I have issues (don’t we all?) and, if you were to ask me to list, oh, I dunno, at least 5 of them, off the top of my head, they would be as follows:
Dirty dishes in the sink: especially, when the dishwasher is dirty. Drives me nucking futz, to the point where even my neighbors know when, “THE DISHWASHER IS DIRTY…DAMMIT!
Silent treatments: are like nails ripping into chalkboard (you’re welcome!) the absolute worst form of torture, right?
Wet towels on the floor: especially, when the washer is empty (see dirty dishes, above.)
Doofus-Dog on the couch: makes me itchy.
Squirrels: ransacking the bird feeders (see picture above) I hate, Hate, HAte, HATe, absolutely freaking HATE squirrels. Aaaand, they don’t like me, either. How do I know?
This morning, I was able to address 2 outta 5 of said issues, to my complete and total satisfaction.
[blank stare]
The fact my husband, Garth (not his real name) doesn’t seem to have these sort of issues, is just plain weird, don’tcha think?
My 15 yo ripped into this piece of bread, right after the following conversation, and, well, it’s a sign, I tell ya’!
Soup. Bread. Growing up, these were the staples in my mother’s pantry. Today, at our house, they remain at the top of the food pyramid (yes, soup is a food group, dangit!) as a meal I am absolutely confident ALL four of my kids will eat, on purpose.
“What’s for dinner?”
[heavy sigh]
“I DON’T KNOW!!!”
Yes, I know, I’m using uppercase (AGAIN!) understand, that I’ve probably answered the question, three times, already and, well, judging by my middle girl’s not skipping a beat, I really wasn’t hollering, that loud.
“Do we have any soup?”
Of course.
“Is it Mama’s soup?”
My mother’s homemade chicken soup? On a weekday? SACRILEGE!
“Mama makes some kick-butt soup!”
Some days are better than others, to be sure (especially, with aging parents) and, truth be told, sometimes, conversations do tend to become tiresome (most especially, when being scolded, by your aging parents, at 40-something-or-another) but, it just wouldn’t be Sunday, without it.
“Yes, yes she does.”
On the other hand, swallowing one’s pride, every now and again, can be sort of healthy for you, too, right?
WHAT?!? I know. But, it’s been a looooooooooooong, cold, winter and, well, the novelty of playing in the snow has worn off, two storm systems ago, to the point where my two youngest are actually, you know, playing with their Christmas gifts.
Please understand that I am in no way advocating gun play…for real…my children are old enough to know the difference and, as you can see, they are also wearing protective eye gear.
Okay, now that we’re clear, continue making yourself comfortable and let’s talk about sex education.
[the sound of many doors, slamming]
Believe me, having had the talk and embarrassing my two oldest children with stories of how my Eastern European-raised parents and I, you know, did NOT talk (about sex, or anything to do with one’s body, from the neck, down, I mean) hence, my believing that…OMG!…French kissing WILL get you pregnant…so, yeah, trust me…I know how you feel!
Personally, I sort of like reinforcing the fact that we, older parental-type units have our hangups, too.
It’s hard, you know?
On the one hand, I want to be totally open with my children (sort of) then, again, it’s hard to decide how much information they really need to hear, or not. Not to mention, control when, where and who they, you know, hear it from (DAMMIT!)
So, we were watching The Golden Girls the other night.
SLAM!
WHAT?!? I know. But, they also enjoy watching the History Channel, along with Broadway musicals on PBS (yes, WITH ME!) and, well, I believe in providing my children with a well-balanced television viewing experience, too (i.e. no iCarly…EVER!)
“What’s impotent mean?!?”
Et tu, Golden Girls?
“Go ask Daddy.”
WHAT?!? I already had the talk…twice…YES!…with my son, too!
It’s time my husband, Garth (not his real name) ponied up a little help from his end of the gene pool, too.
His explanation?
“You know how what happens sometimes when you first wake up in the morning?”
Oh, wait, this IS gonna be good!
“Well, when a person is impotent, it sometimes doesn’t happen, anymore.”
[eyes go wide]
“You mean…THEY CAN’T PEE ANYMORE?!?”
SNORT!
Yes, I mean, NO, I explained it a little better (I think!) after I stopped laughing, long enough to blow my nose, compose myself and, you know, speak, of course!
“Mommy, what’s impotent mean?”
My 9 year-old daughter, not so much.
“Something we can talk about…later!”
WHAT?!? It does NOT get any easier. I mean, seriously, they don’t start teaching sex education until the 5th grade and, well, she IS my youngest and probably knows way more than I do, already.
I know, I know, enough with the snowmaggedon posts, already. Still. This winter has made for some really beautiful pictures — here in Jersey, anyway — like these ice swans captured by my 15 yo, in our backyard, the other day. She’s majoring in photo journalism and, well, the girl has a great eye, no?
Oh, and the icicles? They are EPIC this year. I’m so glad I took this shot outside our den/guestroom/laundryroom/playroom…before they ALL melted.
Or, before my oldest (a.k.a. Holly the Icicle Slayer) got her hands on them and, truth be told, having caught a glimpse of her darkside, you’d never know that, IRL, she’s really an Italian literature and arts major, right?
