10

For some reason, at this age I thought it was cool to wear my mom’s clothes. Perhaps because oversized, belted shirts or sweaters with leggings were “in.” Especially if they were accompanied by slouch socks and Keds. My favorite was a shirt of my mom’s, which was white with silver and blue streaks and small decorative metallic pieces, a la Bedazzler. Apparently my fashion sense was not what I thought it was, as my best friend Jessa called me out one day in the locker room for wearing jeans with an elastic waistband. Doh! Leave it to a friend to tell you exactly how it is.

Jessa and I grew up being friends. She lived down the street and we met for the first time when our moms visited each other when I was a few months old and before she was born. We spent a good amount of time at each other’s houses. This took the form of playing and running around outside, playing board games, hanging out in her basement, swimming, forming a stationary club, then later a baby-sitters club  that never actually had any clients. We formed a path (aptly called “The Path”) through the woods between our houses. Along The Path we created various stopping points with different themes. Of course, I can’t remember now what any of them were but I do remember spending a fair amount of time perfecting and using The Path. Through the years, we went from child’s play to being the maid of honor at each other’s weddings, with lots of memories in between, more of which I am sure will come up here.

 

Jessa, with my family and my brother's friend

 

9

In fourth grade, I loved to read and write. When I went to the store with my parents, I didn’t ask for toys, I asked for books, and they couldn’t say no. Not that I was engaged in a lot of high quality literature – at this age, it was mostly Nancy Drew, Baby-Sitters Club, and Goosebumps. I remember my cousin Janelle passed me down some R.L. Stein books, but those were a little scary.

When I wasn't reading, I enjoyed watching TV and playing Nintendo, both of which I had precious few opportunities to do, as we had no game systems (until my brother got a Gameboy) and only four channels on our TV (channels 3, 4, 5 but it was fuzzy, and PBS). For a while, you had to adjust the bunny ears on the TV, then it did this really weird thing where the whole screen would just turn green and someone would have to get up and bang on the top of it to make the picture come back. So my brother and I had to get our screen time in at our cousins' houses. Mostly we spent time next door with my cousins Johnny and Mauranda, although Kris and Janelle had awesome Nintendo games (Mario, Duck Hunt, Spy vs. Spy...). Our favorite shows were mostly on Nickelodeon - Salute Your Shorts, Hey Dude, Clarissa Explains it All,  and of course the classic Fresh Prince, of which any 90's kid can still sing the rap.

The Fresh Prince rap is a little tired. Remember these kids??

 
 

I also started playing the flute at this age, and played in the school band all the way through high school. I was never exceptionally good, but the music teacher was a lot of fun and it was a good little group. Well worth the Middle School teasing.

8

Third grade. Travis Terelli. He had a nice face, a rat tail and a broken leg. What was there not to love? Every girl in class felt the same way. Trying out the crutches was a great ice breaker. I remember having a fun little group in this grade, perhaps Margot Gregory, Chelsea McCoy, and Travis Dreamboat. We had a really awesome teacher (Mrs. Sheehan). She put our spelling words on the blinds so when we were staring out the window, at least we might learn something. She had a reward system for the class where you earned tickets for various things (getting a good grade, cleaning up, doing something nice for someone) and once a week you could cash in your tickets for items of various cost. I saved up for sooooo long to get a giant stuffed teddy bear that was part of a matched pair. I really wanted the girl bear, but I was neck in neck in tickets with another girl (Megan Gilbo). She got there before me. She chose the boy bear. I still have the girl bear and some serious psychic powers of persuasion. We also got different colored stars when we got to different reading levels. Gold was highest and I might actually still have mine. It was on my bedroom ceiling for way too long. Reading was a joy of mine, but I also had some mad math skills. I remember my friend Michelle Carr trying to beat me in a timed multiplication test and being an eensy bit upset when she did not succeed. Thank you, Mr. McFerran for teaching me the trick for multiplying by 9s on your fingers. I use that to this day. Thank you, too, for being funny. Funny and awesome teachers have no idea the impact they have on their students.

7

I think I've left out some things. One being that by this age, our family pets were adopted into our home. I remember picking our dog, Zelda (named after the Legend of Zelda cartoon) out from a litter of puppies at the animal shelter. Our cat, Flossie, came from who knows where and used to sleep in my dresser drawers and lick our woodstove until her tongue audibly sizzled.

This is my brother and Zelda when she was a puppy. It's odd that he's so young here because the first time I really thought of my brother as a man (and not just my baby brother) was many, many years later when we had to put Zelda to sleep. My mom, Isac, and I went to the vet and obviously we were all incredibly broken up, but after she was gone, he was the one who stood up straight and carried her out, to the car, and home so we could bury her. Rest in peace, Zelda and Flossie. You were great pets.

