Which of Your Childhood Stories Do Your Kids Love?

Somehow it has turned out that my husband is the better childhood-stories-storyteller, and our 6-yo daughter’s absolute favorite is the one where he goes to his grandparents’ weekend home when we was…7 or 8, and since they only had an outhouse there (it was by no means a fancy weekend home :D), he really disliked having to poop there. So he tried to hold it in as much as he could, but one day when he went to play in the village, he pooped his pants, and then had to go back to the little house hoping nobody would see him. Once there, he tried to hide the pants at the bottom of the laundry, alas, the stench alerted his grandmother. That’s it, that’s the favorite. :D A somewhat distant second is the story about his school friend who forgot a banana in his backpack and then all his books and notebooks were so stinky he had to throw them away. The end.

haha that is such a great story; a child’s thought process is amazing.

The photo of the three beautiful children brings to mind trampoline safety. Can you do a piece about that? It is so important.

My kids loved this one: As child, I loved picking the lemon out of my water glass at restaurants and eating it. As I got older, my mom told me that was not appropriate anymore, so I perfected this routine: gulp down the lemon with my last sip of water. Quickly pop it into my hand, hide hand in coat pocket and then eat it outside. Well, one night at our favorite Italian place, we get ready to leave. I perfect my routine and we walk out. Well that night, the owner stands by the door, ready to shake everybody’s hand as we head out. I’m next in line and he extends his hand. So do I, but then realize I actually have a wet lemon in my hand. I panic, pull it pack, drop the lemon in my coat pocket and then reach back to shake his hand. His look when shaking my wet and possibly very lemon-y hand was very confused…

My sons love hearing about the adventures of my childhood dog Hans. Hans was probably a Samoyed mixed with something else white and huge. We spotted him at the shelter (back when it was called “the dog pound”) when we went in to see the poster my sister had designed for them in a school contest. Hans was 120 lbs of long white hair, curled tail, and black and purple tongue. In one year, when he was still young and mischievous, Hans got sprayed by a skunk, tried to eat a porcupine (ouch!), and fell through the ice in our pond. My dad chopped through the ice with an ax and swam out to rescue him through the freezing water. I can still picture the scene after: my sisters, my mom, and I huddled around poor Hans wrapped in a blanket by the fire while my dad shivered off to the side, ignored and forgotten.

What a fun question! The story that brings down the house with my three boys dates back to when I was about four years old. We visited my great aunt and uncle in Florida in the 1980s. He was a curmudgeon and as Family Lord goes would smack my left hand when I reach for things because in his mind being left-handed was a detriment. He allowed me to help water his beloved orange and grapefruit trees. I enjoyed, not so much watering the tree but instead getting the stream of water just right to create a rainbow. Well, Uncle Zoltan didn’t like that and when he started to threaten me, I turned the hose on him! Drenched him head to toe. I can still see his face to this day. The crazy thing is when I shared the story with my boys after rolling over and laughter they then asked “how come nobody stopped him from hitting your left hand that’s horrible Mama. why would they let that happen to you?” In all these years, it never occurred to me that that was inappropriate and he should’ve been stopped. Yeah no one stopped him. Wow how we have evolved.

I’ll have to think on what stories from my childhood my daughter loves, but what’s coming to mind at the moment is the way I use family lore to connect her (6) to my dad, who died six weeks before she was born. It feels really good and healthy to have her know him through these stories, the jokes that he told a million times etc. Hearing her say, “Can you tell me about the time when my grandpa…” melts my heart. They may have missed each other on Earth in a literal sense, but he’s also very much alive through these tales.

“On my way back to the pool, I figured no one would notice that I was in the nude, as long as I made it into the water quickly. Yet, of course, everyone noticed.” I am cackling at this – incredible!!!

3rd grade, 1984, I’m sitting next to Jeff C. on the school bus. Jeff is zooming a battery operated mini monster truck up and down the seat in front of us. Truck wheels start winding in Kelly G’s gorgeous long hair, which is hanging down the back of the seat. Jeff can’t find “off” switch; Kelly is now screaming as hair is tightening around the truck wheels. Bus driver Garry Carter stops bus, assesses scene, retrieves scissors, CUTS KELLY’s HAIR AT SCALP, hands toy back to Jeff, revs bus and silently continues route. My kids love that one.

