How to Make Your Husband Renovate a Room in One Easy Step

Since I’ve been “home alone” for a while now, I’ve spent considerable time ruminating over the state of my house.  My intent has been to assess what we need done to the house in order to make it viable to a potential buyer.  At first, I think my husband B didn’t want to budge.  That is until his “man cave” disappeared and became our room.

Our children shared a room for about four years which displeased me although I knew it to be temporary.  B moved his computer down to our small living room and purchased me a laptop, getting rid of the old clunker I used in his “cave”.  Now J resides in our freshly painted former room, and our daughter E’s room reverted back to single occupancy.

However, I’ve noticed when our family is all home, especially on a rainy Saturday, that we feel cramped and invade each other’s space.  B sits at his computer while I park myself on our couch with a book.  Our kids fight over the limited space in our back den.  B gets riled up by the kids loudly playing or arguing; I spy him playing an adults-only video game and reprimand him; he snarls at me; and the kids beg for a snack or camp out on the couches, squishing me into the cushions.  No one seems to get the privacy and space we need. [Read more...]

Have You Checked Your Halloween Candy Lately?

*Microsoft Images

Once upon a time, a Halloween rumor snaked its way around the country, scaring each suburban parent in its wake.  When rumors circulated that poisoned candy was distributed to trick-or-treaters, the Halloween candy-checking rituals began.  Further discussions stated that candy tampered with pins and razor blades were also handed out.  Although the rumors proved mostly untrue, they originated from a true story about a man who murdered his own child with poisoned Halloween candy in order to cash in on a life insurance policy.  However, it contributed to the annual search-and-abolish mission parents undertake after each Halloween.

Ever since the poisoned 1970s and 1980s Halloween candy scares, many parents vigilantly rummage through their kids’ treat bags.  Now it’s a given to examine every Milky Way with the stealth of factory inspector number 56.  Or is it? Does anyone still check their children’s Halloween candy anymore? Is it that important to examine every piece from an overflowing pillowcase of treats?

Instead of rummaging through the candy to steal a Twix bar, I feverishly paw through any candy the kids receive including chalky, almost chocolate Easter bunnies to gorgeously decorated yet bland lollipops to their hard-won Halloween candy.  I use my own mental sort list in order to detect faulty candy and other sundry collected items like money and the Christian tracts warning about the evils of Halloween. [Read more...]

I Want to Have Sex with My Zune

I am not easily seduced by electronics. While so much of the i-Generation around me swoons at each new Apple release, rushing at breakneck speed to hand over their hundreds and thousands for the newest, slimmest, most deliciously candy-colored gadget, I sit back, arms crossed tight across my chest (and my wallet) and frown.

I’ll wait, I think. We’ll see, I caution. Maybe, I allow. But I know, in my cost-conscious little heart, that I’ll never be one of those proud, cyberlusty cool kids toting a Pad or Pod or Phone or Touch sexy enough to stand in for an Italian exchange student boyfriend.

No, I am, and always have been, a Secondhand Lil. An eBay Queen. A frugalista. So it is that I recently indulged myself with a little late birthday present. Slightly used, well priced, candy apple red, and icy cool to the touch. No one whose heart rate accelerates at the thought of these things would give my little device a second glance; the name alone would provoke an eye roll and a dismissive chuckle. But I, so long resistant to this particular call of the modern wild, am already in trouble.

I think I want to have sex with my Zune.

[Read more...]

Ode to My Stinkin’ Minivan

Five years ago, days after my mother died,  I went to the car dealer in a haze of grief and signed off on the purchase of a mini-van. I fought it for years. The Husband wanted a mini-van before kids were even in the equation. He loved his Plymouth growing up and wanted to replicate those family memories. Also, he’s a tall man and let’s face it they are quite comfortable for the vertically gifted.

I on the other hand am the “car one” in this relationship. I love cars, fast ones, shiny ones, small ones. So I researched every other option. I even tried to talk myself into a gas guzzling SUV. Alas, I not only failed at justifying the foot print of any of the SUVs large enough to accommodate my family, I also could not afford any of them. So, we not only signed on for a mini-van, but we got the grandaddy of minivans, the originator of “minivan” the Dodge Grand Caravan. I desperately wanted a Volkswagen as I figured if I had to conform I’d at least do it in true hippie style. The price tag precluded that purchase as it did with the Honda and the Toyota as well. We left the showroom that dark night with a fully loaded, pimped out Dodge Grand Caravan for the same price as a stripped down model of any of the other three.I felt like I was driving a yacht. [Read more...]

Dirty Little Secrets

It’s Facebook Question Friday! And we asked our readers to give us their scariest cleaning story. We know you’ve been there. Waited a little too long to clean in those easy to avoid areas of life. Couch cushions. Behind the toilet. Car seat crud.  And what you’ve uncovered looks like a crime scene. So here’s what you said….
  
  • Dawn DeLorenzo When I cleaned my mother-in-laws fridge. Just sayin. 

 

  • Marites Ortega When we had to clean up after my two cats who had to go to the bathroom underneath the coffee table for a full week because the door to the basement where their litter box was…shut closed. At least it gave me a good reason to get rid of that ugly coffee table. UGH urine and feces!!! At least my cats isolated it to just that area.

 

  • Diana Bacho-Pribish Marites, I had the same thing with my cat while I was in the hospital with my second baby-but it was under the dining room table!!!! UGH! GROSS!

