the sweetness continues...

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My Parents - Not Good in a Crisis

I love my parents and feel blessed to have them. But if I am ever hurt, or need help, they are the last people I call. Why? It's simple, they are freaks when it comes to their children being hurt. My mother cannot handle it, you know the saying "fight or flight" well, my mom chooses flight. My niece, Brittany, choked on a Fruit Roll-Up at my moms house. My mom flew from the room. My sister, Gina, calmly walked over, gave Britt the Heimlich. She barfed up the fruit roll up on the first thrust. My mom was still in her bedroom when it was all over. So if you ever choke alone in a room with my mom, you're screwed.

My father, on the other hand, will help his kids, but once the crisis is over he flies into a rage. It doesn't even have to be a crisis...it can be as simple as a bump on the head, this was enough to make him fly off the handle. How dare something hurt his child! He's been known to punch objects or even himself --remember the "weird mode" yeah, this is part of it.

When I was 5 years old, I slammed my thumb in the screen door. I started wailing, holding my poor little thumb up in the air. My dad came out to save me. My mom followed far behind him. "What happened" he asked. Still sobbing I said, "I was coming in the house, the wind blew the door shut on my thumb". That was it, my father started swearing under his breath, he was so mad he punched the screen door. This haulted my crying in mid-wail. He went outside, kicking at the ground like a manic. Still in a rage, he lashed out at the nearest thing, which was my beloved swing set with the big orange flowers. In one big shove, Dad tipped my swing set over and it smashed to the ground. This brought back the flood of tears, "WHY IS DADDY HURTING MY SWING SET!!!" I yelled to my mom. She was only too happy to answer "Because he's an asshole, that's why!" Mom fixed my thumb with Vicks Vapor Rub...heheheheeeee just kidding.

A few years ago I was going through a divorce. I guess the changes and uncertainty of everything got to me, and for the first time in my life I started having panic attacks. These things are scary, you actually feel like you're dieing. My heart felt like it was going to pound right out of my chest, my arms would go numb, my tongue would feel like it was swelling...just horrible to go through. My attacks would happen mostly at night, sometimes waking me up from a sound sleep. During one of my episodes, I called my mom. I needed to hear some calming words, some reassurance that I was fine. Hear's how the conversation went.

Me - "Mom, I'm having a panic attack, I think I'm having a heart attack.

Mom - "NO you're not...YOU'RE FINE. I'm telling you, damn it...my life...I'm ready to take the bridge, there's always something I have to worry about... where's the kids...just go to sleep Lori, you're fine...Jeeeeesus Christ...I'm telling you...it's always something... do you want your father to come over...or you can come here...damn it...are the kids sleeping...unbelieveable I have to go thru this...the doctor said you're fine...

Believe it or not, this worked. She calmed me down. This is my mom, she cares about everyone and worries about everyone, but she has to complain about it, it's all just words, she would die for any one of us. We all know this of her. If she was sweet and compassionate, my panic would have escalated, I would have thought something was wrong and I really was dieing. My mom calmed me down by being "my mom".

But let the record show, I never called her again. I started calling my poor sister Mary Beth. Mary Beth works in the nurses office at the school, so she's more medical. Eventually the panic stopped, and now everyone gets a good nights sleep.

More about Mom

Mom loves clothes. She buys most of her clothes from QVC. Her signature look is any shirt with rhinestones or glitter on it, the shinier the better. Her pants are always the stretchy kind. I have never seen her wear pants with a button or a zipper. She likes the feel and freedom of stretchy pants, in this way she is like my dad...comfort first! Wearing these types pants can be dangerous, especially with my dad around. I have seen my mom's underwear more times than I care to remember, mostly because my dad yanks the stretchy pants when she walks by him, giving us all a little peek at her whitey-tightys, or I should say her loosey-goosey, grandma size underwear.

There was one time when we all got a full view...and it wasn't pretty! We were all over my parents house for our weekly Sunday dinner. All my brother-in-laws, Bob, Ted and Dick were sitting at the table with my sisters and my dad. My mom was standing by the table holding my son, Adam. The rest of the grand kids were running around playing. Mary Beth's son Brandon, who was 8 years old at the time, decided it would be fun to "pants" Grandma. He came up behind her and yanked her stretchy pants right down to her ankles. Mom couldn't do anything, she was just standing there shocked and helpless in her large white granny underwear. We all lost it, we were laughing hysterically, Bob was yelling "MY EYES, MY EYES". My brother-in-laws couldn't turn their heads fast enough, you could hear their hands slapping down over their eyes to block out the sight. My dad was yelling "WOOOHOOOOOO!" (of course). I was laughing so hard, it never occurred to me to take Adam from my mom until she started yelling "LORI TAKE ADAM, JESUS CHRIST DON'T JUST STAND THERE!!!" She finally pulled her pants back up, but by then damage was done. My brother-in-law Dick, couldn't take the flashbacks, he had to leave, he got up and walked home, thankfully he lives right next door.

