Posts Tagged ‘Family’

Pardon The Interruption….

April 19, 2011

Years ago, the children were ensconced at the table eating a snack-good time to head to the Head.  “Eat your snack. I’m going to take a shower, I’ll be out in 5 minutes. Do not disturb unless it’s an emergency.”  I ran into the bathroom, jumped in the shower,  and kicked it into gear to get my whole self clean in five minutes.  I was a pro from back in my boarding school days when five minutes was sometimes all the time we had, and then the hot water would run out. 

2 minutes in, the door bursts open.  “Mom is this purple?” It was Whirling Dervish holding up a skirt.

“REALLY?!  Did we forget that Mommy said “Do NOT disturb!”

“Uhhhhh.”

“Is someone concussed?”

“No.”

“Is someone bleeding? Does someone have a limb off?”

“No.  But Momma is this purple?”

“REALLY???!!! Please close the door on your way out.”

I guess I should be happy, she was outside the shower. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had gotten in there with me. Whirling liked to invade my personal space-a “close talker” a la Jerry Seinfeld.  Her usual M.O. was to wait until I was in the bathroom and then come in and step so close to me that she would be standing in my under garments. yes, IN, my underwear.  And it wasn’t as if she was coming to tell me the kitchen was on fire or anything.  She just wanted to chat.  Mind you she had absolutely NOTHING to say to me while I was not in the bathroom.  I guess her mind got rolling as soon as I sat down on the can.   I would have to politely ask her to back up out of my draws and out of the bathroom.  And off she would go, inevitably leaving the bathroom door wide open, leaving me fully exposed for all the world to see.  And she wasn’t the only one.  Her siblings were just as bad. I got asked all sorts of stuff in the water closet. Can I transform the Transformer back?  Momma, can you get the pony tail out of Barbie’s hair?  Mom, can you sign my permission slip?  Can you get this knot out of my sneaker? And so it went. For years.

My youngest is now 8, so I thought I was done with the interruptions.  They still do it from time to time, but for the most part, they stay out, at least until I turn the water off in the shower or flush the toilet to barge in. Some times tey wait until I have finished brushing my teeth to ask me a question or talk to me.  But no.  Now there’s a new interloper in our midst. Butter Face cometh.

My dog has become the Bathroom Bandit. It doesn’t matter what bathroom I’m in or what floor he’s on. He makes his  way to the bathroom heads on in.  He just opens the door all the way and waltzes right in.  He walks right up to me, looks up, as if to say, “Hey, whatcha doin’?” Then he sniffs my shoes, does his doggy circling ritual and then lays down on the rug. And stares.  I don’t know about y’all, but it’s hard to concentrate with the beast ogling me from below, peeping at me underneath my reading material.

I guess I should be thankful, he doesn’t ask me to deknot his bone.

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Condiments and Sauces, etc…..

March 27, 2011

Never mind keeping track of what people are allergic to or not in my house, I have to worry about who eats what condiments, sauce, yogurt,etc…. Pay attention, there will be a quiz at the end.

Big Daddy:  Hellman’s mayo only, Miracle whip is the devil’s food.  banana peppers, toasted bread-if eating bread, no blood on the plate with the beef, but will eat carpaccio.  American cheese over cheddar on the sandwich.  No couscous because, “it tastes like air.” eggs over pancakes.  Veggies,  veggies, and more veggies.  Meat, meat, and more meat.  fruit, some desserts, but not many. Tea.  No coffee unless its frou-frou.  Ranch dressing.

MiniMe: No salad dressing of any kind.  No condiments on the sandwich, BBQ sauce on everything else.  Lettuce, tomatoes only on sanwiches-not in salads.  Butter on sandwiches, no mayo. Orange juice.  plain milk makes him gag, scrambles eggs, never boiled. Oatmeal. Pancakes.  No fruit-on-the bottom yogurt-must be pre-blended.  Spinach, preferably creamed and most veggies. HAM! Shrimp. Loves sweet potatoes, but will eat white potatoes.  Prefers Alfredo sauce over tomato sauce, but will eat them mixed or separate, doesn’t care.  Previously didn’t like onions, not will eat them on a sandwich.  Will eat plain cabbage  and raw potatoes.  Gravy on the meat, but not the starch. Now likes spicy foods.  Motto: If not nailed down, it will be eaten.

