Color Me Curmudgeon

I heard something while shopping in a department store the other day that made me want to drop my would-be purchases and incessantly box my ears while running for the door & screaming, "NOOO!"

Can you guess what it was?

I'll give you a hint - it's annoying & it stays in your head...

Doot-doot-dee-doot-doot-doot...

I don't even know the lyrics, and I don't want to.

It was...

A horrible Michael McDonald song.

There I said it - "horrible."

{This is for you, Josh.  I think you may actually care for him even less than I do, and I'm glad we agree that his voice is excruciating.}

Call me a curmudgeon for not liking the musac. 

Now, I’m going to take my turn at being a social critic & tell you what else I don't like, and you tell me if you agree:
*If you disagree, this is not a forum for debates.  Also, friends, do not use this list against me for your own amusement.  You will be sorry.

•   Spam.  The meat product AND the unsolicited kind.  Both are bad.
• The usage of the non-words:  "AnywayS" & "Irregardless" -- Look them up, because you're wrong-o.
• Sales assistants that hover & comment on my selections - Once upon a time I was one, and I know fake when I hear it.
• Wait staff with no charisma - I once heard a friend say he had a tip for his awful waitress and that tip was "Don't paint your toenails with your pantyhose on."  I intend to use this line only once in this life time, and I will reserve it for the most unpleasant server I encounter.
• Cashiers who sigh, don't acknowledge my children, and/or hand me my receipt crumpled with my change without counting it back to me.
• Passersby who stare at my itchy kids and stop me only to say, "Looks like ya got your hands full."  Duh.
• Josh, I love you, but please stop leaving me with a napkin sized piece of sheet when you roll over like a cocoon in the covers.
• Taxi drivers that take the long way and take advantage of us tourists - Karma, Mr. Las Vegas...
• The biggest fashion faux pas of them all - socks with sandals.  This physically pains my eyes.
• Racial slurs - Archie Bunkers, there's no room for bigotry in 2011.
• People who wear sunglasses inside - I'm sorry, are you Madonna?  She's the only one allowed to pull that off.
• A car salesman in a bad tie that won't let me just walk the lot
• Poor grammar - If you wanted to cross the "desert" would you do it twice?  NO, there are NOT two S's in deSert!  Dessert = cake, not the Sahara - certainly you might eat TWO pieces of cake.   Also, over “there” is a place, “their” is a possessive pronoun, and for Pete’s sake “they’re” is a conjunction for “they are!”
• People who take zero pride in their jobs – iron your shirt, be happy that you have that job, and remember you DO receive a pay check.
• People with access to a bath that refuse to take one - please, do humanity a favor.
• Fluorescent lighting - ouch…
• Noisy eaters - close your mouths, or maybe I should sit near you while eating at every meal as you help me lose my appetite.
• Scab & boogie pickers (and eaters of said dried bodily fluids) - just being honest, folks, they're annoying.
• Pajamas in public.  Gross.
• Slippers in supermarkets - put some SHOES on, please.  Some of us are germaphobes, and we don't want to ponder the bottoms of those things on your bedroom carpet after they've just skidded over squashed grapes & Lord only knows what else on Wally World's floor.
• While we're on the subject of shoes, please take yours off before walking on my carpet.  Thankfully we gained this habit while living in the tundra of Buffalo, NY.
• Political debates - leave those at my doorstep, too.  They're not allowed in my house.
• Parents that ignore their children's misbehavior not as a behavioral tactic but because they're lazy - Hop to it, Mama - Little Johnnie's a bleeder!
• Parents who drag their children by one arm in public - come on!  Let me do that to you and see if you like it.  What?  You're shoe came off two aisles back?!  I witnessed this at well, Wally World, of course, and in retrospect I regret simply picking up the shoe and returning it to the angered parental figure.  I should have chucked it at her big noggin'.
• Double dippers.
• Parents who spank in public - if you're going  to spank your kid repeatedly, then please note the rest of us don't want to see what a demon you look like while doing it (Is my stance on spanking clear?  Sorry - I'm not trying to start any debates over here).
• Kids who consistently bully other kids - reserve the spankings for those punks.
• People who are cruel to animals - seriously, grow up.
• People who don't wash their mitts after a pit stop - again, grow up.
• Stating "add cheese" only to find a hamburger in my basket...you charged me $0.25 for it; where is it? 
• Follow the arrows, folks, stop driving the wrong way in parking lots and don't drive slow in the LEFT lane.
• People who snag a parking space from someone who was clearly waiting...my dear hubby desperately wanted to key a sports car one busy Christmas at Target...I said, "There are cameras here."
• I'll refrain from further discussing bad drivers, because my veins are pulsing and I am a self-admitted lead foot who can throw down some road rage like the worst of 'em.
• Over-insertion of one's opinion - if I feel that I need it I will ask.  And no, you are NOT always right.  Sometimes others are worthy of the last word.
• Men in skinny jeans - unless you're the lead singer of Aerosmith or a wayside '80's hair metal band, you don't have a license to do this.
• People who leave a toilet paper roll empty when new rolls are visible.  Wipe, but leave some for the next gal/guy.  Also, place the roll with the paper hanging the right way - DOWN.
• Receiving fruit or coins while trick-or-treating - Kids will chuck those at your house (my big brother taught me that trick).
• Too much yard art - save it for indoors.
• Those lacking in the common sense department.
• Those exposing too much skin poolside - I am all for expressing oneself, but not all of us can pull off string bikinis or Speedos.
• Kids on leashes - Your 2-year old is not a dog.
• When the rules of personal space are broken...ugh...
• Hotel comforters - those bad boys get rolled down at night.  I'd rather be cold than sleep under a germy DNA cloud.
• Burnt meat, especially burnt bacon and the smell it produces...
• Unmade beds.
• When people fail to RSVP by the date stated on an invite.  Come on, budding Marthas need head counts.
• Kids in public wearing only diapers - Parents, 'shirt & shoes required' applies to all ages!
• Outdated food in the grocery store - really, a moldy pie?  You bet I took that one to the Manager of Lowe’s Foods.
• People who are intolerant of other's views, particularly religious ones - that's all I have to say about that.
• Fanatics - left or right - zip it.
• Hunters illegally too close to my property - get your gun out of our residential zone, or I’ll shove it up your tookus.
• Wallpaper - ack!  I've removed enough of it to know that while you think it's pretty as you hang it - it will soon become outdated & a pain in your arse.
• People who don't make eye contact when they're talking to me.  They're hard for me to trust.  Same goes for those dead-fish-wimpy-handshake givers; respect yourself, & firmly grip my hand when you shake it, or I'll have a hard time respecting you.
• HAM.  

