I Love Girls!

A friend recently posted this list on his fb page. As the mother of three beautiful girls I thought it would be fitting to create a list of “Rules For My Daughter”.

Rules For My Son: 

  1. Never shake a man’s hand sitting down.
  2. There are plenty of ways to enter a pool. The stairs ain’t one.
  3. If you hunt and kill you clean and grill.
  4. In a negotiation, never make the first offer.
  5. Act like you’ve been there before. Especially in the end zone.
  6. Request the late check-out.
  7. When entrusted with a secret, keep it.
  8. Hold your heroes to a higher standard.
  9. Return a borrowed car with a full tank of gas.
  10. Don’t fill up on bread.
  11. When shaking hands, grip firmly and look him in the eye.
  12. Don’t let a wishbone grow where a backbone should be.
  13. If you need music on the beach, you’re missing the point.
  14. Carry two handkerchiefs. The one in your back pocket is for you. The one in your breast pocket is for her.
  15. You marry the girl, you marry her whole family; but don’t forget your mom.
  16. Write down your dreams and keep them under your hat.
  17. Experience the serenity of traveling alone.
  18. Never be afraid to ask out the best looking girl in the room.
  19. Never turn down a breath mint.
  20. In a game of HORSE, sometimes a simple free throw will get ’em.
  21. A sport coat is worth 1000 words.
  22. Try writing your own eulogy. Never stop revising.
  23. Thank a veteran, and then make it up to him.
  24. If you want to know what makes you unique, sit for a caricature.
  25. Eat lunch with the new kid.
  26. After writing an angry email, read it carefully. Then delete it.
  27. Ask your mom to play. She won’t let you win.
  28. Remove your hat when you enter a room or sit down to eat.
  29. Give credit. Take the blame.

Rules For My Daughter:

  1. When seated, if a man approaches, extend your hand. If he shakes and doesn’t kiss it, forgive him, if he kisses it Germ X asap.
  2. If you’re gonna lay out at the pool, be sure that your bathing suit is so tastefully sexy that all others around you can’t help but look and smile with awe and wonderment.
  3. I will hunt and kill, Tom, Sally or Bill if they ever think or feel that it’s ok to hurt you- (no one will ever find the body).
  4. In a negotiation, remember your skills: outwit, outsmart and, if all else fails, outgun.
  5. Act like you’ve been there before— OWN IT!
  6. Get up and out- the early bird catches the worm and gets the continental breakfast, too.
  7. Keep secrets like they are yours (and remember sharing information is what conspiracies are made of…shhhhhh…)
  8. Be your own hero.
  9. If you borrow a car to transport a body, wipe it down before you return it.
  10. If you eat a lot of bread, expect a lot of dimples.
  11. When shaking hands, grip firmly, make eye contact, then go for the Germ X asap.
  12. Straighten your back when sitting and standing – hump backs are intended for whales.
  13. If you like sand between your toes…you must have gotten that from your daddy.
  14. To hell with a handkerchief, carry Kleenex. A used handkerchief in any pocket (or purse) is disgusting.
  15. You ARE the girl, we ARE your whole family and I Am your mom… need I say more?
  16. Live your dreams (remember I’m living vicariously through you so let’s GET-IT-IN!!)
  17. When traveling alone, be aware of your surroundings- those blonde headed girls walking down 125th, alone, at night, with their bags on their shoulders are hookers child. They are ON THE stroll, not OUT FOR A stroll!
  18. Never forget that YOU ARE the best-looking girl in the room.
  19. Always carry breath mints and be ready to throw one at anyone who needs it.
  20. In a game of HORSE, watch from the comfort of your air-conditioned home and offer them lemonade when the game is over. By the way: do you even know what a game of HORSE is?
  21. A guy wearing a sport coat isn’t always a bad thing unless it’s plaid and it has matching pants (looking like OshKosh B’gosh).
  22. Your life is your eulogy. Make it your best written work.
  23. Your grandfather was a veteran. (Thank him in your prayers tonight).
  24. Everything about you is unique. Don’t be afraid to show ‘em whatcha got girl!
  25. Pay it forward at Starbucks. (I know you’re a “frequent buyer” in that joint).
  26. After writing an angry email, read it carefully, and after forwarding it to me delete it. I’ll read it then I’ll take care of the s.o.b. it was intended for.
  27. Ask your grandmother to play… be brave my child… be really, really brave.
  28. You’re a young lady, wearing a fashionable hat indoors and or at the table is acceptable (especially on a bad hair day!).
  29. Give credit where credit is due and take responsibility for yourself and your actions but don’t let any jerk off get away with blaming his or her dumb shit on you.

