My two oldest girls are 2 years apart, so Holly was still in diapers when Heather was born, because potty training is hard enough, let alone bringing home a brand new baby sister, thankyouverymuch.
They spent the next 3 years together, as each other’s constant playmate, before more babies came along and, well, then it became…EVERYONE IN THE POOL!!!…while other parents looked on (in horror, mostly) wondering what it was like to raise 4 children under the age of 10: it sort of feels as if you are walking around in a drunken stupor…all day…every day.
These two monkeys, however, get the credit for molding me into the mother that their siblings would grow to know, as they each continued to help keep their mother (a.k.a. me) in check.
Even today, although they don’t always like each other, they share a lot of the same interests and, now that they’re 20 and 18 (ZOMG!!!), they’ve both grown accustomed to being able to stand up for themselves…as well as each other…especially, when their mother (again, me) is being totally unreasonable about curfews, or going to concerts, that happen to be playing two entire states away and such.
Mothering adults can be quite a sobering experience. Until, realizing that I had accidentally set my cell phone on video and then this funny little gif happened:
No matter how much these two grown up monkeys insist that…you know…I knew EXACTLY what I was doing, but don’t tell them…m’kay?!?
I’m NaBloPoMo-ing it, feel free to check out what I’ve NaBloPoMo-ed, thus far (PHEW!) and let me know how I’m doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!
If you were to ask me to list the scariest words in the English language, a few years ago, it would have looked something like this:
Strep throat
It's probably viral
Chuck E. Cheese
Parent-teacher conference
I couldn't find any clean underwear (don't ask)
Today, although we are way out of the Chuck E. Cheese demographic (blessed be!) and conduct our parent-teacher conferences via email, the list is still pretty much the same.
Which leads me to believe that this house does IN FACT eat underwear AND regurgitates socks in the strangest places, sometimes.
Trust me, you do NOT want to know.
Unfortunately, my teens also still get sick, it IS most probably viral AND parents still send their kids sick to school, too. I know, because I am one of them.
Long story, short: my 15yo son (he's a freshman in high school, btw) has been home sick all week; on an antibiotic since Monday; but feverless for the last two days.
So, considering he's been working so hard on keeping his grades up (most especially, in his math class), I insisted he go back to school TODAY.
"But I really don't feel well."
Just so you know, Rule 1 of the Teen Handbook dictates: you should NEVER feel well enough to go to school.
"It's okay, your father will drive you."
Not for nothing, but Rule 2 of the Teen Handbook also dictates: you should run as late as possible, the closer you live to the school.
Even longer story, short: we're using every laundry basket in the house to block Doofus-dawg from getting up on the furniture (he fractured his foot and, as of yesterday, is wearing a splint, because OF COURSE!) and, well, there just isn't any room on the couch, dagnabit!
[phone rings]
"Hi mom, it's Glen."
Fun fact: my kids still feel the need to identify themselves, most especially to me, on the phone.
"I'm in the nurses office."
Oh, and I just thought of another phrase to add to my "scariest words in the English language" list — see above.
"I've got a 103 fever."
[eyes go wide]
Here's the part where I solidify myself as a forerunner to being awarded the Mother of the Year crown: I actually considered his messing with the thermometer, in some way.
I know, MOT..to the friggin'…D…right?!?
Until, I'm sitting in the front office and then watch…with WIDE eyes…as the nurse assists my son as they…slowly…walk…down…the…hall…to…the…front…office…in…front…of…his…Italian…teacher…and…everything.
I could NOT sink into the metal chair, deep enough.
"Hi, you Glen's mom?!?"
[one beat, two beats]
"Nope, I'm his Aunt!"
Honestly, all you other mother of the year candidates, you guys should just go home now. I GOT THIS!!!
I'm NaBloPoMo-ing it, feel free to check out what I've NaBloPoMo-ed, thus far (PHEW!) and let me know how I'm doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!
Although we are not sure how old he is…exactly…the vet at the animal shelter, where we adopted our Doofus-Dawg in 2004, figured him to be about a year old, at the time. Either way, he’s well past earning his senior citizen’s badge…in dog years.
The perks of his reaching retirement age for a mostly lab are many, but more importantly: we don’t chase him off of the couch. In fact, I’ve grown accustomed to simply covering the furniture with a couple of blankets or twenty.
