight. Yep, in accords with “MacDonald Law”, everything was going wrong, so “WHAT ELSE could POSSIBLY go wrong” (*insert evil maniacal laughter here*)? We had just gotten home from visiting Nana (dad’s grandma) in the hospital and mom had taken all of our jackets/coats off in the family room while dad went into the kitchen. After mom was done changing baby CiCi, dad cam in with a large glass, or what I thought was orange juice, and gave it to mom. I IMMEDIATELY realized that I was really thirsty. “Mommy can I have some of yo orange juice pweeez?” I asked as politely as I could. Mom told me “No” and started talking to dad about lots of grownup stuff. RiRi tried to play with me but, in typical 1-track mind kid fashion, all I could think was about was wanting a nice cold glass of OJ. So my diabolical mind hatched a plan to get me some juice:
Then it hit me: like Electron’s lightning: it was almost bedtime. Before bedtime if we were good that day, mom and dad would give us “dessert” of either 10 animal crackers, 3 mini tootsie rolls or a roll of smarties. By some miracle, we were fairly good that day, AND we had to go to the hospital, so I could get dessert AND juice at the same time! “Mommy, RiRi and I was good, can we pweeez have dessert?” As I hoped, my plan worked. “OK, but I’ll pick tonight and be right back.” And to my glee, she put down her “Juice” picked up CiCi, and her and dad continued talking and went (2 rooms away around the corner) into the kitchen. JACKPOT! We had roughly 1 to 3 minutes.
So I went over to the end table and carefully picked up the big glass of OJ. It was more yellow than orange, but I was thirsty and didn’t care. I took a big gulp and…YUCK!! This OJ tastes weird. SO like every wonderfully responsible big sister, I called RiRi over “RiRi, you want some juice?” which basically meant, “this tastes weird, you try, and at least I won’t be in trouble alone”. RiRi toddled right over, took a sip..then REALLY started drinking away. As she was almost 1/2 way through the glass, I realized that it must just be me, and I was missing something great. So I grabbed the juice from her hand and drank some more. It was still weird. Not as sweet as it was supposed to be, but it kind of warmed my tummy and was tingly. There were a few mouthfuls left, and RiRi started whining and pulling at my arm, so I gave her the rest, which she quickly downed. As soon as she put the glass back she hiccuped, and we both giggled. We went to run into the play room, but RiRi tripped and fell, which was HILARIOUS so we both started giggling and laughing.
After what seemed like an hour, but in actuality was only about 3 minutes, my parents returned to the living room and, to their horror, discovered the empty glass on the end table, and the two giggling toddlers rolling around the floor of the next room. My mother, ever observantly yelled, “DID YOU TWO GIRLS DRINK MY SCREWDRIVER?!”. OK this must not have been her most shiningly academic moment, I mean did she think the DOG grew opposable thumbs, climbed up the end table and drank it? My ever impudent response was, “NO, I didn’t drink your screwdriver, it’s in daddy’s toolbox. I had a sip of you orange juice, but I TOLD you I was thirsty. RiRi drank most of it!” To which RiRi’s response was “*HICCUP* HAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!”
I must admit, for the rest of the story, my recollection became hazy (I wonder WHY), so dad filled me in on the rest of the details. Mom and dad rushed us off to Southwest Hospital, with us singing drunkenly in the backseat.Now it was the 80’s, so it wasn’t quite the offense it would be now, however it was still frowned upon to allow your children to get slobberingly drunk. In light of this, my dad gave my mom a very strict conversation on what NOT to say:
“Now Carol, don’t say ANYTHING!! This is an emotional situation, an you are very distressed, so PLEASE let me do the talking,” dad begged.
Mom agreed, however the minute we staggered through the hospital doors, everything went to heck. Mom started yelling at the top of her Sicilian lungs:
“MY BABIES DRANK ALCOHOL!! MY BABIES DRANK ALCOHOL!”
“Rubbing Alcohol?” the nurse inquired.
“NO LIQUOR ALCOHOL!!” Mom distressingly replied.
At that moment daddy thought: “We are going to jail.”
After hours in the hospital, they checked us out, and other than being, to put it bluntly, as drunk as skunks, we were fine. The put us all in a room until Moria and I started sobering up, while my parents got a VERY STERN talking to by the staff.
Then we passed out (probably literally) in the car and mom and dad took us to bed.
TO THIS DAY, 30 years later, I STILL remember my mom whipping the shades open the next morning and practically yelling “RISE AND SHINE!!” as I nursed the worse hangover headache of my life.
I’m pretty sure we can draw several lessons from this:
- NEVER leave children alone for 3 minutes
- NEVER underestimate the attraction of children to what looks like OJ
- If my mom would have JUST SHAVED her LEGS, I’m sure this would have never happened…