Wouldn’t it be great to go back to the days when we were that fresh warm and fuzzy little piece of cashmere that was cooed and coddled at just the right moments? The answer is yes, yes it would be great.
Sadly, that’s not going to happen anytime soon.
Instead, we must endure life. That’s right folks, our parents and the parents before them and so forth and so on had to make the brave decision to send their cotton balls out into the world to create their own fabric of life. One thread at a time.
I remember my days as a fresh little piece of lambswool, untethered by this thing we call life. Did you know that lambswool is the highest quality of sheep’s wool to be found? Yep, it’s the perfect combination of strong, smooth, flexible fibers just like the innocence of childhood, where everything is magical. Until puberty came along like a hot iron.
Have you ever put a hot iron on a piece of lambswool? Well, the result was the teenage years, and it came in the form of acne, temptation, “love” and an attitude that included, but was not limited to, thinking I was smarter than, well, everyone older than me.
This is when my life turned into that love it or hate fabric polyester. Not the evolved polyester of today, I’m talking about the one that fell from grace once it went double-knit. Better known as the lesson learning fabric.
I spent over a decade living in this durable, lightweight, retaining my shape, easy to wash, flexible, but uncomfortable, unbreathable, cheap, ugly and highly flammable fabric. The keyword here is durable.
However, towards the end of my polyester days, I did recognize that when I blended with other fabrics such as rayon, I began to shine. The rayon in my life were work mentors and friends.
Then ladies and gentleman, just as I reached my peak shimmer, marriage and motherhood wove its way right into this semi-retired jumpsuit to create the perfect blend of comfort and durability. Once again, let’s focus on the durability portion.
No one fully prepared me for all that this blend was bringing to the loom of life. All I can say is hallelujah Levi Straus for adding denim into the world of textiles. And a double hallelujah to the genius who decided to include lycra for flexibility. Can I get an AMEN?
This blend of sturdy cotton warp-faced textile, with a dash of spandex, is precisely what is needed to keep a marriage alive, raise children, work full-time outside of the home while still maintaining a CEO status in the home. Welcome to the 21st century.
Now that my children are young adults, still living at home, and my marriage has reached a chapter that is one part wooing and another part tired as hell, I feel like I’m sporting the tattered, torn, stained yet sturdy burlap sack fabric look. Only Marilyn can pull of this look … seriously.
Thankfully I feel like I still have some thread left on my spool ready for new experiences that can be woven right into my unique design.
Enjoy the Ride!
There has been a lot of activity going on here at the homestead. 23 years and not one has passed without some sort of project, so why should this year be any different. Because maybe I need a break.
I had no idea about this project until I saw the sketches. Notice that is plural.
One minute I’m attending an open house, and the next there are steel beams being erected in my yard. Confused? Me too.
Sooooooo, after a very long process the ground was broken, just in time for the holidays. Thank you Mother Nature.
What woman doesn’t want to clean-up never ending dirt during the holidays? The answer is … NONE OF THEM!
My friends, neighbors and anyone who sees our house, constantly remind me how “lucky” I am to have such a “handy guy.” Handy is fixing a pipe, I have someone who sees a mantle inside of a tree stump.
It’s not that I’m ungrateful or that I won’t be over the moon with the results, it’s the lonely road in between that does me in. I’m a Home Improvement Widow!
During these periods of “tinkering”, we can sit in the same room and one of us (not me) has no recollection of that period of time.Why? Because the wheels are spinning at a rate that I cannot even recognize. I’m surprised he doesn’t explode.
My life from now until the last stroke of the paintbrush will be solo. My other half is officially consumed into his project. His creative juices are percolating and his magic is about to be unleashed. Meanwhile over here ….
Legos for adults should really be a thing.
As if this enormous project wasn’t enough to occupy every waking moment, we had a recent mishap in our bathroom. 4 loose tiles to be exact. Remember that line.
The solution to this was put the masterpiece outback on hold, take a week of vacation time to “fix” the bathroom and you’ll be taking a shower in a week he said….
