I have to write today about my mom and her sabotage. She is going to yell at me again for throwing her under the bus. But, I am only speaking the truth. She should be happy and consider my blog free therapy. I am making her a better person by holding a mirror in front of her beautiful face. (see, I can be nice)...
After 44 years I have finally figured out why I cannot duplicate my mother's recipes. The realization came just 2 days ago when I called her and asked her how to make her delicious greens and beans. Here's the transcript of our phone call.
Mom - Hello?
Lori - Hi Mom, I bought everything I need to make your greens and beans with sausage, so can you tell me how to do it.
Mom - It's simple all you do is put the greens in the frying pan...
Lori - WHAT? Aren't I supposed to boil them first?
Mom - Oh, yeah you can, I do when I am making them
Lori - Well don't you think that's an important part to leave out? OK fine so I boil them for how long?
Mom - only about 5 minutes, then drain them really good. GENE...YOU DO THAT AGAIN AND I'M GONNA BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU!!!
Lori - what's he doing...?
Mom - I am leaning over Cheryl's kitchen island and he keeps putting his hand up my duster. (mom and her dusters, her dusters are these little summer dresses she buys at flee markets) MY KNEE ISN'T UP THAT HIGH AND IT'S ON THE OTHER SIDE!!! YOU DUMB SOMMMANAH BITCH!! Your father told me he was trying to touch my knee, well my knee is facing the other way. I'm gonna kill him!
Lori - Kill him later, so I drain the greens really good then what?
Mom - put them in the sausage then add the beans and the bean juice
Lori - What about garlic? Yours has a ton of garlic in it
Mom - Oh yeah put garlic in it
Lori - when do I put the garlic in, you have to tell me all the directions, I never made these before!!!
Mom - You put garlic in the pan first!!!
Lori - Well you never even mentioned the garlic, and it goes first!!! I think you are a little threatened that I might make these better than you, so you are sabotaging the recipe
Mom - (laughing, but trying to hide it from me)...NO I'M NOT....I figured you would know to put in garlic!!!
Lori - Well I don't know...you have to tell me!!! So I fry up garlic..then add the scrambled sausage and the beans
Mom - NO!! Don't put the beans in before the greens, put the garlic, then the sausage, then the greens, THEN the beans, then your done.
Lori - WHAT??? I'm done...wheres all the juice, yours has juice in it, cuz I use bread to dunk
Mom - Oh, I sometimes put in a little chicken broth
Lori - OHHHHHHHH, another ingredient you so "innocently" forgot to tell me about!!! You are sabotaging my greens and beans, you are scared I might cook as good as you!!!
Mom - (laughing so hard she can't even speak) NO I'm NOT!!! (still laughing)
Lori - I think you are, I had to PULL the ingredients out of you, is there anything else you are not telling me about making the greens and beans????
Mom - (still laughing) NO! YOU PAIN IN THE ASS!!
Lori - Fine, I will see how they taste after I make them!!!
So there you have it, proof she is trying to sabotage my cooking abilities. This is not the first time either. This phone conversation sparked my memory of the time I asked her how to make her artichokes. She gave me most of the recipe but "forgot" to tell me to put a little splash of oil over each artichoke once they're stuffed. And she "forgot" to mention that I am supposed to baste the artichokes while they are cooking. So my artichokes came out with dry stuffing and I just about gagged trying to eat them. Once I got the full instructions, my artichokes could win a cooking contest. Even my dad likes mine better than my moms!! Take that!! Rosie the Sabotager!!!
Friday, June 11, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Shhhh...Qwuiet, I'm Hunting Whrabbits!
Hunting is another passion of my Dad's. He used to hunt small game, rabbits, squirrel and deer. Yes, like the Beverly Hillbillies, we ate rabbits, squirrel and venison growing up. As far as I'm concerned this was child abuse. If I had known they were making me eat rodents, I would have called 911.
Getting back on topic, I can remember the excitement in November when hunting season started. My dad would be out in the back yard for hours shooting his bow. He stacked up a few bales of hay, and attached a white and red target to the front. He looked so cool in the hunters "stance". He stood sideways, pulled back the string of the bow, as far as he could. His 3 middle fingers tips rested on the corner of his lip, his left eye closed, he lined the arrow up until it was perfectly aimed at the bullseye. He was so good, he would hit it almost every time. I remember my sisters and I standing behind him until he shot all 4 or 5 of his arrows. He would let us pull the arrows out of the haystack and return them to him. We ran back and forth for hours. Now that I think about it, he had it made, all he had to do was stand there, and we would run like little slaves for him. Honestly, we didn't mind a bit, we loved it.
