Best Sunday Ever

WARNING: To my dear husband, this one will be of no interest to you.  In fact, you probably shouldn't read it at all.  It's all about unicorns and sewing and pink stuff and girl problems.  Nothing for you to see here.  Please go on about your life.  Thanks.

Is he gone?  OK.  So Sunday I wanted to strangle that man I love. (By the way, if you are tuning in to read about unicorns and sewing and pink stuff, I'm sorry to dissapoint.)  Now back to the story of wanting to kill my beloved.  First off, (men cover your ears) I had a raging case of PMS.  I was miserable to begin with so my tolerance for anything more frustrating than a Swedish massage and a bottle of wine was going to set me off.  That being said, you will begin to understand and appreciate my homicidal rage that began to build a week ago.

MONDAY
My husband and I decided to make no plans for this weekend because we really needed to get caught up with house stuff.  It had been weeks, maybe even months since we had a weekend that wasn't completely jam-packed with events, parties and commitments.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy getting together with friends and family as frequently as possible but my house has been neglected.  It can't wait any longer, so I was happy my husband agreed with me on this.  No plans this weekend.  Period.  [insert affirming head-nod here]

TUESDAY
Oh no, we forgot about that big soccer game this Sunday.  My husband did tell me a while ago that he would be going with his friends to watch the game.  That's fine, no big deal I guess.  I'll try to get as much done as possible while home alone with the kids.  Let's hope they cooperate.  (for the first time in their lives.)  

WEDNESDAY
Damn, I checked my son's soccer schedule and this is the weekend that he has a game on both Saturday AND Sunday!  Well that figures.  It's irritating but maybe it might be a nice break from all that cleaning.  I just hope the hubby will still be home to help get everyone ready and to the game on time.  I'm starting to stress out about Sunday and it's only Wednesday.  Not a good sign of things to come.

THURSDAY
My husband's phone rings and as a matter of necessity, he took the call outside.  My children don't allow for phone calls - they are so loud and demanding as it is, and they really amp it up when we get on the phone.  Very annoying.  When he returns inside, I'm then informed that "we" are going to babysit my nieces and nephew on Sunday - conveniently the same time that he will be out of the house watching the game.  Now I don't mind watching them, I love them and my Sister-in-Law always watches my kids when I ask, so that's not the issue here at all.  It just would have been nice if he asked me first considering he wouldn't even be home and that we had made a pact to not agree to anything this weekend.  Needless to say, I was not too pleased with him at this point.

skip ahead to SUNDAY
Got up early and started tackling the housework.  My husband did the laundry while I did the floors.  Speaking of doing the floors, what is it with kids and animals that makes them magnetize to a floor being cleaned?  The moment I put the broom to the floor, everyone flocked like the messiah was there.  First the cats had to walk through, then my teenager suddenly awoke from his hibernation and right on schedule the little ones simultaneously stopped playing and ran into the living room to walk through the pile of dust I had just swept up.  The parade continued the whole time I mopped, I just don't get it.

Anyway, before I knew it, it was 11 o'clock and my son's game was at 1.  Better get a move on with this cleaning.  Then my husband's phone rings...I hear him talking to someone and saying "yeah, come over around 4:30...".  I tried to remain calm as my blood began to boil.  Maybe he was referring to another day?  NOPE.  Trying my best to contain my fury, I barked out "who was that!?".  He replied cheerfully, "Oh it was so-and-so, remember I told you they were coming over today?"  Do I remember?  No I sure DO NOT remember that!  And you know how I know?  Because I don't remember flipping out about it.  I think I would have remembered that.  I have nothing against these people coming over at all, it's just inviting them over when we A: agreed to not make plans, B: when you aren't even going to be home, C: when I will already have six kids in the house by myself, D: while trying to finish all the cleaning and laundry and E: when we have no food in the house to even feed ourselves.  Nope, I don't remember agreeing to that.  Sorry.

