September 23, 2020

Universe, stop it already - unrelated to covid 19

We spotted a bride and groom on the
beach when we went to see the
 sunset one night in Michigan.


The universe lately, well it's just driving us crazy - 'driving' being the operative word here.

When we drove to Michigan, Aug. 7th we took two cars.  This allowed us to divide into:  

1) relax on the beach group or

2) play golf group.

If you recall my spa that was invaded by raccoons, then you know I opted for the beach.  I don't golf.  Why get sweaty and frustrated chasing a tiny ball around a golf course, when your golf clothes could mess with your tan lines?  I prefer the option to get wet, read, and nap.  

When we arrived in Michigan, I scolded Coach for taking the exit SO FAST.  He sort of cut us off, Ed was driving the Kia and we were in front of Coach when he buzzed past us and exited first.  

Coach:  Um, yeah.  I didn't have a choice.  There are like no brakes in the minivan.  

Me:  Oh, shit.

When we got home, I texted one of the brothers at the dealership where Ed is interning in the accounting department.  So, not sure I have mentioned this, but I babysat starting as a teen until I was out of college for a family that owned several car dealerships.  When I met them as a 12 year old, they had 3 little ones.  They ended up with 8 kids.

In March our 'teen car', a Mazda Tribute died while Mini was practice driving with Coach.

Of course the boys sort of blamed Mini for 'killing' the car.  Honestly, if a car is going to die, then let it die during a pandemic, I always say.  We really weren't going anywhere.  We reached out to the brothers (whose diapers I once changed) who now own, co-own, or work for their dad at his dealerships.  They shared some possible good 'teen replacement' cars.  

After all of our chats, they asked Ed to send a resume.  He landed an internship doing accounting for the summer at their dealerships.  Since it's really hard to score an internship a) after freshman year, and b) during a pandemic . . . he was thrilled.  

A bonus to being tight with this awesome family is that they look out for us - thoroughly check over a used car before they sell it to us, and they give me a family discount.  Sweet, right?  Did I mention that I potty trained most of their offspring?  Paybacks, people.  

I think I blogged about the car that was perfect, and how they agreed to sell it to us, but then Charlie (the brother I nicknamed Baby Face as a tot) forgot to set it aside for us and it got sold.  Ouch.  So, back to the drawing board.  We ended up paying more, but at the end of May we bought a 2013 Kia Sorento.  It's now the nicest of our 3 autos.  Our children drive it.  How dumb are we?  

I took this prize winning shot when I pulled up to Coach 
on our way home from the dealership in May.

Meanwhile Coach and I tool around in a beat up looking red minivan, or the great white - a 12-seater, Chevy Express, former airport shuttle, whose paint job is chipping away rapidly, but I've never experienced a car with better AC. I know you're jealous.

On Wednesday August 12th, Doug, a brother at the dealership, responded that Ed could drive the red minivan into work the day after Michigan.  They would replace the brakes.  

Later the service manager called to say the front two tires were bald.  What is wrong with us?  Are we on a secret suicide mission driving with no brakes AND bald tires?  

Ed works over 40 minutes from home and how would we manage if we had a car in a local shop and still need to get him to work?  Two birds:  he could sit at work while the minivan was getting fixed.  Perfect.

Or, not.

At 4:00 on Wednesday he prepared to leave the dealership but was told they hadn't finished the car (in fact they failed to even start working on it) and could he get another ride home?  They said the car was in such bad shape they wouldn't allow him to drive it.  

Red minivan should've stayed
 in the garage in a timeout.

**Coach and I are awaiting our parents-of-the-year award for sending a kid on a 40 min drive with bald tires and no brakes**  

I was at Costco with Reggie getting his glasses adjusted when Ed called.  

** another reason I was in panic mode on that particular Costco trip**

Ed:  Can someone come get me?  The car isn't done?

Me:  SAY WHAT?  No, we have Reggie's confirmation in a bit and I'm at Costco. 

He hired an Uber for $40.  He's 19 and you have to be 25 to borrow a car.  Dang.

