I was thinking about all the clever tales I have told from the childhood of our very own UltraBob and thinking about how nice it will be for him to have these stories to pass down to his sons and daughters someday, if he (and I) are so blest, when suddenly I had a chilling thought: I have 3 other children. What about THEIR sons and daughters? What about them right now? How will they know unless I tell? Unfortunately, the same bad memory problem persists, so I have only fragments of memory of any time of my life. I wonder if I will suddenly remember all about my childhood and early marriage when I am old and suffering from a more severe case of dementia than at present? But I digress (again). What I meant to say is: Heather, this is a little bit of your life.
Ubob was a little over 2 years old when Heather was born. This part I do remember vividly. She was slated to be born in late March-early April. In Idaho, that means the snow may be melting somewhat, but the winds are still chilling. Back in those days it was extremely rare to know your child’s sex beforehand, unlike today when it is extremely rare not to. Ubob, while cute and clever, nonetheless, had the misfortune to be born a boy, and I really hoped this time to get it right.
Easter was at hand, and my family had been invited to spend the day as our guests, attending the Easter Breakfast, then Easter Services at my church, then to my house for a sumptous Easter dinner. At that time, my mom, dad, brother Dan and sister Debi lived in Idaho Falls. It’s about 70 miles away, and is where we Howites (e.g. people who live in Howe) go for any major shopping, appointments or entertainment. The day before, I made major preparations. The beef roast was in the pan, surrounded by onions, potatoes and carrots ready to be roasted. I believe I had also made bread, salad, jello and a cake. The house was kind of clean. I seemed to have endless energy. Uh huh. You guessed it. In the middle of the night I went into labor. UDad had been up very late that night with a bad toothache, and with the help of some industrial strength pain relievers, had finally fallen into a deep sleep. Me: “John, I think we need to go to the hospital.” John:”Umgurlfluhen.” Me:(after another contraction, louder and with some shaking) “John, we need to go to the hospital!” John: “Okay. Umflrugekhen.” ME: (a little louder and with a little more shaking, tugging and pummeling): “JOHN, ITS TIME TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL RIGHT NOW!” That did it, and he calmly proceeded to hurl my overnight bag into the car and drive at a moderate breakneck speed towards Idaho Falls, where our doctor and hospital awaited.
Our first stop was my parents house, where little UltraB would be spending a few days. I will never forget the look on my dad’s face when we knocked on his door about 3:00 A.M. Why we didn’t call ahead I really don’t know. He looked astonished and bewildered as he spoke:”I thought we were coming to your house for Easter. By the way, you really look like a pumpkin in that orange coat.”
Next stop was the hospital where the fun began. My labors were never speedy; probably a good thing since we had a 1 1/2 hour drive to get to the hospital. The Dr. always ended up giving me a little something to speed the labor along, and I always got whatever he would give me for the pain, but still had some pretty healthy amounts of it. I wasn’t into the totally natural childbirth thing.
So, late on Easter morning, March 26, 1978, our beautiful daughter Heather Loren was born. She was the smallest of my babies, and the prettiest. It was clear from the start that she would, like her older brother, have red hair.
Ubob was over the moon to have a little sister, and even more so when she was old enough to play with him. He held her whenever he was allowed to (always with lots of careful supervision). He was fascinated with her tiny body parts. “Look, Mom, a little nose, ears, eyes.” “Yes, Honey, but stop poking them.” Bobby had tended to be colicky and fussy, but Heather was less fussy. Like Bob, she enjoyed her pacifier, but unlike him, she would accept the cute little NUK pacifier, and didn’t insist on the big, bulby kind. And what fun to dress her up and fix her hair in a few years when she grew some!
See what I mean about the hair?
“Big Brother! What a delicious arm you have!”
A proud and youthful UltraDad
I’m back! Sorry I’ve stayed away for so long. I have been the “mouse in the corner of the room”. Enjoying the guest posts. Trying to think of something to write. AND vying for internet time with Johnny, whose laptop is hooked up to my modem line when he is home.
I have been wracking my brain for more cute, poignent stories about UltraBob’s ultrachildhood. And I have come to the conclusion that he is kind of boring:) Either that, or ( and this is much more likely, and has, in fact, been proven to be true) I have a bad memory.
But my musings have produced a couple of nuggets…..................
When UBob was small, his Dad was a hay farmer. Part of that job involves driving into the town of Howe (consisting of 2 churches, an elementary school, post office, a gas station/store, a cafe, and a cafe/store/gas station) to drink coffee with the other farmers and discuss the weighty matters of weather, fertilizer and crop sales whenever possible. Sometimes little Bobby would get to go along. I was also invited, but I can think of only a handful of times in our whole married life that I accepted. It was BORING. But probably there was some psycho-sociio-father/son bonding thing going on. Or maybe he just liked the soda pop he got in lieu of the adult brew. But little Bobby, was squirmy, impatient and active, qualities that his father could tolerate in small, infrequent doses, so, sadly for me, he only got the “Want to go to Howe?” invite occasionally.