We were just reminiscing about that night with Brandon, who is now 23 years old. His face was turning red just thinking about the memory, he's like "What was I thinking, why on earth did I do that!!" I don't know why he did it, but it was one of the funniest things ever, I am really happy he did...kinda!!!

The grand kids love to pick on my mom. The more she swears at them, the happier they are. They find all different ways to bother her. I think all the years watching my dad has rubbed off on them. Gina's son EJ, paid very close attention to dad's work. He performs the "squeeze attack" perfectly. He goes up behind my mom and hugs her until she can't breathe. He also has the "hair pull technique" down, he will give her stiff, hairsprayed hair a little yank, just enough so she starts swearing "OUCH YOU SOMMANAH..."

A few years ago my dad and the kids hatched up a perfect plan to harass my mom. Boy, did this plan backfire. We were on our annual family vacation to Lake Flower in the Adirondack Mountains. We rent the best cabins on the lake. They are not fancy by any means, but they are clean and come with a beach front where we all like to hang out. Each family has their own cabin which are nicely lined up in a row. One morning my dad went over to my sister Gina's cabin. Everyone was there enjoying Gina's coffee. The kids who ranged in ages between 8 thru 11 were just finishing up breakfast. My dad told the kids, Brandon, Colin, EJ and Brittany to run over to his cabin and jump on Grandma's bed. Afterall, the "king" was already up, she should be getting his coffee. The kids were only too happy to oblique, this was a perfect opportunity to hear some swearing. The kids run into my parents cabin and burst into my moms bedroom just as she is lifting her nightgown off over her head. There she was, standing there bare as the day she was born. The poor kids were so shocked and startled, they ran from the room and out the door screaming "EWWWWWWWWWWWWW GRANDMAS NAKED...OH MY GOD GRANDMA'S NUDE!!! We could hear them screaming outside. The kids burst into Gina's cabin yelling and laughing...they could not get the words out fast enough..."we burst in the room and she was nude...ewwwwwww!! My nephew Colin who was only 9 years old said "I'll never be the same!!" My mom came over, fully dressed "Gene you asshole, did you tell those kids to come and get me!!!" before dad could answer, mom yelled "GOOD that will teach them to come over to bother me!!!"

My Mom

Even though I am a full fledged daddy's girl. I do love my mom. She is just as whacky as my dad, she has a weird side too. She loves to swear but never uses the "f-word". Well, maybe once it a while it slips out, but it's always in the abbreviated form - "f'n". For example, "You're f'n father is driving me nuts."
Swear words have been flying out of her mouth for as long as I can remember. Matter of fact, when I was two years old, one of Charlene's friends asked me my name, and I told her "Sommanah bitch".

Somehow swearing works for my mom. She never sounds mean or scary, it's part of her every day vocabulary and it really cracks up the grand kids. You would think all our kids would be dropping f-bombs or calling people assholes since they have been hearing those words since birth. Once in a while they did. We would explain those were "big people" words and they are not allowed to say them until they are 18 years old. It worked.

My mom is, in some ways, the typical Italian mother. She loves to cook, but not as much as she loves to feed people. She can cook anything and it comes out perfect every time. She makes this one chicken dish, I absolutely love. I have tried to make it several times, it never comes out as good as hers. I swear, I follow her directions, I do everything she does and still my chicken comes out dry and over cooked. Hers practically melts in your mouth. She is also famous around our family for her salad dressing. It's simple - oil, vinegar and salt. That's it, but try to get it to taste like hers. It never ever does. Somehow her hands are the only hands in the universe that know the exact amounts of the vinegar, oil and salt to put in. Her salad just burst in your mouth with the perfect blend of ingredients. It's frustrating when you have been watching her make this salad for years and still you cannot duplicate it!

To say my parents house is busy, is an understatement. Every night of the week at least one of us girls and our kids are popping in for dinner. Sometimes we call to warn her, but most times we just show up, she always has enough food. Sundays are the busiest, everyone comes over for our weekly 2:00 pasta dinner. It is so much fun. We catch up, eat, laugh, and watch dad torture mom. Mom is always the last one to sit and eat. She is busy getting every one's plate. My father's plate is first, my mother has made my father plate forever. He comes in the kitchen like a king, and sits on his throne at the head of the table. Mom fills his plate and brings it over to him. He says something like "Tankkkks sweeeeetie!" and she says "Shaddup and eat". God forbid if she forgets to make his coffee. This conversation occurs at least once a week...goes something like this.

