My parents were big on capturing our childhood for posterity.  As a result, there is plenty of fodder for utter embarrassment as we carry on our perfectly civilized grown-up lives in the now (with or without the posterity).

Dad rocking the video (and its orbiting accessories)

Most of this scene-gathering was done with a ginormous video camera - you know, one of those early models that required the constant entourage of an entire VCR connected by cables.

One fun video is a clip of my sisters and I dancing (solo, in turn) to various Thriller selections whilst adorned in full-on Flashdance gear.  In the course of executing a spectacular array of choreography that could be little other than the genius of tweenage, low-on-coordination white girls, I actually fell down a couple of times during my routine.  I’d made myself dizzy after a flurry of frantic spinning.  Mmm, good times.

When I’m ready for that level of self-humiliation, I’ll post the video.

There’s nothing that got Dad’s movie machine more revved up than our birthdays, in preparation for which my parents would transform our kitchen (i.e., turn the kitchen table longways and shove it back as far as it would go toward one side of the room).  My sisters and I would sit behind the table, the birthday girl in the middle.  As soon as Dad had set up camp at the back of the room with the Larger Than Life camera…action! - he rolled the tape.

Throughout the entire process of cake presenting, birthday singing, gift opening, and treat serving, Dad stayed hunkered down behind the camera.  His trick was to cover the red blinky “you’re on” light with a bit of black electrical tape so that sometimes you forgot he was back there collecting evidence.  The two non-birthday girls would slump down in their seats on either side of the Chosen One, increasingly so as the ordeal played out, laying it on pretty thick with boredom and misery at the injustice of it all as gift after gift was bestowed upon that other girl. 

Because everything was so well-documented, home movies have become like feature films for my family, with lines from various events being quoted with the dedication of groupies that know a cult classic by heart.

Of particular note was Sissy B’s 7th birthday. 

Sissy B at the ripe age of seven; Wee C looking on suspiciously

 

Sissy B found herself enamored with the phrase “you shouldn’t have” early on in the gift-opening phase, and she decided it was cooler and cooler each time she said it.  Pretty soon she had full-body emphasis going during the lengthy process of unwrapping each gift, her bowl-cut hair swinging to and fro:  “You shouldn’t have.  Really, you shouldn’t have.  Amy, you shouldn’t have.  Why did you?” 

Full disclosure: me at the same party (yeah, that's a hot Heathcliff t-shirt and a crocheted valentine in my hair). Kill me now.

This is the kind of thing that makes me laugh, even now, apparently enough to share with all of you.

I can’t even in jest say the phrase “you shouldn’t have” without L-ingOL at the dorkfest that was my childhood (see Exhibit A, the photo of me on the left).

However, that doesn’t mean these words don’t slip right out of my mouth in all sincerity upon receiving an unexpected gift. 

Such was my reaction to a little surprise that landed on my blog this past week.

 

Allison, you shouldn’t have, but I’m ever so glad you did!  Thanks so much for my blog award - I post it here proudly, and I love that you’re a regular reader and commenter.

Allison’s blog is fabby doo.  She knits, she writes, she cooks and bakes, she moms, she teaches stuff to people in the deli line.   Thus, it shouldn’t be surprising that she’s considering turning all of this talent into a business.  The Whole Ball of Yarn(s) is a Whole Lotta Inspiration.

In receiving the award, one must follow these steps, without passing Go:

1. post this award on your blog;
2. add a link to the person who sent you the award;
3. nominate at least 4 other bloggers, and add their links as well; and
4. leave a comment at the new recipients’ blogs, so they know they got an award.

Four other bloggers - heavens to Betsy, how does a girl choose?  Here goes:

polkadotmocha. - I like Jane so much.  Even the look of her blog makes me happy.  She’s a med student in London, and she knits cool things in cool fibers and colors.  Lots of interesting patterns.  The very London-ness of her writing and photos makes me feel nostalgic for the time I lived there.  I also enjoy her accounts of other activities, such as a recent visit to the Slow Food Market (which promotes the opposite of fast food:  local food traditions, and knowing where your food comes from).  I’ve lingered on her blog without commenting;  now is my chance to introduce myself!

aasa, elsewhere:  Aasa is a Ravelry knitter I met quite by accident after linking to her post about a trip to the same part of the world I’d traveled in a few (OK, more than a few) years back.  I totally admire her as she takes the road less traveled, exploring life in other places rather than whittling away her 20s in one boring habitat.  I live vicariously through Aasa’s adventures, which are entertainingly blogged and become a refreshing diversion for me on the days she posts.  Her dialogue cracks me up:  my favorite post in recent memory is here.

Shut Up, I’m Counting - Cass makes me laugh.  Her razor-sharp wit combines with her englightened view of most things in life to make her blogging both fun to read and (she would laugh at this part) enriching.  She takes great photos of her busy life and her squeezed-in knitting, and she’s not shy about anything.  Reading about her self-proclaimed klutziness is like reading a page out of my own journal.

angry chicken - Amy Karol is my hero.  Really - she’s so freakin’ out-of-this-world cool.  I assume everyone is already addicted to her blog like I am and that this therefore is a totally obvious choice, but just in case you’re missing her - don’t.  Don’t miss another day.  She knows everything.  She makes it all look easy, but with consistently fabulous results.  She’s not in the business of needing an award from the likes of me, but I don’t care.  I’m hopelessly in like with her.

Oh, ladies - thanks for the smiles. 

You too, seven-year-old Sissy B.