Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Easter lickens.....

Dear Diary....

Friday... April 22nd 

Bear caught a bad, bad bug and thought he was on his way to meet his maker.

How, I wondered, am I going to send him off to college a couple of hours from home when a virus has him calling me at work predicting an impending death...?

Well, to be fair, his temp was over one hundred three degrees.

As any cleaver opportunist would do I totally jumped on the chance to kick him when he was down..and while wiping his sweaty brow said things like,

"Think my broom will make the flight to your bedside when it's two plus hours from home?"

"You can try, but you aren't going to find any roommate that can make chipped ice like I can"

"You're not ready to wean yet, mister, that SOS call is total proof"...

I was pretty annoying.

Desperate for him to change his mind and decide that he isn't ready to go had me pulling a butt load of tricks and trip-ups from my haversack of mother's little helpers.

Sick humor, guilt and confidence busters... I got em all.

It was a true Good Friday miracle what a good sawbones and couple of powerful drugs can and will do for an ailing young body... the next day the kid was good as new and still on that damn college away from home kick.

Sunday....April 24th

We had a lovely Easter... and dinner at my sister, "Martha"Susan"Stewart's" house.

The festive ambiance of her house was enviable.

The mishmash of crap that she's accumulated over the years has turned into quite the lovely collection.. seriously, her mantle and table were beautiful.

(note to self...take a big purse next year, she'll never notice a few missing items)

She had (what appeared to be) an antique Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin pail on the table as a centerpiece.

She'd filled it with potting soil and three different spring flower blooms.

Red tipped white tulips, daffodils, and Grape Hyacinth... very Martha.

A couple of multi tiered glass serving dishes waited patiently on a side table for Susan to fill them with homemade fudge.

A platter of deviled eggs with a perfect dusting of paprika sat opposite the flowers.

Tempting all of us to take the first one...

Only one of us was nervy enough to dig in before dinner.

That particular guest had four legs and lightening fast reflexes.

Once she'd helped herself to a sampling of the egg filling Daddio carried the platter of eggs to where Susan cooked.

"Ummm.." he said "looks like the seasoning has been licked off a couple of your eggs"

The white dog tried not to look guilty...in spite of her paprika red and yoke yellow tinged beard.

With a smile Susan deep sixed the three "tested" eggs and set the platter back out.

The remaining nine served as a decoration.

Daddio's mom made a friend for life when she slipped half her meal over the side of the table and to the waiting dog.

She even fed it a large blob of snow white butter cream frosting right off her fork.

Luckily we got out of there before the dog came down with the shits.

And not so lucky I came down with Bear's virus.

I sound like Maude.

And eerily, I look a bit like this chick...only my nose is red and the circles around my eyes are black.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Turning to mush....

Daddio is a man's man.

A simple translation could be that he has no time for touchy feely bull crap...(as he so eloquently calls most of my view of the world and those in it)...

While he is a wonderful man, I'd never call him "fuzzy" or "cuddly"....

or "squishy" or "soft".

Nah, Daddio is a man's man.

And if you have any experience at all with men's men you know they don't much like small talk.

Or idol chatter.

I idol chatter a lot.

 Daddio says I must like to hear myself talk.

I am kind of a good conversationalist.

And we three, me, myself and I couldn't agree more.

Late at night I often find myself looking for an ear to bend.

When it's time to hit the sheets Daddio will generously say "I'll give you a fifteen minute head start to get whatever it is that you have to get done before bed".....

That is code talk for... "cage the dog, plug in the cell phones, set up the coffee for automatic morning brewing, grab some medicine, a glass of water, double check to make sure the doors are locked, hit the potty, call any sleeping away from home children to say nighty night...and a few other assorted chores."

I do it all, and most nights Daddio yells from the comfort of our cozy comforter ..."come ooooon already, what the hell takes you so long...? Maybe you need a half hour head start"...

(I'm betting this post will get me a couple of offers of heavy feather down pillows...the better to place over your head my dear...tee-hee).... (I'll send you my address)

When I finally make it to the bedroom, one last thing needs to be done.

Choose some sleeping attire.

Not such an easy decision for a indecisive person.

I've got about six gowns hanging on the back of the door.

Long sleeves, short sleeves, no sleeves at all...

Knee length, ankle length... and one that is thigh high.

Flannel, silk, stinky old cotton.

Too many actually.

"Eneey, meeney, miney moe..."

"I lit a match and it went out..."

Finally I pluck one from the peg, slip it on, climb under the covers and "post up" next to Daddio.

