"Let's be naughty and save Santa the trip." (-Gary Allan)

Too early, you say?

Not so if you were my parents, who felt it was their duty to pose us, ad infinitum, on the infamous day of taking a million photos for our annual Christmas card and picture. We did this until well after Eddie was born...(aren't those socks and "fat dresses" sexy)

I still remember many of these moments captured forever. The hairdo's alone crack me up.

We DREADED having these pictures taken, and sometimes, in the “trial” shots, you can see us holding different objects or even cookies that my parents gave us to assuage us while we suffered for our art.

When my parents had their 40^th wedding anniversary, my siblings and I tried to think of some fun things we could do to help them celebrate, along with a nice brunch at the local art museum...

My sister Mary Kate and I “stole” my parents’ phone book, and between us, we split up people my parents had known over the years, and wrote to them, asking them if they would help us celebrate from a distance, and saying that we wanted to surprise our parents with notes from people if possible.

We asked if they would be willing to write a nice memory or note of congratulations. Then we put together a big book of memories... One person had actually saved all of those Christmas cards over the years and sent those. I was amazed that someone had actually held onto those, …and yet, I do the same if someone sends me pictures of their family.

It’s funny, even though the photos are goofy, I really do smile every time I look at these.

“It is Christmas in the heart that puts Christmas in the air.” (-WT Ellis)

“It is never too late to have a happy childhood.” (-Tom Robbins)

I sometimes think about how different my childhood would seem to children today. Computers and electronic toys such as Wii, Xbox or Playstation didn’t exist when my siblings and I were small. How did we ever manage?(Claudia below with an enormous Patty Play-Pal doll.)

I remember we had lots of dolls…and a baby pram. My mom was pregnant with our little brother, so I suppose we were very conscious of "babies." She was home with us until my brother was in school, and then she worked as long as I can remember outside of the home, as a teacher. My younger sister Claudia had a “Patty Play-Pal” doll that was just her size and sometimes even wore her clothes. My father often used to mistake her for one of us. I remember I was sort of scared of her! (Sue with doll below)

Our Uncle Con gave us gifts we’d get excited about: I remember having a Cinderella watch I was thrilled with… (Sue and Mary Kate displaying our new watches from Uncle Con, before we even knew how to tell time)

And we had a toy piano and a work bench and pegboard that got lots of use. We loved our tricycles from him... (Sue and bike below)
and pedal cars… (Sue and pedal car below)

But more often than not, we invented things to do: we’d play dress-up, and devise our own imaginary games and activities. My mother told me once that she used to laugh that she’d hear us, all day long, saying to one another in excitement: “Let’s make-a-believe…” (Claudia as a fortune-telling gypsy, below) We loved to color and draw and paint. Our sidewalks always had hopscotch grids on them.

We were always stealing my dad and grandfather’s hats and gloves to wear… (Mary Kate and Sue in daddy and grandpa's hats with Claudia in crib below) I remember we organized a neighborhood "fair" and had all sorts of games and costumes involved. Our next-door neighbor had cap guns, which as a child, also scared me, and we loved to play with those and felt very daring doing that. I was a total wuss.

If it was raining outside, we’d sometimes play in the basement: I remember us draping bedspreads on an overturned card table, and we’d crawl inside the "tents" we created. (Claudia as Little Red Riding Hood below) We would pretend we were teachers, and my grandmother would pretend she was a student who wasn't too bright so we had to educate her about all sorts of things.

My son and his friends in the neighborhood sold lemonade and had great fun with an elaborate “stand” for customers to approach. We loved selling lemonade and cookies as little kids, too. We were happy just collecting chestnuts in a paper bag and shining them up. And we went to the park, where we played tether ball, rode swings, and made things like lanyards and baskets there.

We had lots of friends, but I was fortunate that I had my own built-in playmates in my three siblings, and I never felt bored. We weren't allowed to watch TV that often, unless we asked permission, and we were encouraged, as children, to read and ride bikes and find ways to entertain ourselves. We made macaroni-glued objects and strung buttons on strings for necklaces.

I suppose we didn't really have exciting toys, but we didn't know that--we had fun. I hope children today wind up with similar fond memories of their childhoods when they grow up.

"If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older." ( ~Tom Stoppard)

“It takes a long time to grow young.” (-Pablo Picasso)

August 25th was my mother’s birthday. I often think about how her life was so representative of all our lives…none of us really knows what's ahead of us, and we all have aspirations and dreams just as she did as a young woman...(my mom below)

Dreams of starting a family,...(mommy and daddy below)

and dreams of raising children…She surely never knew early in life that she would wind up having Multiple Sclerosis. (Mary Kate, Claudia and Sue with my mom below, before Eddie was born yet)

And she certainly couldn’t have known, on the day this picture was taken, at Ellis Island, that those towers behind her would one day topple, and that that wheelchair she sometimes needed here would become her constant companion late in life. (my mom and dad below)

Life handed her many surprises, as it does all of us, but she accepted them all and responded with dignity as each unfolded before her. She kept walking for as long as she could, sometimes pushing the wheelchair in front of her until she tired and could go no further. (my mom and me in Olde Towne Alexandria, VA)

