From the time I was roughly 2 years old to 8 years old, my family and I lived in a wonderful house in a small town in SW MN. When I think of great childhood memories, I think both of Brian and this particular house. It wasn't the biggest house but it did have 4 bedrooms which fit my family just right. If you interject simple math, the way that works out: my two brothers got their own room while my sister and I had to share (of course so did Mom and Dad). I don't remember this being a problem for me, because as the youngest, I felt pretty great sharing it with my older sister. She was, naturally, cooler than I but that has definitely changed. I've undoubtedly surpassed her in cool points. (Love you, Laura!)
One interesting thing I remember about this house was the door to the upstairs level. This is a small detail you don't find in a lot of houses. Most of the time the stairs are in plain sight but for some reason the builder or architect decided there needed to be a separation between levels in this house. It wasn't a secret door either. It also wasn't a door that when you opened it, found linens or coats. The placement was between the dining room and the living room which seemed anything but a closet and instead was probably quite intriguing for most visitors, wondering what was behind "door number one". For some reason when I take a moment to think about a door with stairs behind them, I immediately picture wooden stairs to an attic that is cold and ominous. That was nothing like the door to our upstairs. The carpet from the main floor of the house limboed itself under the door and continued all the way up the stairs to the second floor. It was never cold but warm and never ominous but...well...home! I also remember the carpet being a very plain, simple, khakis color. The kind that goes with everything.
Also, I imagine anyone with kids or a large family is thinking that a door to the upstairs is a brilliant idea and trust me, we took advantage of such a barrier. If you forgot your shoes downstairs, someone could just put them on the stairs to be brought to your room and then shut the door, leaving all clutter behind so when company did come, the main floor was neat and tidy. Brilliant, right!? OR if you were sent to your room upstairs (this never happened to me), you'd hope they'd shut the door so you wouldn't actually have to go to your room but instead whimper on the steps near the door, thus feeling like you were still a part of the family instead of being barricaded from all fun and excitement. (I apparently have deep wounds that need mending. *sniff*)
Anyway, after a perfect amount of description, on with "The Greatest Team Strikes Again".
As you can only assume, the story is set around and behind this brilliant barrier. Also from my previous post Family Memories: The Greatest Team , you know that Brian and I were constantly thinking up wonderful and ridiculous adventures.
I can't recall if Brian and I just had bouts of genius or we had brainstorming sessions for our brilliant adventures? I think that we both shared a similar imagination and creativity that made us the perfect team. Also with one of us taller than 6 ft and the other around 3 ft, as a team, we could do a lot. He could get to high places and I could fit in small places. Oh, such safety!
One day Brian and I were inspired by the idea that my twin bed mattress seemed to be the perfect width of our stairs. So with this new found adventure on the horizon, we brought my mattress from my room upstairs to the top of the stairs and sure enough it fit just snug enough that it would slowly slide down the stairs but not fast enough where it turned into a bouncy toboggan. So there we were, on the top of "the mountain". We then both laid on the mattress, which was now at roughly a 45 degree incline, pretending we were on a slow motion "avalanche". If you were downstairs looking up, there was one handrail on the right side of the wall and this is where we would hold on trying to survive the "avalanche". It was touch and go a couple times, me sliding down the "mountain" and Brian reaching down to me like Cliffhanger trying to save me from certain death. Of course, we had the door shut and I remember going down the "mountain" several times. Every time, we survived to live another day.
Not only did we survive the slow motion "avalanche" with exaggerated movements but it also included slow motion yelps.
"Noooooooooooooo, I'm sliiiiippppiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnggggggg!!!!!!!!"
It's a wonder that, if there was anyone in the house, they didn't hear us echo from the stairwell. Of course, when you yelp in slow motion it always ends up being quieter than a real scream and about an octave below your normal voice.
Well, we were on our 4th or 5th run-in with the "mountain avalanche" (you'd have thought we'd try and find another summit, right!?) when all of a sudden Mom opens the door to find her two
I can't remember if Mom was mad or entertained by our antics (probably both), but all I remember is her saying, "Put. Your. Bed. Back."
We put the bed back and probably already trying to think of something else we could do! Back to brainstorming and thinking up another adventure.
What I love about these memories of adventures with Brian is, opposed to my brothers when they were younger, our ideas were never destructive. They were simple and imaginative. I mean a twin sized mattress and a narrow stairway = mountain avalanche. I know you're wishing you did this when you were little! And just for the record, I would still do this today, if only to create a memory with Brian. We should always continue to be kids and imagine adventures that ultimately lead to this face when caught...
...then turns into this...
So, go put on your play clothes and explore your imagination!
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