It had been a long, tiring day at work and I had stopped by the Ingles in Halls on my way home. I didn’t really want to stop, but we needed a few things. You know how it is.
After racing through the store, I threw my bags into the car and slid into the driver’s seat. I turned the key. Nothing. No dash lights. My car didn’t even make any noise. So, I called Tim and told him my car wouldn’t do anything. He asked what I meant by that. I replied, “It isn’t doing anything. No lights. No noises. Nothing!”

Do you remember our Bible eating dog, Pobby? She was a tiny stray Tim and I took in the day before Christmas Eve. At that time, we also had two large outside dogs. So, we kept little Pobby inside the house.

Most people in the room gasped. Some even laughed. As for me, I felt sorry for the guy.

I was around ten years old as I sit in the crowded doctor’s office with my mom. In walks this young man with a red gash on the end of his nose. Of course, those sitting around him asked what happened. With a red face, he told about jerking back on his fishing rod, which caused the now bait-less hook to hurtle toward him. Before he realized what was happening, it had dug into the end of his nose. Since the hook was a little rusty and had dried worm guts on it, he needed to get a Tetanus shot.

Nothing has ever been simple for me, not even riding the school bus home when I was a child.

When I was in the first grade, my mom would always pick me up after school. From her car, I would watch my friends board their school buses. Of course, I wanted to do that too. I thought they were having a fun party with no teachers around.

Here in the south, we love our cousins. My family is no exception. In fact, I have been surrounded by cousins for most of my life. They were my first playmates and best friends and I am still close to many of them. But there is a little oddity with these relatives. While I have no first cousins, it seems as if I have countless second and third cousins.
Scratching your head?

I thought once I became an adult, I wouldn’t have to climb any more. Boy, was I wrong.

As a child, I didn’t like to have to ask for things I wanted on the kitchen counter or in my closet, so my parents bought me a little stepping stool. I absolutely loved it. It was red with a poem written on top in large white letters. I can’t remember the exact words, but the poem went something like this: I use this stool to reach things I couldn’t and lots of things I shouldn’t.

Leave it to me to make anything into a challenge; even something as sacred as Communion.

It started when I very, very young. My momma told me Communion was a commandment of Jesus (1 Corinthians 11:17-34) and I needed to be still and not to make any noise during it. In other words, I had to sit perfectly still. Boy, was that a struggle. I still remember resisting the temptation of moving because I didn’t want to disappoint Jesus.

If you read my article, “Squishy Toes,” then you have an idea where I am going with this. If not, you will soon find out.

I miss the family Christmas get-togethers we used to have when I was a girl. They were so much fun and everybody seemed to be so happy. During this time, my Mamaw Jo and a male cousin started a tradition of exchanging gag gifts. Each year, one tried to out-best the other.

Unfortunately, I don’t remember all of the gag gifts, but there was one that I’ll never forget. It was funny and disgusting at the same time.

This should come as no surprise, but I have the strangest things happen to me. Such as the time I blew cherry pie filling out of my nose. I first realized I was prone to things like this when I was around 12 years old. Whenever I had one of my strange experiences, I would ask my friends, “Does that happen to you?” They always answered. “Uh…no.”
I kinda got used to it. Or so I thought.

I know this sounds strange, but BooBoo is the pet name I use for my daughter, Sara. How did I come up with it? Well, that is also somewhat strange.

It began when I was a little girl. Sometimes, when I was at my grandparent’s house, my uncle would tell me, “Shh, listen.” I just didn’t listen. Oh no. I completely stopped what I was doing and didn’t move for I knew what was coming next. Thump. Thump. Thump. After we heard those knocks, my uncle would say, “That means BooBoo’s on his way.”