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Archive for the ‘Shop Till You Drop’ Category

Mr. Boy

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Oct-3-2010

Yesterday, The Boy and I took the bus to The Big City. After about 25 years, they changed the bus number, but being a clever Mummy Dearest, I wrote the pertinent information on my hand.

Worked for me.

Our major objective was procuring English Pounds for his three day whizz  through London come this Wednesday.  Done, and it did not rain. Bright side of life and all.

We stopped at the Italian Deli and, well, they have some sortof  ricotta but  no cannoli.  The market did not have any good looking ricotta either. One problem at a time and, after all, what does he know ?

As we  waited for the bus to the Big City, I saw a woman that I have always said hello to, over many years. I whispered to The Boy that she was…intellectually challenged.  He did not believe me. We chatted with her and agreed that her conversation was about along the lines of any elderly person from Oma and Opa’s home town. But I know that she is..slower then the average bear. She has a job, a little white van picks her up every morning and brings her home once again. The little white van is a major clue as to her mental status.

As I told The Boy  one thing that I really regret was one time, she could not figure out what was going on in the bus. The Bus driver was giving her a hard time, but I did not want to go up, in my my stranger in a strange land facade and say- in front of her- Bus Driver, she is dimwitted. He gave her quite the tongue lashing. I still feel very bad about that, but, at the time, could not think of an equitable way to solve it.

The Boy and I had a wonderful time.  We had a list of things to buy but ended up with some socks, a PlayStation game and some clothes for Baby. Which she does not like. Oh well.

He bought me lunch … a Big Mac. He likes buying me lunch, I have no idea why.

As we came home, on the bus, in THE VERY LAST ROW, bumpity bumping along, he told me that he wanted to become a primary school teacher. This surprised me, for a week or so ago, he gave me other plans. But he would be excellent at this, and there is a great shortage of men teaching in primary schools. And he loves little kids, he loves the feisty boys and knows how to talk to them. Handle them.

And he would get a lot of vacation time, to..for instance…go to North Korea and eat fish heads and rice. Maybe even black dog. Is that North Korea .

A Muscle Shirt

Posted by Mummy Dearest on May-30-2010

I have no idea if this is the correct term for this item of clothing, for, after all, my wardrobe is early Bag Lady. One day, I will get a shopping cart.

The Boy bought this T-Shirt. It is white. It has no sleeves. It has these about 2 inch straps instead. Now I am going to sound very wicked indeed. It looks like something that any Italian Stallion could get away with. Marlon Brando. But they have to be sweating, you get the idea.

The Boy really wants to be Italian. This is not within my power.

Now he suggests that we buy one for The Father. This is actually a fun idea. They can watch The Sopranos together in their.. uh.. matching muscle shirts.

Here is what I am really thinking : I will be seeing more armpit hair then since the last time East Germany had female shot putters.

The New Scale

Posted by Mummy Dearest on May-30-2010

We now have a new scale. The old scale was very old, I am talking 20, 25 years old. But it was becoming a very pleasant scale- we all know how much I adore *pleasant*- When one stepped on that moldy old sucker, why, your weight was perfect.

However, I was indeed trained to observe. My clothing was not saying that I weighed 45 kilos. Nope. My clothing was saying, Mummy Dearest, you are pushing your limits. My limit is 52. Who cares.

Indeed, the old scale was off about 4.5 kilos. Everyone is jumping up and down about their sudden gain in weight.

It is a very nice looking scale. It is black ( read : will not show the dirt), very high tech looking, slim and sleek.

No one in my family has ever been overweight. Perhaps because we have always had a scale.

Or perhaps because I come from a long line of very attractive women ( I am the exception that proves the rule), with racks of pricey duds.

Oh well, the things that are passed on. I am the Bag Lady. I am very pleased that all of the Cherubs are clothes horses.

