Read part one of The Blob Returns in the October issue of Richmond Parents Monthly.
Note: Please excuse the typo in the above article. It was an editorial error.
You have now entered the Frumpy Zone…a place that sometimes echoes the television sitcoms of the past. Richard Lee spent the previous day in the Frumpy Zone and is only too happy to have left and returned to the reality of work. Unfortunately, his wife, Colleen, wakes up to a world that is colored in varying shades of grey. Her usual t-shirt and yoga pants have been replaced by a knee length light grey cocktail dress. Her red hair, now glossy grey, is clipped in a neat pile on top of her head and she’s wearing a very dark grey lipstick. The Frumpy Zone has now been sucked into an eerie replication of an ‘I Love Lucy’ episode.
Ricky spent the previous day cleaning up the mess from the ‘Blob incident.’ He warned Lucy in his sexy broken English not to wash the towels at one time because they had sopped up an entire bottle of laundry soap.
Lucy, the ever dutiful wife replied, “Yes, Ricky.” Unfortunately, Lucy doesn’t want to spend an entire day washing 10 loads of towels, so she decides to cram just half of the towels into the machine. Forty five minutes later, Lucy opens up the front loading machine only to have a mountain of bubbles froth out onto the floor. “WAAAA, Ricky!!!!!!!” she cries, quickly slamming the door of the machine shut. Luckily, Ricky is at work and can’t hear her cries of distress.
Worried that Ricky will be angry that she didn’t listen, Lucy hurries to clean up this disaster before he gets home. First, Lucy gets a bucket and lets the bubbles drain into it then dumps them in the bathtub. Nex,t she starts lugging heavy, wet towels in the bucket to the bathtub. Each soaking towel weighs about twenty pounds – not an easy task in a cocktail dress and pumps. Lucy is sweating, her hair is escaping its ‘up-do’ and the front of her dress is wet. Thirty minutes later, the towels are draining in the tub, and the laundry closet floor is sparkling.
Emerging from her bedroom in a fresh outfit in varying shades of grey, Lucy calls Ethel and tells her about her latest disaster.
Sometimes, even the worst disasters can provide entertainment. Colleen has spent an unusual day that could have been an old “I Love Lucy” episode…a day that one can only have in the Frumpy Zone.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
My First Pink Tool Kit
My First ‘Pink Tool Kit’ Project
My pink tool kit finally came in and I have to say it is sooooo cute! It has everything a novice project creator could want – even a cordless screwdriver. My first project would be to install (such a professional constructive sounding word) 6 plant hangers on the front porch. I only have to measure and screw in two screws apiece. A piece of cake for my adorable pink tool kit. R-I-G-H-T….This is the Frumpy Zone. Nothing is that easy.
It was a dark and stormy night… (Hey, it works for Snoopy.)
Of course it was a little muggy but the sun was hiding behind the clouds and the kids loved watching the storm from the porch. I laid out all of my supplies and got to work. Now I must say one thing before I get started. I am not a meticulous person when it comes to projects. I hate reading directions and I like to do my own thing. When I cook, my recipes never come out the same way twice. I tell you this so you know how dedicated I was when I measured exactly where the first screw would go so each plant hanger would be uniform.
Next, I hammered the screw in place with my pink hammer – too cute. Then I added a Phillips tip to my new pink electric screwdriver. (Of course my daughter had to pry the tips out of my pink tool box because they were stuck and I couldn’t remove them.) Funny thing, my really cute pink handled electric screwdriver wasn’t strong enough to even scratch the wood.
So I tried a Standard tip… no luck….O.K. so maybe pink has sissified my tools… So I dug my old tool kit from the top of the fridge – of course I almost got hit in the head with a grill lighter which clattered to the floor while I was lifting the overflowing tool bag.
I rummaged around until I found a red and black screwdriver with removable tips. After adding a Standard tip, I screwed in my first screw. Not bad, until I got to the end and only had about ¼ inch to go and the screw wouldn’t budge. So I decided to start on the last screw. After much struggling, I finally got both screws in. I was sweaty and tired but filled with a sense of accomplishment. This is so much more rewarding than doing dishes. I know that when this job is done, it will stay done. Unlike dishes, no matter how many times I wash them, there will always be more.
On to the second plant hanger...