The Family I Never Dreamed Of—

(This is the eighth and final chapter of this short story. Follow the links below to read the previous chapters)

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-O intro         http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Ox  chapter 1

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OH    chapter2    http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OL     chapter 3

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OQ    chapter 4    http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Pj     chapter 5

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Pw   chapter 6     http://wp.me/p5AbPX-PV   chapter 7

Chapter 8

(This is the eighth and final chapter of this short story. Follow the links below to read the previous chapters)

Thank goodness the other bathroom was complete or we might have had an entire family of critters living in the walls. What I wanted to say was, “I wish the other bathroom had been incomplete, that way I could have had my own little family “living inside the walls”, but you never know who might be reading this. I wouldn’t want the reader to think I’m weird or anything, you know how people can take one little comment and run with it. Hell, one opinion like that and the police might be at my door with a battering ram, a search warrant and a strait jacket.

Ok, I have total and complete recall of that yellow painted room with the divided towel closet and the long white vanity top. That towel closet was the perfect hiding spot. When Lil Renny and Chuckie would try to force me to play games like “hide and go choke the middle child” or “ring around the middle child’s head with the barb wire headband”, I would hunker down in that closet behind the towels and stay there until they forgot they were looking for me.  Naturally, they caught me one time – just before I got into the closet, they dragged me out into the yard. That’s when I learned to play “red light, green light, middle child lights out”. You’ve seen enough of how my life went to understand how that was played without my even going into detail. They also taught me their version of “Simon says” that day, only it was called “Brother Says” and I was the only pigeon playing. After several rounds of “Brother says go spit on yourself” and “Brother says go lick that chicken”, the chickens got wise and ran into the henhouse. That’s when I got away from them and ran inside and got into the towel closet. Unfortunately, there were no towels in the closet that day so I did like all little kid’s do… I covered my eyes with my hands so they couldn’t find me and guess what?  They searched that bathroom high and low for more than 3 hours looking everywhere from inside the towel closet to down the bath tub drain but never found me… and they say the middle child is always the slow one, hahahahahahaha!

The Family I Never Dreamed Of—-

(This is the seventh chapter of this short story. Follow the links below to read the previous chapters)

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-O intro                  http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Ox  chapter 1

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OH    chapter2     http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OL     chapter 3

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OQ    chapter 4     http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Pj     chapter 5

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Pw   chapter 6

Chapter 7                          

           (photo credit: pinterest.com)

The half bath

Being the parents definitely had its perks. For example, they had their very own bathroom complete with their very own incomplete shower. I have no idea why they never had it finished. Heck, with daddy and Mr. Dunston’s brick fence building skills, one would think it would have been an easy task for them, but I guess not. There was a large gaping hole that exposed all the plumbing on one side and a plywood trap door on the other. I would imagine the idea of losing that hook inside the wall was enough to prevent mama and daddy from asking for any assistance from him.

