Monthly Archives: November 2013

~ Chicken Soup, Tylenol, and Sir Monty ~

The school nurse called me yesterday and said, “OH MY GOODNESS! Come get your son; he’s on death’s door!!!!”

Wait, now that I think about it, that isn’t what she said, it’s what I heard.  I think she really said something like, “Your son isn’t feeling well…..”  and then I didn’t hear the rest of it because I had already dashed out the door to my car, leaving the phone dangling from the wall.

I found him sitting on the edge of the nurse’s cot, backpack in hand, looking pale as heck, and could see it was taking every ounce of energy he had not to burst into tears.

Which meant, of course, that it was going to take every ounce of energy I had not to burst into tears.

And if that had not been enough to determine that he was really and truly sick, when I wrapped an arm around his shoulder and walked him to the car, all he said was, “Mom, can I just go to bed now?”

Oh holy crap.  This kid was some kind of sick.

I laid him gently on his flannel sheets, bundled him snugly in his down comforter, turned off the lights, closed his curtains, gave him some cherry flavored liquid Tylenol, and kissed his feverish forehead.

“Thanks Mom; I love you so much,” he whispered as his eyes closed, and he curled into his pillow.

Oh holy CRAP.  This kid was SICK.

A couple of hours later, he called for me, and when I opened the door, he asked me if he could have some chicken soup.  DONE.  Anything to make him suffer less.  I whipped up some Campbell’s Cream of Chicken Soup, poured it into our favorite mug from Holly’s Restaurant (on Kent Island), and took it to him.  I had to go back into the kitchen to get him a napkin and when I returned, I found this:

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My Critter was feeling fractionally better for the nap….

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…and the chicken soup….

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…and the Tylenol….

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…and the love of Sir Monty.

Even if Critter has Strep Throat, life is pretty dadburn good!!

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~ The Ravages Of Time ~

I had a reader ask me if my profile picture is accurate.


The truth is, YES… WAS accurate.

But that was before raising two  life-force sucking entities  beautiful children,

going back to school, earning the paramedic certification, but then ultimately giving the whole EMS thing up,

because of  having not one, but two stress-related heart surgeries,

one cancer-related Thyroidectomy,

four knee surgeries,

a hysterectomy and bladder surgery,

and a partridge in a pear tree.

So now, I actually look like this:

Marty-FeldmanI’m kidding, of course.  I really look like this:



Okay, okay.  What I really meant is that I FEEL like Marty Feldman and Phyllis Diller.   The truth of the matter is that, late at night, when I’m writing, I usually look like I do tonight:

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Yep.  You guessed it.  I’m just a couple of cats away from being a “Crazy Cat Lady.”

But I DO have a Marty Feldman lazy eye……

And if it works for My Captain, it’s good enough for me!

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~ ‘Maters All Day Long ~

I was thinking about Chef Chris Smallwood’s Fried Green Tomatoes ALL DAY LONG today.

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I thought about his crispy cornmeal crust while I was at the post office.

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I thought about the juicy tomato inside that crispy crust, while I was in the checkout line at CVS.

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I daydreamed about the buttermilk in the ranch dressing when I waited for Varmint in the carpool queue at school.

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I fantasized about the huge chunks of pork (he buys from the Mt. Airy Meatlocker and smokes right there on the premises of his restaurant, Alexanders,) that he puts in his ranch.

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I dreamt about My Captain as he would order a us double serving of those ‘maters, in his deep, manly, take-charge (but polite) voice.


I thought dinner time would never come.

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But it finally did.  And all of my lusts….

All of my daydreams….

All of my pining….

Came to fruition.

WOULD YOU JUST LOOK AT THAT HUNK OF BACON?  For the love of all that is good and right with this world, would you just feast your eyes on this thing?!  LOOK AT IT!

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You see, the world is a happier place for those who can find joy in the small things…..

….and bacon.

Unless you’re a pig.

But let’s not go there.

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~ Rough Night ~

It’s happening again.

I’m alone all night because My Captain is working at the fire station, and my Varmint and my Critter are at their father’s house for the evening.  I should be happy because I know My Captain is at one of his favorite places in the whole wide world, and my children are with their beloved Daddy, being loved and loving him back.  So everyone should be happy.

Even I have no right to complain. I am snug as a bug in a rug, in my cozy little cottage, with my weird kitties, who are shredding my Value City Furniture as we speak.

But as often as this kind of evening happens, so does this typical scenario:  First, I get bored without instantly-gratifying, people-oriented stimulation.

So I turn to the fridge, which inevitably disappoints me.

Then I turn to the boxes of decade-old, partially-petrified, Halloween and Valentine’s Day candy under my kids’ beds, which is never satisfying, since I’ve already picked through them THOROUGHLY.

Then I turn on my computer and surf Facebook, usually ending up with a sense of disappointment in my fellow Americans, and society in general.

Exasperated, usually I then turn to the news, and my disappointment takes a hard left into alarm and anxiety about the future of the human race.

This then leads me to turn all of that stuff off, and I start looking through the old pictures on my hard drive.

THIS is where I begin to fall apart, because I’m a sentimental mush-ball, lacking the common sense to just go to bed.

So I’m at this point this evening, and was looking at this series of shots My Captain took surreptitiously while My Varmint and I were walking down the beach at Pop-Pop’s cottage just last weekend.

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He had put his camera down low on the sand to give it an artsy-fartsy perspective.

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I find his artsy-fartsy perspective to be more aptly defined as the big-butt perspective.

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Anyway, I scrolled down the photos and came across this old one.


My Varmint  and Critter….when was it?  I’m sure it was only yesterday.


After I cried into about a box of Kleenex at the passing of time,  I realized it might be better for my mental and emotional health if, on lonely nights such as this, I did not turn on my computer, but instead ended the evening at the ‘dive head-first into the candy boxes under the bed’ stage.

It might be healthier for me, is all I’m saying.

And we’d save a bundle on Kleenex.

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~ You Know What THAT Means….~

Grandma Jane came over to The Little Cottage the night we carved pumpkins.

You know what THAT means, don’t you?

That’s right…..

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Moose had to feed his fetish.  Right into Grandma’s black leather satchel he plopped.  Didn’t even wait for her to get her car keys out of it.

It’s time for some kind of intervention.

Varmint, used to his weirdness, just glanced away from her homework long enough to roll her eyes at him, and then turned back, and resumed her work.

It’s almost like the Little Cottage is the opposite house for ‘weirdness.’  We’ve got so much weirdness going on, it’s normal.

Weird, huh?

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