The boy woke up this morning spouting percentages. I'd say that was a little unusual - especially for he-who-steers-clear-of-intentional-math. Maybe it's the looming FCAT next week. Perhaps he's dreaming of equations...
Anyway, for some reason, he decided to analyze personalities this morning.
According to him, Darling Man is 30% serious and 70% goofy.
He, himself, is 95% goofy and 5% serious.
And me? 30% goofy and 70% serious.
My face must have fallen a little (I have to be the responsible parent most of the time, making him clean his room, do homework, discipline - while daddy gets to be the fun parent), because he perked right up, put his hand on my knee and said, "Annnnddd... you're 100% SMART!"
At least he thinks "smart" is a good thing.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Fun Monday - Mothers of Mothers
Fun Monday is here again and this week, Jo, who loves Chocolate and Other Things is hosting:
March 2nd is my Mom's birthday and was her mother's birthday as well. For this week's Fun Monday, tell me something fun about your mother and/or her mother. What fun, weird, laughable memories do you have of your Mom or your Grandma?
And I thought this would be easy... I already write about my Mom. She makes me laugh on a regular basis (the sponge story is typical!) so I decided to write about my mother's mother. She wasn't a particularly funny lady... Her sense of humor was very different from mine and I didn't always get what she thought was humorous and vice versa. But she knew about joy. Simple joy.
My grandmother was always there when I was growing up. But I never felt like I really knew her.
She was a rebel of her time - a divorced woman raising two children on her own and highly suspicious by society's standards. She had a job of some stature and was paid well enough to raise her kids, buy houses and cars and retire comfortably. She was a serious penny pincher who believed in getting value for what she spent. Sometimes, she spent on us, buying us shoes when things were tight (hello? 6 children in my family!!!!). She had an amazing eye for color and coordination and could put together the most beautiful outfits, which I appreciated - but shopping with her was sheer torture for me. She looked at every article of clothing, examining it for stains or loose threads or pulls. That careful, painstaking attitude was so characteristic of her. She was a perfectionist. And I don't feel like I really knew her at all until close to the end of her life. She was very tight-lipped about her life and undemonstrative in her emotions. I think that was a wall she built to keep out the doubts she had about herself and whether or not she was lovable.
But as she got close to 80 years old, there was a softening in her, an openness that wasn't there before. I would go visit her, clean her house, work in the yard with her. Freed of the need for stockings and heels, she spent her days in button-up shirts and capri pants. She didn't go to the hairdresser every week anymore and the loose curls that would blow in the wind suited her.
I remember going to her house one time... The door was unlocked but there was no answer when I called out for her. I searched the house and the yard, calling for her with no response. I was standing in the carport when she appeared out of the bushes in the back of the yard. Her hair was wild and there were grass stains on her pants and she was smiling from ear to ear. Her eyes lit up when she saw me and we went in for coke floats which she'd recently become addicted to. What on earth were you doing back there? I asked. She had picked up a bucket full of pine cones and had spent the last half hour chucking them as far as she could into the ravine that ran behind the house - and having a blast doing it.
That was the thing... finally free of having to make a living and be a proper lady all the time, she finally learned how to have fun. Just doing simple things, like chucking pine cones and making coke floats brought her great joy.
She died in August 2001, a month before the September 11th attack on the World Trade Center. A sudden heart attack after a lovely evening out with my uncle and his wife. It was such a shock to us. But you know... it was the perfect death for her. No muss, no fuss after a perfect day.
It took me a long time to stop calling her. A long time for it to sink in that she would not be answering the phone again. And I still miss her. I feel like I was only just getting to know her. But you know? I think I already knew what was important. That she loved me and that she was happy.
March 2nd is my Mom's birthday and was her mother's birthday as well. For this week's Fun Monday, tell me something fun about your mother and/or her mother. What fun, weird, laughable memories do you have of your Mom or your Grandma?
And I thought this would be easy... I already write about my Mom. She makes me laugh on a regular basis (the sponge story is typical!) so I decided to write about my mother's mother. She wasn't a particularly funny lady... Her sense of humor was very different from mine and I didn't always get what she thought was humorous and vice versa. But she knew about joy. Simple joy.
My grandmother was always there when I was growing up. But I never felt like I really knew her.
She was a rebel of her time - a divorced woman raising two children on her own and highly suspicious by society's standards. She had a job of some stature and was paid well enough to raise her kids, buy houses and cars and retire comfortably. She was a serious penny pincher who believed in getting value for what she spent. Sometimes, she spent on us, buying us shoes when things were tight (hello? 6 children in my family!!!!). She had an amazing eye for color and coordination and could put together the most beautiful outfits, which I appreciated - but shopping with her was sheer torture for me. She looked at every article of clothing, examining it for stains or loose threads or pulls. That careful, painstaking attitude was so characteristic of her. She was a perfectionist. And I don't feel like I really knew her at all until close to the end of her life. She was very tight-lipped about her life and undemonstrative in her emotions. I think that was a wall she built to keep out the doubts she had about herself and whether or not she was lovable.
But as she got close to 80 years old, there was a softening in her, an openness that wasn't there before. I would go visit her, clean her house, work in the yard with her. Freed of the need for stockings and heels, she spent her days in button-up shirts and capri pants. She didn't go to the hairdresser every week anymore and the loose curls that would blow in the wind suited her.