Saturday and Sunday mornings of hunting season, my dad would get up before the sun. He would make his breakfast of coffee and cereal. After breakfast, he would start preparing for the hunt. He would fill his thermos with the left over coffee, put some oreos or chocolate chip cookies in a baggy for his snack/coffee break he would enjoy later in his tree stand. Once his little knapsack was all set, he would start the ritual of transforming himself into Rambo. Dad dressed in layers. First, extra large long-johns, also known as thermal underwear. They were so big on him, the crotch hung down to his knees. Dad tucked all the extra length material into knee-high wool socks. Next came the big camouflage one piece suit. This suit, also way too big for him, just swallowed him up, but he was warm and cozy with lots of room to groove. Then came the camouflaging of his face. He had this huge cork board, he would rip off a hunk of cork and heat it over our stove's flame. Once it turned black, he rubbed it on his face, in parallel little lines. He looked like an Indian getting ready for battle. Finally, he would sling the bow over his shoulder and around his little body and off he went.
We used to watch out the window for his van. If we saw his van backing in, we started yelling and cheering like little Indian squaws. Backing in meant a dead deer was in the van. We rushed to find our shoes and coats so we could go see it. Even though they were dead, I used to think of them as my new pets. I would go to school and brag to my friends. "My dad got a deer yesterday, it's hanging upside down in my garage. I named it Bambi." Man, was I warped. It would hang in the garage for a few days, then off to the slaughter man. Dad had two deer heads stuffed and now they hang in my dads "man cave", also known as the back room. He was a great hunter.
I used to love when my dad went hunting for rabbit and squirrel. Once in a while he would bring me to his favorite rabbit hunting spot. Just me and him in a really fun wooded area with large rocks to climb on. He would head towards the woods, and tell me to stay and play on the rocks. I know...leaving a child unattended is not good, but it was the 70's and it was my dad. He would check on my once in a while, especially if I was making too much noise. He would come over and say, "Lori, stop yelling, you're scaring away the rabbits." I would explain, "oh, sorry dad, I was playing alligator."
Alligator was one of my favorite games. The rules are, jump from rock to rock without falling on the grass, if you fell in the grass you got eaten by the alligtors. (This game also worked in my moms living room, we would throw her couch pillows on the floor for our rocks). So there I was, a perfect little girl, playing alligator while my dad was hunting for our dinner. He is my hero. He can do no wrong...right?
Think again - just imagine my horror when I grew up and realized Dad's favorite rabbit hunting spot was actually the Churchville cementary, and the rocks I was so happily playing "Alligator" on were dead people's tombstones!!!!!!!!
No wonder I am warped!
Getting back on topic, I can remember the excitement in November when hunting season started. My dad would be out in the back yard for hours shooting his bow. He stacked up a few bales of hay, and attached a white and red target to the front. He looked so cool in the hunters "stance". He stood sideways, pulled back the string of the bow, as far as he could. His 3 middle fingers tips rested on the corner of his lip, his left eye closed, he lined the arrow up until it was perfectly aimed at the bullseye. He was so good, he would hit it almost every time. I remember my sisters and I standing behind him until he shot all 4 or 5 of his arrows. He would let us pull the arrows out of the haystack and return them to him. We ran back and forth for hours. Now that I think about it, he had it made, all he had to do was stand there, and we would run like little slaves for him. Honestly, we didn't mind a bit, we loved it.
Saturday and Sunday mornings of hunting season, my dad would get up before the sun. He would make his breakfast of coffee and cereal. After breakfast, he would start preparing for the hunt. He would fill his thermos with the left over coffee, put some oreos or chocolate chip cookies in a baggy for his snack/coffee break he would enjoy later in his tree stand. Once his little knapsack was all set, he would start the ritual of transforming himself into Rambo. Dad dressed in layers. First, extra large long-johns, also known as thermal underwear. They were so big on him, the crotch hung down to his knees. Dad tucked all the extra length material into knee-high wool socks. Next came the big camouflage one piece suit. This suit, also way too big for him, just swallowed him up, but he was warm and cozy with lots of room to groove. Then came the camouflaging of his face. He had this huge cork board, he would rip off a hunk of cork and heat it over our stove's flame. Once it turned black, he rubbed it on his face, in parallel little lines. He looked like an Indian getting ready for battle. Finally, he would sling the bow over his shoulder and around his little body and off he went.