Dad - "Can I have my coffee"

Mom - "Shit, I forgot to make it. You want it, go make it yourself, I'm eating. (she gets up and starts to make the coffee) "I wish for one second you were married to a girl of today. They would tell you to go take a shit, and get up to make your own coffee. You don't know how lucky you are I'm the sap that married you, you would never survive if you were married to one of your daughters. You don't see them getting coffee for their husbands."

(Coffees done, mom pours it in a mug, gets the Creamora, sugar and a spoon, carries it to my dad)

Dad - "Tankkkks sweetttiieeeee"

Mom - "Go take a shit for yourself"

(dad stirs his hot coffee and lays the hot spoon on her hand)

Mom - "OUCH... YOU NO GOOD ROTTEN SOMMANAH BITCH"

I know sound crazy, but it's all true.

Every holiday dinner is at my mom's house. It's a tradition I am fighting to keep for as long as we can. My other sisters always offer to have Christmas Eve or Thanksgiving at their houses, to take the load off my mom. My mother always says no. She would be so disappointed if she didn't smell the turkey roasting in her oven on Thanksgiving morning. She loves to decorate her house for holidays. (I inherited this talent from her). Her kitchen at Christmas time should be in a magazine. She has the top of her cupboards lit up with lights and electric candles. Its filled with little Christmas trees, furry santas, holly berries, and strings of icicles she bought from QVC. She really has a knack for decorating. Although sometimes she tends to let things get a little too gaudy. One Christmas she bought this shiny gold table cloth, with shiny gold place mats. The light fixture over the table has 200 watt bulbs in all 8 holders (thanks to my dad, who only likes extremely bright lights). Well between the blinding gold tablecloth and 200 watt bulbs reflecting off it, we were all squinting through dinner. This table setting should have come with a warning or at least a pair sunglasses at every plate. My sister Mary Beth ended up with a migraine, and the rest of us had our retnas burned out. Still she did it out of love.

Another holiday tradition in our family is the Dropping of the Forks. We are all sitting with full plates of food, dad has already said Grace, we dive into moms mouthwatering dinner. My mom is standing like an overseer, "Who needs gravy?" "Gene pass the rolls, EJ wants a roll". "Does anyone need a pop?". She worries about all of us. At first we are too busy eating her delicious cooking to notice she is still standing up, eventually someone will say..."Mom sit!" Being no where near her chair she says, "I am. Hang on a minute." Someone else shouts the first warning, "Mom we are going to drop our forks if you don't sit." "NOOOO, I'm sitting" she shouts. She's not sitting she is still at the stove stirring things. "OK, on the count of three we drop our forks...one...two....three!" All the forks drop and we all sit and watch my mom, now she is rushing around like a maniac trying to get to her chair. "There are you satisfied, I'm sitting, now eat!"
Holidays are so much fun in my family. I really feel sorry for people who have not had the pleasure of sharing a holiday with us. So you are all invited to Thanksgiving dinner at my mom's. Don't worry she always has enough food!

The Good Ole Days...

My dad worked his whole life as a tile mechanic. He tiled every mall in the Rochester area, many different schools, businesses, and all of our friends, neighbors and family's houses. He worked like a dog. He was on his hands and knees all day but no matter how tired he was, he would come in the house, find my mom and tackle her to the ground. She would be swearing, "Geneeee get off me, you sommanah bitch...ouch...my arm...you're killing me!" He would just squeeze her tighter. Sometimes he gave her the scissor hold with his legs and there was no getting free. We kids would be laughing and screaming, sometimes we would pile right on top of them. My mom would still be yelling "Geneeeeee...I can't breathe...you asshole...see what you started....get these kids off me!!!" Eventually he would let her go and she would swear all the way back to the stove..."Jesus Christ, everything is probably burned by now...!!" My dad would play with us until dinner was ready. He used to line us all up on the ground and play "steam roller". He would roll on us and squish us into the ground all the while making that vrooooommmmm noise as loud as he could directly in our ears. We could have easily ran away when he was rolling the other person but we stayed, waiting excitedly for our turn to have the breath rolled out of us. There was also the airplane game, Dad would lay on his back and pull his feet up, we would lay our stomach on his feet and he would lift us off the ground and fly us back and forth. I believe the plane known as Charlene crashed one day into my parents bedroom wall as the "pilot" lost control of her. Rose came flying in the room "You asshole, I knew you would hurt them one day....give her to me!!"
Dad also created the game "MMMMMMMM..ERTTTTT. For this game dad would be lying on the floor, we would sit on his stomach, and lean back against his knees. We would pretend we were driving...dad would say "MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM...ah..MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM...then ERTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!! Whenever he said ERT, he would flatten his knees and we would go flying backwards.

