Don't F%@k With My Kids

In third grade there were two kids who were causing me trouble, Joyce and Bruce. They were really bad little kids. They cheated in class, they threatened other kids, they carried knives, they threatened teachers, they were just plain nasty. Their favorite thing to do was pick on the kids who couldn't really stand up for themselves. That didn't sit well with me. One day I challenged them and told them to stop. They threatened to kill me. I told the teacher, she told the principal, and he called my mom.

As you know by now, my mother is no one to fuck with. Mr. Crabbs (yes Spongebob stole that name from the Joy Elementary School principal in the 70s) knew my mom was a force. A strong wind blew when she entered the building. It could be 85, sunny, and 0 wind and when my mom arrived it would turn -20, cloudy, and gale force winds would announce her presence.

So as my mom entered the building you heard a lot of "Hello Mrs. Frageman." She had no time for fluff or niceties. It was always cut to the chase, make a decision, and move on (hmmm sounds familiar to me somehow). The situation was described and my mom demanded swift action and accountability. Expel those kids and deal with their parents (or lack thereof). As usual the answers from the school were less than satisfactory. They had to go through certain channels, all kids deserve chances and opportunity no matter what they did. That response would not be enough, that I knew for sure. She whisked me away still quite angry. As we made our way to the car, school had already let out. She began to drive home when she spotted two kids walking along the road. She looked at me and said "is that them?" "Yes," I said, "it is." She turned the wheel of the car violently toward them and cut them off from their intended path. I think my head hit the dashboard she stopped so hard. She put the car in park and was out of the door in a fraction of a second. As usual, the wind kicked up, the sky darkened and the forces of evil arrived. She was pissed and she would have justice. She returned shortly to the car and we drove home. Yes, they were still alive when we left.

I have no idea what she said to them and I probably don't want to know (I am sure the statute of limitations is up by now). What I do know is those kids never bothered me again. They never came near me or my friends. They didn't even look at me.

Fried Peas

I am reminded of learning key lessons about cooking as my eldest stands in our kitchen frying chicken while we sit in the living room with the fire extinguisher. Okay that is an exaggeration, she is becoming quite the cook. But it does remind me of some great kitchen moments.

#5 Did you know that you are supposed to pour the liquid and the vegetables from the can into the pan to heat up? If you throw away the "juice" the peas fry in the pan.

#4 If you put too much water in the mix and don't boil it first the jello never solidifies, ever. I don't care what you do to it. Put it at zero Kelvin I dare you. It defies physics.

#3 Do not, I repeat, do not confuse salt and sugar. That will make the nastiest cookies ever.

#2 When your child says "the oven is on fire," go ahead and believe her.

#1 Never, I repeat, never joke when your mom makes cookies so hard they bounce off the floor. If your mom is my mom, she will proceed to send said cookies through the mail to you. The squirrels even rejected the cookies and threw them back at the house. The name of those cookies - Jello cookies. They will live in infamy.

Dad isn't ready yet...

Today we went on our first visit to a potential wedding venue for our eldest daughter. As we looked around it was easy to remember the early days, the sleep-walking, the whining, the pushing of the littlest sister off the couch... It seems like just yesterday she was drawing with colored markers on the walls, on herself, in her middle sister's mouth. I am certain that is all her dad can see now. It's like the commercial where the daughter asks for the keys to the car. The dad sees a little girl asking, the rest of us see a 16 year old. Even at 23 when Michael looks at her he sees his 2 year old with the curly hair.

What is it about daddies and their daughters? Why is that bond like no other? Why do they say "you aren't getting married" and get mad and walk out of the room if you even mention having kids. The tears in the eyes when they say "I started your wedding dress bank account." The tears on the day you are asked for your hand in marriage.

Well this daddy has another 18 months before his eldest daughter moves to the next stage of her life. That still won't be enough time for him to be ready.

Smoking in the bushes

I used to go over to Aunt Thelma's house quite often. Aunt Thelma was quite the busy-body. She would stare out her window and watch the neighbors. She would open the windows sometimes so she could hear them. Sometimes I was there when she did it. She would give me the low down on what was happening with who. And if they looked up at the window, she would say, "get back." We had to hide. It was so exciting for a kid. We were like spies.

The most fascinating guy to me was the old man across the street. He was really little. He was short, bent over, and skinny. He wore glasses. He smoked. He smoked a lot. He smoked behind the bushes. He was always out there in his underwear, one of those tank top undershirts and white boxers. He did wear the standard old man black calf length socks and black shoes. His wife was always yelling at him. One time when she turned her back he flipped her off. Aunt Thelma would say how disgusting he was and then at that moment we would have to hide because he would look toward the window. Um, pot...kettle...hahaha.