The storm slowed down to a drizzle and I was ready for hanger number two. For some reason, the wood on this hanger seemed harder. I couldn’t get the screws to turn. I kept alternately hammering them and then trying to screw them in. My screwdriver kept slipping, leaving little slash marks in the paint. My sore arms were quivering like a bowl of Jell-O. I was hot, sweaty and starting to curse. The bleepin’ screws wouldn’t go in no matter how hard I tried. If I hadn’t already completed one, I would suspect that I was dealing with cement. After quite a bit more sweating and upper arm quivering, I finally finished hanger #2. Total time to screw in four screws: one hour and ten minutes.
Of course after that, I figured I would do the rest later.
When my husband came home from work, I proudly showed him my two installed plant hangers. He wasted no time telling me that it should only take about 10 minutes to screw four screws – with the proper MAN tools of course!
He’s lucky I didn’t hit him over the head with my pink hammer!
The next day, my husband showed me how to use his ‘heavy duty MAN electrical drill/screwdriver combo thingy.’ He even let me try it on one of the screws. It seemed that my husband was running into the same issue: cement-wood. So I gratefully played “Vanna” and handed him all the supplies while he installed the remaining four plant hangers. Total time: one hour
My pink tool kit finally came in and I have to say it is sooooo cute! It has everything a novice project creator could want – even a cordless screwdriver. My first project would be to install (such a professional constructive sounding word) 6 plant hangers on the front porch. I only have to measure and screw in two screws apiece. A piece of cake for my adorable pink tool kit. R-I-G-H-T….This is the Frumpy Zone. Nothing is that easy.
It was a dark and stormy night… (Hey, it works for Snoopy.)
Of course it was a little muggy but the sun was hiding behind the clouds and the kids loved watching the storm from the porch. I laid out all of my supplies and got to work. Now I must say one thing before I get started. I am not a meticulous person when it comes to projects. I hate reading directions and I like to do my own thing. When I cook, my recipes never come out the same way twice. I tell you this so you know how dedicated I was when I measured exactly where the first screw would go so each plant hanger would be uniform.
Next, I hammered the screw in place with my pink hammer – too cute. Then I added a Phillips tip to my new pink electric screwdriver. (Of course my daughter had to pry the tips out of my pink tool box because they were stuck and I couldn’t remove them.) Funny thing, my really cute pink handled electric screwdriver wasn’t strong enough to even scratch the wood.
So I tried a Standard tip… no luck….O.K. so maybe pink has sissified my tools… So I dug my old tool kit from the top of the fridge – of course I almost got hit in the head with a grill lighter which clattered to the floor while I was lifting the overflowing tool bag.
I rummaged around until I found a red and black screwdriver with removable tips. After adding a Standard tip, I screwed in my first screw. Not bad, until I got to the end and only had about ¼ inch to go and the screw wouldn’t budge. So I decided to start on the last screw. After much struggling, I finally got both screws in. I was sweaty and tired but filled with a sense of accomplishment. This is so much more rewarding than doing dishes. I know that when this job is done, it will stay done. Unlike dishes, no matter how many times I wash them, there will always be more.
On to the second plant hanger...
The storm slowed down to a drizzle and I was ready for hanger number two. For some reason, the wood on this hanger seemed harder. I couldn’t get the screws to turn. I kept alternately hammering them and then trying to screw them in. My screwdriver kept slipping, leaving little slash marks in the paint. My sore arms were quivering like a bowl of Jell-O. I was hot, sweaty and starting to curse. The bleepin’ screws wouldn’t go in no matter how hard I tried. If I hadn’t already completed one, I would suspect that I was dealing with cement. After quite a bit more sweating and upper arm quivering, I finally finished hanger #2. Total time to screw in four screws: one hour and ten minutes.
Of course after that, I figured I would do the rest later.
When my husband came home from work, I proudly showed him my two installed plant hangers. He wasted no time telling me that it should only take about 10 minutes to screw four screws – with the proper MAN tools of course!
He’s lucky I didn’t hit him over the head with my pink hammer!
The next day, my husband showed me how to use his ‘heavy duty MAN electrical drill/screwdriver combo thingy.’ He even let me try it on one of the screws. It seemed that my husband was running into the same issue: cement-wood. So I gratefully played “Vanna” and handed him all the supplies while he installed the remaining four plant hangers. Total time: one hour
Friday, December 12, 2008
Labels
Labels
I find it annoying that society, the media, the all elusive 'THEY' have to label mothers. You have the Stay@Home Mom, the Working Mom, Super Mom, Soccer Mom, and now the Blogger Moms. Can you see them lined up like Barbie dolls with all their little matching outfits?