The bouncing games were my favorite. My dad again laying on the ground, we would sit on his knees and he would sing his made-up songs and bounce us on his knees to the tune. His most popular song was to the rhythm of Pop goes the weasel.

Hop around the vinegar jug,
the monkey chased the weasel
the monkey stopped to blow his nose
POP goes the weasel.

When dad said POP..he would fly us up as high as he could off his knees...and we would fling all over and laugh hysterically. Another song he sang for the bouncing game was ...

Tra-la-la-BOM-di-ay
They took my clothes away
But I don't care
I got my underwear

This time on the BOM he would bounce us high off his knees.

Here are more songs dad taught us...

Fatty and skinny laying in the bed
Fatty rolled over, skinny dropped dead

My daughter Leah's favorite song of my fathers is...

Fatty and skinny laying in the ditch
Fatty called skinny a dirty sommanah beech-nut bubble gum
Popcorn, grass
If you don't like it
Stick it up your ask
Me no questions tell me no lies, go and pick some apples
and I'll make you an apple pie

Told you he was creative. When I started school, my mom went back to work. So my dad would be the one responsible for getting us up and ready in the morning. He would stand at the bottom of the steps and yell out the Tarzan call, two or three times. He would come in our room and turn on the light, and after a little prodding we slowly got out of bed. My dad sat at the top of the steps and I would climb my sleepy self up on his back and he would give me a piggy-back down the stairs. Dad also made our breakfast. Every morning of our childhood we ate cereal. Seems like a nice normal breakfast doesn't it. Well, my creative dad gave us our cereal in coffee. Yup, we had our Frosted Flakes, Alpha-bits, or Cheerios in a big coffee mug filled with my dads perfectly brewed coffee (and people wonder why we are all so short). My dad still eats this for breakfast every morning, his fav is Kelloggs Corn Pops. My sisters and I survived growing up on this nutritious breakfast and the only side effects I suffer from is drinking my coffee with at least 3 heaping teaspoons of sugar in it.

Meet My Sisters

My parents had 5 daughters to raise. The oldest is Charlene, she is the sweetest and most patient out of all of us. She prays all the time and probably would have been a nun if she never met my brother-in-law, Dick. They fell in love when Char was about 16, got married at 18, and are still together 30 something years later.

Cheryl is the second oldest, she is the most driven, ambitious and smartest. She is also the klutziest. I could write a book about Cheryl's most embarrassing moments. If something weird is going to happen, it will happen to Cheryl. She has a huge heart. She feels she was put on earth to take of her family, which she does.

Mary Beth is the middle child. Poor Mary, we used to pick on her all the time. She was so easy to scare. My sister Gina could give her a mean look with her eyes and Mary would cry. Mary is a true girly-girl. She has to have her hair, nails and clothes perfect at all times. Growing up Mary shared a room with me and Gina. Her side was always neat and her bed was made every morning. Gina and I couldn't even find our beds much less make them.

Gina was born just 15 months after Mary Beth. Gina is the smallest of all the girls. She is only 4'11, but even with that small stature she is the most confident, secure, and out-spoken of us all. You do not want to mess with her, she will put you in your place. She always stood up to my parents growing up. Which in turn carved a much easier path for me. For example, she went to my parents and told them she was moving in with her boyfriend. My parents didn't like that idea. Gina made it clear she was not asking them, she was just letting them know. Turns out it was a good decision, she has been married to that "boyfriend" for over 20 years.

I am the baby (they saved the best for last, heehee). I basically have been raised by 5 mothers. Even now at 44 my sisters still tell me what to do. I can't make a move without getting the approval from at least one of them. I love them all and would be lost without them.

Being the last of the litter, and coming a full 4 years after my sister Gina, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that I was not "planned". I mentioned this to my dad one day, the fact that I was a mistake. He said something to me that I will never forget. He said "You're the best mistake I ever made." (I know, he's the sweetest). My mom doesn't say sweet things. I remember being 8 years old and asking my mom who was Santa Claus, she was busy making sauce, she whipped around and yelled, "I AM...OK!! No explanation, no long sensitive talk or nice words. She turned and continued making meatballs. But now with her grandchildren she's a totally different story. My son had just gotten over a cold and I told her I was sending him back to school. She had a holy fit attack. "Why are you rushing him back to school, he should be home a few more days!!!" I couldn't believe my ears, this was coming from the same woman who once told me, "You are going back to school tomorrow even if you have to go in an ambulance!"

