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Archive for the ‘India/ China’ Category

Protected: Vebego

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jun-10-2018

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At Last…

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jul-26-2010

In February, 2007, the land for our new plant in India was blessed.

Today, we finally received the last stamp and production can start next week.

After waiting so very long to go through so much red tape, it is hard to believe that the waiting is finally over.

Next week…

March 19, 2010

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Feb-25-2010

On March 19th, The Boy is going to Paris.

Now, in the business mobile, this is about a 5 hour drive from Casa Kitchen. But he won’t be taking the business mobile, in fact, there is a very good chance that The Father will be in India March 19th.

One never knows.

And one day, I shall cross that river and be in Ohio.

I am really digressing.

So I’m making up The Boy’s bed yesterday and I see these papers, due today, about a school trip to Paris. I was not trying to be a snoop, but he does tend to forget giving *important* papers to me, to us.

I have filled out the papers and read them 3 times. He has to be at school at about 3 in the morning, to catch the bus to Paris. He needs comfy shoes, a backpack and 2 lunches. Only one can of *energy drink* is allowed. He will return about 24 hours later, at 3 or 4 in the morning.

Lord, he is going to have to bike to the school and back. My skin crawls at the thought of my little boy biking at that hour of the night.

I am already telling him , sleep on the bus. But I know that he won’t.

He has been to Paris before, did the whole Disneyland crap, 5 of us in one hotel room. Saw Napoleon’s tomb ( the only thing that he remembers about that trip). The line was too long at the Eiffel tower, and with a two little girls in buggies, we skipped that.

We had good food and made the French waiters laugh at our attempts to speak French. Hey, we tried, and they appreciated our efforts.

The Boy spent two years flunking French. Once he had a choice, he dumped French and is doing very well with German. But his French is frozen at saying my name is The Boy. In French, of course.

But I have to say that this race to Paris sounds like wicked fun. Exhausting, but fun.

Protected: Money, Money

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jan-5-2010

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Just A Snap

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Oct-9-2009

Dontcha know…


I Would Like To Thank…

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-24-2009

The Father is a nominee for some sortof prize that shall be given out this evening. For ( shoot me) doing work in India which shall help the environment and general population of …India.

Last evening at dinner, after The Girl and I had a * shop until you drop* trip to The Big City ( first one in 2 years, but, jeepers, she is almost 17, how many more chances will we have ? ), he mentioned this. The Girl asked him- very bluntly- when we would see any money from this oh- so- pricey- adventure. I looked down at my plate, which The Father caught on to right away. What can I say ? We have put everything into this venture, all that we own, any semblance of family life, we own this great big old building far, far away and for the last two years we have been broke, broke, broke. I print up the pictures, maybe I shall put them up. Soon. Most likely, I shall not. One of the *things* used for getting rid of *nasty stuff* looks just like one would imagine an oven at Dachau was. Creepy, no ?

But The Father could not answer The Girl’s question and I no longer ask. I just look into my plate of food. The clothes that one wears, look at them. We all simply look at the price tag, and if the kids are old enough, at the style. With * The Crisis*, more and more clothing which dresses the Western World ( including the very top of the clothing market, should you want names, I can certainly provide them ) comes from Bangladesh. And the conditions of labor there are simply hideous.

Oh, when The Father visited Bangladesh, they hid the children. But, still – and even in India- the conditions that people in the clothing industry work in are simply stomach turning. The chemicals used to process our raiments leaves the hands and feet of these beautifully brown skinned workers with Michael Jackson, pale white skin. And then the contaminated water is simply poured off into the water supply of the same people.

I could go on forever and ever about what goes on there, far far away, to keep us in both cheap and very, very expensive clothing…

But back to the dinner table.

Should The Father win, he has told me that he shall thank me. He put it in such an uber sweet way that I cannot remember it, for uber sweet is not my forte at all. Something like for all the times that he wasn’t here.

One does not have to ask where The Boy gets his flair for perfect romantic gestures from, does one ?

Wish The Father good fortune. Should he win, why, I do suppose that we shall put him up on Wikipedia, even though one must pay for that privilege.

And we are just so broke, broke, broke.