Check out Super Mom Barbie. She has the 'Farrah Fawcett cut' and even comes with a little red cape that can turn into an apron or a silk nightie depending on the situation.(Frying pan and bacon not included.)
Working Mom Barbie is all dressed up with her leather pumps, and matching briefcase, her hair cut in a slick bob. (She has a spit-up stain on her suit jacket.)
Blogger Mom Barbie comes with a laptop and her own Starbucks travel mug.
Soccer Mom Barbie has a designer sweat suit and a cooler filled with snacks, a first aid kit, and Gatorade. (Soccer ball decal included.)
Stay@Home Mom Barbie has her hair pulled back in a pony tail, is sporting Ken's t-shirt, and a pair of faded jeans. None of the other Barbie Moms will talk to her.
Then I went to work full time and WOW, there's the guilt again, except this time it's guilt because I'm not home for everything and guilt because it actually felt good to be away from the chaos for a little while. Despite our circumstances, we are all mothers and have made choices that work for our own independent situations. We need to stick together but for some reason, the media, (made up mostly of men) wants to keep us divided. Why?
Because together and united we have power! God forbid a bunch of mothers actually realize how powerful they truly are. The term Mommy Wars is the most idiotic word I have ever heard. Come on! We all have something in common....we love our kids! We need to stand together and refuse to be labeled. We are more complex than that! (Can you hear the Battle Hymn of the Republic playing softly in the background?) So don't let THEM label us. We are so much more than that.
I find it annoying that society, the media, the all elusive 'THEY' have to label mothers. You have the Stay@Home Mom, the Working Mom, Super Mom, Soccer Mom, and now the Blogger Moms. Can you see them lined up like Barbie dolls with all their little matching outfits?
Check out Super Mom Barbie. She has the 'Farrah Fawcett cut' and even comes with a little red cape that can turn into an apron or a silk nightie depending on the situation.(Frying pan and bacon not included.)
Working Mom Barbie is all dressed up with her leather pumps, and matching briefcase, her hair cut in a slick bob. (She has a spit-up stain on her suit jacket.)
Blogger Mom Barbie comes with a laptop and her own Starbucks travel mug.
Soccer Mom Barbie has a designer sweat suit and a cooler filled with snacks, a first aid kit, and Gatorade. (Soccer ball decal included.)
Stay@Home Mom Barbie has her hair pulled back in a pony tail, is sporting Ken's t-shirt, and a pair of faded jeans. None of the other Barbie Moms will talk to her.
Then I went to work full time and WOW, there's the guilt again, except this time it's guilt because I'm not home for everything and guilt because it actually felt good to be away from the chaos for a little while. Despite our circumstances, we are all mothers and have made choices that work for our own independent situations. We need to stick together but for some reason, the media, (made up mostly of men) wants to keep us divided. Why?
Because together and united we have power! God forbid a bunch of mothers actually realize how powerful they truly are. The term Mommy Wars is the most idiotic word I have ever heard. Come on! We all have something in common....we love our kids! We need to stand together and refuse to be labeled. We are more complex than that! (Can you hear the Battle Hymn of the Republic playing softly in the background?) So don't let THEM label us. We are so much more than that.
FRUMP REBORN
WELCOME TO THE FRUMPY ZONE!
Is this a mommy blog? God, I hope not. For some reason, the term mommy blog makes me shudder, just like the term soccer mom. Sure, I drive a beat up old mini-van and my son just joined soccer last year but in my mind, I AM NOT A SOCCER MOM. (At least I don't have one of those cute soccer ball decals stuck to the back of my van.) So Ok, maybe this is a mommy blog, just don't call it one. I'm still in denial. About what you might ask?
Well, I am denying the fact that even though I am a frumpy housewife with three kids and live in the Frumpy Zone, somewhere deep inside is still the vibrant independent woman that I used to be. She's the one who refuses to be labeled. She's the one who is struggling to keep her identity alive. She's the one who reminds me constantly that even though I am a mother, my life isn't all about serving my family - and – GASP – that’s OK! In fact, when I give her the time she needs, I am actually a better wife and mother. So once again, yea, I'm the Frumpy Housewife with a bloggish domain, but I am not, and never will be a soccer mom with a mommy blog!
So what exactly is the Frumpy Zone? Have you every seen the movie Parenthood with Steve Martin? You know the part where he is watching his son ruin the school play and all of a sudden he’s on this roller coaster and his wife is on it with him laughing and enjoying the ride while Steve is just gritting his teeth and holding on to the bar for dear life…. That’s the Frumpy Zone… a crazy, exhilarating roller coaster ride. A place where mothers can let down their hair and laugh at someone else whose life is just as chaotic as theirs. A place where the bathrooms always need cleaned and your feet stick to the kitchen floor. A place where ALL moms are welcome...even if they are fashionably dressed and a size zero... (are there really any of those out there?)
