Husband Stories

Husband doesn’t recall very many childhood memories.

I think it’s a guy thing.

But the few he does remember are winners!

When he was a teen he was in the habit of eating a bowl of cereal as a snack.

He would bring it to his room and when he was finished shove the dirty dishes under his bed.

After a while his parents found they had no more bowls or spoons!

His mother would find them piled under his bed growing a fine crop of fuzz.

He was ‘reminded’ over and over to return the dirty dishes to the kitchen, but being a teen, well, we all know how that goes.

One day his father, having had enough,  went to the garage, got the garbage can, brought it into Husband’s room and said, “You want to live in a dump, HERE, live in a real dump!” and emptied the garbage can all over Husband and the bed! (This was before we put garbage in neat little plastic bags!)

The lesson must have stuck, he is downright fastidious now!

Stuck in the Middle with You

This is what happens when the muse takes a holiday in the middle of a project! LOL

Waiting for the Muse

So here I sit, drumming my fingers on the table, waiting patiently (ha!) for the return of my muse.

I’m tired, impatient, depressed, disgusted, discouraged………..think of a negative adjective, I’m feeling it.

I know she’ll return when she’s ready. 

I’m just not a patient person.

And while she’s away I feel alone, inadequate, small, undeserving.

And fat, did I mention fat?

When I get discouraged it’s in all aspects of my life! LOL

This too shall pass……eventually.

In the meantime, I’m going to go play some Bubble Buster!

Bro’s Before Ho’s

I might be prejudiced but I think they were (are still) two of the cutest kids I’ve ever seen! LOL

Then, as now, they ‘got each other’s backs!’

The Magic of Grandpa

Son1 was a colicky baby. 

As in he cried/screamed for hours on end at precisely six PM every evening. 

Of course it was when I was alone with him. Husband was at work and my backup (aka my mother) had gone home.

One evening as I was pacing the floor rocking, cuddling, burping, cradling Son1 ……. my father-in-law walked in.

He took the baby from my arms, handed me my car keys and told me to go to a movie and not come back for at least two hours.

The minute, no the SECOND Son1 was in his arms he stopped crying!

I have no idea what Grandpa’s magical powers were, but whenever he held any of his grandchildren in his arms they always stopped fussing.

I will be forever grateful for Grandpa!

The Vomit Queen

We dubbed my mother ‘The Vomit Queen’.

I never knew anyone so eager to throw up in all my life.

One of her favorite sayings was, ‘Better an empty house than a bad tenant!”

(I, on the other hand, sold my soul to the devil to never throw up again. I have what is commonly known as “if I hear it or anyone even talks about it I start to feel queasy myself’ syndrome.)

Which is why she would gleefully retell the stories of her pregnancy with BigBrother.

Over and over.

She would tell of standing on the subway platform puking up that morning’s bran muffin.

And how, when she went into labor, she had a craving for a black and white soda so she stopped off at Schrafft’s on the way to the hospital.

She said it was good going down, not so much coming back up!

“Aw, geez, Mom!” I would say.

 And she would giggle at my green complexion.

When she was recovering from open heart surgery and living with us, the boys would run screaming out of the room when she even LOOKED like she was going to hurl.

Which she did on a regular basis. With great flourish and boisterous retching.

There were times when she exhibited an exceedingly twisted sense of humor. :->

Recurring Nightmare

Since the day I graduated high school I’ve had a recurring nightmare.

It’s always the same.

I dream I haven’t really graduated and I have to go back.

I hate the dream.

As I grew older I was also older in my dream and it was harder and harder to fit in.

I would get lost in the hallways, not be able to find the right classroom, come into class late so everyone would stare at me.

Classic anxiety dream.

Over the years I had it less and less and it finally stopped.

Until last night.

Only this time it was different.

When ‘they’ told me I hadn’t actually earned my diploma and I would have to go back, I replied, “I’m ‘effing sixty years old! I don’t care if you think I need a high school diploma or not!”

I’m hoping ‘they’ will leave me alone now!

Right Here, Right Now

Right here, right now is just right.

I’m writing, people are reading.

I’m not rich or famous (or infamous.)

I get to bask in obscurity and still express myself artistically.

It’s a win win situation!

My Parents; the Early Years

When they were first married they had an apartment in a converted row house in Greenwich Village, owned by an elderly widow.

It had a parlor on the first floor for visitors because Mrs. Casey, the landlady, was very old fashioned and did not allow visitors past the first floor.

They only had two rooms, a living room and a bedroom (bathroom down the hall) cooking wasn’t allowed.

My mother snuck in a hotplate. She had to keep moving it to different hiding places because Mrs. Casey would sneak into the apartment when they were at work to try and find it!  

My father was an early riser, my mother….not so much. So on Sunday mornings my father would quietly leave my mother to sleep late and go for the Sunday papers.

Mrs. Casey thought he was a good Catholic boy going to Mass every Sunday. (He did not dissuade her of this notion.)

Okay, so now I’ve set the scene----Mrs. Casey, nice Catholic lady, slightly nosy with access to their apartment during the day.

Add to this mix a couple my parents knew from college.

They weren’t married.

My parents would, upon occasion, allow them to ‘borrow’ their apartment for afternoon trysts.

One afternoon Mrs. Casey walked in on them.

She was very put out but my father had the gift of blarney (with a capital B) and soon smoothed it over by spinning a tale so intriguing Mrs. Casey couldn’t help but believe it.

He told her the couple was secretly married but the young woman was a student nurse, living in the hospital dormitory. Nursing students weren’t allowed to be married. Plus his parents didn’t approve of her because she was Irish. They were hoping she would become pregnant. Then they could tell everyone the truth, she could quit her studies and settle down to being a housewife and mother.

After that, Mrs. Casey couldn’t get them into bed fast enough when they came to ‘visit’!

Smoochie Blues

Son1’s first ‘real date’ was when we still lived up north.

Husband had the privilege of being the chauffer. On the way home from dropping the young lady off, Husband teasingly referred to the girl as ‘Smoochie Blue’ because he couldn’t remember her name (and she had been dressed in blue.)

The name stuck as a catch all phrase meaning any girl they happened to encounter.

As in: Check out the Smoochie Blue standing over there. Or, Smoochie Blue at 9 o’clock.

I guess it was rather sexist, and I should have discouraged it, but it wasn’t done with malice. It was just a funny ‘family–ism’ (and we have MANY!)

When we were moving, the boys were very unhappy at the prospect of leaving their friends so Husband started spinning tales about all the Smoochie ORANGES there would be in our new home state.

He also pointed out they don’t wear heavy coats in subtropical climates!

Wink wink, nod nod.

  (Okay, okay, I should have put my foot down, but I still say it has comedic value!)