Imagine That

The stomach ailment which plagued our family appears to have run its course. Melinda has been busy making holiday treats. The children have been shopping today for the sibling whose name they drew. It has snowed some more setting the mood for a "White Christmas". Alex and Karlee may have found an apartment they can afford to move into after they are married. It is a small, very small, no it is just flat out tiny but I am certain they can turn it into a love nest.

The apartment reminds me if when I was a kid building "forts" with my siblings or friends. They were small but comfortable and it was amazing how many people you can fit into one. The art of "fort" building requires very little in terms of materials but it does require a great deal of imagination. There is the Inside fort and the Outside fort. The Inside fort is generally constructed of sheets, blankets, towels, animal hides and the occasional table cloth stretched over the back of chairs, couches, pianos or lamps thus forming a tent of sorts. Add some imagination and the odd sibling or two and the hours fly by when the weather is too bad for outside play. It is however important not to forget that mothers can be a bit uptight about the toll an inside fort can take on the furniture and linens. This is one of the times a kid can hone their negotiating skills. I remember negotiating with my mother not to tear down the third world refugee camp like tent city which had popped up in the living room. "But Mom, we promise to take it down and put everything away when we are done playing", we never seemed to be done playing and my Mom would end up picking up and putting away. I always had a slight twinge of guilt watching my mother cleaning up after me, but never enough guilt to pitch-in and help. I am convinced that moms let their kids make forts because first, it gets them out of the way for a while and second, somewhere in the dark recesses of their childhood memories they remember having a blast doing it themselves.

The Outside fort could be built out of odds and ends of lumber, bent nails and then placed over a deep hole dug in the lawn, or vacant lot, or it could be a large appliance box or series of boxes with windows and doors cut into it using Mom's best kitchen knife. In the first instance the deeper the hole, the better. With a make-shift roof in place you had a foxhole type structure which provided protection during dirt clod wars with friends and enemies. Yes we really threw clods of dirt at each other and we threw them hard with the intent of inflicting severe pain. Yeah I realize that now it is probably a crime to have dirt clod wars and children caught doing it are probably labeled as violent and forced to go to counseling. In the second instance the cardboard box fort provided a shady place to read books on a summer day or to campout in or just to play. The ultimate was to have a large appliance box, turn it on the side, and make it into a "tank". This was accomplished as the occupants walked on hands and knees forward or backward moving the box across the yard. It was pretty much like a cardboard "hamster ball" for kids only without the see through feature. Not being able to see where you were going only added to the excitement.

I was just thinking today how much fun I had playing with my siblings and friends in forts. Don't get me wrong I am not advocating that we get ride of X-box, Ipods, computer games, Dish TV etc. Nor do I suggest that children be given empty boxes for Christmas gifts. Trust me I like my computer and Dish TV, I was just enjoying some good memories, this seems to happen with more frequency now as my hair turns greyer.

So what the heck let the kids build a fort, they are on break from school, might as well let them sleep in it too, I can promise they are going to ask if they can. Have a Merry Christmas and a happy new year!

Eruption

My youngest daughter called her mother today from school asking if she could come to pick her up because she didn't feel well. Melinda obliged, and as she and Mary were walking down the hall to leave, Mary began to barf. After leaving three large pools of noxious liquid on the hall carpet Melinda managed to get Mary into the restroom to finish the job. Melinda nonchalantly mentioned to the school secretary that there was some vomit in the hall. Without flinching the secretary said "Yeah that is going around, I'll call the custodian".

Memories from my own elementary school days came flooding back as Melinda told me the story over the phone. I can smell it now, vomit and that powder stuff the custodian would sprinkle on it before he cleaned it up. I remember at lunch one day at Crow Elementary school when one of the Pitch kids who had recently begun to use smokeless tobacco and put some into a fellow classmate's plate of stew. This resulted in an instantaneous violent eruption of projectile chunk blowing. Sympathetic puking began almost immediately by students sitting near by. Not unlike the pie eating scene from the movie "Stand by Me". On one occasion I remember feeling a little green but was determined not to throw up because it is such an unpleasant experience. I was sitting in my desk on the top floor of the school listening to the teacher and trying very hard not to blow. It was a warm spring day and the room felt stuffy and uncomfortable. A quarter sized amount of stomach contents made it through and onto my desk. I looked around nobody seemed to notice, only fifteen minutes left in class and I could make a break for it. Unexpectedly the teacher stopped talking, looked at me and asked, "John are you feeling sick?" I remember thinking "what a stupid question", "No I feel great that is why there is a small pool of partially digested food on my desk". I began to respond, all that came out was "Ralph! Aaarrfff, sploosh!" the torrential flow hit the desk top and spilled onto the floor. I felt as if the Devil himself was being pulled kicking and screaming from my stomach. My teacher looked at me crossly and said, "Get your things and go home", there was none of this be certain to stop at the office to sign out or to call your parents to be certain somebody was home etc. In those days it was pretty much a no-nonsense approach. Virtually everybody's mother was at home and there was no question that I could walk the half mile home, so what if I had the dry heaves and was hallucinating. I didn't worry too much about what my classmates would think, they had all done something similar and besides the girl I had a crush on was not at school that day due to an upset stomach.

