Little House On The Freeway…

That is the term my mother dubbed my Grandmother’s house. My dad’s job transfer to Florida was quicker than originally planned.

I am not sure what the whole story was concerning quick move; but I think it my brother’s “girlfriend trouble” was somehow involved. I was only nine years old at the time, and I did choose to ignore a lot of junk concerning him and his girlfriend. His girlfriend was not nice anyway. She did not like me. She said I was annoying.

I just remember that instead of buying a house immediately, my parents decided we would “borrow” Grandma’s house, while we looked to find a house that we really liked. Grandma would move two hours away to help her sister take care of her other sister.

Grandma’s house was built by my Grandfather, and it was about 2o years old when we moved in. It had those awful 70’s colors. The pukey green, burnt orange and goldenrod yellow wall paper; with dark brown, almost black, kitchen cabinets. And Grandma’s carpeting’s color was awful. It looked like it had been white at one time, and that a dog peed on it all over the place.

Plus, Grandma was not very faithful to debugging her house. And in Florida, that is not an option. You MUST spray the house for bugs. Or else you will pay for it later. In other words, Grandma’s house was pretty much infested with roaches.

Her street was parallel to a major four lane road. I believe that her road was used a thoroughfare for cars to avoid the traffic. I wasn’t allowed to ride my bike on  the street freely like I had in Georgia. In Georgia, the only cars that came in our neighborhood were people who lived there, or were visiting someone who lived there. This was not the case at Grandma’s house.

My mom was not pleased with living at Grandma’s house. First thing that was done was to get a bug guy out there. He showed my mom that there was “bug juice” (not sure of the correct terminology) all over the inside of the cabinets and shelves. Bug juice is when the roach ate something and then spit it back out, and it would dry hard.

The dining room was turned into my bedroom. This wouldn’t be the first time I had an odd room in the house given to me to use as my bedroom. Grandma’s house had three bedrooms. My brother had stayed in one, and my cousin the other. My cousin moved out, when we came, but my brother was still there.

Dad took the third bedroom as his office because there were two phone jacks in that room. That way he could work from home, and have a separate office line.

So I got the Dining room. Which wasn’t too bad. It had doors to it, and was totally separate from the rest of the house. Plus, I had a pretty sweet light fixture of crystal.

Mom turned the “addition” off of Grandma’s house into my school room, and dining room. As the kitchen only had enough room for a teny tiny table.

I believe we lived there for nine months. There weren’t any children in the neighborhood, and If there were children, I wouldn’t have known where to look. Nor could I have looked, for the streets were indeed too dangerous to explore.

This is when mom and dad enrolled me into an “umbrella school”…which legally acted like a private school; except all of the students are homeschooled. That experience with the “school” over all was a really good experience for me.

Mom met a lady who had a little boy my age. Mom and the Boy’s mom got along very well. The boy and I  got along fairly enough, but it still wasn’t the same as have a friend of the same sex.

However, the boyy had a baby sister, and I LOVED playing with her. I so looked forward to seeing that family and playing with the baby. She grew to love me too. ♥

Mom  enrolled me into art classes at this school. I wasn’t very good at art. I still am not. But I did learn a few techniques that showed me I wasn’t a complete dunce with drawing. I really enjoyed the art classes.

We went to theaters and saw kid’s plays, we went on field trips galore. But I still had not met any friends that were girls that I got along with.  I was getting lonely.

Mom also finished reading me the whole Little House Series while we lived at Grandma’s house. I fell in love with that life style from those books. I always wished it was “back then” again. I would pretend to be Laura, and walk to school. I really wanted a sun bonnet to help me out in my play world.

That is when mom dubbed my Grandma’s house “The Little House on the Freeway”

I was also introduced to reading The American Girl series there. The American Girl series was very new during the early 90’s.

I continued my horseback riding in Florida too. My mom and dad found a small riding stable near by, and started my lessons back up. I truly loved riding horses! My horse back riding teacher had a daughter three years older than me, and often she would ride with me.

Pretty soon, mom and dad started considering the idea of *buying* me a horse! I was so excited! A horse of my own!

Eventually, we bought a large pony whose name was “Shadow” and boarded him at the stable I took lessons at. This was an awesome outlet for me as a lonely little girl. I so thoroughly enjoyed going out and riding him. There were a few children at the barn who rode as well. So we had some mutual common ground.

I remember I somehow conned my way into attending my horse’s lesson teacher’s daughter’s 12th birthday party. I don’t know how I did it….but she invited me. It was to be a sleep over.

The party started out innocent enough. We went swimming in her pool, played silly birthday party games. Had Pizza and Cake, etc.

The trouble started when her parents went to bed. In Georgia I went to sleep overs all the time. We little girls would stay up as late as we could playing Barbie’s and putting on makeup, and eating lots of candy. These girls were not so innocent.

It first started when the oldest girl in the bunch decided to raid the refrigerator and found a beer. Someone “dared” her to open it. She did, but not all the way, cause my friend’s step father would “kill” her if he knew one of his beer’s was missing.

Then they decided to play hypnosis stuff. As a nine-year old, I thought it was just a big joke. Then they played truth or dare.

It was pretty raunchy stuff. Can’t remember for the life of me, what they dared and truth’ed each other to do. I think I played in that, but I didn’t have much anything exciting to dare, or tell a truth about…especially with those girls.

Then the girls decided to make a homemade Ouija board. That is when I got freaked out. My mom did tell me about those things. And I knew that it was not safe for me there. I started to cry and threaten to call my mom to pick me up. Several of the girls were trying to convince me it was just a silly game.

The game was going on in a separate room, as I was crying hysterically, and wanting to go home. There were four or five girls trying to get me to be quiet so I wouldn’t wake up my teacher. (I must have been such a pest to be there, LOL!)  All the of the sudden there were screams from the bedroom, and the girls ran out of the room. Which caused me to cry even harder, and the girl’s mother just yelled from her bedroom to “tone it down and be quiet”

One girl finally defended me and said, “She’s right! We need to stop this game right now. She isn’t being silly, she is telling the truth.”

Praise the Lord that she was there, cause I was so scared, and they were not going to let me call my mom. Things settled down after that, and we all went to sleep. I couldn’t wait to see my mom in the morning.

That was my first brush with mean cruel world.  I decided right then and there I would never touch a Ouija board.

I didn’t trust my “friend” much again after that night. She was a baby sitter for my parents a few times, but that whole experience made me fearful of her.

Things with my brother and his girlfriend were still going “bad”. They had a love-hate relationship. My parents kept warning him that she was bad news. But he loved her, and wanted to be her husband. He even proposed to her, in which she accepted. But in an almost violent fight between the both of them, she threw the engagement ring into the woods….and he threatened his own life. My parents tried to be graceful and kind and tell him the truth about her, but he would not listen to them, and they were worried what this girl was doing for his mental health.

We started to attend a large church in the Southern Baptist convention. When I got “saved”, my parents were very hit and miss about church. Which was fine by me. I found it to be boring.

When we started to homeschool, my parents drove about an hour away to go to the church where I was dedicated in as a baby. This is also where I was baptized. (For the first time.)  I liked that church, but we were not there for long before we moved to Florida.

Dad and Mom again drove a good distance away to attend this church in Florida. That church was pretty boring for me. Most the time, I would fall asleep with my head in mom’s lap, because we rose extra early to be there on time.

So that was what life was like in the Little House on the Freeway.

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