Category Archives: I’m No June Cleaver

Are They Deaf?

I bet Julie Andrews didn’t lose her singing voice from that botched surgery.  I bet she severed her vocal cords yelling at her kids from the bottom of the stairs.

Before I had children, I never yelled from the bottom of the stairs. I had better things to do, like paint my toenails, read a magazine, or organize photographs into neatly labeled albums. I seem also to recall wandering aimlessly around the mall and trying clothes on, just for fun.

Now, if I’m not standing at the bottom of the staircase screaming like a gym teacher, it’s only because I’m standing next to the rear passenger door of my SUV with my eyes pointed heavenward, uttering “You think I have nothing better to do than stand out here like some kind of chauffeur, freezing my butt off while you climb in? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, just get in the car!”

Through clenched teeth, so the neighbors wouldn’t hear.

From the bottom of the stairs, I yell things like, “If you’re not down here in two minutes, we’re leaving without you and I’m not even kidding!” (a lie) or, “Hey, V-meister! I asked you a question! And if I don’t get a response in the next five seconds, I’m coming up!” (A bold faced lie.)

It’s almost as though my kids are willfully ignoring me.

And that’s why it’s so hard to understand why every time I turn on the vacuum cleaner, a child materializes next to me in two seconds flat with a sudden inexplicable desire to chat.

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Don’t Let This Post Deter You from Trying My Delicious Recipes

The minute I heard the key turn in the door, I abandoned my laptop at its perch on the kitchen counter and scurried over to the sink.

When the P-Dawg walked in, I was busy scrubbing a potato.

“Hello, darling, how was your day?” I greeted him.

“Are you talking to me?” he said.

My husband took his coat off and draped it across a chair. (Why, Lord? Why?)

Then he made his way over to the computer.

“Wait a second!” I panicked. “Don’t look at that browser window I have open, Okay?”

“Why not?” the P-Dawg’s interest was immediately piqued. “What are you trying to hide from me?”

Alas, it was already too late.

He had seen my Google search of shame:*


*(In my defense, I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.)

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Thankful That I’m Not a Turkey

There’s a twenty pound turkey in my basement freezer and it’s making me nervous.

The P-Dawg and I are hosting Thanksgiving for the first time this year. It’s been awhile since we made a turkey, the last time being for the V-meister’s first birthday party. I don’t know, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

We started discussing the turkey last Thursday.

P-Dawg: “We have twenty minutes to kill before the parent teacher conference. Do you want to stop at Heinen’s and buy a turkey?”

Rima: “I’m not sure if I’m ready yet. Also, it seems risky. What if it goes bad in the car? Should we take it into the parent-teacher conference with us?”

P-Dawg: “Forget it. Just buy one when you do the grocery shopping next week.”

On Monday morning, I went to the grocery store and marched up to the Butterball turkey display. The turkeys all looked pretty much the same, so I picked a medium sized bird off the top and was about to lob it into my cart when I noticed that other customers were inspecting the turkeys much more closely, turning them this way and that, discarding the unacceptable ones, and digging into the bottom of the vat for more, better turkeys.

I decided my turkey wasn’t good enough. I mean, I hadn’t even smelled it.

I put the turkey back and picked up another one, much bigger. I turned it over and looked at the expiration date. It was November 25th, which seemed a little cocky. I sniffed the turkey and made sure it had two legs, then knocked it up against the side of the bin a couple of times. Seemed OK.

The turkey weighed twenty pounds. I wheeled it up to the checkout lane and hoisted it on the conveyor.

“Cooking for a crowd this year, I see” the cashier said to me, and I began to wonder. Is my turkey too big? Does the cashier know something about this turkey that I do not? Will I have to wake up at four AM to cook it? Should I start de-frosting it now?

The turkey is keeping me up at night.

I hope it turns out OK.

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