Mommy's Piggy Tales: Week 5: Super Girl!

I couldn't believe it! I got the 3rd grade teacher I'd hoped for-- the wonderful Mrs. Small!!!! Who, at about six feet tall, wasn't. But EVERYBODY LOVED HER!!!!!! She was smart and sweet and sassy and funny and the world's biggest cheerleader. Anyone who did well in class, academically or otherwise, got a hearty "That's my Super Girl!" or "That's my Super Boy!" from her. We all lived for those moments, me, maybe more than most. I didn't get too many "atta girls" from my classmates. But despite my increasing use of temper tantrums, she was understanding and didn't wish "for the bird of paradise to swoop over my lunch" either. She reserved that curse for the wiseacres in class. You know, the kind of boys who'd be the first to torment me. As I said, Mrs. Small was sassy: she'd sing the "Bird of Paradise" song to us, or other silly things. She taught us "Billy Boy" for math class & had us try to figure out the age of his wife; in the end, she would conclude that really Billy Boy's wife was "an old thing and nobody wants her!"

Mrs. Small was all about academics, and encouraged us to excel. She noticed I was in the lowest reading level, even though I was also in FOCUS, so she had me and one other girl (either Traci or Melissa) spend two weeks scanning through the reading levels and taking the tests to be able to study with the highest reading level class. We went from Level 9 to Level 12 in a hurry. Could have gone higher, but why be ahead of everyone else. I learned some very interesting true stories that year, like how the Towers of Watts came to be and the heroism of the crew of Apollo 13. I think we even read a bit of Jack London's "To Build a Fire." The Houghton-Mifflin Series they used did not dumb-down the material at all, and provided some good social/history lessons.

I needed those social lessons. I had started crying and throwing temper-tantrums when things didn't go my way. They didn't go my way as often as I'd like. I had this idea that I was the smartest girl in 3rd grade, since I always made As & 100s on my work (despite being a procrastinator & having a messy desk.) But one day, after we took one sort of achievement test or another, I learned that Karen W. scored higher than me. Horrors!!!! How did that happen!!!! She's not smart!!!!!! I threw the biggest temper tantrum yet; Mrs. Small had to take me back to the classroom and put me at my desk (which was always separate from everyone else's desks. I liked that, but I think it was to keep me from talking too much to other kids.) I was still, literally, screaming mad, so mad I stomped my feet & kicked my desk & knocked a pencil out. That pencil was just laying on the floor, so I stomped that, too. AND BROKE IT! Then I really, truly sobbed in sorrow. It was my favorite pencil-- one of those that were made with a redwood sawdust barrel so they had just enough bend to flick when you played that maze game with pencils. My mom never bought those pencils, and someone gave that one to me. Now it was broken. Mrs. Small tried to make me feel better by taping it up, but it would never be able to do flick mazes again. I learned a hard lesson to NEVER, EVER hurt or break anything in anger. You can't take it back & it will never be the same.

Melissa had a better idea about how to deal with unfairness. She & I were still the youngest people in our FOCUS class, and the older kids did not respect us. We played two simulation games that year, and our roles were the worst ones like cabin-boy or pig tender. When we thought they were being too mean, we'd have our own sit-down-strikes under the table, and all play would stop until we were negotiated with. We learned that from learning about MLK & Ghandi in our reading lessons, too.

Cabin boy? Pig tender? OK, the big deal that year was we were leading up to 1976, The Bicentennial of the United States of America. It was Bicentennial everything! Coins, bonds, car sale, fashions, you name it, it was sporting the Red, White & Blue. (Even the Olympics & Presidential elections took a backseat to this sea-to-shining-sea party.) Holly Hobby dolls were very popular. For my Junior Girls Scout troop, we had special badges to earn all about colonial life. We even had a "Bicentennial Chorus" made up of two girls from every troop in the Association. I was in it (after one of the other girl's mother declined the honor.) My mom made me a mob cap & apron, and a green gingham dress. I loved learning the medley of folk & patriotic songs; maybe I didn't love standing up in front of other people & singing. I'd throw my apron up over my face a lot. Well, why not? Isn't that what women did back then when they were nervous? Anyway, we were playing the "simulation games" in FOCUS so that we could see how difficult it was to cross the sea and settle in the colonies, and then how harrowing it was to cross the plains in a wagon to move west. It wasn't all Mayflowers and Little Houses. Each person had a role, and our abilities to complete a task, or random circumstances, were determined by a roll of the dice or a flip of the coin. Say, it's a hard winter-- and six meant there was enough food stored and every one in the colony lived, or a one meant what the rats didn't eat got moldy & half the colonists died. It taught us about history, perseverance and math. It also taught me that Johnny Cakes are very inedible, no matter how much syrup you put on them (that was my Independent Project for the year.)