I often wondered if anyone else realized the trap door led to the hole and vice versa. I have so many memories of that room, like the time mama made me crawl through the trap door to look for critters after she heard something running in the wall. The idea was for me to go in, catch, skin, cook and serve it for dinner. Mama promised I could have the leg and thigh portions if it was a nutria. What she didn’t know was that every time she and daddy and the boys left me home alone, I would crawl into that hole and hang out. The critters within were friends.  There were the conjoined nutrias, the nervous 3-legged possum, the owl with the glass eye and the pair of bald headed bald eagles. They made me feel loved and needed… go figure… One evening at mama’s insistence, I crawled through the trap door in search of a nutria big enough to be dinner for 4, no not 5, I was the middle child and I always ate alone. I knew Asa and Asa were big enough to feed the entire family, but I knew I could never harm a hair on their stuck together backs, especially the way Asa looked at me and the way Asa looked back at me.  That was the night I had to improvise, so I crawled in, bent over and took a chunk out of my right ankle. It was the one with the fungus on it so I had to work twice as hard to chew through all that thick hard skin. To be sure it would be enough to feed the whole family, I reached around and bit a plug of fat off my back and that was actually quite simple. (For more than a year Chuckie and Lil Renny enjoyed playing tug of war. I was the rope… one held my feet and the other one held my head. I think my neck stretched more than a foot before the judge caught wind and banned them from their favorite game.) I took my meat to the kitchen and tossed all of it into a pot of hot water with some fresh dug potatoes and carrots. When it finished cooking I sat back and watched my family have a fleshy foot fungus and back fat food fiesta, and I didn’t even mind the fact that Princess wouldn’t share her bone with me as I watched. Thinking back and looking forward, I suspect that explains my chronic back issues and maybe even my recurring foot fungus.

The Family I Never Dreamed of—

(This is the sixth chapter of this short story. Follow the links below to read the previous chapters)

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-O   intro    http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Ox  chapter 1

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OH  chapter2   http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OL  chapter 3

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OQ    chapter 4    http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Pj

Chapter 6

My bedroom, aka, The Taj Mahal.

The walls were covered with magazine cut outs of my future husband, Michael Jackson. Yes, the world famous, now deceased, Mr. “I Want You Back”, himself! We He released that in 1969 with his brothers. We were very young then and had one of those arranged marriages, only neither of us really had anything to offer the other. I was a lonely middle child and he was “mean Joe Jackson’s” boy. Who’d have ever thought he’d rise above and make it so big? Not me. Hell, if I knew then what I came to eventually know, I wouldn’t have insisted on him moving away to Indiana. Of course, he came back for me when he started making it big, but I’ve never been one to grab anyone else’s coattail – so I sent him away to live his life …as a lonely guy with a monkey for a best friend. If this seems fictitious, just google the lyrics to “Ben” and you’ll see me written all over that song. Not to mention, “I Just Can’t Stop Loving You”, “The Way You Make Me Feel” and “Baby Be Mine”. I could go on forever, but my peepers of times forgotten are starting to cloud over so I’d better get on with it before they’re too cloudy to see the computer keys.

Earlier in the story I indicated that my room was not appropriately furnished. Pictures on a wall, even if they’re of such a beautiful guy, certainly do not make for a comfortable area to call your own. Remember when I said that I slept on a mat in “the boys’ room”? That wasn’t forever. At some point it became perceptible that I was being treated more like a red head step child than a middle child and mom and dad must have felt bad, or something, so they decided to change things up a bit. They bought used furniture from a flea market, used carpet samples (shag and thin) from a remnant store and a pair of venetian blinds that were only missing half the slats. For the most part, I loved my “new” room. The sofa sleeper would only pop out three quarters of the way so I slept sitting up, sort of leaning forward and folded. The bed bugs and chiggers weren’t much of a problem either, after daddy started dipping me in kerosene and motor oil in the mornings. The blinds, even with their shoddy, flawed design, provided enough shade and cover to keep me from being completely exposed. Since there was no glass in the window, they blew in and out freely, which helped keep some of the horseflies out too. The only thing I didn’t like was the flooring. I couldn’t seem to keep my footing on the thin parts, and the fleas on the shag pieces kept my ankles peppered with oozing, red, itchy spots. To my dismay, the kerosene motor oil potion was more like joy juice to them than poison. It’s like they lived for that stuff. I can still see them licking it off, then using their needle–like front feet to drill holes into the fleshy parts of my ankles making them look like fat, caramel covered candied apples but without the apples. They still look like that to this day.