Our land was full of farm machinery that, though quite impressive “in the day”, was now rusty, obsolete and “broke”. Such was the case with “The Old Tractor”. There it sat, in all its glory about 100 yards from the house next to the old barn. (Our place is full of “old” stuff) Wheels, long ago flattened or, more probably, missing. Rust, obscuring the original color…........was it green? But it still possessed the most salient features: a seat and a steering wheel. And so was devised the most clever, creative game ever imagined in the mind of a 2,3,4,5,6 year old boy: “Going to Howe to drink Coffee”. He was always the driver, and lacking a passenger seat, I would have to sit on the giant wheel hub. I KNOW that tractor didn’t sit levelly on the ground; I can remember having to hold my body at an awkward angle to keep from falling off. UBobby was an excellent driver. We never hit a deer, ran into another car, or veered off into the ditch, though we had a few close calls. The Old Tractor possessed a tool box with hinged lid containing a few rusty wrenches, and these were used to “fix stuff”. There were also a few levers and knobs, which my chauffeur made liberal use of. The only thing I can’t remember us doing is ever actually getting to Howe and drinking the coffee, though perhaps we did. And in all probablility, little sister Heather was treated to some of these excursions as well.
Well, that’s it. That’s the best I’ve got. No clever computer stories or numbers on rooms. Just a little boy imitating his father. Come to think of it, that’s not too bad.
UltraMom
I loved that tractor, is it still there? I remember it had a gearbox or something cracked open with a seemingly bottomless reservoir of oil in it. That made the fixing that much more realistic, and also I could dip sticks in it and paint stuff.
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Wow. What a bummer of an ending. I’m sure there’s a lesson in there somewhere for all of us, but I’m too busy dreaming of what I will do when I win the lottery to come up with it now. Next time, read a happier book!
Chapter one
We’re back to Kristen as a toddler for the beginning of this one. Always willing to try new foods, Kristen was the ideal child for a first-time mom. When it came time for finger foods, she began to share some negative opinions. Oh, she gobbled up those fat and salt laden vienna sausages, crunched her way through grilled cheese sandwich fingers and consumed countless boxes of Cheerios.
In time, it occurred to me that her diet was pretty fat-centric and needed some vegetable additions so when I spotted a can of Veg-All in the grocery store I snapped it up. All those vegetables in one can. It couldn’t be better. I brought this wonder food home and put it on the shelf right next to those tasty vienna sausages. We were working on the creation of a gourmet toddler meal.
At lunch the following day i put a small bowl of Veg-All on the highchair tray and watched with maternal glee as Kristen picked up a cube of carrot and gobbled it up. Then she ate a a pea and a piece of celery. One by one she was working her way through the whole vegetable selection.
I stood by thinking – “vegetable problem solved”. Then, as I watched, she wrapped her chubby fingers around the bowl, held it out at arm’s length and dumped the remaining Veg-All on the floor.
My quick fix vegetable plan was a failure but Kristen had established her bent for food criticism at a very early age.
Please stay tuned for further adventures of Kristen, The Food Critic.
Tod showed musical ability from an early age. His grandmother Bobby McQuillin gave us her piano so that he could pursue this interest and he spent many happy hours on that piano bench. The following excerpt from a recording made at about age 5 is an example of his budding ability to improvise:
The Indian Song – (MP3 File, 1’05”, 1.48Mb)
WOW.. that must have been the first EVER MP3 file… I knew the McQuillin’s are technically ahead of the rest of us, but that is incredible!!!!
(I know, I know - this is more than likely the digital remastered version of the original but it was funny in my head… or is it the beer???)
Once upon a time, when Tod was about eleven years old, his family lived in a rented manse in Toronto, Ontario. After a summer spent in the heights of a pine tree, Tod and his friends hit upon the idea of constructing an underground laboratory in our backyard. They were well into the digging stage when we discovered what was happening and of course, we immediately discouraged them from continuing, but they insisted. The boys had visions of a huge underground room, well lit, and fully outfitted for elaborate and secret scientific experiments and they were not going to be deterred by mere parents with so much at stake.
Fortunately, we thought to point out that since Dad was on a temporary assignment in Canada, our home was rented from the church next door, and permission would have to be granted by the church board for such a project. Tod admitted that he hadn’t considered this and agreed to write a letter to the church board. The following is the response he received from a very wise member of the church’s board of trustees:
Editor’s Note:
Here is the text of the letter for those who find the image hard to read:
Dear Sirs,This will acknowledge your letter of October 30, 1980, regarding the construction of a small underground room in the back garden of the manse.
Careful consideration has been given to your request. However we are somewhat at a loss as to the purpose of this excavation that you propose. If it is to be a bomb shelter we believe the seven foot thick ceiling would be inadequate for maximum security. Furthermore the cost of installing adequate support columns would be enormous.
The time of year is also an important factor. The ground will be frozen in a few days and such an underground room, even if it could be safely constructed by you young gentlemen at this time of year, would be extremely cold and uncomfortable.
May I suggest that instead of undertaking such a project, which would also probably require a building permit from the municipality, and which might also be very detrimental to your parent’s lawn as well as the nearby shrubbery, that you obtain any physical exercise you may wish by jogging and then curl up with an interesting game or enjoyable book before the fire-place in your parents’ recreation room.
Wisth best wishes to all of you, I remain
Very truly yours
SIGNATURE HERE
Secretary,
Board of Trustees.
Wow! What a great reply!
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At long last! I was beginning to think I’d never hear about Sally and Alex again. I think it is SO cute the way you stop and ask “Did I say that right?” You are probably beginning to wish you had never started this project, but please know that you have at least ONE huge listener.
Your Mommy
You aren’t THAT huge, Weight Watchers helped you out quite a lot with that
Great Post!!! Yeah, Heather used to be so cute and sweet.