By this time I'm wide awake and ready to chat.

Daddio sighs loudly and says things like "shut the hell up and go to sleep" or "tell yourself good night"....(stifle E-dit)

Suddenly.... things don't feel very right.

I am tooooooooo..something,

"Ohhhhhhhhhh my God" I whine "this nightgown is soooo weird,

some nights it's too hot,

some nights it's comfortable,

it's never the same and I never know which way it's going to feel,

I hate that,

I like things to be predictable,

this nightgown is the pits,

never the same,

some nights too hot some nights just right,

why do you think that is?

How can a nightgown change from night to night?

some nights cozy,

and other nights it's like a noose around my whole body..."

"And just what kind of night is this?" Daddio asked with genuine concern in his voice.

 Sooooo soft, so caring, so sweet.

For a second I was tempted to stick out my tongue and lick him, I'm sure he would have tasted of cotton candy.

But then I would probably have needed an appointment with Dr. Dent (the denture wizard).

Have a wonderful Thursday... xoxo

Monday, April 18, 2011

Two for one....

Bear visited a friend at his off campus apartment over the weekend.

He came home with an odd request and an apartment application.

Bear wants to leave home to attend school.

He would leave in August... a bit before his sister permanently changes her address.

I'm not ready to be totally empty nested...not ready at all.

No matter where Bear chooses to attend school, one thing is perfectly clear...

Bear should be going to school to become an attorney.

Like a good attorney, his mind is lightening fast.

And so are his retorts, his counters, and his comebacks.

He exhausts me.

He overwhelms me.

He pecks at my nerves and my reserves until I wave a white flag and wimper "uncle".

The life of a third child, I guess.

You have to be loud (not to mention convincing and rhetorically gifted)...

You have to be all that...or maybe just be able to play your mother like an old fiddle.

So Bear wants to leave me.

And our happy home.

What nerve.

For every rebuttal I had, Counselor Bear had seven.

Finally, he brought up "date night"...

Daddio and I reserve Friday nights as "date night"...

We ask that our grown children make plans to be away from home for the evening.

Go somewhere, out to eat, to the show, give your Dad and I some alone time.

In other words, kids, if the house is a rockin don't come a knockin...

Bear is not so understanding about date night... (he's made it clear as day that he doesn't want to lose his "baby of the family" status)...

He sends texts on date night...

"how much longer do I have to stay away from home?" he will ask...

WOW...talk about a cold shower.

or, on Saturday morning he will complain,

"do you have any idea how much gas can be wasted circling the block for hours waiting for your parents to be done doin what-evvvvvver it is that they may be doing that they want you to leave the house for?"

(he really does say stuff like that)

"The nasty" Bear, that's what they call "it" right...?" sometimes I just can't help myself.

So yesterday as Bear was pleading his case as to why he should be allowed to move from the safety of our home and into a wild bachelor pad some 140 miles from his dear and devoted mother...

The wheels in his brain were cranking so fast I was smelling smoke...

As his closing argument, using all the charm of an award winning furniture salesman Bear delivers his final statement...

"Just think" Bear says "you and Dad could have date night every night..you could have DATE WEEK"!!!!!!

Daddio, in passing, replied "what are you trying to do kid? kill me?"

My gut tells me this issue is not going to find a place on the back burner.

Bear is on a mission.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Beside peaceful streams....

Trouble, Googie and I sit sharing small talk waiting for a prep nurse to come and fetch Googie for the medical testing that brings us to the hospital.

I'm focusing all my energy on my daughter (and the crucifix hidden in the baggie that I clutch in my hand when I'm in dire need of moral support from our heavenly Father)...

I barely notice the smorgasbord of interesting people that litter the waiting room.

Somewhere I hear a familiar voice talking. I realize it belongs to the morning news anchor from Channel 2.

I wish to be home sipping coffee, 

shooing Daddio out the door to work,

in the car transporting a loveable or two to school,

doing anything other than sitting in a hospital waiting room counting the minutes until a stranger  comes to gather my child and put her to sleep with the intention of probing her tiny body

I fear a near slipping over the edge into a real live panic attack feeling.

I chuckle to myself when I think how dumb I would look chasing after my grown daughter...."wait, wait, WAIT.... just one more kiss".

Have faith, I think, squeezing the baggie in my hand.

My rational mind tells me that she'll be fine, she always is.

Across the room sit a man and a woman, the woman is reading a book and the man looks to be doing a bit of people watching.

