The Mailbox

Pin It GUEST BLOGGER: RACHEL

I'm The Mum married to The Sexy Scout Master. We've been married many moons and in that time have had seven offspring (The Natives). One of The Natives, Levi, has AHC, is mentally handicapped and on the autism spectrum. I've been battling West Nile Virus for three years now and counting. Sometimes I win, sometimes it wins; when it does I nurse my wounds in chocolate and go shopping on the internet for more shoes!

When I was a snot-nosed punk growing up in Montana we did not have a T.V. I know, it's shocking, isn't it? And to think I actually survived...but survive we did. We had hours and acres of land to entertain ourselves with.

Our mailbox is very much a part of my growing-up memories. It was painted bright red—but more importantly—it was big. Not one of these little silver numbers you'd find at the end of people's driveways on your way into town, but instead a real mailbox.

My younger sister and I would climb up on top of the mailbox and rock it back and forth, pretending we were riding a horse. Sometimes we'd drag out the saddle and haul it up onto the mailbox; however, most often we'd just ride it bareback.

One day riding the mailbox wasn't good enough, and since it was so big we decided to see if my younger sister could fit into it. After trying to shove her into it several times without much luck we decided to get our older sister involved—after all, she was taller and stronger.

Our older sister obliged. Since she wasn't laying mesmerized in front of a T.V. she was up for our suggestion of entertainment. We figured out that if we took my little sister and put her in feet first, we could cram her into the mailbox. We shut the door on her and laughed with delight when she'd push her head against it and "pop out." Both my older sister and I looked at each other as the demons inside of us started rearing their ugly heads, and an idea began to form.

I realized that the mean, old, crotchety mail lady hadn't come by that day as of yet, and we began to utter chuckles of evil delight.

We had an awesome wraparound porch on our beautiful old farm house which was also equipped with a porch swing. My older sister opted to hang out on the porch swing, this way she'd be miles away from the action if something went wrong; you know, that whole guilty-by-association thing.

What a wimp!

I hid behind a big tree which we called the umbrella tree. We would spend hours climbing and hanging out in its branches imagining all sorts of things, but that is another story for another day. The tree was not close enough for the mean, old mail lady to see me but close enough that when I yelled out, "now!" my little sister could execute her part in the prank.

Imagine two little children shivering with delight, waiting for the exact moment. Me dancing in place not being able to stand the suspense, and who knows what my little sister was doing crammed up in that mailbox, but she was a good sport and she waited.

We didn't have to wait long. Down the dirt road came the mail lady. She was driving her brand-new car. Where we grew up, they didn't have mail trucks. The mailmen/women drove their own cars, leaning across the passenger seat to drop the mail in our boxes because the steering wheel wasn't on the right side of the vehicle.

Giggling, I crouched behind the tree watching for the precise moment. The mean, old, crotchety mail lady pulled up to our mailbox, leaned across the passenger seat, and raised her hand to open the mailbox. At that moment I yelled "NOW!" and my little sister's head popped out of that mailbox as she yelled, "BOO"!

Well, that mean, old, crotchety mail lady jumped back across her car, banging herself against her door with a shriek that you could have heard in the next county over. I fell in a heap of laughter and giggles on the ground as my little sister - still stuck in the mailbox and blocked by the mean, old, crotchety mail lady's car—dissolved in a fit of laughter. Oh, it was delightful until that venomous old creature got a hold of herself and gave my little sister a serious tongue-lashing.

I told you she was mean and old and crotchety, didn't I? Well, she lectured my sister and told her that she could have scratched her new car when the mailbox door banged open against it. But you know what? I can't really say that we cared. Tears were running down our faces and my poor sister was making the mailbox rattle and convulse with her shrieks of laughter and hiccups.

The mail lady drove off in a huff, and I went and rescued my little sister so that we could both again dissolve in peals of laughter on the ground.

Later, after reflecting on the event and filling our parents in on it during dinner that night, Mom made us shove my sister back in the mailbox again so she could get pictures. It was then that my little sister and I decided that we really didn't like the way our mean, old, crotchety mail lady had reacted. It was a harmless, fun prank; therefore, being the older sister who would defend her little sister with fists if need be, I soon decided that this mean, old, crotchety mail lady needed to be taught a lesson for yelling at my little sister over something so harmless.

I had been out walking down the dirt road that went in front of our house and had found a dead snake which had been smooshed with the passing of many vehicles. Yet again, another evil little grin covered my face as I picked it up with a stick and carefully laid it to rest in our big, old, red mailbox and put up the flag.

Special delivery for the mean, old, crotchety mail lady.