A moment of silence please

My daughter is away at college and apparently put her 13 year old brother in charge of her fish "Little Guy".  In this day and age of facebook and the internet we communicate in new and different ways.  The following is what I saw on my son's wall:

Lovey to Big J:  Feed my fish.


Big J to Lovey:  Your fish is dead.


Lovey to Big J: A moment of silence for Little Guy................. Way to feed him you turd!"


A day later:


Big J to Lovey: I fed your fish and it came back to life!


As a parent, I'm not sure what to address first with these two, that facebook isn't a sensitive way to tell your sister her fish is dead, or don't call your brother a turd. On the other hand Big J did bring the fish back to life.

Props to My Mom

My mom, sister and I with hitchhiker Cindy

After taking some time off from this blog I'm back at it.  The photo above shows me, my sister, my mom and I with hitchhiker Cindy.  We picked Cindy up on our road trip to South Dakota this summer.

As I was pulling over to pick up Cindy my mom was yelling "Nat don't pick up a stranger!"  I just had a good feeling about Cindy, plus I figured she would give my mom something to do besides complain about the temperature in the car.  I kindly asked hitchhiker Cindy not to shank my mom, and put her in the backseat with her.

A few hours and a thorough interrogation later, Cindy was my mom's newly adopted daughter.  My mom invited Cindy to stay with her in her hotel room and said a tearful goodbye when we had to drop Cindy off the next day.

My mom had provided much of the content of this blog.  She was a fabulous lady who knew how to laugh at herself, and others, enjoying both regularly.

Sadly she passed away.  My sense of humor is something my mom appreciated, even if she didn't understand it at times.  Laughter was a medicine she handed out often.

I haven't posted anything on this blog for awhile but I'm back at it now, inspired by my mom who was quick to laugh, and even quicker to love.  Just ask hitchhiker Cindy, who for the record did not shank my mom.  My mother died due to a complication of pneumonia.

Wasn't Me

Phone conversations with my mother are never a simple, uninterrupted task on her end.  The woman lives down the street from me and doesn't fail to call me less than 6-7 times a day for one thing or another, providing much fodder for my blog here.

Tonight's conversation:

Me: "Hey are you around tomorrow?"


My Mother: "I have a Doctor's appointment in the afternoon. What are you doing?"


Me: "Besides work I have to head to..." (then she interrupts me)


My Mother: "WHO SHIT ON THE FLOOR?" (loudly)


My step-dad who I can hear in the background: "It wasn't me."


My Mother: "Dammit Lee-Ling I'm gonna choke you!"

Lee-Ling is my mother's deaf Chihuahua whom we suspect she loves more than my sister and I.  Her threats are empty but, hysterical nonetheless.

Hola Jose!

My son Big J and I just returned from a fabulous week in Mexico at an all-inclusive.  The place had several restaurants, which we visited.  After we had been there for three days Big J tells me:

My son: "Mom these people really work hard here.  Why do they make them work in all the restaurants?"


Me: "What do you mean?"


My son: "Well it doesn't matter which restaurant we go into, Jose is always there.  I've been reading the name tags."

After I stopped laughing I explained to him that in Mexico "Jose" is the equivalent of our "John".  He had a good chuckle and then was relieved that "Jose" wasn't being overworked.

Miss Manners

So I take my mom to lunch the other day and invite a friend of mine who also happens to be an expert on manners and etiquette.  The three of us are enjoying a fabulous lunch at one of our favorite spots when my mom shows me a small piece of "hair" from her plate and says:

My mom: Is this pubic hair?


Me and the manners expert: dead silence


My mom: Oh never mind, it's a piece of my sweater.


On the off chance that it was pubic hair, I'm pretty sure the rules of etiquette would dictate that one politely dispose of it and NOT mention it to the other guests.  More so, whose mind goes right to pubic hair, especially when it was blue.

Eating Like a Snake

During a typical meal with the Stud Muffin, I'm done eating by the time he has finished adding condiments to his food.  He considers me a fast eater and I consider him the slowest eater in the world.

His comment came after I finished my breakfast in the time it took him to salt, pepper and cut up his.

Stud Muffin: "Jesus honey, most of your digestion must occur in your stomach.  You eat like a snake.  I'm surprised you aren't shitting out bones."

That's Your Cue

I've been slacking on keeping up with my blog posts.  My daughter posted this one on her Facebook status, which made me realize I needed to get with the program and post.

Me: "Loki I'm getting in the shower.  That's your cue to go shit somewhere in the house and then eat it."

Just so you know, Loki is my 10 month old Maltese who is well known for eating his own crap.  After the shower, sure enough I found evidence that he had done just that.  He seems to do it mostly when I'm in the shower.