Just Another Manic Moving Day

A year after their seventh child was born, my parents decided that our house was no longer big enough. Looking back, I don't remember much about that house. The cellar was perfect for roller skating in circles, the attic was great for playing school, there were pocket doors between the living room and the other living room (in fourth grade I didn't pay much attention to what rooms were called), and the floor in the downstairs bathroom was a black and green swirl pattern and was always freezing cold.

Before moving day, my mother had a going away party for all the kids in the neighborhood, and gave them all presents. During the party, my mother looked outside and saw a child walking by. The child was more an acquaintance than a friend, but my mother told me to go invite her to the party. Meanwhile, my mother scrounged up another present from her bureau drawer, a pretty little change purse, and gave it to the girl.

Although it was a little sad to say goodbye to my best friend, Paula, I was excited about moving to a new house. The whole searching/passing papers/packing process went right over our heads. When moving day arrived, all the house contents had been taken away, and the nine of us were left alone in the house. Our last supper was chicken pot pie with no drinks (or so I remember) and to this day I remember how dry, dry, dry that chicken pot pie was. I have never had any since. After our gourmet meal, we all piled into the car, in the dark of the cold winter evening, and away we went to our new house.

An hour later, we scrambled out of the car and hurried into the big, new house. Actually, it was quite a big house, but it wasn't new. Part of it was built in the 1700s and the rest of it in the 1800s. The cellar had three rooms, and one of them even had a dirt floor. There were two staircases, one at each end of the long house. Most of the bedrooms had fireplaces, as did all the downstairs rooms. (We were later to discover the mice in the walls, but the mice would always quiet down when we knocked on the walls.) We kids covered every inch of that house that first night, filling all its rooms with our excitement, walking up and down those staircases. It must have driven my exhausted parents crazy, but if so, they kept it to themselves. It was a magical night.

When spouse and I got married, we had our house built, watching every step of its creation. When we came home from our honeymoon and the house wasn't ready, we stayed with spouse's parents for five weeks. We finally moved in and we loved our new house. Within a year, our best man (spouse's brother) and matron of honor had their house built, and we were thrilled to be only a mile apart. Then the babies started coming, and we took turns having them for the next four years. The kids loved playing together, and we parents had many great times together.

Gradually our town became more like a city, and our street became more like a speedway. The girls couldn't ride their bikes in the street (alright, I wouldn't LET them) and the traffic all over the city was getting crazy. We decided to move to small town USA. We looked at houses to buy, but once again, it was more cost effective to build a house than to buy someone else's. So that's what we did. This time when the new house wasn't ready on time, we moved in with my mother, for eight weeks. House-hunting, color selections, packing, moving, it's all difficult and stressful, but the most difficult part of moving is leaving loved ones behind.

We actually had two moving days, as the first was to move the furniture into storage, with the generous help of family members. The second moving day was easier than the first, as we had the assistance of professionals and were only moving five miles. We, along with our girls, had watched the progress of the construction one weekend at a time, so there were no surprises, unpleasant or otherwise. The girls got their blue or pink bedrooms and a bigger yard. They seemed to like the new house, despite the cellar having only one room and a cement (not dirt) floor, despite there being only one staircase, and despite the lack of mice in the walls. Kids - they're so easy to please.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Our vacations as kids were spent mostly at campgrounds, and we slept in either tents, shelters, or the family pop-up camper. Once I slept on a picnic table, but I don't recommend that. Meals were prepared by our mother, and we kids would help out by bringing a bucket to the campground faucet for dish and cooking water. There was always something fun to do, either walking around to see what was going on, or going swimming. We did some family things like hiking or visiting fish hatcheries or state parks. With seven kids, there was always someone to hang around with.

One year we skipped the campground scene and stayed at a house in Vermont. There was no beach in sight, but there were deer in the back yard. It must have been an easier vacation for my overworked mother, since she had a real kitchen and even plumbing. We did get in the car for drives to a lake a few times for swimming, but I think the house was pretty isolated. One day my father took a handful of us for a walk in the woods along the path of some power lines. My father's sense of direction has always operated more on optimism than accuracy and we didn't make our way back to the house until well after dark, hours after we had left. My mother had to have been beside herself with worry, but she didn't let it show in front of us.

Then my mother's best-friend-since-high-school and her three kids started going camping with us, usually at Lakeside Pines in Maine. They were the same ages as three of us, and we all of a sudden were having even more fun on our summer vacations. Ten kids was somehow twice the fun of seven. And our mother always seemed younger when we went on these vacations. Even through our potentially difficult teen years it was all good. Those vacations are some of my favorite childhood memories.

