Happy Fall Y'All

Because I HATE Halloween we are not celebrating.  However, I do love Fall and it is just starting to look like Fall here in North Carolina so that is what we will be celebrating.  That and my love for candy corn and caramels!
Halloween was awesome when I was little.  My first "real" costume was Cookie Monster.  My Mom made my costume (she had to call in sick to work just to finish it) and it was amazing!  I'm pretty sure I was Cookie Monster until I grew out of the costume!

After the Cookie Monster years I was, in no particular order, a "Hippie", a "50's Girl" with the BEST hot pink poodle skirt, a pumpkin, and Alice from Alice in Wonderland.

Now normally I don't think I would have remembered the year I was Alice, but that year ended up being epic solely based on my Dad's costume.  See, the year I was Alice was also the year the original Batman movie came out.  Now if you've ever seen my Dad you know he has a serious resemblance to Jack Nicholson who played the joker in Batman...put the two together and you have my Dad dressed up as the Joker.  It also just so happened this was the year we were going to a big Halloween party that had a costume contest (the one and only time I think we were ever invited).  Let's just say my Dad won hands down and also scared many of the little kids in attendance (probably the reason we were never invited back!).

Seriously creepy resemblance right????

Also, how cute are Ben the cowboy and I as Alice????

After the fun elementary years of Halloween came the scary years of middle school when it was cool to go to haunted houses and right there is when I was D-O-N-E with Halloween.  I don't do well with things that jump out at me and I HATE being scared.

So tonight Tom and I will be enjoying Fall and all the pictures of cute kids in costumes on facebook.

Happy Fall Y'All!

XO XO,

Molly

 

Rewrite: Fa La La La La

I feel like I cheated myself and you.  I can write a better Christmas Memories post than what I gave here.  See normally I write my posts at work where I have tons of time to think about what I want to write, but last week work was sooo busy I didn't have time.  So I had to write the post at home with dogs barking, husbands cleaning, and oven timers dinging.  Needless to say, I basically typed a few sentences and threw some pictures on to make it cute and clicked publish.  I can do better.  Sorry to my family who I cheated, we really had some wonderfully strict traditions that got completely short changed.  Hopefully this captures how it really was a little bit better.  If you'd like a soundtrack to go along with this post click here!

Twas the night

Before Christmas

When all through the farm-house

Not a creature was stirring

Not even a...well...I was, cause you see I was sick.  I probably ate too many pieces of pie or too many of Aunt Carole's sticky buns.

The stockings sheets and blankets all hung

around the house with care

In hopes That no children

would see what was there

The children were nestled

All safe in their bed, floor, sleeping bags, couch, wherever there was room really (god-forbid the creepy bear rug in grandma & grandpa's basement)

While visions of sugarplums

Danced in their heads

And grandma in her kerchief

And grandpa snoring away, 

Had just settled down

For a long winters nap

When all of a sudden

There arose such a grumble

I sprang from my bed

To run to the bathroom (uh-oh!)

Away to the bathroom

I flew like a flash

Tore open the door

And threw up the toilet seat

As I walked back to bed

rubbing my aching head

I heard a faint noise 

Not snoring, or breathing

Or any such thing.

When what To my wandering ears

Should hear

But a jingle & jangle

coming from near

I closed my eyes tight

to concentrate with all my might

And heard it again...

jingle, jangle, jingle

And got a little tingle

Could it be???

Could it be Santa?

As I fell back to sleep

I didn't make a peep

I would wait until morning

To see if anyone else heard it.

Ok we're done with the rhyming for now.

When my eyes finally popped open in the morning, I quickly asked Ben & Sarah (of course they were already awake) if they'd heard anything.  A jingle or a jangle???  They looked at me kind of crazy and both said, "No".  I ran to find my Dad, and he too said, "No".  It had only been me. I was the only one who heard Santa.

We gathered around the table (all 18 of us if my math and memory serve me right) where a grapefruit with a cherry awaited each of us.  We ate and ate, the kids eating quickly and the adults eating as slow as possible.  We had sticky buns, eggs, sausage patties, bacon, toast, juice, and the dreaded coffee.

See, the rule in the Cornwell house was (and still is) that no one was allowed to open presents, let alone see the presents until after Christmas breakfast.  

We even go as far as hanging sheets and blankets up to cover the entrances to the room where the unwrapped presents / stockings are.  I remember once barely touching one of the sheets and my cousin Keith telling me my presents were going to disappear if I touched the sheet.

Christmas breakfast also included reading the Christmas Story from The Bible.  Normally, either Uncle Rod or Uncle Boogie would read the story, but I do remember Annie and Ben also reading it.  Before we could even begin reading the story all the adults had to have a fresh cup of coffee.  Then in the middle someone would want more coffee, and at the end of the story the coffee pot would inevitably be empty and we would have to wait for a whole new pot to be brewed before we could line up for presents.  As kids we would literally watch each drop of coffee being made.

