Tag Archives: Chef Boy ‘R Mine

Happy Valentine’s Day

When Chef Boy ‘R Mine was a wee lad, Valentine’s Day was a high holiday.  We had to make a big deal out of the day or the kid would have just died.  Below is a card he made for me in school before he could even write his name.  I have cherished it all these years and present it here for your admiration.

jerremy-valentine

He was such a cute kid!  I especially love the inside of the card.  The heart person complete with heart ajeremyvalentine-2rms and legs just crack me up.  I think it was supposed to be his signature.

This year, I am my own Valentine.  I generally love being single, but there are days, today one of them, when I wouldn’t mind someone to send me flowers or give me a card or let me know that they love me.  Still and all, I’m happy.

Happy Valentine’s Day to you!

 

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Filed under February 2017

What I Did on My Summer Vacation

momwristSo, my 75-year-old mother broke her wrist while roller skating.  She fell.  (I’ve been instructed to point out that she fell in the most graceful of ways.)

Go ahead and laugh.  I did and so did she.  She even laughed when she found it was broken in two places and required surgery.  She laughed during pre-op and laughed post-op.   She laughed when she viewed the x-ray showing her dandy new titanium plate and pins.

I ferried her about for a couple of days while we got the medical stuff taken care of, but she’s been pretty self-sufficient.  Luckily, it was her left wrist.

Orthopedics have come a long way.  She’s not in a cast; she wears a brace which allows her to move her hand.  In fact, she has exercises she must do requiring her to move her hand this way and that.  Initially, I was worried she wouldn’t do the exercises.

Oh pshaw.

She does them near constantly in between doing stuff she probably shouldn’t be doing:  like using her cordless drill to replace a large board in my fence.

Mom’s a character.

On the other end of the spectrum, Chef Boy ‘R Mine has been having trouble with his back.  It’s pretty serious and he has a referral to a surgeon.  I’m pretty wigged out about it all.  He’s only 30.

Step One is for him to have a steroidal lumbar injection to help manage the pain.  I’m leaving for Atlanta on Wednesday to be with him and act as his chauffeur the day of the procedure.

Me?  I’m more or less intact.  I just did a freelance project on self-care and I’m all hyped up to be good to myself.  I’ve been doing a pretty good job of it.  I had a lovely week at the beach with my best friend.  I’ve been getting out and about much more than I have in the past couple of years.  I’m active with a book club and a writing group; and starting to hang out in Charleston again.

Although I’m worried about the kid, it’s mostly good to be me these days.    While the rain has been unrelenting this summer, I’m having a good time.

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Filed under July 2015

How can I be this old?

chef jeremyToday is my baby boy’s 30th birthday.

I don’t know how it is possible that I am old enough to have a 30-year-old child.  Life is one, big goofy trip.

I had a rough pregnancy and he was 9 weeks premature.  After he was born, I only got to hold him for a minute before they whisked him off to a NICU isolette.  In that minute, I fell irretrievably in love with him.

Suffice it to say that Chef Boy ‘R Mine is the love of my life.

He has turned into a marvelous man and an exceptional chef – I honestly don’t know how it was that we were surprised by his decision to become a chef.  The evidence was there all those years ago.

Happy Birthday, Punkin’, I love you.

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Filed under June 2015

Frauleinen Gertrude Von Whomper

jeremyandtrudySo, a week ago Frauleinen Gertrude von Whomper left us.  She’d been diagnosed with an enlarged heart and heart failure in December.

trudyandmeI was a wreck just before Christmas.  I was afeared her diagnosis was a death sentence and it turns out it was.  I knew her death would take a toll on me and annihilate my son.

Trudy, as she was known, was my birthday present 12 years ago.  She was a red dachshund and a spoiled brat.

She was our second dachshund.  In a tragic accident, I ran over Frauleinen Stephanie von Whomper. I seriously did not know if I could live through her death.  I grieved and I grieved hard, especially as it was my fault. Stevie was a Cracker Jack and I mourned her hard.

After a few weeks, we couldn’t stand coming home to an empty house any longer and we “rescued” Willy the Italian Greyhound from a local pet store.  Six months after that, I was ready for another dachshund and Trudy came to our home from a trailer in South Point, Ohio.

trudybratAs dachshunds are wont, Trudy was independent, needy, spoiled, and a complete delight.  She had the prettiest eyes.    She and Willy bonded.  They were quite the pair.  More importantly, she and my son bonded.  It was the Great American Love Story.

A few years ago, my son called and said, “Yo, Mom.”  Any conversation that starts with “Yo, Mom” is to be taken very seriously.  As it turns out, he was working up the courage to ask me to let Willy and Trudy come live with him in Charlotte.  He really wanted just Trudy, but she and Willy were a bonded pair.

Chef Boy ‘R Mine and Stevie had been very close.  We got Willy because he couldn’t handle another dachshund.  When I wanted to bring Trudy home, he said, “Whatever.”  Who knew that she would become the most important creature in hi life?

They fell in love with each other almost immediately.

As it turns out, I was ready to let Chef Boy ‘R Mine have the two dogs.  It was the right time and they were better off with him than me.