Delilah came by to cuddle a
baby and to see me,
who are we kidding -
she was 100% baby
 focused, and she snapped
this photo of me and the
 5 month old twin girls. 
This was NOT the day
 I was super tired.  I'm
sure you can tell - I look
 ready to conquer the world,
 bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

The next day, Thursday, happened to be the third consecutive day of a lack of sleep for me after those maybe gluten-ed tacos, so I was strung out.  I was enjoying that over-tired feeling that makes my head buzz and makes me feel woozie.  It was my first day sitting for the baby twins, and when they got picked up I intended to nap.  That didn't happen because Reg was done caddying at the golf course.  On my bleary-eyed way home from getting Reg, Ed called.  The car was STILL not ready.  Could I come get him?

Tears.  I was like, TELL THEM WE CANNOT BE WITHOUT A CAR FOR THE ENTIRE WEEKEND.  Ed doesn't intern on Fridays, so if he came home with no car we would be up a creek for the weekend.

Sorry, but three cars for 6 drivers is a pain, 2 cars is not even a thing.  I was maybe going to have to ask Mary Ann to borrow her broomstick (couldn't resist). 

I told myself I could do it.  Go pick him up.  Then we would have to drive him back on Monday morning though.  It was too hard to process.  My phone rang again.

Ed:  Doug happened to overhear the issue and he gave special permission for me to take a loaner car even though I'm not old enough.

Tears, of joy this time.  

Temporary joy, because if things didn't seem a bit nutty already - a shit storm was right around the corner.

Any guesses on the next bump in the road?  You will not believe it.  

September 21, 2020

Since you asked: what we eat (links to recipes) , plus what we drink, & watch

I'm so ashamed. Look at this drawer.  It needs attention.  The front corner is my recipe box and all of the recipes I have used in the last year, maybe?

I need a better system.  Admitting it is the first step, right?  For those of you who think I am Ms. Organization, prepare to be shocked.  My recipes are stuffed in a drawer next to a recipe box that used to be orderly.  In order to find what I want to make, I have to shift through the stack of cards and papers.  Sometimes twice.  The horror.  
This is the box and pile of recipes begging for order to be restored.  

It started innocent enough.  Me in a hurry, not putting things back in their little filing system.  Well, hell.  Now it's just anarchy.  

These two recipes Chocolate Quinoa Snack Balls and sea salt dark chocolate energy balls I stumbled upon online two years ago in a desperate attempt to find something tasty, since cookies and sheet cake are no longer my friends.  These are my FAVORITE SNACKS.  

These are some well-loved, and now sticky recipes.

I nibble on the quinoa snack balls with my protein shake after my workout 

(*I keep them in the freezer in those little reusable 1/2 cup Glad lunch containers, I love the crunch, and lawdy rolling them into balls was almost the death of me*

and the other one serves as my dessert after dinner.

(*I cover my energy balls in more chocolate, and I also freeze them*)   

All the stuff for choc energy balls. 
 In these parts
we just call 'em chocolate
 balls because we
 enjoy a good chuckle,
plus taco fixings
on the other side of the island.
  Got it all going on.

Chocolate energy balls in
 my food processor. 
Kinda labor intensive.

I bake a TON, but I don't bother making my baked goods GF.  I don't think it tastes the same, plus I find it highly caloric.  I mean that stuff is highly caloric anyway - who needs to compound it?

This is a vegetable recipe I just discovered and I love it.  Many of you are probably 'real chefs' so you could make this in your sleep.  With Lad eating vegetarian, I made a recipe that I stumbled across on my favorite Chicago morning news show (I think it was called Mediterranean vegetables - not the news show, that's WGN), and we liked it. 

Confession time:  I didn't even really know how to prepare fresh vegetables.  Are you laughing at me?  I don't blame you.  I'm honestly embarrassed at how clueless I was.

I cling to the excuse of growing up in an Irish American household where vegetables came in a can.  Salad was a bit of ice-burg lettuce with a few pieces of tomato, occasionally a hard boiled egg, and a sprinkle of shredded cheese with French dressing.

