You Tell ME if it's Normal.

So as you may be able to tell, the Sandbo(e)s don't always do things the way other people do things. The Thanksgiving squirrel is just one example of me discovering this. Here's a short list of things, that up until recently, I thought was pretty normal:

1.) Pacifiers as Christmas Tree ornaments. What better way to remember simpler times than six pacies hung from the tree with care? It's also kind of fun to see the evolution of pacifiers. My sister Robyn's had some sort of thick gel inside, it was probably asbestos or scotch, you know, just something to sooth a fussy baby. Something in the chemical make up of Andrew's caused his to shrivel in such a way as to resemble a large black raisin. Unfortunately many binkies were burnt and melted in the fire of 1989. I mean we still hang them up, it's just harder to see pacie evolution. Luckily, every year we get a new ornament (typical thing to do?), and right around 1998 our mom got us all new pacifiers. That, I will admit, is a TINY bit odd. Hanging up pacifiers that have no sentimental value. But it certainly does add a little something.

Binkie of the 50s

2.) Hair dryer as sleep aid. Who among us hasn't reached for a hair dryer when experiencing a listless night? Well, turns out the answer is MOST people. But let me tell you, next time you feel really sick, and can't get to sleep, try putting a hairdryer on your bed-side table, with the warm air blowing directly in your face. The combination white noise, and warmth is sure to do the trick. But Kate, won't it catch on fire or blow a circuit? You ask. Maybe, but in my 26 years that has only happened, like, 15 times, so...
In the early 80s my mom tried to help the older kids kick their hair dryer habit, by recording the sound. But it was NOT the same, and after a quick coup thing went back to normal. Hair dryer and all. My sister-in-law recently informed us that there is a special on TLC about people with weird obsessions, and one gal HAS to sleep with a hair dryer going. We don't think of it as an obsession, it's just fun!

Note hair dryer on the upper left couch corner

3.) Pet Cemeteries. How many do you have in your backyard? If the answer is less than 2, then the Sandbos have got you beat. Yes, there are two different areas of our backyard where numerous dogs, cats, hamsters, guinea pigs, birds, gerbils and fish are buried. Complete with headstones and Virgin Mary and St. Francis statues. I have a hard time believing this is uncommon, but whatever.

A Kindergaten Lesson

There's a little poem about learning all of life's lessons in Kindergarten. The biggies being eat cookies, and flush the toilet. Here's what I learned in Kindergarten, if you step out of line you go to the "Remembering Chair", and you stay there until you remember how one should behave. The Remembering Chair was SO fear inducing for me. I spent many a sleepless night, wondering what would happen to me if my teacher didn't see me raise my hand, indicating I remembered the social norms of the classroom and was ready to be reintroduced to life outside the Remembering Chair. Would I have to stay there all night?!?!? I would constantly ask my mother. She usually told me no, I wouldn't, but it was still a scary thought. More importantly, I learned what to do during a fire! Here's the quick and dirty of it all.
1)Touch a closed door, with the back of your hand, to see there's a fire on the other side
2)Crawl to stay below the smoke like
3)Move quickly to your family's meeting spot, say for example the mailbox


All this played a part in saving my life one cold day in late 1989.


It was a few days after Christmas, and I was deep in a blissful sleep. The teddy bear that, it would appear, Santa got from my neighborhood grocery store, by my side, and I hadn't a care in the world. I vaguely remember semi-waking up to the ear-piercing buzz of a smoke detector, but what really got me were the ear-piercing cries of my oldest sister, Stephany. "FIRE!FIRE!FIRE!". NO, I thought to myself, it's obviously a test of the emergency systems. Wait, even at the tender age of 5 I knew that didn't make any sense. Which meant it was go time. Time to put into practice, what had been drilled into my head by Mrs. McDonald, God bless her.


I sprang from my bed. My bedroom was open. WHICH SIDE SHOULD I TOUCH TO SEE IF THERE'S A FIRE ON THE OTHER SIDE?!?!?! I touched both, and they were cool as cukes, so I knew I was safe for the next second or so. I must have been thrown off by the open door, because I straight out ran out the front door. As I reached the threshold, I remembered you were supposed to crawl below the smoke line. Should I go back and try again? No, I think I should just go to the family meeting spot. Which was... uh, my family had never talked about a meeting spot. I'm sure I had had MANY imaginary conversations on the subject, with everyone of family members, but now I couldn't remember if my real, non-imaginary mother had every told me where we should meet after/during a fire. Instincts must have taken over, because next thing I know I'm at the mailbox, shivering in my bare-feet and nightgown, sobbing because if my family wasn't at the meeting spot, clearly they were trapped inside the blaze! The rest of the Sandbos (or is it Sandboes?) must have been thinking the same thing, beacuse I heard my name being called from the direction of the driveway. I sprinted toward Steve's voice. Turns out the meeting spot was the heated Econoline van. I like to imagine everyone sitting in the van, watching as I sprint out of the yard onto the street. Hopefully they thought something ridiculous, like I was going to keep running until it was daylight, you know something like that.