One of a Kind - Not Exactly!

God so loved my dad, he decided to clone him. God said, "Let there be 2 of him, let them be identical, let them marry two women who are cousins, let them build houses right next door to each other, and let them both be perfect except for a little weird streak", and POOF my dad and his identical twin brother, Uncle Dick, were born January 24th, 1932.

Although they look the same, their personalities could not be more different. My Uncle Dick is very neat and dapper, every hair is in place. My dad doesn't brush his hair regularly, mom often reminds him, "Go brush your hair, you look like a rooster."

Uncle Dick dresses in nice clothes that actually fit him. He even tucks his shirts in and tops off his look with a belt. My dad, well, if you've read my previous posts, you are aware, my dads wardrobe consists of farmer jeans that are self-tailored and 3 sizes too big. Most of the time, he doesn't even bother to fasten the side buttons, so his farmer jeans just flap in the breeze.

My Uncle Dick's yard is perfect. Every blade of grass stands at attention and considers itself lucky to be in his yard. Uncle Dick works hard. The front of his house is landscaped beautifully. He has perfectly shaped bushes and gorgeous potted flowers which run the length of his house. In the backyard he has a gorgeous flower bed filled with plants he babysat and nurtured from seedlings in his basement. He definitely has a "green thumb". Weeds do not dare to grow in Uncle Dick's yard, he won't allow it. Then, there's his next door neighbors yard. My dad doesn't care about weeds. Matter of fact if he finds pretty weeds in his favorite fishing spots he brings them home and spreads them around his yard. The landscape in front of their house used to have little white stones. I know your thinking, that must have looked nice, and it would have, except my dad let us play in them. So the stone patch in front of our house was filled with Tonka trucks, shovels, pails, and other toys. He didn't mind a bit. His front lawn had brown warn spots all over it from all the neighborhood kids hanging in our yard. We used to play hide 'n seek, tag and all sorts of running games, but we kept the games contained to our yard. There were not many kids who were brave enough to hide in Uncle Dick's yard.

Uncle Dick is more serious, structured and he is definitely the Alpha-twin. My dad is easy-going, laid back, just a lovable clown. Through all their differences, they love each other. No one can make my Uncle Dick laugh the way my dad does and whenever my dad introduces his twin to anyone he always says, "this is my better half". More stories about the twins to come!

Mom's Revenge

Vicks Vapor Rub is a staple in my mothers house. If you go there right now and look in her medicine cabinet you will see at least one jar, if not three or four. It was her favorite cold remedy whenever anyone got sick. When I was little, I had asthma, back then they didn't have inhalers or nebulizers. My mother treated me with 3 things. First, St. Joseph Aspirin, second, a shot glass filled with a mixture of warm honey and lemon juice, and third, the dreaded Vicks Vapor Rub. She would slather Vicks Vapor Rub from just under my earlobes, across my neck and down to my sternum. She would put an itchy washcloth over it to hold in the vapors. The washcloth was useless, the vapors still escaped. In addition to my neck and chest feeling like they were on fire, I would also have to squint for hours so my eyeballs wouldn't burn out of their sockets. To this day I hate the smell of Vicks. My mother, on the other hand, loves it. I think if she were allowed, she might actually eat it. Every night before she goes to bed, she grabs a tissue, puts it around her finger and dives into the Vicks Vapor Rub jar. She pulls out a glob of vicks, then crumples up the tissue and goes to bed holding this tissue near her nose all night. She says it's to open her sinuses, but I think she just really really loves the smell.

One morning she got up with her clear sinuses and went into the kitchen for some coffee. My dad was sitting at the table glaring at her. Being the sweet person she is, she says "What the hell's your problem" My dad answered "You and your Vicks are my problem. I was up at 1:30 last night with my balls on fire" Half-laughing my mom says "What do you mean?" So dad explained "Somehow your Vicks tissue ended up on my side of the bed, burning my balls. At first I thought it was just a bad dream, then I realized it was real and I had to get up and wash them with soap and water. The first time didn't work so I had to wash them over and over again." Trying not to burst out laughing my mom said "Well I don't know how the hell the tissue got down there, I certainly don't put my hand down by your privates, the tissue must have got there by itself" She couldn't hold back the laughter anymore. Which of course only made my dad even more mad, "Ha ha ha, real funny." he said.
She was on the phone in seconds calling everyone.

