Pin The Tail On The Donkey At Eric's Party

I lost at Pin The Tail On The Donkey.

This weekend, about 33 years ago, was Eric's birthday. Eric was my friend in first grade. He lived in a big, beautiful Tudor style house. It was a corner house shaded by oversized trees and greenery. It was unlike any home I had ever seen as a child. In high school a buddy of ours lovingly referred to Eric's home as "Stately Manor."

If you ask me about any birthday parties from that year, I honestly cannot recall them. Although the memories of that day are somewhat cloudy and confused, here's what I do remember ... For one, I loved Eric's parents. They were classy, artistic, sophisticated -- like city folk in the suburbs -- and I liked that about them. They were different than my other classmates' parents. 

I was a dancing machine!

I remember that Eric's sixth birthday was the only party I ever attended that had a dance contest. Let me tell you, I needed to win this dance contest. I leaped on top of a table and gave it my all and somehow boogied my way into winning a handful of pencils. I swear to you those unsharpened yellow #2s made my week.

Clutching my prize, I was so very proud. Sliding my forefinger under the smooth tan rubber band, I counted them and recounted them. I remember sitting in the back of my mother's car on the ride home from Eric's, bragging about how I was the very best dancer. 

I wonder if I told Mom that I lost at Pin the Tail on the Donkey. I felt such anxiety being blindfolded and turned around, left to navigate in darkness while other the children watched. I cried to Eric's father that Pin the Tail on the Donkey was unfair. I needed to win one of the games at Eric's party. I couldn't go home a loser. Was I really the best dancer at Eric's party? I'll never know. But thank you Eric's parents for making me a winner that day. 

Happy Birthday, Eric. I will always remember your first grade birthday bash on East Dover Street. 

My 10 Most Favorite Childhood Gifts Ever!

I was in Target the other day when I realized Christmas is sort of approaching slowly, but surely. OK, so blame it on the fact that next to the Halloween costumes were aisles filled with Christmas wrap, cards and ornaments just itching to take over the Halloween section.

I love Christmas, it's one of my favorite holidays to reflect on years past. I could probably write several posts about my holiday memories. One thing we all remember are those three-page Christmas wish lists filled with games and toys which transformed into fancy electronics once we hit our teens.

For me, the "18 and over" Christmas lists became more mature and modest and included boring items like socks, gloves with postage stamps and deodorant as stocking stuffers. Once I hit 30, other than my Wedding Registry, I quit the wish list biz. These days, it's more like a mental note and a hint to Mom or DH, "I'd really like one of those Snuggies" or "Gift cards are nice and maybe a new frying pan."

But thinking back, there are gifts I'll never forget. Though I'm not sure if they were actually Christmas gifts or Birthday gifts - they were gifts I loved so very much I figured I'd share them with you. Maybe some of them were on your list once as well.

1. The Famous Holly Hobbie Oven
Every girl born in the early '70s had to have one. I loved that it was my favorite color, blue! Like most kiddie ovens, it came with the two signature cake mixes, one chocolate and one yellow. Funny thing is, once I ran out of cake mix, I think that oven just sat in my room. But whatever the case, I loved it anyway. It's amazing to think a high powered light bulb could actually bake a cake. Too bad it always took, what felt like, two hours to go from a watered down, sweet liquid to a minuscule cake that took all of two seconds to devour.




2. Barbie Hair Salon
Like most little girls, I loved to style Barbies' hair. A snip here, a snip there. Sometimes, I would get a little wild and color their blond tresses with blue, red or black markers. That kinda sucked since the marker didn't easily wash out and usually stained the hair. All of my little friends had the Barbie head that came with the powdery makeup. I bet I told my parents how much I wanted one and by accident they picked up the Barbie salon, not knowing. To this day, I have never owned a Barbie hair/makeup head and no, that's not a hint that I want one today.

3. Cocoa the Hamster
In third or fourth grade, I became obsessed with the idea of owning a hamster. I must have seen it on an episode of one of my favorite shows, because in Catholic school, I never had a class pet. You know how schools have that class gerbil and every weekend a different kid gets to take it home? I've actually never experienced that. We had plants instead. After weeks of begging, drawing pictures of mouse-like pets in cages and insisting I would feed and take care of it, my parents took me to a pet store and I soon became the proud owner of Cocoa.



4. Run Yourself Ragged
There was something about this game, Run Yourself Ragged, that I adored! I loved the colorful oranges and greens. I could play it for hours, yet when I look at it now, it's the type of game that seems like after ten minutes, I'd put it on a shelf and never play it again. Snooze, right? But in second grade, I loved Running Myself Ragged. I think it may have been a Christmas gift from a relative.




