The Break In (Part Two)

~Jennifer~

It’s nighttime and it’s dark outside. Again I’m at home; alone. I’m about fourteen or fifteen now, and my parents were at the high school for one of Elizabeth’s volleyball games. This time I was hanging out upstairs in the guest room playing on the computer. The telephone rang and I let the answering machine pick it up (Yes, our family screens). It was my mom so I ran downstairs and picked up the phone. She told me (or at least I thought she told me…) that they had left the sliding glass door open, and I should close it. This glass door looks out onto the backyard from the family room. I turned to look at the door, and sure enough, it was wide open. Without a thought, I slid it closed and locked it.


About twenty minutes later, over the “ping, ping” of my instant messenger, I heard my parents come home. I could hear them rustling through some things downstairs, so I jumped up and yelled “hello!” as I ran down the stairs. When I reached the living room, the lights were still out and there was no one there. “That’s odd,” I thought to myself. I turned to go into the garage thinking maybe they had to get some things out of the car. Again, there was no one there. However, the garage door was open. I immediately thought that what my mom was really telling me was that they left the garage door open, and I needed to close it. Whoops, no biggie. I closed the garage door and walked back into the living room.

I begin to walk towards the kitchen for a snack. As I walk by the sliding glass door I notice that it is wide open. Nothing but fear is going through my head at this point. All I could think was “I closed that, I closed that, oh my god I closed that!” At this point I am stiffened with the realization that there really was someone in the house…and they could still be inside.

I could feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. I swear my heart was going to jump out of my chest (you know that scene in Dumb and Dumber where Jim Carrey punches his hand through the waiter’s chest and pulls out his heart? Yeah, it felt kinda like that). “Deep breath, it’s now or never.” I thought to myself. I slowly turned around, expecting a man with half a face, holding a knife and ready to pounce.

Nope, nobody there…whew!

Well I wasn’t about to wait there like a sitting duck so I grabbed the phone and ran back upstairs and locked myself in my parents bathroom. Instead of calling the police, I called my parents. I tried to explain to them what had happened and told my dad he needed to come home immediately. They didn’t really understand the magnitude of the situation, but lucky for me Elizabeth’s game was over anyways. They were home about ten minutes later. I made sure it was my family I heard downstairs before running down to explain to them that there really was someone in the house this time.

I frantically began to tell them how I thought they told me to close the glass door, and how I heard someone who I thought was them downstairs, and that’s when I realized the garage door was open. When I told them how the glass door had been opened after I had closed and locked it, they gave me those looks they usually gave when I thought there was someone in the house. That look that says, “Crazy child.” They tried to tell me that I probably just thought I closed the glass door, but somehow got distracted and forgot to actually do it. Okay, I understand they weren’t the “proud parents of an honor roll student” or anything, but to suggest that I couldn’t even remember if I had closed a door or not was a little offensive.

At this point I am desperately screaming at them that I had closed the door, and someone in the house opened it again. This was when my amazing big sister jumped in to my defense. She actually believed me and tried to get my parents to believe as well. She tried to tell them that I would have remembered if I didn’t close the door, and she pointed out to them that our garage door opener had been “lost” a few weeks before this, so it was not crazy to think someone had gotten into the house. I was never more grateful to have an older sister than at this moment.

When I think back, I guess it’s a little understandable that my parents didn’t believe me, considering my past history of “The Girl Who Cried Killer.” I guess next time I’ll just have to wait until the killer with a knife has me pinned to the bed before I call for help. Maybe I could even snap a photo…for proof.

The Cabbage Patch Christmas

~Elizabeth~

Growing up, Jennifer and I were blessed to have wonderful parents who always kept wonderful Christmas Spirit and the magic of Santa Claus alive in our home. We hold many memories of Christmas Eves and Christmas mornings that included Santa being near (or just leaving), and made us strong believers (to this day we still "believe" in the magic of Santa).