The other day, he got caught up in one of those blankets when attempting to jump off of the couch and hurt his foot, but it’s not unusual for him to get a “zinger” because of his arthritis, so I gave him half of a baby aspirin to help ease the ouch.
slept right through breakfast, poor old man.
Yesterday, he started limping. This morning, he couldn’t walk at all.
My husband, Garth (not his real name) took the day off to help me get Doofus to the vet, figuring that my borked-up back would keep me from being able to lift him in and out of the car and my son is also home sick since Monday, because OF COURSE!
Aaaaaand, our middle girl is still in apprenticeship, so I may or may not need an extra driver to pick her up, as well.
But NOT because Doofus does not like going to the vet. On the contrary, he LOVES going to the vet, because they give him treats.
“Sit down, that’s a good boy!”
TREAT!
“Up on the scale, that’s a good boy!”
TREAT!
“Let’s take a look at what’s going on, that’s a good boy!”
I’m pretty sure that, to Doofus-dawg, the treats are neverending at the vet and it’s like all he has to do is sit, to be treated to a treat, but NOT today.
doofus is all like”hey, i’m sitting ova heh, where’s my treat?”
The poor dog was panting with exertion, working it SO HARD trying to look all cute and everything, but still…no treat…because Doofus’ x-rays showed a small fracture in his foot and the vet said she may need to sedate the old guy in order to get the splint on correctly.
It could take a couple of hours.
It was SO HARD to leave Doofus-dawg behind, but we knew that he is in good hands and, well, he didn’t seem to mind hanging out with the vet for a few more hours, because there may or may not be treats involved.
Long story, short: he’s going to be hobbling around for a couple of weeks and, hopefully, we’ll get back some better news on some other stuff the vet wants to rule out
Having a sick kid home from school stinks, but taking care of a sick pet is a whole different level of cruddy and, well, it makes my heart squish.
Either way…fear not, Doofus-dawg…mommy’s got a super-special surprise for you and it may or may not involve bacon…because BACON!
I’m NaBloPoMo-ing it, feel free to check out what I’ve NaBloPoMo-ed, thus far (PHEW!) and let me know how I’m doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!
Gosh, but I love it when my friends get all bloggity and stuff!
However, if you're like me (figuratively speaking, because not many people can handle THAT much dork) and are frequented by bouts of writer's block (because, TEENS!), my friends at BlogHer have published daily writing prompts to help us blog along with this month's theme: SCANDAL.
Today's prompt: what's the most scandalous thing you've ever done?
Well, there was that one time I propositioned a total stranger, right in front of my husband, while we were waiting to take a PATH train into the World Trade Center for work. I happened to be nearly 8 months pregnant, at the time.
True story! It's okay, my kids know about it. It also happens to be one of their favorite stories, in a long line of dorky escapades, that have helped me to earn my rightful place, as Queen of the Dorks.
Long story, short: I was standing on the platform next to my husband, who walked away while I wasn't looking, and then I turned to whisper in his ear, "I cannot WAIT to get you home, tonight!"
Except, it wasn't my husband who answered.
"Really?!?"
I turned, stared into the stranger's eyes and almost gave birth…right then and there…in the middle of Newark Penn Station and everything.
"OMG!!! I'm sorry, I thought you were my husband, I SWEAR!!!"
The guy did seem rather amused, although not ROFLHAO like Garth (not his real name), at the time and ohhhhhh how the kids laugh…and laugh…at that story, still.
"Seriously, you thought he was Dad?!? Bwahahahahahahahaha!!!"
Although it isn't the most scandalous thing I have ever done, because my teens sometimes read my blog…my dad, too…it IS one of the dorkiest moments in my life and, well, don't be too jealous, okay?!?
I'm NaBloPoMo-ing it, feel free to check out what I've NaBloPoMo-ed, thus far (PHEW!) and let me know how I'm doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!
Disclosure: I am not a big fan of Gwyneth Paltrow. Still, I totally get that people (specifically, parents) do and say some very silly things sometimes, expensive words like "conscious uncoupling" and "co-parenting" make my brain itch.
On the other hand, I use made-up phrases all the time (much to the chagrin of my grammarly-gifted friends) so I can certainly relate to the assumption that there may have been a little snark sprinkled in, because…HELLO WORLD!!!….Paltrow's got a personal lifestyle website to maintain.