I stormed out of the room to take out my frustration by bleaching the sh!t out of the bathroom.  I didn’t get it cleaned and me showered fast enough so my husband had to take my son and leave without me so the little guy could make it to his game on time.  I got out of the shower as fast as I could and found my husband hadn't dressed my daughter, and my clothes were still in the wash.  I found a shirt with a rip in it and put back on my "cleaning jeans".  Got the baby ready and I'm about to dash out the door.  Hopefully I can catch the second half of the game.  Wait, what's that smell?  Of course, of COURSE we have a stinky diaper on my way out the door!!!  Take care of that and off we go.  I'll be happy to catch the last 25 minutes at this point!  The road to the soccer field is a single lane for about 5 miles at least.  I had to get behind the slowest a-hole in the tri-state area.  I'm missing the kid's game.

I follow this same van into the parking lot at the soccer field.  We get most of the way in when they decide to stop in the middle of the lot and block anyone from passing.  The passenger wanted to be dropped off, but I guess they had to finish their chat in the car first.  She finally emerges and stops to take a nice sip of her coffee before gently closing the door.  Next she takes a moment to adjust her outfit and then continues on to opening the sliding door.  Come on lady!!!  Move it!!  At this point I'm yelling, throwing my hands up and hitting the steering wheel like a lunatic.  Oblivious to anyone or anything else, she opens the side door, and takes her time putting the kid's shoes on now!  Why not, there's not a line of cars stuck behind you!  Kids finally out, she closes the door and I'm ready to gun it.  Not so fast, now she casually strolls around to the back and rummages through to find her chair.  Is she kidding me!!??  I'm flipping out at this point and she's completely OK with holding everyone up.  Apparently she sees no urgency whatsoever.  I hate this woman!

I missed the whole game with the exception of the last 5 minutes.  Truth be told, I haven’t been able to watch a single game all season because my daughter uses this time to run onto the field, bolt into the woods, find all the dogs and pet them and try to steal other kids' juice boxes when they aren't looking.  Oh well, at least I made it on time to help pack up and leave.

As we walk from the field to our van, my son is getting more and more excited about us going to Yogurt Land.  Problem is, we aren't going to Yogurt Land.  No, instead today we are going food shopping!  Needless to say, he was not thrilled.  My husband headed off for his game so I had to take both kids to the food store with me, and it was a nightmare.  They wanted everything, my son was running around and not listening to me and my daughter was pulling things off the shelves and screaming the whole time.  And I mean that literally - as in actually just screaming, not crying. Even worse was that within one minute of walking in, my son had to pee.  I had to make him hold it, there was nothing I could do!  He almost peed his pants, but I raced through the store and rushed home as fast as I could.  By now, an hour has passed since he first complained that he had to go, poor kid.

We pull up to the house and I let him out of the van first so he could run in and take care of his business.  I assumed he was inside already when I opened the back door to the van and a bag falls out, dumping cherry tomatoes all over the ground.  I look up to see my son with a very worried look on his face while doing the pee-pee dance and still struggling to open the front door.  I try not to step on the tomatoes that are now rolling down the driveway as I dash to the porch to help him out.  This triggers my daughter to start screaming because once again, she thinks I'm leaving her forever.  I pick up the tomatoes, take my daughter out and carry the groceries inside.  Once inside my son picks up the little container of tomatoes and again they go everywhere - all over my floors that I just cleaned.

At this point, I'm ready to just go into a fetal position and start crying.  I can't take another ounce of aggravation, I just can't!  Then a text message comes through my phone....

Husband: "I called and told them not to come" (proud to proclaim that he's handled the situation)
Me: "are....you...effing....KIDDING me?????????????????" (the rest kind of went blurry, I think I might have lost it at that point)

I had just gone through hell and back at the food store with these kids and now he tells me he cancelled???  I just spent the bill money buying fancy food to make a good first impression and you told them not to come!!???  I don't know that I've ever been so mad in my life.  (that's a lie, but it had been a while).  Oh, and the kids weren't coming over either.  All of this torture had been for nothing.

