Fingernails and the fridge fiasco

As I was scooping my sweet toddler out of his crib after a nap the other day, I saw him pulling at a thin piece of fingernail that was dangling from the tip of his finger. Being that I am kind-hearted and all, I wanted to help him avoid a painful hangnail by picking at it. So I popped his finger into my mouth to bite off the irksome dangly fingernail…Only it wasn’t a fingernail at all. Yup! You guessed it. It was actually a booger. Have I ever mentioned how much I loveeee being a mom?!

So after I finished enjoying my booger snack, I got on the phone with Lowe’s for the 13th time this week regarding the new refrigerator I purchased. It seems that our old fridge “Freezy” decided she could no longer keep up with the amount of ice that our family demands in order to keep the frozen drinks frosty around the clock. And after a few months of buying a bag of ice on a near-daily basis, I did the math and figured out that in the long run it would end up being cheaper to spring for a new fridge. (Here you may wonder why we didn’t just buy a few ice trays and do it old-school style? I kid you not when I say that the thought never crossed my mind until my mom suggested it. Of course this was after we had already bought the new fridge.) So a week ago, we started shopping for a new fridge.

It seems I have been very naïve for the last 33 years or so. See, I stupidly assumed that a fridge is a fridge is a fridge, right? Wrong. All I wanted was a white side-by-side ice box. And one of Cruggers friends works at Lowe’s and said he had just the right fridge for us. And because of a few scratches on the side, it was marked down 1/2 price. Sold! I got the model number, did a bit of research, and then placed the order over the telephone, sight unseen. Our new beauty was to be delivered the next day.

I should have known she was trouble from the moment she came in the door. The delivery guy actually had to remove the door from the hinges to get her through. And I thought I was getting a Frigidare but what I really got was a headache. The fridge that was delivered was a Samsung. Do they even make kitchen appliances? Does it have a television built into the side or something? I don’t know. But what I do know is that we plugged in our new fridge, waited the requisite 24 hours, and opened the door with our hats and muffs on, just waiting for the arctic blast that was sure to erupt from within. But it didn’t…At all. This Samsung was filled to the top with nothing but hot air. She earned the nickname “Scam-sung” on the spot.

When I called Lowe’s, the reaction I got was basically this: It was marked down 1/2 price, what did you expect? Hmmm…Well, for almost $600 I expected a bit more than a huge empty hot box to sit in the corner of my kitchen displaying the mediocre artwork of small children. Several days later they sent a guy out to fix it. Crug laughed at me when I got a bit scared by the man who did work involving flames and black smoke on the back of the refrigerator. Apparently he was soldering some parts back together? This spooked me. I wouldn’t buy a car with random parts fired together by a man wearing an apron. And I don’t want this in my Scam-sung either! But apron-man did get Scammy running again. And I tried to get past the images in my head of fireballs shooting through the water-dispenser. I swear I did.

The next day I went to clean out ol’ Freezy in the garage.  Although Scammy was a bit larger on the outside than Freezy, she had less storage space on the inside. Kinda like a gastric bypass patient immediately after surgery. I had to throw away about 1/3 of Freezy’s contents (even sacrificing my 6-1/2-year-old wedding cake!) in order to make everything fit into Scammy. Now I was really starting to hate this Scam-sung. As I scrubbed away at Freezy to prepare her for a hot Craigslist ad, I started to realize just how beautiful she still was. Once I cleaned out all the lettuce scraps and moldy dead-vegetable liquid, she was sparkling like new. And I felt like I was breaking up with her because my parents forced me to or something. I just didn’t want to let her go. So I was feeling all bummy and decided to go inside to get a water and reflect on my relationship with sweet Freezy. I sadly brought my cup over to Scammy for a fill of ice, and…what? No ice?!

It seems the sluggish icemaker situation is being caused by some drama going on with the filtered water outlet. Freezy was never to blame in the first place! Giddy does not begin to describe my mood. I was still within my 7 day return period on the Scam-sung so I could kick her to the curb, no questions asked. Best of all, I wouldn’t have to leave my sweetie, after all. Freezy stays. Peace out, Scammy!