At my parents’ 40^th wedding anniversary, she could still stand and walk with a cane,...(my parents below, at their 40th anniversary)

But around the time of their 50^th anniversary, she was no longer really able to walk. She had a wonderful attitude about it, though…I remember her laughing, and telling me when I took her shopping, that she had noticed, in shopping centers, little toddlers in strollers would look over at her on their level, and she said she could tell they couldn’t quite figure out why this adult was in a stroller just like them. She was quite amused by that. I watched the children in other strollers, and sure enough, they did seem somewhat fascinated by her, as if she was a kindred spirit. (our family at that time, below, celebrating my parents' anniversary at the art museum)

She was happiest when she was surrounded by her family, and since we all lived all over the place, like most families, it was hard to get us all together very often...

Mommy's gone now, but not gone from my memories…
Happy 84^th Birthday, mommy!
I love you. (my mom and dad on their 50th wedding anniversary below)

“The remembrance of a beloved mother becomes a shadow to all our actions; it precedes or follows them.” (-unknown)

“Sewing fills my days, not to mention the living room, bedroom and closets.” (-Unknown)

I grew up in a family of seamstresses: my mother always sewed all of her own clothes as well as ours, for as long as I could remember, and my dad was manager of the Graphic Arts department at the Singer Company. For years, I never knew what size I wore other than what was represented in a Vogue or McCall’s pattern. In fact, I honestly didn’t know the first thing about buying clothes in a store until I grew up.

My mother was an expert seamstress. She taught English at a local high school, but she had no patience whatsoever for teaching us how to sew. I think in her mind, it was just something one should be able to do, innately. People would tell me I was "so lucky" I could sew, and I used to think, "luck has nothing to do with it!"

The basement in our house was Sewing Central. It was home to any number of sewing machines, so that several of us would be downstairs together, listening to NPR and chatting as we sewed away. The walls were lined with huge, industrial-strength, metal shelves that housed yards and yards of fabrics and tons of patterns. There was an ever-present ironing board set up, and the washer and dryer worked hard in another corner. It was nothing for us to come home, head downstairs and whip up a new outfit for the next day. Both of my sisters and I sewed all our clothes once we were teenagers. None of us took “Home Ec” classes; we just taught ourselves.

My mother’s philosophy was that the inside of an outfit should be as beautifully sewn as the outside, and so whenever I made an article of clothing, I knew it would immediately have to pass my mother’s strict inspection. Invariably, as I displayed my finished products to her, I would cringe, since she would immediately turn the fabric over to see the hems, and with an air of disgust, she would often roll her eyes at me, only to say something like “Tsk,…well, you did a bum job on that, young lady!” It taught me to finish seams off beautifully and to take pride in what I made.

If any of us did make something with a hand-sewn zipper, or if we did a good job of matching up patterns on a fabric, or if we used bound buttonholes or sewed French seams inside a dress, she would exclaim with delight. She instilled in us the love of good fabrics and good sewing practices.

Our favorite patterns were Vogue, and we were on a constant quest for beautiful fabrics. My older sister Mary Kate reminded me recently of the time we were at the Galeries Lafayette in Paris, and we both bought fabric there to bring home. I didn’t realize I’d have to calculate yardage with the metric system, and so I used the tried and true method of holding one end of the fabric at arms length to my chest and measured out the yardage I knew I needed to make a dress.

Now, if I sew at all, my sewing tends more towards making pillows, curtains and slipcovers and the like. I rarely sew clothes for myself any more, but whenever I do, I think nostalgically about that basement and the hours of mad creativity that bubbled up out of there.

“Asking a seamstress to mend is like asking Michelangelo to paint the garage.” (-Unknown)

“I know my older sister loves me..."

...because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.” (-Author unknown; attributed to a 4 year old named Lauren)

My oldest sibling, Mary Kate, is 15 months older than me. I’ve looked up to her all my life. Of all my siblings, she’s probably the calmest and most even-tempered: a classic first child.

When I was born, Mary Kate and my parents had already settled into a fairly comfortable, even tempo: let’s just say they had come to an understanding of each other’s schedules and needs. When I was born, however, being of a different temperament than Mary Kate, and needing different things, I suppose, I kind of put a wrench in all that, and I quickly became known as “the difficult child.” (Mary Kate and Sue below)

I always perceived events in Mary Kate’s life as maintaining on a very even keel. Now, I’m a firm believer that none of us comes through this life unscathed, but Mary Kate was one of those people who never appeared to have been shaken by the cruel hands of Fate the way we all inevitably are.

In school, growing up, I followed her each year, and constantly heard teachers say, with the air of Great Expectations in their voices, “Aaaaah, you’re Mary Kate’s sister!” I usually felt a knot in my stomach the minute I heard that, fearing I could never measure up to such promise! Mary Kate was very smart, and while I suppose I was smart, too, at that time, I certainly never thought I could “deliver the goods” they were anticipating from Mary Kate’s sister.(Claudia, Mary Kate and Sue below)

I did inherit all of Mary Kate’s dresses and clothes growing up. I was always eager to see what new things she’d have, knowing one day they’d probably be my new things, too, but I enjoyed that. She was my best friend, my confidante, and the symbol of stability in my life.