5. Kabangers
Ah, yet another dumb toy that kept me occupied for hours. I don't know what it was about these rock-hard balls that I loved so very much. The sound of that clacking and the agony of the pain I felt if my finger got caught between them. They were a staple amongst my toys for at least a year or two and were probably the dumbest item I ever owned. I remember standing on my lawn Kabangin' like a fool, what was I thinking?



6. Anything ET, Smurfs, Strawberry Shortcake & Cabbage Patch
'Nuff said, a poster, a shirt, sheets, dolls, stuffed toys, if it was one of the above characters, it was heavenly.


7. Atari
Can't create a list of favorite gifts without old school video game platforms now, can we? Thinking back now, I feel like that was a gift my dad may have bought himself and we took it over. I remember hours spent playing Kaboom, Asteroids, Space Invaders and Pac-man and never being able to figure out how to play ET. Years later as we know, ET had a glitch in it.




8. Popcorn Popper
Man, there was something about receiving a popcorn popper Christmas of '83 that was really exciting to me. I'm not quite sure what it was, but I loved it! I remember inserting half of a block of butter into the slot at the top. I especially enjoyed watching the melting madness go down while freshly popped corn would get stuck in greasy pools of butter trying to make its way to the bowl. Fun times!


9. Retro Pink Sharp Boom Box
One hot electronic item will always have a tender place in my heart. My bubblegum pink '50s style SHARP brand retro style tape player/radio. I'm not sure what the occasion was, but I received it from my parents in 7th grade. I absolutely loved blasting my Monkees tapes on that thing, it was the coolest radio ever! I'd bring it by our pool and enjoy fun in the sun while listening to Tears For Fears and Howard Jones.




10. Colors, The Benetton Perfume
This was the first perfume I ever really NEEDED to have. It wasn't cheap by '80s standard and I remember hinting to my folks for months that I needed to have this perfume. I believe it was Christmas of 1988, I received it. Purchased from the Benetton store, it was beautifully packaged and I wore it sparingly for months as not to waste it.

... Sittin' In A Tree

So yesterday you learned how Dad was king when it came to fixing cars, he's also an ace at building decks, putting in windows, adding an extension, you name it. He did most of the work on my parents' house himself. One spring he built us a tree house. Looking back at photos today, it was really quite ordinary, but at age 9 it was truly the coolest thing ever.

Most New Jersey folks love the outdoors. Seriously, they love nature! They hike, pick apples in the fall and berries in the summer. They go camping and canoeing and tubing down the Delaware. They ride bikes and spend the day at the park. Not me, I am more of an indoor person, but growing up, I loved being outside.

I loved the feeling of the grass between my bare toes. I caught Fireflies and Lady Bugs in jars with holes poked in the top. In the winter, I really enjoyed sleigh riding down the hill by the parkway. I made the most awesome snow forts with my friend Dawn. We would light candles in the snow fort windows when the sun went down and pretended we were roommates living in our own place somewhere in New England. In the fall, I would use leaves and sticks and piece together the coolest little huts for my Smurfs and Clownaround figures.

Funny as an adult, I don't enjoy being outside at all. It's either too hot, too cold or too windy. I'm not into hiking or boating, etc. I can't imagine climbing a bush, let alone a tree but when I was in 4th grade, I loved climbing trees. One tree in particular was the one in our yard. It was a huge crab apple tree that flourished into the prettiest blossoms in the spring.

After a recent visit to Disney, my brother and I fell in love with the idea of the Swiss Family Robinson tree house. We wanted one of our own! We wanted our own private place to hide out. My dad got on it and in one day he basically constructed a deck within the tree branches, which we called our tree house. The tree house was the only one on the block. All of the kids in our neighborhood were pretty impressed by it as were we!

After school, I would head up to the tree house with my homework or Judy Bloom books and enjoy the privacy that our little hideaway provided. Sprawled out atop the smooth wooden planks, I wrote letters and short stories while little petals from the tree's blossoms fell onto my hair. The warm breeze would whip through the branches as the sun would go down. It was like natures alarm clock sending me back into the house. I'd scale the tree carefully as not to fall and look forward to tomorrow so I could do it all over again.

Today all we need is a van, $400 and quick trip to Toys R Us and we can purchase an easy-to-assemble play house. But it's just not the same. There's something about the old school, unprofessional play house made with Dad's tools.

Driving Miss Yolanda

I'm on Long Island for a few days cat sitting for my mom who is currently enjoying herself on a cruise to Canada with her gal pals. One of the things on Mom's to-do list was to take my grandma to her day program.

Grandma has been "slipping" since Grandpa passed eighteen months ago. Luckily she's physically healthy, but her memory is failing. This past spring my family had to bravely intervene and take away her car keys after a slight altercation/fender bender in a store parking lot. Gram didn't recall the occurrence and my mom and her four siblings knew they had to step in and forbid her from driving. It's not an easy thing to do to someone. Old folks think they're fine, they're cool, but in some cases, they're really not.

