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Anyway, I thought confining his cooking to the outside grill would be safer. Then I began to notice that a 20 pound bag of charcoal and a quart of starter fluid lasted for exactly two cookouts. Again, a facet of his "faster-higher-more-is-better" outlook. I suppose that in his mind, something about the flames shooting 20 feet into the air screams "Hell yeah! A cookout! Hand me a beer!" Yet, I kept my silence and my distance whenever he was starting the grill. And never once did I remark about frizzled or missing eyebrows or the singed hair on his arms.
Then one day this fire safety challenged man decided he wanted a gas grill. Oh great, I thought, he's gonna blow something up ! But, I merely said, "I'll miss the starter fluid laced burgers if you switch to a gas grill."
Truthfully things went pretty well for the first two years that he owned the gas grill. Then one day recently I walked out back and he was holding his Bic lighter near the gas jets trying to get the grill lit. Apparently some of the jets are now clogged, rendering the auto-ignite useless. "That's not a good idea." I said, as I headed back in to the safety of the house. About five minutes later, not hearing an explosion, I peeked out the back door just in time to see him walking from the shed carrying a flame thrower! Well, not an actual flame thrower but a propane torch. Obviously with the valve completely opened, since the flame looked to be a foot long! Again, his faster-higher-more-is-better mentality! I dared to voice my opinion. "You're gonna blow up the grill, especially with all the lingering gas from your failed attempts at lighting the damn thing.' He got kind of crabby about my remarks so I went back into the house...it was then that I realized that if he blew up the grill, more than likely the back of the house would be included in the explosion. So, I gathered the kids and told them to stay near the front door. In the event of an explosion they were to run across the street to Miss Judy's house and call 911! With the evacuation plan in place, I stood with them. And then my mind jumped back to last year when my hubby accidently set the back yard on fire and I knew I had better call the fire department to see if I can enroll him in a fire safety course. Wouldn't hurt! Maybe he likes living dangerously but I don't.
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I once laughingly said that around the age of 9-10, both of my girls, went through a PPMS stage, or a Practicing PMS stage. Both have now advanced to what I unsmilingly refer to as PRe-PMS...also known around here as Psychotic-Reactions-PMS. Having never suffered from any form of PMS, it has certainly been a learning experience. Hopefully, what I have learned will help others whose daughters grow up to be scary too.
1) Do NOT look at them.
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I once laughingly said that around the age of 9-10, both of my girls, went through a PPMS stage, or a Practicing PMS stage. Both have now advanced to what I unsmilingly refer to as PRe-PMS...also known around here as Psychotic-Reactions-PMS. Having never suffered from any form of PMS, it has certainly been a learning experience. Hopefully, what I have learned will help others whose daughters grow up to be scary too.
1) Do NOT look at them.
* Looking at them can sometimes lead to a 3 hour tirade about how "SOME PEOPLE have a staring problem!"
2) Do NOT ask the "wrong" question.
* Which means, don't ask them anything.
3) Do NOT make stupid noises.
* This means don't breathe too loudly...better yet, don't breathe if you happen to be in the same room with them.
4) Do NOT take food, even if it's "just a french fry", from a PRe-PMSing girl.
* I've found out that this is grounds, in their opinion, for justifiable homicide.
5) And whatever you do, NEVER venture a guess that their attitude may be directly related to a certain time of month.
* The reaction to this statement gives me flashbacks to the headspinning scene in "The Exorcist"!
6) DO invest in preventitive measures...
* String yourself a necklace of garlic, buy a cross, hire an Exorcist.
7) DO buy stock in Bacardi's or a like company of your choice.
*I guarantee you'll take up drinking.
8) DO invest in a vacation home.
* You'll need somewhere to go when it becomes obvious that running away is safer than being at home with these scary girls.
Oh, in case you are wondering, I asked both of my girls permission to post this. Didn't want them to come back and make my head spin around unnaturally!