When we had our first daughter, I wanted to recapture some of the fun from those fantastic vacations, and I booked a vacation at Lakeside Pines for our little family. Our daughter was only 11 months old, and it took some time to pack the Chevy S-10 pickup with the basic baby necessities. Fortunately there was enough room in the truck bed for everything we would need for a week in a cabin (no tent or camper for us with a baby). We were a little surprised that the entire truck was filled, but babies need STUFF. We drove the couple of hours to the campground, spouse unloaded everything from the truck, and we took the baby for a little play time at the beach. She had fun and we had fun watching her. We bought food at the campground store, we had a meal, I washed the floor of the cabin a couple of times (to no avail) because I didn't want the baby to get filthy crawling around.

"Camping" got old really quick. Once darkness fell, since there was no TV, there wasn't much to do, and when I was getting the bed set up and a giant spider ran across the mattress, I told spouse that it was the last straw and the camping vacation was over. He went to tell the office staff that we were leaving, and they said they would refund our money if they were able to rent the cabin. Spouse again loaded the truck with all the baby stuff, and we set off for home in the sprinkles, and got there some time before midnight. There's no place like home... there's no place like home. I will always remember that, in addition to all the great childhood vacations there, Lakeside Pines was where our daughter took her first steps. But I still didn't ever want to go back to the camping life; we spent our summer vacations for the next several years visiting a nice hotel on Cape Cod.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Matching pajamas for seven children aren't all that I remember from my childhood Christmases. My mother would make caramel popcorn balls that filled the house with an aroma extraordinaire. She would also get us kids all set up on the couch with needles and thread and bowls of popcorn and cranberries for stringing. What we lacked in sewing skill we made up for in enthusiasm. First the strings would decorate the tree inside the house, then they would provide snacks for the birds on the discarded tree outside.

Another family tradition was to go for rides to see Christmas lights. There was a neighborhood in town that was worth the drive and we oohed and ahhed while our bright little eyes took it all in. And then on Christmas Eve, with our stockings hanging by the chimney with care, we would all go to our grandparents' house for the family Christmas party. The small house was filled with aunts, uncles, and cousins, and there would be wonderful food and lots of it. The chicken salad rolls and pecan pie were always my favorite. But the highlight of the night was the visit from Santa Claus. There were 22 grandchildren, and we scrambled up to sit on the carpeted staircase with the mysterious velvet curtains at the top, and waited for the man of the hour. It was crowded, it was fun, it was exciting, and once Santa came through the front door, we all got a gift. My siblings and I never got to see what was on the other side of the velvet curtains, but I heard recently that one of my cousins actually went through those curtains.

Once we had our children, we had different traditions. Going for rides to see the Christmas lights was an annual outing, and we would be fortified with snacks like popcorn and candy. To call attention to any decorations at all, the girls would call out, "my side" - easier for pre-schoolers than "left side" and "right side".

We spent many happy Christmas Eves with loved ones who lived close by in Nashua. The four cousins would scream with excitement every time they got together and Christmas was especially exciting for all of them (and us). There would be delicious party food and lots of yummy desserts. One very special Christmas Eve, the kids, ranging in age from 3 - 6 years, were all upstairs watching a movie when they heard a sound outside. They all went to the window in time to see Rudolph flying through the night skies, then rushed downstairs to tell us they had just seen Santa Claus. It was an unforgettable moment for them, and it made it easier for us to bundle our girls up and get them home to bed to await Santa's arrival.

Say Cheese!

Parents photograph their babies. The first baby is the subject of dozens, even hundreds of photos. Then, although the novelty of babies never wears off, the novelty of photographing them must because there are hardly any photos of my bald baby head in the old photo albums. When their youngest baby was born to my parents, their eldest was seven years old. That didn't really leave much time for photography. Christmas when we were young was a time for matching pajamas and the family Christmas photo. Perhaps there were Christmas cards with the pajamas, but we were too young to be concerned about public humiliation.


My first cameras were a 110 and then a Polaroid One Step. They had different functions, and were adequate for their jobs. Then along came our babies, and I took hundreds of photos of both our girls from the get-go, spending much time and moneyburning up the roadways between home and Fotomat. Soon came the Christmas that spouse gave me the Pentax ME Super, a dream of a camera. There was no stopping me. Because of this fantastic camera, my photos were suddenly sharp and beautiful, and the girls were the subjects of gazillions more photos. Mealtime, nap time, vacations, Christmas, Easter, Halloween, there was no occasion too small or too big for a photo op. There are albums full of those photos, bookcases full of albums. My daughters were never going to feel that there weren't enough photos of them.