Earning badges for Girl Scouts kept me busy after school. My mom was troop leader again, so she had the opportunity to test out plans on me first and sign off on my badge work. My mom, however, left a lot to be desired as a troop leader. Again there was the no-favoritism/extra-work component for me (which really came home to roost with the great cake Bake Off disaster; cake goeth before a fall, too.) The worst were our camp-outs. She took us on a trial camp-out in our backyard, which was fun since we could go in my house to use the bathroom, and we could use the stove to finish cooking our under-cooked campfire meals-- but then the neighborhood boys discovered we were there & spent half the night trying to scare us (& succeeding to my mom's irritation.) Then she took us to Camp Martha Johnson for a weekend, but waited too late to make the site reservations. We got Frontier Camp, the "primitive" site. No cabins & latrines for us greenhorns; we got spider-&-cricket infested tents on platforms & outhouses. Just one sink with running water at the shelter area. All of us girls vowed we'd never use the outhouses, we'd just cross the Rainbow Bridge & use the flushing toilets at another site. Until the torrential RAIN that night that flooded the river & left us surrounded by water. Then we had no choice. Since I actually have a good sense of direction, I spent the night leading my fellow scouts to the outhouses (buddy system, you know.) Glad my mom insisted that I pack my raincoat & galoshes. That weekend may have been what convinced my mom to never lead a troop again.

Both of my best friends were in Mrs. Small's class and in my girl scout troop-- Melissa R., who was also in FOCUS with me, and Annie G. who was also in CCD with me. Two girls who more unlike than any. Melissa was sweet & silly & loved her big sister & little sister (most of the time;) she had many friends and lots of sleepovers and adored Little House on the Prairie (since the main actress was named Melissa, too.) Annie was wild & goofy & wanted to trade in her older and younger siblings; she was often left alone at home while her mom worked as a nurse (her big sister was supposed to be watching them) and told off-color jokes. But for some reason, they both liked me and were my friends. I was very jealous and had a hard time sharing them with other friends. Sometimes, I'd miss out on fun things with Melissa because I resented her having Traci or Melanie over. Sometimes, I'd let Annie boss me around because she'd say she wouldn't stay & play if I didn't. All around, I loved my friends, but I just didn't think that friends could be very fair.

Spring came and the Bicentennial was in full swing. We had a school fair and I wore my gingham dress. We tried to churn butter in a mayonnaise jars, but we just didn't have the pioneer stamina to keep shaking & shaking, so all we got was sour, frothy milk. For spring Field Day, the 3rd graders performed a Maypole Dance, which was extra special that year, since it was sort of a colonial thing to do; I got to wear a blue skirt (my favorite color-- might have thrown a fit to get it) and I was matched up with a boy with a blue sash, who didn't seem to mind being matched up with me. I really like doing the dance & the weaving, and I wish I could have kept my skirt & streamer, but they were put back away for next year's 3rd graders. My school year wrapped up with Mrs. Roberson's spring dance recital; she had a real studio on Watson Blvd. now, but we still performed at the Officers' Club on base. She had a "Westward Ho!" theme and we wore patchwork with kerchiefs; our ballet number was "Night Herding" and our tumbling routine was to "Hand Me Down that Can o' Beans." I did not take tap that year, because my mom said I didn't practice enough.

Summer had its ups and downs. I still didn't pass Advanced Beginners swim lessons. And Melissa's dad got stationed in Dayton, Ohio, so she had to move away. We promised we'd write to each other every day-- well, maybe every week. But I wasn't bored without her. My parents let me go to summer camp at Camp Martha Johnson; scary to be without my family and in among new people, but very much fun with singing & laughing and crafts and NOT being in the primitive site (I got the cabin group near the pool.) I earned several new badges (including my swimming one - ha! Dry Lake Pool!), and was just getting into the swing of things when my week was over. I knew I would be looking forward to going back next year.

