As Long As You Love Me

The year was 1997, Sarah Margaret was in 6th grade and I was in 2nd grade. One day she came home with a note from a boy! This was actually not too unusual for Sarah Margaret. She was pretty popular at Great Bridge Middle School. This note was extra sweet though. We were sure that this boy was so dreamy and that he must have been a poet. The note said:

Sarah Margaret,
I don't care who you are,
where you're from,
what you did,
as long as you love me.
Love,
Chris

Girls, wouldn't you all love to get a note as sweet as this? Unfortunately, the magic was broken the next day. We were riding in the van listening to Z104, our favorite radio station, and all of a sudden the new Backstreet Boys song came on the radio. It sounded suspiciously like the Sarah Margaret's love letter from Chris. We could not believe our ears. Chris was not the sweetest most poetic boy at school after all, he was just some goob that listened to the radio a lot.

Margaret D'Corgi

This was the official name of my beloved corgi, Maggie. I only had her for two years, but they were two great years. When I first approached Mom and Dad and asked them if I could get a puppy they said I had to earn it. So I asked them what I could do. What Dad came up with was kind of weird, and I am still not sure how it proved that I was responsible enough to get a puppy. In order to earn my puppy I was not allowed to say any words that began with the letter "D" in front of Dad for a whole week. A week is a long time in fourth grade. Dennis became Brother and Dad became Father. I was pretty quiet at dinner that week, but I achieved my goal. Our family had only ever had labs at this point but I told Mom and Dad that I really wanted a Corgi and I had researched the breed and knew all about them and taking care of them. So we found a Corgi breeder in the Tidewater area and went to pick up Maggie.

She was basically the cutest puppy ever. She could only hold up one ear at a time so they were always lopsided. Once she was a little older my friend Kelsey and I took our dogs to Krazy K9's obedience school. Picture this- a corgi puppy and a 12 year old Basset Hound named Moe hanging out at obedience school with two 5th graders trying to control them. Maggie was full of energy and all over the place and Moe just wanted to lay around and sleep.

At the same time we had Maggie we also had two labs, Widgeon and Piper. Corgi's are herding dogs and are generally used for herding cattle. They do this by biting the ankles of the cattle and then dropping to the ground so they don't get kicked. Maggie spent many of her afternoons herding Widgeon and Piper across the yard. She would be running behind them biting their ankles all day long.

When I had Maggie I was in the peak of my awkward weird stage and we had just moved to Richmond where I didn't have many friends. I would always tell people that Maggie was my best friend, which is kind of pathetic. If Sarah Margaret and Dennis were ignoring me or teasing me I would go into the garage and curl up in the dog house with Maggie until I calmed down. Yes, I know that this is not normal.

In the end, Dad decided that Maggie barked too much and that she was annoying our other dogs too much. I had to give her away. On the bright side, I made real life human friends in my class after that. I guess there is always a silver lining.

Golfing Up a Mountain or Why I Will Never Play Golf Again

The Craft family is not exactly known for our epic vacations. We do not really go all out. Every other summer for the last 20 years we have gone to Jekyll Island, GA with the whole Craft side of the family. That means we have one beach house with about 18 people in it, but that is a story for another time. So on the years that we do not go to Jekyll Island we plan our own family vacations. One year we decided to go to Boone, NC and stay in a little cabin in the mountains. Since my parents have a time share we trade it around to stay in the vacation spot of our choice. These time share accommodations are usually less than desirable and this little cabin was no exception.

One night of vacation we decided that it would be fun to go play putt-putt as a family. Well in the mountains even in the summer it can get chilly at night. So, Mom made me wear a sweatshirt. Have you ever tried to play putt-putt up a mountain? It is not easy, especially for someone who already has a knack for sucking at putt-putt. Sarah Margaret and Dennis were breezing to the course (at least that is how it seemed to my annoyed 11 year old brain) and I was struggling to say the least. About half way through the course I started getting pretty warm in my sweatshirt. I took it off and tied it around my waist, Boy Meets World style. Mom immediately told me that I had to wear it or I would get sick. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. My score was about a 1000 strokes and I was hot. So I quit putt-putt while everyone else finished.

A few days later Dad thought it would be great to take Sarah Margaret, Dennis, and I to a real golf course and play 9 holes. None of us had ever played golf before. One thing about my dad is that he does not like to feel rushed; it makes him very anxious. Obviously as first-time golfers we were not very good. It was taking forever for the four of to even get through one hole. After a while a group of men came up behind us. Dad let them play through and then we tried again. After another group came up Dad was getting pretty antsy. We has losing his patience with my poor skills. I started crying and saying that I wanted to go back to the cabin with Mom. I clearly remember the next part of the story. I was crying and saying, "Golf is no fun!" Suddenly Dad looked at me and yelled, "Caroline! Golf is not supposed to be fun!" I dropped my club and walked back to the cabin.