As I approach my 50th birthday, I suppose I'm too old to keep recycling that tired 'my mom did it this way' excuse, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Anyway, the next time I made the vegetables, it wasn't great.  I googled and found the above recipe to replace it.  Delightful.  I made three trays of it and we ate it as a side all week.  That's how I cook:  wear myself out making a pile of food - then heat up as needed.  (insert Tank's eye-roll here.  Spoiled kid hates leftovers)

Hey, at least my kids have eaten fresh vegetables.  I have been rocking peppers, and onions with balsamic chicken over the last year - not even sure how that started, who am I?  I wonder if someone will show up one day and label me as 'no longer Irish' in a shameful, quick ceremony.  

Confession time:  I tried to whip Balsamic chicken up without consulting the recipe a few months ago.  I only used olive oil, skipping the balsamic vinegar completely.  I was like, Hmm, what's missing?  As I was driving home from Irish dancing (where else would I be?), it occurred to me.  I poured some balsamic in, stirred it up over heat, and saved the day.  Curly ate more after dancing and was relieved I hadn't lost my touch.  

How 'bout some meat?
I serve Sloppy Joe's a lot, and I think Beth requested the recipe for that crowd pleaser.  I am including a photo of my recipe card.  Note:  Instead of 3/4 ketchup I do 1/2 ketchup and 1/2 barbecue.  I'm  VERY generous on the chopped pepper and onion.  (my feed the masses version is on the back of my card).

A lot of this and a lot of that.

And vegetables?

I was about to end it here, but I realized I haven't touched on the drink and watching subjects.  I'll be brief:

Drinking:  One question:  


What on earth?  Whose idea was this?  It tastes like water, but gross.  I can't.  Am I alone on this?  I love Mike's Hard Lemonade.  Dark Cherry, or whatever is the red one.  A bottle of Riesling is still my BFF.  I can count on one hand how many drinks I've had over pandemic.  It's a slippery slope.  Life has been challenging (upcoming posts might reveal some of that - still on the fence), and I don't want to start a habit I can't break.   

Watching:  I like my aforementioned WGN morning news.  They're local, and funny.  Since Coach dropped direct TV, I can no longer rewind.  This is one of life's little adjustments which displeases me.  God help the child who speaks too loud and makes me miss a laugh on my morning show since I CANNOT REWIND to see what I have missed.  They've all been warned.  Hey, some people have coffee in the morning, not me.  We had to get an antenna just so I can watch this show.  Coach was all 'ridiculous' and I was like, 'hey I have a few things that I enjoy . . . my inflatable child's pool/raccoon spa and WGN, so back off.'

While in Michigan we watched 'Bird Box.'  People, have you seen this?  It is a reminder to all of us that our pandemic could be worse.  What if we could not go outside without being blindfolded?  It is like the seeing version of 'The Quiet Place.'

So, how do you organize your recipes?  What movie did you watch recently that you liked?  How do you feel about White Claws?

September 16, 2020

re-defining zoom bombs, and threatening the friendly version

After the first full day of e-learning (when Ed had not snuck off to college and left everyone wondering about his whereabouts), I told the three high school kids that I felt there should be a competition to, you know, keep things interesting during this dang e-learning time.  

Me:  Why not have a contest to see whose parents can come up with the funniest Zoom bomb during their kid's class?  

I even demonstrated me walking up behind a kid with a computer and hollering out to the teacher 'Oh, hey - just have to go downstairs to get something' - followed by the fake-descending-stair-mime thing with no actual stairs.

Various responses from my offspring who apparently don't love me anymore included:  You're dumb.  What?  Stop talking.  Did you mean to say that out-loud?  Why do you think you're funny?

Why are dad jokes funny, but moms have to shoulder the burden of sucking?  And, just so we're clear:  "Not sure what goes on over there, but my kids' friends think I'm hilarious" is not an acceptable comment.

Side note aka selfless plug so you know I do have a sense of humor that my children used to enjoy:  I once went outside a restaurant pretending I was just going to the ladies' room.  I left the four youngest sitting in a booth at the window having milkshakes after a particularly grueling Irish dancing class.  They were surprised when I appeared outside the window and then waved to them and proceeded to do the going downstairs mime.  They died laughing.  

Timeless?  Apparently not.  

