The Forbidden Keychain of Mystery

Kids, , , , , , ,

Scene: Yesterday morning. I’m driving the car, the children are strapped in their car seats.

Background: Benjamin, 4, is holding a Transformer and a combination keychain/flashlight/photo frame that contains a picture of himself with The Daddy and Thomas the Tank Engine. Ellie, 2, is holding her doll and a pink metal princess purse. They are poster children for gender stereotypes.

(Yes, I did say metal princess purse – you read that right. Someone decided it would be a great idea to make metal purses with pretty beaded handles. The cacophony created by 5 crayons and a block in a metal purse really makes your brains curdle. Way to go, Disney Princess purse designers.)

Crisis: Ellie, suddenly realizing that Benjamin is holding the Forbidden Keychain of Mystery, decides she wants it RIGHTTHISINSTANT.

“Benjamin, I can hold the keythain?”

“No, Ellie! It’s MINE!”

“Pweeze?”

“No!”

“Mama, Benjamin not share wiff me!”

*repeat* *repeat* *repeat*

I’ve been trying to let them fight their own battles more often, watching from the sidelines like a frustrated referee. I drove along silently for some time, but as usual, the whining eventually got to me. I’m not proud to say that I tried a little guilt on Benjamin to see if he would let her look at it, however briefly.

“Ellie, I guess it’s as good a time as any to realize that sometimes people just won’t share things with their little sister, even when it’s the nicest, kindest thing to do.”

Benjamin replied, “Yeah, mama, that’s right – people like ME!”

Lessons Learned:

Benjamin: I feel validated. Mama really understands me and is okay with my possessive behavior.

Ellie: Benjamin is selfish, and Mama is ineffective. I should just pout some more.

Me: The four-year-old has outsmarted me once again. Passive aggressive discipline doesn’t work, at least on the boy. Do I have time to stop for coffee?

LOVE ALWAYS WINS

A Sign of the Impending Apocalypse

celebrities, family, , , , , , , , ,

I was talking with my mother the other night, as I frequently do, and she mentioned that she was enjoying Steven Tyler on American Idol. “He’s funny!” she said. “And I think he gives good advice to the contestants.”

The fact that my mother even knows who Steven Tyler IS – well, it’s kind of freakin’ me out.

My parents were not at all interested in the music of my youth, and that’s putting it mildly.  (To be fair, my taste was often questionable; does anyone remember Ratt?) My dad used to say that everything that came after jazz wasn’t music at all; it was simply garbage. “What about the Beatles?” I asked, thinking that perhaps since they were essentially his contemporaries, he could muster up an appreciation. I was wrong.

My posters of Bon Jovi and David Lee Roth had to be hung on the INSIDE of my closet door. Now that I’m a mom, I think that was actually an inspired idea.  

I didn’t go to a concert that wasn’t classical or school-related until I was 19 years old and away at college.  I’d occasionally try to play a song for them  that I really liked, even going so far as to point out to them what was so great about it, but the enthusiasm fell on deaf ears. (Ha ha! See what I did there?)

With all that in mind, you can imagine my amazement that they’re even watching American Idol at all. And apparently this isn’t even their first season watching it. What it means for American Idol is that the show has truly saturated every possible viewing demographic. What it means for the rest of us is that the world may really be coming to an end.  I hadn’t imagined that doomsday would involve Steven Tyler, but if you think about it, it’s not all that far-fetched.

FOR MOM
Photo by PR Photos

Grammar Hammer

Grammar, , , ,

Dear PHILADELPHIA Brand Cream Cheese:

Thank you kindly for printing a “Savory Tip” on the foil seal that covers and protects your delicious product. I’m always ready, willing, and eager to learn new ways to use cheese, or in your case, spreadable cheese-ish substances.

However, I was distressed to see that your grammar department was taking a leisurely snooze on the day that this little ditty was printed on possibly billions of circles of shiny silver foil: “For a savory side dish, add plain or savory PHILADELPHIA Cream Cheese Spread to hot, cooked mash potatoes.”

You see, PHILADELPHIA, the rest of the world eats mashed potatoes. Someone cooks the potatoes, mashes them, and after that process has occurred, those potatoes have been mashed. Mashed potatoes.

Other examples of this important principle:

Baked Chicken
instead of
Bake Chicken

Potted Palm
as opposed to
Pot Palm

Whipped Cream
not
Whip Cream
(although I see that one more than I care to mention)

Steamed Vegetables
vs.
Steam Vegetables

If you’d like to fly me to headquarters to review all of your printed materials for other such egregious errors, I’m ready and willing. I’ll admit to also being curious about why you are known as PHILADELPHIA cream cheese…why the unnecessary shouting? My guess is that it has something to do with your cheese not being related to the actual city of Philadelphia, but we can talk about that later. Perhaps over some BOSTON cream pie. 

