Home Sweet Home - Judy Albietz

We moved into that house when I was seven years old. I know that for sure since my dad let me write my name in the wet concrete poured that morning for a walkway in the small back yard. I also pressed my handprint down for eternity. Before the furniture arrived that afternoon, my new room had nothing in it but a white shag carpet. That was fine with me and I lined up my books and toys down the middle of the room. Then I went downstairs to inspect the new kitchen. My parents were really proud of the pink Kitchen Aid dishwasher. My dad was really into gadgets. He also had an alarm clock with a woman’s voice announcing the time when you pushed a button.

While the furniture was being moved in, I kept Penny, our West Highland Terrier puppy, on a leash. She was really my dog but I let my parents say she was a family dog. I was the one who fed her, took her on walks, and gave her baths and haircuts. There was a big wide staircase covered with carpet. I held Penny on my lap as I rode on a piece of cardboard—sliding down those stairs—until we got caught.

After we were settled in the house, my mom let me pick out wallpaper for my room. I picked blue flowers. I was at school the day the guy came to put up the wallpaper. As my mom explained later, the wallpaper guy hung the right pattern but the wrong color. The flowers were orange. I was so angry I cried. My mom made a deal with me. She said that if I still hated the orange flowers after one week, she would let me paint them out. As far as I know, after all these years, they are still there on the wall.