“That I am.”
“That would make us cousins, twice removed.”
“If you say so. Never could figure this out.”
“Well my mother is your mother’s aunt; therefore, she is my cousin once removed, making you, her daughter my second cousin, twice removed. Or something along those lines.” He smiled. He even sounded like he knew what he was talking about.
“Wow and you didn’t even blink.”
“Smart ass.”
“As a matter of fact I am. How do you know we are twice removed and not three or four times removed?”
“Actually, I don’t. It just seems like it should work that way.” Again he smiled and for the next hour we sat in the parlor, drank coffee, and chatted about what we’d been doing with our lives. Uncle Chuck is very willing to be a hero in one of my upcoming novels and after talking to him, I can assure you it will be a roller coaster of passion. He is not married ladies, so you can dream to your hearts content…I however cannot…he’s related…damn it!
Day 8
The great family gathering…
All I can say is it was fun! Met lots of new members to the clan, tried to remember the older ones who assured me they remembered me (at 5 years old), and a couple I actually did remember.
For several hours we ate, had great fun, drank, and allowed my Aunt Toots to play drill sergeant as she maneuvered us in and out of various family groups for pictures.
After a day in the park with 80+ relatives, we headed back to Aunt Toots’ house for an evening of visiting.
On the way back to the hotel, Yvette and I agreed we needed to talk the other sisters into doing the reunion thing next year. I even agreed we could drive from Chicago to Flint!
Day 9
Read day four backwards…minus the airport delays, the suggestion we drive back to Dallas, and the screaming kid. I actually don’t remember much of the day, it was long, hot, and all I wanted was to be back at Yvette’s house where it was ‘dry heat’.
Day 10
Don’t ask me, I was a zombie. I believe I spent most of the day sitting in a rocking chair, my face in front of the window air-conditioner.
I have a slight memory of my nephews arriving for dinner, but don’t quote me on that.
Day 11
Dallas to Las Vegas…three hour layover. Las Vegas to Seattle…arrived almost two hours late. Drive from Seattle to home…three hours. I’m tired just typing it! I’m home and I’m going to bed. Maybe I should tell Yvette we need to wait five years before we do this again!
Chapter 15
Slumber Party!
It’s 5:45 p.m. and I’ve taken two naps already today. Why two? A total lack of sleep last night did me in. Now if the reasons I didn’t sleep had been more enjoyable, I might not have needed two naps, however the reason I lacked sleep was our sixteen-month-old granddaughter.
She is a very sweet child, however last evening for some reason she decided sleeping was not in the cards. Instead she went on a campaign of let’s see how many people in the neighborhood I can keep awake, for as many hours as possible, by screaming at the top of my lungs.
It all started earlier in the evening. My daughter and her hubby decided they wanted to go out on the town, so of course a call to mom and dad was in order. They needed a babysitter or in this case two. Checking our busy schedule, ha ha, we decided we had nothing pressing on the agenda, so agreed to take our delightful grandchild for the night.
Everything went wonderfully in the beginning, well almost. My daughter forgot to leave a car seat, which put a little crimp in our plans to go out for dinner. After a quick call to her house, her driving over with the car seat, my hubby’s ten minute cussing spree to install said car seat in my car, all was back on track and we were off.
Dinner was enjoyable. My granddaughter loves salad, or should I say salad dressing. She happily used her fingers to take pieces of lettuce from her grandfather’s plate, sucked all the dressing off them, and then nicely returned the lettuce to him. This was a rather fun exchange to watch, as he attempted without success to convince her lettuce was good.
I have a question. Why do waitresses insist on setting all containers of liquid within easy reach of small children in high chairs? For some reason, the lady who waited on us last evening couldn’t get it through her head, my granddaughter thinks if it is placed on the table in front of her, it must be hers. I spent a good deal of time grabbing for all the various items in a race to keep sweetie pie from sending them on to the floor, which in turn would have resulted in my hubby getting very wet.
After dinner we headed home and spent several hours playing with the large number of toys I keep on hand for her visits. To my husband’s delight, her newest word is ‘grandpa’ which she says over and over and over. It does little to dampen his spirits that she also calls the dogs, her toys, and every other inanimate object in sight ‘grandpa’, he loves that she can say his name.
The best part about her new word ‘grandpa’ is that whenever she wanted something, needed something, or just plain felt like it, she said ‘grandpa’ and I had the perfect excuse to tell him, “She wants you to get it for her,” or, “She wants you to take her outside.” This is a good thing from my point of view.
At around 10:00 p.m. she was obviously tired. I drew this conclusion when she fell asleep in my lap. Carefully putting her to bed, I decided I was also tired, and turned in for the night.
Everything went well until 2:33 a.m., at which point I was awakened by a blood curdling scream from the room at the end of the hall. Our darling girl was awake. Grandpa, being closer to the door of our room than me, jumped from the bed to go see what was up. I could have told him, “the baby is up,” however he didn’t ask me. Moments later he walked back into our room with her in his arms. She was no longer screaming; instead she was saying ‘grandpa’ over and over again. She seemed very happy.
