I’m starting with one of my favorite stories to pique your interest in my future collection. I do not think my mother shares my enthusiasm for this one. You will see why.

At the time of this story, I was in junior high school. I finally made peace with the concept of school; it had been a long, rugged path for me and my parents. I liked my classes, teachers, and even the new school building. I was making close friends at last. I had lots to look forward to at school. The problem was getting up and getting going.

My younger sister and I are not morning people, not as children and not now. Back then, my mother had the misfortune of being responsible for getting us out of bed, dressed, fed, and on the way to the school bus.
I almost always could find a new comfy position in a cool spot in the sheets, so I could drift back to sleep after the first notice from Mom. I did not intend to be difficult, I wanted to sleep more than breakfast, more than time to find the best accessories, and more than being sure my homework was in my notebook.

As any past or present junior high girl would know, appearance is essential. The outfit, shoes, and hair needed to be just right to suit the scrutiny of the other junior high girls. Not me, not at 6:15 in the morning. Fashion panic wouldn’t hit until about 7:10, and then it was too late to find the perfect socks or necklace.

Homework panic did not hit until around 7:15. I was one of the top students in my class in junior high, and homework and grades were important to me. But not at 6:30 am. Where were my books, and notebooks? School stuff scatters easily, as any mother knows. This was before the appearance of book bags and backpacks, or even tote bags. We carried our books in our arms, to our chests for the girls, and under one arm for the boys. If I had thought to make a backpack bag out of scrap fabric for school in 1970, I would be rich today.

Mom’s second round of alarm was typically harsher than the first. Calling from the kitchen didn’t get the job done, so she stood at my bedroom door. “Get up, get up, you won’t have time to get on the bus if you don’t get up now.”

She should have known that missing the bus was not an adequate threat. If my sister and I missed the school bus, we were not going to school that day. I liked school well enough, but not going was still better. Some of you, maybe most of you are likely saying, “What? Why? If you miss the bus, you get in the car and your mom or dad takes you to school.” Times were different. My family had one car and my mother did not have her driver’s license. My father would have still been in the dairy barn when we needed to be taken to school. Cows needed care and they out-ranked us under those circumstances

I had an incentive to stay put and I usually did. Mom’s third round got tougher as the clock got closer to bus time, 7:30 am, as I remember. My sister and I had a quarter of a mile lane to walk to get to the road and the bus. Mom wanted us out the door at 7:20. On her third wake-up call, she used a couple of techniques that were guaranteed to get us moving.

The first and most feared was a washcloth on my neck, but not a soft, dry one. Mom wet it with cold water and rung it out just enough to be drippy, not soaked. Then she would pull the covers back near my head and plop that cold, wet cloth on my nice, warm neck. I was not a bed-wetter or the results would have been more trouble for her than just getting me out of the bed. She did not threaten to use the washcloth, the lack of warning was part of her method.

The second technique was to pull the blankets, or covers, as we called them, from me as she stood at the foot of my bed. The bed was conveniently located with the foot nearest the door. She could come in without me noticing until the blankets were gone and cold air hit my pajamas. I tried a time or two to hold on, to keep the warmth going. It was no use. Mom had superior strength and height.

On the morning I will remember for the rest of my life I thought of a plan to trick Mom as she carried out her wake-up duty. No malice or retribution for cold wet cloths and ripped-off blankets were intended. The thought crossed my mind just afterward that it might have appeared to Mom as payback.

I quickly shoved one of my decorative pillows under the blankets and mashed it into a sleeping kid shape. I pulled the blankets all the way up over the pillow’s “head”. Finding me completely covered was rather a common thing, so it was not suspicious.

My bed played a major role in my planning. It was a double, antique Jenny Lind. The mattress sat high off the floor and there was plenty of space for a scrawny junior high student. A bed skirt went from the box springs to the floor. It hid a lot of stuff, including me that morning.

A modern Jenny Lind in the same style as my old bed. The photo is from a product description on Wayfair.com.

I crawled under the bed and positioned myself at the foot end and waited. I did not have to wait long. Mom came quietly into my room and stood at the foot of my bed. She didn’t call out to me, it was too late for that. It was time to snatch the blankets. I pictured her with her arms outstretched almost touching my bed. At that moment I also reached out, from under the bed.

I did not call out or make a sound either as I put my hands around her ankles. I heard Mom gasp, all her air rushed out of her lungs. She gasped and rattled for the breath that I had shocked out of her. The wheezing and gasping went on for what seemed forever. I got scared that I had caused a heart attack or stroke. What if I put my mother in the hospital over a prank? What if she couldn’t get her breath back? My morbid thoughts wound to a halt when Mom turned and walked back out of my room without saying a word.

I was so relieved and scared at the same time. What punishment is appropriate for almost frightening your mother to death? I did not want to know. Staying put was not an option, missing school after playing that trick would not be a good idea. Students needed an excuse note the day after an absence and I cannot imagine how that note would read. Being home all day with Mom was usually fine, but my instincts said that this day would be different.

I got dressed, put my stuff together, and ate breakfast without any other prompting. That was probably a first. Mom did not act angry or upset, but looks can be deceiving. I wondered a few times during the day at school what I had in store at home. Nothing terrible, that thought never entered my mind. Grounding, no television, no books that were not school books, extra chores, or any combination were possibilities. Worse was the thought that Mom was justifiably upset and I did not know what to do to get back in her good graces.

When I got home Mom was a little cooler to me than normal, but that may have been my guilt looking for a reaction. She never mentioned my prank, to me or anyone else, not in anger or in fun. When I mentioned it years later, she laughed a little and changed the subject.

A couple of years ago, I told the story at the kitchen table when both my sisters were there. They laughed and laughed and I did too. Mom sat for a minute and finally smiled a little smile. My sisters said they couldn’t believe that I did it and that they never heard about it before. Mom said “Well, she did”, and that was the end of that storytelling and this one too.