Archive | November 2013

Commentary on the Road

Who else does this? I know I’m not alone. I talk to myself constantly in the car. Actually, no. I talk to the other drivers…extending greetings, offering advice, providing color commentary, if you will. (please note that these are all separate entries, not one long diatribe against some idiot driver)


Um, HI!!!!

Oh, hello white Jeep Cherokee!

So, you planning on going anytime soon?

Nice left on red!

Hello???  CAN YOU SEE ME?

Hey!  Stay in your lane, tool!

Nice turn signal!

The sign says NO TURN ON RED soooo I AM NOT TURNING YET!

What is your problem????

You did NOT just toot your horn at me!

What are you looking at??

Are you seriously INSANE?!


Eyes on the road, clown!

Are you kidding me??

GO! GO! For the love of God, GGGOOOO!!!

The speed limit is 40. I am going 47. GO AROUND ME!


What. Is. Wrong. With. You????

It’d be nice if you actually STOPPED at the STOP SIGN.


Are you serious????

Jesus Christ!!!!

Douche Bag!!!!

I swear I get exhausted from having to help everyone else drive!  Who’s with me?





Red Velvet Cake Pops

How difficult could that be? Saw them on Pinterest. Easy peasy.


Baked and cooled and ready to be “pops.” Smash the cake up and add some frosting to make it all ooey gooey. Done and done. No problemo. Time to dip them in melted white chocolate. Huh. Candy melts are trickier than I thought. VERY hot yet cool down very quickly. And lumpily. (that’s a real word!)



Um, nailed it???

Poor 12 aka Master Chef Junior (despite a diet of consisting of goldfish crackers, cheeseburgers,pizza, and vanilla milkshakes) was hovering around them, clucking nervously.

“Maybe some sprinkles?”

“Maybe some chocolate sauce? Please let me try to add chocolate sauce!”

“Mom, maybe add whipped cream as you serve them??”

“Yeah, you would definitely get eliminated from Master Chef”


So judgey.

So, I gave up and made Schweddy Balls aka brownie not-pops. Sigh.


Friday’s Musings

First of all, I am having “quiet writing time” now. So naturally the Frug is playing “What Does the Fox Say” on repeat. Kill. Kill. Kill.

Craptastic week. I have the killer man cold/flu that is crushing the globe. Honestly, EVERYONE IS SICK. I’m usually pretty hearty. I can pop some Sudafed and get on with my day. Not this time. Spent half of Monday in bed…and Weds. too. What about Tuesday, you ask? Oh, that day I spent with 12 and his fellow 6th graders on the Rhode River, exploring Native American life AND the local oyster and crab population. Sadly, the “Oyster Bar” listed on the agenda was NOT the kind I was hoping for.

Last night was Halloween. I fear Otis will never recover from the heroic barkfest he put forth. I heard several groups of younger kids say “that house is way too scary” what with our spooky sound CD, fog machine, AND the 107 lb howling hellhound.  Pfft. Walk away, ‘fraidy cats. Mo candy for mama.

Let’s see. What else? Hmmm. Oh, both boys are finishing up their first quarters of the school year. For conscientious 12, that means a frantic race to finish, polish and perfect all outstanding projects, request extra credit. etc.

For Sarcasmo? Yeah, not so much. Been watching his grades. There’s a fantastic Big Brother thing that allows you to see every single grade for each class. He bemoans my access to this tool. Muahaha. Anyway, I also get alerts when teachers assign tasks. The Spanish teacher send alerts daily for about a week. He needed a marble composition book. NBD. We have tons of them. Asked him repeatedly about it. Responses varied — “yeah yeah yeah” or a *dead eyed stare* or the ever-popular “OMG MOM!!!”  Welp, saw his overall grade drop one entire letter. A zero in the “bring proper notebook to class” column.

S:  “OMG MOM! He’s crazy! I had a notebook!” 

Me:  “Was it the ‘marble composition notebook’ he asked for?”

S:  *dead eyed stare*

Today, last day of the quarter, I harass him at 6:45am “for the love of God, bring that notebook in“…

He gets into the car and pulls out an ancient, used marble composition notebook and begins ripping 2/3 of the pages out.


S:  “I couldn’t find one.  OMG, chill out, Mom.”

Me:  *dead eyed stare*

This is what he left in the Fail Wagon. I’m leaving it there until he decides to properly dispose of it. *snorts*

I always wondered why mothers of teens looked so pinched and angry and, frankly, hagged out…Now, I know.