Whirling Dervish: Nothing with a weird texture-No oatmeal, pudding, and only some smoothies. Baked potatoes, no sweet potatoes.  Meat! No fish other than how Grandpa Poppy makes it (fried).  Gluten-free diet.  Rice gives her headaches.  Boiled eggs, scrambled eggs, but favorite are fried but is not a breakfast eater. Milk.  Will eat deviled eggs without paprika.  No nuts, but likes peanut butter.  Prefers Alfredo sauce over tomato sauce, will eat pink sauce. White Bean Soup is favorite.  No shrimp.  Yogurt prefered from a tube, rather than a container.  Cheese, cheese, and more cheese. Corn in any form. No spinach, creamed or otherwise. Gravy on the starch, sometimes the meat. Beans.

Glamour Rayz:  The tangier the better.  Dill pickles by the jar.  Boiled eggs, but only the whites, but will eat deviled eggs.  Baked potato, but no skin on it. Makes her own pesto sauce.  No Alfredo sauce, but will eat tomato or Pink sauce. No crusts ont he sandwiches. Prefers chocolate milk.  Cheeseburgers plain.  Hot dogs with no bun.  Gravy on meat and starch.  Has a sweet tooth.  Syrup and powdered sugar on the waffles.  Likes spicy stuff.  No peas, will tolerate green beans.  Salad either plain or with Italian dressing depending on the mood.  Likes ice in all drinks.

Butter Face (Wonder Dog): Certain lins of dog treats give him bubbly guts. Shoes, but prefers the most smelly of them. Dead stuff from the yard.  Grass. Unattended coffe, but akes him jittery.  Butter (hence the name). Steals food, but prefers, fat, meat. Motto:  Please see MiniMe entry for reference.

And this is what I CAN remember…..Check please!

-Saucy at the Edge

Here’s to the prefect year!

January 12, 2011

Happy 2011!  I know a number of people who are quite glad to see 2010 go. Whatever your take on 2010, c’est la vie, it’s done.

In her book, “Being Perfect,” by Anna Quindlen, she tells us to leave the “perfection trap” behind. That trap requires us to live and be for other people; our families, our friends, and our colleagues, and not for ourselves. We live according to what society dictates.  To add to the madness, the trap changes depending on time and place. When we’re young, we wanted to please our parents.  As we get older, we need to keep up with our peers. Then it’s to be the wife, mother, and neighbor that we’ve all read about or seen in Norman Rockwell paintings. Quindlen wisely tells us to put down the backpack filled of perfection bricks and live for ourselves.  For when we do that, we will be our very best version.  She encourages us, while making decisions, to give the answer, “for me.” Our choices should be a reflection of who we are and what we want out of our lives, not what other people think they should be or require. And if our choices are, then they will truly be fulfilling and rich in meaning, and true reflections of our own uniqueness.

While I’ve never been one to subscribe to being perfect, we all in some form do things and make decisions based on others perceptions or societal conformity requirements.  Some of those requirements, I’m all about.  We should be required, whether by law or peer pressure, to wear clothing in the appropriate settings.  I’m not really trying to see a colleague’s danglies as he’s off to a meeting and I’m certain he can’t handle all of my zaftig wonder. But decisions about whether or not I should over extend myself to be the involved parent, to not say, “no,” or to keep up with the Jones’ are of what Quindlen speaks.

So rather than make resolutions, that inevitably fall by the wayside and make me feel like there was something I forgot to do….again, I’m deciding to free myself and be perfectly me. I hope the year is perfect for you too….

Fightin’ Dirty……

May 5, 2010

Big Daddy has put me in the cone of silence and I am well deserving.  We were arguing and though that really doesn’t happen very often on the edge, I was fightin’ dirty.  I pulled out the, “You’re going to end up just like your dad, alone and miserable!!!!!” line, which I know hurts BD at his core.

Right after the comment flew out of my mouth, I wished I could have grab it back out of space. Though I did apologize shortly thereafter, I know that just because I did so, the sting didn’t immediately go away.  And while some of his personality is like his dad’s, as we are all like our parents in some ways we care not to embrace, BD is a far, far better parent and man than his own dad. I know that and so does he. I and his children adore him far too much that he would ever be miserable and alone.

The crazy thing was that I knew I shouldn’t have gotten sucked into the argument in the first place and had told myself that I wasn’t going to.  I was working on an hour and half of sleep and had a whole bunch of stuff to do in a hurry and was not in the mood. And one thing led to another and whammo.

I wanted to kick myself and I’m sure BD wanted to kick me too, though he would never do so. I had just been reading about being silent and not reacting and here I was not only reacting, but hitting below the belt.

After that, it didn’t matter if I was right or if my argument made more sense than his(which is still up for debate) because anything I said fell on deaf ears. So, did I really accomplish anything by throwing it out there?