We used to watch out the window for his van. If we saw his van backing in, we started yelling and cheering like little Indian squaws. Backing in meant a dead deer was in the van. We rushed to find our shoes and coats so we could go see it. Even though they were dead, I used to think of them as my new pets. I would go to school and brag to my friends. "My dad got a deer yesterday, it's hanging upside down in my garage. I named it Bambi." Man, was I warped. It would hang in the garage for a few days, then off to the slaughter man. Dad had two deer heads stuffed and now they hang in my dads "man cave", also known as the back room. He was a great hunter.
I used to love when my dad went hunting for rabbit and squirrel. Once in a while he would bring me to his favorite rabbit hunting spot. Just me and him in a really fun wooded area with large rocks to climb on. He would head towards the woods, and tell me to stay and play on the rocks. I know...leaving a child unattended is not good, but it was the 70's and it was my dad. He would check on my once in a while, especially if I was making too much noise. He would come over and say, "Lori, stop yelling, you're scaring away the rabbits." I would explain, "oh, sorry dad, I was playing alligator."
Alligator was one of my favorite games. The rules are, jump from rock to rock without falling on the grass, if you fell in the grass you got eaten by the alligtors. (This game also worked in my moms living room, we would throw her couch pillows on the floor for our rocks). So there I was, a perfect little girl, playing alligator while my dad was hunting for our dinner. He is my hero. He can do no wrong...right?
Think again - just imagine my horror when I grew up and realized Dad's favorite rabbit hunting spot was actually the Churchville cementary, and the rocks I was so happily playing "Alligator" on were dead people's tombstones!!!!!!!!
No wonder I am warped!
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
My Dad's Family Tree -
My dad's father was also his uncle. So now you know how he got that "weird streak".
I will try to explain this, but even I am confused by it. Here it goes..
My Great Grandmother Elizabeth, married a man with the last name Cataldi. She was only 12 years old on her wedding day. (I know, sounds sick doesn't it, but you have to remember this was back in the 1800's). They had 3 sons, Fred, Ted, Frank and one daughter they named Mary, this is my grandmother. I have met Uncle Ted and Uncle Frank many times. But I never got to meet my Uncle Fred. He was killed as a POW in World War II.
Great Grandpa Cataldi died, not sure when or how. A few years after his death, my Great Grandmother Elizabeth remarried a man with the last name Giraulo. He had 3 sons from his previous marriage. Their names were Reed, Flo, and Earl. Everyone loved Uncle Earl, he was so gentle and loving. He used to make rosaries every day. He could fix, build or mend anything. He lived as a pauper in only one room of my great grandmother’s old house. He never bought anything new. He would visit the dumps on a daily basis to see what he could take home and restore. He died with $250,000 in his bank account. He willed this money to all of his brother’s children. I believe he was a saint.
So my Great Grandmother Elizabeth is now a Giraulo. The Giraulo she married had 12 brothers. (I believe no sisters) One of his younger brothers named Floavanti, married Mary Cataldi (my grandmother). So Floavanti Giraulo, married his step-niece Mary. They had 4 beautiful children, Aunt Doll, the twins, Uncle Dick and my dad, Gene and Uncle Ted. That is how my dad’s father is also his Uncle. Step-Uncle that is…but I like to say just uncle so it freaks people out!
I will try to explain this, but even I am confused by it. Here it goes..
My Great Grandmother Elizabeth, married a man with the last name Cataldi. She was only 12 years old on her wedding day. (I know, sounds sick doesn't it, but you have to remember this was back in the 1800's). They had 3 sons, Fred, Ted, Frank and one daughter they named Mary, this is my grandmother. I have met Uncle Ted and Uncle Frank many times. But I never got to meet my Uncle Fred. He was killed as a POW in World War II.
Great Grandpa Cataldi died, not sure when or how. A few years after his death, my Great Grandmother Elizabeth remarried a man with the last name Giraulo. He had 3 sons from his previous marriage. Their names were Reed, Flo, and Earl. Everyone loved Uncle Earl, he was so gentle and loving. He used to make rosaries every day. He could fix, build or mend anything. He lived as a pauper in only one room of my great grandmother’s old house. He never bought anything new. He would visit the dumps on a daily basis to see what he could take home and restore. He died with $250,000 in his bank account. He willed this money to all of his brother’s children. I believe he was a saint.
So my Great Grandmother Elizabeth is now a Giraulo. The Giraulo she married had 12 brothers. (I believe no sisters) One of his younger brothers named Floavanti, married Mary Cataldi (my grandmother). So Floavanti Giraulo, married his step-niece Mary. They had 4 beautiful children, Aunt Doll, the twins, Uncle Dick and my dad, Gene and Uncle Ted. That is how my dad’s father is also his Uncle. Step-Uncle that is…but I like to say just uncle so it freaks people out!
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
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!!!"
Sunday, May 23, 2010
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!
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