The Favorite

I can honestly say I’ve never thought the three of us siblings ever competed for the "favorite child" title. 

Laura was the ground breaking blue-eyed-blonde that stole both Mom and Dad’s hearts prematurely at just 4 lbs. and 14 oz.. She lead Luke and I into the right pew for VBS, taught Luke how to get to the elementary cafeteria and taught me how to do a cartwheel on the duck-tape balance beam in our bedroom (sorry for ruining the carpet, Mom - Laura actually laid the tape, I just stood at the top of the landing, and kept watch). 

Laura Elaine - 1984

Luke was a wild little toe-head that made everyone laugh with his courage and “out of the box” thinking; he also had a fetish with head-butting our goats when he was a small child - stay tuned for more on that: possible future blog. He has always been the visionary.

Aaron Lucas - 1983

I was the third child that looked just like the other two, but wouldn’t hold anyone’s hand and didn’t look back when I tried to run away. My legs just got tired and I was kind of hungry for Mom's grilled cheese, so I was forced to turn around and go home. 

Lindsay Jean 
(with sidekick Luke, whom I have 0 pictures without 
from 1984-1991. 

Go ahead and read "Third vs. First")

I can recall once, just once, in my life when I knew I was the favorite 
(clarification: Favorite of Dad’s, Least favorite of Mom’s).

I was about 4 years old when my Dad tore his ACL during a backyard adventure with a couple of our neighbors. I don’t really know how it happened, but for some reason I always thought it was during a kickball game. If you’re reading this and know my father, you know my distant memory is probably a very skewed one; the only “ball” he participated in was taking us to watch the Pittsburgh Steelers play annually at Three Rivers Stadium. This was kind of a big deal for Dad to get hurt. I’d never seen him take a tylenol, let alone go to the hospital. 

None the less, he was there - and goodness, was he miserable. Dad learned to watch TV during those couple days of recovery time.  Of course, Mom loaded Laura, Luke and I into the Grand Marquis to go see him everyday after school. The smile on his face was sheer joy when us three toeheads showed up - we brought the party with us! 

Note Laura's New Kids On The Block t-shirt

The first night of Dad’s brief stay, Mom asked him as we left if she could bring anything from home the next day. There wasn’t anything Dad needed, but he did jokingly mention they didn’t serve his favorite in the hospital: Budweiser.

Bingo. 

They next day, when Laura and Luke got off the bus Mom loaded the three of us back in the car to go see Dad. Although, this trip, I was prepared. 

Before we left the house, I got my (favorite) hard plastic Popples lunchbox and put 2 cans of Dad’s favorite beer inside. 

When we arrived to Dad's hospital room I marched right up, proud as a four-year-old-blonde-hair-green-eyed peacock, and presented to Dad my lunchbox. He opened it - and there it was: The loudest laugh I’d ever heard come from his body. 

He was happy! 
He was grateful! 
He was impressed at my listening skills!

Mom, on the other hand, was not. 

I don’t really remember the words that were exchanged in the minutes that followed. Mom was embarrassed and before I knew it, we were strapped back into the car and heading back to the Fork. 

I also learned three things while I walked out of the hospital that afternoon in 1989:

1. From a young age, I've lived by the lyrics of my favorite song: 

"Just to see you smile, I'd do anything"

2. I was Dad’s new favorite. 

3. I was Mom’s least favorite. 

Even at four years old, you have to pick your battles, right?

Shoddy Advice

Can I share with you the worst advice my brave, admirable, amazing, handsome father has ever given me?

Dad and Laura

5/10/08

(total sap-heads)

“If it’s free, take two”

No, Dad.  

False. 

Incorrect. 

Wrong. 

But because I took this shoddy advice, I have an entire drawer in my bathroom dedicated to the Holiday Inn. Soap, shower caps, shampoo and conditioner that WILL break off your hair, if you give it the opportunity - trust me. When I was very young I thought we were rich because we had towels with an “H” on them. What did the “H” stand for? I had no idea, I never questioned it - I just knew the H was there - and the H was on the soap, too...Fancy!!