Once in the van I discovered that the Christmas tree had caught on fire, probably because a plugged-in extension chord got stuck under the metal Christmas tree stand, and got so hot it set the tree ablaze. The fact that we got the tree the day after Thanksgiving probably played into it as well. Steve had put out the fire using a newly purchased fire extinguisher (Thank you Jesus!!). Suddenly, Robyn remembered something. C.J. Our beloved, feisty, flea ridden dog! He was still inside! My mom ran back into the smoke-filled house, and got the little mutt, just as I remembered something too. My Grocery store teddy! God Bless my mother, she rolled her eyes and ran back to get him.


The firetrucks came, and the neighbors all gathered around. It was decided that the three little girls would go sleep at a neighbor's house, and the three older kids would sleep at home, once the firefighters were done, I don't know, looking at where the fire had been. So, we go next door to the home our elderly neighbor shared with her crack, or meth, or something addicted, chain-smoking daughter. Times were different then, and crack addicts were nicer and more predictable, so my parents had no qualms having us spend the night! There were the three of us, snuggled into one bed, and Elna (that's the old gal's name, Elna) placed a pitcher of water with three glasses high atop a dresser. At some point in the night, the cigarette fumes got to me, and I was thirstier than I'd ever been, before or since! The dresser was roughly 8 feet high, so I lay there wondering how I would have to stack my sisters in order to reach it. The obvious answer would be for me to be on the bottom (being the oldest and largest), next Brittany (being the baby she wouldn't be able to pour the water), then Emily on top to get me a drink. But before I could wake up the other two, I had fallen back a sleep.


The next morning we went home, and took 5 or 6 showers to get the cig stank off of us. The older kids regaled us with stories of all the fun they'd had at home. They stayed up all night, watching T.V, eating leftover Christmas fudge, and just enjoying the company of one another. All we got was blood-shot eyes and coughs due to the aforementioned second hand smoke. Come to find out, years later, that was all a lie, and the older kids spent the night on the brink of hypothermia, due to all the windows and doors being opened to air out the house. Robyn even admitted that they all had to sleep in their boots!


So, I guess the lesson everyone should take away from this, is that if the bedroom door is open, you don't have to check its temperature.

The Power of Birth Order

I make a big stink about being the fourth of six children born to Anne and Steve. I DEMAND everyone's complete and undivided attention when I'm telling a story, I cry foul if I'm excluded, and I will get directly in your face and ask clarifying questions if you say something confusing to me. But it's actually wonderful to be able to fly under the radar as I do. As a child I was often "lost in the shuffle", and as a result was able to spend 80-85% of the day in my own little made up world. It's actually a lot less pathetic than it sounds. I remember stealing a letter opener from my brother, and squirreling it away under a tree. I would go to the tree with a wet paper towel, and dab my cheeks, pretending to cry over the death of my parents and Siamese twin sister. I would hop around on one foot with one arm behind my back (my sister had the other leg and arm, you see), and I would have to pull out the letter opener, using it to fend off circus workers. I think that last part was from Toby Tyler, or something. Like I said, super unpathetic.


ANYWAY, the person who really has it rough, as much as it pains me to say, is the baby. Brittany AKA Bunny. I think life as the baby in our family would be hard for someone who wasn't as easy-going and good humored as Bunny (Britt, if you're reading this, maybe you can say something nice about me on the internet...). My mom likes to say that baby girl would start smiling before she even opened her eyes in the morning, but enough gushing over Brittany, let's talk about how mean we were/are to her. Not REALLY mean to her, we never wanted to break her spirit. However, we wanted to make sure that she knew, just because her baby book was filled out all the way, she was NOT top dog (which reminds me, I'll have to tell you about Sandbo Family personalized sweatshirts). It seems that our attitudes have kind of rubbed off on the younger generation. For example, Bunny was once talking about her feelings, or something, and our niece Brooke, who was three at the time, said "don't say that Bunny!" Britt's response, "Brookey. I...I...I can say whatever I want!" Brooke shrugged. Everyone knows that Bunny can't say whatever she wants. And just last weekend, Brittany asked our other three year old niece, Lauryn, to walk on her back. Lauryn obliged, but then started jumping on Bunny's back. Brittany asked her to stop, in gasps, then demanded she stop. We were all just laughing, but Stephany had the presence of mind to hold Lauryn's hand so she could jump more easily. "PLEASE!" grunted Britt, "I CAN'T BREATHE!". That's serious, so after a few more minutes Lauryn stopped.