When our girls were young, we took them to Disneyworld for a fantastic family vacation. By this time spouse had surprised me with a movie camera, and both cameras came with us to Florida. We would have all the sights captured for all eternity. But was that really enough? Someone got the brilliant idea to bring a tape recorder on all the rides so we could capture all the sounds as well as the sights. It wasn't easy juggling two cameras and a tape recorder and taking small children by the hand on those moving vehicles, but we took turns with the technical responsibilities. We listened to those precious cassettes in the car for years afterwards until, one dark summer night, some very unkind person stole them. I wonder what they must have thought when they played them and heard "It's a Small World After All" or "Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a Pirate's Life for Me".

Our girls grew up, and the Pentax stopped working properly; despite having it repaired, it would not stop shooting. It was very sad for me and I consoled myself with a new Nikon SLR. It worked fine, and it took great shots. Both our daughters got digital cameras, but I expressed disinterest because I had my SLR. Then one Christmas, a daughter presented me with a digital camera. The joy from this new toy equaled or exceeded that of the Pentax ME Super. Shooting hundreds of photos with no film, deleting the blurry shots, instantly uploading them to the hp, all were like dreams come true. Why had I resisted going digital for so long?

And now it is Christmas time again. My mother, who has used her little old camera for years says she never wants a digital camera. We shall see what Santa brings.

The Family Outings

My parents knew how to find low-cost or free fun things to do for our family of nine. Going on "mystery" rides, out for ice cream cones, visiting fish hatcheries, and going on picnics were just a few. Some of the picnics were especially fun because my father said we were "trespassing". Before we left the house, my mother would take all the bread out of a wrapper, turn it all into sandwiches, then slid those all back into the bread wrapper and twist it closed. It was efficient and economical even from a child's viewpoint. The sandwiches would be an assortment; pb & j, pb & honey, pb & raisins, pb & banana, and sometimes jam & cheese. (I have yet to meet anyone who has tried half of these creations.)

Out to the car we would go with the provisions and climb aboard in our assigned seats, biggest kids toward the front so the station wagon wouldn't bottom out. This was more important as we got older and taller, but the precedent had been set early on. My favorite picnic locale was the "trespass" place, a field on a hillside with a big lake at the bottom. I learned decades later that it was a reservoir. We would eat and then run around and play, my parents would take a photo or two, and then we had to go home. We never got caught and were never subjected to the full extent of the law.

When our own kids were young, spouse and I took them on different kinds of picnics. The picnics were on the summer nights that I worked retail, and spouse and the girls would collect me in the Turismo for my 30 minute supper break, after having picked up either pizza or subs along the way. We would open the hatchback and the girls would sit way in the back of the car; practically al fresco dining. Spouse and I dined in the adult section, the front seats. It was a picnic, just without ants and grass stains.

Going out for ice creams as a child was an adventure because we never knew what flavor we would get. My father would send the oldest three children to the ice cream window with the instructions to order the first nine flavors on the list; he felt that taking requests was non-value added. We three would each take two finished products back to the car and announce the flavors. The first to speak got the cone. There were several rounds of trips from window to window (9 people; you do the math) and tension would build among the car occupants. The first few flavors were the boring ones, but if you waited too long you would end up with a weird flavor. It was a strategy game. We cone-carriers were at a distinct advantage because we knew what flavors were up for grabs, so we were seldom disappointed. I fear that the younger siblings could have been traumatized by too much exposure to flavors like prune and eggplant, but I have never had the heart to ask them.

Dining out happened once a year, and Chinese was what I remember most. We all loved Chinese food, and were in ecstasies when it was time to go to the Golden Phoenix on Route 9. Why we used liberal amounts of soy sauce is a mystery to me today, but use it we did. Maybe we thought it was another course. There wasn't a dish we wouldn't try, and we always had as much as we could eat. And the tea - getting to drink tea like a grown-up was fantastic, and I especially enjoyed it with four sugars per cup. One favorite memory was of a server asking my younger sister, "You done, Girl???" before he took her empty plate. All of my sisters will remember that moment. A few times our annual dining experience was seaside fare - fried clams & fries, onion rings. Not as much variety as Chinese, but delicious all the same.

My girls must have inherited spouse's taste buds because they have never appreciated my childhood culinary favorites. They always preferred pizza and to this day will not even try fried clams or onion rings.