So, it's no surprise that news organizations and the internets were more than ready, willing and able to start dissecting her marriage…her relationships…both business and personal, past and present…the way she eats, talks, dresses…her very character…as a person and a mom…as we speak.
I mean, wow! I can't imagine living in THAT sort of bubble or say that I would want to, especially when being called out for saying something silly or debating which mom's job is harder.
Pssst, my best guess: ALL OF THEM.
Still, I can't help but think to myself…meh, Gwyneth is living her reality…not mine…and I feel a little sad for her, even.
Her marriage is breaking up and the ENTIRE world is watching AND has an opinion.
So, since we're getting all opinionatey and stuff (and by we're, I mean me're), I'm pretty sure that Gwyneth would have a real hard time relating to me, too (either?) or the THRILL of:
Coming across loose change in the dryer AND the washer still works
Pulling on a warm pair of jeans AND finding a five dollar bill in your back pocket
Looking for that grocery list you threw into your purse AND pulling out a DOUBLE coupon
Successfully maneuvering your way out of the carpool lane…with both bumpers…still intact
Pouring gas treatment into your car AND then having the check engine light go out
Crying your way home/work/or both, wondering how you will EVER make it through the rest of the day AND then everyone at the four-way stop lets YOU go first
Long story, short: we don't know, what we don't know, but I'm pretty sure uncoupling is NOT a real word.
In an ongoing effort to cut down on the clutter (or clut-tuh, if you’re from Jersey), I decided to re-arrange our kitchen counter (AGAIN!) and, while I was at it, organize myself a lovely little coffee station.
Because COFFEE!!! But the sugar bowls were taking up way too much counter space that we already didn’t have and yes, I said sugar BOWLS: one for me and one for my husband, Garth (not his real name) who prefers the alternative-type of sweetener (a.k.a. sweet-nuh).
I remembered my MIL gave us a box of stuff, that was never added to the yard sale that we never had, so I headed out to the garage to do a little…you know…thrift shopping.
Didn’t find any sugar bowls (DANGIT!), but I did come across a couple of mason jars and corrugated salad bowls from the summer. Remember summertime? Yeah, me either. **sigh** Anyway, I thought to myself…SELF!!!…I can totally make these work:
I was actually looking for cardboard, but figured these heavier-type of paper bowls would work out just fine, because I am a mason jar half-full sort of gal.
In fact, the paper made it much easier to fit the rounds into the mason jar lids. Now that I’m thinking on it some more, card stock would probably work really well, too.
This project took me about 20 minutes to complete: I spent most of that time trying to get the labels to print out right, because I am a dork! You could certainly spend a more time in fashioning a prettier label, too.
Either way, I love getting the chance to recycle (or upcycle) something from my garage and I am super-happy the way these simple little mason jar dispensers turned out.
Aaaaaand, more importantly, they fit in nicely with my new coffee station, just left to the standing mixer, because…COFFEE!!!!
One of the many reasons I love blogging (not to mention, why I’ve been at it for almost 11 years now): I’ve had the pleasure of watching this space grow and mature into sooooo many wonderfully diverse communities.
You can’t go two clicks without meeting someone new to the blogosphere.
So, inspired by my friends Shannon and Kendra, I’m kicking it old school and linking up with Elaine from The Miss Elaine-ous Life and Kim from Co-Pilot Mom for some Old School Blogging where I answer a list of random questions.
[rolls up sleeves, blows bangs out of eyes]
Okay, LET’S DO THIS:
What is the last thing you watched on T.V.?Walking Dead; unless there’s a zombie close by, then I’m hiding behind Daryl Dixon and keeping a real close eye on his…never mind!
BONUS: For all my Walking Dead sistuhs out there AND for all you non-Walking Dead fans — meet Daryl, enough said!
When did you last step outside? What were you doing? Yesterday, I was waving at my parents as they were pulling out of our driveway. Then I took a quick nap before Walking Dead. I love Sundays!
What is on the walls of the room you are in? A bulletin board filled with family photos, greeting cards from friends, a valentine from my husband and a chalkboard counting down the days until my kids’ adopted Aunt Melisa‘s visit…YO!
If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy? 6 first class plane tickets to Hungary, 2 more tickets for my parents and then iPads for ALL the kids. They have NEVER been on a plane, enough said.