Trudy went into heart failure a week ago today.  My son had to make the horrible decision to have her euthanized.  Evidently, he tried to call me in the moments of grief but it was late.  I was sleeping and didn’t hear the phone ring the four times before it went to the answering machine.

I hate that I wasn’t there for him.

We’re going to miss Trudy.  She was something special.  My heart just aches.

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Filed under January 2015

Throwback Thursday: My Little Ninja Turtle

ninja_NEW

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October 30, 2014 6:45 pm · 6:45 pm

Throwback Thursday: Punkin and Me

This is my favorite picture of Jeremy and I together.  I just love that look on his face.

This is my favorite picture of Jeremy and I together. I just love that look on his face.

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Filed under September 2014

A Mouse in the House and a Bat in the Bedroom

scaredThere is evidence of a mouse in my pantry. I hope it’s just a mouse and not mice. Or worse, a squirrel. I’m pretty confident that it’s not a bat.

I loathe mice. Loathe them. More embarrassingly, I’m afraid of them. I think it’s the surprise of the scurry factor – a startle and a cringe. Since they arrive each year about this time, I’ve come a long way. A long time ago, I lived in a rental house that had a mouse. A mouse so brazen, he or she would pop its head up from the burner, saunter across the counter and dip into the dishwater for a drink – the same dishwater that I’d had my hands in nanoseconds before. I was so unnerved by this mouse that I moved into a motel until The Ex could offer proof the evil creature was dead.

I would prefer to have snakes in the house over mice. Snakes are cool and they eat mice. The brief period of time I did have a snake camping out in my home, the vermin problem was nonexistent. Worse than mice are squirrels. Those creatures are nothing but big mice with a flamboyant tail and damaging incisors.

squirrel-eating-acornI’ve had squirrels in the house. I found pockets of acorn stash here and there. It took quite a bit of money and perseverance to evict the squirrels. I was pert near ready for the insane asylum by the time that problem got solved. To my credit, I guess, I did not move into a motel. Like I said, I’ve come a long way.

There was the summer of the possum that wanted to sashay about my family room. I put an end to that pretty quickly. And then there was Willy’s Toad. I wasn’t fond of the toad either – that startle factor again.

Yes, I do have cats. But they’re decorator cats good for nothing but draping themselves across the furniture and looking good. It would no more occur to them to chase the mouse, bite the mouse, kill the mouse, eat the mouse than it does to me.

decorator catMe? I put out rat poison in ramekins strategically placed. It works like a charm. It should be just the matter of a day or so before my new tenant is no longer with me. I used to catch and release them, but then I discovered it was less than 12 hours before they were back in the house. Now I kill the suckers. I’m not generally a poison kind of person, but I do, yes I do, loathe mice.

Life in the barn can be exciting given that I live in the midst of a forest. All kinds of creatures lurk about. The barn is a little more airtight than it used to be, but there are still lots of nooks and crannies where they can get in. However, it’s ever so much better than it was The Night of the Bat.

Picture this: I’m lying in bed next to The Ex in that peaceful nirvana between wide awake and deep sleep. It’s been a brutally hot day. But now it’s midnight and the unairconditioned house is cooling off. To call it a house is a ridiculous overstatement. At that point, the barn was still very much a barn. We had walls upstairs, but the only room with a door was the bathroom. Bear that in mind, it’s important.

batI am just about to drift off. In the process of rolling over, I discover there’s a hot, furry something sleeping on the sheet draped across my belly.

I do what any sane person would do. I brushed it off, leapt out of bed while shrieking while something, later established as a bat, darted and swooped about the bedroom. The Ex was a light sleeper, but even if he wasn’t, my screaming would have easily woken him.

Chef Boy ‘R Mine was a wee thing and I woke him with banshee cries. I did what any mother would do, I took off at run, snatched the kid out of the crib, and made a run for the bathroom. The last glimpse I had of The Ex was he, completely nude, running about the bedroom with a tennis racquet. I have no idea why we had a tennis racquet in the bedroom. (But a few years later, he would use the same racquet to stand in the yard, swinging it to and fro, muttering Cicada Anyone? as we suffered through the 17 year locusts. I’m not sure the racquet was ever used for its intended purpose.)

punkin with ducksI cowered in the bathroom cradling the now crying child. Through the door we could hear The Ex yell, “Die you [expletive deleted], die!” and the sound of the racquet slamming against walls, floors, furniture. The battle raged for quite a while. Both the child and I calmed down. We sat there in companionable silence listening to the mayhem, curses, and racquet whacks. Occasionally, we startled at a particularly forceful whack.

Finally, there was silence. I heard The Ex go down the stairs. I heard him come up the stairs. I heard some scraping. “It’s dead, you can come out now.” And there he was: naked, sweaty, flustered, a little disoriented and holding a dustpan with a dead bat in it.

I’ve learned an appreciation of bats since then and feel bad that this one ended up dead. While working at the university, I often shared my office with a lost bat. The maintenance crew would come and shoo it out and I would go back to working alone. I’ve come a long way. I’m glad there’s not a bat in my house, but I really loathe mice. Those suckers are going to die and I will show no remorse.

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Filed under September 2014