Getting out of bed, I joined them in the living room. Hubby had turned on the TV and they were sitting in the dark, staring at the screen, watching one of those famous late night infomercials. She looked sleepy and when I sat down in my chair she climbed from grandpa’s lap to sit in mine. Thinking it would take a few minutes for her to fall back to sleep, I closed my eyes and rocked.
Just as I dozed off, she started crying again, sending me jumping out of my skin for the second time. Looking down into her tear streaked face, I asked, “What’s wrong sweetie?” She told me, however being half asleep and pretty much out of it, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what she was saying. While a lot of her words are becoming more understandable, most of them are still a mystery to all of us.
For the next hour we played climb from grandma’s lap to grandpa’s lap. Wait for both the grands to drift off to sleep, then scream. This new game was not fun!
Most mothers out there, and most likely the fathers as well, understand men have the ability to sleep in spite of loud noises surrounding them. So it was little surprise when grandpa finally drifted off to sleep and the screams no longer affected him. I however have been tuned to a different wavelength, which makes it impossible for me to sleep with a crying child on my lap.
Not wanting to disturb the snoring giant on the couch, I took my darling granddaughter into our room and turned on the TV for her continued enjoyment of the game. She tossed and turned, kicked and rolled, talked, cried, and made noise each time I drifted off to sleep. Apparently in her opinion, if she’s awake, someone else needed to be awake with her, and I was elected for the task. So we watched television until I dozed, then it started all over again.
At approximately 5:30 a.m., during the height of one of her screaming fits, my sweet, adorable granddaughter suddenly became very quiet. She sat up in the middle of the bed, smiled at me, dropped her head on my chest and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. Not wanting to chance waking her, I simply tossed the sheet over her, curled up beside her and finally gave in to exhaustion.
Right on cue, at 6:15 a.m. the dogs heard a nois
e outside and went crazy in their attempt to wake us to let them out. I crawled from bed, noting of course the loud barking, my husband yelling at the dogs to shut up, and me leaving the bed did nothing to affect my grandchild’s ability to continue sleeping. She seemed completely unaware the rest of us were stirring.
Stumbling to the kitchen I was thankful my hubby had coffee brewing, and I assured him it would take several pots to keep me awake for even a few minutes. The dogs joyfully romped in the back yard, my hubby seemed awake enough, and the baby was sound asleep. Finding none of this amusing, I decided to go back to bed. Careful not to wake her, I dozed off for about thirty minutes, only to once again be roused from slumber, this time by a beautiful little girl sitting squarely on my chest planting kisses on my cheek and calling me ‘grandpa’. Smiling brightly, she announced it was time to get up and play. Apparently, a few hours’ sleep did much to restore her energy.
My daughter and son-in-law arrived at about nine to take her home. The house now quiet, I finally returned to bed for a couple of hours sleep, which then gave me the ability to sit around for three hours in a zombie state. Still dragging, I tried to read email, update forums, and do a variety of other small tasks, all of which will need to be redone. So once again I headed to the quiet of our bedroom and took another nap. I finally feel like I’ve had enough sleep to make it until bedtime, which I’m hoping is in less than three hours.
I look forward to having my granddaughter spend the night again in the future. Next time however, I will take a very long nap before she arrives.
Chapter 16
Yes, we are fighting…
Day 1
August 1st
You’ve all heard me refer to my husband of thirty-one years as ‘my darling hubby’, ‘the light of my life’, ‘the man of my dreams’, and a variety of other sweet affectionate names. What you haven’t heard me call him is all the names I reserve for when he is being a total ass. Most of these names are not printable, so I will leave them to your imagination. I believe every married adult in the country uses one form or another of these names when fighting with their spouse.
Don’t get me wrong, we are not actually fighting…at the moment it’s more of a standoff. Mainly because he had an appointment and left. So I’m sitting here thinking of all the things I can say to him when he finally walks in the door. The reason I’m writing this down is so I can stay mad until he gets back.
What is wrong, you might be asking? Let me tell you. You would think after all these years, the &%*$#@^ would realize I might be running out of things to cook. When I ask, “What would you like for dinner?” I am not looking for his standard response, “Whatever you feel like cooking.”
Hint: when your wife asks, what do you want for dinner it’s not a rhetorical question…she wants an answer!
So a little while ago, when he arrived home and discovered there was nothing cooking, he asked, “What, no dinner?”
“You hated the chicken casserole I made last night; I decided to wait for you to tell me what you’re hungry for.”
“Whatever you feel like cooking.”
“Don’t say that, it’s not true.”
“Of course it is. I always eat what you cook.”
“Yes, but you don’t eat in silence. You spend the entire time complaining about what I cooked.”
“That is not true.”
“Well it sure seems that way to me.”
“Just cook whatever you want to eat.”
“In case you have not noticed, I don’t feel like anything, otherwise something would be cooking.”
“You don’t need to get an attitude.”
“Well shit. All you’ve done for days is either complain that I’m cooking the same old, same old, or you don’t like the recipe for the new dish I’m trying.”
“Don’t exaggerate.”
“Oh, you cook!” I yelled as I stomped out of the kitchen.
“I worked all day,” he yelled back.
“Like I didn’t?”
