Cheap Entertainment: I hope I never get Rich

For starters, that title may be slightly facetious.  There are a lot of times that I wish I had a few more dolla bills, like when I want to go to Ireland or build a bathroom that has an enormous bathtub with a picture window overlooking the mountains and a loverly roaring fireplace nearby.  That'd be nice.  Honestly, though, I can say that growing up in a middle-class family with 8 kids out in the boonies has really given me an appreciation for the creativity that is nurtured out of necessity.  No, we couldn't go buy the latest and greatest go-carts, but who needs that when you have a brother who could build your own out of old snowmobile engines and lawnmower parts?  Besides, then when you ran them into trees or drainage ditches, it really wasn't that big of a deal, and if you sustained any injuries, either one of my RN parents would dig into their contraband of smuggled hospital bandage and ointment rejects, set you on the counter, and piece you up again. 

 My younger brother and sister (Jordan and Lauren) and I were known as the "three little kids."  I am almost four years younger than my brother Alec, so our family sort of started over with me.  People think that middle kids are the tame peacemakers?  Not when there are eight kids.  The birth line-up definitely started over with me, because I was (and still am, to be honest) quite the bossy, managerial, crazy planner, and who was better to test my leadership skills on than my kind, passive, adorable younger siblings?  The three of us were pretty tight, whether it was playing nativity (Jordan and I were Mary and Joseph, and Lauren was always the reject shepherd) or Legos (does anyone have a blue 3??).

Sometimes, though, Jord and I just wanted to do things without the baby tagging along, like fort building.  We had the permission to use any of the scrap lumber by the side of the garage, so we had gathered old pallets, rejected nails, and a couple of hammers to build a tree fort.  Looking back, I am incredibly impressed at my carpentry skills.  That was a wicked sweet fort, and I was something like 10 years old.  To make it more homey, I had taken some old fabric scraps, sewed them together, and we nailed them around the bottom of our fort, which also made it two-story.  Yeah, awesome.

Once our fort was built, we would dress up in our old fashioned clothes and play pioneers.  We got quite the little collection of sap, wheat, and berries (most likely poisonous), which we stored in some old dishes.  The following story is probably unknown by all except Jordan and me, but I figured that enough time has passed that we're automatically forgiven. One day, Kate, the oldest, was in charge of us, and Jordan and I were out in our fort.  We had gathered our sap into mason jar lids to make candles, and had quite the cozy atmosphere going, when we realized that the smoke we were smelling had to be coming from a source other than the candles.  We jumped out of the fort with great haste, with me tripping on my darn too-big skirt and wrenching my ankle in the process, to find our fabric walls on fire.  Somehow, our wheat-gathering basket had caught on fire and subsequently ignited the cloth.  Granted, this was not some raging fire, but it seemed like it 12 years ago.

Folks, this is where it pays to take a minute to gather your wits about you before you make rash decisions.  I grabbed the handle of the flaming basket, held it out from me with one hand, grabbed my skirt with the other and hobbled/ran across our entire backyard to the fire pit, where I tossed the entire thing.  On my way back to the fort I had to stomp on the bits of burning wicker that had dropped during my journey.  Upon coming to the fort, I noticed that the flames had been extinguished and the once burning fabric now was merely dripping and sooty.  Jordan had taken our ice cream pail, gone to the meager creek 5 feet away, and doused the flames with water. 

Needless to say, I felt pretty dumb, but mostly I was relieved that we were not going to be deserving of Smokey the Bear's wrath by burning down our woods.  We stashed our clothes in the playhouse, and if Kate noticed the smokey smell clinging to us, she never said anything.  So I guess the lesson that comes from this is the classic think-before-you-act, but mostly I just hope that I have enough money to have what my family will need, but little enough to encourage wild imaginations.