*Disclaimer:  Now that the searing rage has subsided, it's important to add that my husband is a wonderful, loving, caring, thoughtful man who would never do any of this on purpose.  He's very well-intentioned and pulls his weight around the house.  He just didn't realize what he was doing, so I don't hold it against him and he shouldn't be judged upon his actions on this day.  Also, I love my nieces and nephew to pieces so I welcome them in my home always -even if I am having a bad day.  

The Macaroni Salad Massacre

As mentioned before, I grew up with divorced parents.  When I speak of "my mom's house" I actually mean my uncle's house (which had formerly been my grandmother's house).  When my grandfather passed away, my grandmother moved to California and  my uncle turned the place into a bachelor pad when they guys all came home from Vietnam.  Then when I was barely two, my parents split and with no where else to go, my mom turned to her only brother and we all moved in and never left.

In addition to me and my sister, there were plenty of other kids tearing around his house because the other "bachelors" in the house had kids too.  In the early years on weekends there were upwards of six kids taking over the small Cape Cod that tried desperately to maintain it's "Bachelor Pad" feel.  In addition to all those kids, there were 4 adults living in the house and everyone always had friends over - and those friends all had kids too.  I can't believe the walls never exploded from the pressure of all the people inside.

I can't imagine tolerating that kind of mayhem.  It was always loud, someone was always crying and we were always ALWAYS running and/or screaming.  Just imagine living with that constantly without ever even having had kids.  Think of what it is like at a kid's birthday party.  As much as we all smile and pretend it's wonderful, you know you can not wait to get the hell out of there and go as fast and as far as humanly possible.  Unfortunately for most of us, we will only get as far as the next state before someone calls and ruins all the fun by saying "hey, um, you forgot your kids here."

In spite of it all my Uncle, never having had children of his own, treated us very much like we were his children and still does today.  My kids are more like his grand kids than his great niece and nephews.  However, as much as he loved us kids, he still had a low tolerance for nonsense.  That was rather unfortunate for him.  The poor guy was up against a lot.  This is the same uncle I had mentioned before in my "How Styrofoam Peanuts Almost Claimed Our Lives".  (if you have yet to read it, you should go do it right now!)  I was, and still am today for the most part, very silly, very enthusiastic and very clumsy.  These things don't often blend well with someone who likes things to be orderly and controlled.  Don't get me wrong, he is a lot of fun and has a great sense of humor - but I didn't really know that until I became an adult.

As the years went on, the bachelor pad slowly evolved into what we remember as home.  It still remained my uncle's house so he expected us to play by his rules.  The rules were pretty simple: don't touch anything; the living room TV was off limits when he was home from work; the decor was to remain as he intended - minimal, mismatched and awful; and the brown barrel cup in the dish drain was to remain in the dish drain and never to be used.  That was his cup, reserved for when he stopped in on his lunch break to use the bathroom and quench his thirst for 1 ounce of tap water in his unwashed barrel cup.

I wish I could remember all the times that we probably made him want to just abandon all of his belongings and split town in the night.  Especially after watching over us while our mother wasn't home.  This didn't happen frequently, and it was mostly when we were older - say, 7-10 years old.  He still always underestimated what he was agreeing to I'm sure.

One time under his care, while he sat in the living room watching The Three Stooges on his recliner, I decided I should make macaroni salad.  And why shouldn't I?  I saw my mom do it a thousand times!  No reason I shouldn't be allowed to boil and drain pasta unattended.  I remember vividly his repeated attempts to stop me, "Nah, Nah, just wait till  your mother gets home" were interrupted by me assuring him "It's OK, I know how to do it!"  I was so chipper about it and confident in myself.  I didn't even consider listening to him, because surely he didn't know what he was talking about.  I suppose he gave up because after a while "Nah" turned into "don't make a mess".