I also have, under my spare bedroom bed, a Beck's Hybrids bag full of goodies. Oh yes, all the good things in life: key chains, nail files, pocket tablets, dried up ink pens and solar calculators with buttons so small I’m not sure I could have navigated them when I was four years old. You better believe there is at least two of everything in that bag that I still hang on to from the 2000 Farm Science Review. Why? Because it was free, so my genetics tells me it’s worth something. 

In my basement is a box I scored (fact: there was no winning involved) from the last auction I went to. It was the last box left on the block and no one wanted it...which makes it free....so of course I grabbed it quicker than those crazy people from Mississippi who reach Walmart at 12:30pm the day before Thanksgiving just so they can get their grubby hands on the 5-inch portable DVD player made by Xechi-tron-tastic. 

It contains two garden hose nozzles that spray every direction but north, a toaster oven lacking an electric cord, a framed photo of a small child (sex: questionable) that has likely been dead for 80 years, a creepy figurine of a man sitting in the moon smoking a pipe and three limbs off an artificial Christmas tree. 

In my defense, I’m always looking for a good sprinkler, I think I know someone who can put a cord on the toaster oven, I could hang the dead child photo up in my hallway and act like it was family (if I wasn’t afraid it would haunt me) and you can always use extra tree limbs to fill in the bare spots in an artificial tree. Except, some idiot thought it would be nice to hot glue fake Cardinals to each limb.

Don’t misunderstand, I’m grateful for Dad’s advice, kind words, tough lessons and big hugs over the years.  I’m just saying, had he not told me “If it’s free, take two” when I was about five, I would have a lot more space in this tiny house. 

On the other hand, I would have had additional expenses my frugal, freshman year at Purdue: 

Shampoo, Conditioner and Soap. 

The Truth Comes Out!

There are few times in my life when I’ve felt like I’ve been living a lie:

1. When I first saw a teacher off school property. I’ll never forget seeing my second grade teacher, Mrs. Lieberman, at the local grocery store. I stood there in awe, thinking, “She has a life outside school? Does she live in a house?! Where is her teacher pin with the apple on it? Why does she have fruit roll ups........are those for us tomorrow? Why does she have a magazine? I thought teachers only graded papers and came up with craft ideas??” Not only did it make my hands sweat, it made me question everything I ever knew. 

2. Santa Claus - being the season it is, this topic bothers me a bit too much to go into detail. Come April, perhaps I’ll have more to say...

3. When I learn real song lyrics. 

Oprah: The Queen of Frivolous Give-Aways

Martha Stewart: The Queen of Folding a Fitted Sheet

Lindsay Bowman: The Queen of Misinterpreting Song Lyrics

Not something I’m proud of, still I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll learn the real meaning behind a song 3 years after it's released. 

Let’s start with Dust on the Bottle in 1994:

Creole Williams lived down a dirt road

Made homemade wine like nobody I know

Dropped by one Friday night and said can you help me Creole

Got a little girl waitin' on me and I wanna treat her right

I got what you need son, it's sittin’ down in the cellar

He reached through the cobwebs as he turned on the light and said

There might be a little dust on the bottle

But don't let it fool ya about what's inside

There might be a little dust on the bottle

It's one of those things that gets sweeter with time

I always thought Creole Williams had dust on his Bible, bless his heart. Being a person that doesn't question one’s religious practices or beliefs, I didn’t even wonder why he kept his Bibles in a cellar. I also didn’t question why David Lee Murphy was stopping by this guy’s house to get biblical advice on a first date. I just assumed he really was that nervous.

Secondly, in 1998 I thought Mark Wills had serious problems as a controlling boyfriend when he sang these lyrics in “I Do (Cherish You)”

All I am, all I'll be

Everything in this world, all that I'll ever need

Is in your eyes, shining at me

When you smile I can feel all my passion unfolding

Your hand brushes mine

And a thousand sensations seduce me 'cause I

I do, cherish you

For the rest of my life

You don't have to think twice

I will, love you still, from the depths of my soul

It's beyond my control

I've waited so long to say this to you

If you're asking do I love you this much, I do

I thought he sang, “Your hair brush is mine, and a thousand sensations seduce me ‘cause I...”

Listen bud, if you think it's alright to control your girlfriend to the point where even her hair brush is yours, you have major issues. 