This is so timely – my brand new middle schooler wants to hear my stories of middle school and I’m struggling because most of my memories are both boring and horrifying. I’m reminded of my early days of motherhood, thinking “Why did no one warn me about THIS??”, but did I really want a heads up of the daily banal traumas? Would it have been useful? Would my naïve self have heard the warning? I’d love to hear from others who have parented through middle school – do the stories help? Or are the challenges of middle school both ubiquitous and unique and best to just keep moving forward without a map?

“Mom, please tell an Embarrassing Story!” Any story that resulted in my being mortified as a child brings my children utter delight. Their favorite is when I was 7 or 8 and out to dinner with my family at our favorite local Italian restaurant. I ordered my usual spaghetti and meatballs. At one point, I unexpectedly and aggressively sneezed while chewing a bite… and a noodle was then dangling from my nose. I covered my face with my napkin and dashed to the bathroom, where I stood in amazement in front of the mirror. It truly was a Most Embarrassing Story as a small child haha!

My kids love the story of how I fell asleep in a plate of spaghetti as a toddler. There’s a picture to prove the story too! Sauce EVERYWHERE. Now my kids want to know all the funny and weird places they ever napped or fell asleep, too.

I’m not sure why I ever told my son this story in the first place, but he always begs for ‘the time you couldn’t breath.’ Which is ominous and could be full of political heft in America, but is in fact the story of having an asthma attack as a kid and having to go to the hospital. It includes key moments where he likes to chime in, like my mom bringing my aunt bc she didnt speak very good English, my mom (his ba ngoai) sleeping on the couch and never leaving my side while I was there. I like to think he finds comfort in knowing that mothers take care of their babies.

My boys LOVE hearing stories about when I was younger. They are ages 8 and 7. They love injury stories, stories of when I was bullied by two girls in middle school, the story of when I started my period, the story of me ripping my pants on a fence while trying to hop it and having to spend the rest of the school day with a sweatshirt covering the front crotch of my pants. So many. The story of me trying to stand on a basketball and falling on my knees, skinning them horribly. They ask for them all the time lol.

My grandfather has a Swallow tattoo on his arm from his days in the Danish Navy. When I was a kid, he worked the night shift at the working men’s club. I used to take him his breakfast in the morning and he’d tell me the story of how he got his tattoo. It was always a story that ended with some variation of “and then a Swallow crashed into me and never left.” The stories were a mix of fantastical and mundane – I was wiping down the bar late last night and a Swallow came in for a drink. But of course I had to check his age and he pulled out his passport. He ordered a beer and a packet of chips. Swallow’s are very small so one drink and he couldn’t fly. I tried to order him a taxi but he refused. I offered him a drive home but he refused. I told him I was going to lock him in the bar overnight but he got up and flew around. He couldn’t fly straight and made a terrible mess crashing into everything. Then he lost all control and crashing into my arm so hard he left an imprint. And that’s how I got my tattoo.

I went to a Catholic elementary school even though my family wasn’t Catholic; my parents were hippies but thought it would be a stronger education than the mediocre public school in our very small town. I took pride in being a ‘good kid’ – academically, behaviorally, etc. At an end of year presentation my teachers gave me the ‘most Christian’ award and my mom laughed out loud in the audience given I wasn’t even baptized. I accepted it but was very embarrassed she laughed.

I retell the plots of my favorite childhood movies to my kids as if they are real stories! My seven year old daughter’s favorite bedtime requests are Legally Blonde and Miss Congeniality :)

Someone has already mentioned the dangers of a trampoline and smaller children getting bounced off the trampoline and breaking legs. I also want to add getting a cover for the outer edge where it ties onto the metal perimeter ring, cover that gap so feet and ankles don’t accident slip through and get caught while being bounced around. You can break your leg easily that way. I believe there are covers that are sold, some even come with the trampoline. We had one.