We only have one bathroom with a shower. The other bathroom has a beautiful spa tub. You know that saying “too much of a good thing won’t be good” it’s like that.
On the Saturday before the big fix I asked, and I quote: “Are you going to paint?” the response, which will be used by me every chance I get from now, until well … forever was “Yes, I’m going to paint.”
By the time I returned home Monday there was, let’s just say much more progress than I expected. Shock and awe were more like it.
There were FOUR loose tiles people.
Yes, he said he was going to “rearrange” the toilet and the sink.
No, he did NOT say anything about demolition … AT ALL! He said he was going to paint!!!
Needless to say, the week came and went. Progress is being made, but I’m still not showering or murdering.
The tile is down. The molding is up. The shower is on BACK ORDER. The toilet, sink and walls have not been spotted, but my patience is still intact. Hanging by a thread…but still on.
My favorite part about all of this is using my new Super Power. That’s right folks, the line “you said you were going to paint” is my new go to for everything ever wanted by yours truly.
Me: I think I’m going to order new cushions for the patio.
Hubby: Do we really need them?
Me: You said you were going to paint. They arrive Tuesday.
I just love the Yin/Yang of life!
Enjoy the Ride!
Father’s Day has been different for me over the years. My father died on Father’s Day in 1994. It’s ok, don’t be all sad, he planned the big exit so we would never forget. 23 years ago on the 19th of June.
Honestly, I always thought it would be Christmas, the big guns of the holidays, but having your father die on Father’s Day…well-played Jim, well-played indeed.
This was a man with a very large presence, who wanted to be remembered in a very grand way so I would say…mission accomplished dad.
My dad was almost 58 when I born..oops, which made my childhood a tad interesting, to say the least. It’s funny because I never thought my dad was old, he was just my dad. Until that Summer afternoon in my driveway when my best friend invited me to come to her Grams surprise 60th birthday party. She informed me it was going to be a big party because 60 is really old. This moment was equivalent having a friend fill you in on the whole Santa hoax. Wadda mean really old?
Needless to say, the lightbulb went off, the calculator in my head was hard at work and 68 is the final answer. Should I be afraid that the Grim Reaper is lurking in the shadows? Yes, which is exactly what I did from that moment forward. Side note: My mother was 20 years younger, just in case you were going to look me up in the Guinness Book of World Records as the baby born to the oldest woman or something.
He certainly didn’t act old. We went to the shore, amusement parks, and rides to Lancaster, just because he liked chicken and dumplings. We drove for ice-cream on a whim to a special place 45 minutes away, because it was better. We did everything the kids with a young dad did, just with more gray hair.
As I said my dad had a big personality. He was a Jimmy Hoffa/Archie Bunker (without the bigotry) all rolled into one. If he had something to say, he said it. If you crossed him…be afraid. If there was wrong to be righted, he got the job done. How? Who knows and it’s probably better to leave some things to the imagination.
He was a feisty free spirit who lived his life according to his own set of rules. He was loud, stubborn, demanding, certainly not boring, full of life and definitely had a good sense of humor. He never smoked or drank a day in his life, which most likely helped him in the end. I couldn’t even imagine an alcohol induced Jim…I think I just got goosebumps at that thought.
He was a Teamster and drove a truck for a living, but retired when I went to first grade. So in 1971, he became the stay at home dad and my mother went to work. Let’s just draw some more attention to ourselves as being different, shall we?
Both of my parents were very politically active during my childhood, so although he was retired from his job he always had something going on politically. He did go back to work part-time until he was 81. His motto was “always work hard, but remember you’re only a number” and today my siblings and I are all incredibly loyal hard-working adults, despite being a number.
When my dad was 81 he lost part of his foot to diabetes. This was after Dr. Jim decided he would remove his ingrown toenail with pliers. Feel free to read that line again, yes you did read “pliers” and yes, as in the tool in the garage.