Maybe there is something to that “Silence is Golden.”  I have a feeling I am going to be in the cone of silence for a bit longer, so I’ll have plenty of time to learn that one.

Glamour Rayz……

January 27, 2010

Glamour Rayz Cute isn’t she?  Look, but don’t look.  She’ll suck you right in and then, you’re done for. I know she’s only six, but you’ll be handing over money, car keys, cookies, you name it. She’s just so dang cute. Try as Big Daddy and I might to fight the glamour rays that shoot out when she bats her eyelashes, we get zapped all the time. Even her siblings are weak against them.

This is Glamour Rayz, our youngest superhero at the edge of crazy. We thought we were done after Whirling Dervish, but there were other plans in store for us. Needless to say, we’re glad she’s here to complete our team. (Two of our superheros look like Big Daddy, two like me.  We each have a set. Equilibrium at its best.)

Glam is loved by all and works it to her advantage.  I’m surprised the girl can actually do stuff on her own. Her brothers would carry her everywhere if we allowed it.  I had to instruct the nanny that she actually could feed herself and should.  She never cleans her room by herself. Giving her sister and brothers the sad face, they ultimately cave in and help her and end up doing most of the work.  We, at times have to put our foot down and make her do for herself.  We don’t look directly in her eyes, though.  Otherwise, she’ll get us. 

It’s not that she can’t do things for herself.  Actually, she is quite independent when the mood strikes her.  In fact, stubborn to her core, she is often defiant, looking right at you while doing the very thing you have instructed her not to do, smiling all the while. We stand in disbelief, questioning ourselves as to whether we had actually told her not to do something. But then if we admonish her, she gets all sad faced and teary-eyed.  And if we’re not careful, we’ll melt under the power of the rays and actually feel bad for her.  We have to shake it off, regroup, and stand firm, even if we’re feeling terrible inside for the sad-face.   Dumb, she ain’t, that’s for sure.

Don’t be fooled though.  Under that hair are two little pink horns.  Her main target is Whirling Dervish, her older sister.  A Love-Pain-in-my-butt (hate is such a strong word) sisterly relationship, she knows just how to press her sister’s buttons, smashing them in to cause the most chaos. An example; Whirling Dervish walked by Glam’s door one morning dressed for the day. Glam looked at her and said, “You’re not wearing that are you?????” and then gave a little chuckle as if to indicate that Whirling looked totally ridiculous, which she didn’t.  Glam was just messing with her sister’s head. And it worked.

When provoked by some brotherly taunting, she growls and attacks them. Her brothers have nicknamed her “Wolverine” after the comic book hero. She may be small, but she is certainly feisty and won’t take guff from anyone, which I’m not upset about at all.

At times, she’ll seem shy, but it’s a front.  It’s all a front.  She’s just sitting back, taking it all in, assessing the situation and whom she can suck into the her vortex without much effort, which is pretty much everyone. People always say we’ll have to keep an eye on Whirling Dervish as she gets into her teens, that’s she’s going to wreak havoc, but no.  WD is very vocal, lets you know where her head is. But this one, Glamour Rayz, who flies under the radar, blinding everyone with her glaminations (I believe I have just made up a new word. ), is prime hell raising material in the making for sure. 

So, if you see Glamour Rayz around, and find yourself getting sucked in, consider yourself warned. I would say look away, but you can’t really.  So try to stand firm. Or melt like I do.

And We’re Off….

November 23, 2009

The holiday season has begun. Halloween is one of my favorites as are Thanksgiving and Christmas. It does drive me crazy to see Christmas decorations up before Halloween. Joseph and Mary didn’t do that much pre-planning for the arrival of Baby Jesus. They hadn’t even made reservations at the Inn. It’s offensive, really.

Being the modern American family, we have dinner with my family the Sunday before Thanksgiving and then head to my in-laws in Connecticut for actual T-Day. So we get a double dose of tryptophan and indigestion to start the season off right. Woo Hoo!

Neither my children nor Big Daddy have spent Thanksgiving any place else other than Connecticut for their entire lives. It was in the bargaining agreement when we got married. My peeps get Christmas day.

My children start talking about Thanksgiving right after they finish all of their Halloween candy on November 1st. They talk about their cousins that they are dying to see and hunker down with for some serious video game playing (Connecticut in November, need I say more?!), Shopping with “Ma,” and Thanksgiving dinner.