There was Santa's snowy footprints in the hallway when we returned from Mass, how he knew to get me that "I love Lucy" card set even though I didn't include it in my letter to him, Santa's gift bag that became more empty as Christmas approached, and the Christmas calendar mouse that was always in front of our bedroom door when we woke that morning. There is one memory however, that stands out above the rest - and that is the year of the Cabbage Patch Dolls.

To keep us from sneaking around and trying to find our Christmas presents, our parents told us that Santa would make any presents we found disappear and we wouldn't get them come Christmas Morning. This usually worked - of course we didn't want to chance Christmas presents disappearing, nor did we want Santa thinking we were "bad".

However, one year a few weeks before Christmas, Jennifer and I decided to sneak around in our parent's closet. Why, I don't remember. I can't actually recall if it was to find presents or out of pure curiosity. We sometimes liked to go in there to try on our Mom's shoes and mess around...as all girls at that age probably did. Well, while we were in there we looked up, and to our surprise saw two boxes holding the newest Cabbage Patch Dolls.

"Oh my gosh, they're our Christmas presents; they got us the new Cabbage Patch Dolls!"

Then the realization of what we just did set in... "Jennifer, don't look! What are we going to do, they're going to disappear?! Should we tell Mommy?"

After debating on whether or not we should say anything, we decided to tell our Mom what just occurred in case Santa was still deciding on whether or not they'll be under the tree on Christmas morning. We let her know that we didn't mean to find them, and that we were very sorry. We were hoping that maybe Santa could overlook this, just this one time...

"Well girls, I appreciate you telling me but honestly I can't say what Santa will do. You know what happens when you go and find Christmas presents early."

We were devastated, but felt good that we had been honest.

That Christmas morning, we rose early and rushed down to our parents' room (not peeking into the living room of course; a strict rule Jennifer and I held). After we got them up and ran to the living room, we stood in front of the fireplace in awe. What did we find? Our brand new Cabbage Patch Dolls, boxes unwrapped and covered in soot. With the dolls, was a letter from Santa Claus, written in beautiful calligraphy -

Elizabeth & Jennifer,


Although you found these presents early, I appreciated that you went to your Mommy with honesty and good will. For this reason, and because you have been very good girls this year, I decided that you should enjoy your new Cabbage Patch Dolls. Please remember though, that you should never try to find your Christmas presents before Christmas morning.


Merry Christmas,
Santa

We were thrilled and amazed, and of course never ever snooped again. It was definitely a Christmas morning that will never be forgotten.

The Break In (Part One)

~Jennifer~

Everyone’s heard the story about “The Boy Who Cried Wolf.” You know, the one about the little shepherd boy who thinks it’s funny to cry “wolf” when there really isn’t a wolf. All the village people get angry with him and decide they aren’t going to believe him anymore. Well, turns out that big bad wolf does show up and because no one believes the boy anymore, he dies. The moral of this story is meant to tell kids that liars never prosper (Or is that cheaters?). Anyways, if you ask me, it should really be that parents should always take something as dangerous as a wolf seriously—otherwise your kid ends up eaten.


When I was about thirteen, I had a knack for always thinking there was someone in our house. Our father worked full time, and our mother had a part-time job at a local bank, so if I had to stay home from school; I was alone. Now I admit, my imagination sometimes got the best of me. Hearing a door slam upstairs wasn’t just the wind blowing it shut; it of course was a murderous killer straight out of the loony bin coming to butcher poor-old-little me. I have decided that, for your sake, I will only tell you about two of the times there was someone in our house…

I was in the eighth grade, and for some reason or another, I didn’t go to school. It was the middle of the afternoon, the birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and to really think that at this time some creepy man was going to break into a home in broad daylight, in Danville, was completely ludicrous. Well what can I say; I was a thirteen-year-old girl.

I was downstairs, lying on the couch watching television when I first started to hear the noises. It was this weird, scratching noise; almost like a metal rod scraping against the wall. I couldn’t quite place it, so I ignored it. The second time it happened, it was accompanied by the sound of, what I thought, was footsteps. I immediately sat up to try to hear it better. I concluded that this scratching noise was not coming from outside; it in fact was the sound of my parents upstairs sliding closet door. There’s always a time in a given situation when I believe that it’s okay to panic    this was it.