For months now, my mom has sadly pointed out the irony of being on the other side of caring for her mother who always cared for her. Yes, I understand this is that whole circle of life thing, but once you're actually doing it, is when you see it firsthand. I also realize I'm very lucky to even have a grandma at my age. But still, I'm selfish and I want more. I wanted Grandma to remember why I was there to pick her up this morning. I wanted Grandma to be able to tell me how to get to her day program right in the town she's lived in for over fifty years. I wanted Grandma to tell me stories about the other people in her class and what she does each day and what was in her little brown bag lunch. She couldn't.

As I share this entry with you, my eyes are overcome with tears. Thinking about how the tables have turned breaks my heart, Grandma said it herself which was surprising. Though she couldn't recall my tales of her teaching me how to drive in high school, she did acknowledge the irony a bit. "I never would have imagined not only my daughter helping me get somewhere, but my grand daughter." All of us kids had Grandma as a driving instructor from what I remember. I'm not sure what it was about her, but she was always very patient and didn't panic when my breaking was a bit rocky and I'd slightly veer over the yellow line.

On our way to the class this morning, I reminisced about how she drove the little golden Creative Country Day School bus for many years. It was a bonus for my mom, as well as for my brother and me. She was not only babysitting us, but had us in an actual daycare setting with awesome toys and other kids to play with. We called her "Miss Yolanda" while she was at work. Funny how all teachers are "Miss." I guess it's easier for kids to remember.

Behind the steering wheel, Grandma would lead us in cheerful songs like "Wheels on The Bus." I can still smell the leather from the boxy green school bus seats and feel the cold metal of the bulky lap belt. Grandma would buckle each of us in and tug on the belt to make sure we were safe. I remember it was weird seeing my grandma interacting with other kids that didn't belong to her. Yet, at the same time I felt proud. That was my grandma!

Another task Grandma was responsible for at the daycare center was prepaning meals for the school's hot lunch program. She'd throw together heaping portions of baked ziti, mac and cheese, fish sticks, pizza and other '70s and '80s kid friendly foods. My personal favorite grandma meals were her homemade pizza and of course crispy chicken cutlets. I often complained to Mom, "It's not as good as Grandma's!" Gone are the days of Grandma's delicious cooking, something she had a passion for too. Today, she isn't exactly sure how to follow the recipes and tends to confuse the ingredients.

I guess the reason today was very difficult for me, was because here I was driving my grandmother to a daycare program, yet it was my grandma who did the exact same thing for me many years ago. I know my situation isn't special or uncommon. It just helps me to share. Thanks for listening.




My little brother, our grandma and her school bus.

My Dad And His Cars

Every Father's Day I have the most difficult time selecting a card for Dad. My dad isn't and wasn't into fishing. He's not a golfer. He pretends to care about baseball simply to keep up with current events. He's never been a remote control monopolizer, which rules out those cards with a funny-faced balding man gripping a beer and remote. The cards with a smiling dad wearing a funny hat and apron, manning the grill also wasn't my dad. Nope, my dad was all about fixing up cars.

He ran the auto shop and driver ed classes at his school before becoming a department chairman years later. Most weekends, Dad could be found laying under a random foreign car while Mom cleaned the house and prepared dinner. My job as dinner informant, required me to venture out to the garage and let him know it was time to wash his hands and come in.

"Macaroni and meatballs are ready, Daddy. Did you know that I'm really sick of macaroni?" I'd say to two coverall-clad legs stuck out from under the latest old Porsche or VW he was restoring. Dad's hands would get super greasy from working on cars. He always used this special waxy cleanser to scrub his hands before coming into the house. Mom would point out how Dad always managed to use the "good" towels in the process.

Unless he was working on a friend's car, Dad never seemed to be a fan of American cars. Sure, my mom always drove an American car (before Honda and Nissan were popular) but not Dad. Every few months, he had a different VW, Mercedes or Porsche. There were always different cars in our garage or driveway and I loved investigating them.

I'd open the glove compartment and go through the backseat and trunk, checking to see if the original owners left anything behind. I'd pretend to drive them. Sometimes I'd  just sit in them for a few minutes and wonder about the previous owners.

We once had a VW camper. I don't think we had it for very long. I invited a friend over to spend the night. We were going to camp out in the driveway. We had a blast -- even dined atop the foldout table and played a few rounds of Chutes and Ladders. Once darkness fell, we were convinced a bear would attack us, so we slipped back into the house. My parents laughed at us. They hadn't heard of many bear sightings in our neighborhood, which had more concrete than grass and trees. But hey, I was a kid, what did I know?

I absolutely adored going for rides around town with my family in the summer. Many of Dad's cars were convertibles. He'd proudly show off the results of his latest fixer-upper at a local free summer concert or to go get ice cream. There are so many old photos of me posing in front of his latest car of the month. Typically after a few weeks, we'd have to say goodbye to the vehicles. That was the challenging part for me.

