Throwback Tuesday: Thanksgiving 25 Years Ago 21/30

November 21, 2017 By Carole

I’m at a loss for a blog post for today and, while looking for inspiration, I started trolling my archives. And I decided – why try and come up with something new? Why not look back on Thanksgiving 1992. 25 years ago. Hannah’s first Thanksgiving. (This post originally appeared on November 26, 2013)

This was November 26, 1992. Twenty one years ago tomorrow. My baby girl was exactly 12 weeks old.

Of course she’s wearing a velvet dress. Back in the day when I had any say at all on what she wore on a holiday it always involved velvet. And the blue went with her eyes. And the smocking, well, I just love smocking on a little girl’s dress. The tights and the shoes? Oh my. And I tried with her hair but there just wasn’t enough for a bow in those days.

But what’s up with her right hand? That little “paw” there? Hold onto your hats because this is the part where I admit that I was a bad mother.

You see, I went back to work after my maternity leave on the Monday of Thanksgiving week. I figured a short week was a good way to ease back into work life and I was out of paid time and so it was decided that I would return to work on Monday the 23rd. Being a good wife and mother, I purchased a pot roast to put in the crock pot for that morning. I thought it would be nice to come home after that first day to a ready-made dinner and a wonderful smelling house. I got up extra early that morning and I put the roast in the crock pot on the kitchen counter. I went about the business of getting Hannah and I ready and then I laid her jacket out on the counter and set her on top of it so that I could put it on her – something I had done every time we went out for weeks.

She started crying but that wasn’t unusual since I was stuffing her into her jacket and she often fussed about that. As I went to put her right arm into the sleeve of her coat I saw the red mark and, I’ll admit, I was completely baffled at first. And then I realized – when I laid her on the counter her little hand had gone right up against the hot crock pot. The crying was because she was in pain not because she was mad about the jacket.

I had burned my baby’s hand.

I had burned my baby’s hand and she was crying and I ignored it and thought she was just fussy.

I had burned my baby’s hand and it was already starting to blister.

I brought her straight to my mom’s house – she lived about 5 minutes away. My mom took right over and offered to bring Hannah to the doctor so that I could head to work. I didn’t dare call in, although, looking back on it, I could have and my boss would have understood. So off my mom went with Hannah and off I went to work, crying the whole way.

Worst first day back to work story ever, right?

The burns were second-degree, of course, and we had to use silvadene cream and keep a sterile gauze bandage on it for a bit. And that’s why my baby has a white paw in all of the pictures from her first Thanksgiving.

Mother-of-the year 1992 right here, folks.

Let’s hope Jack’s first Thanksgiving is much less eventful!

Throwback Thursday

December 10, 2015 By Carole

Today we’re throwing it back. We’re throwing it allllllll the way back to December 1992 when Hannah was 3 months old.

I cannot even stand the cuteness. And yes, she was a roly poly little thing. Or, as my pediatrician used to tell me, she was clearly thriving. In all seriousness, she was 8lb 5 oz when she was born in September and by December of that year she was up to a hefty 14lbs. That little velour jumpsuit is loose – and so cute! Hannah was the best dressed Christmas baby ever! – but that’s mostly my little nugget filling it up with her chubbiness.

I had an Emmaljunga pram and we went everywhere with that thing. It was heavy and a pain in the ass to haul in and out of the car but Hannah loved it because she could stretch out and be comfortable, nap when she felt like it, and gaze adoringly at her mama. Or, as my mom used to say, be the princess that she was clearly meant to be.

I look at these pictures and they bring back some truly happy memories. I remember that by then I was feeling like maybe I had a handle on this mom thing, finally. I was back to work but on a light schedule, she was (mostly) sleeping through the night, I was still able to breastfeed exclusively thanks to a very helpful mom and an understanding library staff, and the joy I felt when I got home from work each day and her eyes lit up at the sight of me – well – I get verklempt even now when I think about it.

I was on the verge of my first Christmas as a mom and I can honestly say that the wonder and magic of the season was profound and new and it has been ever since.

Throwback Thursday: This One’s For Dale

June 25, 2015 By Carole

In honor of Throwback Thursday and in celebration of Dale’s birthday, which is tomorrow, I’m sharing this picture of Dale’s mom, Ruthie, with her 3 boys. (Okay, she eventually wound up with 4 boys and a girl but these were the children she had at this time. Work with me here.)

It was taken in September 1951 at Kozy Kamp Hideaway Village – not that I have any idea where that is. My mother-in-law, gawd love her, was really good about writing on the back of photos. That’s how I know where this was taken and when. It’s also how I know that Randy, the oldest, is 2 1/2 years, Glen is 20 months, and Dale, the baby, is 2 1/2 months. That’s right. 3 boys in 3 1/2 years. And would you just look at her? She looks happy. And like the picture of health with her big smile and her long legs crossed at the ankles. The boys are clean and dressed and smiling and Dale, well, he looks a little milk drunk, but that’s to be expected given his age. I’d be willing to bet the photo was taken by Dale’s dad, Jack, and that would probably account for the looks of adoration on their faces. Well, except for Dale because he’s oblivious. And milk drunk.

