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 Her usual t-shirt and yoga pants have been replaced by a knee length light grey cocktail dress.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.
Showing posts with label General Frump. Show all posts
Showing posts with label General Frump. Show all posts
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
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.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Tales from the Frumpy Zone September 2006
You have entered the Frumpy Zone, home of the Frumpy Housewife. (Can you hear the theme from “Twilight Zone” playing?) A place where I awaken each day to find my house is still a mess no matter how much cleaning I did the day before. A place where I have become a giant hamster, running around and around on my own personal exercise wheel – going nowhere… and my thighs are still flabby. A place where I must successfully communicate with slime covered creatures under 3 feet tall. (OK stop the music.)
Sorry about the dramatic beginning, but I couldn’t think of a better way to introduce myself. I am the Frumpy Housewife, mother of three children: ages 7, 3, and 2. The Frumpy Zone is my special place to go where I share all of the foibles of motherhood. How did I become a Frumpy Housewife? Well, I believe it started with the birth of my second child and the decision to leave my career and become a “Stay-At-Home Mom.” I had such high hopes for myself. My bathrooms would sparkle, and my closets would be organized. Unfortunately, my fantasy world just didn’t quite fit with the reality. My toddler sticking to the kitchen floor was my first clue. Once my third child came on the scene, my downward slide into Frumpiness was quick. Four years later, I gave up my dreams of becoming a Domestic Goddess and embraced my limitations. The only major difference between a Frumpy Housewife and Domestic Goddess is a refillable bottle of ‘happy pills.’ How do you think June Cleaver and Mrs. Brady survived all those years of perfection?
I’ve decided to share some of my adventure in frumpiness with you so that maybe
the next time your child’s diaper explodes in the mini-van and you forgot the diaper bag, you’ll realize that you are not alone.
Sorry about the dramatic beginning, but I couldn’t think of a better way to introduce myself. I am the Frumpy Housewife, mother of three children: ages 7, 3, and 2. The Frumpy Zone is my special place to go where I share all of the foibles of motherhood. How did I become a Frumpy Housewife? Well, I believe it started with the birth of my second child and the decision to leave my career and become a “Stay-At-Home Mom.” I had such high hopes for myself. My bathrooms would sparkle, and my closets would be organized. Unfortunately, my fantasy world just didn’t quite fit with the reality. My toddler sticking to the kitchen floor was my first clue. Once my third child came on the scene, my downward slide into Frumpiness was quick. Four years later, I gave up my dreams of becoming a Domestic Goddess and embraced my limitations. The only major difference between a Frumpy Housewife and Domestic Goddess is a refillable bottle of ‘happy pills.’ How do you think June Cleaver and Mrs. Brady survived all those years of perfection?
I’ve decided to share some of my adventure in frumpiness with you so that maybe
the next time your child’s diaper explodes in the mini-van and you forgot the diaper bag, you’ll realize that you are not alone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