Anyways! On a happier note... second grade! A lot of memories revolve around school. School was pretty much life. Life in second grade revolved around my first crush, Glenn MacDougal. He was smart, I was smart, we worked well together. It was meant to be. On desk change day, as the teacher was calling out students to switch seats, I thought in my head over and over “Emily and Doug switch seats, Emily and Doug switch seats, Emily and Doug switch seats.” Of course, Doug sat next to Glenn. And it happened! Emily and Doug switched seats. Emily was happy. Seems like there was a collective groan from the class. I may have been a little obvious in my affection. Still, we really did work well together and I’m sure I was all A’s on those report cards. I moved on in third grade.

6

I am going to have to fill in some gaps here, when I was six-ish. Around this age, my parents took me and my brother on another trip to Mexico. Just to make it interesting, they decided to drive. From upstate New York. To Central Mexico. With two young kids. Just in case you were wondering, that's 2,878 miles. Each way. Here's the map.

 

They had been planning on camping each night, but it ended up being way too hot and they opted for hotels instead. I remember insisting that every hotel we stayed at had to have a pool. One week after we set out, we arrived in Cuernavaca. Throughout my childhood, we went to Mexico about every four years - though this was the only time we drove. We also had an annual camping trip to the beach. Each summer, we'd pack up our stuff and stay in Salisbury, Massachusetts for about a week. It was a long drive across the mountains and we'd leave super early, so my brother and I were always tired and carsick during the ride. But it was fun once we got there. We'd spend a lot of time on the beach, riding bikes, walking on the boardwalk, and hanging out by the campfire. Sometimes family friends would come with us, other times we made friends there. We took a lot of other smaller trips and vacations, but those were the staples.

 

5

At age five, I began kindergarten, or as I prefer to think of it, the first of  my 20 years of school. Not counting years in school as a teacher. I don’t remember much about kinder, we took a lot of naps. I had a really nice teacher (Mrs. Hanley) who taught us Spanish. My mom got to come in and talk to the class.

 

Before kindergarten, I was with my mom and brother all the time. I never went to daycare, or preschool, and the first few times we were able to go out with relatives, my mom was  a nervous wreck. Of course, this is typical for any new mom, but for mine it was an extreme constructed out of a history that either sets you up to repeat the pattern or sends you thousands of miles away determined to fix what wasn't in your own childhood. My mom was determined to  protect me and my brother from every possible discomfort and perceived danger, and initially, she trusted no one but herself to fulfill this role. Although we certainly clashed over this, particularly during my teenage years, it doesn't sound all that bad in retrospect. I mean, can you really complain about your mom loving you too much? Regardless, I can pretty much assume that my mom came close to having a nervous breakdown when I went off to school. I can also assume that I was probably all like:

Later, ma! 

 

 

 

 I always loved school and learning. Except for Chemistry. That sucked.

 

 

 

 

 

4

I went on my first trip to Mexico when I was three or four. I was such a baby that my relatives, who can’t even speak English, can all still recite my tearful cries of “I want my daaaadddddyyyy!” They say that my poor father couldn’t even go to the bathroom by himself. I have a jumble of memories from being in Mexico when I was young: getting first dibs on all my cousins’ toys, playing on the playground near my aunt’s house, translating for my brother, and my cousin Emmanuel saving me from a cockroach while I was on the potty. I had a couple of incidents in Mexico that I remember vividly. In one, I am sitting on the sidewalk outside my aunt’s house when I start getting itchy, then itchier and itchier. I go inside and tell everyone I am itching all over. I remember my grandmother pulling off my clothes and gasping “ormigas!” I had sat on a colony of red ants and they were, literally, in my pants. In another memory, I am playing with a doll and want to bring her upstairs to put her to bed. There is a dog at my aunt’s house who is sleeping at the foot of the stairs. I try to step quietly and carefully, but accidently step on the dog’s tail. The dog reacts instinctively and bites me through the foot. Everyone is understandably hysterical. I go to the hospital, but nothing is broken. I don’t even think I got stitches, but I do still have a scar.

3

My first memory: playing jump rope in the house with a neighbor who was maybe 8. Stood up on the arm of the sofa to be at her height. Somehow got pulled off the sofa and smashed my teeth into my bottom lip. Remember being in the hospital bed, looking up at doctors and nurses and fighting like I was going to win a Championship Belt. I remember getting medicine, getting knocked out, then waking up screaming. More medicine, then waking up with stitches. For a long time, I wasn’t sure my memories of the hospital weren’t a dream, but my parents confirmed it. I wish I had a better scar.

2

Age 2. What I was able to gather from my parents, and I quote:

 

“You didn’t really do that much” (mom) and “You probably just weren’t that cute” (dad).