I love this photo for a million reasons but mostly for the glimpse it gives me of Dale’s earliest days. He was blessed to be born into a loving family with amazing and supportive parents. They camped and hiked and traveled. They worked hard and played harder. They loved each other and their kids fiercely and set an example that all 5 of their children strive to live up to every day.

Good people, I tell you, and I’m grateful that they raised Dale to be the man he is. So, on Dale’s almost birthday, I just want to say thanks to Ruthie and Jack. You raised a fine man.

Throwback Thursday Christmas 1992

December 18, 2014 By Carole

Allow me to present . . . mother and daughter in their matching Christmas sweatshirts:

Yeah.

These must have been a gift from my mom and, while it’s cute on Hannah, on me? Oy. Is it appropriate to use a Yiddish exclamation of dismay on a Christmas photo? Well, I’m going with it.

And can we talk about my hair? The blondeness? And the permed-ness? And the headband with the bow? Double oy.

In any case, this was taken at my mom’s by her Christmas tree and in front of the fireplace. You can just see the edge of the Ten Commandments that now hangs in my dining room. And there are ornaments in that photo that now hang on my tree. And my baby girl – just look at those cheeks and those tiny feet and hands.

So, despite the corny sweatshirts and bad 80s hair that obviously carried over into the early 90s, it’s a photo I sort of treasure.

Happy Christmas, Throwback Thursday Style!

Throwback Thursday: The One About Not Judging

November 20, 2014 By Carole

When I was 5, which is when this picture was taken, my mom was a single mom. My parents had split up when I was 2 and my mom hadn’t yet married my stepdad and so she was doing it on her own. I think she got $75 per week in child support and that was for all 3 kids. She didn’t work because, well, it was 1970 and most moms didn’t work in those days. At least, not most moms where we lived. So, we didn’t have a lot of money. I never felt like we didn’t have enough, there was always food and our house was warm and I can honestly say I didn’t want for anything.

But.

I got free lunch. And in those days the kids with free lunch were pretty obvious because everyone else paid for their lunch and we (I think it was a we but I felt like I was the.only.one) had an orange card that the cafeteria lady punched when we went through the line. It didn’t bother me, though. I thought it was cool and I was special.

Until.

The lunch lady, Mrs. Holmes, (and I won’t describe her other than to say – picture your typical lunch lady with the white smock and hairnet) decided that maybe I didn’t need free lunch. I’m not sure why she decided this but I think it may have been because I had pretty nice clothes. My mom had a very good friend with 3 daughters and I got all of their hand-me-downs. And there were a lot. I wore a dress to school every day and I could go weeks before I had to wear the same one twice. They were pretty much all Polly Flinders dresses and I must have looked like a little rich kid who was taking advantage of the system.

I’m not sure how a kid could do that but anyway, she decided to start following me to my table. And making sure I ate my lunch. All of my lunch. Now, I was a good little girl and I liked to follow the rules so I tried to do as she said. But one day? One day we had cowboy stew. It was some kind of meat in gravy that was grey and it was ladled over mashed potatoes. I thought it looked like someone threw up on my mashed potatoes and I just couldn’t bring myself to eat it. And when I didn’t eat it Mrs. Holmes started yelling at me. She told me that other people paid for my food and I had better eat it because it was free and I wasn’t allowed to waste it. So I cried. And I got more and more upset. And then I threw up on Mrs. Holmes.

That, of course, earned me a trip to the nurse and she called my mom. I told my mom the whole story when she came to pick me up and I can still see the look on her face. She was angry and indignant on my behalf. And crushed that a person of authority, one who should have been compassionate, instead berated and belittled me. I remember her taking me to the principal’s office and I remember her telling Mrs. Bohlin, the secretary, that she absolutely had to see Mr. Kelleher, the principal, immediately. And I remember sitting on the chair next to Mrs. Bohlin’s desk while my mom went in and talked to Mr. Kelleher.

My mom told him the whole sordid tale and Mrs. Holmes never bothered me again. In fact, I don’t really remember her after that. I’m not sure if she left or if she just stayed far away from me but I don’t really recall interacting with her ever again.

Are you wondering why I’m telling you this story? It’s not so you will feel sorry for me or my plight as a 1st grader. It’s not so that you will run out and make a donation to your food pantry. (Although, if you want to do that it would be awesome!)

Here’s why I told you this story: It’s partly because it shows how amazing my mom was. She was my champion and she wasn’t about to let any lunch lady be mean to me. But it’s mainly because I learned an important lesson from Mrs. Holmes. I learned not to judge others by their appearance. It’s hard not to do this, especially at this time of year when all of the charities are asking for help and we wonder if it’s going to the right people. We see the people at the grocery store, paying with their EBT cards. We wonder if they really need help. We wonder if they are making good choices with the money they get. Why are they buying junk food instead of vegetables? Why do they have things we have to work so hard for? We wonder if they are scamming the system.

But before you judge them, think about me, the little girl in the very nice dress who got free lunch. And remember that you don’t know anyone’s story until they tell it to you themselves.