As I continued on completely disregarding his orders, I wondered how much of each ingredient should I use?  I decided two pounds of elbow macaroni should suffice.  I almost overflowed the boiling water, but it was OK because it was an "almost" and Uncle Tom didn't know about it.  While the pasta cooked, I cut up the olives and such.  I'm not sure how I didn't cut off a finger tip.  Now I had to decide how best to drain this pasta.  I don't even remember how I did it without being admitted to the burn unit (again), but I managed.  I did, however, overflow the colander and fill half the sink with the excess macaroni.  But again, it was OK because Uncle Tom was none the wiser.

With the exception of his repeated demands to not make a mess, he did not concern himself with my efforts.  He didn't come to make sure I didn't burn myself, cut myself or make a mess.  Either he just gave up, or decided I was old enough to handle it like I claimed.

All the ingredients had now been mixed in, but the kitchen was a disaster.  I tried to tidy as best I could by picking up from the counter, table, floor and sink most of the great excesses of pasta that wouldn't fit into the ginormous bowl.  I was so excited to present my creation that I dismissed any further intentions to clean up and proudly proclaimed that it was done!  He didn't really care, but I was so proud that I insisted he come see for himself.  He refused.  I responded with I'll bring it to you then.  Clearly irritated by my pestering he starts shifting around in his seat and says "Nah, nah just leave it, just leave it, I'll see it later, I'll see it later" (he always says everything twice).  I couldn't wait for later, so I picked up the huge bowl and headed for the living room.

As I turned the corner and into his view I saw his face light up with alarm.  "WHAT THE HELL DID I TELL YOU??!! JUST LEAVE IT IN THERE!!".  Ever oblivious, I kept right on walking and brought it to show him anyway.  He was not at all impressed and ordered me to return it to the kitchen.  As I turned to walk away, now clearly angry, he went to a raised voice and said "YOU'RE GOING TO SPILL IT!".

At that exact moment, before I could even get out my chipper, sassy "No I'm not!" I tripped over his stupid plastic runners he kept on the floor to protect the new carpet.  I kid-you-not when I tell you that right then, the world actually went into slow motion.  When I recount this part of the story, I feel as though as I am seeing it from the eyes a witness, instead of through my own eyes.  My sister's face is slowly morphing into a mix of shock, horror and "told you!".  My Uncle's arms are raising as he is slowly beginning to flip out while he struggles to get upright in the recliner.  It was too late though.  No sense in getting up now.  As my trip launched me into flight, the bowl escaped my grasp and thrust ahead.   It hit the wall and macaroni salad exploded into a three foot radius around me.

Slow motion snaps back to real time as I look at the olive slices and macaroni sliding down the stereo speakers.  My sister darted off like a squirrel who has been acknowledged by a human.  I'm on the floor slumped over an empty bowl and covered in mayonnaise.  My Uncle was loosing it "Jesus Christ!  Jesus Christ!!  I TOLD you NOT to bring it in here!!  Didn't I!?  DIDN'T I!!??".  It did not faze me in the least because I was laughing SO HARD that I could barely maintain consciousness.  I didn't dare turn around and look at him.  I just stayed on the floor and scooped the macaroni salad from behind the TV and all over the floor.  I tried hard to keep my shoulders from bouncing so he wouldn't detect my hysterical but mostly silent fit of laughter.  I wonder if he thought the little noises that escaped were me crying?  I surely hope so.  All these years later, I still get a laugh and bit of gratification when I serve him macaroni salad.

Ahhh Childhood...

As a parent, hearing your children laugh is one of the most wonderful and joyous sounds you can ever hear.  Even if it's past 11pm and you are at the end of your rope trying to get them to sleep.  My son was laughing SO HARD in his room last night that I just had to go in there and see what all the fuss was about.  He tried to tell me what was so funny, but he was laughing so hard that he couldn't even get the words out.  My heart swells at these moments.  I know just how he is feeling, because to this very day I do that same thing.  I laugh until I can't breath.  It's awesome, and I'm so happy that I've passed that on to my children.

