Monday, September 10, 2012

Most Dangerous

This child - who is awesome - told me the following today:

"Mom, do you know what the four most dangerous things in the world are? Lions, tigers, scissors and knives."

"OH! And tarantulas."

"And probably bees, green hornets and yellow jackets."

Love. Him.

Sunday, September 9, 2012


My nine-year-old told me last week that this song "just expresses me so well."

She does not lack in self-confidence, that one.

Thursday, February 23, 2012


I've been blaming my busy life for my failure to update this blog very often. And that is partly true. The other guilty party is Twitter. I tend to tweet about silly things the kids say or do more often that I blog about them lately.

Here's a good one from C (newly five-years-old) from today:

  • "Mom, is it okay if I say the word 'shit'?" (Uh, nope.) "Okay."

And from Twitter over the past few months:

  • "Don't lick my bandaid." (One twin to the other.)
  • Most important events of 2011, according to M (age 9): Osama bin Laden killed and The Muppets released.
  • Just found out parent meeting for daughter's new Brownie troop will be at Tanners [a bar]. Love this troop already..
  • Just got into major argument with my husband abt Jay-Z. Of course, he was drunk. My husband, not Jay-Z.
  • My directionally challenged husband: "Did you know Martin City isn't at 151st and Kenneth Road anymore?" Yeah, it never was...Good God
  • My 4YO has suddenly turned Canadian. Keeps telling me to "forgetabootit".
  • I have been anointed as the "worst mom ever" by my smallest kid. Just surprised it took until after 5 o'clock
  • "I wish only Dad & me lived here. Not you." So says the 4YO, who follows it up with "I'm ready to be nice now. Can I go outside?"
  • I've seen (but don't understand) husband/wife FB accts before. Today, I saw a joint LinkedIn acct. Is there a rational explanation for this?
  • My 4yo just informed me that "booty" is not a bad word. And that marshmellows are now called "barfmellows". Oh, to be 4...
  • One of my four year olds just told me he was going to bed. Is now putting himself to bed. Aaaaaand, he's back. "Just kidding," he says.
  • Call me a bad mom if you will but preschool Christmas programs are excruciating.
  • I hope they don't discover that Febreze causes cancer at some point. My existence (with 3 sons & a husband) depends on Febreze. Ew.
  • Yesterday, all of my kids were singing Red Solo Cup. Today, Friday by Rebecca Black. 2012 goal? Force my kids to listen to better music.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Okay, fine. I'll post something.

I received a not-so-subtle email this morning, lodging an "OFFICIAL COMPLAINT" that this blog hasn't been updated since August. Thanks for the kick in the ass, friend who used to clean the popcorn machine and rewind VHS tapes with me at the video store we worked at in high school. (And that, dear readers, will tell you approximately how old I am. I worked at a video store that rented VHS tapes - and had a creepy porn section in the back corner and no one apparently thought it was weird that high school kids stocked, rewound and sold from that section daily. And remember that time when we had to pull all of the Traci Lords tapes because it came out that she was underage? Okay, enough about the video store.)

I would say sorry for the digression but it's actually frighteningly on-topic. You'll see.

Earlier this school year, I gifted my 10-year-old son with my trusty Merriam-Webster dictionary. The edition that saw me through late elementary, junior high, high school, college, law school (supplemented by Black's Law Dictionary) and life. I believe it has my maiden name in fifth-grade scrawl inside the front cover.

He needed it for spelling assignments - write the definition, use the word in a sentence-type stuff.

At Christmas, I gifted the same son with an iPod Touch with which he was immediately obsessed. He became a voracious YouTube consumer. Mostly, Japanese animation and Power Rangers.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. I walked into his room one morning to make sure he was getting ready for school. He was sitting on the floor, hunched over the dictionary. I asked him what he was doing. "Just looking up the word 'dildo'," he said nonchalantly.

"Hmm. Where'd you hear that word, buddy?"


"Hmm. Well, you better close the book and get ready for school, please."

And I left.

And he never said another word about it. Thank God.

I am a coward and clearly not cut out for parenthood.