Of course, no one knew how bad it was until it was too late. My mother had to retire at that point to care for him for the next 7 years. She refers to that time as “serving her sentence.” The woman is a saint! There isn’t a jury in the land that would convict her if she accidentally sat on that pillow on his face…trust me.
Jim was the worst patient in the ENTIRE world. Try telling an old free spirit …” you can’t”. The sentence “you can’t drive anymore, we need to take your license” was a million times more deadly than that gangrenous foot … for all of us.
Although, I know there were highways out there cheering with joy that Mr. Magoo was finally parked for good. Sitting in the passenger seat could cure even the worst case of constipation.
Honestly, when the man behind the wheel is saying “I’ll drive wherever the hell I want..I pay my taxes” as your entering the street with the red and white DO NOT ENTER sign, you know why your bowels are rumbling!
Although I was born to an older dad, I was fortunate that he hung around long enough to meet my daughter. I found out I was pregnant with my son the day before his funeral. This was a huge surprise, considering I had no recollection of having sex. But, according to that blue plus sign on the stick, I did. My first thought was “Oh, shit!” and rightfully so, because sure enough, there is a stubborn, demanding, free-spirited, outspoken young man who looks very much like my dad, living in my house.
Just remember folks, at 58 my father lived another life. He died when I was 30 years old. So he raised me, watched me get married… twice, became a grandfather for the 7th time and taught me a valuable lesson … you’re never too old to Enjoy the Ride!
I’m seeking some assistance from my brilliant readers. You are all so wise that I’m confident one, if not more, hold the answer to my inquiry.
Is there a time limit, expiration date, deadline or cutoff for receiving calls from your ex-husband’s debt collectors? Seriously!
Last evening I was sitting all comfy cozy reading some of your inspiring literature, when I was interrupted by a phone call that took me completely by surprise. I’m not a fan of surprises.
This is what went down:
DC a/k/a Debt Collector: Can I speak with Mr. Dumb Ass? This is so much more appropriate that the real identity of the ex and frankly it’s MUCH nicer than what I really want to say.
Me: Um, there is no one here by that name. Stunned!
DC: *Insert really nasty tone* Well, do you know where I can find him? Oh, no you didn’t!
Me: Well, as far as I know he is living in his mommy & daddy’s basement with his third
victim wife and one of his spawned seeds. This is a true fact.
DC: Oh, um well you are on THE LIST of contacts so, um eh that’s why I’m calling. List?
Me: *Insert complete freaking crazy* List? There is a list? Guess what mister … there needs to be a LIST of people to contact before you start handing out money to Mr. Dumb Ass. Put me on the top of THAT freaking list! Look, I’ve been divorced from Mr. Dumb Ass for 25 …Y E A R S and all I can tell you is some things never change! Snap!
DC: *Insert a bunch of stuttering nonsense* I’ll take you off the list.
Me: *Insert ALL of the pent-up emotions I have been dealing with this month* Yes, yes you will be taking me of that list because I should have been taken OFF that LIST once the divorce was final TWENTY-FIVE freaking years ago! Who do you think you are calling MY house with a tone as if I’m in control of this Dumb Ass? You really have a nerve calling anyone with a tone sir…you need to save that tone for the stupid people who gave another stupid person any form of credit. Oh, and just so you know, I can guarantee you that Mr. Dumb Ass most likely owes everyone on your precious LIST money as well, so tell your company to get in FREAKING LINE! Hello?
DC: Silence……ok, have a good evening…click.
I was so out of control, but I’m not surprised after being on a roller coaster ride of emotions this month. It was just a matter of time before someone reaped the unfortunate benefits. The 28 days of February have been chock-full of ups & downs, so I would say this was certainly an appropriate farewell. Tootles February … it’s been real.
Once the dust settled I heard a faint, somewhat frightened voice coming from down stairs asking “Are you alright?” At this point there was nothing left to do but laugh so hard I couldn’t even answer. This was no doubt the remainder of emotions detoxing from my body. There is no better feeling than releasing emotional toxins from your body!
