Stephanie Martinez Ruttman

“The thing is, each one of us is the sum total of every moment that we’ve ever experienced, with all the people we’ve ever known. It is these moments that become our history, like our own personal greatest hits of memories that we play and replay in our mind, over and over again.” (Leo, The Vow) 

The following are my own personal greatest hits of memories of the house that built me….

My earliest memory is sitting in the high chair at the kitchen table and eating tostadas. I didn’t like hamburger meat, but it was a key ingredient in the tostadas and Mom made me eat them. I gagged and threw up my dinner. It was YEARS before I could eat tostadas again. Another time I remember having an earache that kept me up at night. I’ll never forget my mommy sitting criss-cross on her big soft bed, holding me in her arms and rocking me back and forth in the dark, patiently singing softly to me for what seemed like hours to try and comfort me. 

I remember laying in bed with Kyla after Brent moved out and she moved into his old room. We were laying there in the dark facing each other. I can remember studying her face in the pale blue/grey shadows cast by the moon shining into the window, and hanging on to her every word as she carefully explained to me that I was a sinner and needed a Savior and that Jesus died on the cross to save me. I believed her with my whole heart, and with childlike trust and faith, prayed with her to receive Jesus that night. It wasn’t until years later that I would come to understand what it means to follow Christ, but I will never forget that night and how God used her to lead me to Him at a very early age in that upstairs room on Bouziden. 

I have a million snapshots of fond memories: climbing on the counter top to sneak spoonfuls of Nestle Quik,helping Mom plant the garden and pick vegetables. Snapping green beans. Staying up late to wait for Dad to come home, listening for the door to crack open, seeing his head poke through, hearing him start singing Daddy’s home, running into his arms, and looking for the brown paper sack with the goodies he brought home. Convincing Mom to let me stay up late to watch MASH and Taxi with her. Performing a unique interpretive dance to the theme songs each time. Sleeping in Mom’s bed until I was fourteen. Tracing the designs on her wooden head board with my finger when I couldn’t fall asleep. Sneaking out of her bed to the hallway and secretly watching MASH and Taxi as she sat, unsuspecting, in her spot on the couch. Playing with my imaginary friends, Binkie and Jennifer on my swingset. Fighting with Juan over… well, everything really … but especially how many more BBQ wienies were on his plate than mine. Juan’s band “High Frequency” practicing in the upstairs music room. Peetie imitating Max Headrum and sneaking outside to make scary faces in the living room window at night. Laying out in the backyard with Kyla and Nay Nay, using baby oil as suntan oil and a sprinkler to keep us cool. Playing music with Dad, singing and playing the piano along with him, Juan, Peetie and Brent. Hip-bumping the back door to get it to close. Climbing the fence to pick the cotton pods from the cottonwood tree in the back, prying the pods open and collecting as much “cotton” as possible. The coloring books and crayons in the coffee table under the stairs on the enclosed side, the big family bible in the open side.  House was always clean, but ESPECIALLY before we left to go anywhere and before going to bed.

I remember using the green measuring cups as miniature pretend pots and pans. When Mom would finally sit down at the end of the evening, I would often drag those out (not without hearing one of those famous Sharon sighs) and convince Mom to let me “cook” ice cream, dice up pickles, cheese, anything REAL that I could pretend was a fancy meal. As I got older, I used those measuring cups to hold ranch dressing or salsa for chip-dipping.

Here’s one I bet no one remembers: From as long as I can remember I sensed tension in Mom and Dad’s relationship, though I never knew why. Once I was determined to put together a charade that was sure to rekindle their affections for each other. I think I asked Mom for her wedding ring and put it in a ring box. I invited the whole family (who were all just humoring me I’m sure) to come up to my room and I attempted to throw a dance party. I put on an old 45: “Bop” by Dan Seals, an upbeat and fun song, and encouraged them to dance together. AWKWARD! But I wasn’t giving up. I thought for sure if they could just remember the good old days when they first got together, they could put whatever was troubling their marriage behind them. I gave the box to Dad and made him re-give mom her wedding ring. Of course, everyone thought it was a very sweet and naive gesture. I’ll never forget Mom sitting on my bed and scooping me up and asking me what this was all about. She has always encouraged me talk about things that were bothering me. I’m sure my husband appreciates that I can do that very well now, thanks to her!!

Mom never seemed to want animals, and yet we always ended up with them somehow. We always had some kind of pet. Peetie used to hypnotize them: rabbits, dogs, cats, you name it. He would grab them by their scruff and hold them in front of his face for a few seconds. Then he would slowly lower them onto their backs on the ground and remove his hand from under them. They would remain still on their backs until he clapped!