Finally it was time to line up.  Yes, that's right.  We had to line up from youngest to oldest to run through the sheets to find where Santa had laid our stocking.  The excitement and energy in the little farm-house was overflowing.  We would run in and tear through our stockings.  We would usually find some random nuts, socks, toothpaste and toothbrush from Santa in our stockings (it was weird how one year the toothbrushes all said Dr.'s Kinser & Langwith on them, but we didn't question it).  We then would normally have one unwrapped present laying next to our stocking from Santa.

After all the Santa gifts had been found, the task of distributing the other gifts began.  Gifts were passed out to each person, and then again youngest to oldest everyone would open one gift and everyone else would watch.  There was usually some clue written on the outside of the present that you would have to read aloud and try to guess what was inside.

For example..."to keep your tootsie's warm" would equal socks.

This would go on for hours.  Pretty much the best hours of my childhood.  

The thing about Christmas in my family was, tradition.  Even today, as an adult, I get sad if traditions aren't followed or are broken.  Because you know what???  It meant / means something, and I would be willing to bet it means something to all of you too.

During this crazy time of year, please take time to enjoy your family, reminisce about family traditions, and tell those people in your life that you love them.

But I heard him exclaim

As he drove out of sight

Happy christmas to all

And to all a goodnight

XO XO,

Merrier Molly

Fa La La La La

Growing up, there were very strict Christmas day traditions.  Often we were at my mom's parent's house (grandma & grandpa Cornwell) in Deer Creek, Illinois with EVERYONE.  To my child-like eyes it seemed like the house would bust if one more person came in.  Aunts & Uncles, Cousins, EVERYONE!  We would sleep on the floor, or God-forbid the basement on the creepy bear rug and hope to not get stepped on.  When we woke up there would be sheets and blankets hung from the ceiling to cover the room where Santa had delivered the presents.

We weren't allowed in the room until after the looongest meal of the year Christmas breakfast, after the adults had a bazillion cups of coffee (they would always have to have just one more and the coffee pot would always be empty so we'd have to wait for a whole new pot to be brewed) and after the Christmas Story was read from The Bible.  After much anticipation all the kids would line up youngest to oldest to run into the room where the presents and tree were.

Ben & I (and Uncle Larry in the top pic.) carrying on the tradition as we were older!

It was the best Christmas madness ever.  Still to this day, I don't really feel like I've had Christmas unless all traditions have been followed.

Here are some pictures of Christmases past:

 Even the dogs get in on the Christmas Dinner!

 The Christmas before I transferred to The University of Iowa!

 Decorating for Christmas for the first time in my own house (Virginia)!

 My Dad never put Christmas lights on the outside of the house because he said he didn't want to put holes in the house.  What's the first thing I do when I have a house of my own???  Lights on the outside!

 Dad & Uncle Larry preparing the Christmas Breakfast!

 You never can be quite sure what will happen on Christmas morning!  Your Dad might wear a Santa apron and your Aunt might wear a sweatshirt that says Fa La La La La!

 Grandma (My mom) gives the Dog's presents too!

 Our first official Christmas Card as a family!

 This is normal right?!?  Ben headed to a crazy Christmas party.

 Look how thrilled Tom is.  We got engaged the day before.  Should I be worried?!?

 Our very first "Charlie Brown" Christmas Tree.

 Finally a BIG tree for us!

 When my parents finally gave in and realized, "It's all about Molly!"

 My first time skiing (down the driveway!)

Tom is such an angel...isn't this just precious?!?

 Tom's famous "Kissing Cousin's Picture"

 Seriously how cute are these boys!  What happened?!?  Just kidding Paula, you know I love them all! :)

He really wanted to be a construction man when he grew up!

XO XO,

Merry Molly

Bobby Pins and Pie (30 Before 30 #7)

This memoir was written a few years ago after a recent visit to my Grandparents old farm.

 

In a time where dancing carefree to “Turkey and the Straw” was the highlight of my day, I bring you to my Grandpa and Grandma Cornwells’ house.  Situated in the town of Deer Creek, Illinois, my grandparents lived in an old farmhouse on Cornwell Road.  Right across the street was their white barn with pigs, cats, and a horse named prairie Jane.  

My Dad helping my brother, me, and my cousin Sarah on Prairie Jane.  One of the only pictures of me EVER on a horse due to my severe allergies.

 Across the corn field on the side of their house was my Uncle Boogie’s house.  Uncle Boogie lived in a huge old, creaky farmhouse with a luscious cherry tree in the back yard.

The most recent picture I have of myself and Uncle Boogie.

As I sit under the same old cherry tree as I did fourteen years ago, I am reminded of the day my Grandma, the finest pie-maker ever, chose me to help make the pie that would be served at dinner.

My all time favorite picture of me and my Grandma Cornwell.  This was taken at my pre-school graduation.

 I recall being ecstatic while getting the buckets and step ladders we would use to gather the cherries.  She'd asked me, and no one else; life could not have gotten any better for an eight year old girl.