I grew up with two older sisters, all close in age, so we have a lot of lore that we pass down to our kids. One is when my two sisters were at school and my mom brought home three baskets of strawberries. She said I could have some, but “take two at a time so you don’t eat too many, and be sure to leave some for your sisters.” So my little preschooler self methodically returned to the kitchen, again and again, to eat two at a time until I had eaten three baskets of strawberries–except for the single two berries I had left for my two sisters. (The cherry on top is that later, when we all took a bath, I had a rash on my side that we all chalked up to the strawberry binge!) My dad was such a storyteller, and I didn’t realize that until he died in 2020 and I didn’t get to hear his stories anymore. Like him, I tell my 10 yo daughter all kinds of stories from my life, and the other day when I started one, she began to laugh and said, “No matter what I talk about, you always have some weird story to connect to it!” I felt a bit self-conscious about it for a few days until she admitted she likes the stories. ;)

All these stories remind me of my own little sister’s favorite childhood book: The Day Jimmy’s Boa Ate The Wash. Allll the things that go wrong on a school trip… ! The best.

My kids’ favorite story of me is how I got lost as a child. Kids always seem fascinated by stories of being lost. I got separated from my family at – I kid you not – the Western Minnesota Steam Threshers Reunion – which is a real event that happens in rural Minnesota every year to celebrate antiquated farming machinery and culture. I remember getting lost in my thoughts (a common occurrence) and/or preoccupied with counting the sidewalk lines when I realized my mom, dad, and siblings were nowhere in sight. After wandering aimlessly and crying for a while, I was spotted by some kind female event staffer, who brought me into an office and gave me a red lollipop to distract me while she made an announcement over the loudspeaker. Soon after, my father arrived to claim me, looking stressed but relieved. My siblings were very jealous of my lollipop and I felt very important. My poor parents! Thankfully it all ended well and my kids love to hear me recount this tale.

I made the accident of telling my kids about the NAKED DONUT RUN from my college days. Now they tell everyone “mama ran around naked at the library!!!!!” which isn’t strictly false but certainly misses some key context!

At the start of COVID lockdowns, my younger son was in first grade. One of his first assignments for online school was “Call an older family member and interview them about something that happened when they were your age.” The kids shared these stories with the class. This is the story my son shared, which he got from interviewing my dad: My dad is the oldest of four kids, including three boys. When he was about 7, the youngest brother jumped on the bed. The middle brother jumped on the youngest. My dad jumped on both of his little brothers, on the bed. The bed broke. This was the first graders’ favorite story. It caused a fabulous audience reaction on their class Zoom call. :)

Not a story but your youngest is your doppelgänger in mini format, Jannelle.

Love this post Janelle! I relayed the story to my 4 year old and she roared.

My kids also love my childhood stories and beg me to tell them over and over. If I don’t tell the story with the same amount of detail each time they get mad. They particularly love the one where after an afternoon of sledding down the hills from our hilltop neighbourhood my friends and I were too tired/lazy to walk home but didn’t have cell phones back then or bus money. We waited at the bus stop at the bottom of the hill and my friend fake a sprained ankle to get us all a ride home. She deserved an Oscar after her performance of a pained expression and rubbing her ankle for the whole bus ride. She limped off the bus with us supporting her weight and as the bus drove away her ankle was miraculously no longer injured and she strutted her stuff all the way home with us gutting ourselves with laughter thinking we were so bad ass.

This isn’t a childhood story but my boys (ages 10, 8, and 6) were soooooo fascinated/concerned when my husband got vasectomy last year and they asked soooooo many questions. And now they bring it up at the most inopportune times and I am like, guys! You don’t have to bring up Dad’s vasectomy as a conversation point with a family we’re having a play date with for the first time! Silly kids, ha ha.