I was a little frightened for the wreath’s safety.
So, I thought it was probably a good idea to, you know, step back and put down my brand new camera, frigalicious as it is (yes, it’s a word!) not to mention, put away the rest of the Christmas decorations…I know…shuddup!
But, not before grabbing this shot, as she claimed her trophy and, well, thank goodness her little brother wasn’t home to, you know, turn it into a weapon and pretend it was an ice saber, or something.
It’s been a rough couple of days/weeks/months here at This Full House of sticky socks and crunchy feet.
Without going into too much detail (you’re welcome!) for fear of boring you to the point where you experience permanent decrease in vision, or your head explodes (I know, too late, stay with me here, just a little longer, okay?) it’s just the typical drama that goes along with living in close quarters, in the wintertime and raising kids, who are old enough to, you know, talk back.
Which, in the long term, is a good thing, seeing as my children will most definitely display brilliant moments of absolute resilience or, at the very least, be able to hold their own in a conversation.
Me, not so much.
I’m just too gosh-darned tired to argue and, may the parenting gods on high forgive me, but, I sort of like it when I hear other seemingly rational and somewhat more educated people, you know, complain about their kids.
Until, the next time my oldest is running late, my son leaves his jacket behind, or my youngest interrupts a conversation, while my husband, Garth (not his real name) and I try to convince my middle girl that parents are NOT, you know, as dumb as we seem (which is most days, btw) well, every day, it’s something, right?
[sound of crickets chirping]
So, there I was, just sitting here, at my desk, minding my own business (sort of) reading other people’s blogs (hence, last parenthesis) when the most amazingly fantastical thing happened.
The sun came out.
Then, suddenly…um…uh…funny, I sort of forgot what the heck was bothering me in the first place.
UPDATED TO ADD: Due to a sports-related emergency (Gatorade blew up in son’s gym bag) he found his jacket in the front office, today (YAY!) but, seems to have misplaced one of his wrestling shoes (Ummmmm) bet you didn’t know they cost an arm (possibly a leg, even) or, that there was such a thing as wrestling shoes, either, right?!?
Hey, look, finally, a post that has absolutely NOTHING to do with the weather (anyone mentions anything about snow and the ground hog gets it!) however, I will say that we’re each getting a little sick (and tired) of all the closeness, around here.
“Girls go to college to get more knowledge!”
Especially, my two youngest children.
“But, boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider!”
See what I mean?
“That’s not right!”
Thank goodness, the two oldest girls have my back.
“You mean, more stupid!”
Sort of.
“Keep it up and ya’ll going to Jupiter!”
Long story, short (you’re welcome) at our house, the war of girls vs. boys has been going on for quite some time now and, well, if you ask me, it really doesn’t matter (whether you’re a boy, or girl, I mean) they’re ALL driving me nucking futs, too!
“Smart Alec said that playing the clarinet is stupid!”
Et tu minivan?
“What did you say?”
Hope’s first choice was to play the flute [cringe] but, I told her maybe the clarinet would be, you know, way cooler, considering there really aren’t enough female clarinet players in the world.
“I told him maybe he should think about playing the clarinet, then!”
[snort!]
“How many clarinets does it take to change a light bulb?”
Either way, it just occurred to me, that I forgot to ask what instrument Smart Alec plays.
It’s sad, really. A lonely, frozen, barren, wasteland comes to mind. Gloom crashes in like icy waves, extinguising all of the warmth from my body, culminating in a moment of complete and unavoidable despair.
The sadness is overwhelming.
It clouds the eyes and turns my thoughts toward darker days.
This house is old. The woman living inside is even older. At 104, she has outlived her children and even some of her grandchildren. What have her eyes seen? How many times has her heart been broken and…yet…it continues to beat?
It’s amazing, really. A sturdy, unsinkable ship comes to mind; made with strong hands and bound by family ties that, although broken long ago, weathered yet another storm.
Yes, this house is old. The woman living inside is even older. It is her home.
Grace lives there and her next door neighbor’s name is Hope.
I love snow [ducks to avoid flying snowballs] working up enough courage to actually get behind the wheel of a car and driving in it, not so much!
I got into my first and only car wreck [knocking on wood until knuckles bleed] while driving home from work…in a snow storm.
It was bad; my body hurts just thinking about it.
I was only 20 and, well, let’s just say I’ve spent the last 20-something years, doing my best to avoid, having to drive…in the snow.
Until, I had children.
My kids don’t like to walk, anywhere (I think it’s a law, or something) partly, because we live in an area where the ratio between accessible sidewalks to the actual number of cars on the road is equal to the proportion of the accumulated snowfall.
In other words, no one shovels their gosh-darned sidewalks, anymore, DAGNABIT!
“Can I stay home, today?”
[frown]
“Yes…WAIT…I mean, NO!”
I fear for my middle girl. She attends a specialized high school 25 miles away from home and, well, her bus travels some of the craziest roads known to the Jersey Shore as…THE PARKWAY!!!
[shiver]
“Sorry, kiddo, but you have finals, today!”
Aaaaand, she was out sick, yesterday, already, DAGNABIT!!!