I notice the woman's face start to frown and I can tell she is trying very hard not to cry.

Is she here for a sick child, a spouse, a neighbor?

The man sitting next to her notices too.

He comes around to the other side, he sits beside her and begins to comfort her.

As he speaks to her she nods her head up and down, her face looks worried and sad.

The man reaches out his hands and gently takes hers. 

The two of them bow their heads in what I think is prayer

It is beautiful to watch...and although I can't hear what he's saying, I am comforted just the same.

Whatever he said seems to be working....the woman's face lifted and I saw a small smile.

He returns to his seat.

She, to her book.

Soon a nurse comes and takes the woman back through the double doors, where they have the patients.

The man stays in the waiting room and resumes his people watching.

It doesn't take long before the woman is back and gathering her things.

"Nice to meet you" she says to the man patting his arm "thank you very much".

I would have bet money they were together.

Well, they were I guess.

A kindness to a stranger, a hug, a smile, a shared prayer.

Right when we ALL needed it most.

God is good.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011


Sometimes I want to beat up my kid(s).

They're not kids anymore, really ...so I guess if I snapped and kicked some azz my charge would be a simple assault as opposed to child abuse.

I could really use a vacation (if I ended up serving time ;-)

Googie's having a medical test done tomorrow, she has to force feed herself a colon cleansing cocktail (or 15) the afternoon before the test.

Goog and the commode are about to become bff's (bf's at least until midnight).

"Remember," I say as a courtesy to Bear her younger brother "your sister will be queen of the shitter most of the late afternoon and evening tomorrow".

"You may want to get your 5th shower of the day in before she tips her first glass, which should be around 3pm".

And so it started...the negotiations, the indignation, the sheer irritation at the entire situation.

The discussion we had is not suitable for print..

After about ten minutes of trying to reason with the brute I finally flipped my lid.

"It's not negotiable!" I screamed "your sister is gonna be camped out in the crapper and there is not a damn thing you can do about it!!! my fangs were beginning to drip.

If I were in any mood to be generous, I could say that since Bear has no experience with tests of this nature that he really has no clue about how incredibly efficient and fast acting Googie's martinis are going to be....

But I wasn't in any mood and really there was absoultely no sense in trying to appeal to his inner sense of decency.

At that moment, he had none.

Little brothers can be annoying.... and Bear's big sister won't have much strength in her tiny body to fight with him tonight over a shower or much anything else.

I may have to step in, though not as a mother... no, I'm going to slip back into my big sister suit (just ask my siblings I once had a reputation as one of the meanest big sisters to walk the face of this planet)

and with that frame of mind came a new set of tools.

I once knew a kid who made a makeshift potty out of a 5 gallon bucket and a grocery bag and took a dump in the middle of the kitchen.

I have picture proof and a Facebook account.

"Bring it" snot nose.

Friday, April 8, 2011

Giving notice...

A while ago, Daddio, a Miracle Whip man from way back decided to go Mayo...

"I don't like Miracle Whip anymore" he explained "it's too sweet".

This morning, as I was making Daddio's lunch, lovingly slapping two pieces of Wonder bread around a blob of wondrous egg salad (prepared with Mayo, just like he likes his egg salad, on the days he likes egg salad...) he walked into the kitchen and said..

 "You didn't use that crappy azz Mayo today did you?"

"I hate that stuff, it's not sweet at all"...

"It would have been nice of you to share that information BEFORE I mixed the egg salad" I said, irritated.

Daddio likes to change things up...

One day he likes "it".. the next day he doesn't...

somewhat like a toddler.

This week his likes and dislikes have been on my last nerve.

I've listened to complaints about "pink" oranges (that he thought were grapefruits)

"they're pink" he said "oranges aren't pink"...

"They taste the same...an orange is an orange is an orange..." I growl

"It's like biting into a hamburger and having it taste like chicken" he tries to tie the two together...

"It is an orange and it tastes like an orange" I say

I didn't bother to go into any explanations about it being a cara cara orange...I'd just hear "could ya just buy me oranges...? could you do that?  just buy me regular oranges, why does the world have to keep changing things? things like oranges are fine like they are, no improvements are necessary, no changes need to be made, they're good."

"Oranges are good orange... not pink, oranges shouldn't be pink and then called orange..."

"I'm putting in my two weeks" I said quietly laying down the butcher knife I'd just used to cut up his orange orange.

Daddio, (shoving his leg into a pair of thick material-ed green Dockers, pants he said last week that he'd never wear again,) stopped and looked at me...