Alrighty, this list of my pet peeves is starting to sound absurd.  I am not a negative Nellie.  I try my best not to break the 11th commandment, but let's be honest - it ain't easy.

Next week, if you're kind enough to let me humor you some more (or annoy you with my sourpuss take on society), I'll show you that my cup can be half full by listing the things that turn my curmudgeonly frown upside down.  In the mean time, I will be outwardly tolerant, patient, and kind.

Fellowship in a DysFUNctional Village

Gone are the days of the Ingalls, the Waltons, the Cleavers, the Cunninghams, the Arnolds, the Bradys, the Keatons, the Huxtables, the Tanners, & the Seavers.  They have moved far, far away into TV history.  Do we miss them?  Were they really ideal versions of family?  As a child of the '80's, I adored them all.  I thought they were the picture of a life I would someday lead.  A life of Kraft, perfect hair, pastel colors, starched clothes, and one liners [insert laugh track]...

Today we joyfully welcome to our neighborhood the following real families:  The Addams, the Simpsons, the Bundys, the Griffins, the Conners, the Cartmans, the Botwins, the Pritchetts, & the Bravermans.  They put the "fun" in dysfunctional.  They are us, and they are our neighbors.  They do serve Kraft, but if you knock on their door without calling first you may just find them relaxing in yesterday's clothes and maybe even sporting some mean bed head.  They'll let you in without the slightest feeling of embarrassment, because there's an unspoken truth that their casa es tu casa.  They are the true salt of the earth, Middle America, & where the fun is.

They are your real friends.  They are people who have great compassion for others.  They will mastermind neighborhood functions that go down in the books, like the upcoming Olympics, Book Club until 2:00 a.m., 4th of July Festivus, St. Paddy's Pot Luck, Oktoberfest, Ugly Christmas Sweater Parties,  New Year's Extravaganza complete with fireworks that go awry, the list goes on, because they find any reason to play...er...uh...party...