 

  • Marion Kauffeld I had to clean out my son’s college dorm room at the end of the year… Disgusting…. There were socks that had to be peeled off of the bathroom floor, mold growing in coffee cups , a layer of black something in the bathroom sink and all that man hair all over the place.. I still have flashbacks.

 

  •   Vicki Facciponte I was moving out of my townhouse and moved my couch to get it on the moving truck and found ferrett poop behind my couch. My ferrett died 4 years earlier.
 
  • Bridgette White I found a baby bottle about 4 months after my son was onto cups. It was once full of similac … It had evolved into a watery bottom half and a lardy top half of separated ickyness. It was in the very bottom of the toybox under about 80 stuffed animals … :o

Jersey Moms: In need of some deep cleaning yourself? Check out this green and clean giveaway!

Dr. Doolittle’s Training Ground

We do not own any pets.  Both my son J and my husband B are allergic to cats.  Although we would like a dog, we’re not ready for furry paws or to say goodbye to our slightly scuffed hardwood floors.  We refuse to harbor mice/rats, spiders or smelly reptiles like B’s least favorite, snakes.   Fish seem disposable, and a tank would consume too much space.  Our family finds zoos mildly entertaining, but we really don’t need to visit them when our own backyard promises more than its share of the fine, furry, feathered friend persuasion.

From our front yard, you’d never guess what inhabits the back.  Our modest size home in a modest neighborhood sits on a surprising acre of land in the shape of an orange slice.  Past our large backyard, woods border the property with a shallow stream trickling.  When humidity and hot air hits, it smells just like the South Jersey swamp it once was. [Read more...]

My September Vows

This September marks the first time in 10 years that I will spend each weekday, barring sickness and school holidays, alone at home all day with only the radio and the occasional phone call to keep me company. 

During the summer, I practiced this freedom and yet failed to accomplish many of the tasks I set out for myself after the first week.  Back to school seems like the ideal time to make vows for moms who endure…I mean, enjoy…summer vacation. 

Clasp your hands; herewith, my September vows…

Songs I Love, But Shouldn’t Sing Around My Children

I believe… music feeds the soul. It reaches in and fills you up with a natural, omnipotent energy. It grounds you. Transforms you.

Often, I take the form of gangsta rapper or grunge rocker. I’m transported to another time and place reminiscent of my own precious life moments, evoking emotion otherwise lost forever. Must be why music therapy is such an effective tool used by professionals to promote learning, healing and self discovery.

In my home, music is with us daily. Apple, you rock for pioneering effortless access to so much artistry and enabling childproof soundtracks for responsible parents. But there is the occasional slip, when the 7 year old grabs the iPod. Must work on getting his own. For now, we share. And I take care that these particular tunes don’t tumble into the airwaves.

[Read more...]

Humbled by Barbecue

It’s not a bagel, I told myself. It’s just oddly shaped toast. Don’t think about real bagels. It was a kind gesture. Appreciate it.

I said that to myself every morning the first time I visited my in-laws in Kansas. My husband, who after 4 years of living in New Jersey finally understands what I mean when I say “bagel,” had suggested to his mother that she didn’t have to buy bagels for the Jersey girl. That really, I would be perfectly happy with bread. Even plain old white bread. But my mother-in-law is as strong-willed as she is kind, so she bought me bagels at the grocery store. The kind that come pre-sliced and in plastic wrapping – the only kind there is at the average rural Kansas supermarket.

Which anyone raised in Jersey or New York will tell you isn’t a real bagel at all.

I ate them anyway, a smile pasted on my face. Meanwhile I thought snobby East Coast thoughts about bagels, pizza and art museums. I had lived in Kansas City for 9 years, but after moving back to NJ I forgot everything I had learned in the Midwest. And my husband would be quick to tell you that “the city” (as in Kansas City) was a far cry from the small rural communities my in-laws have lived in their entire lives. You can actually get a decent bagel in Kansas City, for example. [Read more...]

The Nearness of You

My 6 year-old daughter is the ultimate Klingon. Not the wrinkle-headed humanoid kind from Star Trek, but the Velcro-monkey-arms draped around your neck kind. She is on me, for many, many waking hours of the day, like the proverbial white on rice.

Upon waking, my sweet child stumbles bleary-eyed from her bed across the short hallway to my room and climbs (sometimes directly across her sleeping father) into mine. She pulls back the sheet and inserts herself as adhesively as possible into my arms. If I’m facing away, she tugs at me until I roll over and drag her into an embrace. Once settled, she reaches a small hand up to hunt under my curls until she fastens onto my earlobe (right ear, free of post earring, preferred) and begins a rhythmic caress.

Throughout the day, she generally manages to stay on her own two sturdy feet, leaving me a pleasant sphere of personal space, but there are always intermittent bursts of cling. When she approaches to explain, in her wonderfully detailed stream of chatter, about some idea or experience she’s had—all wide eyes and dramatic gestures—she often ends up in my lap or sprawled halfway across my legs as she perches on the arm of the chair or couch I’m occupying. Throughout the lively monologue, she usually performs a number of grasps and proddings, as if I am some curious specimen she can only comprehend through her sense of touch. She squeezes at the flesh on my upper arms, leans in to examine my eyebrows (once announcing, “I know what those dots on your forehead are. That’s where you used to have hairs when you were an ape.”), runs her fingers over freckles and bug bites.

[Read more...]