Monthly Archives: February 2016

old and decrepit…


Yesterday the boy stopped what he was doing long enough to pose for a picture with me so I could post the picture on Facebook and wish him a happy birthday. Then, like clockwork, Facebook offered me a chance to look back at all his birthday’s for the last seven years. Each post said the same thing, “How did this happen? How did he get so old so fast?” I sit here shaking my head still trying to figure this out, but don’t have an answer.

I know as humans, we are lucky. Our babies take time to develop and learn. Unlike other animals in the world who are born walking, then running, ours needs more guidance, more direction. But there have been moments over the years when I’ve secretly wished he would grow up a little faster–you know, so he would wear deodorant without being asked. But I surely miss my little guy who when I’d ask him a question would reply with regularity, “Don’t know, Momma” or whenever he saw a picture of a fish, he’d always call it a “gold”, regardless the type of fish.

“Mom, what’s your favorite story about me as a baby?” He asked me the other night. “Bay, there are so many…” I replied, but when pressed I offered “On your first birthday you figured out how to walk without holding onto furniture and the walls for balance and then walked around with your tongue sticking out most of the day. In addition, the temperature outside reached 67 degrees and folks wanted me to turn on the air conditioning.” “That’s kind of like today…” He remarked. Nodding I agreed but added, “Yes, except you’ve managed to keep your tongue firmly in your cheek today”. “Good one mom!” He said with a smile.

“Bay I don’t know how you became seventeen so fast. In the animal kingdom, you’d probably be old and decrepit…” I said with a laugh. “Mom, I was six when I said that to Aunt Rosie,” He replied. “I know,” I laughed. “But it’s true in this case” “As it was in hers,” He quickly added (She was 95 at the time). “Do you remember what she said to you in return?” His face reddened a little at the memory and then smiled, “She said,” I began, “I really am old and decrepit’ and then started laughing while your embarrassed mother tried not to look so horrified”. “Again, I was like six at the time…” He laughed. I smiled back and tried to get back to the point I was making, “However, I want you to know, you will always be my bay. I don’t care how old you get, you’ll always be my baby”. “Ahh, mom and her sentimental drivel” He replied so I playfully slapped at him and we both laughed and hugged. Holding the hug for a moment I added, “Happy Birthday bay, I love you!” “I love you too mom” He replied.





in the absence of thought…


For the past two weeks, I’ve tricked the boy into helping out at the Parish Fish Fry, by telling him I had signed him up to work as a door greeter. In truth, I have yet to go to the website and formally lock him into that position. “Bay remember we talked about this…” I said to him. “I thought it was only for the first week…?” He asked, a little wind blowing out of his sails that his weekend would have to wait until after this work shift. “No, I signed you up for several of them I mean, honestly, this is the easiest way for you to earn service hours…” I lied.  Beyond questioning me that one time, he has shown up for duty without complaint. Why? Because he genuinely enjoys talking to people of all ages.

This Sunday night at 8:01 pm, he’ll officially become 17 years old and will be legal to see R-rated movies, without my permission. My little boy, who’s not so little any longer, will be one year away from registering for the draft, having the ability to vote in general elections and will be considered by everyone (save his parents) as an adult. As such, I am finding it very difficult to wrap my head around this concept and thus been unable to formulate a blog that doesn’t reduce down to sentimental drivel. So, I’m posting a link to my favorite story about the boy, written three weeks after I began this blog. I hope you take the time and read about my bay, who’s personality really hasn’t changed all that much over the last six years.

Blarney Rules…

snow day…?


The winter storm that was predicted to hit our area did but with less ferocity than originally planned, thanks in part to the warmer temperatures here than for our neighbors to the north. While we did receive a good three inches of the white stuff, the snow, though heavy and wet was rather easy to remove. In fact, very little salt was needed on the cleared sidewalks–continued falling snow melts on contact. Perhaps because our current winter has been milder than in recent years, the area schools closed their doors today, allowing both kids to enjoy a snow day.

