I don’t remember moving to Maryland. I just remember that we were in Arizona and then we were in Maryland. Our first home in Maryland was a split level home with a basic (but utilized) swing set in the side yard to the left. Behind the house was a forest of un-walkable land (to me). We lived on a cul-de-sac and the across the street neighbors had a daughter that was my sisters age. I think I liked her, but I don’t remember.
I feel like we had some pet fish that we buried in the side yard. I’m not sure though, but I am sure that we never had fish again. (And as a mother who sponsored my own children’s fish dreams, I also understand, support, and mirror the decision to never own fish again.)
I remember coming home off the bus one day and standing just inside the door, and promptly peeing my pants. Only I think it was a dress. I must have been holding it all day. I was embarrassed, but I don’t remember anyone making me feel bad about it. That split landing was the worst, and I will never understand the design benefits. Architects: answer for yourselves! Why would you immediately demand not only a decision (up or down?), but a step-work-out the moment a person enters a home? If I remember right, I had to scale quite a few steps just to get to the front door, followed by more steps when I got there! No wonder I peed, I had to climb a mountain to get there!
Downstairs was essentially the basement, open for all to see from the front door. It was Daddy’s den, where he studied (what for?) and worked (but not his job?). It looked dark to me. I feel like I had chicken pox and was down there to quarantine? Honestly I don’t remember. That wasn’t really where we lived. We lived upstairs. As far as my memory serves, straight upstairs was the kitchen, a galley-style kitchen with the dining/family room to the right. Actually I don’t remember a family room but I’m sure it was there? The dining table faced big windows that revealed the forrest of un-walkable land behind. Down the hall to the left is invisible in my mind, but I’m assuming our bedrooms were there. In fact, I just remembered my room, barely, but it’s the last room on the left and my tall bed is in there. I remember when I would dream of flying (a recurring childhood dream), I would sometimes wake up on the floor, having flown myself right out of bed. I have no memory of anyone else’s rooms.
I remember the outside fairly well, I would ride my (I’m guessing tricycle) around the cul-de-sac, but probably only while supervised because this wasn’t one of those deep in the neighborhood cul-de-sacs, but a random street of about four houses off of a fairly busy (but country) road. Loads of trees everywhere. The swing set was fun, but a little rickety and potentially dangerously close to toppling over if I had been bigger and swung higher. The dead fish were buried to the right of it.
I think the bus took me to preschool? I think it was a special preschool for special kids. Like me. I think it was a short bus, and you know what, I’m proud of that. I got to spend time with kids who weren’t like everyone else. Like me. I don’t remember them though. Probably because we’re actually all just like everyone else: human, special, with needs.
That Maryland house served a purpose as a home, but we didn’t stay there long so I don’t have many memories connected to it. Except peeing on the front landing. And the swing-set, of course.
