Date Night – TBT!

Here’s a little Throw Back Thursday from February of last year. As the Day O Love approaches, I am already hunting down the tippy plastic cups… it’s a great tradition.

Formal dress required. Even on the cats.

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Date Night


Last Saturday night romance was in the air. It was intense, y’all. It was like we were on the Titanic and I was all Queen of the World, and then I got to make out with Leonardo DiCaprio, not long before I disallowed him room on my totally huge raft in the freezing North Atlantic. Very romantic. And yet, our evening was warmer.

Also, I would never make out with Leo. Nope. I am married, y’all. My husband completes me.

Of course, Leo didn’t grace us with our presence, but we had this blurry pic of another dinner guest:


There were roses. There were chocolates. Earlier that day, the husband let me take a nap, which is the universal, married I Hope I Get Lucky Valentine. But that is another post for another day.

There were also two small boys who had reservations with us for a night of fine dining. I  informed them that they had to come to dinner in ties. And they reacted as if I had asked them to lop off both arms, and then try to attach their ties.

They were informed, in a heavy French accent (I had to take on an accent. It freaks them out and I get to pretend I’m Catherine Deneuve.) “No tie? No food. Zees is Chez Momsie. Dress code, mes bebes.” They sighed heavily, with American accents, clipped their ties onto their Star Wars t-shirts, and showed up at 6:30 pm on the dot. Right on time.

We had a very swanky affair at our house on Valentines Day, and a tradition was born. I printed out menus (thank you, bad clip art!) Macaroni and cheese was offered as an appetizer. I poured the sparkling cider into tiny tippy glasses and no one spilled anything.


It was a Valentines miracle.

We ate strawberries and whip cream, the really fancy kind that you squirt out of a can. I offered table-side service for this, as I offered a shot of the stuff in the mouth to each patron. This was a real showstopper.

And we talked about why we loved each other.

“I love Blonde because he shows me how to play Legos,” says Red. He’s grinning like a maniac. This is all mushy and stuff, which is kind of right up his alley. His smile nearly lifts him out of the chair. He lifts his fizzy little glass with panache. “AND I LOVE THIS FANCY DRINK!” he yells. Evidently he thinks we are all in the other room when he speaks, because the bubbles in the drink had evidently made him quite giddy.

Blonde, the wisened 7 year old, has a bit of a tougher time with the mushy business. He is, in all walks of life, less forthcoming with the mush.

“I love Red because…” We all lean in a little.

“Because he is my brother.”

And there it is. The greatest law there is. We love because we are family. We love because we simply have no choice. We are for each other.

My boys are growing older and finding their own friends, their own ways they want to spend an afternoon. They are, however, still pretty inseparable. And what I have told them, almost weekly, is that they, as brothers, must have each other’s backs. They are the ones going to be left when the friends leave, when the family goes, when we get dementia and go into the home, your brother will be the only one left.

(I didn’t really go into the last part with them as I didn’t really want to stop and have to explain ‘dementia’ because depressing. Also, the one other time I sprang this word on them they kept thinking that I was saying, ‘Philadelphia.” Confusing.)

(As a side note to the side note: This whole dementia thing? Really possible because we had kids late in life and when they graduate from high school I’ll be using a walker and won’t be able to see or hear the thing because I will be OLD, y’all. I WAS AROUND BEFORE EMAIL. That old.)

But I digress.

We spent the rest of the evening looking up the bible verses that the husband had put on their Star Wars Valentines. The husband is super spiritual that way. I just shot whip cream at ’em. But he wins in the Jesus department.


And then we all tried to massacre each other with a really cut throat game of Go Fish.

And that, my friends, is what I call the most romantic evening I have had in a long time.

I am wondering if it competes with Leo’s?



The Lego Underpants, or Star Wars?

Linking up with my Beloved Five Minute Friday today!

The theme?

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This morning I had to face a rather major decision:

Do I change out my husband’s underwear drawer with my five year old’s Lego undies, or shall we go with a slightly more refined Star Wars option?

You know, when it’s around 5 am, it’s decisions like these that really can break you.

If you are wondering if we kind of do things rather loosey goosey around here when it comes to undergarments, let me remind you that today is One of the Best Holidays in the History of Mankind Like Ever!

April Fools.

And no, I am not trying to be super clever. I gave that up for Lent, and then, for some reason it just stuck. Anyhow, it is not an April Fools that I feel this day is one of the grandest celebrations on our calendar. I am a HUGE fan of this day. HUGE.

Let’s do a quick review of past Momsie Fooled You  moments, shall we?

  1. Two years ago I emailed my dad and told him that Brian and I were “expecting.” This one, for some reason, got everyone really riled up at his office (my brother in law works there. My sister immediately texted me after the email because that’s how it works. You drop the bomb, your phone explodes.) Again, I thought I was being clever. They were freaked out more on the “holy cow you are so old and I gotta go sit down” scale of things. Thus, IT WAS AWESOME.
  2. Last year, I called my husband and told him, as I had both boys start meowing in the background, that we “had” to adopt some kittens. By “some” I think I used the number four. As I started telling him what we had already named all these poor widdle kitties, the panic in his voice was, again, TOTALLY AWESOME.
  3. I tried to tell my friends that my book had been picked up by a agency in Hollywood and so… BOTTLED, THE MOVIE was coming! And a sequel might be in the works! BOTTLED, SHE STILL DOESN’T DRINK. Wooo hoooo! They were all over it until I pushed it too far. I told them Sandra Bullock was gonna play me.  But still, for that one moment, BOTTLED THE MOVIE WAS AWESOME!

