Family

Lloyd is that you?!

A picture recently popped up in my phone’s memories. It’s of my two oldest kids and my husband all gussied up for Easter in 2012. My son would have been six and a half years old, and my daughter would have been three and a half. Oh, the memories. My daughter has asked me not to include the picture so I’ll respect that. My sisters, on the other hand, and further into this delightful read, will not get the same treatment. Muhahahaha.

After I had verbally exhausted my thoughts (“Ahh, look how small they were!” and “That shirt must have just come out of the cellophane Amazon wrapper.” and “Her eyes are closed!”, I sent my kids the picture. My daughter replied with an “Ewww”, and my son responded, “Who screwed up my do?”. I told him Great Clips, but maybe it was, well, me. It was a long time ago and I honestly don’t remember, but I had to agree with him. It was pretty bad. Poor kid.

Over the weekend, I showed my mom the picture, which she loved, and then I hit her with the zoomed-in portion of my son’s head. It catapulted me back to when I had the same shoddy bang-up (haha) job in fifth grade. By the looks of it, I wanted to mimic Tim the Tool Man’s son, JTT. How I lived through this, I do not know although I can guess it was by simply keeping my head above the tears. She thought she could find the picture of my nightmares; instead, she found, after searching no less than three different areas of her house, a box of prints from the 80s and 90s. The box was full of pictures, many I had seen, most I had tried to forget. Either way, she uncovered a slew of comedy that hadn’t been seen in years. For a good reason, I think.

How embarrassing looking back. Maybe that’s why we don’t do it too often. Who wants to experience those feelings of inadequacy again? Not me, yet into the pile of photos my hands went. We sifted through and found some shareable humdingers.

Jury, please review Exhibit A.

I mean, COME ON!

My younger sister’s response to Exhibit A was, “WTF am I? The Easter Bunny?”. I could hardly tell her no.

I and my sister’s hairstyles were in tune with our peers during the late 80s and early 90s (I think, maybe). When I was little, hair was not a big deal; my mom kept it neat, styled, and out of our eyes. But once I hit fifth or sixth grade, awareness sucker punched me with the clippers and raked me with the comb. My hair was still out of my eyes, thank you, but it was also pert near my hairline and perfectly horizontal. I’m 100% certain haircuts were doled out by my mom and P.S. She was not a Licensed Cosmetologist, but she sure did try to be.

She had four daughters, all with longish (sometimes) hair that required 90s upkeep. Curling irons were hot in more ways than one. Wonder how many we went through – we had a lot of bangs. I do recall a friend of my mom’s giving us permanents though, so she knew her skill level and kept within her own boundaries.

Perms, mullets, and Lloyd Christmas bangs, oh my. And the close-cropped locks? Who thought that was a good idea?!

Check out these atrocities.

Why she had a cropped haircut still baffles me (Exhibit C). My twin sister thought maybe it was in a ponytail and the little sister responded, “Really?!” I read the tone of that text with incredulity and exasperation. There was no ponytail! It was a nice thought though. What you can’t see, below her home-sewn romper that soared in popularity during the 90s (maybe), is her ankles which are cinched with romper material. Nothing sliding down and out that romper-clad leg!

In a nutshell… Our. Hair. Was. Atrocious. The outfits, understandable.

We couldn’t have been the only family that had less-than-desirable hair. I do understand this was a long time ago and times have changed (clearly). Children the same age today are not even in the same league as we were back then. (I am quite certain you’re able to deduce that same conclusion.) Yeah, you’ll come across a few here and there that could be mistaken for 90s girls living in today’s world, but overall, they really are an anomaly.

So now that you have had the pleasure of time-traveling to the 90s, feel free to display your beauts in the comments. Show me I’m not alone. Please. I’m begging you.

Misery loves company, even 25 or so years later.

Grab your rollerskates girls and press play on this mood-setter.

Featured Amber Walch10 Comments

Now that we have background music, let’s head down memory lane.

Do you remember when rollerskating was popular? The 70s? A portion of the 90s? When I was in 7th or 8th grade, a few friends of mine, driven by a parent, would pile into the car and trek 30 miles to the nearest skating rink to roll around and around in the same direction for an hour or two. Man, those were the days. Skating with your girls to Meatloaf ballads? I would give anything (eh, eh?) to do that again; but I won’t do that.

The old armory was the place to be on those Friday and Saturday nights. Flirt with the boys and skate with your girls. The memories were so strong today that I pulled out my sweet find from Goodwill, a decades-old pair of rollerskates with no insoles, and brought them to our barn. I was looking forward to it. It’s been snowy and cold (really in winter in Minnesota? Guffaw) and the chilly, but large-spaced barn was calling my name.