I picked my youngest son up from the bus stop the other day and all he said when he got in the truck was, “stuffing,” which took me a minute to process. My eldest starts to run down the menu from memory on a daily basis like he’s getting ready for a pop quiz; Turkey, stuffing with chestnuts and sausage, mashed potatoes, candied yams, mac n’ cheese, collard greens, green beans, mashed turnips, homemade cranberry relish, and canned cranberry sauce, because, really what is Thanksgiving without ridges on your cranberry sauce? To top it all off, there is red velvet cake, and a selection of pies and ice cream. This has been the menu since I don’t know when. Any mention of deviation from said menu is met with everything from quizzical looks (Has mommy hit her head or something?) to angry glares (Surely you jest, woman!).

I’m looking forward to the car ride with my family oddly enough. Our truck is basically a moving Best Buy with all of the electronics on board-mp3 players, ipods, DVD players, Gameboys, DSs, and laptops. But we’ll also talk and laugh, retelling family stories that get bigger and funnier every time they’re told. On the Baltimore-Washington Parkway, without fail, one of the girls will ask, “How much longer?” My husband will sing Frank Sinatra’s greatest hits at the top of his lungs, followed by a little Earth, Wind, and Fire, Marvin Gaye, Corrine Bailey Rae, and Laura Izibor. After one pit stop for food, bathroom, and fuel, we trudge our way up the Jersey Turnpike. I’ll take the wheel after the Turnpike, and bring us on into Connecticut.

I love Thanksgiving because it is a time to, get together, eat and just be. We don’t have to worry about whether someone will like their present or if it is the right size or color. It’s time to reflect on the year that has swiftly gone by, to reminisce, to love, be loved, and to laugh.

It is a time to be thankful for the richness of our lives.

The Whirling Dervish in all Her Glory

November 15, 2009
The Whirling Dervish

Pit Hair

My eldest daughter’s superhero name is the Whirling Dervish(WD).  She is a bundle of big curly hair, crazy blue eyes, and energy that could light a small city. She is 9 going on 35 and started wearing deodorant a few weeks ago after she twirled by me with her arms up in the air and melted my eyelashes with pit funk.  Her  older brother that is closest to her in age (he’s 11), superhero name: Mini-Me, at times can peel paint with what he’s got going on in the pits and for a minute I thought he had come in. When I realized that in fact, it was my eldest daughter two things happened.  I sent her on the express train to the shower to bathe along with a brand new stick of her very own deodorant, and my stomach dropped as I realized that puberty was pulling up in the driveway to take up residence and I wasn’t sure I was ready.

To be sure, we have already been having conversations and reading about what will eventually be happening to her body.  But I was happy just having the conversations without the live demonstrations.

So this week, we were flipping through “The Care and Keeping of You” By American Girl and got to the section in underarm hair and I realized that I hadn’t actually looked in her pits to see if there was any hair there.  So, I asked her if she had any and to let me see.  She told me that she would be right back.  I’m thinking she’s going to look herself to see if there is any hair under there before she shows me.  A few minutes later she comes out with her tank top on and a piece of orange string across her chest, and says she’s ready to show me her pits.  She raises her arms and I almost peed my pants. She had taken all of the hair out of the 15 hairbrushes we have in our house and made herself some arm hair.  After I finished crying and laughing, I told her that was a good one.  She responded, “Yes, that was very creatful wasn’t it?…hunh?????  “Oh,” I say,”The word is creative, not creatful, ya hairy armpitted nut.” She smiled and gave me a flash of the pits.

That’s my Whirling Dervish.

And So It Begins…..

November 13, 2009

It’s a rainy Friday afternoon and I decided to finally stop fartin’ around and start my blog.  It’s a scary sort of committment, but I’m all in, ’cause I’ve got something to say and am vain enough to think others might want to read about it.

So, a little background information.  I am happy to say that I turned 40 last month and have earned every one of the gray hairs I have recently found.  I have been with my husband for 15 years, married for 13 of them and have four beautiful and wonderful (at this moment) children, not including the 4th grader that I am carrying around my midriff. 

I am wicked stepmother to a teenage son (Number1), an 11 year-old son (Mini-Me), a 9 year-old daughter (Whirling Dervish), and a 6 year-old daughter(Glamour Rays).  I work full-time, and according to my husband, volunteer too much.  We are scheduled to the hilt with activites out the wahzoo and have the usual concerns; work, money, school, money, home, money, discipline, money, stress, money, health, etc… To round out the fun and merriment, we have a fantastic network of family and friends, and a very well-stocked bar.

Needless to say there is quite a bit of fodder in all aspects of my life and I wanted to share in hopes that someone might get some amusement from it all. And so, I blog.


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