They will also bring your family a warm meal complete with dessert when your child or spouse has been hospitalized, they will organize the best surprise birthday party you've ever had, they will put a Boo Bag on your doorstep full of candy (not flaming poop) ring your doorbell and feel an adrenaline rush as they dart away only to hide so they can see your face as you discover your family's Halloween prizes, they will put their kitchen table along side others in the street for an impromptu pot luck dinner, at play dates they will give your kids that extra sugar cookie when you're not looking or buy Fritos because they know your kids love them, they will keep juice boxes & freeze pops on hand at all times for those sweaty headed kids tearing up their back yard, they will pick up Chinese if you bring the wine, when you're away they will take pride in getting your mail, watching your house and leaving flowers in your kitchen for you to find when you return, take your pet into their home as if it were their own, they will dress ridiculously for your amusement, they will spend a weekend's free time to help stain your mammoth fence, they will pull your weeds & ask to prune your trees, they will fertilize your plants to prove a point, they will meet you on the front porch for adult conversation once the kids are sleeping, they will rearrange their schedule in a second to watch your child when an emergency arises, they will pick up your kid at the bus stop if you can't get there in time, they will not speak - only listen - as you cry it out over things that will pass, they will put a drink (or two) in your hand when your week has been a doozie, they will laugh with you -sometimes at you- until it hurts, they will, they will, they will.  They are like the Olive Garden - when you're with them you're family.

I consider our family pretty lucky to be one of these pictures of imperfection living next door to other great dysfunctional parents and their oodles of sweet, mostly mannerly kids.  Even though we don't live on a prairie, we don't brush our hair 101 times like Marsha, & we're not raising members of the Young Republicans like Alex P. Keaton, we do occasionally don ugly patterned sweaters for fun like Cliff & Claire, and I am hopeful that we all must be doing something right.  

I know one thing - our kids childhood memories will be scattered with big smiles & messy puddle jumping, scraped knees, bike falls & encouragement from neighborhood dads, ridiculous costume parties, popcorn picnics, Flarp, legs covered in sidewalk chalk, sticky hands, play dates where rough housing is occasionally ignored & where play guns knock out teeth, impromptu dance parties to '80's tunes, relay races involving surgical tubing, bras, & raw eggs, shaving cream & sprinklers, catching frogs & racing them down the slide, wearing lizards for earrings, big eyes & jumping with glee at fireworks, & countless cuddles (some even stolen from their neighborhood moms). 

It all sounds a little nutty, but the imperfection makes this neighborhood family perfect.  If you haven't met your neighbors, you should.  They may just be the bestest friends you've never had who will be there for you in an instant, and they will help to parent  your kids.  It does take a village.

**What you might find next to the word dysFUNctional in the dictionary.  Fun, yet not absolutely perfect**

Breaking the Rules of Jell-o

During today's after school treat, my son (5) looks at my daughter (3) with a look of disgust & shouts:  "Use a spoon, Abbey!  You're breaking the rules of Jell-o!!!"

That's one of the many things that's seemingly fun about life at the ripe age of three - the rules of Jell-o and the like.  Can they really be broken? 

At lunch today I watched my daughter stick her spaghetti noodle into her straw shortly after she had shouted at my lunch date to return the parmesan cheese shaker on the table back to the basket in the table where it's friends, salt & pepper, were lonely.  That's right - my three year old told an adult to put something where it belongs after she had just stuck a noodle down her straw...

Wouldn't life be slightly better if we could occasionally play with our food, if we could occasionally leave something out of place, crumbs in corners, and dust on bottles?  It's like that old country song that said we shouldn't let a little dust on the bottle fool us about what's inside, because it only gets better with time.

I'm not saying that we can't clean up the messes we make, but it can be fun to make them...messes make life more entertaining and more interesting. 
See evidence below:

Exhibit A - A meal at the grandparents' house is much more exciting for all if there's a show:

"Spoon, what spoon?"

Exhibit B:  Should only our first birthdays be reserved for such fun?

Exhibit C:  Clearly spaghetti is much more fun, maybe even more tasty, without utensils...both of my kids refuse to eat it these days unless it is PLAIN.

Exhibit D:  Big Brother, you were once a messy kid, too.  Don't pick on your little sister.

Exhibit E: A Yogurt Beard = Awesome. 

Mommy loves you, Miss Mess (even though this clean up took at least an hour)!

And finally...