I am officially entering March like a Lamb. Now, that’s all I need is a foot massage, four donuts and an orgasm (not necessarily in that order) to really…Enjoy the Ride!
Well, my favorite person is my husband and the most time spent apart was 7 days. Yes, 7 long lonely days. The thing you need to understand is that for years my husband had a job that required him to start at some god forsaken hour, leaving him to return early in the day. This provided us an opportunity to spend an unusual amount of time together, which we enjoyed as a couple and a family. Eventually all good things must come to an end.
A few years back the hubby’s body gave him a heads-up that it really wasn’t willing to continue taking the daily beatings anymore. This was followed by a very serious ultimatum “it’s the job or me.” So,when opportunity knocked, he answered. The only downfall to the new career were the mandatory trainings throughout the year that required time away from home. The perks far outweighed this minor inconvenience, so he signed on the dotted line. This fact is true right up until that point when you are actually inconvenienced, then it’s a pain in the ass.
I can’t even explain the ache when he was getting ready for his first 7-day training trip. Let’s just say one might assume he was going to moon, not Indiana. As you already guessed by now yes, I SURVIVED.
The best part of the entire separation was the anticipation for his return. I could just about contain my excitement ! It was equivalent to Christmas morning for a 6-year-old. I arrived at the airport early, which left me with the added pleasure of circling a million times while burning a half a tank of gas and no doubt looking very suspicious to the authorities. The unusually large grin on my face probably didn’t help the suspected crazy.
Finally, I got the call “the Eagle has landed.” Woo Hoo! I circled one last time, picked-up my man and headed home sweet home. Remember that anticipation I mentioned earlier? Well it exploded right there in the car and we were suddenly like two hormone induced teenagers. The trip was not nearly as long as that drive home!
The universe was working in our favor that day. The kids were at school, the dog was snoring and well, I think I’ll let my man Marvin Gaye end this story. Sometimes a little alone time does the heart & soul good! Enjoy the Ride!
I love to laugh and it’s no secret that I enjoy making others join right in on the silliness. Over the past few weeks, mostly though writing this blog, I’ve been having flashbacks of different times in my life when the laughter took over into nothing short of hysteria.
My very first memory of this happening was in my 3rd grade classroom. I sat next to Philip Shreiber. Ah, Philip had one of those faces that always lit up like a cartoon. You actually can be born animated, Philip was living proof. Philip always appeared to be on the brink of laughter, which of course is contagious, especially in a restricted environment like a Catholic school classroom.
That’s all it ever took was eye contact to get the giggles going. Well, all I remember about this day was he pointed at me with his shoe and we both lost complete control. I’m so easy.
Sister Marie Donald one of the good ones asked us to refrain, which as we all know is impossible. We were summoned to the back of the room like 2 criminals, along with ALL of the belongings in our desk. Just for added humiliation, because that’s how Catholics’ roll. One would think that would be enough to stop the insanity in its tracks, but it actually made it worse. Looking pathetic is also hilarious.
Philip was then incarcerated into the closet and I was exiled to the corner. To this day I laugh thinking about the snickers from behind the closed closet door. The longer it went on, the harder the laughter. Somethings never change now do they?
After our return to civilization we were separated. I’m glad we never had to explain what was so funny, lord knows “he was pointing with his shoe” sounds very lame after the fact.
In my unauthorized research, I have concluded that this sort of hysteria laughter generally occurs in unacceptable locations or at inappropriate times, which just seems to enhance the intensity.
Now, what I am about to share is 100% true and parental discretion is advised.
Building self-esteem, 45 minute classes held 3 times a week that we didn’t have to stay and
be bored watch, it was a parental dream come true. Judge away, it was the best $99 we ever spent…a win win if you will.
So what do young parents do when the house is empty? They get it on of course, without having to muffle the sounds of their pleasure. Bring on the sexual circus we have 45 minutes to get this done!
Let me set the scene for you..the season is Summer, the windows are open and we live in a row home. Scary combination for many reasons, but especially for what is about to happen.