(On another day, he told me he needed to look up "porno". We are currently in the midst of an indefinite YouTube ban in our house.)

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

For Nedra

My babies are now about the same age that my older kids were when I started this blog. And I'm remembering why I had to start it. They are so unintentionally funny.

These two, because they've got older siblings, just want to be grown up. They want to act like the big kids and talk like the big kids.

Thus, H walks around constantly saying "Seriously?!" just like his big sister. Except it comes out "Theriouthly?!"

Today in the car:

They asked for the windows down and I obliged. They rode the whole way home from Target with their arms out the windows, saying "This is SO Wiccan!" (Uh, that would be their version of "This is so wicked!") "So freakin' Wiccan!"

Once again, I am so proud of my parenting abilities.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

First Game, First Goals

C & H had their first soccer game today. Pre-K herdball to be sure.

But they got it. The benefit of spending the last four years getting hauled to sibling soccer games is that you understand a little bit about the game before your parents throw you out there for their own entertainment.

I'm not saying they're MLS-ready or anything but it was pretty great. And they each scored a goal!

Here are the goals in all of their spectacular glory...

Sunday, June 19, 2011


Today is Father's Day. Yesterday, we lost my grandpa. This Wednesday would have been his 84th birthday.

His obituary says that he was born in 1927, served in the Navy from 1944 to 1946, married my grandmother in 1952, had seven kids and worked at the same place for over 30 years before retiring in 1989.

All of this is true.

But standard obits (true confession: I'm an obituary reader) leave out all the good stuff.

Like he was a good son and brother and fiercely loyal friend over decades.

His Navy stint? Came after he dropped out of high school to enlist at barely 17. He went to the Pacific theater of World War II and returned home nine months after V-J day, re-enrolled in high school and finished.

He lived for over twenty years in the house next door to his in-laws. And that house held seven kids, two adults in three bedrooms and one bathroom.

The obit leaves out the fact that he worked very hard as a welder and in the maintenance department at the same foundry that his father worked at before him. And that he took a big black lunch box with him to work every day, packed by my grandmother.

The paper doesn't mention that he became a grandfather at the young age of 44 but he already had a head of curly gray hair. And that his first grandchild was me.

Casual newspaper readers won't learn that he was a strict father but a push-over grandfather.

They won't know that he liked to tease little girls with a glimmer of fun in his eyes. Or that he made preschoolers giggle for decades by the mere (and admittedly strange) act of popping out his dentures unexpectedly.

Will the people who attend his funeral know that he made dozens of children smile by accepting their smooches and then convulsing into a full body shake and exclaiming, "Oooh, THAT was good!"? Or that his eyes sparkled when he did that?

Will they remember which spot at the kitchen table was his? Will they recall the kind of cigarettes he smoked (back before he wised up and quit)? Or what his ashtray looked like?

Will they remember his pickup truck? His RV? His bountiful tomato garden? His big, rough hands that welded, woodworked, fixed cars and snuggled babies? Or the beef jerky and summer sausage that he liked to make? I'm terrified that I will forget.

What else does the obituary miss?

The phrase "survived by his wife" doesn't begin to convey the sixty years that my grandparents spent by each other's sides. Caring for each other and their children and their siblings and their parents. My grandpa wasn't a perfect man. Like most of us, he could be a pain in the backside on occasion (aren't we all?). But he was, I think, I hope, a good husband. I know he was a good father and grandfather. A good man.

Sure the obituary mentions my grandfather's children, grandchildren and great grandchildren and their spouses. But it doesn't explain the intense value that those fifty or so people place on family - because that's what he taught us by living his life as he did.

Family above all else. Family first and always.

I am so very lucky to have had my grandfather in my life for 39 and a half years. That he was around as I grew up, when I graduated and when I married. I am so happy that my children knew him (and that one shares his name). And I will forever hold in my heart the knowledge that he loved me, he liked me and was proud of who I became. The obituary doesn't say that either.

I love you, Grandpa. I miss you already. I am so happy you suffer and struggle no longer but the void you left is enormous and impossible to fill. My heart is broken.