Things I Learned as a Child - Part 2

Apparently, I've learned so much as a child that I have enough for two posts. You can see part 1 here. Now on to part 2!

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Beginner readers are boring—Anne of Green Gables, now that’s more like it. (Yes, I did read it in first grade. I will confess, however, that many of the words were way over my head.)

Flying a kite near tall trees isn’t smart.

A bicycle makes a good substitute horse when a real one can’t be found. A sister with skipping rope reins is also acceptable.

No matter how high you swing, you just can’t swing over the top bar.

Food tastes better at a picnic.

Yes, I know you're all drooling. ;)

Dads can make such a convincing deer-in-distress call (or was it buffalo…?) that the lion at the zoo will wander closer to the fence, thereby giving you a better look at it.

The flamingos at the zoo don’t have their own music—that was someone’s cell phone ringing.

Pink rubber boots worn inside the house are definitely the height of fashion.

Vacuum cleaners are not kind to toes. (I’m cheating a little bit again, since I discovered this fact as a teenager. Lots of ouch.)

There are no sharks swimming in the darkness of your bedroom, so there’s no need to race into bed quite so anxiously.

Helping your siblings open their Christmas presents only makes you look bossy on the home videos.

Getting a dragonfly caught in your hair is frightening.

Figuring out Roman numerals is an impressive feat.
 

When your little sister follows you around, it means she admires you, not that she wants to take over your turf. Be kind and understanding.

Wearing your pajamas to the Canada Day fireworks is definitely a treat.

Brothers are great spider-exterminators.

When playing “house” outdoors, soup made out of water, leaves, grass, gravel, and flower petals can almost look appetizing. Sort of.

A popsicle falling to the ground is a tragedy of epic proportions.

Birds are hard to sneak up on and won’t be petted.

The night of Christmas Eve is the longest of the year.

When you say sorry, mean it.

Singing “Jesus Loves Me” at the top of your lungs, while wearing a pink garbage bin over your head, in the middle of a store—well, what could be more fun? (I have no memory of this, just so you know, but my parents certainly do.)

Your big stuffed dog named Casey most certainly does get lonely when you leave her for an entire day of school. She must lie on the living room couch so that she can be around people until you return home.

Just because Mom writes in her recipe book doesn’t mean you can.

Just because Mom writes in her Bible doesn’t mean you can do that, either.

Stuffed toys are good at keeping secrets.

Dads make excellent princes (when you’re Cinderella), chiefs (when you’re a tribal warrior), kings (when you’re the evil courtier), hunters (when you’re the forest creature), and narrators (when you’re acting out a fairy tale).

It follows that a brother makes an exceptionally ugly stepsister, fellow warrior, court jester, or companion forest animal.

Sisters make great stepsisters, fellow warriors, princesses, and scared rabbits.

And moms are fabulous at doing the supper dishes so you have time to play before bed.

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KIDS HAVE ALL THE FUN. KEEP A BIT OF YOUR CHILDHOOD WITH YOU AT ALL TIMES.

Little Miss Me, the gardener

Things I Learned As a Child - Part 1

I was laughing with my family the other day about some of the silly things I did as a kid. This, of course, is an extensive topic. Later on, as I was thinking over it, I realized that many of my miniature disasters and tiny discoveries have imparted nuggets of wisdom. Perhaps you'll find reason to chuckle along with me over the wonderful, silly, ridiculous, profound things a little girl's experiences can lead her to conclude.

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When preparing to blow a fluffy dandelion, don’t inhale with the dandelion close to your mouth.

Slapping the gym teacher is a mean thing to do.

Mysteries should be written backwards; it helps to know the end before you write the beginning.

Teenagers are very loud and very weird (but can be successfully ignored if one has a book to disappear into).

Dads are the scariest—and funnest—people with whom to play hide and seek in the dark.

Knowing to start from zero, not one, when counting laps gives you an entire lap in which to be embarrassed as you run alone and your classmates all sit down. (But then you get the satisfaction of them having to run one more lap while you are done.)

Babysitters just don’t do it like Mom does.

Standing up on your bike pedals to try to peer over a tall fence as you ride by results in scraped knees.

So does biking too fast down a hill with gravel at the bottom.

So does trying to ride back onto a raised sidewalk, after so courteously steering off to avoid pedestrians. Oh yes, and torn shorts may also be a by-product of such a stunt. (I cheated—this I learned as a teenager. But we teenagers do, on occasion, behave like children, so it still counts.)

Fire drills are scary.

Stepping on certain school hallway tiles and avoiding others does not prevent the next fire drill from occurring.

Books are picture windows into countless worlds.

 

 

Fruit juice, ketchup, water from the pickle jar, maple syrup, and other miscellaneous liquids combined do not a tasty beverage make.

Sixth graders are big kids.

The minute you enter first grade, kindergartners look tiny.

My house does not have any secret passages. (Trust me, I looked.)

The only mysteries to be had are ones like “The Mystery of the Missing Sock,” never “The Mystery of the Haunted Stairwell,” or “The Case of the Ancient Treasure Chest.”

Mysteries of missing socks are not worth being paid two dollars to solve. They’re not even worth solving at all.

Secret clubs formed with friends have a tendency to last no more than about two weeks.

Crying does not make the history test go away.

There is more than one flat-nosed bus in the world. (This deserves an explanation: My first day riding the bus to kindergarten, my dad told me to remember the number printed on the side so that I’d get on the right bus after school. In a panic, I told him I couldn’t remember that number all day. He said, “Okay, then just remember to get on the bus with a flat nose.” Little did we know the school had two flat-nosed buses. And of course I boarded the wrong one. Two buses were late delivering their children that day.)

Swapping names and snowsuits with your friend during recess does not keep people from recognizing who you really are.

Brothers don’t appreciate your hairdressing skills.

Standing in the playground and waiting for someone to talk to you is a lousy way to make friends.

Boys that chew pencils, or chase you around with boogers, or flick paint onto the back of your shirt . . . They’re just plain annoying.

That little ditch that runs between two houses on your street is not a secret path. It’s someone’s property.

Cycling barefoot in the rain is fun.

Turning ten is a little bit sad because you’re leaving single digits behind forever.

Every birthday party must have a theme, even if it’s as lame as “polka-dots and stripes.”

It is possible to have more than one best friend.

Best friends don’t have to live next door.

Flip-flops are terrible running shoes.

Riding the little red wagon down the gopher-hole-riddled hill—and letting your cousin steer—is maybe not the best idea.