Just as things got started under the Big Top there was a knock at the door. In moments like this, the whole men are from mars, women are from venus thing becomes crystal clear.
Me: It must be the police letting us know something happened to one of the kids. Him: Acute deafness sets in. Perhaps if I was with someone from my own planet, things would have turned out very differently.
Him: It’s Jeff (a kid) returning that movie. Now, where were we…The knocking was endless. This kid was determined to return the dam movie!
Me: Let me answer the door. Him: No, just focus come on he’ll leave. Me: Focus? The giggles start.
Kid: Zaaaaaac’s Moooooom are you in there? Me: Lost it! Laughing out loud. Busting a gut is an understatement.
Him: Very close to a pivotal moment. Me: Busted out in full-fledged laughter. Kid: Zac’s mom I know you’re in there I can hear you laughing. Laying there like a porpoise, laughing like a hyena…looking as unsexy as one could possibly look at any given time.
Him: Jumps up to look out the window while mumbling something about how he can’t wait to ruin the kid’s sex life one day. The visual will be forever etched in my mind.
Me: Laughing so hard I can’t even form words, let alone FOCUS.
Kid: Zaaaaaaaaaac’s mooooooooom …….I can still hear you laughing. I may have died and come back at this point..I remember a light.
Him: Mission accomplished. Me: Still laughing from under the pillow that somehow found its way over my face. Suddenly felt the need for a cigarette and I don’t smoke.
So, what’s the moral of this wonderful piece of literature you ask? Life is full of unexpected opportunities, challenges and change. How you respond is the key to your happiness. So..keep it light, keep it happy and just … Enjoy the Ride!
No plans, just a ride…or so I thought. We were somewhere around Quakertown, PA when we pulled into an empty church parking lot. Of course the million dollar question is “what are we doing here?” I heard the response, but I just wasn’t on the same page as…”this is the house I was telling you about, the one next to the church.” Some lightbulbs were going off, but they were dim and I was still stuck on church & home being used in the same sentence.
The house was nice, very well-groomed, empty and a good price. All good right? We turned around in the parking lot and there was nothing but CORN as far as the eye could see. My hubby asked..”so what do you think?’ I didn’t pull the guns out at first, I made some nice comments about the house, but then I had to ask “who will I talk to, there is no one here? “Me” was the response. Yea, love is one thing, 24/7 is a whole other story.
It appeared GOD was on my side, the words SALE PENDING were covering the FOR SALE portion of the sign. Well played God, well-played indeed.
We continued on with our day. I was enjoying the scenery along with the music, as I was continuously being reminded how “nice & quiet” it was around those parts. Yep, it really must be a hit for people who are into silence.
The sales pitches were coming at me like darts, but I was loosing my case bad, almost at a slaughter level. My case started off with a very weak …”that shopping area looked congested, almost dirty.” Considering I’m from Philadelphia, that doesn’t even make sense, yet it came right out of this mouth. The look was enough, no need for words to slam that insane defense. The Green Acres theme song was just pounding away in my head at this point.
One thing throughout the entire day stood out like a sore thumb, only women seemed to be cutting the lawn. I saw women on tractors, riding mowers and pushing mowers with hot pink sound proof ear phones. She was hardcore about battling those blades of grass…why?
I started the conversation about the high volume of women cutting the lawn, only to hear yet another sales pitch. “See you could be out cutting the lawn instead of being on the computer.” Really? Yea, this was the turning point, ready…aim…fire!
Me: First of all I’m allergic to everything under the sun, I can’t even pick a tomato in our garden without a suit of armor and I still seem to come inside with a tick or a rash.
The only reason those woman are cutting the lawn is to escape the madness inside those homes! If they don’t do something with their hands they will be bludgeoning someone with a frying pan.
Let me just give you a scenario of our life surrounded by corn. You’ll go to work, but now your day will be longer because we are so far from civilization. This leaves me alone with my imagination, creative abilities and CORN. So, don’t be surprised when you come home and find extra place settings for our guests The Cobs.