Since that vacation I have not played on real golf course. I refuse to. If golf is not supposed to be fun I don't want anything to do with it. I have played putt-putt again, but I am still no good at it. To this day Dad says that yelling at me that day is one of his biggest parenting regrets. I could have been the next LPGA champion. I guess we will never know.

A Phase

Everyone goes through different phases, especially in middle school. I was no exception. In sixth grade I went through a phase where I thought it was cool to wear my hoody backwards. That meant that my hood was in the front. [Sidenote- my favorite hoody was from PacSun. It was orange and it said "Pacific Coast Boy Watching Association" on the back. Very Classy.] In my mind all the kids at Chickahominy Middle School would see how awesome I looked with my hoody on backwards and do the same.

Unfortunately my new, cool look back fired one day on the bus. I rode in the back of the bus with Dennis and his friends who usually were playing jokes on me and teasing me. Still, I would rather ride in the back of the bus with the mean 8th graders than in the front of the bus with the nerds. One particular day I had my hoody on backwards and Dennis was sitting behind me. Suddenly he popped up over the seat and pulled my hood over my face. He then proceeded to tie my hood strings in a super knot behind my head. It was so tight I could not untie it and I could not pull my sweatshirt off from over my head. I started screaming and yelling at Dennis to untie me, but he and his friends were just laughing. Then the bus driver, Ms. Stith, came to my rescue. I heard her voice over the intercom telling Dennis to undo the knot and to leave me alone. Ms. Stith was my bus driving angel.

Dennis did let me go and he had to sit in the front seat of the bus for a week. It was great. Also, the next week I saw a girl wearing her hoody backwards at school. The only thing I can figure is that she saw me doing it and wanted to be just like me. After all, most people do.

It's the Poop Again!

With a logo like that you know that the Doggie Dooley has to be a good product. They claim to be "The original pet waste toilet." So basically you dig a hole in the ground and place the Doggie Dooley in it. Then when you scoop poop from your yard you put the dog poop into the Doggie Dooley and it is supposed to decompose and replenish the soil in your yard. This is a great concept. The only problem is that it takes forever for all the poop to get back into the soil and in the mean time you have a stinky toilet in your yard. Also, when you have more than one dog, which we did, your Doggie Dooley fills up pretty quickly.
Nevertheless, when we lived in Roanoke Rapids Dad thought it would be a great idea to install the Doggie Dooley in our backyard.

One day my best friend Rebecca Watson was over to play. We were swinging in the back yard and just doing whatever little preschool girls do. We began to smell the Doggie Dooley and it was not a pleasant smell. We put on our problem solving caps and came up with a brilliant plan. We decided that the only way to get rid of the smell would be to get rid of the poop. It was fall, so we gathered leaves from the yard, ventured over to the Doggie Dooley, and hesitantly opened it. We were greeted with a giant pile of crap. It was gross. We had definitely found the source of the stench. So we put the plan into action. First all the leaves we collected were thrown on top of the poop. We made sure to add plenty of layers. Then the idea was to stomp on the poop pile until it had all gone out the hole in the bottom of the Doggie Dooley and back into the soil like it was supposed to. Unfortunately the leaves did not create quite the barrier between our feet and the poop that we had hoped they would. We proceeded to jump into the Doggie Dooley. Before we knew it we were ankle deep in dog poop.

Our plan was a failure, the yard still smelled like poop, and I ruined my favorite pink Keds. Bummer.

What's a Bassoon?

It all started with my grandmommy who used to be a piano teacher. She taught her children to play, and then my dad and mom decided that their children should learn to play piano too. So Sarah Margaret, Dennis, and I took lessons. I only ended up taking lessons for three years. In that time I had three different teachers. I hated piano lessons. We had lessons once a week and the three of us would all go in a row. That meant that we had to sit at the teacher's house for two extra lessons. It was so boring. Every other day of the week we had to practice for 30 minutes. Looking back, 30 minutes a day does not sound like that much, but at the time it seemed like an eternity. I spent the majority of my 30 minutes whining and crying at the piano. However, I did learn to read music which I am thankful for because that lead me to join the band in middle school.