Something happened the next night that proved my mom's true love for my dad. She went to bed for the first time without a tissue full of Vicks, and hasn't used one since that ball-burning night.

The Bigger The Better

As I've mentioned before, my dad likes all his clothes to be extra large. This is especially true for his underwear. He likes boxer briefs, on a normal man, these underwear would go to the upper thigh. Well, on my dad they stop just above his knees. His white t-shirts are also extra large, so they hang down to about the knee also. Let's not forget his large white socks that come up just below the knee. What a sight he is.

Every night my dad takes a bath. It's usually around 8:00 or 9:00 o'clock. By then Rose is settled down on her couch, in her jammies, watching her DVR'ed episodes of Judge Judy. All she wants to do is relax, but in comes the "little asshole" in his huge underwear, dancing a jig for her. Sometimes he dances, sometimes he comes in like the mummy dragging one leg behind him, there is also the "squeeze the knees together" walk he does. He's very creative. He does all this to entice my mom, and all she does is yell "GET OUTTA MY WAY YOU SOMMANAH BITCH, I CANT SEE JUDGE JUDY!!!!"

One night, my dad was feeling a little extra spunky. He wanted to give her a bigger thrill and actually strip for her. He dropped his drawers, and threw his dirty large underwear towards my mom. The underwear went up and landed perfectly around her head. The crotch was on the top of her head and the waistband was resting on her shoulders. Mom was struggling to get them off her head (lets be honest, her nose was probably in the way). The swear words were flying...when she finally got them off her face, she chased him into the bathroom. All the while she is yelling "You no good rotten sommanah bitch!!!

Night time is scary at their house. They do not watch TV together, mom is always in the living room and dad is in the back room. Dad visits her every once in a while much to her dismay, but she NEVER visits him, she doesn't want to stir him up. The back room is directly across from my parents bedroom. One night my dad actually beat my mom to tv watching time. He had already taken a bath and was watching a program on Animal Channel. This aggravates my mom because now she knows she has to get into the bedroom - right across from him - to get her pjs on, she just knows this will "stir him up". She decides to be sneaky. She goes in the bedroom but doesn't turn on the light, she is hoping he won't notice. She's being as quiet as possible. So far so good. She starts to undress, as soon as she is nude she hears "WOOOHOOOOOO" standing in the doorway is my dad, shining a flashlight on her nude body. (that was painful to write)

Nobodys perfect part 2

My dad is not a big man. He is only about 5'1, maybe 150lbs. He's a little guy but he insists all his clothes must be extra large. He does not like anything to fit him...everything has to be loose and big. His favorite clothes to wear are his farmer jeans. He wears these everyday. When he buys a new pair of farmer jeans, he has to do his own "redesign" on them. First, being extra large, they are about 2 miles too long. So my dad cuts off the bottom of the pants, folds up a cuff, gets out his hot glue gun, and glues in a hem. Second, to prevent the farmer jean shoulder straps from sliding down his arm, he uses the excess hem material to make a strap across his back, he glues both farmer jean shoulder straps to the cut material and wha-lah the straps don't fall off his shoulders anymore. Believe it or not, this is an upgrade. He used to use duct tape to wrap the two shoulder straps together. Fashion is not very important to him. My mother has a fit whenever she has to go anywhere with him in his farmer jeans. "You look like a pauper don't walk anywhere near me in the store." The store is my dads favorite place to torture my mom. I have witnessed it more than once. Mom and I would be shopping along and all the sudden we'd hear him "SWWWEEETTTIIEEEE" from 2 isles away. When she doesn't answer him he just keeps yelling..."OH SWEEEETIE".

One time my parents went grocery shopping together at Wegmans. My father just happened to be wearing his turkey hunting coat. He found his turkey call diaphragm in the pocket. (The diaphragm is a little plastic thing you put in your mouth and when you breathe thru it it makes this annoying loud chirp that supposedly sounds like female turkeys.) My mom was in the produce isle, squeezing heads of lettuce, when she heard the first "CHIRPPPP". She swung around and glared at my dad. Through clenched teeth she said, "Gene, stop it, don't do that again". He gave her a huge smile. Knowing what that smile meant, she grabbed her cart and raced to get as far away from him as she could. There was no getting away, she could hear the chirps even when she couldn't see the "little asshole". Mom said people at Wegmans were looking all around trying to figure out where that noise was coming from. Dad practiced his turkey call up and down every isle. When mom saw him coming towards her, she would swing her cart around and go the other way. My sisters and I were hysterical when we heard this story. That's so him. I said "Oh my God, he is so cute". Mom said what she always says everytime I make that remark. "Oh yeah he's sooooo cute, take him home with you for a while, you will see how cute he is".