So welcome to the Frumpy Zone… ease up a bit on the safety bar, laugh and enjoy the ride.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
The Battle of the Smoke Detector Gang
Did you know that October is Fire Prevention Month? I'm sorry to say that the last thing I think of in the Frumpy Zone is fire prevention. Fortunately, my house is filled with high tech Smoke Detectors that are hardwired into my wall, making them eerily intelligent. When the back up battery starts to lose power, the detector automatically lets out a warning beep every 1.5 minutes until someone replaces it. Unfortunately, this always occurs in the middle of the night.
BEEEEP! My dog is the first to notice, thanks to her superhuman hearing ability. BEEEEEP! She jumps on my stomach - and starts shaking - all 38 pounds of her. Then I hear it - BEEP. I wait, there it is again, BEEP. I roll over, nudge my husband and he gets up and handles it.
(That's one of the perks of being married. He kills the bugs, takes care of all vehicle maintenance and gets up when something goes BEEP in the night.)
But last week, my husband was out of town. BEEP, THUMP, OOF, SHAKE! I rolled over and
nudged. 1.5 minutes later...BEEP, SHAKE, SHAKE, WHINE! I rolled over again and OH CRAP! my husband's not there. Well… OK, now what?
I stumbled downstairs to put the dog outside so she wouldn't have a heart attack. While fumbling around in the dark for her leash, she ran away in a fear induced frenzy. After muttering some choice words, I headed back upstairs to deal with the BEEP. I soon discovered that there's no way to tell which detector was beeping. They seemed to be taking turns.
Internal Communication Data from the Smoke Detector Gang:
BEEP! Hey Joe, here she comes, your turn.
BEEP! Pass it on, Buzz, let Joyce take over.
BEEP! I got it from here boys, my battery's feeling a little low.
For a good thirty minutes I'm stumbling around, climbing the kids stool, ripping detectors off the wall, prying out 9 volts, tripping back downstairs, looking for the dog, and digging through the battery box.
Three detectors later and I finally found the culprit! I waited the requisite 1.5 minutes...no beep. I held my breath for another 1.5 minutes... still no beep! Stealthily, I climbed off my stool. Silence reigned, until I heard the scratching. My dog returned, her nervous breakdown complete. I climbed back into bed and snuggled down under the covers.
Hey boys, she's back in bed. Anyone else need a new battery?
BEEEEEEEP!
BEEEEP! My dog is the first to notice, thanks to her superhuman hearing ability. BEEEEEP! She jumps on my stomach - and starts shaking - all 38 pounds of her. Then I hear it - BEEP. I wait, there it is again, BEEP. I roll over, nudge my husband and he gets up and handles it.
(That's one of the perks of being married. He kills the bugs, takes care of all vehicle maintenance and gets up when something goes BEEP in the night.)
But last week, my husband was out of town. BEEP, THUMP, OOF, SHAKE! I rolled over and
nudged. 1.5 minutes later...BEEP, SHAKE, SHAKE, WHINE! I rolled over again and OH CRAP! my husband's not there. Well… OK, now what?
I stumbled downstairs to put the dog outside so she wouldn't have a heart attack. While fumbling around in the dark for her leash, she ran away in a fear induced frenzy. After muttering some choice words, I headed back upstairs to deal with the BEEP. I soon discovered that there's no way to tell which detector was beeping. They seemed to be taking turns.
Internal Communication Data from the Smoke Detector Gang:
BEEP! Hey Joe, here she comes, your turn.
BEEP! Pass it on, Buzz, let Joyce take over.
BEEP! I got it from here boys, my battery's feeling a little low.
For a good thirty minutes I'm stumbling around, climbing the kids stool, ripping detectors off the wall, prying out 9 volts, tripping back downstairs, looking for the dog, and digging through the battery box.
Three detectors later and I finally found the culprit! I waited the requisite 1.5 minutes...no beep. I held my breath for another 1.5 minutes... still no beep! Stealthily, I climbed off my stool. Silence reigned, until I heard the scratching. My dog returned, her nervous breakdown complete. I climbed back into bed and snuggled down under the covers.
Hey boys, she's back in bed. Anyone else need a new battery?
BEEEEEEEP!
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