Category Archives: Family

My Fault.

Children don’t get report cards anymore. At least they don’t at Kid’s school. They get progress reports. Since Kid is a child prodigy, much like I was, she always gets a full boat of Satisfactorys. Well, almost. Always one N – Needs Work. Organization. As in, her cubby is a mess, her backpack is packed full of stuff, and when I go to pick her up from school, she’s always the last one out of the classroom. Look, I’m not one of those perfection moms. I don’t care if she gets straight Ss but this N bothers me. A lot. Because it is ENTIRELY my fault.  Behold, Exhibit A. My Desk:

What a shit show.

That’s actually pretty clean for my desk.  I have not taught Kid anything about being organized. It bothers me so much because I really want to be organized. The weird thing is, I’m organized virtually. As in, I have all my ducks in a row with my calendar, contacts, even my friends on FB and twitter are organized into lists. For some reason though, I can not seem to get it to cross over. Exhibit B: Actual conversation with Mike.

Me: Do you know where the menthol chest rub for colds is?

Mike: Hmm. Did you check in the bathroom where it’s supposed to be?

Me: Duh.

Mike: I feel like I’ve seen it around. Did you look on the windowsill in the kitchen? On top of the microwave? In the junk drawer?

Me: Yes, yes, and yes – AND in my desk. Can’t find it anywhere.

See? This is bad. Very bad. Windowsill in the kitchen? That is NOT where mentholated chest rub goes.  I feel terrible I haven’t taught Kid to be organized. I guess we’re going to work on it together as a family. We organized the hell out of her room the other day. It looks great. Now, if we can only keep it that way.

Do You Kiss Your Mother With That Mouth?

*Since this post contains actual dialogue between my mother and I, it contains about 200% more swearing than usual. You’ve been warned.*

I swear a lot. For awhile, when Kid was little, I tried really hard to stop. I know I know, “there is no try, only do.” But, I just can’t stop. I’ve just accepted it, taught Kid that I use terrible Mommy words and am very naughty for doing so, and then give her quarters when I swear. Oh also, she makes me say this, “I’m very sorry I used the word X, it’s inappropriate and I’m sorry if it hurt your feelings.” I usually have to say this to my mom at least 4 times in the course of a phone call.

Mom and Me, May 1978. Aren't we cute?

Anyhow, since my mom has found my blog, and figured out comments, I figured I better get this Klog out of the cooker before she spoils it 😉 I have actually had people ask me, “Do you kiss your Mother with that mouth?” Well, the answer is yes, and no. No, because my mother has a strict no touching policy (yeah that’s probably a blog post some other time). Yes, because my mother also swears like a pirate. To better illustrate the linguistic stylings of my mom and I, here, for your enjoyment, is a reenactment of an actual conversation I had with my mom the other day. (For you crazy mommy trolls, no Kid was not in the car.)

Me: Did I tell you what happened to me at the fucking grocery store the other day?

Mom: Hannaford?

Me: Yup.

Mom: I fucking hate Hannaford.

Me: Me too. So anyway, I had to get some chicken, which I hate buying there because their meat is fucking gross and I’ve had to return it like 100 times, but I was busy.

Mom: No shit.

Me: Anyway, I had one of those fucking carts with a plastic car for kids to sit in attached at one end, like a mac truck.

Mom: I fucking hate those.

Me: Me too! So, I had to put my shopping bags on the bottom underneath the cart, and the fucking chicken leaked and got all over my fucking bags.

Mom: That’s fucking gross! What did you do?

Me: Welll, I put it on the counter and told the cashier, who was like 12, that it leaked and she goes, “Oh, do you want me to put it in a plastic bag?” And I was like, “No fucking way! I want you to throw it away. Also, I have chicken juice all over my hands.”


Me: I know right? Oh and I forgot to tell you, Mrs. X and Mrs. Y (two ladies who were the bane of our existences while I was in school) were in the next lane, and I had all these people backing up behind me and it was a huge scene.

Mom: Hahahahahhahaha! Only at fucking Hannaford!

