Showing posts with label mudder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mudder. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

How many hot dogs does it take to....?

Growing up I lived in a home with my mother, father, three sisters, my grandmother and my grandfather.  Essentially, I had two sets of parents.  Which had some really, really, really good points.  That is, until I moved out of the house and realized that I had NO idea how to do any domestic chores - cooking, cleaning, laundry was always done for me.

The first time I cooked a turkey, I must have called home at least 3 times for help, and still managed to cook that bird with the bag of bits still inside it.    My raisin buns will never taste like my grandmother's.  My mom has a solution for just about everything.

About a year ago, I got a phone call from my father that went a little something like this:

me: "hello"
dad: "how many hot dogs does it take to make lasagna?"
me: ".????????"  stunned silence
dad: "how many hot dogs does it take to make lasagna?"
me "??????????" stunned silence


Translation:  my mother was visiting my sister in town, my father was hungry and home alone.  What he really wanted to know was how many times did me need to push the 'hot dog' button on the microwave in order to thaw and heat the frozen lasagna my mother had left for him.

I will never forgot how gobsmacked I was when I answered the phone.  Love you dad.



*** just a reminder, only a few days left to get your name into the draw for the Newfoundland Chocolates!  Click here for more info ***

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

they're under attack


Long weekends usually mean I head out to my parents, this weekend was no exception.  We were all settled down to watch a movie when...

“AGGGHHHH!!!  Come here. Quick!  HURRY!  Get it!" echoed through the halls.

Seriously.  For a woman who raised four daughters she shouldn't be squeamish about little critters. When a spider is anywhere near, my mother’s reaction is beyond heebie jeebies, its one of genuine fear.  She jumps up from where she is, stops what she’s doing, and can focus on nothing else until the beast flushed out to sea.

Since no one in the room was willing to bludgen the beast with half a sheet of paper towel, my mother and sister grabbed the nearest glass and trap the eight legged ogre beneath its dome. 

Certain their safety has been restored, the movie resumes, eyes flickering back to the bowl to be sure it did not escape.



You don't want to know what happens when a butterfly invades the house.