I was maybe 7? My mother was painting the inside of a community center with a couple other ladies. (She did a ton of work in the community.) I was running around in the hallways, playing. As I came flying around a corner, I ran straight into the giant plastic tub of paint my mother had just refilled and was carrying back. It was at least 3 gallons of white, oil-based interior paint. I had long, thick hair halfway down my back, and I was drenched. Somehow she got me home, wrapped in towels, and we spent the rest of the day with a giant bottle of turpentine, trying to get it off my skin and out of my hair. She was so angry and said, “I should just shave your head!”, but she didn’t because she loved my thick wavy hair much more than I did and would have never. Eventually I was clean and survived to tell the tale.

My son’s favorite is actually a story that was told to me by my best friend’s father, when my friend and I were little: the Uncle Kenny and the football helmet story. When my friend’s dad and his younger brother Kenny were little, Kenny really wanted a football helmet, and their parents couldn’t or wouldn’t buy him one, so the big brother decided to make Kenny one by plastering all over his head with paper-mache. Of course, Kenny had to hide from the parents until it was set, or they’d make him take it off. So, by the time the parent’s found out, it was so cemented onto poor Kenny’s head (and hair!) that they even tried hanging him upside down over the tub with his head soaking in warm water, and finally had to laboriously cut it off piece by piece, shaving his head in the process. I elaborate, of course, and the story still brings down the house with all kids!

I was 10 ish…..Superbowl Sunday. My parents were having a Superbowl party, so they and a couple of the other party guests chipped in for a couple of babysitters at one of their houses…about 12 of us total. I wandered by myself up to the big play area that had a fort…climbed up the ladder, and it knocked over as I stepped up on the platform. It really wasn’t that high off the ground, I probably could have jumped, but instead yelled for help for I don’t know how long…One of the other kids finally came and put the ladder up and all was good. Not too long after a few of the other kids came running to me , laughing, saying the fire fighter was looking for me….a large rescue truck was parked in the rather steep driveway…Apparently my pleas for help had carried across to another house and 911 was called. The Super Bowl was over…I think the Raiders won! The parents after hearing about the situation moved the party to where the kids were and finished the day with dinner. This story has gone down in multiple families lore!

Jannelle, this photo of your kids is so sweet! They look like such a fun little trio of buddies!

My children love to say that I am an encyclopedia of worst case scenarios. This might be attributed to being a former teacher, or a child of the 90s, but give me a theme involving blood, puke, naughty children, vengeance, illness, or freak accidents and I can tell you a story about my childhood. My husband and I can tell childhood stories worthy of Roald Dahl.

I love this!! My daughter went through a period where she wanted stories of “serious injury” (lol). Her favorite was the one about my uncle who, when he was a child, slipped off the roof of a shed (he’d climbed up in the rain to rescue a cat, who was, of course, fine) and broke both of his wrists. She was thrilled when my dad had hernia surgery and she got to hear all about it. Childbirth was another favorite. So every night, we would cuddle up together, I would look at her sweet little face peeking out from the covers, and say something like, “Have I told you about the time great-uncle Henry accidentally cut off his finger?”

it makes me think that I want to ask my own parents what they remember. we are often focussed on our kids, but we are ones ourselves – and if our parents are still alive, I guess it would be also a nice question for them.

Little Sisters favorite: Big Sister (middle child) was 10, riding her bike up and down the street. When out of nowhere a giant wasp stung her in her philtrum (ridge between the nose and upper lip). She pedals home as fast as she can, fueled by fear and rage. Walks in the house and says “that was bu!!$h…”. We decided that the curse was valid and did not punish her because the swelling that leveled her lip to the tip of her nose was enough. Little Sister is vigilantly looking for an opportunity to get by with a slip, but actively avoids being stung by anything.

My kids love asking my husband to tell “stinker” stories – aka, stories of when he was naughty as a child. I know he has a whole bunch saved up for when they’re a bit older too.

My kids love to hear the stories of when they were born. Since they are little, I tell toned down versions of the real thing. My middle daughter’s story is the fan favorite: “She was so excited to join us for her birthday party, she didn’t even make it to the hospital! She came out of mom’s belly quickly – in the bathroom!”