 

On a side note, thank goodness for technology and a plethora of pictures and videos that will help me remember Gabe at this age. And my parents do, in fact, love me and I am sure they will remember everything just as soon as this post goes up. They do remember that I was potty trained before I turned two. I loved being a big sister and have always had a fiercely independent streak that began around this age. My mantra was “I can do it myself,” which included picking out my own clothes, dressing myself, and fixing my own hair. This, inevitably, led to some embarrassing school photos later in life.

 

 

Luckily for my character development, my parents have always honored my choices in life. I did get into some trouble at this age. My main offenses included writing on the walls and using naughty words. Yes, I did in fact exclaim “fucking shit!” when I dropped my favorite doll. My mom had one of those perfect “I told you so” moments with my dad, who from that point on was much more careful about the language he used.

1

I don’t remember anything before I was three, and after consulting my parents, have determined that they don’t remember me before I was three, either. But hey, they can’t help it. They were sleep deprived. My brother made his appearance when I was just 18 months old. Here’s what I know. I started crawling (backwards) at seven months old, and walked at one year.  I co-slept and was cloth diapered. I got a rocking horse and my first taste of cake on my first birthday. My grandparents lived next door and took care of me when my brother was born prematurely. After two weeks in the hospital, he came home, ending my short tenure as only child.

At home with dad

At home with mom

Isac makes 4

1983

I was born after a grueling 36 hours of labor. Mom and dad wanted a home birth, but no, I would not come out without the presence of doctors, nurses, and state-of-the-art circa 1983 medical equipment. Born in Porter Hospital, Vermont. Twenty-nine years later, it’s odd to see the same location for place of birth and current residence on paperwork. It looks like I came home, but actually Vermont was selected after much thought and contemplation. It’s been a good choice. But back when I was <1, I spent all of my time on the other side of Lake Champlain.

 Me!

 

 Where I live

 

 Where I grew up

I was born

I was born June 18^th, 1983. But even before that, it was by a fortuitous turn of events that my parents met and of course, without that happening, I would not exist. Plus, they have a really cute story, so I will start there. My father was 25 years old studying in Cuernavaca, Mexico to be a Spanish teacher. A long-haired, peace-loving hippie, my mom thought he looked like John Lennon. My mom was 24 years old, selling vegetables at her parents’ stand in the Mercado. Dad approached one day looking for sesame seeds, but rather than asking for ajonjolí (pronounced ahonholee), he struggled through various vocabulary and pronunciations (ahoholey?) until my mom finally understood him. She found his fumbling so dashing that she gave him her phone number and they began dating. Eight months later, my dad explained that he had to return to the States to renew his visa and my mom got worried he wouldn’t come back, so she proposed. He said “I’ll think about it,” then he said “yes.” They got married and lived in Mexico for a bit. When the paperwork authorizing my mom’s travel was delayed, they took it upon themselves to make their way North.  They traveled by bus until they ran out of money, hitchhiked, and swam across the Rio Grande. My mom couldn’t actually swim, so dad actually tied milk jugs under her arms and she floated across. Eventually they made their way up to Port Henry, New York, which is where my story begins.

 

 The Market: my mom with her dad and aunt

 My dad: Obviously tricked my mom into thinking he was a cowboy

 

Fortuitous

 

To begin...

 

So yesterday kicked off the last 30 days before I turn 30 years old. I had planned to count down these 30 days here, online, but had an unreasonable amount of difficulty counting backwards from June 18^th, plus was very busy yesterday with various 29 year-old obligations. So I’ll start here. May 20^th, 2013. Counting down to 30.
 

I’ve had this idea for a little project to share for a while. I’ve given quite a bit of thought as to how to celebrate this birthday. I know other friends are going on trips or having big parties and I’ve played around with various ideas – maybe a party or dinner with friends, 30 good deeds, 30 birthday freebies, maybe even a birthday tattoo.  Who knows, maybe some of those things will still happen. But I want to go back to the past a bit before I look to the future.  Although 30 is still relatively young, there is something about a decade change that calls for pause and reflection. I listened to this today, which confirmed the need for reflection (in other words, freaked me the heck out):

 

            Particularly, the point that really stuck with me is that

 “… we know that 80% of life’s most defining moments take place by 35.”

 

Aack! Luckily, I had already decided to do this project and began compiling those “defining moments.” So what follows is not so much a detailed account (I don’t have the memory, nor assume that you have the interest for that) as it is what sticks out in my mind from each year, and what stories have endured. Not everything is a defining moment. In fact, I’d say that I am mostly defined by my collective experiences. These experiences seem to have set in place an identify I feel I’ve always had. It’s just me. But I’ll try to save most of the reflection for later. So hopefully you’re here because you’re a friend or family. Maybe we have some kick ass memories together. If we do, I hope I do them justice. I am interested in hearing other people’s takes and what they might have to add, or what they remember as being significant. Maybe you’re just here for fun. If you are, I’ll try not to feel too nervous about putting this out there and just know that this is a good place to learn a little more about me.