Finally, I learned how to ride a bike. I was all of eight years old, almost nine, and couldn't ride a bike. Sure, I felt left behind when Sally or Annie or Melissa wanted to go ride, but what could I do? Bikes were dangerous! One afternoon, I pointed out a Burger King commercial to my dad--the one where the kid learns how to ride a bike and they celebrate by keeping biking on down to BK for fries. I wanted fries. My dad wanted me to learn how to ride that blue bike. He took me out to the backyard where the yard had a slight slope. He'd learned back in Birmingham by coasting down hills, so he figured I could do the same. Every time he let go, I'd wobble a bit and jump off. After a million times of doing that, he threatened that if I did that one more time, he'd tie my feet to the pedals. I jumped. He tied.

I was terrified! He wheeled me (tied down with cotton kitchen twine) back to the top of the hill, gave me a running push, and let go. I had no choice but to peddle like crazy to keep my balance. I kept peddling & peddling, down the hill, through the gate, across the driveway, and bump, right into the lone tree in the front yard. But I didn't fall down! My mom had seen me from the kitchen window. I was so excited I jumped off my bike to tell her. Then we went to back to the top of the hill and I did it all over again, except I missed the tree in the front yard, rode across our yard, the Prices' yard and into the vacant lot, where I bumped into the lone tree in there.

I jumped off my bike. Did you notice that? Nah, I didn't either, not for many years. I was never in danger of falling. My dad was nearby, and my shoes were only lightly looped over by a bow. I could have jumped off. I just need to have some confidence forced on me.

I wouldn't get off that bike for years.

Why Put Off Until Tomorrow, What You Can Put Off for Another Week?

I am, disappointed in myself. I'm not surprised. But I am disappointed.

I "missed" a week with "Mommy's Piggy Tales." Of course it's my own fault. I could have been typing instead of playing computer games. But I just couldn't get motivated.

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I do have excuses.

I had PMS-- that alone can put one out of her ever-lovin' mind.

I had many visits to attend to: family get-together fish-fry, son's God family about to fly out to new diplomatic assignment, MIL & SIL coming over on a rare visit, other kids' birthday parties-- that can wear a body out.

I am hoping that my master bath will be finished (after a year!!!!) being painted, and we can use it again, which means we will be able to concentrate on clearing out the room that is the computer room/office so our son can move in there so our daughter can move in his room so our computer/office can move into the corner of our bedroom where the baby currently is, which means that we are having to do a lot of culling/sorting/storing-- that sentence made my brain hurt, let alone thinking of all the logistics.

I've been finishing other projects that I have long put off since my house has been piled miles-high in disarray, and is now regaining some order (see above)-- that has made me feel accomplished in and of itself, exclusive of other endeavors.

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These are all excuses, and I sometimes feel I have no excuse. I could have written. When I did sit down today to write, the words just flowed (in between juvenile interruptions.) That's been a constant problem of mine. I can do B+ work at a last minute dash, and A+ work if I sit down & put some advance effort into it. I should not offer excuses.

I feel better with excuses.

Maybe the main problem has been being self-conscious about what & how to write. My Week 3 offering was long(ish) and had a very negative vibe. I know what my life story is like, and I know that I get hurt a lot over my young years-- nothing "damaging," but "character building" is painful in its own time, nonetheless. I have been afraid of being too long-winded and a downer, thus putting off anyone who wants to read my blog.

I've talked over with myself, framed things out in my mind, and prayed over it. I considered maybe writing a long blog, but then linking up a just a "happy" excerpt. In the end, God reminded me that I should write for my heart, not for my "audience." This blog is for me, for my needs, and sometimes, my needs also meet another's, but not through my own choosing, but by living the life I pray that God has led me to live. That's the way His plan works; not by my design, but His, wonderfully so & inexplicable.

So there on Wednesday is a long Blog post "catching" up from the previous week. Missed linking up, sort of bummed that I won't be eligible for a "Perfect Attendance Award." I, think, tho, that there are others participating for whom one of the prizes will mean so much more to them than it would to me. There I feel better.

But if, say, one of the prizes turns out to be "waking up 60 pounds lighter" or "house magically rearranged without any physical effort," you'll remember that I did get my "Week 4" entry in before Week 4 was over, OK?