I did the first thing I could think to do… I called my Mommy. All I could do was scream, “There’s someone in the house! There’s someone in the house! There’s some   " 

My mother’s panic stricken voice cuts me off, “What? Jennifer, calm down, what are you talking about?”

I quickly tell her about the scratching noises, or their closet door opening, and the footsteps I had heard right above me.

“Get out of the house” she tells me, “Run out the front door, and start walking up the street, I’m on my way.”

She believed me!

I could only imagine what my mother was thinking as she made the ten minute drive home in four minutes flat. I met her at the end of the street like she told me, and jumped in the front seat. We drove together back to the house and waited for the Police. Within about three minutes, every cop on duty that day was in front of our house. I like to believe that they were truly concerned for the safety of two of Danville’s finest citizens (okay, let’s be honest, they had nothing better to do). We let the officers do their thing. They went inside, searched the house and looked for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing… We thanked the kind officers, and they went on their way.

Now, you would think under the circumstances my mom would call work and tell them she wasn’t coming back. I mean; I’m her baby, her life, her everything! Well—she left me. She assured me the Police checked the entire house and that it was probably just the house creaking; nothing to worry about, and that she’d be back in a couple of hours. I was a little upset by this, as you can imagine.

About twenty minutes later my mom called. “Hi baby, I was just thinking…Maybe you should check the attic?”

IS SHE CRAZY!?

Let me tell you about the attic. It’s this scary dark place, full of spiders, dolls and other childhood toys we have long forgotten about, that I wouldn’t go in even if I had an entire SWAT team with me. No thank you.

In the end, Michael Myers never came for me that day; however, I felt that this first story was important to tell for a couple reasons. One: There’s nothing more humiliating than having six handsome police officers race to your house, only to look down at you and tell you it was probably just “the wind.” Two: This was the last time I frantically called my Mommy about an imaginary burglar.

Until…

To Be Continued...

The FORT

~Elizabeth~

Our parents picked up our lives and moved us to the Bay Area in 1996 (a move I will be forever grateful for ~ I love it up here). We lived in a two bedroom apartment (us sisters shared a room!!) for an entire year while they looked for the perfect new home for us. During that year, Jennifer and I explored the area around the complex and found the perfect spot to build our very own fort.

There was a woodsy hill behind the complex (a steep hill I might add), and at the bottom of that was a shopping complex. We started to build our fort by carefully walking down the hill and "borrowing" wood flats from The Home Depot for our floor. As much as we loved the new "hardwood floors" we knew we needed to spruce the place up even more. So we, um, (and I'm not sure our parents know to this day) treasure hunted the surrounding dumpsters. We found a sofa, rug, stake and rope (to climb down into the fort instead of walking down on our bottoms), a computer and TV (both non working, but not necessary with our imaginations!) and all sorts of other decorative accessories.

We loved our fort, and spent many afternoons there just hanging out and playing house. We were devastated one day when we found a new fence bordering around the complex and the hill.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to climb over!"

Climbing over the fence was no easy task, and we were slowly getting the feeling that someone didn't appreciate the fact that a small home was built behind the apartments...

That reality came crashing down on us one afternoon when we were simply enjoying our time at our daily hang out. We heard footsteps that seemed to come out of nowhere, with two men's voices yelling "Who's back here!? You can't be back here!! Get out of here right now!"

We vaguely remember the mention of a gun and them running at us...we high-tailed it out of there so fast (getting over that fence sure seemed easy that time) and never looked back.

In hindsight, someone living at the complex probably thought there were homeless people living back there and called the police for security and safety.  However, we like to tell the story as: "Remember those scary men that came into our fort from the woods, chased us out with guns, and ruined our harmless fun?!" 

My Near Death Experience

~Jennifer~

I don’t think he was trying to kill me… However, all I could think on the way down was “Ah, crap…”

My family was a camping family. We’ve survived in the dirt from anywhere like Yosemite, Big Bear, Yellowstone, and my favorite—Sequoia…Just to name a few.