A moment later, Ed mentioned that he saw Tank's 'thing' on Zoom.  "Classic.  That was so funny.  Well done."

Mimi:  (chuckling)  

Me:  (Glancing back and forth bewildered)  Wait, what did you do Tank?  Someone show me, or tell me.

They refused.  Awckk!  They were purposely leaving me out of the loop.  They swore up and down it was nothing bad, just funny.  

I do not have photos of my kids e learning, but this is typical Tank while we were in MI.  Ed is in the far left corner near our beach blankets.  Coach and 3 youngest playing Slammo in the background.  We did NOT pack an umbrella.  Some beach goer put this umbrella up and then maybe went for a swim.  Tank pulled one of our chairs under it and continued to alert us of how comfortable he was.  The real umbrella person NEVER returned, and I half wondered if the person couldn't find his/her umbrella because he/she was looking for one WITHOUT anyone sitting under it and Tank's presence was throwing him/her off. 

Anyway, Tank had a small group of his closest buddies come and hang out in the basement a bit after my zoom contest suggestion fail.  He rarely has friends over, claims there are too many people in the house.  Fears I might greet them, or God forbid engage them in conversation.  

He insists his friends think I'm weird, etc.  Moi?

His buddies were milling around on the driveway.  I could see them from the snack-bar/mini island in the kitchen where I was set up with my laptop.  Ed was still home, and he was like "Tank, why are your friends outside and you are just laying on the couch in the living room on your phone?"  Before Ed started scolding Tank, I was on my feet.  I threw open the garage door and invited them in.

His friend:  Oh, we texted him.  We were just waiting.

Me:  I know texting is the new doorbell, but you can just come in.  Tank is apparently laying around -too lazy to get up and open the door.

A few minutes later I got an email from the high school principal, Ms. Lypp.  This woman is the best principal.  She was alerting parents of an incident at the school.  An 8th grader from a feeder school Zoom bombed a class that day.  He shouted racial slurs and then mooned a Zoom class.  Police were involved and they were able to identify the kid (birthmark on his butt? I shouldn't joke because the verbal assault was horrible, but the butt part, couldn't resist).  His parents were contacted.  

Well, that was AWFUL.  I was glad to know that they nabbed the kid.

But I was taken aback - I wanted to make sure my kids knew I was NOT suggesting that parents ACTUALLY Zoom bomb classes.  It hadn't occurred to me that it could take the form of a frowned upon, delinquent kind of behavior. 

I thought I created it, for God's sake - well not really, because who hasn't seen the funny clips of people in serious Zoom meetings when a family member does something dorky in the background?  I didn't know kids were getting a code and then showing up on the internet in a Zoom class that they weren't supposed to be in.  I had only suggested that parents sneak up behind their student while wearing an Elmo mask or doing the stairs mime or demonstrate severe bed-head or something silly, not MEAN or HORRIBLE.

I tip-toed down into the basement with my laptop in hand.  Tank and his buddies were sprawled on the sectional, the beanbag chair, and the floor.  From my vantage point on the stairs, I could look down at all of them.

Tank:  (eye-rolling because I was in his friend zone.)

Me:  Tank, I just got an email from Ms. Lypp.  She wanted to let me know that there was an issue with Zoom bombing today.  Your name was mentioned.  (dramatic pause while Tank shot up from his reclined position and jerked his head in the direction of each friend).

Now who was bewildered?

Me:  So, do you have something to tell me?

Tank:  WHAT?  Are you being serious right now?  I didn't do anything bad!

Me:  (waited for him to look back at all of his friends again, and then I switched from my stern-mom-face to a huge smile that only his friends could see, followed by bicep flexing)

Tank's followers:  (rolling around on the floor laughing)

Tank:  Whatever.  Shut-up.  I knew I couldn't get in trouble for what I did.  Duh.  

This is the kid who refused to take improv classes last summer.  I believe he will be the next Chris Farley.  

They still haven't shown me video clips of Tank entertaining his classes, but this is NOT over.  I have other sources.  I will report back.  

September 14, 2020

eating out, transplanted taco inserts, and I scream for ice cream

I thought I'd share a few more nuggets about vacation, although my contact-lens-stealing, willingness-to-toilet-dive story cannot be beat.