ADDENDUM:
Obviously I know PMS is a real thing! And I try to handle it with humor. Okay, that's a lie...I lay low, barely breathing, like the coward that I am, for fear that I'll inspire the wrath of a PMSing young lady! So, it was with great trepidation that I actually participated in the conversation when my youngest daughter brought up the subject of PMS last night. She asked me if there are medicines for PMS. She (finally!) realizes how bitchy and emotionally out of control she gets. She says she "hates everyone...just because..."
"Because they're breathing?" I offered as a finish to her sentence. (Gosh, that was brave of me.)
"Yeah, that's pretty much it." she acknowledged. As the conversation continued, I realized that her admitting that the problem was with her and not the rest of us for merely breathing, was a step in the right direction.
She ventured to say that her life would be so much better without PMS.
"Yeah. Mine too." I said. (Dammit! I was really being stupidly brave! Why'd I say that?)
Anyway, a bit later she was on line IMing a friend. She told him that she was gonna get some meds for her PMS. Her friend said, "Thank God!"
I guess the thought of her getting some relief for her PMS brings out the faith in all of us...I know that in my head, because I'm not a complete imbecile, I was singing "Hallelujah. Hallelujah." Amen.
]]>I help with all of the remodeling projects although I avoid power tools. When it comes to things like using a circular saw, my main job is to stand nearby with phone in hand and have 911 pre-dialed, so I can push the send button...just in case it WAS'NT a good idea to use the saw without its safety guard attached. But, what do I know about safety and power tools? I'm JUST a woman afterall. If the use of the unguarded saw is as unsafe as I think it is, then I suppose it will become my job to pick up any severed digits, after calling the EMT's.
Another of my "jobs" is to hold the ladder. Haven't figured this assignment out. Can anyone else see the flaw in this safety measure? I mean, am I, at 120 pounds, suppose to catch this 245 pound man should he fall from the ladder? I guess he doesn't realize that should he start falling, I'm abandoning my post at the foot of the ladder so I won't be embedded into the wood floor if he should land on me! Safety first! I'm not a total fool afterall!
My main job in all of this remodeling (besides whining that I don't feel like cooking dinner after working all day) is "Keeper of the sh*t". Every morning when the hubby complains, "People need to leave my tools alone so I don't have to hunt for them everyday!", it becomes my job, as "Sh*t Keeper" to inform him that his hammer is on the window sill where HE left it yesterday.
Of course, each new project teaches me some valuable lessons about carpentry. I recently learned:
1) The purpose of 3 pair of protective goggles is to occupy the top drawer of the tool box.
2) No mention of ownership of said goggles is appreciated.
3) My parents use to say, "Some people would lose their head if it were'nt attached." This is a phrase that I now completely understand!
4) There is, apparently, no reason for the weight limit warning on ladders.
5) Don't ask questions...because SOME people get awfully crabby when they are working.
Tomorrow...the deck railings. Wonder what lessons I'll learn on this project?
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One Thursday morning, I was getting a cup of coffee when for some reason that darned "HOT NOW" doughnut sign at Krispy Kreme flashed into my mind in all of its red neon glory.
I quickly went into the den and related this to my husband.
"Don't you think it's a revelation or something?" I asked.
"No." he said.
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One Thursday morning, I was getting a cup of coffee when for some reason that darned "HOT NOW" doughnut sign at Krispy Kreme flashed into my mind in all of its red neon glory.
I quickly went into the den and related this to my husband.
"Don't you think it's a revelation or something?" I asked.
"No." he said.
"Well, doesn't a chocolate glazed doughnut sound perfect for breakfast?" I was trying the old get to his heart through his stomach routine.
"No." he said.
"Do you think it might be an omen or something? Something bad could happen if you don't go to KK and buy doughnuts." (Yeah, like I could whine all day...)
"I doubt it's an omen." he said.
Well, I decided not to whine. And I'm pretty sure that I JUST mentioned KK doughnuts 2-3 more times when I was telling my dad and sister's that my mean hubby wouldn't buy me doughnuts...so I didn't nag either.
