Monday, July 31, 2006

Prize patrol

Okay, I know I have some buddies who tune in on occasion to see if there is anything interesting going on in Lulus world. (so far, I bet you've been disappointed) Well it's YOUR turn to entertain me. I am going to see if this will motivate some of my quiet readers to do a little writing. Let's have a contest! I need AT LEAST 4 participants guys! There will even be a Prize awarded! ( to be announced later, after I think of a good one!) Just tell me Your funniest Childhood memory! That's it ! Make it as detailed as you can. Reach back to those fun, carefree days of your youth. What is that one story that you always reminisce about? I bet these stories will make us all smile. I promise to be an impartial judge. So - get thinking and writing.... and let's see .. we need an entry expiration date.... Lets say August 17th.
Good Luck!


ann said...

Luanne my love, you will be especially horrified by my funniest childhood memory ..... when I was four, my brother was. We were playing barbershop in the basement and I was the customer. I had long blonde hair. My brother gave me a haircut using the lawn edging scissors.

My mother was distraught and dragged us both all around town to show everyone the wretched state of my hair.

thus began the pixie cut era.

ann said...

oops! my brother was seven.

Carole Knits said...

Okay, mine also involves my brother. I was about 8, so he was 14. We were sitting at the dinner table and the meal was meatloaf, which we both put ketchup on. So, Donald is shaking the ketchup bottle but not up and down. He's shaking it in an arc from left to right. And doesn't the cover come flying off just as he tilts the bottle in my direction. This huge splat of ketchup landed on my chest. And I looked up and said, "I've been shot." We laughed about this for years afterwards.

Wendy said...

Hey mine involves my brother and hair too! I was 3, he was 5, and we were driving with my mom from Norfolk VA to Worcester MA to visit my grandmother -- 10 hour drive. Fifteen minutes before we got there, my mom pulled over and carefully brushed my blonde hair and arranged it in curls with a pink bow so I'd look pretty for my grandmother. My brother requested a drink, so my mom poured him a cup of orange juice from the thermos. As our car pulled into my grandmother's driveway, my brother dumped the full cup of orange juice over my hair. Heh.

JulieFrick said...

It was hot. Africa hot. And my little sister Jess and I begged my mom to drive us over to the pool, which was unusual, because it meant submitting our thighs to the vinyl seats of the dark blue (read: oven) Ford station wagon. The water was SO refreshing, I must have lost my mind a bit. Under water I spy my sister in her striped suit. Her ass is right there, all round and pinchable. I swim closer, stealthy-like, until I am right underneath her, and then I reach up and inflict the most vicious pinch I have in me on that chubby 9 year-old bum. Except when I come up for breath, I'm face to face with a very small, very astonished, very not Jess stranger woman. Exeunt JulieFricknits, never to forget this moment. Ever.

Anonymous said...

It's not so much funny as it is funny now. My sister and I were having a pillow fight when we were about 6 and 8. She chucked a pillow which knoced over a shelf of PenDelfin Rabbits--about 20 or so. Smashed, chipped, broken. Mom and Dad coming running in and we each blame each other. Well, who is telling the truth here? My sister swore on the Bible that she didn't do it. As did I but I was telling the truth but younger and less believable. Liz did not admit till we were in our 20's that she was the culprit.

Anonymous said... more. And Ann loves these stories. My parents never told us when they put our pets to sleep. They always told us they ran away and we always put out signs to find them. I don't think they let us know till we were in our 20's. I don't know what was so magical about the 20's--but they were the truthful period of our lives.

Anonymous said...

howdy, Ann suggested we come here and tell stories. :-)
When I was 7 and my sister was 4 our parents would take us to visit my grandmother in NY. She had a large house in the country. Grandma would takeus for walks everyday. A favorite walk was down the lane to the neighbors duck pond. The ducks and geese were very friendly as they were often fed by people like us.It was lovely to walk there, with stone walls lining the road and huge trees.
My sister liked to collect feathers. Generally she would pick them up from the ground.
One day she spotted a feather that she wanted for her collection. She walked up to the feather, still admiring it, and before anyone could say no, she grabbed a feather that was still connected to a bird and gave a tug.
Now birds don't mind if you collect their feathers from the ground, but they don't much care for a 4 YO grabbing a feather that is still attached to their back.

A small bird riot ensued and we were chased down the lane by an angry flock of fowl.

After that my sister preferred the walk through the woods to look at the fox den.

jenifleur said...

When I was around 11 years old, I was having an early morning fist fight with my 9 year old brother and our 3 year old brother was repeatedly saying "Stop that! Stop it, you're going to wake up Grammy! Stop fighting you're going to get in trouble!"

My grandmother came downstairs, smacked the 3 yo and told him to be quiet, then went back to bed without so much as a word to us older kids.

He's still mad at us and we still think it's funny.

Lucy said...

omg these are ALL SUCH GREAT STORIES! I am loving them! Thanks so much everyone! Keep 'em coming!

