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Archive for September, 2010


Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-29-2010

The Boy will be staying here in London. I myself think that for a youth hostel, it looks pretty good.

But he took one look at those steel bunk beds and said, uhhhhh.

Not quite a Sheraton, I know…


Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-28-2010

Mommy Dearest :

I waved The Baby off for camp this morning.

The Girl :

Did you cry ?

Mommy Dearest :

Yes, I did.


Later in the evening, as the pasta was boiling, little timer on the table, the aroma of olives and anchovies filling the kitchen…

Mommy Dearest :

I waved The Baby off for camp this morning.

The Father:

Did you cry ?

In Search Of…

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-28-2010

Tomorrow,  The Boy is going to jump on his trusty bike ( which, like a Pokeman character, shall some day evolve into a Vespa) and cross the river in search of  Cannoli. ( SpellCheck refuses to help me with this).

He had already told me that he wanted to have Cannoli for his 16th birthday, could I figure out how to make them ? Ask Ms. Jo, he said, she is half Italian. Then he asked me, from where in Italy ? How would I know…

I looked at a few recipes and learned this : in all Mob shows, Mama is never making Cannoli , no, these are picked up at some Italian bakery in a little white box, tied with string. There is a reason for this : Cannoli are really complicated to make.

I tend to believe that there are two kinds of people in this world : pastry people and bread people. I am a bread person. I could live on chomp and chew bread and if I never had another desert in my life, I would not weep one bit.

But my only son wants Cannoli. ( Did you know, as an aside, that I do a wicked good imitation of Olivia from The Sopranos ?)

I found a place across the river which says that they sell them.

And on Saturday, The Boy and I  have to go to The Big City to buy English Pounds for The Boy’s big trip to London ( contact in London : tomorrow I should have the details). There is an Italian Deli there, they might have Cannoli.

If nothing else, London will have someplace which sells Cannoli.

The rather sad thing about all of this is, that, having read the ingredients, I don’t think that The Boy will like Cannoli at all.

Cannoli are right up there with it’s the thought that counts.

And I know him, even if he hates them, he will say that they are manna from heaven.

But, he is my only son…

Wave, Wave !!!

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-28-2010

The Baby took off for three days at school camp this morning. I have spent the last few days washing *the perfect* clothes for camp and trying to hustle up the 5, count them 5, pairs of shoes that she will need for this three day adventure.

I helped load up the truck, which I always do, in the pouring rain. I helped her to make her photo book of Destin, *her dog*, the Pyr, to take with her last night. She always takes a little photo book about Destin with her.

This morning, we packed her lunch up – not much, for she gets car sick. She kept asking me if I would miss her. Of course I will, she is my baby, my gift, my balm of Gilead. I would not watch PopStars for anyone else, nor The Best Invention From The Netherlands.

She asked me, this morning, if I would come and wave everyone off at the school. Sure, I said, but I was a bit surprised, for I embarrass her at school : I am older than most mothers and speak English. I know and accept this as a fact of life.

But I went, to wave all of the happy campers off.

Both sides of the street were lined with all of the children ( who were not going to camp) from the school. And as every car, taking the happy campers went toot-tooting by, everyone waved furiously.

I did as well. Even a bus going by toot tooted for them. The Bus driver was rather funny in fact, as he stopped at the stop right in front of the school, lined with people and children : Uh, he said, do you all need a ride ?

Baby was in a black Range Rover, of all things. I waved and waved at her. She did not react, she is now too cool for that, but I know that she saw me there. That is what counts.

I waved at all of the tooting cars, filled with small children furiously waving back, looking like they were going to pee their pants any moment from the excitement of it all.

And when the cavalcade was almost done, over, I felt my eyes begin to burn, tears welling up.

I really have no idea why, but this happens every time that I wave them off, the little happy campers.

Minutiae Of Motherhood

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-24-2010

I should really know better by know, I really should, after 15 years, but I simply walk into it every time. The Boy asked me yesterday if he could borrow 900 and some Euro.

Step One, I go, oh, whatever for ?

He wants to go to North Korea. Could I possibly make this up ?

My response : no, and you do not like rice.

Step Two, oh, why do you want to go to North Korea ? Why do I ask these questions ? He wants to see the last bastion of communism. He would get a *guide*, he told me. He is Dutch, a rather neutral thing to be, but still.. you are not going to North Korea. You are my beautiful, 15 year old only son, no way, Jose.

First you have to go to London, we have great connections, we have to find you places to eat. We have to buy pounds. Where are you staying ?

This child never changes. He remains an interesting challenge.

Did I mention that he listens to Frank Sinatra All.Of.The.Time ?

Mr. Famous Artist

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-22-2010

I swore to myself that if I ever saw Mr. Famous Artist once more in town that I would cross the street. No one would ever believe me, I know this. He is a filthy old man.

I saw him today. I crossed the street, I did not think that he would recognize me, different jacket and all, but he did. He stared at me. I did not want to, but I glanced back twice, and he was still staring at me.

What can you do with this ? Not much.


Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-14-2010

We have reached a rather..uh..interesting…turn here in Casa Kitchen, for all of the females who dwell here are about the same size. As an aside, The Father always wonders about the amount of toilet paper that we go through. Easy answer, well, women cannot drip- dry.

