THE LIPSTICK SAGA

Multiple births were not as common back in the fifties when I had my first children, a set of twin girls, as they are today. There were no ultrasounds and giving birth to twins was a shock to say the least.  They were two months early and we weren't ready for even one  baby.  They were tiny but healthy and they came home the day they weighed five pounds.  Fortunately for me they came home twelve days apart.  It wasn't long until we had settled into a routine and things were moving along smoothly.

They got off to a good start and became happy, outgoing babies.  Soon they caught up with full term babies as far as the growth chart was concerned. The old adage that "two heads are better than one" was true quite often with my two girls. They even had their own little language and entertained one another, most of the time.

We lived a good eight hours away from our parents.  So when we made a trip we usually stayed several days.  On one of these trips the twins and I  stayed two weeks and then their Daddy came for us.  Needless to say it took a lot of stuff for  twins for a two week visit, and in this was a playpen  we used for their crib, which worked out very well since the girls were used to sharing space.

 One afternoon I put them down for a nap being careful to put anything out of their reach on a near- by dresser. They were good about taking  a nap on schedule and I went downstairs with confidence that I would have a couple of hours for myself. I  believe I did go back and check on them in about thirty minutes.  They were sleeping peacefully. In about two hours (their normal length of nap time) I heard them chattering and went to take them from the play pen.   The sight I saw when I walked into the room  was beyond belief.  I didn't know whether to laugh or cry so I screamed for my Mother to come and see.  By the time she reached the top of the stairs and could see my two seventeen month old girls, I was ringing my hands and starting to cry.  My Mother, a serious woman with a type A personality stood there and laughed until the tears ran down her face.  And I'm saying, "what can we do?"There stood my babies dressed in matching white dresses with various colors of eyelash fabric covered in the brightest red lipstick.  There was not a spot on either little smiling face that was not covered.  Their arms were red, the dresses had huge spots of lipstick on the white fabric.  They had even put lipstick in their sparse blond hair.

My Mother, always calm in an emergency, gave orders.  You take one and I'll take one and straight to the bathroom and the bath tub we go.  I'll get my container of cold cream and we'll start scrubbing.   It took a long time to get most of the lipstick off their skin.  They were just a little rosy for a few days.  Miraculously my Mother was able to wash the stains from the white dresses.

To this day two questions remain unanswered about "The Lipstick Saga."    One--how did they reach the lipstick  and two-how did a tube of lipstick only half full cover so much?

I suspect that Robin, the climber ,used her sister for a footstool and as for the lipstick, I have no clue.

A Mother's treasured memory.

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My Uncle Bill

He was the tallest person I had ever seen.  In my child's eye he was as tall as the house.  He did have to duck when he entered a room. I suppose because he was so tall he had long arms.  He could scoop me up in one quick swoop, throw me up to the ceiling and before I had gotten my breath, he gently placed me on the floor.

My Uncle Bill was a man of few words.  He smiled a lot and from that we knew he wasn't mad.  If anyone asked him why he was so quiet, he would say that he spoke when he had something of importance to say. Wouldn't that be a good practice for some people we know?

 I don't remember him ever telling a story but I can tell lots of stories about staying with him and his family in the hot Piedmont summers.  I was expected to go along with my cousins and "work" in the tobacco fields.  If I had been paid for the work accomplished, my check would have been very small. But my compensation was enjoying the company of my Uncle Bill and his family.

Some of the crops on their farm were probably on land that was later sold for part of Smith Mountain Lake. Even today some of the land is near the Lake and would bring a hefty price.


There was a time when my Uncle and his family left the farm for him to work in a textile mill in Roanoke, Virginia. The big city was fun to visit,, too.  There were no more hot tobacco fields, snakes to watch for, and animals to feed.  There were many things to do-- riding bikes on the sidewalk and playing hide and go seek with the kids on the street.  And the big thing I'll never forget is going to the Dairy Queen for an ice cream treat after supper.  With a twinkle in his eye my Uncle Bill would say, "I bet there's no one here who would like to go for ice cream." We were waiting at the car when he got thee.

My Uncle Bill was a gentle giant.  I never saw him spank one of his children.  He didn't need to, when he spoke, they listened. He was a fair man- -his word was as good as a contract.

His memory is special. A visit to his home was a wonderful experience , one that gave me a treasure trove of memoirs.

 Thank you, Uncle Bill.