Monthly Archives: November 2015

a spidery doll…


Wednesday afternoon, while driving Mrs. K to her hair appointment, the doll called me in a panic. “Okay Mom, there’s a giant spider in the bathroom, what do I do?” “Grab a shoe and smash it” I replied. “MOM! What if he jumps on me?” Trying not to laugh I replied, “Then you knock him down and step on him.” “But, oh, um, I don’t know if I can do that…” She replied, her voice hitching after every word. “Doll, calm down…it’s only a spider…” I replied.

Now the doll takes me to task all the time for being unsympathetic to her phobia and she’s right. But when I was a kid, I didn’t have the luxury to be afraid of bugs. My sister Ann Marie and I used to routinely wake up in the middle of the night and kill an assortment of swarming bugs that flew in our bedroom window. So yes, I have little care for her need to flee a room at the sight of a small spider. 

“Mom, you know I hate spiders. They’re smart and shifty and know exactly how to get me…” She said now through a veil of tears. “Fine, close the door and I’ll kill it when I get home–if he’s still in there.” “Thank you. Wait, why wouldn’t he be in there?” She began to panic again. “Doll…” I replied before calling the conversation good and hung disconnected the call.

When I arrived home, the doll eagerly jumped into my car and asked if I would take her shopping. Forgetting all about the spider, I agreed. While we traveled to the store she filled me in on a few things. “Mom, dad killed the spider for us.” “Oh yeah, I forgot about all about it.” “See, Mom, you never take me seriously. I mean that spider was huge and you would have let it get me.” She admonished. “How big was the spider?” I asked. Using her thumb and first finger, she made a circle roughly the size of a Kennedy half-dollar. Seizing the opportunity, I called my husband and asked, “How big was the spider you killed for her?”

While driving, my phone plays out via the car stereo system so as he describes the size, type and genome of the poor dead spider, she began to argue over their differing opinions.

“Oh, he wasn’t that big…” He said. “Dad, he was huge!” Thoroughly entertained by the dad and doll show, I began to laugh. “The poor spider has been dispatched, that’s all that is important anyhow…” He replied. “She’s trying to tell me the spider was as big as a Kennedy half-dollar. True?” “Mom, I said about this big,” She said, reimagining the size slightly smaller than originally mentioned. “No, maybe a dime sized, if that,” Her father replied. “NO HE WAS BIGGER THAN A DIME!” She argued. “Well, all that matters is the poor guy is gone” Her father added, which we all agreed and ended the phone call.

“Mom, seriously, dad is wrong. I know. I mean, here I was minding my own business cleaning out the sink and there he was sidling up beside.” Amused I said, “Oh yeah, is that when you called me” “No. I tried to do what you and Aunt Ann told me to do the other night. I got the hand vac and tried to scoop him up but couldn’t, so I started crying and left screaming into the other room. That’s when I called you”. “Crying?” I asked. “MOM I keep telling you I’m afraid of spiders!!”

“Doll, you need to see a hypnotist or something. I mean, shoot, You’re a thousand times bigger than the spider…he really can’t hurt you…” “So long as I never have to go near one, I’m good.” She said and then shook her head and arms as if pushing the memory of being in the same room with a spider, away. “Good luck with that….you know they outnumber us…” I began. “MOM!! PLEASE STOP!! YOU KNOW I HATE SPIDERS!!”






obligatory Thanksgiving post…


Last night I wrote a completely different blog, but I have decided to hold that one until Friday, preferring to write an obligatory Thanksgiving blog instead. Forgive me if I sound too maudlin.

Looking out my kitchen picture window, the first signs of Christmas have become visible via my neighbor’s garland wrapped porch rails. Yet everything else runs in contrast to them. All the snow from the past weekend has either evaporated or been melted away by warming temperatures. In addition, my neighbor’s son is running around throwing a football to himself while wearing a nice Ohio State T-shirt and black shorts. How can this be late November in Ohio?