I was around six years old (which makes Elizabeth around eight or nine), and we were on one of our exciting trips to Sequoia. This trip in particular was a bit more exciting because we had two of our cousins (and Aunt and Uncle of course) along for the ride.

We decided it would be nice to take a hike on a trail that would lead us to a beautiful river. And it was beautiful—the breeze of fresh air, the smell of pine and the relaxing sound of water rushing by. By rushing I mean zooming by at an incredible rate; this was white water rafting for the dare devils. We were told by our parents not to go too close to the edge of the “cliff” (I use quotation marks here because certain people would disagree on the use of that term) in fear of us slipping into the dangerous water.

Being the little geniuses we were, us kids decided it would be fun to sit on a huge rock on the side of the trail. I was sitting on the very edge of the rock when my older cousin told me to move over so Elizabeth could sit on the rock. I obediently did as I was told and scooted over.

The second I moved over I knew it was a bad decision. My foot slipped and I lost my grip on the rock. The next thing I know I’m falling…and falling… and still falling. Now as I remember it, I fell about 20 to 30 feet. I now realize that realistically it probably wasn’t that far, but it sure felt like it.

On the way down, I hit my chin on a rock sticking out from the side of the “cliff.” My teeth snapped shut onto each other with a sharp pain through my jaw. As I hit the bottom, I landed on my knees resulting in a pretty nasty scrape. I think I was a little woozy after my landing because I faintly remember someone yelling “Jennifer fell into the water! Jennifer fell into the water!” I’m not too sure who it was…most likely Mom.

The next thing I know my Dad and Uncle are racing down the side of this “cliff” trying to get to me. You would expect a tiny little girl who almost (and everyone thought) fell into the rushing water of death, would be pretty scared. Yet, all I could think about was my Dad and Uncle’s cheeks shaking like they were sitting a vibrating chair as they ran down to rescue me.

My Daddy in shining armor scooped me up into his arms and carried me back up that “cliff” like he was Superman. Everyone was in a panic when we reached the top. My mom was hysterical, my little cousin was crying and I…was laughing. I couldn’t help but think the whole situation was just a little humorous. I sit on a rock, I fall off the rock, everyone thinks I land in the water, shaky cheeks, sore jaw, a bloody knee... It was hilarious! To everyone’s relief I was fine.

This story has become pretty popular within our family. I even think my older cousin, who I’m pretty sure may have pushed me, got a few good grades writing about it. Elizabeth tends to disagree with me on how this event actually happened. If you ask her, she’ll probably tell you I rolled down a grassy hill or something. What she won’t tell is that there were tears in her eyes when I came back up…

Having My Little Sister

~Elizabeth~


"It's important to love each other, but it's even more important to like each other." These words were instilled in us early on by our Mom - and we were frequently reminded of them over the course of our sisterhood.

No matter what anyone tells you, having a little sister does come with it's perks in addition to it's drawbacks. We all know the drawbacks - having a "copy cat" all through your life (Jennifer, I was going to buy that CD. Jennifer, since when do you like that brand?), never being able to go anywhere without them (Elizabeth, why don't you invite your little sister along?), always being the daughter in the family to take the fault for everything (But Elizabeth, she's your little sister, you should know better), and being the "practice" daughter (Well, at least now we know for the next wedding...").

The perks may take longer to find, or at least acknowledge. For me, I was fortunate to learn that they existed early on in life. Having my little sister means that there is always someone near who looks up to me and keeps me grounded - the "copy cat" has simply been an admirer. I love that I am who she turns to for advice and guidance. It means that I will always have someone to text funny snippets from my day and have them immediately LOL back, or call when I need a sympathetic ear.  I have someone to hang out with during the weekends or weeknights (especially when all I want to do is stay in and watch scary movies), to sit at Starbucks or Barnes & Noble to do absolutely nothing but read for hours together, and to run obnoxious errands with (but then end up spending three hours at Target). I will never be alone - I will never be without a best friend. I will always have my little sister to be not only by my side, but also on my side. Yes, we blamed each other for some things our parents faulted us for, but when it really mattered she has always come to my rescue.  We are partners in crime, each other's confidants, and always teammates.