Nobodys perfect...

My dad is the cutest, funniest, sweetest, most adorable person on earth, but I have to admit he does have a weird side. We just accept it, ignore it, and even laugh about it.
One day I went to my parents house, and my father was in his weird mode. He was banging on his head, tilting his head, doing that hop on one foot to get water out of your ear thing. So I asked, "Dad, whats wrong?" Mom never gave him a chance to answer, "He's an asshole, can't you see. His ear is plugged and he's acting like a lunatic ok?" She always says "ok?" when she's on a rampage. I'm like..."OK!"

I go find my dad, now he's at the bathroom sink, pouring full glasses of water directly in his ear....cautiously, I say, "Dad...what are you doing"...he says "I'm trying to flush it out". I'm watching him in disbelief...first the glass of water in the ear, then tilted head bounces over the sink, over and over again. He says "its not working"...I'm thinking "shocking". My mother yells from the other room. "Just leave him alone Lori, he's been doing this for 2 hours, driving me insane ok?" My dad gets out one of those bulb pointy sucker things you use to clean boogers out of babies noses. Again he dumps the water in his ear then uses that sucky thing to suck everything out of his ear. I can't believe what I'm seeing. I can't watch anymore. I go find my mother in kitchen. We can hear the water, then the slurping noise from the sucking thing....water, slurp, water, slurp...then silence.
He stopped, water is off, no more slurping noises. I look at my mom, I was about to say, " maybe it worked after all", then we heard the shop vac turn on in the basement. Mom and I could not run down the stairs fast enough. There he was, with the shop vac hose up to his ear. I yelled "DAD, turn that off, are you nuts!!!" My mom yells "GOOD! I HOPE YOU SUCK YOUR BRAINS OUT YOU ASSHOLE!!!"

Where to Start - Part 3

Here's another good fishing related story for you. My dad bought himself a new fishing pole. He was so happy, he loved this new fishing pole. When my mom sees him walk in the house with this new pole, even though she doesn't really care, she has to give him a hard time, she starts..."A new fishing pole, just what you need, you have 20 of them in the back room!!!" My dad explains, this is a "special" fishing pole, its 6 feet long, its unbreakable, none of his other fishing poles are like this one. My mom is not interested in this conversation, she leaves the room, she is getting dressed for a wedding they have to attend. My dad follows her with his 6 foot fishing pole. As my mom is bending over to get stuff she feels something poking her butt....yup...its the tip of the 6ft long fishing pole. "GENE...get out of here....get that pole away from me, you asshole!!!" Dad just laughs. He continues to poke her in the most inappropriate places..."GENE ...stop it...I'm gonna break that pole"....Still poking..my dad says "you can't break this pole, this pole is unbreakable" (poke... poke), with that my mom turns around, grabs the tip of the fishing pole , gives it a good twist and the top of the pole snaps off. Now, I wasn't there, but my mom said the look of shock on my dads face was priceless. Mom handed the tip of the pole back to my dad...."So much for being unbreakable, that's what you get for poking me, you SOMMANAH bitch". Dad exchanged the broken pole for a new, 6 foot long, unbreakable pole the next day, this time there was no poking going on.

Where to start -part 2

So we were on the topic of fishing. My dad is the best fisherman ever. He taught me everything I know and now I am the best fisherwoman ever! I go fishing with my dad every summer when we take our annual vacation to Lake Flower in the Adirondacks. Being in the little boat with him is quite an adventure. I will be sitting there, my line in the water, enjoying the view of the mountains, the fresh air, the peace, and he breaks into song ..."Wellllllllll theres 30 naked women running up and down the hall...." this is one of his favorite songs. Thankfully, that is the only verse I know, not thankfully I think its the only verse he knows too and he sings it over and over again. I love him. He is adorable.
He usually catches more fish than me. Most the time he just slides the fish back into the water, but sometimes he will make them do backflips off the motor. He becomes an Olympic judge and yells out the fish's score."Eight...hmmmm...not bad".
Fishing is probably his favorite hobby, the only problem is, he is a little sloppy at it. By sloppy I mean, he doesn't quite pay attention all the little details that come with fishing. Let's start with bait. His favorite bait is usually plastic worms, but sometimes he goes for the live stuff. I remember the time he was using mousies. Mousies are like little gross maggots. He brought some home in a little plastic case and put them in my moms refridgerator. Somehow those little suckers escaped. Mom found them. In her fridge....all over her food. You DO NOT want to mess with an Italian womans fridge or food. The swear words were coming out in one big long stream..."That SOMMANAH BITCHIN BASTARD ASSHOLE, I'm gonna kill him!!!" Her head was inside the fridge, she was scrubbing with bleach, the garbage can was next to her full of everything that used to be in the fridge. My dad just stands there looking all innocent, "I don't know how they got out".

