A friend of mine just left a message on my
Facebook saying that she was thinking about the time my family lived in a little house next to The Salvation Army Irving Park Corps building. Her big question? "How did you all fit in that little house?" It is, indeed, a valid question.
A few years ago, I attended the 20
th year reunion of my high school class for
Schurz High School. It wasn't really my reunion. Because my family moved in my senior year, I did not actually graduate from this school, but graduated from a school in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, where I knew very few individuals (I spent most of my time reading and sitting through study halls!). Years later, when I discovered the
Classmates website, I could only bring myself to sign on for
Schurz. When reunion time rolled around, it just happened that my friend Nata Z. was in charge of the reunion and she encouraged me to come. As I headed home, I took a few minutes to drive by our old house. Only, our old house was no longer there. They had torn it down and increased the space in the corps' parking lot.
Way back when we had moved into that little house, my family was reeling because we couldn't believe we had been moved from the Midland Division in St. Louis to the Metropolitan Division of Chicago. This was the only move where my parents allowed us to engage in a "pity party" (we went to a local toy shop and were each allowed to pick something out). I remember laughing when my sister informed me that we had received moving orders. It wasn't funny in the slightest, but the significance of the news caused me to erupt in nervous laughter (followed by many nights of tears). We were devastated, but once we had made the move, I think every one of us held a little dream that we could continue living there forever, despite the size of the house.
We were a family of seven. What's more, two were adults and three were full-fledged teenagers. During our first year in the house, my eldest brother, David, was a senior in high school, my brother Mark, was a sophomore and I was a freshman. It WAS a small house, but not too bad. It had four small bedrooms. My parent's bedroom was on the main level across the hall from mine (oh, the drama that went on in determining room assignments, since I received the absolute best bedroom of all - to myself), my sister had a small room upstairs and my brother Mark shared his nook of an attic room with my baby brother, Tim. My parents turned a small area of the basement into a room for my brother, David (it was just below mine and I can recall
numerous times stamping on the floor in an attempt to get him to stop singing along with music while listening to headphones!).
I don't really remember feeling like we were living on top of one another (of course, these were the years I spent practicing my instrument for six hours a day at the corps building next door, to the point where my brothers called me "metallic lips"). But, I do remember the horrible bathroom situation. How did we survive with just one bathroom?
My father instituted a bathroom schedule for the mornings. I don't remember what number slot I got. I just remember not really getting my slot all that often. You would think that teenage girls would take more time in a bathroom than teenage boys, but in our case, you would be dead wrong! I was a very low-maintenance teenager. I didn't condition, blow-dry or curl back then. Lucky thing, too, because David would often rise and slip into the bathroom before my time started. When I would knock on the door, he seemed oblivious. My brothers were good-
lookin' dudes. All the girls in the division seemed to be interested in them. Could I go back and blame my own lack of suitors on the their stolen moments of my allotted bathroom time? Possibly!
I must have had at least some time, because I do remember french braiding my hair in there. I think there must have been a mirror on the sliding door to the shower and I would turn the vanity mirror in such a way that I could actually see the back of my head as I braided. Still, I can remember lots of times running next door in a panic because I had to use the toilet and someone was, inevitably, already in our ONE bathroom. So, there is her answer! We survived because our corps building was right next door and we often used it as a second home location (for bathrooms and practice rooms).
Now, I spent this morning cleaning my house and am actually feeling a tiny bit envious of that house. You see, we have four bathrooms in this house. This would be fantastic for a family with three girls, but a family of three boys makes this insane. There are three bathrooms on the ground level and one in the basement. It would be nice if the boys would limit themselves to the use of just one, but they tend to use all four! Thus, instead of cleaning up a bathroom used by boys, I find myself cleaning FOUR bathrooms used by BOYS! Insane!
I had already planned to write a post about frustration with bathrooms this week. Rhonda just beefed it up by causing me to reminisce a bit. I had even clipped this photo (the step stool by the sink has a textured surface, so I usually put a hand towel down). My boys seem to be incapable of keeping their shoes on when they are outside. I try to explain why this is a problem, but they just don't get it. At least this time I was able to point to visible evidence of
MS's treachery!