Now, the barn isn’t the best place to skate but it would have to do. The upstairs area is mostly wide open with only nine or so giant posts taking up space and patio furniture is stacked up near the walls. The floor is plywood and isn’t even, the unevenness increases the complexity of staying upright, but it’ll work for a thirty-minute sesh.

My daughter grabbed her JoJo Siwa skates and together we were off. I cranked up a 90s channel on my big-ass radio and prayed for some Meatloaf to serenade me and my skates. It didn’t happen. Meatloaf didn’t come on but Sheryl Crow did and I felt nearly like my old 7th-grade self.

I tried to stay in tradition by going one way only, but there were a few obstacles left by my children that forced me to change direction, and quickly. Those same obstacles that I so deftly maneuvered caused my daughter to fall several times, but with some encouragement and “Girls don’t cry!”, (kidding, I scraped up some compassion from my nearly empty bucket) she was up and rolling again.

Around the thirty-minute mark, my dogs were barking and needed release. It was time to put the skates away and don my boots again. As I closed up the barn, I flipped the switch on memory lane.

If you are ever in the area, bring your skates and we can open ‘er back up again. This time I’ll bring my Meatloaf CD.

Family

Left behind

Featured Amber WalchLeave a comment

Ahhh, more snow. Just what we needed here in Minnesota. Instead of being grumpy about it, and with the kids out with friends, my husband and I decided to enjoy a snowmobile ride. He the driver, me the passenger. He with a helmet, me with goggles and double neck warmers.

Let’s get you seeing what I’m seeing. Fresh snowfall, at least 6-8 inches of the white stuff, with more coming down. It had a snow globe quality, you know the big fat snowflakes that could quench your thirst if one landed on your tongue. Beautiful scenery. Pines and oaks, walnut trees in rows, hills, and valleys. Just beautiful.

The trail, well you don’t necessarily need one with a snowmobile but I recommend it, leads around the property, traverses between the trees, down some hills, around frozen water holes, and, eventually, leads back to our house. Ryan, my husband, took a small detour and gently gripped the brake as we steered down into a valley. It’s one of my favorite places with a giant rock wall above a dry stream bed.

We sat and enjoyed the view for a while and I shared my thoughts on this exact spot being perfect for a campsite. He with the helmet nodded and I hoped he had actually heard me. I do want to camp there this summer.

So off we go to head back up the hill and this is when the joy ride ended. The incline out of this valley is pretty steep. Don’t ask for an angle, please. I can just tell you it is steep and your legs will burn hoofing it up said incline.

We got stuck.

We bogged down due to the snow and both had to get off to move the snowmobile onto the snow-packed path. We decided that he should continue alone so as not to get bogged down again. With no additional problems, he makes it to the top. In the meantime, I’ve been taking step by step by step up the valley to the top where he is waiting. ever so patiently with the engine off. It was taking THAT long!

This trek left me winded. I needed a good 5-7 minutes to catch my breath after that. What can I say? Cardio is not my forte.

Back on to finish the ride and well…this video says it all.

Remember he has a helmet on covering his whole entire head, and to be able to hear me he has to turn sideways so I can yell into the facemask portion so there is NO WAY he would hear me yelling “Come back!” or “Hey I’m not on!”. So I didn’t. I didn’t shout a word. But I did mutter under my breath.

After I waited for ten minutes and he hadn’t returned, I walked back. He did find me by following my tracks but nearly had a nervous breakdown thinking about what could have happened to me (the scenario of me falling off because I had a heart attack was my favorite catastrophe he came up with), and we have had many laughs about this escapade of ours.

Here’s a trail cam picture capturing him completely clueless that he is riding solo.

I’ll be thinking twice about agreeing to another ride anytime soon. I’m still traumatized 😉

Family

Who are Hoss&Weasel?

Featured Amber WalchLeave a comment

Well, well, well…who do we have here?

Hoss and Weasel, you say?

Who the heck are they?

Let me tell you about it while I grab a beer. Just kidding, I don’t drink.

When my twin sister and I were little, we were nicknamed Hoss and Weasel but not one family member can tell us why.

Per the dictionary, a hoss is a horse. Which I find quite rude to call someone. You talking bout size? How dare you! But I do like horses; they are one of my favorite animals. Soft with a face full of whiskers, strong, and adept at sensing emotions. My sister is all of that, minus the whiskers.

And the weasel. Those sneaky little buggers. Slinky creatures who kill more prey than they can eat- sounds greedy to me. If I think back to my childhood, I may have been sneaky once or twice and may have had eyes bigger than my stomach. Not so much as an adult.

I’ve always dreamed about utilizing this weird combination as a business name or, what do you know, a blog! Over a year of ruminating on how, when, and what to write about, and all the ins and outs of blogging, I’ve finally done it. It’s such a great feeling to accomplish this step.

So let’s get to it!

– Weasel