One day, and one day only, Brittany lost it. Our parents were gone, but all of us kids were home. As you can imagine, that's when the best stuff happened. We were taunting the girl, sure, anything she did we had something to say about. I guess after 4 to 6 hours of this, she wanted out. She packed up a stuff sack, which we thought was hilarious, she turned and I swear to you I saw a flash of feral in her eyes. She scurried past us, and booked it out the door. Luckily we had a feisty little mutt who could attack on command. We sent him after her, he was a little confused and ran right past her, catching her legs as he pasted. So there she was bum over kettle, stuff sack strewn across the yard. THE REST OF US WERE DYING!!!! I want you to just think about it for a second. An eight year old, with a purple nylon stuff sack, probably about 3 feet in length, wearing a large dingey flowery t-shirt dress, running down her front yard hill. Up at the top of the hill you see an older sibling, yell attack and point towards the little girl. Out runs a stinky little dog. The little girl is airborne for a few seconds as the dog races past her. HILARIOUS, ladies and gentleman, ABSOLUTELY hilarious!!!! Brittany was not deterred. She grabbed her things, and ran towards the backyard. We all followed behind, laughing like you wouldn't believe! I can't really convey to you, how much Brittany looked like a caged animal. He back was bent, she was stooped, her hair was in her face, which was covered in dirt and grass stains. After whipping her head, wildly looking for a place to run, she remembered the backyard is fenced in. Where could she go? The trampoline, of course! We would never be able to get her if she hopped up onto the trampoline. So, there she was in the middle of the 10ft. trampoline, with the rest of us circling her. Emily and I jumped up to wrestle her to the ground. It was then that the stuff sack became like a helicopter, spinning above Bunny's head, threatening to smack us if we got too close. One of us was able to snatch Britt's makeshift weapon, while someone else grabbed her. We got her back inside, we made her some Top Raman, and all was well. But we probably teased her about how she ate it.

In Case You Don't Read the Comments...

My sister Emily cleared somethings up for us all. She said, and I quote:


"I would like to make a few things clear:
1. Brittany was never a super sister. We too were exclusive, and would never allow a baby to be part of our group.
2. Andrew and I had a very involved plan of attack to steal Kate from the older sisters and almost did it too, but the details are fuzzy for me too."


She seems to remember grabbing one of my legs, and Andrew grabbed the other, and my older sisters had an arm each, and playing tug-of-war with me, in the kitchen while mummsie was on the phone. She also has said that she loves spending one on one time with Andrew. But she hasn't gotten a chance to do so since the War of '89, so it was a real blessing... a real blessing.


When I brought it up to Brittany that she thought she was a "Super Sister" when in fact she was not, her response was (shrug) "I sounded familiar"


Sorry for the confusion, and Thank you Emmy!

The War of '89

One of the things I love about coming from a big family (4 sisters and a brother), is the many alliances you form over the years. For example, after watching a National Geographic special, on alligators, Robyn and I became "croc sisters". We had a can-can-like dance, and little chant that went along with it. We didn't do anything special, aside from the song and dance, but we were VERY exclusive, and NO ONE could become another croc sister. I believe my sisters Stephany, Emily and Brittany were "Super Sisters". Now, because I wasn't a member, I don't know exactly what they did, but I believe it had something to key chains and trips to Wendy's. You may look at the descriptions and say that being a "Super Sister" was "cooler", but there were 3 in that faction, and only 2 croc sisters. More exclusive=cooler. Duh.


You may notice someone missing from these friendly associations. Andrew, my brother. Well, ladies and gentleman, that's because he was a typical only boy in a family of girls. That is to say, he was mean. I one time almost started an alliance with him. We were playing basketball in the backyard, and he was bring very nice. I should have known something was up, but being the sensitive Pisces I am, I was just savoring the moment. On a whim, I jumped, twisted and wildly threw the ball behind my head. When I looked at my brother, he was in complete awe.
"Do that again!!!!" So, I did. "Kate, you made BOTH those shots!"
My head was swimming. Not only was my brother impressed, but I finally found something that could get me on Johnny Carson, or perhaps even The Cosby Show. I kept shooting, and kept making them. Andrew clasped his hands under his chin, and watched in amazement. After the 15th or 16th shot, I could actually see tears in his eyes. Maybe we could be the b-ball gang, or something, WHO KNOWS? I thought to myself. As if he had read my thoughts, Andrew chimed "Can I tell you something?"
"Of course Drew, I was thinking I'd start calling you Drew."
"Well sis. You didn't make a single one of those shots, you ding dong!"
My head was spinning. HOW COULD HE? Well, the answer is simple, he could because he was the only boy in a family of girls, and maybe he was a little sore that he wasn't a "Super Sister".