One little red convertible VW Bug was my favorite. I remember my dad showing it to a prospective buyer. He told her how it purred like a kitten and described all of the updates he had made. For the first time ever, I decided not this time. Not this car. I stepped in and said something like, "Listen lady, you don't want this car. It's just not good for you. It stinks. Really." They both laughed and my dad shooed me away, explaining to her how I had become very attached to that particular vehicle. The convertible bug was soon sold.

Going through my mom's photo albums today, there are dozens of pictures of German cars from the '70s and '80s setting the backdrop of our first days of school or a BBQ in the yard. There are pictures of my mom and brother helping wash a car in the driveway and others of my dad happily leaning against his machine of the moment. There's a green bug, an orange bug, a silver Porsche, a yellow Porsche, the list goes on... Today my dad only owns about three cars now and he's promised to let us drive his 1992 convertible Mercedes when we visit him next month in Florida.


My little brother in my fave red convertible Bug.

I Stole A Little Person

Tonight I had a doctor appointment where I regressed to third grade behavior which some of you may find incredibly disturbing. If you can't handle it, exit now. You have been warned.

Arriving a few minutes early, I sat alone in the small waiting room. I looked around and noticed the same Sweet Pickles Weekly Reader books I saw last visit were once again sitting on the end table nearest me. While staring at the cover image of Goof Off Goose, the old '80s TV commercial jingle of course played out in my head just as it did the last time, "Smart moms know how kids minds grow... Sweet Pickles..." Soon images of that stupid bus rolling down the street and a narrator or child exclaiming, "Here comes the Sweet Pickles bus!" followed.

Next to the books I noticed something I just had to have. A little person. An original '80s golden haired ponytail-sporting figure with exaggerated eyelashes and large smile. In kindergarten I absolutely loved Little People. Today's Little People aren't the same. I had the house and the barn and I think a school house. Today, they're larger and rounder probably built to keep three-year-old kids from swallowing them or shoving them up their nose.



I scoped out the scene and made sure I was in the clear and quickly pocketed the little gem. I don't know why I needed to have this. When I was very young, I went through a phase where I would five-finger other kid's stuff. I especially had a thing for Snoopy and Hello Kitty school supplies and stationery items. If one of the girls left a Hello Kitty eraser out on her desk, I would quickly swipe it and bring it home.

My obsession with taking things that didn't belong to me transitioned from school to the public library. My mom always brought us to our town's local library at least twice a week. There were two significant items at the library that interested me most. Yeah, not the books... The kid's library area had a glass case housing whatever the current monthly craft or display happened to be.

I especially loved Christmas time. I think there was a dollhouse decked out for Christmas with a miniature fake tree and small gift wrapped boxes carefully placed underneath. I wanted so badly to touch the gifts and play with the ornaments, but they locked the case to keep away little wandering hands. My other favorite part of the kid's library was a cardboard box filled with random items. Above the tattered box hung a LOST & FOUND sign. I would rummage through the box and grab one or two items and bring them home with me and inspect them carefully when I was alone in my room. Maybe it was a tiny plastic coin purse or perhaps a special pen with a troll sportin' neon hair attached.

It really gave me a strange feeling of euphoria. Like I had scored points in a video game or won something. I loved looking at my little treasures and wondering who owned them before me. Did the kid miss the item? Why would someone leave such great stuff behind. How come these kids weren't more careful and watchful of their items?

This was my secret and I never told my friends or my family. I once attempted to snag a handful of Hello Kitty stationery items including a small note set with tiny envelopes and stickers, some scented erasers and tiny pencils in an equally tiny plastic pencil case. My brother was in a stroller. I had the brilliant idea of sneaking the items under his blanket and nobody would notice as we wheeled him out of Dennison's Stationery in the Green Acres Mall. My plan backfired when my mom spotted them and forced me to return the items and reminded me that stealing was wrong and illegal. You can go to jail for taking things that you need to pay for.

By the time I was in fourth grade I had matured into more adult items. I remember taking AA batteries and ultra tiny bottles of Binaca from Courtesy Drugs down the block from our home. I don't know why I did that. I didn't need liquid breath drops that tasted so very potent. I can still smell the blue liquid and taste the sweet, yet strong alcohol taste that lingered in my mouth for what seemed like forever.

Eventually I outgrew this devilish phase and I never took anything of worth really. I just had this thing for random trinkets. I don't know what it was about these items. There was something about spreading them all out on my twin bed. I'd sit under the pretty princess-like blue and white gingham canopy and matching bedspread and just admire each little item as if they were nuggets of pure gold.

Tonight I left with a little trinket and I keep examining it and I know I will probably return it on my next visit. On the drive home I wondered if the doctor would notice it. What if a child asks, "Where is the little person?" I better remember to return it.