BOSTON STRONG: I LOVE THAT DIRTY WATER

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Random Rage | Posted on 15-04-2014

This is the post I wrote last year a day after the horrific bombing at the Boston Marathon. In this past year, I have been in awe of the strength and courage the victims have shown. The outpouring of love and support from Boston and beyond has been tremendous, yet not surprising. Boston was shown unspeakable hate a year ago, and responded with something far more powerful: love. The message is clear. You don’t mess with Boston. I’m keeping the victims of that day in my heart, especially little Martin Richard, whose big, toothy grin, reminds me so much of my oldest son. God bless this town, and all who keep it safe.

************************************************************************************

 

There is likely nothing I can say about the horror show at the Boston Marathon yesterday that hasn’t been said already.

I was born in Boston. I grew up not twenty miles outside Boston. Raised by two Bostonians, one of whom was a Boston police detective, who was the son of a Boston Police Captain. I lived in the city as an adult. And so it has been for my family, and for me, our home for generations, even though I have since moved some fifty miles north.

Like so many, I have dear friends who ran the race yesterday. Who worked tirelessly to train for what was supposed to be a joyous event. And who are thankfully alive and well, as are their families.

Like so many, I have children of my own.

And so somehow, this all feels very personal. As it should. We should all take it personally, that someone would assault and terrorize our friends, families, fellow citizens, beloved guests from America and abroad, in our city, state, and country.

I don’t know what will happen in a minute, an hour, a day, a week, a month, a year, two years, five years, fifty years. And yes, that scares the hell out of me. But I do know this. You do not mess with a city like Boston. Boston is Paul Revere and a midnight ride. It’s six generations Brahmin. Four generation Irish. One generation Cape Verdean. And everything in between and back again. It’s Regina and Santarps– the best pizza in the world. (Sorry, New York.) It is cold tea in Chinatown at 2 AM. It’s college transplants who come, fall in love, and never leave. It’s doctors, cops, bartenders. It’s bad accents we love to hate and hate to love. And Dunkin’ Donuts. On ever corner. (Really.) It’s Filene’s Basement (RIP) and the Pru. Triple deckers and brownstones. Universities and hospitals. Boston is wicked smaht. Just asked Donnie Wahlberg.

Boston doesn’t bow to queens. Or crazies. And definitely not to terrorists.

Boston is grit and determination. Boston is courage. Boston is PRIDE.

Boston is the Marathon. It’s Uta Pippig. Bobby Orr. Larry Bird. Doug Flutie. “Manny Ortiz”. Ted Williams. Boston is The Garden. Fenway. The Red Sox.

It’s the ghosts of yesterday and the promise of today.

Boston was cursed once. It won’t be cursed twice.

That is one thing I do know.

I love that dirty water, don’t you?

 

PHOTO CREDIT: www.kimworld.com

 

4-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Awesomeness, Boys, boys, boys! And did I mention, boys?, Friends...you got what I ne-ed, Mom-ness, OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Uncategorized | Posted on 26-07-2013

FORTY?

Forty years ago, Bad, Bad Leroy Brown was at the top of the charts, Archie Bunker curmudgeoned his way into our living rooms on All In The Family, the MRI was invented, Billie Jean King kicked some tennis arse, and the Oakland A’s were World Series Champs. And in Boston, a little squawker was born. The thing about being born in 1973 to parents who were 40 and 45, who already had kids who were 13, 12, and 7, is that after a while the writing’s on the wall. Irish + Catholic + ohgawdmygawd. They must have hit one of the DiGirolamo’s infamous parties and, to quote Teresa from Real Housewives of New Jersey, “Brown chicka brown chow.” Too many Schlitzes? Too many VO and waters? No Catholic birth control. BOOM.

*Shudders.*

Well, all I can say is, thank God we weren’t Presbyterian. *waves hello *no offense God faring Presbyterians and all other birth control loving denominations

My family was so loving about it though. While one sister told me my parents bought me on the corner for a dime and got change, the other told me when my mom found out she was preggers she banged some pots and pans together. When the doctor called our house to share the great news a new sister was born, the third chick to make my brother wait for the bathroom, bro reportedly went behind the couch and cried. Pussy. He would be sorry when I turned out to be full of awesome. Not really. When the doctor called back, he refused to take his call. My how times have changed!

But hey, NO hard feelings! This all explains a lot, doesn’t it?

My parents were kind enough to soften the sibling barbs and say I was a”happy accident” and that I “kept them young”.