It truly is uncanny how similar we are - we sound exactly alike on the phone (which we've used to our advantage at times), we can make all of the same "silly" faces and voices (don't ask), we get mistaken for twins (or her being the oldest, oddly enough since I'm 2 1/2 years older and 4 1/2 inches taller). We enjoy the same books, share the same interests in brands, and we both have an irrational love for Disney. We're stubborn, strong, impatient, and wise.  We get each other on a level that can not fully be expressed.

Although much alike, we're also different individuals.  Jennifer has chosen a career in saving lives and enduring things I would never want to see, while I chose the path in the corporate world.  I always have to turn the country station when I get into her car and don't share her fascination for cowboy boots and hats.  She was blessed with the flowing wavy hair and fair complexion while I constantly fought with my frizzy hair and freckles. She's known to pick the first dress she tries on while I'll go to another 30 stores (although only to go back and buy the first dress).

Elizabeth and Jennifer. Wiyabef and Jayafer. We're two daughters who were taught to work hard, to be true and loyal, to be supportive and giving.  While we were taught to not only love but to like - I never needed the reminders.  I couldn't like my little sister any more.

Sleepwalker

~Jennifer~

I thought that since Elizabeth’s last post talked about us sharing rooms, this would be a good time to tell you about the one and (thankfully) only time I witnessed Elizabeth sleepwalking.

I was in the 5th grade and we had just moved to the Bay Area, and living in an apartment while my parents looked for a home. Elizabeth and I shared the bedroom across from the guest bathroom and next door to the living room.

One random night I was woken from my dreams of sugar plums and…whatever else little girls dream about, to find my creepy sister sitting on the edge of her bed rocking back and forth. Yes, rocking back and forth… Now, I’m sure some of you are thinking “Yeah right, this sounds like it’s straight out of some scary ghost movie.” Unfortunately, it gets worse-- Not only is she rocking back and forth like she’s possessed, but she’s repeatedly chanting "There’s people here, there’s people here.”

At this point I’m a little frightened, so I sit up and very calmly say “WHAAAT!!!”

She stands up (only after telling me to shut up) and walks to the bedroom door. I’m a little unclear about what she’s going to do, but at this point all I care about is hiding as far under my covers as I can go (Side note: I no longer let her trick me into taking the bed closest to the door…I now had the bed by the window) . She opens the door a crack and peeks out.

“I was hoping it was your shoe,” she whispers.

She shuts the door and sits back on her bed and continues her rocking back and forth. I ask her “Whose shoe? You saw somebody’s shoe out there?”

“No, stupid!” she snaps back.

As this gets more bizarre, you would think that I’d start to suspect the possibility that she’s not really awake. That would make sense, except the fact that my loving older sister was going through a phase of always calling me “stupid,” so this wasn’t out of the ordinary.

I am now hysterically crying trying to get to the bottom of this, asking her over and over what she means. All she can say is the same thing “I was hoping it was your shoe.” All of a sudden, and I mean from one second to the next, she stops rocking and chanting, and gives me this weird look and asks “What are you doing?”

I again ask her if she saw somebody’s shoe outside our door, trying to figure out if I need to jump out the window next to my bed. She looks at me like I’m the crazy one and tells me to shut up, she doesn’t know what I’m talking about and to go to bed. I watch her lie down onto her pillow and fall asleep. I realized at this point she was just sleepwalking and must have woken up; it wasn’t real. Yet, I still didn’t sleep much that night.

We still reminisce over this story with our family, and I still get freaked out when I talk about it (I have chills right now). You better believe I was praying every night for my parents to find a house where we could have our own rooms…and fast.

Sharing Rooms

~Elizabeth~

When we were young, Jennifer and I shared a large room. We each had a twin bed on opposite sides of the room, with a nightstand in between us. Of course, I made her sleep closest to the door - that way when a burgler came in, he would take her first.

