trip down memory lane…Tuesday

After reading these posts on memories of your home, it got me thinking about my own memories of my life in my childhood home in good ol’ Flo-Mo (Flower Mound) Texas. I was fortunate to spend my entire adolescent life in the same home, not moving until I shipped off to college at the tender age of 18. Needless to say, I have an abundance of love and fondness for the place I called home for so long. The type of woman I am today was shaped greatly by the experiences I partook in and the way I lived growing up.

I was a very beguiling child; there was never a dull moment when I was around. I credit most of this due to the incredible imagination I possessed (and still do, I’m assuming). Give me a bottle of glue and some construction paper, and I would happily sit and create for hours. It didn’t take much to grab my attention, and once it was grabbed, who knew where it would take me. Being in my room wasn’t a form of punishment; it was a land of play. I travelled to other lands with my dolls, I built families and entire lives with my teddy bears, I wrote mesmerizing (well, to a 7 year old) tales of delight and hardship, and then proceeded to captivate an entire audience of Polly Pockets with my chronicles. Being alone only meant that there was one less person in my “tale of the day”.

Now, even though “alone time” wasn’t a negative phrase in my book, I preferred the company of others. More minds equaled more fun, so I surrounded myself with friends (of the breathing and stuffed kind). I had tea with my American Girl dolls, I went to the mall with my Barbie dolls, I ran, kicked, and skated around outside with the neighborhood gang, I drew houses made completely out of chalk on my driveway. In my neighborhood, I was never tied down to a feeling of boredom. There was always someone to play with, something to build, to tear down, to climb on.

me and my sis in crime!

The creek still runs where I caught tadpoles and “tight-rope walked” across the steel pipes (occasionally falling IN to the creek…). The tree still stands where I got my foot caught, and subsequently hung upside down for 30 minutes before my neighbor, Mrs. Emerson, found me, red-faced and crying. The fort still lingers in the woods. Once a formidable fortress, now only a few boards remain, giving a hint to the fun times once had inside its walls. The Englerts’ trampoline still sits in their backyard, a platform for the inspiring gymnasts in all of us. The Emerson’s giant bell (dubbed our own Liberty Bell) still stands in their backyard, now silent, but always there, waiting to call home another child to dinner. Our basketball pole, with my brother Steve’s name etched in the base, still hovers over our driveway, waiting for the day when a new game of H.O.R.S.E will resume.

My past is so etched into my neighborhood. There isn’t a home on my street that I haven’t set foot inside, or played around. There isn’t a street in my neighborhood that doesn’t hold a memory behind it. My life is threaded into my home. I’m so grateful to still have roots in Timberview Estates. Although I know they won’t last forever (my parents are NOT planning on retiring in Flower Mound!), I know that I will always hold that home, that neighborhood, in my heart.

some of us in the op!

Any memories from your childhood home?

hearts and hugs,



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