Of course you’ll go along with this insanity out of fear, knowing it’s only a matter of time before Pop, the disgruntled Cob shows up to wreak havoc on the silence. For the record….I don’t even like corn!
Oddly enough throughout my entire presentation Bridge Over Troubled Water was playing on the radio….it didn’t help.
Hubby: Well, it looks like we’re going to need something between the corn and the city.
We laughed most of the way back to civilization. We agreed that even though something was “moving” in our neighbor’s trash bag, it doesn’t mean we have to be exiled to the silence of corn fields for the rest of your days. Compromise is good….unless it involves bringing a “moving” trash bag to corn land to add some city spice, which yes, was suggested during the sales pitch.
Happiness is meeting in the middle while you…Enjoy the Ride!
Over the years my kids have told me “you’re so embarrassing” about things that aren’t even recognized on the humiliation meter. If someone has a birthday cake in their cart at the supermarket, yes I feel compelled to say “enjoy your celebration.” That’s NOT a big freaking deal! Actually, the conversation is usually longer, but it’s not like I’m asking for an invite. I’m not ruling it out if the cake looks fabulous.
Try standing in the checkout line of the A&P with your dad, who just happens to be the only man shopping, as he lets loose the LOUDEST fart in history. As if that weren’t enough. Every head in the store towards us with looks of horror and disgust as my dad, in true Jim fashion said “what? the doors open it will find its way out.” If my sister and I didn’t die of embarrassment..trust me, no one will!
Recently we attended a graduation party. All the young kids were out on the dance floor, except my son. Apparently he didn’t want me to follow him onto the dance floor. He hasn’t recovered from the Mother/Son incident 2 years ago when I was pretending to lasso him onto the dance floor….”so embarrassing.” Please, it was hilarious and he knows it!
No, embarrassing is when you’re outside jumping rope with all your friends and a Taxi comes rolling down the street. By the way, at this point no one knows what a taxi is, so yes the crowd is forming.
Where does it stop you ask, right in front of my house of course. All heads turn toward me for some sort of answer. The door opens, my dad emerges in a HOSPITAL GOWN and the crowd looks as perplexed as me. Shall we all take a moment and be grateful for the fact he was holding the back together covering his fat ass. I quickly learned the art of diversion. Hey, I’ll be steady-ender!
I think I went wrong by providing my children with the illusion that I was the perfect mother who would never do anything un-mother like in their presence. The key is to start embarrassing them right out of the womb, they’ll never know any different. Let’s just leave those standards for other families.
I never knew any different until I started to notice the perplexed look on everyone else’s face when something was going down in my world. Oh, you mean it’s weird to have megaphones playing music on top of your car? It’s not if your mother is running for State Legislator and your dad is spreading the word. However, it is when he drives by your school and uses those speakers to say “Liiisssaa” while you’re in class.
My kids would have grabbed their lunch money and high tailed it out of Crazy Town!
For god sakes the more I think about it, the more I realize my kids are clueless in their definition of embarrassing. They recently referred to my old Ford Taurus wagon as “so ghetto and embarrassing.” No, it wasn’t my spinners they were referring to, just the fact that the car was old & dirty. Jeez, I wonder who could have contributed to that mess…hmm.
I think terms like “ghetto & embarrassing” could be better served to describe our 1970 something green Caprice Classic, which was already as big a whale without the (2) loud speakers and a 3ft wooden sign sporting my mothers name and barricaded to the roof. This vessel of humiliation was still used as our family car and I never remember referring to it as ghetto or embarrassing.
Honestly, you haven’t lived until you arrive at a 7-Eleven for a Slurpee in a circus on wheels. To this day I know my sister questions her decision to stop for that Slurpee. Live and learn friends, live and learn.
I waited in the
circus car with my dad when she went in for the Slurpee. She was taking her good ole time…poor decision number 2.
Never dilly dally within a 10ft radius of an unfiltered man with a microphone….ever!