And to Mark’s gal pal: Run, don’t walk. I never understood how he could sing such a beautiful song, then slip in that creepy line and act like everything in their dysfunctional relationship was perfect. 

I was in 8th grade Health, where we learned the warning signs of unhealthy relationships. Sorry about that, Mark. 

 Another classic line I misconstrued was in Tracy Lawrence’s 1998 hit “If The World Had a Front Porch”:

If the world had a front porch like we did back then

We'd still have our problems but we'd all be friends

Treating your neighbor like he's your next of kin

Wouldn't be gone with the wind

If the world had a front porch, like we did back then

I’m certainly not proud of this, but I always sang this line as, “If the world had a front porch like we did back then, We'd still have our problems but we'd all be friends, Treating your neighbor like he's your Mexican, Wouldn't be gone with the wind”. 

BACK THE FORK UP - How could this guy get away with saying that? This time I certainly did question Tracy’s ethics and his idea of putting a reference to labor sourcing in a song.....and no one feel uncomfortable about singing it, but me. I sang that version for a long time, until the day Mom and I went to Richmond - she definitely set me straight (right after she nearly ran her Ford Taurus off College Corner Rd. because of what came from my mouth). 

In 2008 I had a chance to spend time with Tracy after a show he did for us in Reno, Nevada; That night I couldn’t help but tell him about my terrible misunderstanding; after choking on his beer, he just laughed it off - but I’m pretty sure he’ll never look at me the same way again. Probably because I’ll likely never see the guy again in my life. 

Perhaps the biggest misinterpreted song in my itunes collection is Garth Brooks’, “That Summer.” With out you laughing out loud at me, can I tell you I thought this was about a kid who went to Kansas for the summer on a meteorology internship? Bear with me as I (desperately) try to convince you to see my point of view. And yes, after growing up I do realize this song is not about any kind of field-based college education. 

I went to work for her that summer 

A teenage kid so far from home (Kansas is far from everywhere)

She was a lonely widow woman 

Hell-bent to make it on her own 

We were a thousand miles from nowhere (Kansas is far from everywhere)

Wheat fields as far as I could see 

Both needing something from each other (college credit and help in the field)

Not knowing yet what that might be.

'Til she came to me one evening 

Hot cup of coffee and a smile 

In a dress that I was certain 

She hadn't worn in quite a while (the dress was noticeably tight - see last verse)

There was a difference in her laughter

There was a softness in her eyes 

And on the air there was a hunger (see last verse)

Even a boy could recognize (he had been taught well - Purdue?)

She had a need to feel the thunder (meteorology - Check!)

To chase the lightning from the sky (meteorology)

To watch a storm with all its wonder (meteorology)

Raging in her lover's eyes

She had to ride the heat of passion

Like a comet burning bright (meteorology)

Rushing headlong in the wind (meteorology)

Out where only dreams have been 

Burning both ends of the night.

That summer wind was all around me (meteorology )

Nothing between us but the night (meteorology)

When I told her that I'd never 

She softly whispered that's alright 

And then I watched her hands of leather 

Turn to velvet in a touch (I assumed she took off her work gloves? Likely to cook the intern a nice, frontier dinner)

There's never been another summer 

When I have ever learned so much (I just hoped he earned the college credits he needed?)

We had a need to feel the thunder (meteorology )

To chase the lightning from the sky (meteorology )

To watch a storm with all its wonder (meteorology)

Raging in each other's eyes 

We had to ride the heat of passion

Like a comet burning bright (meteorology)

Rushing headlong in the wind (meteorology) 

Out where only dreams have been 

Burning both ends of the night.

I often think about that summer 

The sweat, the moonlight, and the lace (I will admit, the lace always threw me off)

And I have rarely held another 

When I haven't seen her face 

And every time I pass a wheat field

And watch it dancing with the wind 

Although I know it isn't real 

I just can't help but feel

Her hungry arms again (her dress was tight (above)....now I get it - - she was dieting!)

In my defense, I was in second grade when this song came out. I had a lot on my mind (like seeing Mrs. Lieberman at Miller’s IGA) and it certainly wasn’t the true content of this song. Admittedly, I was far past second grade when I realized (in major shock) the real meaning. 

Misinterpreting songs is, in some ways, fun because I view learning the real song lyrics the same as hearing the song for the very first time, ever. 