Anyway, all the alliances, all the factions, all the friendly associations, led to the War of '89. I don't know exactly what brought it about. Now that I'm a grown up I think the War may have been a disagreement between the older girls and Andrew. I don't think I was directly wronged in anyway, but I was just so pleased to be included in what the older kids were doing. I was enlisted to fight with the girls, while Andrew scooped up Emily. Brittany was only two at the time, so she was completely useless, and therefore uninvolved. I remember sitting in the playroom, and planning our attack. We didn't want to kill each other, I don't think, but we certainly acted like we did. I was sent behind enemy lines. I belly-crawled across the house to behind the couch, Emily and Andrew's headquarters. I was spotted immediately and sent running for my life back to the playroom.
"What are they planning?" Asked Robyn, upon my return.
"Oh, I don't know. What are your hopes for the future?" I responded. I really wanted to use the time to really get to know my older sisters.
There was some more planning, and then the countdown started. 3-2-1, and we were off. Screaming and waving our arms as we ran through the kitchen, past our mother who was chatting on the phone. Hearing our battle cry, Andrew and Emily came running toward us. Our house isn't that big, so the approach couldn't have lasted more than one second. Somewhere in there Emily got hurt (surprise, surprise), and started crying. This alerted our mom, and she halfheartedly yelled over her shoulder to be nice. Our mother is very soft-spoken, so we knew she meant business. Looking back, I wonder if that wasn't their plan all along. They knew they were outnumbered, and had to play to their strengths (i.e. Emily's wimpyness. JK Emily isn't a wimp. She's actually alarmingly competitive). All in all I can't imagine the War of '89 lasted more than 8 minutes, but boy what a ride!


XOXOXOXO
Kate

Lemme Tell You About What I Know About the Facebook

Just wanted to make a quick list of how Facebook has changed since I've been on it. Lest we forget....

1. you used to have to be in college, with an active college e-mail address or a high schooler to get on Facebook. I graduated from college so quickly, that I was unable to sign up as an adult, and had to pretend to be a senior at Lake Washington High School. Several times during that sign-up Facebook told me I was too old to be in high school, and made me change the year I was born.
2. There was no News Feed. If you wanted to "check up" on someone, you had to type their name into the search bar, or something. I don't even really remember life before the News Feed.
3. It was nearly impossible to find information on complete strangers. Not that I spend a lot of time looking at complete strangers, just saying, it's easier now.
4. You used to actually JOIN groups, not just "like" pages. You can still join groups, don't get me wrong.
   
5. People used to take quizzes CONSTANTLY, and post their results. That wasn't all bad. It was quizzes that told me I should be a teacher, was Italian, and should convert to Quakerism. Mad props to their creators!
6. Remember the 25 things about me, or whatever? Here are mine, many of which you already have heard about!!!!! I was just a little too cool to do all 25...

*******************************************************************************************************************
1.) I'm allergic to guinea pigs and parakeets. I found this out because I had a constant runny nose and headache starting at age eight (when I got a parakeet), getting worse around age fourteen (when we got a guinea pig), until I was fifteen (when I finally got an allergy test).


2.) When I was little I would drink SO MUCH milk when I had dinner at friends' houses, because I thought it was polite.


3.)During my Freshmen year of college my suitemate and I would throw water balloons at the dorm across the road. One fateful night we shattered some poor girl's window. And we never got caught neither.


4.) The Sandbos are one of VERY few families visited by the Thanksgiving Squirrel each year.


5.) I met my best friend on the first day of Kindergarten.


6.) When I was a in 9th grade I got moved from the JV soccer team to the Freshmen team, after a 6'6'' all-star transferred to my high school from a Christian school, hoping to get more college scouts to look at her. I was so upset that when I got home I spent over an hour trying to get through to Delilah on Warm 106.9. I just knew that if she heard my story she could pick the perfect song to make me feel better. I think it probably would have been "True Colors" by Phil Collins.


7.) I steal juice from little girls.


8.)The top three songs on my iTunes are Rich Girl: Hall and Oates, Sunshowers: M.I.A, and the Cheers Theme Song.


9.) I graduated from college when I was 20.


10.) I get very nervous from extended-family functions. For many reasons, but the main one being, I'm afraid people will think I'm my sister, and I won't have the social skills to correct them.


11.) I used to beg my mom to let me go rifling through the dump, hoping to find a violin.


12.) There are two sets of twins in my immediate family.


13.) My most embarrassing moment is when I asked my fourth grade teacher what a fallopian tube was, and she described it to me in detail.


14.) I won reserve champion in the Guide Dog Quiz Bowl at the 1999 King County Fair.