Tell me something about you that most people don’t know. I dream in color and, if I happen to wake up in the middle of a dream, I can go back to sleep and finish a dream; but I am harmless, promise.
Who made the last incoming call on your phone? My oldest daughter, to tell me that she was on her way home from work and to ask if I needed her to pick up anyone or anything, so I am much more relaxed about her driving.
If you could change something about your house without having to worry about expense or mess, what would it be? Way too many things to list, but I would love to get the house sided and we most definitely need a new roof (stupid Superstorm Sandy, dumbass Hurricane Irene!)
What is the last thing you bought? I ordered sushi for me and my son on Friday when the 3 girls went to the mall, but the girls ended up coming home early and had leftovers, c’est la vie…I mean…sore ga jinseida.
Would you go bungee jumping or skydiving? Bwahahahahahahahahahahaha…[wipes eyes]…that IS a good one.
If you could eat lunch with one famous person, who would it be? They’re not famous, but I would LOVE to be able to go back in time, cook a meal with my grandmothers/great grandmothers and then listen to them talk about their lives. That would be awesome.
Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? Been there, done that, not a big fan of credit cards. But, we’re just pretending…sooooo…Pottery Barn and/or Pier 1 would be my choice(s).
Is the glass half empty or half full? Half full; unless it happens to be a glass of my favorite wine, then it’s totally empty.
What’s the farthest away place you’ve ever been? Visiting family in Hungary and Austria with my parents when I was 2 years-old, 6 years-old, on my own at 22 years-old and then the last time was when introducing my then new husband in 1991. So, we are looooong overdue for a visit (see: If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy?)
What’s under your bed? Don’t know, I watch way too many horror films and am too afraid to look.
What is your favorite time of day? Twilight, just before the sun rises or just after sunset, must be the Eastern European in me.
What inspires you? Spending time with my kids and listening to them talk about their dreams; laughing with my friends; my husband Garth, (not his real name) knowing I’m a dork and loving me anyway, to name a few.
Okay, now it’s YOUR turn. Tell me something about you that most people don’t know. Or, hop on over to Elaine’s, grab a button, meet a new blogger (or twenty) and join the fun. G’head, I’ll wait!
P.S. The link up is closed, go figure, but better late than never.
P.P.S. They do this sort of thing every month, so there’s that.
It’s springtime here in Jersey…wait, let me look out the window…YEP!…today, anyway. So, I thought it would be fun to break out with the light and airy scarves, until I tried to tie one around my neck and, well, that’s an accident…just waiting to happen.
There are about a bazillion online tutorials on how to wear scarves and they are all great, until I actually try to tie one around my neck and, well, see previous paragraph.
You know, what?!? It would be a whole lot easier if someone showed us fashionably-dorky-types what [k]NOT to do…and…HEY!!!!…wait a minute…I CAN DO THAT!!!
Adding to the series of “how NOT to” vlogs, I am very happy to be able to present to you (still breathing and with all my limbs still attached) the scarf edition:
Long story-short: Fashion can be fun, as long as it is kept safe, and I am fashion’s number one safety officer, or something like that.
If given the choice ten years ago: I would rather push an old-fashioned reel lawn mower through a field of sticky balls…barefoot…than spend half the day dodging other shopping carts at the supermarket, while simultaneously attempting to put ALL the stuff my kids threw into OUR cart…accidentally on purpose…back on the shelf.
Now that my kids are older? I still hate…Hate…HAte…HATe…HATE food shopping. Unless I am with my husband (date night at the supermarket, FTW!) and most especially if I happen to be shopping with one of my teenagers.
“Are you Facebooking, again?!?”
“Maaaaaaaaaybeeeeeeeee?”
The kids were off on Friday (the winter daze have sort of melded together, I forget why) so I asked my son to go food shopping with me (he lives with 3 sisters, enough said!) and, now that he’s getting older (me too, DAMMIT!) I’m beginning to realize that not ONLY is my son the spitting image of GarthNHRN, the kid rolls his eyes at me….just like his dad…too.
“Put your phone away, Mom!”
Long story, short: raising teenagers can be sort of fun, sometimes.
“Can you load the conveyor belt, while I go ahead and bag?”