(Just so you know, PHILADELPHIA is referred to as a capitalized word, not a capitalize word.)

You’re welcome, PHILADELPHIA. You’re welcome.

Love and Kisses,

SassenFrassen

I KAN HALP YOO

Hot Buttered Butterflies

Kids, , ,

The Daddy’s Conversation with 2-Year-Old Ellie:

“Ellie, we’re going to a movie today!”

“Yay! A moodee!”

“It’s a movie called Hop.”

“Hop! Hop! Hop! Wike a bunny!”

“That’s right. What do you think we should eat at the movie?”

“Buttafwies!”

“All right! One bucket of hot buttered butterflies for Ellie!”

The rest of us simply ate popcorn.

DELICIOUS

The Dirt Pile of Our Dreams

New House, ,

Back in snowy December, we reserved a lot upon which a construction company agreed to build our dream house.

“We’ll break ground in February, and then your house will be done in June.” Simple pimple!

Even though we had two months until ground breaking, there were still things to do and think about. We had to choose colors…siding, wood, granite, tile, carpet, front door…even door knobs. (Or should I say door levers, because that’s what we went with in the end. Knobs are so 2010.) Did we want recessed lighting? A garage extension? Pre-wired home security system? Clear or obscure glass in the shower? Disco ball in the great room?

(No, that wasn’t really an option, but that doesn’t mean we won’t have one.)

We did all of that, and then we waited impatiently. And waited impatiently some more. Finally, one day in late February, they dug a hole! A big house-shaped hole, surrounded by mounds of dirt. And then nothing else happened.

In this and other cold-climate states, there are laws addressing the time of year in which the frost in the ground is…defrosting. While that’s going on, people who construct things can’t drive their necessary-for-construction vehicles around on the soft ground, lest they commit such crimes as cracking the tender pavement and mashing the sensitive curbs. I had no idea these laws existed before this particular spring, nor would I have cared. But what it meant for The Dirt Pile of Our Dreams was that it would remain nothing more than a dirt pile until the laws were lifted.

So, since February, we’ve been stuck in construction purgatory. Daily, I checked the frost law update web page (they even have a web page for it!) to see if the status had changed. Daily, we drove by our mound of dirt, monitoring the progress on other people’s houses, because at least it was something to DO. Daily, we valiantly maintained patience and perspective, at least on the outside, while we waited for the day that the trucks would roll in.

And that day is TODAY! Today, the frost law enforcers (seriously, there are frost law enforcers who come and take your equipment if you defy THE LAWS) will abandon their posts, and with any luck, the burly concrete guys will begin pouring our basement walls.

Halle-frickin’-LUJAH!

I LOVE TRUCKS

Let’s Jump Right In

Uncategorized, ,

When I was 15, my best friend talked me into joining the swim team. “You need to do something,” she said, “to prove you have school spirit.” 

The truth was, I didn’t have much school spirit, nor did joining the swim team provide even a teaspoon more. I liked school, probably more than most, but the school spirit thing eluded me. It seemed to be nothing more than a lemming-like belief that our school was better than anyone else’s school, which was just plain hard to accept. It was a good school, sure, but I’d been in other schools and they all seemed much the same. There were kids and teachers and lockers, and reportedly the same lunchroom popularity contests resulting in priority seating for cheerleaders and jocks. I never ate in the lunchroom because I just couldn’t bear to witness it.

(The one time I went into the lunchroom, there was the obnoxious fun table, and then the tables containing everyone else.  Most heads were bowed silently over peanut butter sandwiches and Pringles, praying not to be noticed. I never went back.)

So I did eventually join the swim team, and I learned the following things: how to get up at 5:00 a.m. (didn’t care for it), how to leap purposefully off of a starting block (really fun with careful aim), how to breathe efficiently (less is more) and how to force yourself into ridiculously cold water when you’d rather just go back to bed. The answer to that one is: Stop thinking – just jump right in.

I thought about how I would write this very first blog post, and then I thought about it some more. And then a little more.  Then it struck me that the continual thinking was much like teenaged me, the sulking sleepy procrastinator…sitting on the side of the pool, waiting for a reason to force myself to move.

(I’d love to be able to say that the reason I eventually jumped in each morning was an innate drive to perform and succeed, but actually it was Coach Hal’s harrassing threats.)

In summary, welcome to SassenFrassen, written by a woman who has no school spirit, who hates lunchrooms and frigid early morning swims, and who performs only in response to harrassment and threats. *waves* This is going to be fun!