The doll awoke with a start and in her words, “almost suffered a heart attack” thinking her parents forgot to wake her up for school, before realizing the snow day was in effect. The boy, who for some reason awoke before 6 a.m., decided his best use of time was to play video games all morning. “Mom, I’m having difficulty getting the main drive to connect to the wifi system”. “Bay, I’m going to work out and then we’re going to shovel some snow. “Correction, you’re going to shovel snow,” He replied. “Excuse me? Come again?” I asked. “You’re better equiped to handle the snow than I am,” He tried. “Bay…seriously?” “Mom, it’s my snow day. I should be allowed to enjoy it any way I see fit…” he replied. “You know, I’m not sure which there is more of here, the snow outside on the ground, or the snow you’re trying to spread inside this house with your bull.” I replied, trying not to get too irritated with him,

When the time arrived to shovel the driveways (mine and dads), I yelled to the boy to “Come on, let’s go!” “Mom, I’m on the shitter,” he replied. “Bay, shovel our driveway, I’ll get Grandpa’s,” I said and then left the house. An hour later when I returned home, the driveway was still covered in snow. Upon entering the house, there sat the boy, video game unit in hand. “Thanks for clearing the driveway bay!” I said sarcastically, more than a little annoyed. “I thought we had decided that was your job…” He replied.

Needless to say, since that conversation, his snow day as been anything but pleasureable. Not only is our house is a little cleaner, but he’s been relieved of all video related equipment until further notice. Mom’s snow days can be fun too…for her.

making the mundane interesting…


Six years ago, while I was behaving like the Parent Association secretary in the main office for my children’s school, the doll wandered in to see the nurse. Seeing me she explained why she was there and our subsequent conversation sparked my first blog. I remember telling the office staff that when I arrived home I was going to write a blog about our encounter and name the overall blog the Mean Mommy’s Memoirs. The most incredible part of this whole story is that I actually followed through with my idea–something I’m not always known for doing.


Yesterday when Mrs. K and I picked the boy up from school, instead of the usual pleasantry when he reaches the car, the boy asked instead, “Can we make a detour to the cemetery?” Looking over at Mrs. K I asked her if she were in a hurry. “Not particularly,” Came her reply. “Okay bay, but why?” I asked him. “I need to find an interesting name for a story I’m writing and the name generator program I’m using isn’t sparking my imagination,” He explained. “Well alrighty then.” I said and then drove over to our town’s most historic cemetery; not too far from our home.

“What kind of an assignment are you doing?” Mrs. K asked when we entered the cemetery. “I’m writing a story and need a good name for the character,” the boy replied. “Why are we in a cemetery?” She asked not understanding his reply. “He’s looking for a distinctive name, one he can’t come up with on his own,” I explained. “Oh, what a good idea,” She replied. “Mom, would you pull over here, I want to take a picture of this tombstone,” He asked every time he would find one with an interesting name.

“Look at that tree!” Mrs. K announced, pointing to an oversized sycamore tree with a giant split-chasm in the trunk. “Goodness, a fairly large animal could live comfortably inside that tree,” she remarked. As I slowly drove past, we noticed the tombstone next to the tree was marked with the family name “WIDER”. “Mom, can you stop the car, I’d like to get a picture of the tree and tombstone to denote their irony,” The boy asked and I complied. A short time later the boy informed he had some very good names to choose from and we began winding our way around and out toward home. “Well, this was a really cool cemetery,” the boy remarked. Mrs. K, without missing a beat replied, “Yes, everyone’s dying to get in,” and then began giggling. Not long after, the boy and I joined her, making our drive home all the more enjoyable.



February reminders…


I mentioned in an earlier blog, I would be celebrating my sixth anniversary as a blog writer at the end of this month and with thanks to Facebook memories, I have been re-reading/reliving some of my older blog posts. You would think I would remember everything I’ve ever written, but no, I’ve been quite surprised both by how well and or how horrible my writing has been these last six years. I guess you could say I’m consistently trying, just not always succeeding. Of course, there has always been an underlying thought to go back and edit them better, but alas. Thankfully, somehow, the main theme of the stories have been discernible in spite of my limited writing abilities.

“Hey doll, today is the anniversary of Kitty the hamster’s death,” I informed the doll Sunday night. “Thanks for picking that scab mom. Why would you want me to remember that?” She replied. “You should always remember loved ones…” I said before adding,”Facebook memories reminded me,” and then read aloud what I had written four years ago, “Goodbye Kitty the hamster, my doll is heartbroken.” “I was too,” she acknowledged and then laughed adding, I can’t believe we took her to the vet in a Tampax box.” “Smiling at the memory, I replied, “Tell me about it…”  “How was I supposed to know what that box was for? I was a little kid…” She said with a hint of embarrassed humor to her voice before she covered her eyes with her hands and she shook her head back and forth. “If nothing else doll, it makes a good story and memory to be embarrassed by for the rest of your life,” I said with a smile. Lifting her head she nodded before adding, “Oh and I’m not the one who should be embarrassed, that’s all yours mommy dear”.

