Stolen from the Trav's blog: Hey y'all. This little thing is called Memoir Monday, and I'd be thrilled if you gave it a shot. Just jot down a story about yourself, grab the code down there, and I'll link you up to be read by all my wonderful blog buddies. The only rule? It has to be true. I am personally doing what I can to help cure your case of the Mondays. Thanks for playing along! Of course, you also need to comment on Trav's blog post to be linked, lol.
So, here we go... buckle down, it ain't pretty.
Once upon a time in a far off country town there lived a family of four: Grumblebum (father), Wise Woman (mother), Flame Haired One (oldest daughter) and a very young Madmother (younger daughter). They were a happy little clan, and surprisingly (for those who know the MM now) religious to some extent.
On this special day the fof were attending the local Anglican Church for their oldest daughter's confirmation. You know, the bit where you study for weeks and weeks, then go off to the church, get blessed, make a few promises and finally are allowed to sip that grog and chomp that wafer (actually, it is the other way around, but meh). And this particular confirmation of twenty or so virginal young people was even more special due to the attendance of the Bishop of the Diocese. Very, very serious stuff.
So, in the large, cold, formal Anglican church, full to the brim for this celebration of the first communion, a six year old MM sits with her Mum and Dad in a row about halfway back in the pews, and watches, enraptured, her older sister in the front row. Eleven year old FHO glances back and waves a few times. Patiently they watch, all three beaming with pride as FHO takes her vows, has her drink and nibble, and returns to her seat for a couple of hymns and the closing prayers. Being the gracious older sister, she eventually signals for eager little MM to creep down the side aisle to join her in the front pew seat of honour. MM beams, and quiet as a church mouse, tiptoes to join her. All is good,they sing the praises holding hands, listen reverently as the high up bishop honcho speaks and blesses them, and then kneel for the prayers.
It was this same year. Angelic ain't I?
It is quiet, terribly quiet. So hushed you could hear a pin drop. And the stillness seemed to drag on and on endlessly. Solemn occasion this. And MM being well really pretty much as out there as I am now, began to wonder what would happen if someone made a little noise to break the silence.
So little MM, kneeling in the front row, sweetly calls out at the top of her six year old lungs to the huge, echoing church, (you guessed it):
It was quite melodical, let me tell you. Cannot properly convey the sweet sound with the written words.
I was promptly sent back to G and WW in disgrace. And she didn't talk to me for a month as she suffered under the constant jibes of "toot, toot" from friends which, of course, didn't help the situation at all.
From that point on it became my signature call. So don't be too surprised if you hear the doorbell ring one day, and then a loud "Toot, toot." You'll know who it is...