For some REAL fun-

Don'tcha' hate it when your six year old gets in trouble, for eating all of the fruit snacks in the storage room, so you leave him home with his big brother while you go to a church dinner, and the disgruntled six year old calls 911 to report his big brother is bothering him. Has this EVER happened to you? Yeah, me neither.....especially the part where all the neighbors come out to see who got busted.

Remember When-

Are there moments in your life that suspend reality and transport you back in time?
I like to sit with my eyes closed and remember the sights, smells, and feel of my childhood. I remember the aroma of my grandmother's kitchens, the sounds of their voices reading stories or giving careful instructions. I remember the smell of the farmer's work boots as they entered Grandma V's country store for an afternoon break and the slushy bottles of pop encased in the old style water filled coolers. I can see Grandma N putting on her flattened lipstick with the tip of her tongue sticking out just a bit, as she followed the tube around her lips. I remember whiskered kissle-wissles, huggle-wuggles, and freckle-weckles from Grandpa S, who painted all of his tools with a big blue "S". Grandpa C smelled like Skin Bracer Aftershave, and his arms were really strong.

I remember other things....

One particular memory woven into and throughout my youth was dancing. My grandparents danced, my parents danced, and my aunts and uncles twirled and galloped with the best of them. My mom is from a large family that does everything together with enthusiasm. One of the things they do best is dance. It is what brought my grandparents together and convinced my mom that a second date with my dad wouldn't be too unbearable.

A recent event triggered these nostalgic musings. I had the delightful opportunity to attend my cousin's wedding reception in Oregon. It had been a long time since I had the thrill of being with those wonderful people. Just seeing their faces was joyous, but when they started dancing I felt myself drift back years to the way things use to be- when all of the people I loved were still with us, possibly arranging trays in the kitchen or coming through the door for a huggle-wuggle, to join us shortly for a dance.
I observed my children that night, as my dad and mom encouraged my six year old son when he took his first tentative steps on the dance floor while my youngest daughter twirled euphorically in and out of the other dancers. They beamed confidence and bliss as they joined in the family throng, as I use to. It was delicious.