One of the things I love the most about Thanksgiving is this holiday belongs to everyone. We aren’t separated by religion, the color of our skin or even our wealth.  We all wish one another Happy Thanksgiving via social media and whether you respond or not, we’re happy someone acknowledged us somehow. Yesterday everywhere I went, I wished and was wished a happy Thanksgiving in return. Every one of us, regardless our differences, still wants the other to have a happy day and be thankful for our blessings. Everyone partakes. Everyone.

So in the spirit of the day, I’d like to acknowledge and thank everyone who has ever taken a moment or two (I can be long winded at times), to read from the Mean Mommy’s Memoir blog. I’m incredibly grateful that you all seem to enjoy sharing in my children’s triumphs and my few failures as their mother; in addition to reading what I have to say…and on occasion tell me so.

Thank you!

Happy Thanksgiving!!




Poo by any other name…


Ordinarily, I try my best not to embarrass my kids (within reason) in my blog even though they may not agree. However, since the boy was very interested in conveying this information to me while Mrs. K was in the car, I’ve decided he shouldn’t be mad if I share this information with you as well. Though to be fair, Mrs. K does suffer some short term memory issues. Oh well…


Yesterday, the boy’s high school dismissed an hour and a half earlier than usual I suppose to give the teacher’s a jump start on their mini holiday vacation. As Mrs. K and I watched all the other students get picked up and leave, I lamented how the boy insisted I arrive on time, so he too could get a jump start on his holiday vacation, yet here we were the last car waiting for their student to emerge. When he finally made his approach while opening the car door, he threw his backpack and Ipad into the car, saying, “Sorry I’m running late Mom and I’ll explain everything as soon as I do one more thing…” Before closing the car door and took off running across campus. “My what was that?” Mrs. K asked. “I’m not sure…” I said, reveling in the fact the boy was actually voluntarily exerting energy and running. Following his movements, I watched as he stopped, appear to talk to someone, wave, smile and then turned and come running back to the car.

“Who were you waving at?” I asked. “Ernie (School custodian), I wished him a happy Thanksgiving,” He replied. “Ah” I smiled to myself. “Well anyhow, the reason I was late coming out of school is because this morning, while I was sitting in the library, A came in and went to a shelf directly behind me. “Did you talk to A?” I asked. “Yes. She pointed out a shelf full of graphic novels I didn’t even know were in there. So, I had to stop at the library after school and take three books out–which I endeavor to read over the Thanksgiving holiday break.”

“I see,” I replied before asking the money question, “How was the rest of your day?”

“Funny you should mention that…” He said which made no sense–I ask him this same question every day after school. “As I was walking down to the adoration service at the end of the day, I passed one of the men’s rooms and remembered I’d been holding my need to poo for the last two class periods. So, I stopped and took a poo.”

The boy over the years has developed a reputation for spending copious amounts of time in the loo, instead of sitting in church. Therefore having him explain his need to poo instead of attending an adoration service is par for his course.

“A poo?” I asked a little embarrassed for him. “I did hold it for two periods and after taking a fairly large poo, I realized the adoration service was in full swing and I would be a disruption entering the assembly so instead I had a very confusing discussion with the dean of students and we concluded I should sit in the main office until the service was over”. “Confusing? How? Didn’t you explain about your large I mean poo?” I asked. “I don’t think either one of us was being very clear. Regardless he okayed my waiting in the office–where I entertained the office staff”.  “Will you get into any trouble for missing the service?” I asked. “No. I talked with Fr R after and he said we were cool.”  He replied.

After a pause in the conversation I said,  “You know, of all the big words you spring on me on a daily basis, I would have thought you could have come up with a better term than “poo” when talking about evacuating”.  “Poo is the best word to use,” He reasoned. “But not to be confused with Winnie Ther Pooh” I quickly added. “No–two different subjects altogether.  He replied but then added, “though, both are brown.” “Eww!” I replied and he laughed. “Bad, bad, bad bay!” I added. While all three of us laughed.



As per my request yesterday, I had enough people post likes and favorites to give you the answers you seek. So, without further fluff, here goes…

Monday:  Chocolate Morsels…

Chocolate Morsels are tiny and semi-sweet bits of flavor. Hopefully, my daily blogs are the same.