Aaaaaand, very rarely…like in, almost never…do we experience any drama at the check-out line, unless I’m shopping with my youngest (who NEVER seems to have ANY gum in her pocket, because I am the meanest mom EVER) and especially if:
The store you normally shop in is wicked-busy
So you head to the one across the street
Where there are only two cash registers open EVER (don’tcha HATE that?!?)
And you happen to pick the teenage cashier with an attitude
(see previous parenthesis)
Who clearly heard “I’ll go ahead and bag”
As “You just go ahead and scan ALL that stuff, REAL FAST” dammit!
Because, of course!
“Gah…the bread…the eggs…GAH!!!”
I don’t do ANYTHING, real fast…but I do tend to drop stuff, OFTEN…especially when I’m expected to do stuff…REAL FAST!!!
Oh, and shopping bags that tend to tear…REAL FAST…do NOT help.
KABOOM!!! WHOOSH!!!
And hollering at your 15yo son, after YOU were the one who just dropped AND spilled an entire bottle of juice…most definitely does NOT help…NOT ONE BIT.
“Don’t just stand there, PICK IT UP!!!”
In my defense, it was an expensive bottle of juice that happened to be on sale…dammit…but my poor son was clearly too embarrassed to acknowledge that…you know…he was actually shopping with me…and NO!!!…I do NOT blame him…but would you believe that the cashier just stood there and watched it GLUG-GLUG-GLUG all over the floor.
Okay, I lied. She crossed her arms and then started popping her gum.
“Clean up at register 2!!!”
Good thing this was NOT my first rodeo…or juice spilling, for that matter…oh, and I was wearing my glasses, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to holler out which aisle was now drowning in juice…REAL FAST.
“DAMMIT!!!”
Now, to keep the rest of this blog post short and sweet, here’s the bulleted version of what happened next:
I picked up the almost-empty juice bottle
And then dropped it again
Because, wet juice bottle
And then kicked the now even-more-empty bottle of juice
Creating two rivers of juice
So I asked my son to move the shopping cart closer
Okay…fine…some SCREAMING may have been involved
While he calmly continued to load the belt
And tried NOT to slip on the river of juice
That had now formed between us
But he forgot about the second river of juice
And did a real crazy side-step
Because he is almost 7 feet tall
Or something
And kicked over the even-more-empty bottle of juice
Which then spilled, again
Creating a friggin’ ocean of juice
With the juice bottle cap floating right in the middle
So I bent over to pick it up, because that is a law suit just waiting to happen
But I kicked the cap
Which then ricocheted off the now empty bottle of juice
And slid across the floor
Right into the bank kiosk
Which caused the woman
Who was woman-ing the bank kiosk
To laugh, hysterically
And then start to look for a camera
Insisting that my son and I were punking the store
Or something
Because NOTHING like this EVER happens
Not in real life, anyways
And this is when the cashier started bagging stuff
Because she wanted us to get out of there, REAL FAST, too!
Aaaaaaand then we left, end scene. The real kicker to this story?!? One of the reasons why I even bothered to stop at this particular store, in the first place?!? Was because…
…wait…
…for…
…it…
…their juice was on sale.
[rolling eyes, like a GarthNHRN]
Thinking on it some more, we never DID get out replacement bottle of juice, which also means we paid double the price, for one bottle of juice, dammit.
My dad has been on “the Facebook” for a little over a year and it’s been fun to watch him reconnect with friends and family here and in Hungary, but he was a little worried about leaving comments for his English-speaking friends…in English…so, of course, I tried to encourage him (because I am ALL about social media engagement, yo) by insisting that Bing translator would help them out.
Then again, some of my Facebook friends seem to be having fun trying to make sense of the Hungarian to English translation, my favorite being: if there is no love there is no semi swaddling you.
Until, this particular conversation:
Then, my Dad commented on my Facebook: Nalunk ho, legalab is eszt montak.
And I commented back: Nalunk is, Apu…sok ho.
Dad: By us snow, at least this is what they said.
Me: By us too, Dad…lots of snow.
Then, there’s what Bing said:
Dad: We offer you, ho.
Me: We offer you, Dad…a lot of ho.
Right. Go home, Bing. You’re drunk. And who you callin’ a ho?!?
[sound of crickets, chirping]
So, yeah, I can’t WAIT to see what Bing says, he says, next. Oh, and now I am also thinking about changing my blog’s tagline to:
…6 people, living in a 7 room house, and a lot of ho.