My kids love the story of my mom grabbing a ball from the backseat that us three kids were arguing over and chucking it out the window…straight over a bridge into the water below. We sobbed and screamed of the horror that she had littered. My kids think this is absolutely wild and crack up every time. With 2 kids of my own who love to argue in the car, I get my mom’s state of mind now…I still don’t approve of her littering but I imagine she felt a solid 3 seconds of relief when that ball left the car.

My kid loves the ones where I’m stupid/naughty. One favorite is when I was 12 the social studies teacher left us alone in the classroom to go to the bathroom and I, seeing that a classroom window was open, jumped out (it was on the ground floor). Once outside I didn’t know what to do, so I clambered back in, just as the vice principal was walking by the classroom and happened to glance inside. I, and my poor teacher, got a talking-to, and I still don’t know why I did it.

My class has gone on a field trip and came back too late to have a potty break before our afterschool ballet recital. My full bladder and nerves caused a little, but very obvious accident in my leotard. My mom who was sitting in the second row mouthed ‘what happened?’; and because my 6 year old self thought that cupping the sides of your mouth with your hands meant ONLY the person you were trying to reach could hear you, I loudly whispered “I PEED MY PANTS”. The whole audience chuckled, and I couldn’t understand how they heard me! My kids request that story more than any other, and I’m okay with that :)

My favourite family story is the one in which my mother was on a school excursion in the early 1960s and was chased, to her terror, by an emu suffering from diarrhoea. My nearly 6yo loves this one too.

This has brought back a memory of when I was around 11, and playing dress ups with my younger (8yo?) sister. I dressed her up in our pretend wedding dress, and sent her down the aisle (hallway), resplendent with a bouquet of poisonous white oleander flowers picked from the garden, to my mum’s horror.

When I was a kid, I LOVED asking my dad: “Tell me a story from when you were eight… tell me a story from sixth grade…” My dad is such a good storyteller and has so many vivid childhood memories. Wow, those were some of my favorite stories to listen to as a kid.

My kids LOVE to hear my childhood stories – the wilder, the better! We went through several weeks of them during our last move, when they were 3 and 5 and our children’s books had not yet arrived so we adapted our bedtime routine to telling stories instead. One of their favorites is a time when their grandmother (my mom) locked their grandfather (my dad) out on the balcony with a wild chimpanzee in Kenya. Anything that involves danger, broken limbs or gross things is particularly popular. I love the idea of asking family members to contribute stories – maybe this is something that I will ask family members to do on Storyworth for Christmas this year!

My almost 5 year old son prefers stories from when his auntie (my sister) was little. Growing up, she was the more adventuresome of the two of us, so there’s lots more stories to share. It’s been so much fun to introduce him to family lore such as that time when toddler auntie put a kiddie toilet seat over her head and got stuck, or when preschooler auntie was being a good helper and carrying a bottle of milk home from the store until she got tired and simply set it down on the ground when no one was looking and kept on trailing behind her grandparents like nothing happened, or when teenage auntie went to pick mushrooms in the woods and got sucked into a swamp all the way up to her hips…

My kids regularly ask for the “gum story.” My mom (single and well-disciplined) would always chew half a piece of mint chewing gum at a time, and sparingly. I too, got a half a piece of gum, and rarely. I desperately longed for bubble gum, the pink stick kind that came in packs of baseball cards or even better, the seemingly endless rolls in pink plastic containers. My mother would never. So I was left to learn to blow bubbles with my half-stick portion. One day, I figured it out. My mom and I were on vacation and walking together, and I flattened my gum against my tongue and blew—in my excitement, I blew the whole piece out of my mouth and onto the ground. I said nothing. A little later, I asked for another piece—“I swallowed it,” I lied. My mom handed me another piece, which I chewed quietly until it reached the right consistency. I tried again, and again I blew a bubble and the gum flew out of my mouth. Bolder, I asked for another piece of gum. My mother stared at me. “I can blow bubbles with it!” My enthusiasm overpowered her and she smiled, and gave me one more piece and a logical reminder that this gum isn’t for blowing bubbles. I don’t buy my kids bubble gum either, but I save a little delight watching them buy their own, and I give them a little smile.