Just last year, dad and mom were in MN to visit my sister Cheryl. Dad was driving Cheryl's BMW to go fishing. This time his bait of choice was minnos. He filled a bucket with pond water and dumped the minnos in. He put the big bucket on the back seat of the BMW. Somehow the big bucket tipped over. Minnos were flip-flopping all over Cheryls car. When dad got to her house, he "cleaned" her car out. He saved what minnos he could, (after all they are six cents a piece). He swore he took care of the problem, there were no minnos left in the car everything was back to normal. It was perfect. Well, all you had to do was open the car door, you could smell everything was not perfect. Cheryl knew she had to clean it herself. She got out her garden hose and flooded the backseat of her car. To her surpise she saw bits of minnos rising from the little slot by the drivers seat. You know, that lever you slide to move the seat up, in that slot were ground up bits of minno. She noticed dead minnos inside her heat vents. Although she tried to flood them out with water, they remained trapped. Cheryl using her VP, Master Degree brain..gets a stick and puts duct tape on the end of it. She shoves the stick in the vent, maneuvers it around until a she catches a dead minno on the tape, she slowly and carefully pulls the minno out of the vent. She caught 3 minnos that day from her vent. I know my dad is proud of her, first for using duct tape, and second fishing.

where to start...

Honestly, its an every day occurrence. My parents are the best comedy team since Lucy and Desi, with a little Frank and Marie thrown in. Just come to my parents house on a Sunday for pasta dinner, you are guaranteed to hear my dad often referred to as "asshole" or a "Som-mn-nah bitch" (my moms favorite phrase she never says correctly). My mom might use these terms of endearment for all sorts of reasons...lets see...could be because my mom walked too close to him and dad grabbed her butt...or boob...or he gave her stretchy pants a good tug. Its like something comes over him. We will all be sitting at the kitchen table talking and out of nowhere my dad yells..."READYYYY...SETTTTT...and by the time he says GO...he is on his way to my mom...if shes sitting...he tries to wiggle on her lap...if shes standing...its a great big bear hug from behind...all the while shes yelling "GENE...MY HEAD......GET OFF ME YOU SOMMANAH...he ignores her...trying to snuggle closer...eventually you will see mom try to knock him on the head with her lame attempt at making a fist. Once in a while she will connect and we hear the klunk from her knuckles on his skull...never stops him...don't think he feels it at all.

My dad is the king at rattling my moms cage. Here are a few tips at how to annoy your partner directly from my dads archive. At the dinner table, make sure your spouce is sitting to your right. Gently stir your hot coffee, raise the spoon, and fling the little left over droplets at your wife, or just simply lay the hot spoon on her hand. Not sure how your spouce will react, but my moms reaction is always the same..."OUCH ....YOU SOMMANAH..." and the flying fist comes out again. More dinner table antics.... when mom brings out her famous chicken soup ...she warns us, "be careful the soup is hot"...my dad says..."lets see" and sticks his finger in her bowl of soup..."yup...its hot". Of course the swear words start flying again, usually this time she adds..."you think i'm gonna eat this after your hands have been in it...your hands are filthy... full of fish guts and worms!!!" This leads me into more reasons my dad is called "asshole" often. Fishing...dad loves to fish, now that he's retired...he fishes just about everyday. Mom gets so sad when it rains, rain means no fishing that day....rain means interruptions from him while shes trying to watch QVC...Mom hates rain.

Now what...

Ok...so I just set up my first blog. I have no idea what I want to blog about. HA...what a lie...of course I know what I want to write about...that was the whole reason I set this thing up. I have to brag...to sing out loud....I am about to be published...thats right...in a REAL book. Not just any book...but a book...that is actually a series of books, that sell around the world!!!

MY true story ...I wrote about MY adorable dad...is going to be published in a Chicken Soup for the Soul novel....are they novels? I'm not even sure...anyway. I am so excited. Maybe Oprah or Ellen will read my story and want to meet my dad. He is quite a character. Everyone falls in love with him right away. He is gentle, funny, kind and the things he does, well lets just say...no one else in the world thinks like him. I guess my blogging will be mostly about my dad. I need to get these true life stories down so my kids, and their kids, and their kids can read them one day.

But right now...I need to write my bio for the CSFS