Tuesday: Kelbasa…

Though Kielbasa is misspelled here, “Kelbasa” to me, besides a delicious polish sausage; represents the “Fighting Irish” high school my doll is choosing to attend next fall–which also happens to be located within the confines of the Polish Villiage neighborhood in our fair city. Plus, the cheer I used at the end, was one passed down to me by my mother, from when from she and my father attended the same school.

Wednesday: Cold Cuts…

If there is one thing most funerals have in common, it may well be the food served at their luncheons immediately afterward. Though I have served enough to know chicken is very popular too, cold cuts are a favorite among mourners. Not to mention, attending a funeral of a good friend can be cold for the soul and cutting as well.

Thursday Broccoli: 

When my kids were young and turning their noses up at vegetables, the one I was always able to get them to eat was broccoli, which I know for many isn’t always the case. “Pretend you’re a giant and are eating little trees…” I enforced and lo and behold, that’s exactly what they did. But what is it about broccoli that turns kids off? Flavor? Little tree comparison? The color green? Or is it something more basic, like how broccoli is comprised of beta-carotene, which is very good for you?

If you recall my blog was about how mother’s and daughters get along and the doll informing me that I drive her bonkers-annoying her all the time. So I guess you could say I’m broccoli. Not always liked, but very good for you..or rather her, even though she may not appreciate this at the moment.

Friday Bubble Gum….

My friend Cathie told me Friday, she loves “the boy” blogs because she finds him to be hilarious. I do too. What do you associate with fun, sweet, happy (boys) days? For me, I chose bubble gum. Perhaps this has more to do with the fact that once the boy’s braces were removed last month, the first place we stopped was to buy him some bubble gum and popcorn. Not the healthiest of things mind you, but after 3.5 years without those things I figured a little indulgence wasn’t a bad thing.


On a side note….in the last three days, I’ve had three basic strangers approach me about the boy. A little nervous once I agreed that “Yes he is my son…” and then braced for impact, only to hear “Your son is the nicest, sweetest boy”.

Always nice to hear his sister proved wrong…



So last week every blog had a title that correlated to a food item(s) and I challenged a few people out there to figure out why. Some not wanting to think too much came right out and asked me while others, well I guess they figured I’d answer the question for them eventually kept silent. And I the very best case, my sister Ann Marie asked me if I had too much time on my hand creating puzzles for my readers.  So if you are interested in knowing why…let me know via a “like”on FB or a”ask me” on Twitter or “comment”on WP. Otherwise, like I used to say when younger, “Moving right along…”


The boy’s high school football team Friday, won in dramatic fashion (double overtime) no less, the regional championship over a team they had lost to at the start of 2015 season. Saturday morning while I was working out, the boy entered the living room and I announced they had won. “I knew they would!!” He shouted happily. “What?” I asked, not because of his “psychic” ability but rather because I was a bit surprised by his apparent happiness about a game he routinely tells me he hates. “I knew the other team would lose because I had cast them in the mold of evil empire. My school were the good guys, so of course good wins over evil!”

“Um, I don’t know about that…” I said trying to wrap my head around what he said. “Well at least in my world, good wins over evil”. He elaborated.  Sitting on the couch pretending to be invisible, the doll looked at her brother and asked, “Geeze Boy, ever live in the real world?” “Doll!” I scolded, but the boy quickly replied “Why should I when mine is more interesting?” “Says you…” she quickly replied. “And I should know!”

Alright alright!!” I said trying to break up their arguing. “I just wanted to tell you the good news about the game not listen to the two of you argue…” Just then, they both looked at me like I had three heads and said “We’re not arguing…”

In defense of the dark arts (otherwise known as CLAP-Children’s Logic Against their Parents) I went back to working out and ignored them both.

bubble gum…


On the ride to school this morning, I conducted a brief interview with the boy concerning my merits as a blogger in capturing just who he and the doll really are. Here is a snippet of what I can remember from the conversation.  

Caveat: He’s hilarious and I had a difficult time hearing everything he said over our shared laughter  throughout much of the “interview”.

Me: “Because you and your sister have been so routinely boring this week, I’m forced to resort to drastic measures to come up with an interesting blog, so answer these questions, for me please”.