Babble

Posted by Mummy Dearest on May-22-2010

We simply had to do some things today. Pick up The Boy’s bike from the party last night ( he had a great time), get The Baby some black summer shoes ( yes, she is now at that age), a game for The Boy and dirt for Mummy Dearest. Dirt. Two sorts, in fact. This is not exciting.

As The Boy and I went through this small sortof Mall ( Hey, Boy, go ask that Girl where these shoes are. You are better looking than I am and we will be helped very promptly. I was right.), The Boy suggested that I not speak to Cecil. His take was that whenever I open my mouth, I piss Cecil off.

And I do.

Cecil became very annoyed with me this morning when I started getting annoyed with Murder Bird. I explained this : Murder Bird pulls on this piece of string all.day.long. It reminds me of boys swinging their leg up and down and thumping on tables, like they are drummers. I loathe repetitive noises.

Are we there yet ? Are we there yet ? Are we there yet ?

But mostly, the inhabitants of Casa Kitchen are getting very tired of the fact that I talk to birds, cooking pots, newspapers, myself, all of the time. I am so used to being alone. I am not accustomed to the presence of others.

I am really working on biting my tongue.

The Only Way Is Up

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Nov-25-2009

I had a hearing test done the other day, and today The Father called The Doctor for the results of the test. They were pretty good, no hearing aide needed. There seem to be certain tones that I can no longer hear in my right ear. As I told The Father today, my experience with hearing these days much resembles missing the last word of a sentence in German.

The Father also mentioned that on Saturday, he and The Girl are going to The Big City to do Christmas shopping. Perhaps Marley came to him in a dream, who knows. But that makes me feel much better. Although I doubt that he knows what to get me. Oddly enough, I had mentioned to The Girl that what I wanted were speakers for my computer.
She told me that The Boyfriend had a lot of extra speakers, so that should take care of that. I also told her that I did not want any more perfume, for I still have enough Channel #5 to take a bath in- although that thought makes me quiver in horror.

Today I did what I hope was my last shopping trip to The Big City. The only inhabitants of my wallet at this moment are moths.

But the morning started out a bit unsettling, for while The Boy would be home at about 11 and The Baby at 12.30, we discovered early in the morning that the doorbell was broken. The Baby asked me to leave the back gate open a bit, but I couldn’t do that, for it was very windy today and the garbage truck was coming, which means that the dogs would bark their fool heads off for hours. Not to mention all of the packages that I am expecting. I managed ( me, Ms. Hardware) to fix the doorbell a few moments after she left, but, of course, there was no way for her to know that.

But I raced through The City and was home in time to be at the front door when she came home from school.

Silly me, but I could not bear the thought of her going to the back gate, finding it locked and being frightened.

The Holidays

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Nov-22-2009

We have always done The Dutch Sinterklaas ( on a small scale) and the American version of Christmas on a large scale.

Knowing how all of the good stuff is gone once the days draw closer, I have already bought most of the Christmas gifts. Oh, I am making a lot of things as well, crafty wench that I am, but still, ordered and paid for.

This morning I was informed that we shall not be doing Christmas on a large scale. In fact, only the children will receive gifts.

I am going to try very hard to get back into the holiday spirit.

Really

Madhouse

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Nov-17-2009

Between preparing for Sinterklass and Christmas, I have had to neglect this place for a while. Many of the gifts are hand made ( read : time consuming).

I have even been to The Big City twice for those *must haves* ( the same darn Christmas paper that we have used forever).

And I am not reacting well to the two flu shots that I have had so far.

Oh well, only one more to go.

Oh, woe is me !

Time, Or The Lack Thereof

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Nov-2-2009

This last week, I have , oh, done some things, like 3 birthdays and a visit from The Grandparents ( Dutch- you know, hostess with the mostest)

Next week, another Birthday, and that whole Sinterklass cr*p begins as well as getting the Christmas booty in on time.

For a Change.

And I am trying to update this place ( wow, page 46 of 188 pages are done).

The dogs are pristine now.

After other chores, I attack the garden ( uh, the dump ?).

I am trying my best. Wish me luck !