In case you are wondering what he was laughing about, here is the YouTube video of the episode of Pocoyo that had him dying  I just watched it myself and at about the 1:50 mark, I lost it too.  That kid knows funny when he sees it!  *note: I think it might be even funnier if you watch with the sound turned off, but I'm still undecided.

When we were kids we did a lot of laughing too.  The difference with my kids and us as kids is that we had zero interest whatsoever in what our parents were doing.  My kids want to be up my ass and under each step.  We would make our own fun and used to have a blast with each other no matter what the situation.  Whether it be with the unsupervised antics at my father's with my extremely hyper-active younger brother or the pure and wholesome good times we had at home just being imaginative kids.  

The best thing that ever happened to our family was when my step-brother got a camcorder as a gift.  That was a pivotal moment in all of our lives.  We went from making our own fun with common household things to essentially having the first known reality show.  My step-brother filmed everything.  EVERYTHING.  From fully-planned movies that we all had a role in to just riding in the car to the food store.  Sometimes we found it annoying, but today we really cherish it - no matter how embarassing.  Actually, I would never let anyone watch these videos, we prefer to cherish them when it's just us watching.

Him getting that camcorder must have been the best thing in our parents lives too.  They went from having four crazy kids (plus the baby) tearing the place up and fighting, to four crazy kids (plus the baby) tearing the place up and fighting but on camera.  How is this any different?  I'll tell you.  Later on in the day after hours of footage, we would all sit in the living room and watch our videos.  At first they would resist turning off Cheech & Chong but then they would reluctantly allow us to show the movies as they opened all the windows so we wouldn't get contact highs. (hey! it was the early 80s!  don't judge!!)  Our movies always seemed to prove way funnier to them than even the movie they turned off.  We were some funny bastards, I have to admit.

Our favorite was to record recurring episodes of "The Tower News". As the name would imply, it was a full newscast that we would do.  We would either make up stories or pull them from Mad Magazines and then we would report from the news desk and conduct interviews on the street.  (literally)  We would dress up as characters and do voices as the people being interviewed.  We even had a weather man.  Those old bell bottoms and disco wear from my Uncle's closet sure came in handy.  

In addition to our countless news episodes, we must have done 50 versions of "twins" movies; the clever camera tricks making it appear we all had a twin in the house.  Another one was filming the TV as a show was running and my step-brother doing his own voice overs.  Though there was always that one jerk that would have to cry or walk in talking loud and ruin the scene.  

Times were good.  Sure we grew up poor, but he had a blast.  We didn't have a ton of toys, but what we had we loved.  Of our modest collection, our top seven favorite things were as follows: 

1. A puppet show stand with various puppets from Mr. Rogers.  

King Friday XIII

and this Creep (aka Lady Elaine Fairchild)

2. We had the Muppets Stick Puppets - without the sticks of course.  

I think we only really had Fozzie and Rowlf

3. We had the Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine (naturally - everyone had this)

Good for one intended use...
then used for grinding down rocks outside

4. We didn't need nice bikes; we had a Krazy Kar - this was our absolute favorite next to #5 on this list

best thing ever invented

5. We for darn sure didn't need a fancy club house - we used a pile of bricks in the yard to outline where the walls in our fake house was when we played house.

Pile o' bricks

6.  We even derived great happiness from these common household items:

(file photo - we didn't display ours on the mantle)

<3 feet bowl <3

The Moo Cow Creamer
- that I only just now found out once had a head

7. And of course the legendary camcorder:

pretty sure this is the exact model
you had to carry around an entire full size VCR in a shoulder bag

We didn't need anything but each other (and the above items) to have a great childhood.  In hearing my own children laugh together, even if its amid a sea of fancy new toys, I am still very happy to see them having fun in it's simplest form.  They seem to be following in our footsteps in finding the joys of childhood in each other.  If they have even half the fun memories we do from our childhood, then I've succeeded as a parent.