 

The Family I Never Dreamed Of—

(This is the fifth chapter of this short story. Follow the links below to read the previous chapters)

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-O intro    http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Ox  chapter 1

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OH    chapter2   http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OL  chapter 3

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OQ    chapter 4

Chapter 5

Ok, now let’s go ahead and put my parents room “in review”:

Their room was laid out much like my room is today. They had the master bedroom in their house like I have the master bedroom in my house, except I added a 6×12 foot walk-in closet and had my half bath converted to full. The closet was a must have, my Snicker Bar, Fritos and Coke fetish have to remain private… and secret. Yes, after all of the “things” I went through, I survived, and I guess you could say, I even thrived…never underestimate the power of prayer, 47 years of psychotherapy and some of the best mind altering drugs known to man.

The master bedroom- my reminiscences of this room are a bit hazy, and it’s likely that the matter involving the bees, the electric blanket and the baseball bat are the cause. The doctor said that waiting until the swelling went down was probably not a good idea. That one nostril was swollen so big it cut off the air to the other one and I guess my airway was blocked off a little more than I thought from that blood poisoning infection I got from the rusty needle mama used for my stitches. Those five days of random wheezing/whistling instead of breathing, undoubtedly must have done some brain damage.

What I do remember is the way mama and daddy had to hold Renny down every morning before school to comb his hair. See, Renny was born with his intestines twisted and had to have an operation when he was just two days old. Granny Lynn said they used too much “ether” and that made his teeth look like tiny yellow spikes. She said it also explained why his hair was so damn bad that they had to use a metal comb to comb it. Spikey teeth, non- spikey teeth, good hair, bad hair – no big deal, right? Especially since his baby teeth were destined to fall out anyway… but what about that hair? Would it fall out, too? Was there any hope? The fact that they basically had to hog tie Lil Renny each day just to get the comb through one “2×2” block was too much for mama to bear. He was her baby and she wanted to protect him at any cost. I believe that’s when the hair transplant idea first crossed her mind, at least that’s about the time that I noticed mama spending more time with me than ever before. She hugged me more, she held me more, she kissed me more, she smelled my hair more and she ran her fingers through it more. The only time I can recall a hug or kiss from mama was the night I choked on my hamburger steak. Looking back, I realize two broken ribs might be consistent with the Heimlich maneuver, but where does mouth to mouth fit in to that scenario? I guess she wasn’t taking any chances. My parents were court ordered to keep me alive “by any means necessary” or else, and obviously, they intended to do just that. Nothing in the order mentioned keeping me with or without hair, which now leads me to believe mama was “casing” my head. Do you know what that means? It’s a slang law enforcement word used to describe what potential thieves do when they check a location out or watch it closely and covertly.

This hugging and kissing and finger combing went on for 6 to 8 months. Then one day granddaddy came around and offered me a cup of that sweet, fruity tasting, warm tea with the funny smelling froth on top. I didn’t want to be rude so I took it, drank it and woke up 4 days older, lying on the floor, in a tea induced fog.  I was confused, thirsty, hot and sweaty which was the way I always felt after drinking that “tea”. I eventually realized I was in my parent’s bedroom and I can remember nervously looking up at daddy who was sitting in his recliner next to the bed. When I stirred, he looked down at me with that empty mouthed frown and a question mark on his face. That simple look silently spoke volumes. When I looked over at mama, who was sitting in the corner, her face told a different story. She looked away and snickered. Suddenly I caught a glimpse of my hair in the big mirror over the dresser, only it no longer framed my face. It was Lil Renny’s face that my beautiful, luxurious locks were caressing. I reached up and touched my head and began to cry, not for the hair I’d lost but for the hair they’d left me with. I felt what could be no less described as patches or splotches. One look in the mirror and my muffled sobs were covered by shrill, hyena-like laughter. I stared at my reflection in the mirror until it became obvious that each time I inhaled, the hyenas would stop and they would only begin again when I exhaled. It was me, the laughter slash shrieking was coming from me…

