Skip to main content

Day 11 - Share a story from your childhood

There is one story that my dad tells every now and then that makes me laugh so hard it hurts.
He reckons the story is proof that I always had an answer for everything.
I guess he is right!
My bedroom in my parent's house was at the gable of the house and therefore it had a sloping roof.
My bed was beneath one of the slopes and if I stood on the bed as I child I could reach the ceiling.
One day, I was aged about four, my dad came into my room and found me sitting "innocently" on my bed.
On the ceiling above me, scrawled in crayon was
Louise O'Dwyer aged *squiggle*
My dad saw it straight away.
He pointed to it and said "Louise, what's that?"
"That's my name Daddy" was the reply.
"I know it's your name Louise, but why is it on the ceiling?"
With my most angelic smile I said
"Daddy! It's been there for ages! I did it when I was three!"
My dad knew well that I was probably sitting on the black crayon as I spoke to him.
He decided to catch me out on my obvious lie.
"Now Louise, you wouldn't have been able to reach the ceiling when you were three would you? So how did you do it when you were three?"
"Oh Daddy!" I giggled,
"I was tall for my age!"
He said at that point he burst out laughing and knew that I wouldn't let him give out to me for it.
What can I say, I was a born charmer!


  1. Love that story!
    I have a similar story that involves secondhand bunkbeds, a black permanent marker and the virgin mary!
    Keep it up Louise. Lovin your blog x x x


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Ah November. You have returned.

I woke up this morning with a dullness in my heart that I normally don't have in the morning.
On my mornings allocated to sleep in I resemble a sloth blissfully unaware of life in a cocoon, but on a normal morning I wake up with a bit of a bounce. I start my day with a bit of shower time karaoke. I dance around the bedroom as I get dressed for the day. I have a great time. ( Jeez, as I write this I suddenly appreciate Stuart's morning patience a little bit more! Ha!)  Anyway, the point being, despite a very early bed time last night I woke up a wee bit deflated.

Then I remembered  that my old nemesis November has returned.
I did a quick calculation. Marguerite would be 32 next week.
32! Being 32 was one of my favourite times.
Another quick calculation, Marguerite will be gone 15 years this month. 15 years. 2 more years and she will be gone as long as she was with us.
Every November is a little bit easier than the last. Of course it is. Time is a wonderful healer.
But every cal…

Thankfuls 31/05/2019

Not many people are aware of it, but I had a bit of a health scare last week. I went for a regular 15 minute check up with my GP and spent the following 5 days in hospital going through every test imaginable to man. I am still in the middle of tests but the prognosis is so far positive and I have been allowed home for rest which is fabulous, but good god did I get a fright. And if I am honest I'm not sure Stuart is quite right after it all either!

I have been joking how I would love a good old MOT (NCT for the Irish amongst us), for a while now. They say mocking is catching, and I have fairly gone through the MOT process this last week. Oh boy has it been a fast week! In that time I have had more blood taken than was shed in the Game of Thrones. My hand is so bruised it looks like I have my first tan! I have seen my pancreas, liver, kidneys and an ovary (very cool scan if I say so myself!), I have had my pee collected in little buckets/bottles for 24hrs, and I have pretty much eith…

Missing Marguerite. 14 years later.

On this day, 14 years ago, the world lost a little bit of its magic, when at 11pm, my little sister took her final breath and life changed as we all knew it. She was only 17 years old. 17 years and 19 days to be exact. As I sat here today reading all the lovely messages written about her, my heart soared with pride in the fact that in her short time with us, she managed to have such a big impact on so many people. Marguerite Mary O'Dwyer, an ambassador for mischief, mockery and for having a marvellous time. I miss her so much.

It is funny how every year there is something different that I focus on for the anniversary. I never choose my train of thought, I think the year since the last anniversary chooses it for me. Last night, I got fairly plastered on wine and when my other half went to his bed, I sat and sang along to every sad song I could think of. I had a wee chat with Mags before I went to bed and woke up this morning well rested and ready to seize the day. 
I got quite sad a…