Oh the fun we'd have in that room - jumping from bed to bed (the neighbors said it looked as if we were flying), begging Dad to tell us stories and let us leave the radio on until we fell asleep, building "spider webs" from balls of yarn to climb through, and of course, sticker trading for fake money (Mom's favorite).

I personally loved sharing a room because we gave each other back scratches at night (I always told Jennifer "Scratch mine first, and the longer you do it, the longer your back scratch will be"...of course, hers never were...if they actually happened). I aso enjoyed using this time together to create scary shadows with my hands on the corner of the wall (Jennifer's all-time favorite was the witche's claw), letting her think she was adopted, or pretending to run away.

We would act like we wanted nothing more than to have our own rooms - we begged and pleaded with our parents. We finally got them, when I went into the fourth grade, and our shared room became the play room. Of course, we only missed each other at night and would want to sleep in the same room...in the same bed. We came up with the perfect solution. One of us would come into the other's room and hide under the covers to make it look like we were one person in the bed. We'd let our parent's know "Jennifer said not to check on her tonight, she said she's really tired and just going straight to bed." It rarely worked.

We've gone from sharing a room, to having our own, and back and forth again. We'll have to share additional stories from when we shared a room for a year after we moved to the Bay Area (apparently there were some really scary sleepwalking episodes). No matter what our sleeping arrangements were, we always enjoyed having the other sister near.

Having a Big Sis

~Jennifer~

I’m hoping all of you fellow little sisters out there will agree with me when I say- being a little sister is hard! You don’t have the privilege of getting nine months to prepare for a big sister; you’re just popped out, expecting to know how to share. You never get to know what it’s like to be the only apple of your parents’ eye. As you get older you have to accept the fact that by the time you accomplish some great feat, its old news, it’s already been done, time to move on. You’re bullied into breaking all your crayons (which will most likely be mentioned several times in this blog…I’m still pretty upset by it), believing that you’re adopted, or even being pulled off the toilet (more about this later…).

Elizabeth (the big sis in question) is this amazing, beautiful, smart and very successful woman. She has, on top of everything else, recently gotten married…Wahoo! I couldn’t be any happier with her choice in a hubby; he’s quite the brother-in-law. However, now that she’s married, there is this unimaginable pressure on me to tie the knot! Every decision made for her wedding was followed by “And when Jennifer gets married…” or, “And we can do this for Jennifer’s wedding…” I found that while we were planning the wedding for my older sister, we were also planning mine. Every time we decided on the florist for my wedding, or the colors I would have, I was hit with the realization that…I don’t even have a boyfriend (sigh).

Okay, okay, maybe I’m being a little dramatic. Having an older sister is pretty amazing; or maybe I just got lucky. Growing up you always have someone to play with, and a complete second wardrobe to choose from. Elizabeth was always my savior. When that boy would push me down at recess, she was right there to push him back.

When you’re young, you know that you will always have a sister who you are obligated to love. What you don’t expect is to make a best friend that you actually like. Elizabeth and I have this indescribable relationship that I can say, full heartedly, most people don’t get to experience. We love each other despite the fact that she made me break all my crayons, or that I’m 24 years old, unemployed and single (sigh). We even have the tendency to say the same exact thing at the same exact time. I don’t mean things like “hi” or, “see ya later.” I mean weird words like “schlong” that no one in their right mind would ever think to say. Or creepy things like “make sure you check your back seat” instead of just “bye.” We really get each other. It’s kind of like twin ESP, minus the twin part…

There are so many touching, but mostly weird and unpredictable, moments in our lives. Now you can remember them with us!

Welcome to Remember When!

Welcome to our blog!

We are Elizabeth and Jennifer; two sisters from the Bay Area who wanted to share the intriguing, amusing, and unpredictable moments in our lives that have helped shape the friendship we have today. We do everything and go everywhere together, always getting stopped with "How did you become so close? Your relationship is so rare!".  Sitting together one afternoon, we decided to share our stories. We hope you enjoy reading these memories as much as we enjoyed living them!

Feel free to share your thoughts or own memories with us in the Comments section!