“Can you pick me up from school, today?”
[bites lower lip]
“Um, NO!”
What? This particular kid also takes a bus and, well, who am I to deny someone a chance to do their job, right?
“Can you pick me up from school, today?”
[heavy sigh]
“Uh, NO!”
What? Aaaand, this kid can literally spit from our house to the school, we live THAT close.
“Now, remember, if the snow gets really, really bad, mommy’s gonna park the car down the street and we’re gonna walk home, okay?”
[eyes go wide]
“ALL THE WAY FROM SCHOOL?!?”
YES! Because, there’s a wooded path leading from this kid’s school, to the adjacent neighborhood and, well, I fear THAT parking lot, the most!
“It’ll be an adventure!”
Besides, we’re supposed to get like, 10 inches and I’ve abandoned cars, for less.
“…so, our area can expect a light dusting to no accumulation…until, tonight.”
PHEW!
[looks out the window]
BALLS!
Guess what? The weather dudes were wrong (GASP!) I spun out in the CVS parking lot getting milk on the way home from school this morning and, well, it looks like my kids are walking!
[pulls up hoodie and blows bangs out of eyes]
If anyone needs me, I’ll be outside, cleaning off my car (for the eleventy-hundrendth time) and pretending like I’m a REAL good stay-at-home mother.
12 years ago, on the 23rd of January, at 2:05 p.m., I gave birth to a son and, although your sisters could not wait to meet their new baby brother, I was terrified at the thought of raising a manchild.
You see, like your sisters, I’m a girl (AM SO!)
I know how girls think (sort of!) although, I’m not saying that they are any better (or, worse!) it’s just that, I don’t know, boys are different.
Then, just as we started getting used to each other (kind of!) you became a big brother and a real good one, too…by the way…even when you would find your G.I. Joes and Power Rangers, left accidentally on purpose, half-naked in the bath tub, surrounded by bald-headed Barbie dolls.
Girls are weird, I know (they get that from daddy) still, now that you are 12, going on boyteen, I can’t help but wonder…OMG!…how in the heck did we get here?
Where DID the time go…can’t we hold onto your childhood, just a little while longer?
Then again, according to your baby sister, you ARE a man (how awesome is that card, right?) and she’s absolutely right…you’re awesome…next I’ll tell you something you don’t know.
Yesterday, at 2:05 p.m., you made a wish and, although I can’t promise it will come true or, that growing up will get any easier (dagnabit!) I will always be your mom, no matter what (yes, REALLY!) aaaaand, you will probably be way taller than me, too…DAGNABIT!
I haven’t slept with Garth (not his real name) since, Christmas!
[eyes go wide]
In the same bed, I mean, SHEESH!
We’ve been married for 20 years and, well, as Doofus is very willing to demonstrate (DAMMIT!) the couch can be pretty comfy, too.
Still, our kids are getting older, we’re feeling old-ish (more and more, everyday, dammit!) I guess life is just rubbing our nerves raw, at the moment.
Okay, you can cut the tension with a cotton ball and the hardest part is, you know, pretending like our kids don’t notice.
Oh, we’re fine — just in case you were wondering or someone closely related to us happens to wander in here and read into stuff he, or she really shouldn’t.
SLAM!
It’s just real hard to wake Garth (not his real name) once he sits down, poor guy, so it’s just easier to let him sleep with the dawg, while I watch Fiddler on the Roof, for the bazillionth time, right?
[the sound of crickets chirping]
Still, it also raises one very important question:
(Garth NHRN) Do you love me?
(Me) Do I what?
(Garth NHRN) Do you love me?
(Me) Do I love you? With kids in 4 different schools And this cruddy flu going around You’re upset, you’re worn out Go inside, go lie down! Maybe it’s indigestion
(Garth NHRN) “I’m asking you a question…”
Do you love me?
(Me) I’m a dork!
(Garth NHRN) “I know…”
But do you love me?
(Me) Do I love you? For twenty years I’ve washed your clothes Cooked your meals, cleaned your house
PAUSE: Okay, so Garth (not his real name) does ALL of this too (maybe, even more) but, that’s NOT the point, here! Continue:
Given you children, milked the cow (no, not really, SHEESH!) After twenty years, why talk about love right now?
(Garth NHRN) The first time I met you I didn’t think we’d last the day I was scared
(Me) I was shy
WAIT A MINUTE: Okay, for those of you who knew me B.C. (before children) you can all STOP laughing now! Continue:
(Garth NHRN) I was nervous
(Me) Truth be told, so was I
(Garth NHRN) And now I’m asking, Do you love me?
(Me) But, I’m such a dork!
(Garth NHRN) “I know…” But do you love me?
(Me) Do I love him? For twenty years I’ve lived with him Fought him, laughed with him After twenty years the couch is his If that’s not love, I ask you, WHAT IS?
(Garth NHRN) Then you love me?
(Me) I suppose I do
(Garth NHRN) And I suppose I love you, too
No, it doesn’t change a thing, but even so, after twenty years, it’s sorta nice to know — not to mention, hear myself say it out loud, pretend my blog is a stage and that I sing REAL good, too!