I remember going to her house one time... The door was unlocked but there was no answer when I called out for her. I searched the house and the yard, calling for her with no response. I was standing in the carport when she appeared out of the bushes in the back of the yard. Her hair was wild and there were grass stains on her pants and she was smiling from ear to ear. Her eyes lit up when she saw me and we went in for coke floats which she'd recently become addicted to. What on earth were you doing back there? I asked. She had picked up a bucket full of pine cones and had spent the last half hour chucking them as far as she could into the ravine that ran behind the house - and having a blast doing it.
That was the thing... finally free of having to make a living and be a proper lady all the time, she finally learned how to have fun. Just doing simple things, like chucking pine cones and making coke floats brought her great joy.
She died in August 2001, a month before the September 11th attack on the World Trade Center. A sudden heart attack after a lovely evening out with my uncle and his wife. It was such a shock to us. But you know... it was the perfect death for her. No muss, no fuss after a perfect day.
It took me a long time to stop calling her. A long time for it to sink in that she would not be answering the phone again. And I still miss her. I feel like I was only just getting to know her. But you know? I think I already knew what was important. That she loved me and that she was happy.
Bucket
If you've been following along for a while, you know I'm a bit of a nut about cleaning. I love to do it and I love the implements that go along with it. New brooms really do sweep better. I have dustpans stashed all over the house. I'm down to one functional mop, but I just changed out the head last week, so it's good for a while yet.
Yes. I'm a freak.
And yet, my house doesn't LOOK all that clean. I have a houseful of souls that manage to strew debris, fur, bits of lunch and coffee all over, almost immediately after I've cleaned. It's quite frustrating, but I continue to attack the clutter and the dirt because I don't want to wind up being a guest star on "How Clean is Your House?"
Anyway, back to the various bits and bobs that make up my cleaning equipment...
Darling Man has appropriated my buckets for picking up dog poo and sweet gum balls in the back yard, so I was without a good bucket for cleaning inside.
Last week, my cousin and I went to FireHouse subs for lunch and while there, I noticed a great stack of fire-engine red buckets stacked next to the chips. They were for sale for $2.00 each and the proceeds are donated to various fireman funds. Two dollars for a huge bucket? What a deal! I stored this bit of information in the back of my brain.
Looking around my kitchen on Saturday morning, I decided it was time to get a bucket. I did a lot of picking up, and at lunchtime, I went to FireHouse Subs for sandwiches - and a big bucket. I happily forked over the extra $2.00 and grabbed my bucket (with lid!!!) and my lunch and headed back to the house.
As I was driving, I noticed an odd smell and realized it was coming from the bucket. Upon closer inspection, I discovered that FireHouse Subs was recycling their pickle buckets! The buckets come packed with 350 pickle spears and when emptied, they are rinsed out and set out for sale. Obviously, they are RINSED, not washed. Or so I thought.
When I finished lunch, I washed out the bucket and filled it with hot, soapy water for cleaning. I enthusiastically wiped down all my counters, my refridgerator, the stove hood and mopped the floor. I washed out the microwave. And it was all lovely, beautiful, clean!
But...
Now my house smells like pickles. From top to bottom. Pickles.
I didn't say anything, but when Darling Man got up this morning, he noticed and wondered what that odd smell was. It smelled just like... his grandmother's house. When she made pickles. And he wondered how that could be - because he knows that I do NOT like pickles. Why would my house smell like that?
I explained and apologized to him about the smell and he laughed. He had enjoyed his little trip down memory lane.
Now... does anyone know how to get rid of pickle smell?
Yes. I'm a freak.
And yet, my house doesn't LOOK all that clean. I have a houseful of souls that manage to strew debris, fur, bits of lunch and coffee all over, almost immediately after I've cleaned. It's quite frustrating, but I continue to attack the clutter and the dirt because I don't want to wind up being a guest star on "How Clean is Your House?"
Anyway, back to the various bits and bobs that make up my cleaning equipment...
Darling Man has appropriated my buckets for picking up dog poo and sweet gum balls in the back yard, so I was without a good bucket for cleaning inside.
Last week, my cousin and I went to FireHouse subs for lunch and while there, I noticed a great stack of fire-engine red buckets stacked next to the chips. They were for sale for $2.00 each and the proceeds are donated to various fireman funds. Two dollars for a huge bucket? What a deal! I stored this bit of information in the back of my brain.
Looking around my kitchen on Saturday morning, I decided it was time to get a bucket. I did a lot of picking up, and at lunchtime, I went to FireHouse Subs for sandwiches - and a big bucket. I happily forked over the extra $2.00 and grabbed my bucket (with lid!!!) and my lunch and headed back to the house.
As I was driving, I noticed an odd smell and realized it was coming from the bucket. Upon closer inspection, I discovered that FireHouse Subs was recycling their pickle buckets! The buckets come packed with 350 pickle spears and when emptied, they are rinsed out and set out for sale. Obviously, they are RINSED, not washed. Or so I thought.
When I finished lunch, I washed out the bucket and filled it with hot, soapy water for cleaning. I enthusiastically wiped down all my counters, my refridgerator, the stove hood and mopped the floor. I washed out the microwave. And it was all lovely, beautiful, clean!
But...
Now my house smells like pickles. From top to bottom. Pickles.
I didn't say anything, but when Darling Man got up this morning, he noticed and wondered what that odd smell was. It smelled just like... his grandmother's house. When she made pickles. And he wondered how that could be - because he knows that I do NOT like pickles. Why would my house smell like that?
I explained and apologized to him about the smell and he laughed. He had enjoyed his little trip down memory lane.
Now... does anyone know how to get rid of pickle smell?
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