Stomp !

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-16-2009

I have stopped whining , hit my enough is enough point. With the last Advil, I passed along the info that it was time to *come clean* with The Company, admit the illness. After 3 weeks, Casa Kitchen here could use some help.

Point out, amen.

I do not, in the end, do Mary Martyr very well. Simply too pissy, deep down in my soul for sainthood.

At times, bluntness does work.

The Rodent

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-2-2009

At 5.30am this morning, The Father left for warmer climes. At this point, your guess is as good as mine as to when he will return. Most likely in about 3 weeks.

Initially, Opa was supposed to take The Father to the airport. But having just returned from a vacation on the Dutch coast, Opa was simply too exhausted to get up at that heathen hour and so one of The Father’s brothers took him to that silver bird which is, at this very moment, whisking him far, far away.

Now, the brother who picked him up just returned from a three week vacation in Spain. And while he was far, far away, we baby-sat the family pet, a hamster.

This has been a very educational experience. I mean, are hamsters not just too cute for words ? Those limpid brown eyes, the tiny pink feet ? Of course, The Father has a rodent phobia, and so hamster- sitting has been a very fine reminder of why we have dogs or cats, you know, *real* pets. Not some beast who sits in a small cage , cute as a button, and one knows that it likes you when they do not draw blood when they bite you.

I am supposing that The Rodent is a female ( the first day, we gave The Rodent a very cute name, Hammond, after that guy in *Top Gear*. The Rodent came with some uber cutsie name, but after one day, these names simply dropped away and it became The Rodent). I am also supposing that The Rodent is a female. While I am not an expert, I have been to a pet store or two in my day and know one thing about male rodents : they have simply enormous balls. I know, they simply have very large testicles. In your face, can’t miss them.

I am quite sure that some Grad student must have done a dissertation about the testicle/ body mass ratio of a rodent. Perhaps even a doctoral dissertation, one never know, does one ? I rather suppose that , if applied to the human body mass, Ken would be strutting about with two soccer balls stamped upon his virginal groin. And then, while I cringe to even mention it, one thought does follow another leading to the question of how long a rodent’s…. no, I shall not say it.

I shall not say it simply because I haven’t a clue as to what the plural of *penis* is . Is it one of those words like hippopotamus or octopus ? You know, * peni* ? Never came across the plural in any books that I have read, have you ? And do tell…

And so I have decided that The Rodent is a female. Every day, I give her a wafer of lettuce or of carrot. I know that she likes me. When she sees The Boy, she hisses like a stinkin’ cobra. When she sees me, she simply bites me. Not enough to draw blood, simply a * love* bite.

A fine family pet indeed.

Day Dreams

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-27-2009

I have always felt that a very important factor to having a happy life is to have a good stock of day dreams. Oh, not any old day dreams, but ones which have a good chance of actually coming true. Not 100 %, for that takes the gambling factor away, but at least 70- 30.

I have no day dreams right now, nothing that I think will have a decent chance of coming true. First time for everyone, I suppose. My day dreams sit upon a boat, going from Turkey to India, and yet, and yet, I do not even believe in India any longer. Two years is a very long time without milk money, even though The Father is seen as a pioneer. A Big Wig ( Whig ? ).

I dream of nothing.

What an odd place to be.


Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jun-19-2008

The Father floated back home again today at about 2- a few hours before I expected him, days later then planned.

Mr.Jo is fixing the wood rot, The Boy’s bike is repaired, the horse is not going to die ( wonder where The Girl gets her rather melodramatic flair ? ), the gift for The Baby’s boyfriend’s birthday party arrived just in the nick of time, the bus strike is over and despite having to do a last moment triage yesterday of important things to do ( which saw the trip to the big grocery store fly out of the window), we have enough toilet paper to last for a day or two more.

After two weeks in India, we had a very Dutch dinner this evening and shall all loll about, eating sausage rolls of various sorts ( who really needs toilet paper ? One can fake that, but not a tasty family snack on the first night home) as we watch football.

Here at Casa Kitchen we shall be rooting for Portugal.

Yes, the long, long days of being a single mother ( without a car) are over.

Thank God it is Thursday.