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Memories..

If you don’t know me personally you might not know that I have a brother and sister that are five years younger than me and are twins. The twins.

When we were young we spent a lot of time at my grandparents house.

My great grandma lived with my grandma. Everyone called her Mom. Mom had a bedroom down the hall from my grandparents bedroom. The hall let out into the eat in kitchen, and the flooring switched from sandpaper like carpet to fairly slick tile at the threshold.

One day when I was 5 (I only know I was five because the twins were babies) I was playing in Mom’s bedroom with my baby sister, Samantha. I spent a lot of my time at my grandparent’s in Mom’s room with her. She sat in her rocking chair while I would mess around touching all her things. She had some make shift “toys” for us to play with. A bunch of empty thread spools strung on a piece of string, things like that.

This day I was standing next to Mom’s bed, which was a little tall for my 5 year old self, bouncing my sister up and down on the side of the bed. Mom’s sitting in her rocking chair, as she did, keeping an eye on us.

Everything’s fine. Sam is happy being bounced. I’m happy bouncing her. Mom is happy to have us playing next to her.

How quickly things can change.

As I’m bouncing Sam, remember I said the bed was tall for me, she looks down at me and projectile vomits, directly on my face. I was five, and didn’t have any understanding of how babies work, so I didn’t know bouncing her was a terrible idea. I’m not sure why Mom didn’t tell me it was a terrible idea....but she didn’t.

Once the vomit hits my face I don’t know what I did with my sister. She could have hit the floor for all I know. I’m assuming she just fell backward into the bed though, after I let go of her and ran full speed toward my grandma who was doing dishes in the kitchen.

Puke still on my face, I hit the kitchen where the scratchy carpet turns to slick tile and I stop, bend over and wretch all over the floor.

My grandma has no idea what’s going on. Only that I have spit up on my face, have now covered her floors in my own red (we must’ve had Kool-Aid that day...) chunks and am crying hysterically.

She grabs me up and moves me toward the sink to get me cleaned up. Shortly behind me comes Mom, running into the kitchen after me. I don’t know what blouse she was wearing that day but she had on black pants with a razor sharp crease down the front of them. As she hits the slick tile from the sandpaper carpet, she doesn’t realize she’s also stepping directly into my bright red puddle.

She hit the tile running and her feet flew right out from under her and she landed square in the middle of my red puke puddle.

If you don’t know my family, you also don’t know that when you fall or get hurt and it’s in a possibly comedic way, no one is going to help you. They’re all too busy laughing at you. There’s no time to ask if you’re ok because they’re too busy cackling.

As Mom is flailing around trying to stand up from the slick red floor, my grandma can’t even breathe she’s laughing so hard. She is NOT coming to her rescue.

Mom...not so much. She’s pissed. “These are my good slacks!”

Now we have a real mess on our hands. I’m covered in puke, Mom’s on the floor with her good slacks covered in my puke, and Grandma is out of commission because she’s too busy cry laughing at her mother on the floor.

How quickly things can take a turn.

Where’s the baby? Still don’t know.

After my grandma pulled Mom from the floor, she finished cleaning me up, then her floors. I’m sure at some point someone retrieved my sister because she’s still alive and well.

The moment it all went wrong is one of the most vivid memories I have of my childhood. So when you’re in the middle of your own “moment it all went wrong” story, try to remember that someday, this might become your favorite story to tell.

P.S. on a recent visit with my grandma she told me this story and it sounded nothing like mine. I’m sticking with my version though...whether it’s the actual truth or not, because it’s one of my favorite memories. Don’t tell Grandma she’s wrong about the story 😉.

Pic: me and my grandma. She’s 90 now and if you fall, she’s still going to laugh at you.

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