And I sing, “Press me freshly, read me slowly, take it easy don’t you know, that I have never been Freshly Pressed beforrrrrre!”
How exciting is being Freshly Pressed? At time of writing I have yet to see my post appear on that hallowed page, but I’ve received an e-mail saying it’s on its way there today or tomorrow. I got really excited and called my daddy right away. Yeah, I’m that cool.
So, WordPress seemed to enjoy my childhood anecdotes, and I hope you did too. I had a lot of fun writing that post and in the hours since I’ve had all these hilarious childhood behaviours and memories pop back into my head. I often joke that I have PTSD (oh the joys of being a child of divorce) and can’t remember my childhood, so when I do catch glimpses of it I try to build context so that I remember more.
I qualified as a shenanigans savant at an early age, back when I looked like this:
A warning for new parents: Do not teach your children to read and write at an early age. They will hone the skill and use it against you.
Case in point: I was reading and writing at the age of three. My parents have always boasted about this and even I have come to wear it as a badge of pride; however, I think they have forgotten the day back in 1989 when a bunch of parents and their children arrived at our doorstep for my supposed birthday party bearing gifts on a Wednesday afternoon in November, much to my mother’s surprise. She was nearly 9 months pregnant with my youngest brother of that particular parental pairing, and at home with her was my 5 year old self and my 3 year old brother. Of course, I really couldn’t understand as she sent me to my room and then proceeded to turn my guests away, one by one. In my five year old opinion my mother was being totally cruel. I mean, I’d had a birthday party every other year of my young life, so why not this year? And to not even keep the gifts? Oh! The agony! What those beautifully wrapped colourful boxes might have contained… I imagined I’d never know. I wept.
I pretended I was Ariel from my new favourite movie, the Little Mermaid, that my dad had just taken me to see in theaters the previous weekend. My mom was Ursula the sea witch (sorry mom) and no matter what she did to me, Prince Eric would rescue me. I sat by the window flopping my pretend mermaid fins around, singing that song Ariel sings, “Ahhhahhhahhh, ahh ahh ahh ahh ahh“. Know the one? No? Well, I was convinced Prince Eric would recognize it and come to my aid.
Anyways parents, if you insist on teaching your children to read at an early age (don’t say I didn’t warn you), here are some pointers. Should you receive an invitation made out of construction paper that comes home crumpled in the bottom of your kindergarten aged child’s backpack and looks something like this,
1. Make sure your child’s name is spelled properly. If the invitation has been proofread by a parent, there are not likely to be major typos.
2. Make sure the date is not for the middle of the week. That just makes no sense.
3. Note the obsession with presents. It’s not cute, it’s greedy, and my mom would never have let me show the world that I was a greedy little present fiend.
4. Make sure there is an RSVP! No parents want a surprise number of five year olds showing up at their house! Would you?
Honestly. Even though I didn’t get my party (until the new year after that pesky little brother was born… man, I have nice parents), I’m quite proud of myself for pulling this off. How is it that not one parent questioned this handmade invitation for a Wednesday afternoon birthday party during the school year and called to verify with my parents? I totally blindsided them. Those are some seriously successful shenanigans my friends!