Dinner out, take 1:  We ate dinner out twice.  The first night we walked into town.  I decided in advance I wouldn't make a big fuss if we didn't find something I could eat.  I would not punish everyone else for my celiac thing.  

Historically I have struggled to find a menu with enough GF options, and it has perhaps dampened the my mood.  Ahem, I'm looking at you Vancouver restaurant.  

The first place had Tacos.  I can usually eat tacos - minus the flour tortillas.  Coach insisted we check a few more places to be sure I had enough to choose from, as much as I was trying to be chill, he was trying to be accommodating.   We ended up back at the place we started.  Curly, a burger lover, was all set.

I asked if I could do tacos without the tortillas.  Um, no.  Their tacos and burritos had gluten in them - like in the meat or the sauce or something.  Sorry.  I panicked. Already ate a salad for my lunch.  

Coach later claimed that he did NOT start to grow impatient with me, but he DID bump the table hard and turn away in frustration.  I know this.  I think he caught himself and realized I was scrambling to choose under pressure.  Then he tried to act smooth, like he hadn't just behaved like a jerk his father.  I just wasn't feeling the burger with no bun.

I ordered chicken in a peanut sauce on a bed of noodles, hold the noodles.  Well, guess what's gross?  An abundance of Thai (was that even it, I don't remember) peanut sauce without pasta to soak it up or tone it the hell down.  I could barely eat it.  I picked the chicken out of it, and then offered it to family members who wanted to try it.

Ed was sort of giving me a look, like 'It looks and smells amazing, stop being difficult' then he sampled it.  His eyebrows shot up and he agreed, without the noodles it was all wrong, way too strong.  

Dinner out, take 2:  The last night we ate out again, technically it was our anniversary. Coach thought I was serious when I suggested we leave the kids at the house with a pizza while we went out.  I was like, NO.  Not doing that.  

A storm was coming.  Like a big 'un.  We found the place we had looked up.  They were no longer seating folks outside because it was about to get all 'Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore'

We decided to try a Mexican place in a strip mall.  Not the atmosphere I was hoping for.  I preferred a place near the water.  They told us it might be a 45 minute wait.  Nope.  

At last we went back downtown to a cute bar and grill.  The storm hit just as Coach parked across the street.  They could seat us, so I waved the gang inside.  The power went out right after we got to our table, but it came on a minute later.  We watched torrential downpours blow through the streets.

Coach ordered a pulled pork, nacho thing as an appetizer.  It was amazing and I had high hopes for dinner.  I asked for the tacos.  No tortilla.  On a bed of corn chips would be great.  The waitress acted like, YES.  NOT MY FIRST RODEO.

We waited forever for our food.  My tacos came out in flour tortillas.  She sent them back when I pointed out that I couldn't eat them.  Then they arrived at our table 1 minute later in a new basket.  Yep, we are classy people and eating food out of baskets on our 24th anniversary is acceptable.  

Me:  So, can you find out if this is the same taco dinner that you just brought me, because if the chicken was in the flour tortillas then I cannot eat it.  I'll get sick.

Waitress:  Let me check.  (a minute later)  Well, they aren't sure but they don't usually do that.  They usually start over, so let know if you want to re-order just in case.  

Me:  I'll just eat this.  (I didn't want to sit there and wait all over again, and I hate to make a fuss)

Um, the chicken was cold.  Was it the same taco inserts just dumped on chips?  There was hardly any food, mostly chips.  Coach was annoyed.  It couldn't really be classified as an entree.  

Meanwhile:  Reg, Mini, and Curly all ordered a southwest chicken wrap.  The girls wanted plain mayo instead of the spicy kind.  One of them ordered crispy chicken, the other two grilled.  Their dinners were all-kinds of messed up.  They just ate what they were handed with an obligatory eye-roll.  

I contemplated ordering another round of the appetizer since my meal sucked.  Ed admitted that his dinner was not really filling, but he wasn't interested in more appetizer.  Mini later told me that she wanted to strangle him for not agreeing to order it with me.  It was our last night at the house and I was out of other GF options in the fridge.

