I currently don’t live to far from the house I grew up in.
Comes in handy for posts such as this one. Walking into my parents house, is like a perfect time capsule of our life. You might have to dig a little to see it all, but there’s a TON of history on those walls. Literally.
When my siblings and I were growing up, we were very close friends. We did everything together. My parents worked day and night during these times, and that usually left me in charge. I consider myself a pretty responsible person.
However, I know that my siblings convinced to make some stupid decisions. I think it’s a kid thing. Pretty sure that’s a trait I passed down to my own kids.
We had lots of fun, making up our own games and creating our own fun in our home.
That “fun” left its mark.
Also, I should make a minor note here about some of these images. When I was younger, I thought time capsules were pretty cool. But the idea of burying something and digging it back up, not appealing. Why do all that when you can just write your life in stages on a wall?
Made sense at the time.
Yes, I often shake my head at my past self. I meant well.
Here’s some pictures I took this past week as examples.
This get’s a little embarrassing. Confession time in my bedroom closet. I kept track of my crushes in my closet. Because, if you wrote it down, it was sure to come true…right? Soooooo wrong. Although, I’m still holding out hope for my New Kids on the Block crushes.
The one time we played store and needed an elevator. My closet was a walk in diary, so this was my brothers closet.
Apparently, I decided it was a good idea to carve the year into my bedroom door. Someone should have taken a belt to my rear end for doing this.
My brother and sister also left their marks around the house.
The bathroom door where I kept track of my height. It’s a bit off. I had bangs then. Really high ones.
My brother once went around the house with a permanent marker and drew arrows. I wish I could remember what we were doing. My parents were less than thrilled with this adventure. These two are the only ones left.
One more last embarrassing peek into my head. Writing in pencil, on a wood stair case, doesn’t last forever. I kept another “diary” time capsule thing here. I think I sat on the stairs a lot. I do believe a portion of it asked if I had received the leather jacket I wanted for Christmas. Some of it’s dated 1992 and other parts are 1996. I think it’s better if I don’t dig too deep into what that actually confesses.