Word of the day Wednesday- “vomitory”

According to, vomitory is a noun which can be defined as: an entrance piercing the banks of seats of a theater, amphitheater, or stadium.

“I cannot wait to get through the vomitory. I am just dying to see the new Pauly Shore movie!”

Things that bug me- Part III

Here we go again. And if you never did before, please be sure to check out Thing 1 and Thing 2. And without further adieu:

1. Kids with mohawks. I know that many, many people disagree with me and think that kids with mohawks are bad ass. And I get it. Clearly the parents of these kids are very cool punk rocker types. That’s rad, seriously. But why must they take this out on their innocent children? I mean, I used to be am obsessed with NKOTB. But that doesn’t mean I would put my child through the social stigma associated with having a receding hairline similar to that of Donnie Wahlberg. Can you imagine the stares I might get at Target if I shaved my boy’s head only at the temples? This would likely incur more harsh looks than the ones directed at mom’s who tote their kids around on leashes. But I don’t have a problem with fauxhawks at all. In fact, on a DILF like David Beckham, it is downright hot.

2. A bad signal on a cell phone. I’m guessing this shouldn’t bug me nearly as much as it does, but it really makes me angry. Me: “Hey, Jenny H!” Jenny H: “he…bkhj…hbgughoh… Me: “Wha-aaat? I can’t hear you! Hellloooo! Are you there?!?!” Jenny H: pause…”gvfkfvk. vuogioucfrtsetk!” Me: “I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!! Whaaat?!” All of a sudden my heart is thumping angrily in my chest. God help those around me when I eventually lose my hearing one day. You think I’m cranky now? Just wait. “Whaaa-aaaat?!”

3. The endless varieties of Cream of _____ Soup. Ok, Cream of Mushroom, Cream of Chicken; that’s cool. But Cream of Asparagus? Really? Gross. I went to the grocery store earlier today to buy a couple of cans of Cream of Mushroom soup. Innocent enough, right? Wrong! I had to wade through every Campbell’s version of Cream of Mushroom soup. Low-fat, no-fat, Healthy Request, no-trans fat, no-mushroom, no-flavor, the list goes on. I never could find the plain, regular version I was looking for. Finally I just grabbed the Publix brand and was on my way.

4. Daylight saving time. I don’t get it. I don’t like it. And as much as I love any excuse to put my kids to bed before 7pm, it still bugs me. It is depressing. But what irritates me even more than DST is when people write about it excitedly on Facebook. “OMG, yay! Another hour in my day! Woo-hoo!” Yuck. Or, “I just love this longer day, I could get used to this!” Really? Are you so short-sighted that you can’t understand that you are basically trading this one stupid hour for your entire soul? Seriously. I would happily give up several hours to make this DST nonsense go away forever and let the sunlight last past 5:30pm year-round.

Now please tell me, what bugs you? Unless your answer is “this blog,” I would love to know! Also tell me if you have any suggestions for future blog posts!

Chicken wings, shoelaces and lullabies: Another day in the life

Here are just a few of the things I never thought would happen after becoming a parent.

I never expected that I would have an automatic reaction upon hearing another person sneeze. I mean, certainly if I were feeling particularly polite on a given day, I might mumble a “bless you.” But I certainly have not ever been the person to pronounce a loud and clear “God bless you” for each and every sneeze I stumble into. Especially when the sneezer in question goes on a wild sneezing spree and does the “ah! Ah! AH-Choooo” number like 30 times in a row. You might get a response for the first and second sneeze, but after that you are on your own, buddy. But now, after having kids, I do have an automatic reply to each and every sneeze. I say “chicken wing.” I try to say it either just before or as the sneeze is actually occurring. I learned this lingo from an awesome preschool teacher. It is a prompt intended to get germy children to sneeze into the crook of their arm, AKA their chicken wing.

