Show me some love

6a00d83453b78a69e200e54f8d74af8833-800wiToday I am sharing my wisdom for all of the world to appreciate.

Check it out, over at Blogging Basics 101, where I am guest posting for the next 3 (!!!) days.

Today’s topic is Basic Blog Design Principles.

Me, You, and the Butter {a guest post – Brooke/OhMySeven}

Butter. Copious amounts of butter. Butter on our hands, faces, clothing and feet. Butter everywhere. So much butter, it was hard to know where the butter left off and the child began.

My younger brother and I had decided that we loved butter. Why we decided this, I will never know. I think it was because we had tasted it once and were expressly forbidden to eat it plain ever again. Of course, anyone who has ever told a child not to do something knows that they will do it the minute you turn your back, or sometimes even blatantly to your face. So there we were, my younger brother and I, sitting under the kitchen counter, scarfing down butter as fast as we could dip our little paws into it.

“WHAT ARE YOU KIDS DOING?!” Butter flew out of our mouths as we choked in shock. Oh, no. Mom had caught us in the act of violating the order she had given us mere minutes ago. “Come with me back to the bathroom.” Oh, NO. Immediately the crying began. The bathroom was where we received any and all forms of punishment, mostly from a wooden spoon applied to the well-worn hides of our behinds. We were most definitely not thrilled with this order.

Once safely imprisoned within the confines of the master bathroom, Mom asked the dreaded question: “Why? Why did you do this when I had just told you not to?” How were we supposed to answer that? WE didn’t even know. In fact, we had just been asking ourselves the very same question. Why were we always so stupid? Every single time she told us not to do something, we went right ahead and did it, as if we thought that maybe, just this once, we wouldn’t be caught. Was it compulsive disobedience disorder? Or were we just bad kids?

“I-I don’t k-know,” My brother stammered weakly. “I don’t know,” I muttered belligerently. (You see, he was sorry that he had transgressed. I was just sorry I was getting a spanking. It had been this way since the beginning of time, and in fact, continued to be so for years to come. My mother once told me that when I was young, she wondered it I even possessed a conscience. Thankfully, I seem to have developed one at long last!)

The wooden spoon loomed overhead, then crashed down. Soon it was all over, and the hugging began. I was never a big fan of the after-spanking hug. My thinking was, ‘You just broke a wooden spoon on my bottom. Why should I have to give you a hug?’ I always tried to get away before “the hug,” and failing that (as I always did), would stand as stiff as a board, arms crossed irritably, steadfastly resisting the forthcoming love. My brother, on the other hand, was always the initiator of “the hug,” whether because he actually wanted it or because he was smart enough to know he wasn’t getting out of that bathroom without it, and submitting peaceably meant he could leave sooner than I could (I often remained behind for a second spanking for my bad attitude). Mom and Dad loved this, which is perhaps why, even into our teen years, we sent him as negotiator when we wanted something– we knew he would get it. “You call.” “I always call.” “That’s because when you call, we get what we want.”

A couple days later, Mom had probably forgotten the incident, but it was still causing major turmoil for my brother and I. So we decided to write a book about it. I was the author, because his handwriting left something to be desired, and he illustrated, because he had recently taken some art lessons. It was called Me, You, and the Butter. I read it again when I was a teenager, and it was hilarious. What a way to bring to mind bad memories. I wish I could find it to include excerpts, but it is nowhere to be found. Perhaps Mom hid it to discourage my younger siblings from stuffing their faces with cholesterol-laden grease. I’ll have to ask her about that…

Brooke blogs at Oh My Seven, where she sells cute little crafty things and makes funny videos. Feel free to reload her Starbucks Card when you visit. She’ll even send you a thank you card.