MrsMouthy gets Ranty

Casey, to answer your question from my last post:

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Now that the weather has finally warmed up, Vincenzo and I head to the beach about every other day.  We’re loving it!  But not everyone, apparently, is.  Every once in awhile we run into a Hall Monitor Mom who is miserable there and her kids are miserable and people sitting within earshot of her are miserable.  I went into the trenches to reenact such an experience for you.

HALL MONITOR MOM’S DAY AT THE BEACH:

“Don’t splash, Aiden.  Aiden, stop splashing.  DON’T get wet.  Aiden, put that rock down.  If you don’t put that rock down right now you’re coming out.  Do you want your pizza?  Come eat your pizza.  NO SPLASHING!  Now sit here and eat your pizza.  Stop standing up.  You have to sit here and eat your whole piece of pizza.  Where are you going?  Aiden, don’t climb that rock.  What?  I don’t care if that little boy is climbing a rock and his mom is RIGHT THERE not saying anything; you’re not climbing that rock.  Do you want the rest of your pizza?  Aren’t you hungry?  Come over here and eat your pizza now.  Take smaller steps!  You’re splashing!  I said no splashing!  I’m not going to hold this piece of pizza for you all day…”

I condensed the dialogue for you, as it actually stretched over half an hour and all her kid said the entire time was “…”.  I nearly bit my tongue off trying not to suggest she pack up camp and head to an art museum instead.  Or military camp.

That mom might as well have taken her kids to a nude beach covered in a layer of hypodermic needles and toxic mold.  Seriously, people, why would you take your child to a beach loaded with kids swimming, splashing, throwing and climbing rocks, if you felt that these activities were invented by the devil himself?

WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Breaded sole
Pasta with pesto and peas
Rhubarb and goat cheese salad

Judgment Day

QUICKIE: We passed a friend’s house in a cul-du-sac today and Vincenzo asked who lives there.  “Madeleine,” I answered.  He said, “There are a lot of houses.  There must be a lot of Madeleines!”

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I went on a hike with a few people last weekend and we got on the topic of dates-gone-wrong.  The two males on the hike thought I was totally evil when I told my story, and the 2 females (myself included) thought I was totally innocent.  I will now enlighten you, The People, and let you be the judge.

 

*cheesy courtroom music*

 

In 1999 I went to Europe, as is protocol for all new college grads.  When staying in a hostel in Paris, I met a countryboy from Indiana who spoke English with the darndest accent and spoke French like it was water.   Or maybe he spoke French with a twang, too.  I don’t speak French, so I don’t know.  Anyway, we had a couple fun nights together, like when he took me on a subway to an obscure village that was lit up way after hours and we shared crepes while being serenaded.  But the two of us never touched once, let alone whispered sweet nothings into each others‘ ears.  I didn’t like him “in that way.”

 

Fast forward 3 months.  Back in the US, Countryboy in Indiana had to make some decisions about working.  He put out a couple resumes, got a couple job offers, and in the end he happened to take a job within a couple miles of my hometown in Washington.  (This is where the males on the hike were all, “Ohhhhh.  Oh no.  Oh that’s not good,” and I was all, “What?  What!”)  So Countryboy moved in with my parents for awhile, then found a place of his own.  Every once in awhile we’d go to dinner or meet up for a run but we never EVER touched or talked about a relationship.  We only saw each other once or twice a month, for golly’s sake!

 

Fast forward another 3 months.  I had since met and fallen in love with my future husband when Countryboy came to Easter brunch at my parents’ house.  After brunch, I cheerfully asked him, “Hey, would you like to come back for dinner?  You could meet my boyfriend then!”  Needless to say, he didn’t come back for dinner and actually didn’t come back at all, ever.  A follow-up phone call soon indicated he was madder than a bull with a bee in its bonnet in a china shop on a cold day in hell.  I tried to patch things up but admittedly didn’t try that hard because I was IN LOVE and was very busy building my nest at the time.  You understand, don’t you?

 

So Countryboy, if you’re into reading Mom Blogs, I’d like to say “excuse-moi, sil vous plais” because it’s the only thing I know how to say in French that gets kind of close to an apology.  Because it’s pretty clear I really have nothing to apologize for. 

 

But really, be honest in your comments, mon-cheries.  And I hope I didn’t unwittingly break any of your hearts today, either.

 

WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Blue Cheese Burgers
Potato Salad
Blackberry Peach Trifle

Down, but not out

QUICKIE:  Yesterday Vincenzo asked me, “How long, Mommy?”  I asked him, “How long until what?”  “How long until I’m done being Abbey?”

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I’m sick and I HATE being sick.  The worst part is when I’m sick I hate coffee, and I really HATE hating coffee.  I spend all day trying to eat or drink something that will make me feel all sparkly on the inside like coffee does and nothing works.  Not to mention that being physically incapable of breathing is, at times, kind of scary.

 

But all is not lost!  Though my body is down, my mind is still fight-ready.  Check out this conversation that happened at Little Gym today.  It was after Vincenzo had run up to every single adult in the room, forced them into full eye contact, and yelled, “I have a car in my book that goes OUCH!”  On the second or third round, their eyes achieved the same, glazed-over look that mine have had since Vincenzo began yelling about the “Ouch Car” to me one million hours ago.  Anyway, the conversation.

 

Seemingly docile Mom: So your son likes car books?
Me: Yup.
SDM: I’ve got 3 boys at home, and it’s scary how much I know about cars and trucks.  I think I could tell you how to build a bulldozer.
Me:  I know.  Sometimes I dream about side-loading dump trucks.
SDM: Ha, ha, and mobile cranes.
Me: Why yes, and don’t forget about giant excavators.
SDM: [narrowing eyes] Grain harvester.
Me: [showing claws] Skid steer.
SDM: Combine Machine.
Me: Pneumatic Lift Truck.
SDM: Military Motor Grader!
Me: Scissor Lift, Material Handler, and Bananamobile!
SDM: [sticks tail between legs and skitters off sideways, whimpering]

 

Anyone else want a piece of this?

 

WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE
Smoked Salmon Toasts
Tra Vigne Garlic Roasted Crab
High Roast Hot Pepper Salmon Fillet
Summer Garden Shrimp Salad
Spicy Clams
Halibut with Red Pepper Cream
Grilled Ginger Tuna with Arugula and Oranges

 

(No, I’m not being fascetious!  It’s cooking class at Bon Vivant tonight, and all I want to do is have a bowl of broth and go to bed.  *whine*)