Never did I ever imagine having a full blown argument with my husband about shoelaces. But we totally did the other day. I am wholeheartedly opposed to shoes with shoelaces for children until they are able to proficiently tie them themselves (or when they turn 14, whichever comes first). Cruggers, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to realize how horrible these laced-up contraptions are. After dealing with a crying 5-year-old who could not squeeze her foot into the precious new shoelace-riddled Nike’s that Dad brought home, this was how our argument went the other morning:

Me: You rat bastard! I will stab you in the throat with a rusty butter knife if you ever bring a pair of shoelaces into this house EVER again!

Crug: Seriously?…You are going to stab me over shoelaces?

Me: Damn right, you #$&#$#^&*()(*&!!!!! I can’t believe you could be such a     ^%$#@#$%^&*!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And that was that. Did I ever mention that I was a Psychology major in college? Oh, yeah. I totally know the “correct” way to argue and I obviously practice the skills that I learned.

Here’s another one I never saw coming. Making up my own lullabies. Well, not the entire lullaby, only the parts I forget. You have probably heard the lullaby entitled, “Hush, Little Baby.” Well if you are anything like me, you don’t know the lyrics past the second line. Here is my version:

Hush, little Baylor, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.

And if that mockingbird don’t sing, Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.

**And here’s where I start making crap up**

And if that diamond ring don’t shine, Mama’s gonna buy you a box of wine.

And if that box of wine ain’t good, Mama’s gonna buy you a block of wood.

And if that block of wood ain’t hard, Mama’s gonna buy you a credit card.

What? That’s not how you sing it, too?

My two new favorite words, muff and DILF

Several years ago, me, Cruggers, and Madeline visited Long Island, New York in December. We were accompanied by Crug’s extended family and best of all, Mommy Glo. This visit coincided with what even seasoned New Yawkers considered to be some really damn cold weather. All of us Floridians would finally get the opportunity to dust off our winter gear. We were eager to wear our cute hats, scarves, and puffy coats. And, oh yeah, our mittens and gloves, too.

Imagine the horror when then-2-year-old Madeline lost one of her precious new mittens! But it wasn’t Madeline who had a hard time getting over it. It was Mommy Glo who really struggled over the loss. She wandered the house day and night looking for the lost mitten. The only thing is, much like she does with me, she refused to refer to the mitten by its proper name. She kept calling it a “muff.” Now I don’t know about you but when I hear the word muff, something very, very different from a mitten comes to mind…hmm, I guess both are warm and cozy on the inside…oh, gross. I’ll stop there.

I still remember MG wandering all over the house like it was yesterday. “The girl lost her muff! Has anyone seen the missing muff? I wonder where she left her muff…” Needless to say, the whole family had many laughs over my girl’s missing muff. And I really started to believe that my child’s grandmother was indeed a pervert. And then earlier today my mom showed me an alphabet quilt she made with some fabric left over from the stone age a really long time ago. Here is the image for the letter “M”:

Maybe MG is not a total perv after all! Or maybe she still is, it’s just that her and The Hurricane are in cahoots with each other in their perversion. I don’t know. But even if they are not perverts, I do have a teenybopper girl cousin (“Horndog”) who definitely is.

So Horndog came to my neighborhood last night for trick or treating with some friends. When they returned to my house, Horndog excitedly announced that she wanted to move in with me. Not because I’m a fun cousin who lets her drive my car or pilfer my alcohol or anything like that. Oh, no. She wanted to move into my house because apparently my neighborhood is filled with “DILF’s.” Having never heard this expression, I was quite amused. (I know, it’s not a word, rather an acronym, release, people.)  And I won’t go into an explanation of what a DILF is. If you know, you know and if you don’t, you probably are better off not knowing. So, having learned some new lingo, I was feeling like a young hipster. I was thinking that I might start throwing this terminology into everyday use. Talking to my neighbor at the park, “Yo, Beck-Beck! Check out the ass on the DILF by the slide! Suh-weet!” Or at preschool pick-up, “Hey Shirley, did you notice Timmy’s dad’s biceps? That DILF must be on his way to the gun show.” I probably wouldn’t say anything so corny in real life, yes I would but learning a new word just gets my giddy sometimes.

And then of course, I had to do a google search on “DILF.” And I discovered this gem from the geniuses over at

And that’s all I have to say about that.