So, we have three women here, ranging from 10 to 52. ( OK, she is almost 11 and I am almost 53).  About- at the most- 4 inches separate us and tops 10 pounds. Although I think that it is closer to five, either way.

As The Laundress, this makes life a bit complicated, as well as the fact that everyone is snitching everyone else’s clothing. We had a big hoo-hah here yesterday because The Girl *borrowed* The Baby’s new, white shirt, which Baby planned on wearing with her new Jack The Ripper pants.

Don’t ask. But this was a Tsunami level trauma.

And I am using a bling-bling pink and Chrystal mouse right now. I have no idea where my sedate little mouse is, for mice are shuffled around to a ridiculous extant here. I think that The Baby has actually ended up with my mouse.

If anyone dares to mention hormones, I shall simply punch them out.

Rumor Has It…

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-10-2010

To make a special event of  The Father’s last evening here before flying away on 9/11, rumor has it that we shall watch two- count them two- episodes of *The Sopranos* together.

The Boys have agreed that they shall both wear those Italian muscle type T shirts and I am supposed to find a baggy black dress to wear.

Think of it as a Sicilian Halloween.

But I do wonder, why do all of those older women – read : women my age- wear black all of the time ? Are they all widows, like Victoria, in perpetual mourning ? Or is this one of those menopause things, like Tena Lady, that one can no longer wear colors after… The Change ?

Odds And Ends

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-9-2010

- I nearly barfed today. We had take out Chinese today, for I am gearing up for two weeks without The Father and just wanted that whole dinner business for Jack Sprat and his offspring to be off of my mind today ( I wonder if there is an Abacus for food ? Not this, not that, what  is left ?). So I am digging into my giant egg roll and I see a short, coarse black hair. I quietly pull it out and toss it  on the floor. Hey, we have two long haired dogs, I am rather used to hair in food. Then two slices later, I see two, short, coarse black hairs and I lost it : I actually said : there are hairs in my food ! A big no no. Saying it. But, well, enough is enough.

- The Father has been sick, once again, with what is thought to be an ulcer. The general censuses seems to be, these days, that ulcers are caused by a bacterial infection. I feel like a Nazi when I give him his antibiotics- take it. NOW. But as he leaves for India – for 2 weeks- on Saturday- we have to try and resolve this as soon as possible. No, he says, I won’t need an SMS for the last three doses, I will remember them…

-He is flying on 9/11. Enough said. Not really, with that fool wanting to burn books…

_ Opa has a puppy. He was lonely since Oma’s death. A puppy is a good thing for him, for he has to walk it, feed it, he can talk to the dog ( whom I call Junior). But he should have gotten a lab. But, no, he wanted a dog with spirit. And that he has gotten : a Belgian Shepard. I never spell that right. What Opa has forgotten, over the mists of time, is that he never trained their shepards, The Father did. We all think that within the shortest period of time, this dog will be walking all over him. Guilt will not work with a dog. Let us hope for the best and remember who the most likely baby sitter will be for Junior. Here I have to say that I have stood down 200 pound dogs, ready to take that bite and will punch a dog in the nose if they give me any shit. Call the SPCA and then read about the pack mentality. Always go for the nose.

School Days- The Girl

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-9-2010

The Girl seems to have finally found a school that she likes, perhaps even loves. Now, this is new and different.

She is following a three year course in wholesale management. Coming from a long line of wholesalers and producers, this is nothing foreign to her. Hey, she worked for about 5 months at one of * The Family* companies ( sorry, The Boy’s wanna be Italian aura does indeed affect me. We are seriously trying to convince The Father to wear one of those dreadful skinny shouldered T’s as we watch The Sopranos together. The Boy always does…).

Back to The Girl. Oddly enough, she seems to have a mentor to die for, for all of the qualities that she possesses- that past mentors have complained about- are now sterling qualities. She is not loud mouthed and brash, no, she has leadership qualities.

Today, put in a group of four, she took over. She told me that it meant that they could do all of the work, while she sat back. I told her that this was called delegating authority. One of the things that they had to do was take a photo of themselves, to put on a wall somewhere in the school.  She handled this, and for herself, took a picture of her shoes. Simple minded that I am, I asked, oh, what shoes did you have on today ? She told me and then said that she didn’t want a photo of her face plastered over the school. Her mentor said that she was very creative. Ok. Women, shoes, this can work.

She is very enthusiastic. She has obviously expressed this to her mentor. She has already planned out where she will do the three internships required of her, during this three year period, and mentioned this. First with Daddy, then with a him-him married couple ( well, I said, at least they won’t hit on you…) and then in India ( well, you already know The Partner’s son…). She tells me that after only a week, many fellow students are whining and complaining, as well as sucking up to her for various and sundry reasons : one, her connections. Two, her English. And three, well, let us be brash and mouthy : she has already asked a number of young men if they have cataracts, for they are staring at her so.

As I often do, I am reading two books at the moment, one about Rasputin and one about Nina Brink  ( in Dutch ). One does have to wonder who was / is the more controversial of the 2. And I tend to think that The Girl could be a new and better Nina Brink.

I am very proud of her, for after all of these years, she’s seems to have her niche.

( No, we will not finance an apartment if you work for him and him. You can live in a Student House. It is a good experience… )