When we were packing for MI, and by 'we' I mean 'me', I started calling out things for people to grab.  I had a list of my GF food.  Curly grabbed the list  and packed my food.  She forgot to pack these.  It's my favorite food item.  Protein/granola thing with toasted quinoa and GF oatmeal and dark chocolate chips.  It was rough to get through the whole trip without these little yummy treats.  I keep them in the freezer.  Love the crunch.  

We drove downtown after dinner, and Coach asked if I wanted him to stop and get me ice cream.  We had taken the kids out for ice cream the night before.  I hesitated.  Then I said, HEY, YEAH.  I WOULD LIKE SOME ICE CREAM. (damn it - implied).

I got a smaller size than the night before.  None of the kids complained that Coach wasn't buying everyone an ice cream treat.  He reminded them that he had hidden bakery cookies back at the house.  We crossed our fingers that Tank hadn't found them.

I'm not sure if it is a coincidence or not, but after that taco 'meal' I did not sleep great for 3 nights.  That is sometimes how I react to trace amounts of gluten.  Fuzzy head, unable to sleep.  

I used to be big on packing food to save a buck when we traveled.  Then my motivations shifted - I bring food to avoid eating out and getting gluten by mistake.  I do better eating out near home, because I have a few go-to menus that I trust.  

This is just a portion of what we packed.  Some of this is food.  
The cold food was in a huge cooler.  It is a darn chore
 to pack food, but it makes so much sense.

Can I get an amen to the universal mindset:  Hooray for ice-cream?!

Well, I was going to share movies that we watched on vacay, but I gabbed too much about our eating out experiences.  More on movies later.  Oh, and the unexpected visitor on the beach.  Get excited.

I want to find a recipe for this pulled pork nacho appetizer, so if you make something like this please share.  

September 9, 2020

breakfast of family legends: shower door addition

We went out to breakfast our last day in Michigan (yes, last month, cut me some slack).  This part of the plan was genius, if I don't say so myself.  We had to be out of the house by 10 am.  I figured we'd be running low on breakfast food, and as an added incentive to motivate the kids to help us load the car QUICKLY, I dangled the out-to-breakfast carrot.  They bit.  Big time.

Tank ordered and ate every bite of a sandwich 
that had a half a pound of bacon on it.


Curly and Mini ate cinnamon swirl pancakes.  I will spare
 you the details of how long it took us to find a place open
 for breakfast on a Tuesday morning.  We were starving.

The other great thing?  If you eat a slightly late, big breakfast, then lunch is not a requirement.  We headed to the beach with full bellies.   Lunch was just granola bars, some fruit, treats, and juice boxes. 

We'll gloss over the fact that the minute we got to the beach Reggie ripped open a bag of chips and shoved them in his pie hole.  


The fact that this sentiment was shared by Tank speaks volumes, you get that by now, right?  

Anyway, while at breakfast we started talking about the infamous shower door incident. 

Allow me to set the scene:  circa 2009.  Coach drove off to pick up Lad from 6th grade football practice.  This incident falls into the time before Coach owned a cell phone.  Yes, by 2009 most adults had a cell phone . . . Coach wasn't one of them.  

I sent Ed and Tank up to shower.  Together.  In my master bathroom.  Prior to this the kids' shower had begun to leak into the kitchen.  As a result, Coach forbid the kids from showering in their bathroom.  

The phone rang.  It was my BFF, Mary Ann.  She had an earful for me.  

I was preparing to run our Catholic school's first annual garage sale fundraiser.  The pastor didn't want to wait for the summer as advised.  They needed $$.  We were going to do the sale on a 3 day weekend in November.  I tried to warn them - the donations would fill the school.  They waved me off.  Little did they know I was a garage sale guru in my former life, or more accurately when Lad was a baby and Coach was a full time student.   

Mary Ann was upset.  Her husband organized a basketball pick up game in the gym for some of the men of the parish once a month  They'd been alerted that his Sunday game would be cancelled that month due to 'MY' garage sale.  She was irate.  