B: “Since my Spotify ended, what choice do I have?”

M:  How do I rank, in your eyes as a ‘blogger”.

B: Eh, adequate.

M: Do I present a clear and concise representation of who you truly are inside the blog?

B: No, misrepresentation is the better word. You fabricate things all the time.

M: I wouldn’t say fabricate as much as I would say “take poetic license” with a few things…is that fair?

B: Mom, sometimes you all out lie–but that’s okay. When writing an entertainment blog, in order to bolster your appeal, there are needs to exaggerate your characters in order to make their boring existence more likable.

M:. Are you telling me you live a boring life?

B: Not me, the doll, though…whew!

M: Don’t let her hear you say that…

B: Since when does she ever listen to what I have to say?”

M: Good point. Now where were we, oh yeah, I don’t agree with your assessment or word choice, for that matter, But for the sake of argument, let me ask, are you okay with–as you put it, “my exaggerations” when it comes to you?

B: Yes.

M:  So you don’t mind me writing about your “boring” life in my blog?

B: Not at all. In fact,  I rather enjoy being seen as a cartoon character for the middle-aged women/mothers who make up your target audience.

M: What? (choking on laughter here) Cartoon? Huh?

B: Cartoon characters is how you’ve written the doll and I, over the years. But that’s okay…”

M: Caricatures yes, but I wouldn’t go so far as calling you cartoons….I mean heck I can barely draw a straight line.

B: Well there you go. You answered your own question…

M: Huh? What are you talking about?”

B: By your own admission, you can’t draw a straight line–thusly, that explains why the doll and I are so crookedly written in your blog.

M: Bayyy… And, hey, on occasion, there are men who read my blog…

B: Few and far between. Besides, they’re related to you or in a really big need of some bad comic relief.

M: Anything else you would like to add?

A. I looovvvee you…

M:  Yeah yeah, get out of my car and go to school. 




“As a matter of fact yes, and while there I had a nice conversation with J’s mom,” I replied to my doll, after she asked the all important question, “Did you do something different to your hair?”  At first she barely acknowledged my reply, only slightly nodding as if uninterested, before she nonchalantly asked, “So what did you two talk about?”

“Gotcha!” I thought to myself and then tried to reply without sending any red flags her way.

J’s mom, Alicia, happens to own the hair salon where I get my quarterly cut and color. She also happens to have a daughter, “J” who up until a little over a year ago, attended the same school and was in the same class with the doll. “We talked about where you and J are going to school next year…” I replied. “Oh yeah?” She asked, not looking up from her homework paperwork. “I told her you were going to be an Irish”. “Where is J going to attend?” She wondered. “Her mom wants her to be an arrow, but J would prefer to be an Irish too”. “I can totally see her there too!” She replied. “Yes, her mom is determined to send her to an all-girls school, though–which is causing some friction between them,” I added.

Again, the doll slightly nodded her head in reply.

“She also told me that J is driving her nuts fully acting the part of a teenager and butting heads with her. I told her thankfully, you and I seem to get along fairly well and so far, your teenage behavior hasn’t been too bad”. “In other words you lied to her,” She quickly replied. “No. No, not unless you know something I don’t…” I returned. “Mom, I must be a world class actress if you don’t notice the friction between us. I mean seriously, you annoy the heck out of me”.

Trying not to laugh I looked over at my daughter and said, “Oh that? Well, honey, the feeling there is mutual, I just choose to look at this differently. I mean I have a blog to complain about you in…” I said and then winked at her before adding, “Besides, if I didn’t annoy the HELL out of you, I wouldn’t be doing my job as your mom, now would I?”. Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “Perhaps.”

“Oh, and doll? Every morning when your alarm clock rings for two hours…and then you yell at me for being late? That’s annoying as hell to addition to your utter lack of cleaning up after yourself and general disregard for your brother’s feelings and…” Holding her hand up toward my face, she said, “STOP! Got it mom…” in an annoyed tone.

“See…we get along great!” I said with a smile.

Without looking at me directly, she shrugged her shoulders in reply, before going back to homework and trying her best to ignore my presence in the room.