i take pictures of my children when they are sleeping, awake, happy, smiling, eating, partying, dancing, basically my camera is constantly in their faces. i post blogs about the mundane tasks of our daily routine. i write down the funny things they say that make me bust out in laughter. i write and snap every chance i get to fill up our published memory books. why, you ask? well, because i don't ever want to forget these special times in our lives. but mostly, i know the pain of losing someone very dear and close. i always wish i had more pictures, more stories in my journal, more everything to help me remember. it's scary when memories begin slipping and fading, not quite as clear as the day you lived it all.
today just so happens to be my brother, aaron's birthday. he would've been 30.
my children are constantly bombarding me with questions of my childhood, "tell us what you did when you were a kid, tell us a story about uncle aaron."
being only one year apart in age, it would be impossible not to tell one story without the other.
i was samiyah's age when my brother, aaron, was born. 18 months old. my mom says that when i came to see her at the hospital i didn't know whether to laugh or cry. i cried because i had missed my mom so much. i giggled through tears as i hugged my new baby brother.
the very early memories of living in fort defiance, arizona are faint. i've seen pictures of the two of us, though, and apparently we liked to run around barefoot, collecting the red sand on the pads of our feet. we also had two dogs named wolfie and wolfina (can you tell a 2 and 3 year old named them?).
my family moved to window rock when i was three, aaron was two. most of my childhood memories were made in that three bedroom, one bathroom, stuccoed house. we had a large yard with an oldschool metal playground set that we bought from k-mart in gallup. next to our playground set we had a sandbox. aaron and i would carve roads, houses, and army forts for our toy cars and action figures - our city complete with flowing, murky rivers (we snuck the water out of the kitchen sink). many a kitchen fork were later found buried beneath those ruined cities. sorry, mom.
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on the left side of our large, fenced in yard (btw, now that i mention that fence, i remember helping my dad put it up and paint it) we had a garden. every april, all the kids would come outside to help till and plant the garden. one saturday evening, when the sun was setting and the air began to cool and crisp, aaron and i teamed up to plant the corn. being the eldest, i would measure the hole, stick my finger in the damp earth, measure the length of my 6 year old hand, and make another hole. aaron had the easy job of plopping in the seeds. my dad was tilling other rows, and i'm sure my mother was watching and feeding the babies. anyhow, as i was pushing back dirt for another hole, i heard aaron call out, "look! a salamander!" it had been hiding underneath a rock next to the red fence. it was the first time i had ever seen a salamander. aaron was wearing a red and black plaid fleece jacket.
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there was a well worn, dirt path that began at the steps of our red deck, making its way to the playset on the far right corner. it was on this path that i decided a game of camping would be most ideal. i lugged out my parent's tri-fold beach lounge chair and set up the two ends together creating an A-shape "tent." i fell asleep with a beach towel. aaron ran out in a striped shirt and training pants right in front of my huddled, sleeping body and my "tent" to have my dad take a picture of the both of us. there are many fond memories of fort building in that backyard.
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there was a time when both my parents were at work. we had a babysitter. aaron and i were fairly rambunctious children - he, more so than i. for reasons i can no longer remember, aaron and i were locked out of the house by our babysitter. i grabbed for the hose, aaron turned it on and we began spraying the open windows with shooting streams of cold water - thanks to the high pressure nozzle. the babysitter openened up the sliding door in a rage telling us to knock it off and we'd be in a humongous amount of trouble. we sprayed her just before she slipped back in. we yelled out, "oh yeah? you'll be in trouble if you don't clean it up before my mom and dad get home!" we must've been 6 or 7 at the time.
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one of our babysitters lived in our neighborhood. she would smoke in the bathroom and tell us not to tell our parents or she'd somehow get us into trouble. one afternoon when we didn't have anything better to do than get into mischief, aaron and i mixed a cup of something that resembled chocolate milk. we filled the cup with water, dirt, toothpaste, hot sauce, and anything horrid we could find and threw it in, mixed it up and gave it to our babysitter. i can't remember if she actually drank it, but if she did, i really wish i could remember.