Did I know that the men looked forward to this?  My brain stumbled to process this.  A woman calling me to bitch me out for VOLUNTEERING my time to run and organize a massive fundraiser while the classrooms were off-limits, filled with desks, etc.  No easy task.  Who the hell did she think she was?  

I'll tell you who she wasn't . . . she wasn't one of my very kind, dedicated, hard-working, fun volunteers (mostly school moms) who helped me pull this thing off.  Nope.    

While she was scolding me, I heard a loud crash.  I hung up, and raced up the stairs two at a time with 18 mo old Curly under my arm.

Ed (9 yrs old) was naked in the shower.  Tank (7 yrs old) was naked in front of the shower with a sheepish expression on his face.  Oh, and there was glass EVERYWHERE.  And blood.  

You mix a little blood with water from a shower and it looks like a freaking massacre - but in reality the boys were mostly unhurt.  

Before the shower door crumbled into a million bits, it was that illusion-type glass.  Not totally easy to see through. 

Tank got out of the shower first.  When Ed tried to exit, he didn't know that Tank was outside the shower door firmly holding the door closed.  Tank was having a good silent, mischievous laugh.  Shock.  Ed tugged at the door,  Nothing.  Tank decided 'joke over' and let go.  Ed yanked at the door harder trying to figure out why it was stuck.  The door BANGED open and shattered.  

The tempered glass crumbled into a huge pile instead of creating shards of glass that could have cut my kids to ribbons.

Well, this was TERRIFYING.  I had to put shoes on to go into the bathroom to rescue them.  I tried to close the bathroom door and put Curly out on the carpeted floor of my room, but I noticed that the carpet was shiny, covered in glass fragments that had exploded out under the door on impact.  Instead I tossed her in her crib.

I put each boy in the whirlpool tub and rinsed off the shiny dusting of glass they were coated in.  Ed 's bloody finger left creepy bloody hand prints on the tiled walls which didn't freak me out at all.  

6th grade football coaches fired up the team for a good 30 to 45 minutes AFTER practice, leaving the parents to mill around in the parking lot.  Me?  Call me crazy, but I prefer practice to end when it's supposed to.  

I called a mom whose husband owned a cell.  He was at the practice picking up.  "Can you please tell Fred to tell Coach to just grab Lad and get home.  I need him."  I might have been crying.  

I called my folks who live a few minutes away.  They don't always pick up.  I called Ann, she's a nurse.  She drove over, but she first called my folks' neighbor who then went and rung my parents' doorbell.

Neighbor:  There has been an accident with the kids at Ernie's house with broken glass.  

Yes, we are lucky that we didn't lose one of my folks to heart failure that night.  

Ann picked the glass out of Ed's finger.  No stitches needed.  My mom called, but she was too shaken to drive.  Coach eventually came home.  It took him forever to get the glass cleaned up.  It was EVERYWHERE.  

FAVORITE PART:  The next day, Ed showed up to school and was treated like Ferris.  Kids told him they'd heard he was hospitalized, or dead, or minus a limb, etc.  Word had traveled through the dad, Fred, at football practice.  

During this Michigan breakfast, Coach insisted that it was his late night at work, but we corrected him.  Nope, you were at football practice.  

Tank remembered things differently, as if he wasn't trying to be a little shit holding the shower door shut.  We gave him points for the attempt at pleading innocent, but no one believed him.  Ed still remembered his confusion in initially being unable to open the shower door.  Mini remembered trying to keep Curly happy in her crib.  

I remember how scary it was, but I also remember the audacity of Mary Ann's phone call. 

Does your family recount memories and remember things differently, or not at all (ahem, Coach . . . I mean, not to mention names or anything)?

September 8, 2020

Jaws memories, historic date, lick-a-ble or not so much

Housekeeping:  So a few of you might have noticed my blog posting on overdrive on Monday . . . so you got a sneak peek at a few upcoming posts.  I moved things around when I posted my new all-time favorite post on Thursday.  If you haven't read it, I implore you.  I sound so bossy.  

Anyway, in my juggling of the 'set-to-go' posts, a few things posted briefly this morning cause I didn't know what day it was.  