I crashed my bike into a tree when I was a kid because I was simultaneously reading a book. I majored in English and I’m a librarian now. These two things are correlated, I think.

I carry around one of my husband’s childhood stories with me like medicine in a first aid kit. I brought it to mind during both of my children’s births, and have also used it with my older son when he is feeling down or scared. The story is simple. My husband, as a preteen, was doing a skateboard trick in his bedroom, fell, broke his wrist and tooted in the presence of his little sister who couldn’t stop laughing because of his toot. I’ve been married nearly 15 years and have never heard my husband toot. The novelty!

My kids love my “last spanking” story. I forget how old I was (7? 8?), but keep in mind that it was the 80s. I’d hung up Halloween decorations in our front picture window and went out to the street to admire them – but they were obscured by a tall bush or short tree that I decided had to go. So, I found the hedge trimmers and gave it a very severe haircut. My dad was so mad as it was the only thing that grew in our front yard.

My dad died before my kids were born, and I always hoped they’d know him through the many stories of what a wonderful, kind, gentle man he was. But the story they have LATCHED onto is the one where my then boyfriend (now husband/their dad) took my dad (their grandfather) to pick up takeaway. On the way home my dad asked my boyfriend to pull over as he thought he’d inexplicably wet his pants. Turns out the takeaway was leaking. But the idea of a grown man weeing his pants delights my kids to no end.

I grew up loving to hear about my dad’s escapades with his elementary school buddies. He would tell stories about their adventures (biking to a soccer game! Stealing candy!) with such dramatic flair that I felt like I was there too. I’m sure he edited them down for his kids’ ears, but it was so fun to hear him tell stories all about when he was a kid like me. When I met many of the “main characters” of those legends at a wedding as a teenager, I was totally starstruck.

Love this! I used to ask my dad for ‘olden day stories’ and wanted to hear everything from exciting adventures (he grew up on a farm so there were tons) and just every day details about going to school, what he had for lunch, chores, etc – it was all perfect bed time material to me. I don’t have as many adventures for my girls to hear about – but some classics are when I was curious about them or new pool and carefully walked down into it while the cement was drying and then my dad saw me from the upstairs window and I raaaaaaaan and ran. Or how my friend and I used to spy on neighbors by hiding in our trash can in the front yard and keeping track of everyone’s license plates. And really they want to hear the story of how my husband and I fell in love – it had the most twists and turns so it’s always a good one.

These are great. Mine occurred when I was four and my sister was three. She had beautiful, bouncing curls and I had stick straight hair (can you see where this is going?). I convinced her to play ‘barber shop’ and sequestered her under the picnic table to better conceal my crime. Having hidden her away, I proceeded to CHOP ALL OF HER CURLS OFF. When her hair grew back, it was straight like mine and her baby days were officially over. When she tells this story, she concludes with, “And now I’m a lesbian.”

Oh, our kiddos love these stories. One favorite is the time my kindergarten buddies and I decided we’d all sneak a bottle of our mom’s nail polish into our backpacks. We climbed up to the top of the playground structure at recess and I presented my face as their canvas. My primary memory is my teacher and her long 90’s nails trying, unsuccessfully, to scrape it off.

Ha! I’m loving these stories. My best stories that my kids (2 and 5) love are life-in-the-country related. Getting “chased” or just followed by a cow that broke out of its fence as I whizzed by on my bike. (Same farm) Cows getting loose and I was swinging on my neighbors swing and heard a jangling sound growing louder, I looked up to see two loose cows running toward me! Also the time a fisher was hassling our chickens and my dad sprayed it with the hose. It had no fear! Just looked at him in annoyance!!

My tiny people love nothing more than to hear ‘hurt stories’ – knee scrapes, broken bones, big bruises, bee stings, paper cuts – this is what they want to hear about.

My five year old loves to hear the story of “the time mum fell down the stairs on our holiday and nearly broke her neck and the two ambulances came but they needed a fire truck with that long board so the fire truck came too with all the lights and it was so exciting and all the people helped mum to the hospital… oh, and mum was ok.” Funnily enough, I do not tell that story with as much gusto and enthusiasm as the rest of my family!