Anonymous said...

A fond childhood memory...The Blue Blazer

I happily grew up on the east side of Detroit. Yes, Dee-troit, Michigan - not Royal Oak, not Bloomfield Hills and surely not Grosse Pointe. I say this because some folks "say" they're from Detroit but they're really from the burbs. I, on the other hand, am a Detroiter through and through. Ma and dad decided to give me a full, wham-banged, action-packed, Catholic, education. This included grade school, high school and somehow, I even ended up at a Jesuit run college. My tale takes place during the high school years, which happens to be in the early 70's. I went to Regina High that was NOT in Detroit, but Harper Woods. Why? Well, they were going to bus me to Finney High had I gone to a public school since bussing was in full swing. My parents would have none of it. Actually, it could have saved me a lot of grief because my husband of 26 years had gone there during his high school years and I could have skipped all the schmucks I dated prior to him and got to the good stuff first.

Regina was an ALL GIRLS school but I figured that was o.k. since an ALL BOYS school was next door. It all worked out pretty well except when the nuns would call my parents that "Jeannine was once again between the schools, without a hat for goodness sakes, and talking to the boys." My dad told me to put a hat on.

Regina was a Catholic school and like most of that ilk, had a rather strict dress code. The get-up included saddle shoes, blue and white plaid skirt, white blouse and a blue, wool, blazer. We could wear blue sweaters if we wanted, but I, one of many non-comformists, usually got stopped by the nuns for wearing something I didn't mind being caught dead in. We also got stopped for rolling up our skirts as high as we dared, even though the nun-patrol would soon be on our tracks. It was well worth the hassle.

Now uniforms have their plusses and minuses. One great thing is you don't have to think what you're going to wear for school when your all bleary-eyed in the morning. Another plus is that the money you make with your after-school job can go into your oh-so-cool wardrobe. The big minus is that a uniform was not meant to make you look pretty, or hip, or desirable (to those guys at the Catholic school next door.)

The blue blazer incident occurred during one of those four, seemingly endless at the time, years. The memory of the actual class it took place in is so far back in my brain's caverns I couldn't begin to say what we were learning. Suffice to say a good buddy of mine, Joanie, was sitting near me. At one point during the class, one of the nuns in the office announced over the intercom that "Jeannine Belde" needs to come down to the office. This ordinarily wouldn't have caused undo alarm, but I had forgotten to wear "the blue blazer." School rules dictated that the blue blazer be worn whenever a Reginite went out into the hallway. In a quandary, I begged Joanie's blazer. She passed it over and I donned it down the hall. I don't seem to remember that there was any huge discrepancy in our body size, but apparently her blue blazer didn't fit me all too well. An eagle-eyed nun asked me who the blazer belonged to. I can't remember if I told her outright. Geesh, I hope not. In any case it wouldn't have been hard for her to look at the class list and pinpoint my friends. Next thing you knew the voice over the intercom blared, "Joan Brusewitz, please come to the office immediately. Joanie, in a panic of her own, borrowed someone else's blazer, in a moment of pure brilliance. This went on.... The final words out of the nun was, "Do I need to call the ENTIRE class down to the office?" Jeannine Belde - You're busted!!

Sierra Starsong said...

My grandpa used to make his own cough syrup by grinding up rock candy (big sugar crystals) in a coffee grinder and mixing it with whiskey. One weekend when I was maybe six I woke up with a cold. Mom always said not to wake her up on Saturdays, just get some cereal and watch cartoons, so I climbed up on the kitchen counter and got Grandpa's cough syrup down and took a swallow every time I coughed. I'm probably lucky I didn't poison myself! After a few "doses" I decided I wanted red hair like Strawberry Shortcake and decided to dye it myself - with ketchup. By the time Mom woke up the house looked like a horror movie set and I couldn't stop giggling.

Anonymous said...

what a great idea for a theme. i wish that i could think of one off the top of my head, but i can't. i don't think about my childhood too often, but will work on my assignment!!

thanks for stopping by my blog. nice to know 'ya.

Anonymous said...

When I was 4 years old (1957!) I was a flower girl in my cousin Chickie's wedding. There I was, walking down the aisle in the church of Our Lady of Mount Carmel (it was a packed house, I might add) in my yellow & white swiss dotted gown alongside the ringboy, my favorite cousin Joseph, when a bumble bee flew into my basket of flowers. Being a city girl, such assaults of nature frightened me terribly, and I immediately burst into noisy tears. My cousin Chickie's mom, the infamous Aunt Concetta, beckoned me to her. I ran over to her expecting to be comforted only to receive a good smack and be pushed back into the aisle! My sister Evelina, who was 8 and my cousin Maria, who was 10, burst into uncontrollable laughter ,upon which my Aunt Concetta turned and gave them each a whack, much like a scene out of the Three Stooges!
To this day, we still howl with laughter about it!


Lucy said...

That is so funny Claire- they were really bordering on child abuse back then!