In elementary school we started playing recorders in fourth grade. It was very exciting and I can still play "Hot Crossed Buns" with my eyes closed. Then, at the end of 5th grade the middle school band teacher came to our music class and we got to pick which instrument we wanted to play in band starting in 6th grade. I looked at the list of instruments and nothing spoke to me. Then I saw the word "bassoon" listed in the woodwind section. I had never even heard of a bassoon, so of course I put a check mark next to it and waited anxiously for 6th grade band when I would find out what a bassoon was and how to play it. There was only one other person who had signed up to play bassoon, his name was Matt Uhl. We became pretty good friends and even developed little middle school crushes on each other. One day in class I guess he was feeling extra romantic and this is what he told me: "If I could collect all the snot that I have either sucked up, spit out, or blown out of my nose, it would probably fill a stadium." He sure did have a way with words, but we were never an item.

After 6th grade I left Chickahominy Middle School and moved to Bluestone Middle School. The band director there had not had a bassoon player in 20 years. However, this worked to my advantage because he had to buy a brand new bassoon for me to play. It was beautiful. Also, he pretty much had no idea what a bassoon was supposed to sound like so he just gave me A's on all my playing tests in class. In 8th grade my bassoon playing skills took my all the way to All District Band. I made 4th chair. I know that sounds good, but only 6 people tried out and they took 5. The 5th chair guy had a bassoon with parts falling off of it and he could not play the music. I can't even imagine what the 6th guy sounded like. All District Band was a weekend event. We skipped school on Friday and learned our music all day Friday and Saturday, then our parents came for a concert on Saturday night. For band geeks, this is heaven. For me, this was torture. Also, on a bassoon you have to hold it up by sitting on a butt strap. I just happened to forget my butt strap that weekend. By lunch time on Friday my arms were killing me from holding it up all day. So, Friday night I borrowed a pocket knife and punched a new hole in my leather belt and fashioned my own butt strap.

Marching band started in high school, but you cannot march with a bassoon. So for parades I started playing the cymbals. I can play "O Come All Ye Faithful" pretty darn well on the cymbals. I also started playing bass guitar so I could join a punk rock band, which I have yet to do. Now I am learning the banjo so I can start a bluegrass band, which I also have yet to do.

When I changed schools in 10th grade I stopped playing bassoon. I was pretty good after playing from 6th-9th grade. And how many people can say that played bassoon for four years? I mean most people don't even know what a bassoon is.

What Can Boys Do That Girls Can't?

One day, Corie Sally and I decided to ask Mr. Heath if there was anything that boys can do that girls can't. The only thing he said was that girls cannot pee standing up. So, of course we had to try it. He was right and we made a mess.

I revisited this dilemma much later on the spring before we moved to Clarksville. We were going to visit for the day to check on the progress of our house. We had been there all day without a working bathroom and I had to pee really bad. Dennis and I were roaming around in the woods near the lake and I told him about my little problem. He gave me two options. I could either use the Port-a-potty that was at the top of the driveway for the workers, or I could just pee in the woods. He said that like it was no big deal. Just to prove that peeing in the woods was no big deal he walked behind a tree and did it himself. Once again I decided to try to pee standing up. I told Dennis to turn around; I knew I would not be very smooth about this. Then I walked a few feet away. I was wearing wind suit pants so I pulled them down and kind of got in crab-walk position. It was awkward, but I really had to go. So then I started to relieve myself. I was very happy until I lost my balance. I just fell over, but I could not stop peeing. I was so embarrassed. Dennis kept asking me what I was doing, it probably sounded something like this: "ahhh, uh-oh, oof, shoot!" I told him what had happened and he just laughed at me. What a good brother. So I pulled up my now wet wind suit pants and started to problem solve. How was I going to make it through dinner and the 2 hour car ride back to Richmond in pants that I had peed on? Dennis and I decided that I should go down to the lake, which was still freezing cold from winter, and try to wash off my pants. I guess this kind of worked, but now they were just more wet. I did not want Mom and Dad to see me so I just walked back to the car. Luckily, when I got to the car I realized that there was a bag of old clothes in there that we were going to take to Good Will. Hallelujah! I just took off my wet pants and put on some old ones with a kool-aid stain on them that were too short. Everything was much better. Mom asked me about my wardrobe change, but I just shrugged my shoulders and told her I just felt like changing. She still does not know about my little accident.

We have a giant picture collage in our upstairs hallway. One of the pictures is of Mom and me from that day. I and wearing kool-aid stained high waters. I guess that is better than blue wind suit pants with pee on them. I have definitely learned my lesson though: Girls cannot pee standing up, at least this girl can't.