Today after school, The Boy took Buddy for a walk up on the dikes which surround town.

While ambling along, he ran into a few of his classmates. One of them threw a firework at Buddy ( you know, Buddy- with- the- bad- heart, takes digitalis twice a day). It landed between 30 and 60cm away from Buddy. It boomed, it shot off flames, it scared the beast to pieces. The Boy- concerned about Buddy- got the dog as far away as he could as quickly as possible.

Today, I did something that I have never done before : I picked up my Bakelite telephone, called the police and put in a complaint. I told the woman that I knew that this was most likely a pointless gesture on my part, but I was just so very angry.

I gave her the boy’s name, the town he lives in, the school he goes to and wish that it had been Elvis : Elvis, weenie ( weanie, weeny) that he is, will bare his teeth when threatened. And both are real big dogs.

To use an over used cliche, what a f**king day today has been.

We are having a terrible wind storm today, top of the charts. The Boy’s window just blew out and we have tried to tape it all together.

Going to get some towels from the laundry room, the door slammed behind me ( you know, the door that hasn’t had a door handle on the inside since The Boy was about six months old). I banged and screamed, locked into the laundry room and- the angel- The Baby heard me and set me free.

It is a dark and stormy night here, at Casa Kitchen.

And I returned from the funeral as a block of ice, 7 hours after leaving our happy home.

Tomorrow, I have to go to a funeral. You see, my sister-in-law’s father has died. The custom in The Father’s family is that when there is a family funeral, each branch must be represented. This being his brother’s wife, of course, one of us must attend.

Guess who is in Turkey right now ?

Guess who won the ticket and shall function as the representative of our branch of the family ?

Do you know, that I actually own onyx jewelry ? Or is it called jet ? In any case, I have a full set of mourning jewelry.

Bucky must have given it to me, some time before I was 15. After all, a lady must have the proper jewelry to wear when in mourning.

I won’t be wearing it tomorrow.

Suppose that I am just not a proper lady.

Back last…uh…Thursday ? from India, The Father took off for Turkey today.

He will be back on Friday.

I think.

And I have been one busy little chicken here.

Too busy.

As per request.

It also goes ring…ring…ring.. .not buzz…buzz…buzz.

As I was cleaning out the gold fish bowl on the third floor, I heard cries from below : Daddy is on the phone !

In my be-socked feet, scrambling down a staircase which resembles a ladder much more than a proper set of stairs, I grabbed the phone. Hi, sweetie I said (I know, barf now).

As a side note, I loathe telephones, hate speaking into them and our phone is a Bakelite one, no push button one and continue.

Have you ever spoken to me on the phone ? Odds against it.

So, I have The Father on the phone, all the way from India. The Girl has decided she shall make dinner and as I am trying to talk to The Father, she brings a bowl full of pancake batter to me, does this look right ?

At the same time, The Baby has some inflatable sword and is thrashing The Girl without end.

The kitchen is reaching a very high noise level, as I- who never really use the phone- am hearing from The Father, after many days.

He wanted happy news. I failed at first and then came through in the end.

When I put the phone back into it’s cradle, I took The Baby’s inflatable sword and ripped a hole in it with my teeth.

I doubt that I shall be a contestant in The Mother Of The Year awards this year.

In fact, perhaps I might win an award for The Stephen King Ghoul award instead.

I was one pissed off Mommy Dearest , I do confess.

It has been one big feest here, at Casa Kitchen. I have packed up almost all of the Christmas sh*t ( much less fun than decking the halls, I assure you) all by my little lonesome. How I am going to get a stinkin’ 9 foot tree through a 7 foot door is something I shall worry about tomorrow at Tara.

The Girl, The Baby and I washed the dogs today. This means that The Girl holds the dog on a leash, The Baby gives me shampoo on command and I do all of the work.

We do the big ninny first ( Elvis) and then Buddy. As we ( I) were washing down Bud, I spotted a tick above his right eye. Oh, doesn’t Mommy Dearest just love, love, love parasites.

So when all of the washing was done, The Girl insisted ( really, insisted) that we ( read : me) remove the tick. I am not good at removing ticks. I have done so in the past and have- each and every time- left the heads within, to fester and mold.

But she did insist, and I obeyed. I rummaged through The Father’s tool chest and got this thing ( lack of language raises it’s head once more), a sort of plyer with a flat edge. And some paper towels.

The Girl – after telling me how well Bud listens to her- finally got the beast to sit and then held his head, as I and my bright orange tool approached his eyeball. This was not one happy dog.

Brushing the short hairs of his eyebrows aside, I went in there and just janked, putting whatever I had yanked out into a crumple of paper napkins.

“Let me see ! Let me see!” squealed The Girl. Which I did.

“Oh, how gross ! Oh! It’s moving !”she screamed.

Well, the little legs were indeed thrashing about, and ignoring The Girl, I looked for the head.

Today, after twenty odd years of failing to remove a tick successfully, victory was mine.

And the tick ?

Let’s flush that toilet twice.

Mommy Dearest loathes parasites, of any sort.

And what did the Blue Fairy give Mommy Dearest for Christmas ?

Here is my favorite gift :

What is it now ? Mommy’s penalty box. Coat on the floor, money in the box. And when it is full, Papa and Mommy Dearest shall go out and have a high old time, laughing all of the way.

Now guess: who has made the first donation ?

Tomorrow, The Father leaves for one hundred years in India.

I would give my left nut for a bottle of Vodka right now.

Well, tomorrow, I would.