Seasonal Dressing

Clockwise from right: Aly (Hired man's son),
Anita, Blair, and Me - in my little gold beauty.

It wasn't often that we kids were able to go on a field trip with my Dad.

When it happened, we were eager.

When it happened at Christmas, we were beyond excited.

Ecstatic!

Exuberant!

Exhilarated!

Elated!

Euphoric!

Electrified!

That's all of the 'E' words I can think of.

Except that 'energetic' should be stuck in there somewhere.

And, for me, usually immediately followed by, "Empty all tanks!"

When I think about it, I guess it's not surprising that we didn't go on field trips with my Dad very often.

Back to my story . . .

Dad was taking us four oldest kids to the Sweetgrass Hills to cut down our family's Christmas tree.

It was the 60's.

Families did things like that back then.

But we had to make a quick stop in Milk River at the Robinson's store to get me a winter coat.

I had outgrown my old one and Dad wasn't excited about trailing me through the forest wrapped in my blanket.

Go figure.

So the excitement level for this trip had just been dialed way up.

In fact, I was so elated, that Dad didn't even wait for the 'announcement' (see above), but sat me in the car with a bucket already in my lap.

Smart man.

We made the 20 miles to Milk River without incident. (see above . . . again.)

And entered the store.

I should explain here that the Robinson's Store was the only shop in Milk River that featured clothing.

There were neat piles of everything wearable.

And the wood plank floors creaked delightfully.

And if you were really lucky, you got to watch Theo Barrows gift wrap packages at her counter in the middle of the store.

The curling of the ribbons was especially fascinating.

Where was I  . . .?

Oh, yes.

New coat.

Dad asked the manager where we could find coats in my size and was conducted, with me tagging eagerly behind, to a rack at one side of the store.

My eyes were immediately drawn to a gold, furry, wonderful garment.

I reached out a hand and brushed the soft fur.

Oooooh! "This one, Daddy! This one!"

"Okay, we'll try this one," Dad said.

I dropped my blanket and slipped my arms into the sleeves.

Perfect!

"I guess we'll take it," Dad said.

Good thing, too, because there was no way they were ever going to pry me out of that coat.

Dad paid and we trooped back out to the car.

The other kids excited now to get to the real reason for this trip.

Me brushing and brushing the soft fur on my arms and chest.

We had fun finding the tree.

I think.

We did end up with one.

I really don't remember much about it.

Me and my coat were happy, sitting in the car together.

And watching through the windshield.

Because, after all - one couldn't wear one's new coat out into nature!

What if it got soiled?

Dad later said something about 'waste of time and money'.
But who listened?

Later:
Anita and Blair (in my now-outgrown coat which he hated). 
The original recycling program

The Ceremony of the Tucking In

Success!

Routines are important.
Especially when one has many small bodies that one is trying to shuffle into bed.
The bedtime ritual in the Tolley household was probably one of the most adhered-to in the entire day.
Little, wiggling bodies were scrubbed clean.
Teeth brushed.
Hair combed.
Jammies donned.
Stories read.
Family prayer said.
And lastly, the all-important Ceremony of the Tucking In.
The grand and glorious final scene in the whole bedtime scenario.
I won't mention here that the tucking in was usually immediately followed by the "I can't sleep" or "I wanna drink of water" or the all important "I have to go pee".
Okay, maybe I will.
Moving on . . .
One of our children, particularly, looked forward to being tucked in each night.
Our daughter, Tiana.
She would emerge happily from the bathroom, sparkling clean and dressed for bed and announce to her Dad, "I'm ready!"
Whereupon (good word) he would drop the evening paper and follow her to the bedroom she shared with her sister.
Then would follow the boosting into bed.
The careful molding of the blankets around the warm little body.
And the ever important good-night kiss.
Then lights were doused, doors closed and Mom and Dad could relax.
At least until the post-tucking parade began.
One evening, Tiana announced to her father that she was ready to be tucked in.
Then realized that she had forgotten something and disappeared.
But notice had been given.
Dad was already on the move.
He went to her room, performed his usual ceremony.
Then resumed his chair and his reading.
Tiana re-appeared.
"I'm ready now," she said.
Her father looked at her. "I already tucked you in," he said.
"What? I'm right here! You didn't tuck me in!"
"Well, I tucked somebody in."
Tiana ran to her room.
"You tucked in my teddy bear!" she said loudly.
Her father grinned into his newspaper. "Well, he was there!" he said.
"Dad!"
After that, it was a race to see who could get to Tiana's room first.
She, grinning as her father was forced to perform the usual ceremony.
Or her father, who would then tuck in whatever was close at hand.
Clothing.
Toys.
Books.
Homework.
Muffy.
I repeat. Routines are important.