On an unrelated note, things with Laddie have escalated because we asked him to talk to us in an "expectations" and "while living here" sort of way.  Well, that went over like a lead balloon.  Did not impact my posts dropping because I apparently screwed that up last week when we were still walking on egg shells, and those egg shells didn't crack until tonight (Monday).  Dang, this post WAS so short.  Sigh . . . 

Back to our regularly scheduled post, which will be followed by another funny, family story on Wednesday:

You've heard of urban legends, but how about family legends?  In our family it's a thing.  

Sometimes when we get together the kids reminisce about stories from back in the day.  There might be a small dispute about who was there and who said what, but there are enough siblings as witnesses that while a few bits might remain fuzzy the basic truth is hard to deny.

Ed finds it mind-blowing that I do not remember Lad shitting his pants while watching Jaws for the first time.  I believe it happened, just don't remember it.  Lad was in about 6th grade, best guess.  

**Ed knows the exact grade they were in, but he wasn't sitting in the car I borrowed from my dad where I sat, parked outside of Irish dancing as I drafted this, to confirm.  And that 'car borrowing' is a whole other post to look forward to.**

Another family legend that just surfaced recently, well - it 'SURFACED' literally back in the day, but the backstory was just shared with Coach and I.  I have chosen not to believe that the ridiculous kid-prank details impacted the outcome of Reggie's First Communion, but I could be wrong.  

Coach taught a class on May 18, 2013 in Colorado when Reg was in first grade (a year before Reg's 1st Communion). It was the first time I agreed to go out of town with him, or the first time the opportunity arose.  

Coach failed to grasp the exhaustive measures I took to pawn our children off on people, but desperate times call for desperate measure and all that.  

My mom was scheduled to help out that Friday morning by watching Curly.  She would be home when the kids came in after school and swapped their backpacks for overnight bags.  Then they each had a friend's mom picking them up for the weekend.  Mom had the weekend off.  Sunday night they would all get dropped back off at our house, and my mom would be there to welcome them and send them to school the next morning.  

Months in advance the kids got rowdy and loud at diner.  Shock.  Coach looked across the table at me and called over the ruckus:  "MAY 18TH BABY, MAY 18TH!"

The kids became hip to our jive, grasping that we couldn't wait to get out of dodge.  They started pounding the table with their fists, while chanting the release date:  MAY 18TH.  Coach and I just shrugged and laughed, recognizing that we had lost complete control.  

They had beat us at our own game. 

Long story, but Reg started puking while at his best buddy's house.  The mom contacted me, and I arranged for her to meet my mom at my house.  My mom won the boobie prize - she got stuck at my house with a sick kid.  So much for giving her minimal duty.

Fast forward to the next year:  Reg made his 1st communion on a beautiful May day.  He told me just as the party started at our house that he didn't feel great.  I asked him if anyone fed him breakfast in the race to get stuff ready before mass.  He shrugged.  I made him eat.  

Oops, someone looks green, get it?
Oh yum, my choc chip coolies and sugar cookies in the shape of shamrocks, crosses and chalices (OK, so they were margarita cookie cutters, but the same idea, right? Don't tell my mil), but none for the guest of honor.

He ate and then promptly started puking every 30 minutes for the rest of the day.  The party continued, but he was quarantined (we were ahead of our time) in our master bedroom.  It was SAD.  

It wasn't until the next day that it dawned on me:  Reg's 1st communion was on MAY 18TH.  What in the world?  The kid puked on two consecutive MAY 18THs.  I remembered the date suddenly because of the kids' mid-dinner, hell-raising chant from the year before.

His puking was what literally surfaced, but recently Mini admitted that Tank dared Reg to lick the garage floor as we all piled in the car to go to church the morning of Reg's 1st communion.  

She is convinced that licking the garage floor made him puke.  

Even on a good day like this (after the Plinko game that ricocheted off of Coach's head), garage floor is not edible.

While I don't think our garage floor is lick-a-ble, I don't think that is what made the kid puke.  I may be naive - and I like it that way, but it's what helps me sleep at night.  

I suspect as they get older there will be more interesting truths shared.  

Who has a family tale that has been recounted multiple times? And do you believe it, or choose not to?