But friends, don’t even get me started on Reba’s, “Fancy”.

Third vs. First

My niece Marlee is the epitome of perfect (she is the first grandchild in our family - please let me have my aunt bragging rights); she listens well, wakes up laughing, knows the sound a cow makes, gives perfect kisses, knows the meaning of “no” and perhaps most impressive, she has my father wrapped around her tiny, chubby finger. 

I told Dad that if I would have known he would have mellowed out this much from having one grandchild, I would have had a baby when I was 16! My conservative, fairly abrasive Dad was not impressed, at all. 

The differences in way the first grandchild is treated and how the third child was, can be considered....notable. 

Marlee dropped her sippy cup of milk on the kitchen floor (that mom had just mopped for the 3rd time in one weekend), and not only was the milk transferred into a new, sterile cup, she was praised for picking it up. I remember picking pebbles and dirt out of my gums because my pacifier had been dropped in the corn field (4 times) with out notice. 

Sunday, Marlee spent the day dragging around a doll that I’ve considered a sacred part of the family for years. It was Mom’s Tiny Tears doll she had as a little girl.

Pre-Marlee

If we even looked at that doll wrong Mom told us, “Don’t touch! Don’t break! Don’t even fight with in 5 yards of that doll!” Growing up, I would have rather stood in front of the entire school in my pajamas and retainer than have mom catch me close to Tiny Tears in her antique high chair. Now the poor 50 year old Tiny Tears is all dried up, being drug around by her hair and given sloppy wet kisses. Mom doesn't even seem to take notice.

Post-Marlee

Marlee has a baby book, one that tells the exact details of her beautiful little body the day she was born...and the day she first smiled...the day she slept for more than 2 hours...and the  day she ate her first carrot...and the day her first tooth came in, her first hair was cut and her first step was taken. I went kindergarten through 6th grade under the wrong name. At sixth grade graduation I marched my diploma right up to Mom and asked her what was wrong with it; she noticed nothing. My 6th Grade Graduation Diploma (my biggest life accomplishment, to that point) read, “Lindsay Elaine Bowman”. My name is Lindsay Jean Bowman; Elaine is my sister’s middle name...............Minor details.  

Over the Thanksgiving weekend, I uploaded my parent's pictures onto my computer to free up their memory card. A total 247 pictures were uploaded; they consisted of: four pictures taken at the farm, ten pictures from our vacation to Arizona, 2 audio files of Dad cussing the camera because he thought it was on photo mode, eight taken at our annual bred heifer sale, ten taken at my Grandma’s 80th birthday party and 213 pictures of Marlee. In elementary school, I had to create a “kiddie collage” that showcased pictures of me growing to that point. We ended up running just a little short on photos. Three of the ten photos I used had “1980” or “1981” written on the back; I was born in 1984. Thank goodness my sister and I look alike; 1992 was way before the miracles of Photoshop.

Don’t get me wrong, I love that little lady more than I ever thought I could love someone who throws up on my dry-clean-only tops. I’m just saying, given the choice to be the first grandchild or the third child of 3, it would take consideration. I don’t know, I've kind of enjoyed taking my own path, breaking the family symmetry and being the kid who sat in the middle hump seat with her knees in her chest for 12 years. It builds character. 

I Have a Serious Issue with Putting Socks in the Dryer

As part of a full load, I can put into the washer 6 complete pairs of in-tact, women’s socks. 

By the time I pull them from the dryer I have 4 socks that match based on color only, 3 socks that could match based on size (depending on how far you stretch them), 2 socks with holes in the toe and 1 with a hole in the heel, 1 men’s sock, 2 pairs that could go together, if you don’t mind stripes vs. plaid.......and 3 bobby pins. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love surprises; but I prefer my surprises to come in the form of a sudden drop in gas prices, an unexpected visit from an old friend or a $5 bill found in the pocket of a winter jacket. 

This experience is more like one of those games at a county fair midway where you pay to play the game, hoping for a signed 8x10 glossy of Lori Morgan and you walk away with a knock-off nightlight with a unicorn on it - one that will likely burn your house down if you give it the opportunity. 

Terribly mismatched socks or a unicorn nightlight fire hazard......No one wants that, even for their worst enemy.