"I'm quitting this job"... I continue "I ain't workin here no mo"

If I offered you a raise, would you consider staying?" he asked.

When I laugh he figures he's off the hook and offers the following..

"Let me tell you a little something about harassment" he says... totally straight faced,

"I was ready to boot her out, but her- ass- meant too much to me."

Seriously...somewhere buried beneath the surface of that man is a guy who wears a crew cut and thick white socks....

and says things like... "E-dit!! fetch me my newspaper.."

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

He calls it likes he sees it.....( yes, there is an extra "s" in there)

Daddio has a date in court this morning.

Seems his foot was a tad too heavy on the gas pedal a month or so back.

A cop took offense at seeing him whiz by going over the posted speed...

wayyy over the posted speed.

Now Daddio hasn't had a speeding ticket for years, lately he's into relaxed Sunday driver mode..tooling along at usually just about 5 mph under the posted speed.

This particular day Daddio had taken a treacherous jaunt over to Ann Arbor to see a guy about an amp.

On the way there he encountered a myriad of irritating drivers, tailgaters, lane hogs, texters and an entire Retirement Village of blue hairs.

On the way home he ran into a butt load of construction and a dead train.

The dead train was the catalyst that catapulted Daddio to offender status.

Well that and his overfilled bladder.

Since the train was dead and hadn't moved in almost 30 minutes Daddio's patience was at a negative and pulled a u-ie and gunned the car engine like he was preparing for take-off...

Anyway, today is the day Daddio learns his destiny.

I wouldn't normally be talking this over dramatic about a simple traffic ticket...but Daddio got me to thinking last night just as I was about to drift off to sleep....

"Well, tomorrow I'll probably end up in the State Pen" he said "I'm goin up the river"...

"You go ahead and get remarried" he generously offered "don't wait for me".

I smiled in the darkness at his silliness.

Some time in the wee hours of the morning I woke with a start.

Daddio was going to jail.

As clear as the day it happened I had a memory of sitting in court next to Daddio.

We both watched, transfixed, as the man with the gavel spoke and judged person after person.

"How do you plead?" Mr. Judge asked...

and person after person after person after person after person, no matter what the offense was or what the plea was, the outcome was judged the same.

Each and every person...


And then came Daddio's turn.

Fresh off a diet of too many Clint Eastwood movies and The Billy Jack Trilogy certainly had my young Daddio not thinking straight as was evidenced by the following exchange.

After raising his hand and swearing to be be truthful, Daddio looked toward the Judge. 

"How do you plead, young man?" the Judge asked.

"Ummm, does it matter?" Daddio asked smugly "does it really even matter what I plead?"

Holy freakin shit...Daddio just said...  "does it matter what I plead?" to the Judge!!!


The Judge's nostrils flared and he glared at Daddio over the top of his reading glasses.

He tapped on his desk waiting for a more appropriate response.

The rest of the story is a blur.

Luckily, Daddio came to his senses and made the wise decision to play by the rules.

But he'd angered the Judge and he didn't go easy on him.

Daddio paid a hefty fine for his freedom.

I hadn't thought about that day in court for years....

Daddio was a young kid then, filled with ideas of right and wrong.

He called it like he saw it.

Billy Jack and Clint Eastwood would have been proud.

In real life Daddio's learned a thing or two along the way.

More than likely he'll be a bit intimidated and genuinely respectful today in court.

And he'll keep his trap clamped.

I'm scared though....

I don't have it in me to break in another one.

I'm printing out this picture and stapling it to the court notice. A little reminder of all the comforts of his potential new home.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Harvey uncovers his lost pair....

This post is a themed writing project challenge taken from Jenny Matlock over at off on my tangent. Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words to tell a story. It can be fact or fiction. Jenny posts a few words, a prompt that we work from. This weeks prompt is in bold italics.


The catcall opened Harvey’s heavy eyes and he quickly tried rectifying the wheel.

“Are we there yet?” his daughter asked sarcastically as Harvey fought with the highway’s shoulder.

Cruel and evil like her smart-ass mother he fantasized putting his hands around her chicken neck and squeezing for all he was worth.

“He drives like he does ev-er-y-thing else,” said his wife “sleepy, slow and stoooo-pid”.

They snickered.

And Harvey sunk even lower into his seat.

Exit 181, 1/2 mile ahead... sat the Pee Dee rest stop.

Where Harvey reclaimed his manhood, slipping out the backdoor and into the woods right after flushing the keys.