…8 days later…. I woke up to the smell of ammonia and Vicks Vaporub with a hint of Lysol and a touch of bleach on the side. It seems that daddy had convinced mama that I was possessed, and that the only way to stop my “fit” was to purge me. It only took 3 months for some of the feeling in my cheeks to return. I still have trouble with the right one when it rains and the dentist has such a hard time numbing my mouth that he has to sedate me. I guess that’s from that ammonia, Vicks, Lysol, cocktail enema they gave me that day; and all these years I thought I’d inherited this crooked smile…

More About Aunt Maggie

If you’ll recall i introduced my Aunt Maggie to the blogosphere back in July in “Aunt Maggie’s power Outage”- http://wp.me/p5AbPX-zG . Well today while driving home from mass I thought of her again and decided to share another of my precious “Aunt Maggie” tales.

My Aunt Maggie was a six-foot-tall, full- figured woman. She wore a size 44 double D brassiere, often bragged about wearing nothing but the best, white cotton granny panties on the market, size 22 triple X. Aunt Maggie said that wearing those little nylon and lace things was too much work.  She said all of that twisting and pinching and pulling and digging all day long made her fingers and arms sore, and it kept her with an awful rash, too.

Anyway, I didn’t care about any of that. Aunt Maggie was my favorite. We spent hours and hours together, especially when school was out. I specifically recall the year I stayed with Aung Maggie during my spring break. It was April, and boy oh boy, was it windy outside. We used a pair of Aunt Maggie’s bloomers to make parachutes, and we jumped off the barn into the duck pond. That was so much fun… until we saw the snake. That was the longest, fattest snake I’d ever laid eyes on. It had fangs hanging outside its mouth and it had two rows of teeth. Now most snakes have little beady eyes, but not that one… the eyes in that thing’s head looked to be as big as golf balls, and they were oozing some kind of green slimy looking stuff. To make matters worse, I think it was blind but it apparently had some kind of heat sensing ability.  That fat, long, double row tooth, fanged, blind thing was swimming right for me, and no matter which way I went, it stayed on my tail. I was screaming and splashing and trying to get away from it when I saw movement out the corner of my eye. I looked over my shoulder and there she was – Aunt Maggie- in all her glory. I wanted to give up and let the snake eat me because life as I knew it, would never be the same after seeing all that up close and in person. She gave a whole new meaning to “naked and afraid”. She was naked and I was afraid… and nauseous… and ready to die.

Aunt Maggie wasn’t having it. I saw her take one deep breath then trap the air inside her cheeks. In one swift move, she released something that was pure evil, it was repugnant and noxious, and at the same time, it was as hot as fish grease. I immediately smelled hair burning…my eyebrows and eyelashes were gone in that instant. Luckily, between the heat and the shear fear and panic, I managed to either subconsciously block or ignore enough of that atrocious odor to limit the blood loss from my nose; but that poor snake never saw it coming. It hit him dead between the golf balls. Aunt Maggie immediately flipped on her back then lunged forward taking that snake’s head between her 44 double D’s and that, dear people, was all she wrote. When her girls let him go, I watched as he lazily slithered to the bank, curled up in the snake fetal position, put his tail in his mouth and sucked himself to sleep.

 

 

Young Teen v. Old Mom (still at it)

My young teen and I are at it again and I’m winning!