Exhibit F:  Witness my husband enjoying this mess with his childhood dog, Nicky.  Looks like he was caught having fun.  Did he eat Nicky's food?  Did he enjoy it?

*Permission for this incriminating photo was granted*

That's right, kids, even we "adults" made messes at one time or another in our lives.  Someone helped us clean them up when we were little.  Now, that we're big we're sometimes forced to take care of them on our own. 

Enjoy your messes!  Be proud.  Make them as BIG as you can. 

Break the rules, especially the rules of Jell-o, while you can.

First Day Jitters & Yellow Submarines

As I prepare (<-- ha, ha -- that's funny - as if I could "prepare" myself for all of the upheaval, stress, & constant heartache that is my BABY going to KINDERGARTEN)...

*clearing my throat*

....I'll try this again...as I sit here thinking about the last five years, how much they've meant, how much has changed in our family's life, and how much my son has grown from a newborn baby with his foot fitting in my palm to a rough housing boy, I can't help but feel anxious, a little sad, and so overly excited for him.  Tomorrow will be a day of many firsts for him - first bus ride, first desk, first pencil box, first lunch box, first lunch in a school cafeteria, first FULL day of Kindergarten....

My little boy, the one we tried for years to conceive, the one who fought hard to stay in the womb, the one who's been dubbed Mr. Safety, the one who has such a kind heart, the one with one sharp wit & memory, the very loud one, the picky one, the one who is so very inquisitive that asks questions that make us think, and the one who will forever be my first born, my only boy, & one of two of my little blessings, is going to go to school for the next 13-17+ years!  Whoa.

So, it begins.

I have the first day jitters, but clearly he does not.

He is stoked to wear new sneakers, stoked to ride the bus with his older neighborhood friends, and soooo stoked to carry his Buffalo Bills lunch box and Clemson back pack.  I'm fairly certain he'll be the first kid committing that fashion faux pas, but to us he'll look awesome.  No, he's not brainwashed, but if you ask him he does want to go to college where the Tigers play.  Did I mention he has a custom made Yellow Submarine pencil box?  Yep, he may be picked on for that, but he wanted it, and it's cool to us old folk.  Honestly, I'd try to do all within my power to give him the stars if he asked for them, especially at this very moment. 

Looking back at pictures of my first day of school ever I only remember how much I loved my saddle locks and how much I adored that lavender dress from Sears.  I had to have that dress and the purple tote bag.  My parents look so cautiously proud, but I seem to be beaming with a toothless grin, so ready to get on the bus and go.  My Dad actually looks a little like he did on my wedding day...maybe he was holding in a tear or two.  My Mom, my sweet Mom, she looks like she's proud to have just survived feeding me breakfast, answering my million questions, dressing me, & combing my bed head all in time for the bus.  She appears proud, too, but she also looks apprehensive about taking her littlest of three out of the nest, sending her off to the school abyss, & returning to the working-mom world after a lengthy hiatis as a stay-at-home mom like me.

I don't remember it.  I don't remember much at all about Kindergarten actually, except that my teacher, Mrs. Beebee had a bright blonde bowl cut, a sweet laugh, smelled like cookies, and she introduced our class to the alphabet.  Yep, that's right; we didn't have to know our letters before we entered Kindergarten.  Twenty-eight years ago inflatable letter people would visit our class once a week and they'd stay while we learned about how they sound and what words they start.  I remember actually seeing Mrs. Beebee pointing to the alphabet that wrapped around her wall and singing in a soprano voice with the students as we'd learn new letters.  My boy has known this song since he was three.

Perhaps he's smarter than his Mommy or perhaps the times have really, really changed.  Thanks, technology.  Those mammoth IBM's that I learned how to type on in a computer lab are now obsolete (as are computer labs in most schools as most classrooms are outfitted with their own computer centers).  Either way, I could never begin to imagine what he'll become someday.  All I know is that I will be proud.  My husband and I will forever be so proud of him - no matter what, and I hope he will remember that when he thinks back to this time in his life.

And tomorrow as he boards the bus and it pulls away with my baby boy inside I'll probably clench a Kleenex & hum this tune to keep myself sane:

And our friends are all aboard,
Many more of them live next door,
And the band begins to play.

(Trumpets play)

We all live in yellow submarine,
yellow submarine, yellow submarine,
We all live in yellow submarine,
yellow submarine, yellow submarine.

Best wishes for a grand first day, Gabe.  I love you.