So, this morning, as I was trying to stuff my husband’s underwear drawer with impossibly tiny whities, I sniggered in evil glee. This is the most glorious thing, this April Fools stuff.

I also might have poured cat chow in the boys’ cereal bowls for them. I know. This is perhaps going over the line into “crass” territory with all the Fooling. Momsie was never one to shy away, though, with going right UP to the line of crass. I reserve the right to get dangerously close to crass every once in a while. I have two boys. And, also, may I just say that while they were sitting there, all disheveled from sleep, their hair poking up all over the place, watching their squinched  up little faces as the cat chow clattered into their bowls? IT WAS AGAIN TOTALLY AWESOME.

Ok, so here’s the lesson behind the awesome (I always try to have a lesson. I may be almost crass but I’m all about the lesson):

It’s a decision, these little traditions. These are markers your kids will hang on to throughout the days, the months. They won’t ever forget them. It’s these little moments of wacky that keep my house running on good energy, and I love them. It’s a decision that every year we decorate our kids doorway and bed with so many streamers and balloons on the morning of his birthday, so much so that Steve the Cat gets decorated too. It’s a decision that we  make a huge deal out of the First Day Of School. And the Last Day. We pay attention to these events with goofy and joyous ceremony. So much of life is doldrum. And a lot of our days, especially for my littles, seems to pass by at the speed of life. We need markers, little pinpointed moments that stop us, if only long enough for a good laugh.

And also, I leave you with this:  The husband always leaves for work long before out household is out of bed. And I have heard nothing, NOTHING back from the husband on the underwear switcharoo. This really makes me stop and wonder with shock and awe:

Did he just not notice? 


Tuesday Takeout and Sisterly Competition

Exhibit A:


My parents. They always look like this in pictures.

Remind you of anything?

Sorta like this:


My parents are awesome.  My dad:  the essence of wit and humor and one-liners.  Very wise.  My mom: patient (she would argue) and very kind (she would argue this, too, I bet) and not at all argumentative.  Also very wise.

I scored in the parenting department, friends.

Unfortunately, my sister ALSO scored as well (because, you know, we’re SISTERS) and so she is just really good at letting them know this.  Better than me.

I give you,

Exhibit B:


Holy Martha Stewart, I give UP.

I mean seriously, LOOK AT IT:IMG_0211

My folks had their fiftieth anniversary not long past, and she made them that cake.  The one above– See it?

(And might I just add:  50 years.  50 YEARS.  What lunacy is this?  People actually STAY married for 50 years? Miracles do happen.  🙂 )

And… I give you,

Exhibit C:


Sigh. I’ll just sit over here in the corner…

Yep.  That was my contribution.

Ok, I KNOW I should be all happy because my sister is so awesome and has Martha skills up the wazoo and all that, but shoot fire.

My pie is looking all wimpy.

My sweet husband would say, “Dear,  this isn’t about you and your (wimpy) pie.  It’s about family and celebration and being together…” blah blah blah.  I kinda tuned him out after “this.”

Lookit, ever since I can remember, I have been the one at Thanksgiving that gets asked to bring the salad.

I hate to point out the obvious here, but nobody ever EATS SALAD AT THANKSGIVING ANYHOW!!

It is Sympathy Salad.

And I have Cake Envy.

So there.

I need help, I know.  In lieu of that, I am going to post this –

Exhibit D:

Momsie’s Top Secret Recipe for Sour Cream and Raisin Pie That Sounds Kinda Gross But Is Actually Really Good


Every good recipe comes with lots of coffee stains and illegible scribbles.

Before assembling the pie:

Soak in warm water an hour or so – 1 cup raisins.  Drain well.

Bake off a pie shell and cool

In bowl, blend together:

3/4 cup white sugar

2  tablespoon cornstarch (sift briefly through a strainer)

1/4 teaspoon salt


1 6 ounce container sour cream (If you use low-fat you will rue the day. Don’t. Even.)

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg (I add a bit more…)

3 tablespoons lemon juice

2 well-beaten eggs

Blend well and add raisins.

Pour in saucepan and cook on low until thick. (if you run your finger through the dipped spoon and a line “stays” – it’s thick enough!)

Make sure to stir constantly!   Pour hot filling in pie shell.

Top with meringue and brown in 350 degree oven for about 10 minutes – watch carefully!

You can also cheat by using whipped cream, but this pie really deserves a good fluffy meringue.  At least that’s what my dad prefers.  AND NOTHING IS TOO GOOD FOR MY DAD.



Of course this post had to include a cat sticking out its tongue.

And… I leave you with this little gem.  My sis and I grew up with this.  I long for the day when I can actually use a feathered fan with such skills.  For some reason, my life right now doesn’t call for feathered fans…  It’s a crying shame.

This post was sponsored by the American Psychiatric Association and the DSM.  See:  Neurotic Behavior