A pitiful looking stray dog wandered into our yard several days ago and per the norm, my young teen wants to keep it. You know how kids love puppies and kittens and baby bunnies– right up until they become dogs and cats and adult rabbits? Well, that’s exactly how my girl is. You see where I’m going with this? Yep, she loves em either until they outgrow their cuteness or until it wears off or until they become adults. So, she asked if we could keep the pup and of course I said no. Here’s the conversation that resulted in my taking the lead:

Young Teen: “Ma, can we keep her?”

Old Mom: “No”

Young Teen: “Ma, please, I’ll feed her”

Old Mom: “No you won’t, I have to force you to feed the one we already have”

Young Teen: “I promise I’ll feed her. If I don’t you can take my phone”

Old Mom: While laughing hysterically–“Girl, I can take you phone anytime I want, what else ya got”

Young Teen: 1                       Old Mom: 2

_________________________________________________________

The Family I Never Dreamed Of—-

 

(This is the fourth chapter of this short story. Follow the links below to read the previous chapters)

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-O intro

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Ox  chapter 1

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OH    chapter 2

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OL     chapter 3

                      Chapter 4

Since you last saw me curled in the fetal position outside my mom’s bedroom door, I guess that’s as good a place as any to get started again.

Let’s see… I’m looking across the hall, in the recesses of my mind, and I see “the boy’s room” as they referred to it. In all fairness, until I was about 12 years old it was my room too. Or at least it’s the room I slept in. Did I have a room of my own, especially since I was the only girl? Actually, I did, but don’t forget I was the “middle child”, so expecting it to be furnished, appropriately, was another story. First, I’ll share my childhood memory of the room the three of us shared, then I’ll tell you about “the other room”.

There was a set of twin beds separated by a three- foot span of floor space between them. Looking back, I can picture Chuckie in the bed farthest from the door and Little Renny nestled all snug as a bug in the other one. Oh, you’re getting good. You guessed it. I was able to tell you about the distance between the beds because that’s where my mat was. It was a thick and fluffy mat with colorful butterflies and red and black lady bugs on it. Little Renny’s live bumble bee collections (jars 1 and 2) were housed, lids off, under the beds and if I didn’t do too much tossing and turning I could make it through the night with only a few stings.

I’m surprised I’m able to conjure this one up but let me tell you about the night I remember getting shocked and stepped on then stung in the nose… 4 times… in the same nostril.

It was a cold and rainy night, and in the country nobody had central heat or air. It was either window units, electric heaters and fireplaces or hand held fans and electric blankets, or a combination of all that.  Well, in our house, we had the latter which turned out to be unfortunate, for me… per the norm. I was on my mat, trying not to disturb the bees, when I felt a sharp burning sensation that seemed to be moving from my toes up toward my face- on both sides. At the same time, my arms and legs stiffened up on me and I started trembling uncontrollably. I can remember Lil Renny looking over the edge of his bed, directly into my eyes. He looked as if he was seeing a ghost. The next thing I knew I was hearing an almost unbearable screeching noise coming from the right. My head was locked, but I managed to move my eyes just enough and just in time to see Chuckie screaming and bearing his tooth at me. (He’d lost so many teeth that year and so fast that mama had resorted to making me chew his food up then feed it to him). He was pointing toward my feet and when I looked in that direction what I saw horrified me too. His big black shepherd, Princess, was in full squat relieving her bladder on top of, around and through the chewed up electric blanket that I’d been so graciously given after Lil Renny used it until the electric wires were shredded and showing. The open wires and my little metal leg braces were in a tangled mess fighting to let go of each other with neither one having a mind to actually ungrip the other. The boys’, as I knew them, became nothing more than screaming, sniveling useless little pansies… but man oh man, could they move! They jumped up, in tandem, and stomped all over me trying to get out of that room. What made it even worse was the fact that they too felt a shocking jolt when their feet touched my face. The jolt caused them to jump up, and with all things going up… they must come down. In this case – right in my gut which was a brief, barely felt stomp that I must admit pailed in comparison to the first two. They made it out of that bedroom door in record time – about the same time that the shocking sensation subsided and the bumblebee stings began. They came at me like bats out of hell. No amount of swinging, swatting or swearing would stop that onslaught of furious creatures and apparently, they thought my nose was a hive. They flew inside my left nostril, one at a time, mind you, and stung me so hard my dead man eyes watered and my smutty throat burned. When I thought it was over for me, I saw my mama run into the room and grab the first thing she could. I guess the fact that it was Chuckie’s baseball bat didn’t even occur to her until she saw the blood. It took 47 stitches to close the gap mama created with that bat that night – but that’s ok. I just wish she’d used a different color fishing line and a smaller needle to do it.