To which, any respectable mother of a fourteen-year-old girl would reply, “Whatever doll”.


If interested in catching up on the story referenced above, please click the link below. If not, no worries, I’m sure you’ve all read this (one of my better written) story before.

Of Kitty and Doll…




Over the weekend, blustery winds wiped out our power and all hell broke loose. The boy stood over the toaster, trying to figure out why his English muffin wasn’t browning and heating up, when I said to him, “Dude, we lost power”. Unable to hear me due to the loud content playing in his ears via headphones, he continued to press the toaster plunger down, becoming frustrated when the device wouldn’t engage. “MOM WE MIGHT NEED A NEW TOASTER,” He informed. “Bay. We lost power.” I tried. He offered no reply or acknowledgement that he heard me, so I tried again, this time, a little louder, “BAY WE LOST  POWER. HELLO…? BAY!” I said raising my voice louder. Startled, he pulled the headphones from his ears, looked at me and said in a normal tone, “I’m just trying to brown up my English muffin”.

Trying not to laugh at the absurdity of this situation, I looked back at him and said, “Dude, how loud is the music you’re listening to? I’ve been telling you since you entered the kitchen the power is down. No matter how hard you press that button, you’re bread will not toast.” The message was really brought home to him when the program he had been listening to abruptly came to an end, leaving radio silence in his ears. “Hey, we lost Wi-Fi” He announced perplexed. Giving him a deadpanned look I replied, “Bay, no power…no wifi.”

Noticing my smartphone, he asked, “Why is your iPhone still working?” “Perhaps because this is a phone working on cellular power,” I answered and cut him to the quick when he asked, “Can I borrow your phone then?” “Bay, I pay for my data plan and you’ll blow all my minutes in a very short amount of time surfing the internet, therefore the answer is no”. “Oh. Hardly seems fair…” He said exiting the room. “Hey, since you’re involuntarily disconnected from the internet, how about we do something else…like clean?” I offered. “I would…” the boy began, “But since you’re not willing to share your cellular data with me, I don’t feel inclined to share my Saturday with you cleaning”.  “Okay, if that’s the game you want to play, we’ll play. But if I remember right, your birthday is next weekend. Since you rarely remember to give me anything for my birthday, I don’t feel inclined to give you anything either…” I said and walked back into the kitchen.

A short time later he helped me clean by clearing cobwebs off the ceiling all around the living room.

maturity angles…


Wednesday night I had an enjoyable time eating dinner with my father. He has declared that for some reason, I make the best farmers omelet in the family. Frankly, I think I’m just the only one who makes him farmer omelets on a regular basis. While there, my eldest sister Terri called and after checking in with our father, spent the next hour talking  with me about my kids.

“How’s the boy doing in school?” She asked. “He’s doing great. This Junior year is shaping up to be his best year yet,” I said and then spent the next several minutes rehashing several of the stories I’ve  recently written about here before moving on to talk about the doll’s epic sleepover last weekend. Toward the end of our conversation, as we began wrapping things up, she said something I wasn’t expecting to hear, “Marsh, it sounds to me like the boy is finally maturing“.

Say what?

Come again?

I’m sorry, what did you say?

My boy?


Her words “finally maturing” slowed down so much over the telephone line that my brain lost focus on what she actually said. Recovering I replied, “Well, I wouldn’t go that far…”which allowed both of us a good laugh before exchanging pleasantries and wishing the other goodnight.


On the drive to school this morning, it occurred to me I cannot remember the last time I asked the boy if he remembered to put on his deodorant. In fact, now every morning he takes a shower, washes his hair and applies the deodorant–without any prompting from me. Heck even last night I watched him trim his fingernails (over a garbage can no less!!) of his own fruition.

Say What?

Come Again?

I’m sorry, what?

Could my sister be correct? Could he finally be maturing….?


Well, maybe.

Sigh, he is almost 17…

Sigh, my baby is almost grown…

But wait, he is a boy and so there will always be a modicum of immaturity lingering around him.

Okay then.