Me: So, I say to the girl, “Hey I have chicken juice all over my hands, I need to clean them off before I can unload my groceries.” Guess what she does?

Mom: Gives you a fucking squirt of Purell?

Me: Oh, I wish. She hands me a fucking roll of paper towels and some fucking windex.

Mom: No.

Me: Yes. I shit you not. I squirted half a gallon of windex on my hands and then used her super crappy paper towels, you know the ones that are only one step above cardboard? My hands are still all dry and fucked up, like two days later.

Mom: What did you do with your  bags?

Me: I put them in a plastic  bag. They’re in my trunk. Do you think I should wash them?

Mom: No, throw that shit away. They are fucking covered with Salmonella.

Annnnd Scene.

As you can see, my mom is fucking awesome. You kids be nice to her in the comments.

Diametrically Opposed

*Note* I wrote this two days ago, but then the cord to my phone was chewed (no comment) and wouldn’t upload my pictures from Friday night and I know you guys NEED to see them, so this post is kind of old news. I like it though, so here you go. Review of Nosh to follow.

I am stuffed, and prepared to spend my afternoon at a Nosh with Hubby and two of my very good friends eating an Apocalypse Now Burger: (Beef, Pork Belly, Foie Gras, Cheese, Mayo, Orange & Cherries) and possibly some Tempura Dipped Bacon. Don’t get me wrong, I am very, very excited to be wrapping my lips around 5,000 cals of bacony goosey beefy goodness. And, I have heard great things about Nosh. And,  two of my goals are go to Portland and try new restaurants.  Fun!

   Well, the thing is, last night we went here: Fuji with 3 other couples. I have been to Fuji many, many times, and figured, “Hey, I’ll just get some nice, light sushi and save room for Nosh tomorrow.” That sounds reasonable, right? What I didn’t realize, is that my lovely cousin had made reservations for us in the Hibachi Grill section of Fuji, which is downstairs. I have never had Japanese Hibachi! So, even though I’ve eaten at Fuji, I’m counting this as a new eating experience. It really was. It’s nothing like the upstairs. Have you guys ever been to Japanese Hibachi? You sit around a big flat grill and the chef prepares your food right there in front of you. He does fun stuff too, like spins around his spatulas and throws rice at you. There are a lot of flames involved.

        I am a firm believer of When in Rome, Do as the Romans. So, what was I to do? I ordered Salmon (sort of healthy) and steamed rice (blah, but very healthy) and felt pretty good about my decision. Then they started bringing out the food. First course, Miso Soup. Yum. Second course, salad with some kind of creamy citrusy dressing – then they start cooking. Fried noodles, fried rice, little shrimp. It was  all soooo good.  The chef was pleasant, and we had a great time watching everything being prepared. Towards the end of the “dinner show?” “cooking experience?” I don’t know what to call it, the chef was finishing off the salmon. I noticed that throughout the evening, he had judiciously applied large dollops of what looked like Miso paste on the  grill.  So, he flips the salmon over, and to the side without skin applies a HUGE dollop to each piece. My cousin, who also got the salmon, said, “Wow. That is A LOT of butter.”

Me: “Um, what the what? That’s BUTTER?”
Cuz: “Yeah, didn’t you hear him say that at the beginning?”
Me: “Clearly not.”
Other Cuz “Wow, that’s like 100000000 calories”
Me: “Greaaaaaaat”
MMMM.Buttery, Noodley….

I ate it, butter and all. Well about half of it. And it was soooooo goood. And I’m stillll fullll. But, duty calls.  I must press on. On to Nosh! 

Oh, the title of this post? Diametrically opposed? My eating at new restaurants goals is fun, but completely detrimental to my weight loss plan.  Oh well. Salad for me…..starting tomorrow 😉 
One final thought, you know you’re a parent, and old, when you’re out to dinner with a bunch of your friends and the conversation continues to come back to how much fun your kids would like to eat there, and at the end of the night you ask the waitress what the earliest time they start serving dinner is.