Flash forward to Saturday:
We had to drive by Krispy Kreme on the way home from grocery shopping at BJ's. I very quietly noted that the "HOT NOW" sign wasn't on, but that I'd be willing to sit in the parking lot until it came on. And it really didn't matter if we had frozen chicken in the back seat because that was for the kids anyway.
He said, "No. They cost too much. They're $6.39 a dozen."
"Well, when we started coming here 25 years ago, they cost about $3.00 a dozen. That is not a huge price increase for 25 years!" I rationalized.
Now, if my math skills didn't totally suck I could have told him right then that that $6.39 price is an increase of less than 14 cents a year! But, it wasn't until I got home and pulled up the calculator, that I figured this out.
Did I get my doughnuts? No. Because he IS mean to me! Don't you think that doughnut deprivation amounts to abuse or neglect or something? Anyway, I'm thinking I'm gonna report his hiney to whomever you report stuff like this to...
Sunday morning:
I woke up to my husband saying, "The doughnuts are on the kitchen table."
As I put a few doughnuts on a plate and poured my coffee, I said, "I guess I'm suppose to write a blog today about what a sweetheart you really are to bring me doughnuts, right?"
He just smiled. So I smiled back and said, "Honey, you KNOW me...I do appreciate the fact that you got up early and went and got me doughnuts! But, more than likely I'll blog complaining that not only did it take 4 days of subtle and not so subtle begging to get my darned doughnuts, but that you woke me up at 8:20 in the freaking morning on a day that I had planned to sleep in!" ;)
Poor guy. Can't win...
Now, excuse me while I go tear the Divorce/ Lawyer section out of the phone books. Wouldn't want to make it too easy for him.
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No skinny-dipping. Not for me.
55 is frightening, you see.
Not in a lake, near wooded park.
]]>No skinny-dipping. Not for me.
55 is frightening, you see.
Not in a lake, near wooded park.
Not in the pool, after dark.
Not in the shower, late at night.
At 55, "things" just ain't right!
Not with belly fat and sagging rear.
No skinny-dipping for me, my dear!
No skinny-dipping, even for fun.
Not under threat of a knife or a gun.
Not in summer. Never in fall.
Ugly naked is against the law!
By: JMJ
]]>Years ago I was wandering through an antiques store when I came across a book that offered advice on how to be the perfect wife. This book was published in 1953...the year I was born. I literally laughed out loud as I scanned some of the chapters. And in my head I was writing my own version*.
For example:
The book said:
1) "Dinner should always be on the table when your husband arrives home."
]]>Years ago I was wandering through an antiques store when I came across a book that offered advice on how to be the perfect wife. This book was published in 1953...the year I was born. I literally laughed out loud as I scanned some of the chapters. And in my head I was writing my own version*.
For example:
The book said:
1) "Dinner should always be on the table when your husband arrives home."
*I say: "Okay. But, that kind of depends on how fast the delivery guy can get here."
The book said:
2) "You should always greet him at the door with a smile."
* I can do that. I can paste some fake-ass smile on my face as I tell him what brats "HIS" kids were while he was gone.
The book said:
3) "Don't burden him with anything that happened at home." Not until he has had a "few hours to unwind" from his busy day at work.
*No problem. I guess I can wait a few more hours before I explain why "HIS" kids are duct taped to the clothesline poles out back.
The book said:
4) "Never go to bed mad."
* Fine. Let me get the coffee going...looks like I'm gonna be up for the next few days.
I had completely forgotten about this book until a few weeks ago, when, on-line, I stumbled across what appeared to be some advice from this same book. I read a paragraph about how it is a wife's job to support her husbands career. Based on this premise, the book said the wife "should have a party to entertain her husbands employer." It also said that the party "should be set up in a way that allows her husband to freely display his talents."
Well...okay. But, this could be kind of scary! What if you have one of those environmentally irresponsible husbands whose only talent seems to be walking around in his boxers contributing methane gas into the atmosphere? Just how would you incorporate THAT talent into a party theme?
]]>One night my teen daughter, Jaime, was on the phone to a friend. As I entered the room that she was in, she said, "Mom, Donnie says that I'm a pain in the butt. What does that make him?"