15.) Uh, I think that's enough.
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Anyway, the future is now, ever upward (NY state/Kate Sandbo life motto) etc. etc.
XOXOXOXO
Kate

Musical Genius

I can confidently say that my sister Robyn is a musical genius. In fact, that's her at the top of this page, playing Guitar Hero. At the tender age of 8 her piano teacher dropped her because she wasn't "learning to play", she would simply listen to a piece and be able to play it. Later in life, she babysat for a member of the Seattle Symphony in exchange piano lessons. And a little bit later, she worked as a janitor at the Washington Academy of Preforming Arts in exchange for lessons. My mom used to say it was her walking-uphill-both-ways-in-the-snow-type-story. I imagine my W.U.B.W.I.T.S.T.S, would be the paralyzing fear I used to have over being mistaken for Robyn. Because, although we are 6 years apart we look very similar. I didn't even want to go to Kirkland Co-Op Preschool, for fear someone would think I was Robyn. It was debilitating for me there for a while, but I digress.



Anyway, Robyn was always looking for outlets for her creativity. In high school she started a "band" with a friend. They were called Robber and the Devils, and the only song they ever sang was "You Are My Sunshine". But they sang it in beautiful harmony! Robyn was able to seamlessly switch between high and low harmony, while her partner maintained the lead. You know, to this day I find my self singing only the high and low harmony to that song! Although Robber and the Devils ruled, they were no match to Zsa Zsa and Zsi Zsi. That was tenacious musical duo of moi and Robyn. I think our name was a play on the Gabor sisters, or something. Anyway, we had one melodious original, it was called "You Don't Know Me, I Just Work For You". I came up with the title, and basic concept of the song, but the lyrics and melody were a joint effort. We were so ahead of our time.... So, without further ado, here are the lyrics to our masterpiece. Or, at least the parts I can remember. If any of my sisters who read this can remember anymore, I would LOVE to get a comment in the comment section. My part will be in italics.

I bring you coffee, I bring you tea TEA
You never even notice me ME
I spend my time doing all your chores CHORES
You don't know my name, but I know your's

Chorus (to which I sang, Ah-ah, until the end, when I repeated the last phrase)
You don't know me I just work for you
You don't know me I just work for you
You don't know me I just work for you
Everyday of my life MY LIFE

You say what a crummy job I do DO
Tell me my breath smells like poo POO
I get a Christmas card from you each year YEAR
My name's not to resident I fear

Chorus
You don't know me I just work for you
You don't know me I just work for you
You don't know me I just work for you
Everyday of my life I QUIT!!!

I'm sure there was more, but I can't remember. Also, it's a bit confusing, because the chorus makes you think the boss doesn't know the employee, but in the last verse you learn that the boss tells the employee they have bad breath. Anyway, the 90s were crazy, and everyone was just trying to make a rhyme!

Thanks Mom

One of the best things my mom ever did for me was to write down all of the quirky things I said as a kid. Most of the quotes can be found in a journal with a fabric teddy bear cover, or in a Cabbage Patch Kids calendar (1986). Here are a few of the gems:


Let's start with some quotes surrounding my obbsession with death.


"I'm going to tell myself a bedtime story. There were 2 foxes. No, mice, who lived in a hole but they had no cheese. Their cousins came and had a bag and said I had a surprise for you. It was full of cheese. But a bull-frog. No, a bull-cat jumped out of the bushes and ate all the cheese and he squished the mice and cut their heads and necks and ate them. And they live happily ever after."


"My dog died. He's lying there with his eyes open but he's not moving. He had drugs-he didn't say no, he said yes." Well, done Mrs. Reagan. I was very afraid of accidentally saying yes to drugs!


I woke my mom up crying one night. "I'm going to die because I can't tell time. I want to LIVE!"


"Will Santa die? The dinosaurs died!"


Now, let's hear about how panicked I was at the impending birth of my baby sister Brittany.


"We can only have 5 kids."
"Robyn will be the baby! She'll pop back in."
"Are you having the baby today?" (No) "Good I get to see Emily another day"
"There's a mom in there to take care of the baby."
"I'll get tiny again and pop back in, and you'll never see me again, and you won't even care because you'll already have 2 babies. You'll have all the kids you need."
"The baby died."
"We don't need another baby."
"I thought we had the baby, but it was just my bad dream."
"You could get another lap, but then I won't fit across."
"It it's not a boy or a girl, it will be dead."


But then, once Brittany was born I liked her. One night I woke my mom up crying, saying "I want that baby to be mine, but she's your's."


When trying to sing the M-I-C-K-E-Y song:
"Bumble bee here your are, M-O-U-S-E."


"It's called Mt. Rainier because you can buy souvenirs there!"


I hope y'all've enjoyed these. Perhaps I'll share more later!