Mary Kate played the piano beautifully. Claudia and I took piano lessons, but Mary Kate excelled at the piano. I always thought she’d grow up to be a concert pianist, but she wound up going into the Peace Corps, living in Zaire for several years, meeting her future husband Oscar (a fellow volunteer) there, and, like most of us, juggling a demanding career and raising a family instead. Now, she has 2 fabulous grown sons who are funny and interesting and kind. I would have expected nothing less. Now, my dad is living with Mary Kate and Oscar in their home. (Sue and Mary Kate below)

“Sibling relationships—and 80 percent of Americans have at least one—outlast marriages, survive the death of parents, resurface after quarrels that would sink any friendship. They flourish in a thousand incarnations of closeness and distance, warmth, loyalty and distrust. (-Erica Goode) (Mary Kate, Eddie and Claudia, my siblings, below)

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree" (unknown)

My father never spent much time in front of the camera; he was usually the one taking the photos in our home. I suppose I come by my love of photos honestly.

Our albums are filled with what I call “posed” photos of us as kids, and daddy particularly liked to capture us when we had on the dresses my mother had made for us all, and we were in parks, surrounded by flowers.(Claudia, Sue and Mary Kate below)

Daddy's fairly tall; (about 6’3,”) and as a child, I remember being thrilled that he’d let us stand on his hands so we could touch the ceiling. I thought that was just the most amazing thing. (Claudia below)

I recall visiting my parental grandmother, Grandma Schmidt, in cold weather, when we all had on wool coats and matching leggings. We hated those outfits: it took forever to get dressed, and then once you were in them, you could barely move. My mom would admonish us, saying: "Now, go out and play!" My dad wanted our picture, and he’d take photo after photo, endlessly, trying to get just one image where we all looked decent. One of us would be acting up or frowning in each one. He’d get upset, and you could tell, by the time the final photo appeared, that we’d had a reprimanding, by the somber looks on our faces. (MaryKate, Sue and Claudia below)

My older sister Mary Kate and I shared a room when we were young, and he painted our bedroom ceiling with gold stars so that when we were lying in bed, we’d see them at night.(Daddy, MK, Claudia, Sue below)

When we were small, we’d sit on the curb at the end of the day, waiting to see my dad’s car when he came home from work, and when he got home, we’d all yell out, “Daddy’s home!” “Daddy’s home!” and run to greet him. Must’ve been a wonderful welcoming committee. (Sue and Daddy below)

Daddy was the one who gave us baths at night and sang opera to us while he did, and we’d all sing along at the top of our lungs.(Daddy and Claudia below)

And when it was time for bedtime reading, my dad read to us from Coleridge and Shakespeare. (Daddy and Claudia at the park below)

When my mother was in the last stages of her MS, my dad never left her side and cared for her continually. I asked her once if she knew how lucky she was, and she smiled at me and said, “I know.”(Daddy, Sue, my mom when she could still walk, and my cousin Peter below)

“Fatherhood is pretending the present you love most is soap-on-a rope.” (-Bill Cosby)

Hands in the spaghetti

I was never glued to the tube for the Sopranos, but I was a fan. I probably even missed some seasons in their entirety, but for a number of episodes, I tuned in with lots of other people to see what good old Tony was up to.

Once, I was telling Joe what my brother Eddie says about people he thinks are too cowardly in handling challenging situations. Eddie would always say to me, “You know what I mean, Sue, she’s just not someone who’s willing to get her hands in the spaghetti.” Of course, since it was Eddie, I knew exactly what he meant by that. Not being willing to get your hands into the spaghetti was just not at all attractive to Eddie! He liked people who would fight for a cause, even if that meant getting down and dirty if you have to. (Who knows where he comes up with these things.)

Anyway, I'll set the stage for you:

Last year, I was heading down to visit my dad, and I had shared with Joe that I wanted to have a real heart-to-heart talk with my dad about some important topics from the past. I suppose I was a little bit apprehensive, hoping daddy would understand what I would say, and that he'd take it in the right way when I did. Now, as it turns out, my dad is a “Tony,” --(although, certainly a much nicer, more admirable Tony than Tony Soprano.) My dad is now living in Statesboro, Georgia with my older sister Mary Kate.

Joe came along on my visit, (and Joe is originally from Oklahoma.)

My dad and I wound up having a very nice visit, much as I thought we would, and we really communicated well--we had a great talk, hugged and cried, and there was nothing at all to worry about, but prior to my heading down there for my visit, Joe thought I might be anxious, and he handed me this hilarious photo with this caption beneath it. I never shared it before with my dad, and daddy, I know you read this blog, so I hope you get as big a kick out of it as I did.

It still makes me laugh…

“The family. We are a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another’s desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together.” (-Erma Bombeck)