Minutiae Of Motherhood

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Mar-21-2009

About every 6 weeks, I try to take one of the children to The Big City, you know, a little one on one time. Today was The Boy´s turn, mostly because he is growing so quickly that he only has one pair of jeans that fit him. I do believe that those jeans could walk alone and conquer a small country.

He also told me that he wanted to start using perfume. I told him that men do not use perfume, they use cologne.

Actually, it is called Toilet Water, but in French, and I have had a cursed time this week with French. Attempting to make small talk with our neighbor, who is an artist, I was asking if his new place would have an at, at, at, at, simply could not pronounce the French word for an artist´s studio. I felt like a blubbering idiot. I also cannot pronounce the Dutch adjective for vegetarian.

We spoke with his Fashion adviser, aka The Girl, and she recommended both a new clothing store for him and two brands of cologne that he might like.

Like all teenagers, he slept forever this morning, and so we had a late start. We went to the store The Fashion adviser recommended and he LOVED it. We were the only ones in the store, the music was too funky for words, and the totally cool young men working there were treating him like a visiting Saudi prince.

I insisted that he try on the clothing first, as every manufacturer has different specs. I had to hold the curtain shut for him as he tried on various items. And then one young man gave him fashion advice, try this shirt with the pants and zipper up light weight jacket. No, try it in a smaller size.

The Boy is so pleased with this outfit. He is wearing it now, as he visits Opa in the Hospital.

Then the perfume stores, two outlets of IC Paris. Tell me, why do the French bother with the s. He did not like the Hugo Boss at all. At the larger store, a charming young woman sprayed about 6 different Armani fragrances on small paper wafers for him to sniff and we bought the smallest bottle there.

I had to sniff The Boy about 4 times before he left this evening.

At yet another store, as we were paying, the girl at the register actually asked The Boy if he was The Girls´s brother. While the two girls look like clones, The Boy does not resemble them at all. Big City, small world.

Any trip to The Big City must include lunch at Mickey D´s, and I scarfed down a Big Old Mac in about 3 minutes. We had been walking for over 3 hours and I was simply starving and I do not feel guilty at all.

Next week, The Baby goes to The Big City. She as well is growing like a weed, thank God, and also needs more clothing. While I often say that I am the same height as Napoleon, I do not wish my height, read 5 foot 2, upon anyone.

It was a good and fine day. The Boy and I had a lot of laughs, including one about him being just like The Girl, a shop until you drop person.

And he agreed !

Pater Familias

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jan-14-2008

A few hours after our shop- until- you-drop trip to The Big City, The Girl took off to spend the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday with Oma and Opa.

While a few evenings before she had told me that she wanted to spend every weekend there ( read : escape from the exes), she was less than charmed with the idea when it actually became fact.

Oddly enough, neither The Boy nor The Baby have ever spent the night at Oma’s and Opa’s. Nor do they wish to, having never found a comfy haven there, I haven’t a clue as to why but I suspect it has more to do with them than Oma and Opa.

So, Oma and Opa bring The Girl home at about 6pm on Sunday. Well, actually, it was exactly 6 and our dinner was planned at 6.02.

Which is why I remember the time.

And what follows is something I simply love, love, love. It is simply too kindly meant and so very archaic : Opa said to The Father- in his usual kindly manner- Son,this child knows nothing about our faith. As the Pater Famlias, it is your duty to be sure that she does.

The Father continued staring at the TV.

The Boy, The Girl and I exchanged glances.

Then I said, well Sunday is, after all, football day.

That comment shot off into the ozone, zoomed right over Opa’s head and was lost forever.

I tend to think that this was a good thing.

As The Father continued to stare at the TV, I said, well, The Girl did indeed go to a Catholic school…

As I mentioned awhile ago, in one very whiny post, when The Girl was a baby, we divided up the chores : I got the shitty diapers,the puke, and he would handle the church and the homework.

Oh well, it did indeed sound good at the time.

Every day, I go through the multiplication tables with The Baby.

I am not a good teacher.