Was This A Trick Question?

 

True Story—

 

While in tenth grade, my religion teacher, Sister Francine, asked the class to take out 5 sheets of paper and make a list of the 5 most important things in our lives. We were told that we could talk among ourselves and that we had 10 minutes. Some of my classmates were still in that “I hate my parents” stage. I guess I’d either passed through it or never experienced it because my mom was at the top of my list. Next on my list were my brothers, my friends, Gidgette, my poodle, and my grandmother.

When the time was up, Sister Francine walked to the front of the class and put a record on the turntable. I don’t remember what the song was, but I do remember it being something slow and pretty. Our instructions were simple: as we listened to the music we were to go to the garbage can and place the pieces of paper in it –one at a time- throwing each piece away signified letting go of that person or thing forever in order to follow God. As I think back, that had to be the hardest day of my high school career. Most of my friends and I were basket cases.

Here’s how it went:

Letting go of Gidgette was truly gut wrenching. After all, I’d had her since I was eight years old and she was the guardian of my lunch. Every morning after I prepared and bagged lunches for my brothers and me, Gidgette would sit next to mine on the ottoman and stop my brothers from switching bags. I always put the best snacks in my bag. That, in and of itself, should explain why it was so hard to choose between letting go of Gidgette and letting go of grandma. I was the difficult teenager and she was the nosey grandmother who gossiped all day with her old lady friends and told my mom everything she “thought” I was doing.  So no brainer, right?!

I also had trouble deciding between my brothers and my friends because my brothers were … well they were my brothers… we aggravated one another and we told on one another and/but we loved one another. I couldn’t begin to imagine my life without “the boys” in it. They were my first friends. I think I trashed my other friends before my brothers, but nonetheless, the tears flowed freely as I stepped up to the garbage can.*Note to my brothers: Rick and Ray if you ever read this you should feel very good about yourselves because you made it through the first three cuts. (LOL). I would like to send out a sincere apology to my tenth grade friends. It’s a good thing your lives didn’t depend on the order of things that day!

Last, but obviously not least, was the piece of paper with those eight simple letters written on it…M-Y-M-O-T-H-E-R… my mother. What did I do? I held on and I cried. The bell rang and I was still holding on to that silly piece of paper that meant more than the world to me. Several of my friends, male and female, were in the same boat. We couldn’t let go. Truth be known, I probably still have that piece of paper tucked away in my old religion book.

Talk about a trick question for a kid!

**Dear Sister Francine, because of you, I never stray too far from the sidewalk, because of you I learned to play on the safe side… you know the rest!

 

Young Teen v. Old Mom

Heeeeyyyyyy Folks!!!!

      So it’s my young teen’s first day back at school.  Those of you who follow my blog know my struggles. She’s a 13 year old genius (in her own mind) who would rather than sleep than eat. Anyone who just joined our “already in progress lives” can click on the links below and be brought up to speed—

As I was saying, it’s her first day back at school and while most folks get great “first day back at school” pics, my young teen refused to cooperate this morning. Not only was she not in a great mood, she even said, “ma, can you please not yell all that -have a good day and I love you stuff- when you drive off?” Wow! Yep, my feelings were hurt… but not really. I realize she’e growing up and she’s easily embarrassed.