The playhouse. I seem to remember we got the playhouse from Uncle James and Aunt Ruth. I don’t know if that’s accurate, but that’s how I remember it. When we got it, Dad let me help him paint it with the same colors as the big house. I remember being so excited to have a miniature version of the home Mom had made, and thinking of the playhouse as sort of practice for having my own real home someday. I was eager to imitate the things I had seen my mom do: organizing, making sure everything had a place, sweeping the floors, washing the windows, dusting, preparing and serving a meal (with play food and miniature dishes at a miniature table) etc… Yeah, that lasted just a little while before I got exhausted and gave up trying to keep my tiny 20 square foot house in the same spotless condition as my mom’s 2000 square foot one. I loved that little play house though. I used to pretend I was running a fast food restaurant, sliding the front window open to take orders and exchange play money for play food and thanking customers for their business and inviting them to come back soon. When I started to get too old to play with dolls, I decided to display some of my favorites on the shelf in the playhouse because I just wasn’t quite ready to box them up or give them away. One of them was a doll given to me by my best friend Joy.

It was actually named Stephanie: a plastic doll with life-like hair and eyes that closed when you laid her down.  My dad had used big stickers to spell out my name on the wall that held the built in shelves, so I put my Stephanie doll on that shelf. After a couple of years, one of her eyes became a little “lazy”. In the winter time, we would put a heat lamp and towels or blankets in the playhouse for the pets. Mom would make me go out there to check on the pets after sunset in the wintertime. I always dreaded those nights because the red light from the heat lamp made the Stephanie doll look creepy to me. The nights were eerily quiet and I was always anticipating her making some kind of sound or blinking at me or following me with her eyes or twitching ever so slightly. I would hurry in and out of there so fast! One might think I would move her, but I was terrified that if I moved her, she would become angry and I would come out one night to find her in her old spot on the shelf…

Ohhh, one time, not long after I got the playhouse, my brothers (and Rodney maybe? Or some neighborhood kids?) were wanting to test out a new BB gun. They wanted to use my playhouse as sort of a blind and stick the gun out the window to shoot a bird. I was NOT going to allow MY new house to be used for that kind of barbarianism. No way…. BUT they convinced me to let them do it by ASSURING me they were just going to “clip” its wing FOR ME so that I could keep it as a pet, and it wasn’t going to hurt the bird in any way, shape, or form. But I just couldn’t tell Mom until after they got the bird for me, because there was no way she would go for it unless we had the bird for her to see. I reluctantly gave in, enticed by the idea of getting to hold a bird just like Snow White! We piled into the playhouse and after what seemed like forever (my gut doing flip flops and my head swarming with doubts), they aimed and pulled the trigger. Direct hit … to the chest, NOT THE WING. The bird flopped around for a few seconds before falling still. I was HYSTERICAL! “WAHHHHHH!!!! YOU LIIIIIIEEEED! YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDN’T HURT IT!!! YOU PROMISED!!! WAHHHHHHH!!!!” My brothers tried to get me to shut up before Mom heard my wailing and came outside. They threatened me with my life if I told her what they had done. I couldn’t get myself under control, I felt 100% responsible because I gave in. I was devastated! Sure enough, Mom came outside, probably thinking I was seriously hurt because of the pain in my cries. I remember refusing to tell her, because I could see the threatening pleas in their faces as they stood behind her, and her taking me by the shoulders and threatening me with my life if I DIDN’T tell her why I was crying. I decided that dying with the truth would be better than dying with a lie, so I ratted them out. I don’t remember what happened to them, but I remember finding a lot of relief that the truth was out and I remember her comforting me there on the back porch… and we’re all still alive today so I guess she didn’t kill them. Lol

I remember wishing as a teenager that Mom would invest in a pool or a pool table or fancy electronics so that my friends would want to spend time at our house. Mom always insisted we didn’t need any of that. I didn’t believe her at the time, but she was right: my friends always seemed to enjoy being at 800, even though there wasn’t much to entertain us other than a large kitchen table, a record player, a few musical instruments, and facetime the old-fashioned way… like, face to face.

Debating Theology

Some of my favorites as I got older were: making “radio shows” with Joy, dance routines with Diana and Lacy and Nay Nay, playing the piano, singing Christmas carols and the oldies with Dad and Freddie and my brothers, trading timed arm-tickles with Nay Nay, playing Rummy in the living room floor with Mom, making pickle in the middle, coming home from school and trying to guess what was cooking from the porch, or whether it was bathroom cleaning day if you could smell the Pinesol. The smell of Tide and Downy. Debating theology with Joy. Hearing Nay Nay’s laugh echo throughout the entire house from the kitchen table where someone (usually Bron, Rhea, Shawna, or Brenna) would be telling a good story. 

Nay's laugh at Mom's 70th

Listening to records and giggling and being goofy with my friends. Making videos for English projects with my friends. Tasha taking a big ole bite of a jalapeño, Tasha walking in on Juan in the upstairs bathroom, Tasha taking an entire day and trying to teach me Russian by labeling everything in my room, Juan and Tasha fighting over TV time! Freaking Cindy out about Anita. Staying up late listening to music and talking for hours and pretty much sharing a constant stream of life with Melissa. Bringing JJ home, and not giving him a bath for a whole month because I was scared to and Mom enjoyed doing it for me. Biscuits and gravy and white grape peach juice every morning and tuna salad sandwiches for lunch every day in the first few weeks of JJ’s life. 

After Brad and I got married and moved north, 800 S. Bouziden was our home away from home any time we wanted to visit, but especially during OU football season, Thanksgiving holidays, and Martinez Christmas After Christmas (Dirty Santa, Mexican Train, toys with noise, complimentary Date Log calendar). No internet, no Wii, no DVR, no problem. We all still loved going to Grandma’s. Sweet tea and jars of snacks were always waiting for us. The kitchen table was the center of activity and delicious food. Better come to the table when it’s ready, or you get the Sharon sigh and the bug eyes. 

We knew the kids had reached the age of understanding us by meeting the “Where’s Grandma’s butterfly?” milestone, usually around 6 months. I’ll remember my kids asking for bubble gum first thing as they walked in the door before they even said hello. Making lemonade, trying to sneak marshmallows, having floo floops (all the good cereal) for breakfast, peanuts or fritos and bean dip for snacks, and biscuits and gravy (again) usually for lunch because we all slept in at Grandma’s, Christian and Coleman standing on the ottoman and singing their songs for everyone, all three boys playing with the little people house, the black puzzle, and the jacks. 

Coleman would get in that drawer in the kitchen and bring those jacks and a big green plastic slotted spoon to the living room floor. Mom would get as many jacks spinning as she could, and Coleman would whack them with the big plastic spoon. Mom would make a big motion with her head and he would just CRACK up laughing.  He got to where he would start laughing at the onset of the IDEA of playing this game, anticipating that feel-good giggle fest.

JJ always liked to try to trick Grandma into thinking we didn’t bring him. He would hide by the garage and wait for her to ask where he was and listen to her lament over the thought that we had forgotten him or he decided to stay home. Then he would pop out of hiding and she would make a big fuss over him. Sometimes he would call herwhen we turned down her street and trick her into thinking we had to turn around and go home for some reason. Then of course seconds later we would pull up in her driveway and she would act so surprised to see us. She pulled several of JJ’s teeth right there in her blue chair. She told him bedtime stories about growing up on the farm. She taught him how to play checkers, and would NEVER let him win. Beating Grandma at checkers was quite a big deal. 

She would always have Diet Sunkist, Oreos, and Mini Butterfingers for Brad. Mom always wanted to know before our visit what Brad would like for her to fix for dinner, and she would make that. He would always come in, give hugs and kisses, get everything unloaded, pour a Diet Sunkist and plop on the loveseat until it was time to go to bed. I think he probably got more R&R at 800 S Bouziden than any other place in the U.S.! 

The younger boys would sleep in the fireman room. Lol, one time we forgot to bring the most essential item for an overnight stay away from home: Christian’s taggy. Brad and I were out with friends for my birthday when Mom put the boys to bed and discovered we had left it behind. She tried to offer him one of her slips as a substitute and he turned his nose up at it and said he didn’t want to use her underwear. LOL!!

Sadly, the only time Savannah got to be at Grandma's was when she was still in my belly. Our last get-together at 800 S. Bouziden was for her baby shower.

As an adult with 4 of my own kids (currently) I often wonder if I’m making the sort of home that my kids will collect these kinds of warm memories in. I hope I am. Mama, you have set a high standard in the art of homemaking. God has used the tragedy of this tornado to help me realize that while I LOVED our house, it’s not the house that was a home. It’s you. It’s always been you, and everything you have stood for. Hospitality. Listening to people. Using bug eyes, when bug eyes are called for. Providing an atmosphere where relationships are cultivated and nurtured. Generosity. Service before self. 

For 35 years, I've been watching you. And when I grow up, I wanna be like you.

I love you,
Steph