Jannelle, I love this story, and love the sweet pic of the kids on the trampoline. We have had a giant trampoline for our kids for years and, no regrets, for sure. BUT I do just want all families with big and little kids to know that there’s a thing that can happen when a little kid (2-5yo) gets double bounced by a big kid, and then when the little one comes back from flying and hits the surface, it can break their leg. It happened to our 2 year old when his older brother was 8. Devastating! Tibia and fibula! So sad and such a pain. I would not mention that incident here, were it not for the fact that this very same younger child, as a 5 year old, this July 3rd, was on the trampoline with that same older brother and that brother’s friend, who had missed the first episode, and that older friend in his playful, inclusive way, double bounced the little guy and READER. IT BROKE HIS OTHER LEG. And we are just on the tail end of that healing process. So take care with the little twig bones during fun time on the trampoline with the big kids!

My nieces and nephews used to LOVE stories about how my best friend and I rode our bikes all over exploring our little town in the Southern California desert. They even had a name–the Batty Boxheimer Stories! It was the 70s, and we were largely unsupervised. There was a vacant piece of land between our neighborhood and the wash, where floodwaters periodically ran, and all the neighborhood kids rode their BMX bikes, or in my case, a Schwinn with a banana seat–over moguls we built from sand. We built forts by digging huge holes in the ground–connected rooms–and covering them with palm fronds. And we slid down the dike on discarded pieces of carboard. Then, we invented a wild series of stories about how the whole area was haunted, named it “witch desert” and scared all the younger kids.

How are your babies so big?? They are so cute. We love to tell my little nephew stories about the old days, when we didn’t have Amazon or iPhones or internet. He had a hard time believing I was not born in the 80s but in the 70s!

I had a very tumultuous childhood and many of my memories from it are absolutely (perhaps thankfully) lost to me. I have delegated my husband to be the story teller and I am the song singer. :)

My kids LOVE stories where I got in trouble! I hope the one about me shoplifting and getting caught when I was 12. That remains the most humiliating protracted moment of my life, because I both had to go to the police station AND my dad made me go in-person to talk to the shop owner afterward. I’m hoping they can live vicariously through me on this one!

My kids and my husband have the same favorite lil me story. When I was maybe 7 or 8, I became fascinated by the orange peel trick, where you put a peel inside your mouth to make a big orange smile. Trouble was, I hated oranges, so I couldn’t test drive this myself. I begged and BEGGED my mom to do it. When she finally relented and presented me with her big orange peel grin, I was so disgusted I promptly threw up. My mom could not get the peel out of her mouth fast enough to scold me, haha!

My kids love “stories from when you were a kid.” But where my son prefers to request specific ones I’ve told in the past, my daughter demands new ones all the time. I’ve run out of the top of mind ones so I can’t always deliver, but when something new randomly pops up in the course of the day they are delighted. A particular favorite is kind of gruesome – the time when I missed my field trip to see the little mermaid play in preschool because my dad cut his finger off (!!) at work and my mom had to go to the hospital with him. They call it “the mermaid one,” obviously.

My four year old loved this one – I think I was in middle school, already wearing an intense glasses Rx. One morning I woke up and (with no glasses) noticed a brown blob on my bedroom floor. Thought it was a leaf? Then it moved…I grabbed my glasses and lo and behold, it was a frog. Friends, I sleep with my door shut. What?! And more importantly, how?! I grew up in Austin and we had a pond in the front yard, but it’s a lot of hopping from there to my bedroom.

I also have a clothing in the toilet story. I woke up in one of those itchy, cheap nightgowns from the 80’s. I knew it wasn’t what I put on before bed. I got up, walked to the bathroom and my perfect, oversized vintage tee I went to bed in was in the sink, soaking went. The story goes, I was walking down the hallway, so my mom, half-asleep pushed me towards the bathroom. She leaned her head against the wall, maintaining sleep status and waited. I came out without my pajamas on. It was concluded that I was sleep walking, and when I got in the bathroom I took off my pajamas and threw them in the toilet.