Ok I know what you’re saying…this fight could be taking place in thousands of homes in this very country as we speak. And I agree with you, it most likely is. The main reason is the undocumented idea that it’s the woman’s job to decide what the family will eat for each and every meal for the rest of their lives.
How stupid is that? I have no idea what I’m hungry for most of the time…how the hell am I supposed to know what they are hungry for? I say we rise up and change this unjust demand by the male population and make them responsible for deciding. Each morning they will be required to leave a note with the evening’s menu on it. If for any reason they fail to do so, it’s a given they are taking us out for dinner.
They will not be allowed to pawn this job off on the children either. I know if James had his way we would have pizza every night of the week.
No ladies, I believe we must stand as one and demand that Congress start discussing this important issue. We need a new federal law which clearly defines it will be the responsibility of the husband to decide on the dinner menu. They can roll this into some other bill, bury it someplace no one will read, and then when it passes, they can announce it for all to see and marvel at.
Day 2 through 6
No, I’m not still fighting with the old man; however I am still making him pay for his lack of input into what we are going to eat. Below, you will find some important information and the menu for dinners at our house since the night of August 2nd…you be the judge of who is winning this battle.
August 2nd
Night of fight…I gave James five dollars and sent him to McDonalds. My hubby ate something I’m not sure what…I wasn’t speaking to him so I didn’t really pay a lot of attention, however he does know how to boil water so I’m sure he managed.
August 3rd
Ok, waking up in the morning I decided perhaps I’d been a little less than understanding the evening before, so I put on my thinking cap and tried to come up with something we had not eaten in the last three months…the brain child I came up with was, ta da: meatloaf! Deciding the standard form of meatloaf might still be considered boring by the boys, I took some time to rattle through the pantry looking for interesting ingredients to add to the mix. This is what I came up with:
2 lbs lean ground beef
2 pkg Lipton onion soup
½ cup bread crumbs
3 eggs
¼ cup parmesan cheese
1 cup cubed cheddar cheese
1 can kidney beans (drained)
Mix it all together, push it into the shape of a loaf, and bake in 350 degree oven for about an hour.
The house smelled good, something baking in the oven got the taste buds watering the minute my hubby walked in the door. “Smells good,” he said. The look on his face was priceless, I think he expected another night of boiled whatever.
“Thank you. It will be ready in ten minutes.”
Taking the meatloaf from the oven, it was that wonderful color of cooked! The cheese had melted some and was oozing from the sides. It looked really good. I proudly sliced it and placed slices on plates for the boys.
“What is in this?” James questioned
“Pinto beans in meatloaf, you’re kidding,” my hubby chimed in.
“They are kidney beans, did you even try it?”
“Is this from a real recipe Mom, or did you make this up?”
“Just try it.”
“Dad, can I have some money for McDonalds?”
“Sure, but only if you bring me some.”
For the second night James had McDonalds. My husband joined him and I enjoyed a nice, hot, home-cooked meal. The kidney beans really did taste good in the meatloaf…I will most likely make it again.
August 4th
Today I went shopping. After last night and the meatloaf, I decided to let someone else do the cooking. To get to a store that actually has a meat counter, let alone a seafood counter, I have to drive for about an hour. However, thinking the boys would be
pleased, I made the drive.
The special of the day at the seafood counter was crawfish cakes. I questioned the young man working there as to the ingredients, the cooking time, and if he’d ever tried them. After assuring me he had indeed tried them and they were great, I purchased enough to feed the boy’s dinner. Returning home with my purchases I tingled with excitement waiting to see the look on their faces when they realized we were having something for dinner we had NEVER had before. This ought to get them!
Enter son from YMCA. “What’s for dinner?”
“Crawfish cakes.”
“Oh, mixin’ it up are we?”
I believe I stuck my tongue out at him. He laughed and departed the kitchen with a closing remark. “I hope they taste good.”
About this time my hubby drove into the back parking area. Entering the house, he too smelled something new. “Hmm, what are you cooking tonight?” The look on his face was an odd expression, imploring whatever powers that be…please let it be something edible.
“Just get washed up quick, because they are almost ready.”
“What is almost ready?”
“Crawfish cakes.”
Looking a little doubtful about my ability to cook such a thing, he nonetheless went off to wash up for dinner. The timer on the stove pinged, letting me know the cakes were cooked to perfection and ready to serve up to my admiring men.
Two minutes after the plates hit the table James was off once again to McDonalds. I had left over meatloaf…it was still good on the reheat.
Do you see a pattern developing here?
August 5th
Tonight I was not going to take any chances. I purchased a very expensive, very hard to find pastrami. Not that wimpy turkey stuff, this is the real thing. Has the fat, the spices, everything. The only store in the state of Washington that carries this pastrami is over an hour away. I love my guys though, so off I went. When cooked to perfection, placed on a toasted hoagie roll with Swiss cheese, sweet mustard, and mayo, it’s to die for. Just like they make them in San Francisco, our old stomping grounds in California. Whenever I get depressed, which thankfully for the waist line, is not often, I make good old-fashion pastrami sandwiches.
The jOYs of Life Page 9