I ventured a guess, "Smart?"
"You are NOT funny, mom!" she said rather hatefully.
Darn...here I thought I was blessed with a good sense of humor. But, what the hell do I know?
]]>One night my teen daughter, Jaime, was on the phone to a friend. As I entered the room that she was in, she said, "Mom, Donnie says that I'm a pain in the butt. What does that make him?"
I ventured a guess, "Smart?"
"You are NOT funny, mom!" she said rather hatefully.
Darn...here I thought I was blessed with a good sense of humor. But, what the hell do I know?
Then there was the day that Jaime came home from school and was kind of rushing around, like she was getting ready to go somewhere. I asked, "What are you doing?"
She yelled at me, saying, "WHAT DO I DO EVERY DAY AFTER SCHOOL, MOM?"
I quickly answered, "B*tch?" Now, this was said with much enthusiasm because I felt I was FINALLY going to get the correct answer to one of her questions! She left...slamming the front door behind her.
I looked at my dad, who was here visiting, and asked, "What? Was that the wrong answer?" Dad said he felt I had given her the correct answer.
So a few nights later when this same daughter asked me if she was being bitchy, I seriously panicked! Was this a rhetorical question? Did she really want an answer? And if so, did she want the truth or a somewhat glossed over version of the truth? And why in the world is she asking me anyway when every other time that I offer my opinion on something, she says, "You don't know anything, mom!"
After a long pause, during which I'm sure she wondered if I were deaf or just ignoring her, I finally blurted out, "No more than usual, why?" Oh crap...judging by her reaction this was not the answer that she wanted!
I swear, some days I think being the mother of a PMS-ing teenaged girl really sucks. I also think she needs to quit asking me these kind of questions!
]]>My husband and I had gone out to get our taxes done. While we were out, our oldest daughter had come over to our house to do her laundry. When we returned home, my daughter said, "Mom, something is wrong with your laundry detergent." I assured her that nothing was wrong with it, that I had just opened it on Monday and had been using it all week. She went on to say, "...it smells funny, kind of like oil. And there's some kind of gunk in the bottom of the bottle." She asked, "You didn't notice the smell?" I somewhat defensively replied, "NO! I don't sniff my laundry detergent! Do you? I did notice that it looked a bit cloudy but it's 10 freaking degrees out in the utility room! I just figured it was semi-frozen!"
At this point my husband went out to the utility room to check the detergent out. It wasn't long before he came back in smiling. Apparently, according to him, he had emptied the used oil from the deep fryer into an empty detergent bottle last week. He said he placed the bottle next to the kitchen trash can with the intention of carrying it out later. Just how this bottled oil made its way into the utility room is still a mystery.
Yet, not believing that I had actually washed our clothes (for a week!) in used veggie oil, I asked my youngest daughter, "Honey, when you went for a walk yesterday, did the neighborhood dogs follow you?" She said no but added that when she stopped at her friends house, his dog kept "sniffing" her.
Everyone here is aware that I am domestically challenged but this screw up beat anything else I'd ever done! So by this time, we were all laughing so hard that I could barely choke out, "The dog was sniffing you 'cause you probably smelled like a damn chicken nugget!"
As with any major screw up the story didn't end there... My youngest son suffers from allergies and had been complaining about a "very itchy rash" all week. At the time he had one pair of jeans that still fit. Being a concerned mother, I was re-washing these jeans every night, in case he was coming into contact with something outside that was causing this rash. Of course, NOW I knew that it was my used veggie oil causing his rash!
You can imagine all the smart aleck remarks that I heard...something about jeans that "slid on easier", having a "washer that squeeks less than it once did" and other statements about "possible nominations for mother of the year."
You know, I just don't understand this family of mine! I would have thought that the kids would have appreciated having somewhat waterproof clothes when it next rained. And what about the fact that their faded jeans looked a newer, darker blue? Ingrates, I guess.
Anyway, that is the honest to gosh true story behind the title of my blog!
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