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aaron and i shared a bunk bed when we were little. we loved making tents on the bottom bunk, and snitching food and water from the kitchen to serve as our camping supplies.
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my dad would take us fishing, it seemed almost every week. it was one of our most favorite activities to do with him. there were times we'd get bored waiting for our fishing line to catch, so we'd go off exploring. once, we decided to take a dip into the lake. worst idea ever. when we came out we had slimy black spots stuck to our bodies. both aaron and i were screaming, jumping up and down, our arms flailing, incredibly grossed out about the entire ordeal. my mom calmed us down, my dad took out his fishing knife, and all the leaches were scraped off. we never swam in a lake again, ever.
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once a year, our family would take a camping trip up to utah in flaming gorge. my dad would attach the camper to the truck and our family of six would all hop in. the babies had to be inside the truck, strapped in, but aaron and i usually had special permission to ride inside the camper. i'm sure it was mostly to keep us quiet and entertained. aaron and i would plop ourselves up on top of the truck's cab where there was the bed and window that overlooked the road. we'd make up stories, play with our toys, and look out the long, rectangular window of the camper searching for deer, bears, anything that moved.
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the navajo nation fair was a pretty big deal for a 5 and 6 year old. my dad would take us out to the parade to catch the candy, pencils, and t-shirts they threw out. after a long morning of snatching treats, we'd drive back home through the back roads and spill our loot out into one big bucket. my favorite candies were the strawberry wrapped ones. my mom loved the butterscotch. i can't remember aaron's favorite. that night, we all went out to the fairgrounds, rode the bumper boats and had cotton candy. one pink, one blue.
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it was a snowy ride back from visiting our grandmother in pinon, arizona. my parents and the two babies were riding up front in the cab of the truck while aaron and i had begged to be allowed to ride in the open back. we each grabbed a sleeping bag and pulled it tight over our heads as the snow and wind whipped around us. we told stories of aliens and ghosts, pretending we were camping.
on a different trip back from my grandmother's house we had brought back a pet lamb. this time, aaron and i were sitting in the backseat of the cab of the truck opening up the sliding window to the back bed looking out at our little lamb. we were like jumping jellybeans as we unloaded him into the backyard. we mixed a bottle of milk and tried to keep on our feet as the hungry lamb jerked our little bodies back and forth, losing our breath to laughter.
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at our masaani's house (maternal grandmother) in leupp, aaron and i used to ride with our uncles in a yellow beat up toyota truck. back then, it seemed we were going a million miles an hour, speeding up the bumpy dirt roads, flying down the hills like we were on a rollercoaster. every now and then, our little bodies would bump up into the air, giggles spilling out over the sage covered prairie. when we'd get to our masaani's house, we ran straight to her wooden corral. she kept a herd of cows, several horses, and a herd of sheep. we'd press our faces up to the wooden beams of the sheep corral, sticking our fingers through the open spots until a baby lamb would grab hold of our wiggling pointers and suck. we'd laugh because it tickled so much, and we'd laugh again - grossed out over the sliminess of our hands. behind my masaani's house, there was a gigantic red rock plateau. just after it rained, the pools of fresh water would gather in the smooth sandstone grooves, perfect for playing house. in fact, aaron and i gathered sandstone bricks and built up a little fort in a niche just under the jutting rock. we stayed out there for hours on end.
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there was a period of time when most of our evenings were spent biking with my dad. he'd strap on the baby seat to the back of his bike for darrell, who was probably 2 years old. aaron and i would grab our bikes and we'd bike the dirt paths that winded around the hill near our house. as we rode through sage brush and prairie grass, i heard aaron yell out, "a snake! i just drove over a snake!" we all stopped, my heart was pounding - i hated snakes more than anything. my dad told me to hold his bike up since darrell was still attached to it. he and aaron gathered up some rocks and pelted the rattlesnake that was attempting to strike at our feet. after the adventure, we rode the rest of the way home and joined my mom, who had stayed with baby chris, and we'd finish watching the golden girls as a family.