Mommy's Piggy Tales: Week 4: Going to a New Place

Moving was so much fun! When we left the house in Brunswick, all of the rooms were empty & I could run from room to room, with even the smallest whisper seeming to echo around the walls. The new house in Warner Robins did the same thing, but the rooms were quickly filled with boxes. The new house was different, too, which made it fun. My new room had shelves in the closet, as did my brother's, and we both had fancy light-switch plates (mine had angels.) His room was smaller than mine, and shaped funny with one wall having a nook that just held his bed. This was also where his window was, and it looked over a small patio on the side of the house. The house had two brick-lattice patios, one on the side and one connecting the driveway to the front door, and both could be accessed from the huge living room. It was taller than it was wide, owing to its "cathedral" ceiling; there was no overhead light fixture, but there were windows following the roofline opposite of the fireplace. (Yea! Fireplace! Now Santa didn't have to use his key!) The kitchen was tiny (a galley kitchen), the den generous. The bathrooms were two rooms each, a sink part AND a tub/toilet part. The best part was the screened-in porch to play on, the concrete patio with a tree growing in the middle of it, a back yard that went forever & the wild woods in the back. Kid heaven!

The kids next door came over to check us out. The two older boys couldn't care less about a seven-year-old girl & her little brother, but Sal, wearing no shirt, climbed down out of a tree to talk. Sal would be in Second Grade, too, and offered to teach me how to climb trees & how to find the paths through the woods. Then Sal had to go in & wash up. Well, I should say, "Sally," because that's the name her mother called out the door. Fooled again! Yet, I didn't feel too bad. Sally was a self-professed tom-boy, running after her brothers and admiring the TV wagon-master "Dirty Sally." Getting her into a dress, like her little sisters, was a feat. I think I saw her in a dress just once. And she did know all the fun places out in the woods, even though I was too chicken to climb up into any of the tree-houses.

My birthday was very, very low key, on account of moving in July. But my mom did make me an early present; a new bed spread and curtains in the prettiest pink/blue/green & yellow calico patchwork print. I loved it!

I was the new kid at Richard B. Russell Elementary; everyone else seemed to know each other from first grade. I didn't know any other kids in my "pod." To say I felt shy & out of place would have been an understatement. I felt especially awkward with the teacher, Mrs. "G." She was old and acted like it. Everyone said her sister had taught them in the first grade and they loved the sister. But we weren't too sure about our current teacher. (I wasn't alone in my sentiments.) Once, she asked us to tell about our parents. I told about all the pennies my dad had saved up in old liquor bottles. They were old pennies -- lots of wheats-- and they were old decorative decanters. I thought they were just wonderful, but Mrs. G started in on me about the evils of drinking and alcoholism. I'd never felt so small in all my life. I just cried, which only made the kids laugh at me. I think my friend George tried to cheer me up. He understood how I felt about coins. One day he brought some different coins to school & asked which of us wanted a English square penny. Me! Me! It's mine, a square penny from British Borneo. (I often wondered how the kids in England could get gum out of a gum machine if their pennies were square.) George moved away over Christmas with hardly a good-bye. Warner Robins was an Air Force town; little did I know that many people would come in & out of my life that way.

If George had stayed, I guess he & I would have "gone together." Suddenly everyone (except me) was "going together." This I couldn't figure out. Yes, I know it meant sort of a boyfriend/girlfriend thing, but even I knew we were only seven & eight, and we can't GO anywhere. I tried having a crush on Tom, since he was kinda cute, lived up the street from me & was in my Sunday School class, but he didn't welcome my attention. I guess chasing him on the playground is not the way to a man's heart.

Second grade was very busy for me. There was class, and spending time with Sally & her family. But there were also "activities." I was attending Sunday School for the first time, or as it was called at Sacred Heart Church, CCD. Sister Pius was our teacher and we were preparing for our First Communion in the Spring. We had a ton of prayers & stuff to learn about God & Jesus & Eucharist. If we didn't say our prayers just right, she'd yell at us. And then she tell us that we didn't want to make her mad-- that we hadn't seen her mad yet. Boy, if that wasn't her "mad," we didn't want to see the real thing. She was a real, old-school nun, the likes of which would never be seen again.