Um hmm.

Meanwhile……..

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, and……

Lights! (But not too bright, my wrinkles will show!) Camera! (Um, not too close, and let me tilt my face to hide my three chins!) Action! (Brown chicka brown chow! Shut it. I’m 99.9% sure I will not repeat history as a card carrying cafeteria Catholic heath-en!)…….

40.

Now that it’s spelled out, it seems like a lot. 28 more than the Electric Company song. 40 years on fast forward……Walking, talking, falling of my biking, awkward buck teething, first dating, kissing, missing, soaring, oversleeping, dancing, boozing, schmoozing, marrying, birthing, parenting, writing, flighting. That was FLIGHTING, not FIGHTING. Who do you think I AM?

40. It’s just a number, right?

40% off is a lot.

$40 dollars. Not a lot.

40 lbs. Not a lot. Unless you lose 40 lbs. Then it’s a lot.

40 boyfriends, husbands, hook ups, mystery illnesses? Yup. A lot.

40 miles. Not a lot. Unless you’re running. Or swimming. Or spelunkswimhikingbikingtriahaloning. Then it’s a lot.

I know I should probably look like this right now:

 

I DROPPED MAH EGG BECAUSE I'M FOHHHHTY!!!

But seriously. 40 is the new, what, 11? It’s all good. I’m happy. I’m healthy. (The holes in my liver will close up after summer, c’mon!) I have a wonderful family and much to be grateful for. A few months ago, I came across this quote, “Growing old is a privilege that is denied to many.”
It is. And I well know it.

So on my 40th, and for the next hopefully 40 or 80 years (you never know—this kid brought to you by Schlitz and VO—here’s hopin’!), I’m going to heed a line from my favorite writer Erma Bombecks’, “If I Had My Life To Live Over”, “I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa was faded.”

WORD. Let’s do it everyone, whether you’re 30 or 40 or 50 or 99.

We’ve earned it. With every bad breakup, boss, unfortunate hair style, trauma, scar, and loss. Every hope, dream, goal achieved. We’ve earned the right. To know who we are, who our friends are, who will gain the privilege to grow old with us and pop a squat on our faded sofas.

So bring it. 40 more years or bust. We meet here. At dawn, we ride!

 

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

 

GAS CARD WINNAH, CLAIM YO PRIZE AND RALPH LAUREN, SUCK IT!

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Mom-ness, OH &^%$!!, Random Rage | Posted on 05-07-2013

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I KNOW! This is a skitzo post. First, the gas card winnah!!! Pamela T! Please email me at janet@muffintopmommy.com with your full name and address so I can have Stop and Shop mail your $FITTY dollah gift card. WOOP! Thanks to all for entering!

And now, this.

XL? SLIM FIT? OH HELL NO.

 

So you know how when you have small urchin childs and you are prone to shop at 98 miles per hour throwing this and that into the cart? So I grabbed this cute green Ralph polo shirt at Che Mar-shalls. Extra grande. VIVA LA MUFFINTOP! Ahem. I get it home and throw it on and I look like Mike Wazowski from Monsters, Inc! Maybe a green apple. Or a pea on GMO steroids.

What the schluck, Ralph Lauren?

I grab the shirt, hold it up, see that it indeed says XL, EXTRA GRANDE, and not extra fricking flash your muffintop small. And then I see, under the XL, hidden from the eyes of hasty shoppers, “SLIM FIT”.

Slim fit?

Slim fit.

Um, Ralph? If I’m buying an extra grande shirt, there ain’t nothing slim about me. What in preppy hell is your ever loving point? Extra Grande +Slim Fit = Oxymoron. GET A WEBSTER’S DICTIONARY, RALPHIE!

The hell, Ralph. I’m breaking up with you. Obviously, you only want slim chubsters to wear your shitz. That’s what I get for cheating’ on mah Merona. They have REAL xl’s. Hell, they even have XXL! EXTRA EXTRA GRANDE!

Ralph. You had your chance. When I’m rich and famous some day never, I shall not be rocking your duds on Jimmy Fallon. Or at the playground. Whatevs.

ENTER TO WIN A $50 GAS CARD. YES, PLEASE!

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Awesomeness, Boys, boys, boys! And did I mention, boys?, Mom-ness, OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Retail Therapy | Posted on 01-07-2013

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"I'M JUST TRYING TO TREAT MY FAMILY TO A LITTLE FUN!" --photo courtesy of photobucket

 

Are you filling up the family truckster and hitting the open road this summer? (Take me with youuuuuuuuuu!) Stop and Shop is here to help put the swagga back into your wagon. They have graciously offered to give a $50 gas gift card to one lucky Muffintopmommy reader and one Muffintop (moi!).

