We went to my folks for Easter. It was our first trip to see family since before Christmas. And, in typical fashion, we woke up Friday morning, the day we were to leave, to snow. The ground was covered and it was snowing hard. Big flakes. But, it warmed up. The snow stopped and we made our first weekend out of town since Christmas.

My Aunt Sandy was to join us, and she did on Easter Sunday. But knowing she was coming reminded me that I had promised Gina to post some stories about our Mothers. So I was intent on getting stories and verifying facts.

Somehow, no one was very cooperative, especially when I said I wanted to blog about it. It would appear that they don't want the whole wide world knowing about their childhood days. So, I'm sharing a couple of tid-bits anyway. Heck, neither one of them will ever read this. I've shared the address with them, so it's their fault if they don't check to see just what I'm gonna say. I'm the big mouth of the family, so I'm gonna write what I want. So, Mom, Sandy, if you guys don't like this, tough. You can leave a comment in rebuttal. You can disown me. I don't care. So there. Ha. (Besides, I promised Gina.)

Mom always liked to tell Steve and I about what a little brat Sandy was. Maybe it was because we begged for a little sister or brother. Maybe it was because Sandy was our favorite aunt. Or maybe it had something to do with us wanting stories about "when you were a little girl." One of her favorite stories was how when she was a young teenager and Sandy was a pre-schooler.

Mom liked to sleep in. And living on a farm, well, that n.e.v.e.r. happened. But she tried. One morning, she was told to get up. She didn't. Grandma told her to get up, Grandpa told her to get up. Finally, Grandma sent Sandy in to get her up. She still didn't get up, and probably told Sandy to go away (nicely, I'm sure). So then Sandy ran to tell Grandpa that Mom still wouldn't get out of bed. So, Grandpa took matters into his own hands.

He marched into the bedroom, picked Mom up and carried her outside.

To the stock tank.

And dropped her into the cold water.

Apparently Sandy thought it was much funnier than Mom did. Apparently, it was Sandy's fault that Mom was tossed into the tank. Sandy swears that she doesn't remember this ever happening, but Mom and Grandpa verified that it did happen.

Sandy spent a lot of time at our house. There's 10 years between the girls, and 10 years between Sandy and I. Sandy made a perfect babysitter for Steve and I, so she spent many days and nights at our house. I remember one night Sandy was babysitting us when we lived in Ashland. Steve and I were in the living room when Sandy and her "date" disappeared. We soon found them, in the kitchen,

kissing.

They didn't kiss very long, because there were two little heads peeking around the corner of the stove giggling rather loudly. They both acted embarrassed but Steve and I spent the rest of the night giggling and calling her date "Uncle Vance."

They didn't date long.

Wonder if we had something to do with it?

The priceless story I gathered this weekend was from my Dad, and indirectly from Wayne, Sandy's husband.

The guys ran out to the Hill to pick up some "stuff" for me. See, I can't go home without bringing back some junk, I mean stuff. They ran out to get a couple of timbers and some farrowing panels that I think I can jerry-rig and use.

So anyway, while driving out to the Hill, Wayne asked if the curves were where Sandy drove through the fence. Once they got back to town, Dad, being the ornery person he is, came in the house, walked over to Sandy and asked her if she remembered driving through the fence at the West Lake Curves.

The look on her face was priceless. It was sheepish, surprised, embarrassed, the whole 9 yards. Sandy looked at him and quietly said "Yes." Then a little more loudly, "I drove the car through the fence right after Daddy had gotten the car painted from when I drove through the fence earlier."

Evidently, while in college, or maybe High School, Sandy fell asleep driving home and went through the fence. Not once, but twice.

30 years or so later, everyone chuckled about it, even Grandpa, but he did admit he wasn't very happy about having to paint the car twice.

Now, if I've got this last story wrong, well, we'll never know, cause Sandy will never read this and never set the record straight. But, this is the conversation as I remember it from this past weekend. So Sandy, if this is wrong, let me know and I'll fix it. On the web. For the whole world to see.

I'm so glad that there isn't anyone who will blog about anything stupid I've ever done...