My daughter commented on the ride home, "Well that was embarrassing", my wife attempted to calm her fears said well nobody saw you do it except one third grade boy. Fortunately it was not the third grade boy she has a crush on, unfortunately he is a third grade boy and third grade boys like to talk about stuff like barfing. Her only hope is that he gets sick also.

So as the holiday season is upon us, try not to over do it with the food and drink. If you have to vomit try to do it in private. Trying to hold it never works and as Shriek says "Better out then in". One other thing for those of you who consume alcohol to the point of barfing, what is with that? It certainly can't be much fun hugging the base of a toilet puking your guts out.

Rabbits, raisins and "Peeky the Butt Cheek Elf"

I know the reason for the season is to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ Savior of all mankind. Today however I have been reflecting upon Christmas memories having to do with families. I do not think it would take much of a stretch to link families with Christ's birth etc, etc, so you Purists can settle down and enjoy or run off screaming blasphemy! warning all creatures great and small to not read this blog.

One of the Christmas memories my mother is fond of telling and she has told to everyone she meets around Christmas, has to do with a rabbit and it's dropping. To my children, wife, and my siblings, nieces, nephews, and anyone else who has been told this story more than once I am truly sorry for the pain you may well be reliving. I am only going to touch on it briefly. As the legend goes Santa Claus (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) had bestowed the gift of a real live white rabbit to the wee Slaughter children. Upon entering the living room to inspect the booty (the pirate definition of booty not the Snoop Doggie Dog one) we were reportedly delighted to see the rabbit hopping around. My sister always thinking of food made the observation that the rabbit had left some raisins behind for us. My parents, by my mother's report, broke into fits of laughter and nearly wet themselves. I remember none of this and only have my mother's word on it since Dad has been dead for 25 years. I do remember that the candy canes and carmel pop-corn balls in the stocking were infested with ants and I was more than a little annoyed by the fact that Santa had brought insect infested goods into the house.

My wife reminded me of a Christmas memory relating to our own children. My mother had purchased a book called "Peeky the Curious Elf" for the children, they liked it and read it a great deal. In some of the drawings of "Peeky" his pants ride just a tad bit low, I am certain the intent was to make the story even more charming. My oldest daughter, a blossoming artist decided that the original artist had left out an important detail, the "butt crack". She in a very uniform and anatomically correct manner added the "butt cheeks" to the drawings of "Peeky". When she was done the children renamed the book "Peeky the Butt Cheek Elf". Melinda and I had a good laugh as we talked about it. Melinda is going to see if she can find a copy of the book someplace and give it as a gift to all of the kids next year. Of course we'll have Kristine do the artistic editing first.

I also remember the Christmas before my grandfather Slaughter died. I was just 6 years old at the time but the trip made an impression on me, not because grandpa was dying because I didn't know that at the time, but because of the trip we took that Christmas Eve. I distinctly remember my parents loading all of us children in our pajamas into the back of the old Volkswagen van with some luggage and packages and heading out into the night. We were traveling from our home in Ukiah to Bakersfield, a trip of 400 miles on old highways, this was pre-interstate. I know that as I faded in and out of sleep during the trip my main concern had to do with how Santa was going to find us and deliver the gifts that night in Bakersfield and not to our empty home in Ukiah. My father who always loved Christmas sensed my concern and reassured me that Santa had been alerted to our temporary new address that evening. This placated me for a while but I was till uneasy about the whole thing. Later in the trip my father said "Hey look kids there is Santa and his sleigh, he is heading the same direction we are, I'm certain he knows were to find us" as he pointed up into the star lit night skies. I strained my eyes and to this day I am pretty certain I saw Santa and his reindeer, either that or some blood vessels burst in my eyes because I was looking so hard, but you get the picture. The next morning we woke up to some gifts and stockings and spent a day or two playing with our toys. I don't remember seeing grandpa very much during that visit, but it has been a good memory for me over the years. It helped cement in my mind that my father knew what he was talking about and I could trust him. Thinking about it now makes me miss him a great deal. He never got to see his own grandchildren open their gifts on Christmas and I have often wondered what it would be like to see him with his grandchildren at Christmas, to hear him speak to the Nisa man in Danish in reference to each of the children.

Anyway enjoy Christmas this year, piss poor economy and all. If your father is still alive don't take him for granted this Christmas, if he is gone think of those good Christmas pasts. Merry Christmas!