Murder and Bedtime Stories Go Together Like Peanut Butter and Jelly: My Insane Childhood

If this hasn't already been gathered from my previous blog posts, I'm not the sanest eye of newt in the jar.

So, if one was to show the average psychotherapist my posts, they'd probably say something along the lines of, "Such behavior MUST have been caused by a turbulent childhood!"

They're right. Although, I really don't think "turbulent" is the right word for it. I mean, I was fed on a regular basis and was never hugged with a knife or anything, but my childhood was, without a doubt, far from normal.

I really could go on for ungodly amounts of paragraphs, but I'm not going to, because such a strange childhood just kind of induces laziness. No, not really. I'm just naturally like this.

I'm an only child. Don't think I didn't hear the "Oooh, LUCKY!". Well, it's not as good as you'd think. Apparently my mother is the only woman in town with the Anti-Weasley Uterus (Malfoy Uterus? I dunno), so I know like, 1 other only child.

This led to quite a bit of my oddness. And anti-social nature.

It also led to a rather racist game the teachers had us play at school. But that's a different story for a different time.

Not having a sibling to play games with, I usually played board games by myself. I innovated ways to play Candy Land alone, a Sesame Street thingamajig, then soon a Wizard of Oz game. Most of the time, I didn't play the game like a normal, sibling-having person would. I'd take the little game pawns and play with them, and make them actually do the challenges. In other words, during my childhood, whilst you were busy eating paste, I invented reality TV. Only-Child-ness: It gets stuff done.

Now that you want to spork my eyeballs out for inventing reality TV, I think you should know that by the time I started going to Kindergarten, I always played the games my way as opposed to the way other children were taught to play.

I distinctly remember playing Candy Land with Rachel in kindergarten, and she was just like, "Hannah... That's not how you play. At all."

Speaking of Rachel, the only person I know with a single ounce of sense, I remember in Kindergarten when apparently no one discussed Halloween costumes. See, I'm the type of girl who starts planning her Halloween costume around late December or so, and flip out around February if I don't at least have a few ideas narrowed down. I have literally had people ask me to please shut up about Halloween. Several times. Why, if I had a dime for every time that happened, I swear... I COULD BUY EVERY HALLOWEEN COSTUME EVVEEEERRRR *has puppies* Wow, I got off track. Anyway. Rachel. Halloween. We didn't discuss our costumes in kindergarten.

I was gonna be Rapunzel, my IDOL. Frankly, my almost-butt-length blonde hair WAS NOT LONG ENOUGH GOSH DARNIT. So, I did what any girl would do.

I tied a freaking jumprope to my hair.

It was so easy, all I did was throw on my favorite princess gown, place my crown atop my head, put my hair in a ponytail, tie jumprope to said ponytail...

Yeah. You get the picture.

So, I walk into the girls' bathroom where everyone's getting ready, and I'm talking to Rachel when I noticed her put this crown-ish thing that was all sparkley and whatnot with little streamers coming down on her head as I tied my jumprope to my hair.

I remember Rachel having a WTF moment but still really calm about the fact that her best friend had a jumprope tied to her ponytail, a feat few people can pull off.

"What are you?" One of us asked. Which one, I don't know.

"Rapunzel." The child who didn't ask the question said.

"Me, too!" The asker of the question said.

Great minds think alike. Blonde children put jumpropes in their hair. Remember this.

Throughout my childhood, I forced my dad to write fanfiction. You may call it "Bedtime stories". Meh, same flippin' difference.

Basically, Arthur, DW (characters from children's TV show), and myself would often go on mystery-solving adventures with the Scooby Doo gang, in the Magical Mystery Machine. God, that sounds like a play on "Magical Mystery Tour" or a type of LSD... Anyway, moving forward.

One of the more memorable times was when my dad had either spent too much time in the Magical Mystery Machine or was incredibly sleep deprived, and in the middle of the story, he just shouts things out, like:

"BEV IS A TERRIBLE DRIVER!!!" (Bev's my mom. I don't argue with this notion)

"And then, *mumbles* The happy dancing tree people were happy and rejoiced."

"Then the men started unloading tile from the truck..." (My dad's a construction contractor)

This was a story that I believe involved Pokemon and the board game Mousetrap. Nothing involving my mom being a driving tree-person unloading tile from a truck.

There was one bedtime story that made me ask the question, "Daddy, what's murder?". The mental image that came to my head when I'd heard the word didn't look anything like this at all. Actually, it kind of did. A lot.

In my minds eye, I saw a mother holding a baby tight.

DUDE THAT'S WEEEIIIIRRRRDDDD EVEN FOR ME.

And this is coming from the girl who once had neighbors with a little girl who liked to put a bucket over the head of herself and strangers and then hit the bucket with a freaking shovel.

That was my childhood.