So, she wouldn’t let me take a “first day…” pic and she didn’t want me to yell out the window— In my quest to be like millions of other parents today and post a pic I decided to share this one…IMG_4495 (1).jpg

Can anyone guess the significance?

    *hint- I think it has something to do with her grouchy, “first day back” attitude.

           I think the score is now tied!! LMAO  

                                             Young Teen -1    Old Mom -1

 https://runawaynunsandleprechauns.com/2017/08/06/young-teen-v-old-mom-young-teen-1-old-mom-0

https://runawaynunsandleprechauns.com/2017/08/06/ma-thats-not-faaaaiiiir

https://runawaynunsandleprechauns.com/2017/08/06/my-familys-rebuttal

Stay tuned for more episodes of   Young Teen V. Old Mom

 

If you sprinkle…

I saw a post earlier this evening in which Christine over at I’m Sick and So Are You talked about people who live in clean houses. Her post brought some things to mind and in my usual humorous and always sarcastic manner I decided to share my thoughts about this subject so here goes:

My house is now, and always will be, clean enough to be healthy but dirty enough to be happy! It will also always be full of love and laughter… It’s not just our living space it’s “Our Lived-in Place”. It’s where we go at the end of the day to hang out together, where putting your feet on the couch is cool and so is eating dinner in the den. The floors are clean enough to walk on — heck that’s what they’re there for right? The walls are painted with semi-gloss paint that can quite easily be wiped clean; after all, how long can little hands resist the urge to touch shiny surfaces? Beds are made at random which is great because they double as trampolines at night and in the cold winter months when playing outside is a no no. The bathrooms? Oh, they are kept spotless…well maybe not spotless, but definitely clean… ok, ok… maybe just tidy, but definitely germ free. As for the kitchen, I don’t allow bags of any type in the fridge and more than 3 takeout boxes in there at the same time is strictly prohibited. Dirty dishes are never left over night… Of the few things not allowed in our place, night crawlers top the list.

Moral of this story: if you’re ever in the neighborhood stop by. Don’t worry about taking your shoes off cause we don’t eat off the floor. If you can’t deal with the idea of eating in the den (off of clean plates… maybe paper, but definitely clean), you may want to go into the kitchen. If you happen to bring your own food and need to refrigerate it be sure and remove any bags first and if there are already three go boxes in the fridge yours will have to wait in line for the next available opportunity. Oh, and we have napkins so please don’t mess up the smeared spaghetti or the pudding that you’ll find throughout the house all over the walls. Also, napping could be hazardous to your health if either of the girls are in a jumping mood (warning: the smallest one often uses my body as an elevated surface to dive from so beware). And lastly, if you sprinkle when you tinkle, please… you know the rest.

Thanks for stopping by ———-

 

New York or bust- Issue no. 4 (and that is all)

4th Issue: What is the difference between two of those flat “air” laptops and one of those inch-thick deals? How was I supposed to know that our laptops had to be “binned” separately and that the weirdo watching the monitor would keep that little tidbit to himself? When did I get a clue? Not until the young fellow wearing the almost sagging Dickie uniform pants sauntered over to the “hey don’t touch that lane” and picked our computers up. He glanced over in my direction, asked if the laptops were mine, advised me of my error, then slowly, and I do mean slowly, meandered away with my laptops and that damn single bin in hand.

Note to self- contact Airport Security – AGAIN—ref: no signs warning that while at security (at 6:45 a.m.) you will encounter an almost sagging Dickie clad, James Bond, Jr. in drag who hates his job, is obviously paid by the hour and needs a better belt as you are trying to catch a flight that leaves gate C35 at 7:10 a.m, on Friday, July 21, 2017, and you’re on Concourse A.

Yes, this is a true (4 part) story and yes, we did make our flight. (: