by Rose Ferguson
I remember that one year my parents took us to Detroit for Thanksgiving. It was supposed to be a surprise for my grandparents, that all their children and grandchildren would be home for Thanksgiving.
I had sprained my wrist on the playground at school, and I had some sort of soft cast on my arm. We drove up in my dad’s tiny hatchback car instead of renting a car, I’m not sure why. I got to sit on the end the entire time, never having to sit in the dreaded middle seat, because of my injury.
My dad had us practice saying “Ciamar a tha?” all the way up to Detroit, to say to my Grandpa when he saw us.
I don’t remember how the “surprise” went off, I was only 9. I do remember sitting at my grandmother’s table for Thanksgiving dinner, and Grandma cut all my food up in tiny bites for me. I had to eat left-handed because of my arm.
I can remember going up, but I don’t remember the trip home. Like all trips to Detroit, the best part was getting and being there, not going home. Playing the license plate game with Kevin and hearing Dad sing “Are we there yet? (no it’s just a stop sign) Are we there yet? (you’re driving me out of my mind)” which I am still not sure if that is a real song or not.
My grandparents: Hughie Ferguson and Greet Macdonald
My dad: Dave Ferguson, Hughie and Greet’s son
Kevin: Rose’s brother
by Rose Ferguson
My sister Gillian and I love to shop when we are together. We haven’t let my two small children get in the way of this habit.
My almost-three-year-old daughter, Natalia, is very mature for her age and can go places that most kids her age never would. One day, Gillian and I went out with my daughters, had some lunch, and walked around the main street of my town.
The street is mostly filled with antique stores. We went into a vintage store which has gorgeous things, all very tempting to a little girl. As we shopped around I kept saying “No, honey, please don’t touch.” “No, Natalia, no thank you.” “Natalia, don’t touch.” “Natalia, if I tell you one more time not to touch you’ll have to sit in the stroller.”
In the end, I put her out of her misery by leaving the store.
Later that night we spoke on the phone to our mother. We told her what we were up to all day, and Natalia chimed in, “And then, we went to Natalia Don’t Touch.”
(You-know-who at Natalia Don’t Touch)
Rose Ferguson: daughter of David Ferguson
Gillian: Rose’s sister
Natalia: Natalia Abril, daughter of Rose Ferguson and Javier Abril
Elena: Natalia’s sister
My daughter Rose was born in March of 1980. Of my three children, she was at least at first the best-behaved baby. She even managed to be born quickly, and close to lunchtime, rather than in the middle of the night.
For the first month, she had a crib in our bedroom. Our townhouse had two other bedrooms, and we’d fixed one up for her. We let big sister Gillian, who was 7 at the time, pick out the paint for her own new room.
When Rose was a month old, we were ready to move her out of our bedroom. I picked her up and had a little talk with her.
“Rose,” I said, “you’re a big girl now. You’re a month old. And you’re going to get something I’ve never had in my whole life: your own room. I think you’ll like it, and I hope you appreciate this and start sleeping through the night.”
And she did.
At least that night she did — she slept for about six hours, maybe seven. I can’t remember whether that kept up, but I know she managed to “show appreciation” that first night.
