When I was a little kid...

(you'll notice I've slacked a bit on that blog challenge thingy.  whoops)

(also, i'm skipping my business name.  i told you in the first post, so no need to repeat myself!)

Happy Monday ya'll :) 

this is me when I was like 6? I think. I'm in a flower girl dress I wore constantly for dressup. also, i stole this from my mom's facebook page. so thanks mom. xo

This is supposed to be a post about my earliest childhood memory.

To be perfectly honest...

For some reason I remember next to nothing about being a little kid.

Seriously.

I have little bits and pieces of stuff, but everything's all muddled together.

I remember NOTHING about elementary school.

(well school at least, I think I remember other stuff).

But here are some things I can remember:

1: The time we started eating calf feed.

Seriously, this happened.  My grandparents used to run a dairy farm, and when I was a little kid, they still helped my uncle with the daily aspects of it.  I don't think my little brothers were born yet, so I couldn't have been more than 6, or if I was, Josh at least wasn't old enough to run around with us.  Anyway.  My younger sisters and cousin and myself used to go to the barn to "help" out with stuff.  (or, chase around the feral barn cats. whatever) I remember that we were playing the dare game, and someone broke out the double dog dare.  Turns out, calf feed tastes like strawberry poptarts.  Who knew?

2: The time I might have broken my brother's nose.

Or, the times I might have broken my brother's nose.  The accidental trip up Grandma's stairs, and the accidental knee in the face when he was chasing me and my sisters down the hallway... sorry bro.

3: The time we went to Maine.

Ok, so I was 12 when this trip happened (thus not such an early memory), but holy crow it's the most griswold best family vacation ever.  My dad had gone to a bachelor party the night before we left, and was thus in a fairly cranky (hungover, perhaps?) mood the day we left.  Also probably because he asked my mom to have us all (yeah, 5 kids and herself) ready and the camper packed by the time he was home from work, and that didn't happen.  So we finally take off, dad drives all night, and we end up crossing the border into Maine at like 3am.  Did I mention we picked up another family along the way?  The final camper count was like 11 people crammed into this RV when we settled to sleep at this rest stop.  No sooner had everyone laid down, than a security guard knocks at the door.  My father, who had probably been going on three hours of sleep the whole previous day (consider the bachelor party late night AND work AND long ass drive with 7 kids in the vehicle, plus 3 other adults),emerges from the back sleeping quarters with quite a slew of curse words on his tongue...and proceeds to call the security guard a dickhead.  The rest of the trip, though memorable, does not even begin to match the level of hilarity that my 12 year old mind gives that moment in time.