The Thanksgiving Squirrel

(Pop art Thanksgiving Squirrel)

In 7th grade I was sitting with my crew at lunch. We were talking about how parents make up characters just to give presents. We were probably going on about how, that was the trouble with kids today, too spoiled, too many made up characters giving them presents. Truthfully, it hadn't been that long since I stopped believing in St. Nick. Oh, sure I said I just believed in 'the spirit of Santa Claus' as an 11 year old, but I definitely thought a man in a red suit turned into jelly and slid down the chimney to leave me presents. It wasn't until I found my mother's meticulously cataloged receipts, chronicling each and everyone of my presents. I digress. So we were talking about how silly the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny are. I nodded, and slowly worked up the courage to say something (some time I'll tell you about how awkward I was as a jr. high schooler). I carefully rehearsed just what I was going to say, and how I was going to say it. I casually chuckled, cocked my head to one side, shrugged, and said "yeah, and what's the deal with the Thanksgiving Squirrel?" (Seinfeld was still very big at the time). And how did my comrades respond? With deafening silence. If it had been a late 90s teenage coming-of-age movie, you know the type that always included a wild house party, the DJ would have scratched the record, the music would have stopped, and all eyes would have been on me. After what felt like 45 minutes of nothing but crickets and nervous throat clearing, someone finally piped up with "What's the Thanksgiving Squirrel?" I quickly explained how this squirrel would bring you presents, usually something small like a nightgown, on Thanksgiving. Why not Turkey, some asked. Because you EAT turkey on Thanksgiving, you idiots!!!! Is what I thought, but instead I sheepishly shrugged and looked down. It turns out it's something my mom had made up. Every Thanksgiving as we were out the door, on our way to 9am Mass, my mother would have to run back inside to fetch a baby bottle, or a can of olives to be blessed. But what she was really doing was hiding our Thanksgiving present, and setting out a stuff animal squirrel, so we would know the Thanksgiving squirrel had been there. After Mass Steve would pretend to see the Thanksgiving squirrel in the road ahead. He would speed up, and swerve, pretending to hit and kill the squirrel. We would all just cry and cry. But when we got home, we'd see that sassy stuffed squirrel and know it was all okay.

T.S even made an appearance November '93. Why is that significant? That was the Thanksgiving my parents surprised the three little girls (me, Emily and Brittany) with a trip to Disneyland. The older kids went too, but they knew about it the whole time, and almost ruined it for us, when my eldest sister asked if we were all going to be sitting together on the plane, and then again when my brother hit my mom in the leg with a dart. But it all worked out, and the little squirrel brought us pjs in Anaheim. Mine had a flannel hood, and I loved them.


To end this post I would like to tell you what happened as my mom looked for our stuffed friend. She was riffling through one of the two LARGE Tupperware totes, which contain the Sandbo Family Thanksgiving Decorations. She started making a clicking sound.
"I'm calling him" she said. "He must not be in this one, he would have answered me." She opened the next box and continued to click. "He must be dead. He would have answered me." Thank God she was able to find him. I'm pretty sure he's the only one who has ever existed.

Just the kind of girl I am.

Here is a prime example of the saintly behavior I exhibit daily. When I was 4 years old, I was terribly ill at Christmas. I was suffering from influenza. I spent the holiday season lying on the couch, so very near death, watching as my siblings decorated and sang carols all with a warm cup of wassail in their hand. I shivered with the family puke bowl tucked under my chin. Weeks earlier I had asked the Nordstrom's Santa Claus for a Little Miss Makeup.

or, more realistically

This beauty was the Tickle-Me-Elmo of her day. You put PLAIN WARM WATER on her face and MAKEUP WOULD SHOW UP!!!!!! She couldn't be found anywhere. My mother tried and tried, and finally, on Christmas Eve asked me what I would want if Santa couldn't find a Little Miss Makeup. I turned to my mother, too weak to even open my eyes, and replied AND I QUOTE "Oh nothing. If I can't have Little Miss Makeup I'll just have nothing." My mom took the tiny angelic dagger from her heart, and got down to business. She called anyone with a car, and set out to every Bartell's in within a 15 mile radius. My great-aunt did the same. And God bless her, she found one at Jafco. My mom also was able to find one. I know what you're thinking. If both these women were able to find them where they really that hard to come by? Uh yeah! They were, we were just super blessed. It was like Jesus' birthday present to me! So imagine my joy on Christmas day when I had TWO Little Miss Makeups. Being the little cherub I was and am, I gave the more tan one to my little sister. She named her Tammy, after our swim lesson teacher. I can't remember what I named mine, but it was probably something like Miracle. Because that's what she was to me. Unfortunately, whatever chemical made her face makeupy wore off within 6 months, and I was left with a doll in a loose fitting blue leotard (see picture above). But I loved that plain doll. Loved her until my mom threw her away because I didn't play with her.