As soon as he saw her in line he picked up he microphone and said “What’s taking so long? Get your ass out here!” She slithered right back into the mobile circus as if nothing happened. Taking into consideration if she walked there was the possibility of being followed and spoken to over the speakers, um yea..getting back in was clearly the best decision of the day.
Today these are the moments that give us the biggest laughs, bring us together and are considered memorable, not embarrassing.
No one ever said Memory Lane didn’t have some pot holes, in fact that’s what makes the road more interesting.
My goal is to provide my kids with as many “memories” as I can, so they can laugh about them for years to come. Something tells me I’m off to a good start!
Just fart out loud and Enjoy the Ride!
My mother went to work when I was 7, and my father was most likely the first stay at home dad in the United States. A role model or instruction manual would have been nice, really really nice.
I’m pretty sure squirting the Jehovah Witnesses off the front porch with a garden hose would have been frowned upon in the instruction manual. Hey, at least he didn’t ask us to be accomplices, he just told us to”watch this.” In his defense, they were warned and clearly weren’t used to people following through with their threats.
Our family already stuck out like sore thumbs amongst the Ward & June Cleaver types on our block. My parents were 20 years apart; I have (2) siblings old enough to be my parents, another sister who is 15 months older than me, who was no doubt the, oops, leaving me to be the WTF shock. Honestly, the only thing drawing more attention would be a third eye or tentacles.
This dynamic was much harder on the older siblings. They grew up in an era where families were portrayed as “perfect.” The white picket fence father knows best era. I never trusted those homes, everyone has some Samsonite, and those people locked it in the closet.
My sister and I really had an advantage. Our examples were more realistic with an integrated family like The Brady Bunch surfacing along with the All In The Family crew that made us look downright acceptable. We were way ahead of the Modern Family times.
When you’re born into crazy, there is only one thing to do…LAUGH. Personally, I wouldn’t have it any other way. We all walked away with quick wits and the ability to find humor in just about any occasion.
Soon after arriving it was clear that either the air conditioning wasn’t working up to par or we were all having a unison heat flash. Not good in close quarters when it’s already close to 100 outside.
One of my sisters came back from the restroom and claimed “Omg! I look like a freaking rice cake with lipstick!” The best part about this is we all “got it” and could quickly respond with a confirmed “Omg! You do, you need some peanut butter girl.”
It’s official folks … RiceKake will now be included on the list of other famous sayings within our family circle. The new spelling was given the next day by the creator, just to give it edge…so badass.
Yesterday my husband referred to me as a RiceKake when I surfaced from a public restroom dripping with sweat after suffering stomach pains. Nothing says love quite like..Are you alright you look like a RiceKake? I quickly responded with…Seriously, I need some Nutella!
My mother was famous for the term “crazy as a hoot owl.” Throughout the years it has been altered to a simple “hooty” and for extreme situations “hooty in the highest.” This is a reference given to those people who are either crazy in a good way or a notch away from insanity. Please do not confuse this with “suits of skin” which is in a separate category.
All of the women in our family, including the offspring, use the term “he/she has a hair.” This originated from “he/she has a bug up their ass.” Over the years, depending on the level of attitude, we have all tweaked this to meet our individual needs.
It started out with a hair, which led to a ponytail that soon graduated into a braid and ended with a dread, which is short for dreadlocks. Oh yes, we all know it’s bad when one of us says “dam, he/she has a freaking dread!” You haven’t seen attitude until you’ve seen someone with a dread!
Example of use: Daughter: Mom, my boss had the biggest hair today.
Me: How bad?
Daughter: Oh, at least a braid!
Me: Well, he was probably just having a bad day, don’t worry about it.
My upbringing made me who I am today, complete with my own set of Samsonite to bring with me into adulthood. Recently I recognized the importance of working through the unpleasant moments by embracing the flaws in my baggage and sorting through all the good things that I safely tucked away in those little secret compartments. That’s where All the good stuff is.
Our families give us character, some more colorful than others, but ultimately all the same. The more we all except who we are, the easier it is to …. Enjoy the Ride!