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i was 12 when we moved into our house in st.michaels, a town bordering window rock. aaron was 11. this wide open acreage was perfect for our wild imaginations and conveniently close to all of our friends who lived just down the hill. almost every weekend there would be a neighborhood campout on the flake's lawn. the funny thing was, all my girl friends had younger brothers the same age as aaron. we had all known each other since nursery and grown up together. so basically, it was just one big group of friends and we hung out all the time. aaron and i would grab our sleeping bags and run down the hill. when night fell, we'd split up into teams playing capture the flag, kick the can, and sardines. when the game playing was finished, we'd snuggle up into our sleeping bags and tell scary stories and throw in a few funny ones too, to help us fall asleep.
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camping out was our most favorite thing to do. we had a trampoline out back and we'd invite our friends for campouts there. the shadows from the house light was perfect when telling stories and we'd scare ourselves silly. other nights, we'd set up a tent further into the forrest behind our house. it didn't matter if it was spring, summer, fall, or winter, we'd be camping. once, we woke up to falling snow, aaron had been up for a while, making a fire and cooking toast and eggs for breakfast.
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aaron would take me on motorcycle rides around our small town. i'd have to hold on tight for dear life as he zipped past houses, trees, and the church building. we'd ride down into the mission and behind our house, and that's where the crazed dogs were. the dogs' heads whipped up as soon as they heard the motorcycle engine, they'd lock their eyes on us, and race towards our feet, trying to chomp us to death. i'd yell for aaron to go faster, screaming until we were out of biting danger, and then we'd laugh, catching our breath saying, "let's do that again."
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when summer hit, you could find aaron and i, along with all the neighborhood kids, gathered at the catholic mission baseball field. we'd play a game of baseball that went on forever until our stomachs growled for hunger around dinner time. to cool off, we'd bring bring buckets of water balloons for water fights.
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it was really nice being able to go to school with my brother. i always felt safer when he was around. he was very protective over me, especially since i was the only sister for a very long time. and when my other two sisters came along, we was protective over them as well. anyway, my sixth grade year was the worst. my friends all took another bus home, while i had the bus with all the bullies and creeps. this was just before we moved to st. micheals. luckily, i only had to endure 3 months of being on that bus before we moved and then i could take the 30 minute bus ride back with friends instead. however much fun it was riding with my friends that year, it was 10 times better when i moved up to 7th grade and aaron was in 6th grade. if aaron was out of class before me, he'd save me a seat on the bus. if i was out before him, i'd save him a seat. it was one big party on the bus with our big group of sibling friends. this continued on until my sophomore year of highschool. the walks down the unpaved road leading back home with aaron were the best. sometimes we'd walk slow and talk about anything and everything. sometimes we'd race to the front door.
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aaron was very affectionate. i was walking downstairs for breakfast and he was on the bottom with his hands outstretched waiting to give me a big hug. at random times he'd come up to me, smell my hair, and run off continuing with whatever. sometimes i'd hear him say how my hair smelled so good he wanted to eat it.
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whenever it would snow, we'd bundle up in our snow clothes and head outside. we'd reinact narnia, pretending we had just walked through the forest to find a lone lampost, trying to find mr. tumnus' cave. we'd go tracking trying to figure out what kind of animal had made the tracks and where it was hiding. we'd grab our tubes and trek out to the sledding hill with the rest of the neighborhood kids. we'd make sledding ramps, tubing trains, and have hot cocoa breaks at our house or the flakes' house, and then run out for more fun. we'd even go night sledding.
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i had a pretty fabulous childhood filled with love, friendship, adventure, and imagination. not everything was great all the time, but the really great parts are what i like to remember.
i have to write this down before i forget. just a week ago, isaiah came up to me to give me a hug. he pulled me close and breathed in the scent of my damp hair. "ahh, mom, your hair smells so good - i just want to eat it!"
my head jerked up and i sat there, staring at my son, traveling back into time for a few seconds. isaiah smiled, oblivious to my shock and the uncanny resemblance he held at that moment to his uncle aaron, and ran off to play. i sat there still stunned, but mostly grateful that somehow through this wonderful little boy of mine - i still had a piece of my best friend with me.
happy birthday aaron.