 During the walk over to the cherry tree my Grandma explained to me how to recognize a good cherry from the bad.  She said, “If the cherry is bright red it means it is still ripe and is too sour,” while making a puckering face.  “If it is dark red almost purple it is old and bad, but if it is red and a little dark it is just right.”

Once we got to the cherry tree my seventy year old Grandma climbed up her step ladder and gracefully plucked three cherries off the overloaded branches.  She came back down and showed me which was the good cherry and which two were bad.  Then she popped the good cherry in her mouth, careful of the pit, and tossed the two bad cherries on the ground.

           

 Quickly, I followed using the same method as my Grandma and got my step ladder under the tree to begin filling my bucket.  Soon our hands were dyed bright cherry red and I started to giggle.  My Grandma looked to see what I was giggling about and told me to lick my finger.  It tasted like a cherry Popsicle cooling my mouth on a hot day.  I never wanted to wash my hands again.  I wanted to remember the taste forever.

           

After filling both of our buckets with cherries we slowly dragged our heavy buckets home, readjusting our grips after each slow step.  Once inside we meticulously arranged newspapers on the table and floor, covering the all important blue carpet, and began to pit our cherries.  My grandma had a technique for pitting cherries using bobby pins.  She would slide the rounded edge into the cherry and then quickly pull it out with the pit.  After mashing the first twenty cherries between my fingers and breaking about ten bobby pins I finally got my first cherry pitted.  For every one of my pitted cherries my Grandma had three and after about an hour we had completed the second stage of the cherry pie.

            

 The next step was to clean the cherries and soak them in a sugar potion.  My grandma never used a recipe, just a dash of this and a dash of that, never worrying how the end result would be.

             

While the cherries soaked in the potion we started making the pie crust.  Everything was made from scratch in my Grandma’s kitchen, to ensure the best quality for her family.  I was the designated measurer and pourer while Grandma stirred, not traditionally with a spoon, but a pastry blender and her hands until the right consistency was attained.  She then rolled it out and cautiously placed the dough into the pie pan.  Once the pie crust was pressed into the pan I got to pour the cherries and potion in.  After the cherries were spread out evenly, so that in every bite there would be a juicy cherry, we placed long cuts of the extra dough on top to make it criss-crossed.  It was the most beautiful pie I had ever seen.

           

That night at dinner I could not wait for the rest of the family to see the pie I had helped Grandma make.  I wiggled around in my chair throughout the whole meal, nerves and anxiety getting the best of my eight-year-old body.  Once everything and everyone was finished, Grandma asked me to help her get the pie ready.  Carefully, I got the pie off the cooling rack and walked it slowly to the table with Grandma shuffling behind me.  I showed off our work from the day and everyone smiled and began to feel the saliva build up in their mouths.

           

It was always a tradition to serve everyone their pieces of pie and then let my Grandpa, the professional pie taster, have the first bite.  As we set the pieces of pie in front of everyone, the aromas floated into our noses making our mouths water for our first bites.  As my Grandpa dug his fork into his piece my heart started racing hoping with all my eight year old might that he would like it.  He slowly lifted his fork into his mouth and began chewing.  At once his eyes lit up and a huge smile appeared on his face.  He looked straight at me and said, “You’ve done very well Molly.  Very well indeed.”  At that moment everyone else grabbed their fork and began tasting the delicious cherry pie, except my Grandma and me.  We kept our eyes locked, Grandpa still smiling and nodding, approving the days work.  I felt more proud at that moment than ever before.  Having the approval of my Grandpa meant a lot to me especially when it came to his favorite thing: pie.

             

As my Grandma watched the scene appear before her eyes, she began to smile.  I looked up at her and smiled back.  The smile on my Grandma’s face, after seeing the approval from her husband, made me so excited.  It is a smile my memory will never forget, it is the smile I think of now while sitting under the old cherry tree.  It is the smile that made pitting cherries the best part of being eight-years-old.

Grapefruit Memories

Over lunch I was eating a grapefruit and started thinking about my Grandma and Grandpa and how much fun we used to always have at the family farm with EVERYONE. You may wonder why a grapefruit could stir up all these memories…we used to always have them at breakfast whenever we were there. The only other time it seemed we ever had grapefruit was on Christmas morning. Weird I know.

My first memory from lunch: My cousin, closest in age to me would get so mad after we rode Prairie Jane, the horse, because my mom and dad would have to knock me out with Benadryl because of my allergies and we couldn’t play! Still every time I had the chance I got on Prairie Jane!

My second lunch memory: My Uncle would have baby piggies sometimes and every time we held them they would pee on us. But still every time we held them! We couldn’t resist the piggy squeal. We never learned (or didn’t care to).

I’m glad I was old enough to remember all this stuff.

One time when there were cows my cousin dared my brother and I to run through the feeding pen to the other side. We did…it was scary! I remember one time when we had to help my Uncle's move the pigs into the big semi super early in the morning with big fence things. My brother got in trouble because he wasn’t helping and let two pigs get through our human fence.

Well that was my lunch…Isn’t it funny how one grapefruit can bring you back 20 years?!?