She was so funny.

Everyone loves Jello

As Eric was placing the decorated jello on the Easter table today, he said "Aunt Thelma would be proud of this jello." Yes, she would be. It was a multi flavored jello with whipped cream and sprinkles.

Aunt Thelma wasn't a good cook, but she played a great support role with her jello. She had more jello recipes the anyone I know or will ever know. Most turned out pretty well and always had something uniquely stylish about them whether it be the jello itself or the dish it was contained within. Every once in a while the jello would be, well, different.

Once an olive showed up in the jello. There was another time all the fruit in the jello sank to the bottom. That was more like plain jello with a fruit bottom crust. The piece de resistance however was the time she confused sour cream with whipped cream. That was a memorable jello. For a while after that everyone took a quick finger touch of the topping to test it before eating that great big spoonful. After Uncle Marion died and she attempted to make pickled pigs feet, it turned out more like a jello with a glob of meat in it. It was the effort and love put in it that mattered most.

Every jello mold was made with love. Every jello made evoked a comment from the peanut gallery. Every holiday table contained a special fruity treat. Since she passed, jello still remains on the table even though the kids are no longer small. It isn't the same if Aunt Thelma isn't there with us. There's always room for jello.

Shouldn't you get wet in the shower?

As I dug through the 12 inches deep layer of shoes in my closet, I realized several things. One - I had a lot of shoes. Two - I had a lot of old shoes that are now with Goodwill, some never worn. And three, I never even came close to having this kind of stuff when I was a kid.

I wore the same set of clothes as much as possible when I was a kid. I had my favorite outfits and as soon as they went through the wash they were on again. There was this soft green sweater and bell bottom green pants and this patchwork multi-color sweater with a pair of jeans that had been sewn up more than Frankenstein. I had like two pairs of shoes - sneakers and sneakers. I had very limited attire, except for the hand-me-downs from my aunt. I had quite a bit of old person clothes. Those Frankenstein jeans are actually the pants I wore to play softball. Yep, didn't wear shorts. I know I must have looked crazy, but I LOVED those jeans. Many a time I got the "I am throwing these away if I have to sew them one more time" speech.

The other thing I am reminded of is how much Febreze would have helped me out. There were times when I was in a hurry and would turn on the shower and never get in or times when I would get in but miraculously run around and never be touched by the water. I don't even think I used deodorant, I bet I smelled. Good thing I figured out not too long after that, that I should indeed take a shower quite often and use deodorant. I think though it wasn't entirely my idea. I am pretty sure when Mr. Karstens (who had a pinkie that bent straight sideways) told me that if I came to class smelling bad and not washing my gym outfit that he would say it in front of the whole class, it had a positive impact. Embarrassment is not fun at all. I thank him for setting a young smelly kid straight.

I am happy to have several sets of clothes and shoes. I am glad my kids don't smell and that they have always come out of the shower wet (well one of them may have gone awry for a bit). And I am glad that I will be spending Easter with my crazy family. No matter what I think or say about my past, every day is an opportunity to make things right and better.

I like Green Eggs and Ham

Coloring Easter Eggs, a yearly activity. This year will probably be year 40 or close to that I have been involved. When I was a kid there was nothing better than getting ready for Easter egg hunts. Each year devising a better strategy to yield you more eggs. One year running to the end and then picking up all the booty while all the other kids were at the front. Sneaking into the hunt area and spotting where the really good stuff was hidden. Have you ever wondered if all that dye that soaked through the shell of the egg would kill you? Well it hasn't yet. And I always wondered why the eggs would be in the frig to be kept fresh but after coloring them they would sit for at least a week on the table in a basket before everyone ate them. Maybe that's why we don't get sick now...so much salmonella as a kid we are immune now.

Remember when you learned you could write with a crayon on the egg before coloring it and the writing would stay? That was so cool until "shit" showed up on an egg. Then the crayons mysteriously disappeared. Remember that first time you realized the eggs were hard boiled, you know, when you tried to color a raw one and smashed it all over...and licked your finger before your mom screamed at you that could kill you. Okay that line made me a little sick to think about.

Eggs tasted best at Easter. I have no idea why. With salt, without, it didn't matter. And then, there would be egg salad for sandwiches. I think that is the only time of year I didn't eat beefaroni.

I used to enjoy eating the green eggs. The egg would be colored inside and then I would remember Dr. Seuss' great story. This year our kids are all in theirs 20s and we will again have an egg hunt. I think I will put a letter on each egg and make the girls find enough to spell their names. Yep, I think that sounds like fun.