It's pronounced TUH-too, not TAT-oo

About a year and a half ago a Facebook friend posted pictures of her new tattoo. It was/is a modest 206 (the area code for Seattle) on the inside of her wrist in a classy Olde English-type font. She posted how wonderful she felt every time she looked down and saw it. And how proud she was to be from Seattle. I thought to myself, that's pretty hard-core, but wouldn't it be funny if someone got a 360 (area to the north and south of the Seattle-Tacoma area), 253 (Tacoma, and there abouts), or even a 425 (areas to the east, and slightly north of Seattle) tattoo!! Enter my obsession. It's not unlike me to become obsessed with things. Anything from Crock-Pot cooking, to Neil Patrick Harris, to the 1996 Olympic Gold Medal winning gymnastics team (the Magnificent 7). Not obsessed in a freaky way. I just get to liking something so much, that I spend 30-40 hours a week tirelessly preforming internet research. Then after 6 weeks or so, I'm over it. So it was with my tattoo. I couldn't get over how funny I thought it was. Then one day, while assistant directing a summer camp which accommodates approximately 100 children and staff, I wanted to see what it would give my tat a test run. I had my friend Jane (psydomeom)sketch a couple different sizes and locations for my 425. I asked the opinions of the staff, and although most were distracted by the deformity of the 4 (someone startled Jane during her sketch), the popular conclusion was that it was kind of funny. No one had to say another word. Kind of funny is funny enough for me! I stored the results, of the impromptu survey, away in my brain.


Exactly one week later, it was a slow day at aforementioned camp. The campers and staff were off in the forest, catching butterflies and playing with bows and arrows, or something. I turned to Jane, and told her I wanted to get inked. She accepted my idea eagerly... almost too eagerly, really. But whatever, we were two modern gals on a mission. The camp is just outside a the small town of Carnation (population 1,893 according to the 2000 census). In Carnation there was a tattoo/hair salon, and it was decided that's where we'd go to get it done. Although we knew it was a great idea, we asked a few more opinions. First the 18 year old junior ranger. He laughed like an idiot, and begged to come along. Sure why not, we said, the more the merrier. Next we sought the opinion of the 20 head cook. She was wise beyond her years, and she herself had a tattoo. She said it was a good idea, as long as she got to come too. It was all become so real. The head cook, sensing my nerves, said that they might not even give me a tat if I seemed at all unsure. So I wiped the sweet from my brow, swallowed the vomit in my mouth and strutted to the car. Once to the tattoo/beauty parlor, I started to get the shakes again. I called my little sister. She told me it was a HORRIBLE idea. Again, that's all I needed to hear. If she had told me it was a good to very good idea, I probably wouldn't have gotten it. Thank GOODNESS I don't let people tell me what to do, am I right?


After the young man came back with the sketches, I settled on a simple font on the left-side of my left inside wrist (can you visualize where that is?). While the head cook and jr. ranger sat in the lobby, Jane and I went in the back. I sat down in a dentist-like chair. A few feet away from me there was a guy getting two turntables tattooed across his entire back. I wanted to ask if he was hellzah in to mixing freaky beats or some shit, but I was too nervous. The guy who was doing his tattoo asked me if this was my first one. I said yes, and he gestured to the turntables. "It's his first too. You wuss." I chuckled, and tried not to be hurt. 10 minutes later, I had my tiny tattoo. He wrapped it in saran wrap, and Jane took me to the am/pm for a fountain drink. And you know what. Every time I look down at it, I, too, feel wonderful, and I am very proud that I am kind of funny.
LOL (lots of love)
Kate

That Art Linkletter was right...

kids say the gosh dangest things.
As I was doing some filing, in the 4th grade class I intern in, I heard a small group of students chattering excitedly. One girl piped up with "I'm gonna ask Ms. Sandbo, I am. I'm gonna ask her." It reminded me of a time when I was in 4th grade, and one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.


It was towards the end of the year in 4th grade. The day was pretty unremarkable. D.E.A.R/SSR time, lunch, perhaps P.E, math, you know. But after third recess, I came back to the classroom hyped up on fresh air and life. I sat up front right next to my teacher's desk. For some reason, known only to God, I turned to Ms. Kenney, and asked "What's a fallopian tube?" Well, no, I know why I asked. I had recently seen "Problem Child", and I don't know if you remember, but the couple played by John Ritter and Amy Yaskbeck, were having trouble conceiving, and their fertility doctor told them there was a problem with the woman's fallopian tubes. Then he fumbled about with a large model of a woman's reproductive organs. Without skipping a beat, Ms. K., the professional she is, explained, IN DETAIL how the fallopian tubes carry the eggs from the ovaries to the uterus, preparing a woman for conception or menstruation. I LITERALLY put my head in my hands, repeating "Oh, God. Oh, God." Michelle O. chuckled and shook her head in embarrassment for me. While all this was going on, Christopher C., in his 4th grade chipmunk-like voice, kept piping in "What? What are you talking about? What carries eggs to the uterus?". Ms. Kenney had the presence of mind not to acknowledge him. The last thing she said was "I have pictures if you want to see." I looked up at her, swallowed the vomit in my mouth, and said "no, thank you." If only I had waited a few more weeks, I would have learned all that during the "Our Changing Bodies" unit. But if I had, what would you be reading right now?