After school there was also dance lessons-- tap, ballet and tumbling at Mrs. Bonnie Robertson's Studio. For the time, the studio was in the bonus room of her basement. I really liked dance class; I learned the moves very quickly and enjoyed the feeling of dancing. I couldn't do the splits very well, but I could get a good, wide angle on my ballet positions, especially number two. My mom learned about the classes from one of the other Scouting moms. That was another of my favorite things to do, Brownie Scouts! We learned about nature & singing & games, and took field trips. My mom was one of the leaders of our troop, which was awkward sometimes, since she'd call on me to help out, but didn't favor me with help from herself. (????) Then there was the incident of singing at dues time on at the first troop meeting-- it was in the Brownie Handbook, unfortunately I'm such a goob. Did not sing the "Plink-plink" song again. But otherwise it was tons of fun.

In school, I wasn't very popular, but I did get something special. F.O.C.U.S. - Fostering Outstanding Creativity & Understanding in Students. It was an "enrichment class." There were only two second graders chosen for FOCUS, me and Melissa R. The rest of the students were 4th grade and up, but they were experimenting with 2nd & 3rd grades, as a mixed group. We mainly talked about stuff and did weekly worksheets with things like logic puzzles, vocabulary, and other "mind games." My dad got more of a kick out of my weekly sheets than I did!

The months moved by in kind of a blur. Mrs. G would miss a lot of days, and then after mid-term, she just wasn't there. Her health I guess. The teacher who'd been our most regular substitute, Mrs. Vizzini, was now our regular teacher. I liked Mrs. Vizzini. She'd recognized that I was a shy kid; she'd often let me have the privilege of sitting next to her at lunch, and was supportive of me in my classwork.

Soon it was spring and I became important! First Communion time had arrived. I had a new white dress with a poofy skirt and little multi-colored flecks shaped like little candies. So pretty. I had a white hair bow. I begged & begged for a veil like everyone else, but all we could afford was a bow. My grandmothers who came down to visit for the occasion were as disappointed as I was; if they'd known, they would have bought me one. Pride, as they say... but they made it up to me. I got little gifts of money (for bonds) and little cross necklaces. Babchu gave me a sterling & crystal rosary that was so beautiful! My mom almost "put it up" for me, but a good Catholic girl needs her rosary. My mom fried the last of the shrimp we'd frozen back in Brunswick for the dinner, and my dad got us Krispy Kreme donuts for breakfast. The biggest surprise was that Mrs. Vizzini dropped off a present for me at my house. I didn't know that teachers cared about kids outside of school. I was very, very touched that she remembered me with a little cross necklace.

Less than a month later was my dance recital. I felt like a princess! Our costumes had all sorts of sequins (sequins!!!!) on it, with little spaghetti straps. I wore it with a matching tutu for the ballet piece, and with a feathered headband for the tap piece. For tumbling, we just wore our leotards & tights. It was wonderful and I so looked forward to dancing again next year.

School finished, and we all got promoted. (Even some of the boys who made fun of me.) The year was full of experiments: having second graders in FOCUS, not including First Reconciliation with First Communion instruction, and now I was bridging up from Brownies to Junior Girl Scouts-- they had lowered the age. Well! This was exciting news indeed. Now I could earn badges, and I could even start this summer!!!!!! Oh, joy, oh joy!

For the summer, my brother & I were enrolled in swimming lessons at Dry Lake Pool. My brother was in a Pee-wee sort of class; mine was Advanced Beginners. I could not pass Advanced Beginners; I did not do the "heels-in-the-back-pockets" kick of the Elementary Backstroke just right. But a photographer came out and took lots of picture of my little brother having to be coaxed into the water. The cute little coward was all over the newspaper. Bleh.

Still, it was a nice summer, with days spent playing in the backyard or the woods, or at one of the area playgrounds, if my mom wasn't in the mood to take us to the pool. Sally got a new baby sister, and her brothers got a sleeping loft, so their room could also be the playroom. I would help Sally with her chores, including their vegetable garden. I did learn how to climb a little tree, if I could hold on to the fence underneath it. Right around my birthday, my parents found the time & the money to take my brother and I to Six Flags Over Georgia. Fun! Fun! Fun! I had high hopes.

(This should have been posted back on July 1. The past two weeks have been filled with visits from fiends & relatives and preparing to rearrange the kids' sleeping arrangements. Things that bring out the best in my procrastination. This post will soon have pictures added, of at least my school photo, dance costume and bead spread. Loved those! Thanks for all your kindness & patience.)