XOXOXOX
Kate

Sandbo Family out-going messages

The Sandbos got an answering machine in 1989, for Christmas. We spent 4-6 weeks creating the perfect out-going message. We started with me reading a script. We thought it'd be cute to have a little kid voice, but alas I sounded too robotic. Then we played R.E.M's "Stand" in the background, while my older sister Robyn asked the caller not to rob us while we were out of the house. Next, five of us kids wailed and made smacking sounds, as my oldest sister Stephany informed the public that we were at the hospital after being beat-up. The 'rents didn't think child abuse was funny, so that one was short lived. Finally, we found one we could be proud of. You see, Robyn is a bit of a piano prodigy, and she learned to play a popular rag-time tune, whose name escapes me, just by listening to a babysitter we had. Then she wrote a song that went a little something like this:



We are the Sandbos
And we can't come to the phone
So leave a message
Leave a message at the tone!

That was pretty good, but the coup-de-gras of answering machine messages, came to the oldest girls after watching an episode of Beverly Hills 90210. Emily Valentine was involved in a talent show, yada yada yada, anyway this is what came out of it:

(Emily Valentine as played by Christine Elise)

(Sing to the tune of "Breaking up is hard to do")
We can't come to the phone
So leave a message at the tone
We're sorry that we just missed you
But being home is hard to do

Robyn sang the lead, while the rest of us had the honor of singing the back-up "dum dooby doo dum dum"s. It really was something special.

What I love about living at home

One fine Saturday morning, Steve came home after several hours of visiting various relatives and various cemeteries. He was in great form, the beautiful day left him with much to bitch about. Before I get too far into this story, maybe I should tell you a little about Steve, my dad.


I started calling him Steve when I was 9 or 10 years old. I can't remember how it started, and I did call my mom Anne for a short time, but it felt unnatural and forced. Anyway, Steve is a blue collar hard-working man. He has worked for the power company for over 35 years, and most people are afraid of him when they first meet him. I think that's because of his thick beard and unfriendly demeanor. But that's all just an act. A very honed, well practiced, almost too convincing, act. Does he calls us, his kids, demons and bastards? Sure, but he'll also change your headlight and buy you anything you need from Costso. But God help you if you forget to check your oil each and every time you get gas!! That's just the kind of guy he is. To some it may seem as though Steve hates joy. Birthdays and holidays are always a time for Steve to pout and pray to be called to work. I don't think this is because he hates joy, but rather is a more understated kind of person, and all the hustle and bustle of the holidays, probably gives him diarrhea. Around the age of 19, there was a shift in our family dynamic. Steve's attitudes towards things kind of became a joke. Something we all (save for Steve) could laugh about. Now his holiday antics are like dinner theater to us. It's fun to point out how Steve wildly rolls his eyes, and angrily flares his nostrils whenever the whole family gets together.

So that brings us to Saturday. My mom and Steve took 3 of my nieces to the cemetery for some quality bonding time among the decesed. When they got back Steve went to the garage. From there I heard him yell "WHERE'S MY SAUERKRAUT?!?!?!?!?" He came in talking about how he didn't understand why someone would take it without letting him know. The question on everyone's mind was why would anyone take it. It being a one gallon jar of pickled cabbage.
"Did you check the refrigerator?" I asked.
"I've never left kraut in the fridge, a day in my life!" he responded " You ate it all with out telling me!"
"No you did. didn't you make like kraut and ham and polenta not too long ago." Which apparently was his plan for today as well.
"No, you're thinking of your great-grandmother 20 years ago."
"Yeah, that must be it." This Croatian dish was a favorite of my great-grandmother, Mary Magdalene Fransiscovich Klepac(vic)
"10 pounds of ham hock going to waste cause I don't have any sauerkraut. Well, you take the ham all for yourself, and eat it raw!"

It's these little interactions I'm going to miss most of all when I move out of my parents house in a couple weeks. I will not, however, miss Steve walking around in his not-so-tighty-off-whities.

Kate's First Post

So, welcome to my blog. I will be using this space as a place to practice my writing style and fluency. From this day forward, most things I do will be done to help me write and publish my memoirs. P.S. can memoirs be plural like that? I'll wikipedia that and get back to you. Anyway, look out world I'm a lady on a mission. Not completely unlike this gal....

or her...

I love television,
Kate