You know you’re a solid grown up when receiving a $50 gas gift card makes you go BOOM like Santa’s on your roof! But seriously, I’ve been saving on my gas for years at the Stop and Shop right in my town. Never mind the rewards you can rack up, their everyday gas prices are typically the best around. Getting gas there is a no brainer. (And with the scratch I save on gas, I don’t feel one bit guilty dropping into Stop and Shop for some vino!)

With Stop and Shop gas rewards, it’s easy keep more money in your pocket for Hamburger Helper, rocking plaid pants, and other miscellaneous funsies (see above–ahem) —and there are many ways to save. First, while you’re doing your grocery shopping. Stop and Shop has tons of every day items throughout the store that are marked “Gas Rewards”. You can plan ahead by seeing the participating items in the sale flyer each week. Baby items, flowers (they have a kick arse floral department!) and other household items are included in addition to groceries–woot!

Here’s how it works:

  • Save 10¢ per gallon for every 100 points you earn.
  • You earn 1 point for every dollar you spend with your Stop & Shop card.
Points Savings
100 10¢/gallon
200 20¢/gallon
300 30¢/gallon
…up to $2.20/gallon!

Up to $2.20 a gallon! That is crazycakes!

Not sure where your nearest Stop and Shop is located? Find one near you by visiting their website.

To enter to win the gift card, please leave your first name and last initial and tell me if you’ve ever saved on gas at Stop and Shop and what fun thing you might do with your savings. Please enter by Friday, July 4th at 11:59 EST. Winner will be announced on mah blog on July 5th!

Stop and Shop is giving me a $50 gift card to facilitate this review/offer. All thoughts and opinions are my own. As usual. Like it or not. :)

Cheers to summah!!!!!!!!!!

 

AN OPEN LETTER TO MY SONS’ FUTURE THERAPIST

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Boys, boys, boys! And did I mention, boys?, Mom-ness, OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Some things just don't fit into a neat little box. The uncategory!, Uncategorized | Posted on 26-06-2013

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Dear Future Therapist Of My Darling Boys,

First, I want you to know, my intentions were good. Like many who came before me, once upon a time I was an awesome parent. Perfect even.

Before I had kids. And that small yet glorious window where my visit with them was supervised by licensed professionals. The 48 hours after childbirth rule–I would so kick ass at mothering if I had a whole staff. Dugh. Rich people can suck it. (I’m looking at you Kardashians!)

We’re one week into summer vacation. The first morning, the little (what’s the word I’m looking for?) shitz beat me downstairs. Forgive me for not leaping out of bed, but in my advanced age you and I both know that could cause dizziness.

I know, I know. I shouldn’t have stayed up late watching Andy Cohen. (Is Andy Cohen gonna come watch my boys when they rise with the roosters? Um, no. Mazel that Andy–thanks for nuthin’! You too, Mama Manzo!) Whatever. Five minutes. To shake off the cobwebs. And not fall on my bed head. That’s all I wanted!

I came down, intending to make my children a delicious and nutritious hearty breakfast (Cheerios), and there was spilled milk all over the counter and the floor, 4 year old was sitting at the counter wolfing a huge bag of Cool Ranch Doritos that he somehow managed to split in two down the middle. (By the way, I do not know who brought that processed crap pms snack into our house! Naturally we only eat organic, whole grain, flax seed encrustedfortifiedenhancedbedazzled with vitamins and minerals and healthyfullness snacks here!) Six year old sat nearby in a mound of brownie crumbs, while 8 year old wagged his finger, “I had NOTHING to do with this!”

Fast forward an hour later to the dental check ups. I try to look Danica Patrick interested in the Car and Driver magazine after four year old locks himself in the bathroom, conveniently adjacent to the waiting room, and hollers, “Mom! I have to POOOOOOH!” Of course you do. Because Cool Ranch Doritos are the breakfast of champions. Do I know you? I’m just here to get my Car and Driver fix on.

While one reads quietly (thank you Je-sus!) the remaining waiting room occupant who belongs to moi opens and closes the Keurig coffee drawer 43 times, tries out the step lever trash can a half dozen times, asks if the girls’ hat hanging on the coat rack belongs to any number of girls we know, opens an end table and surmises that’s the secret lost and found, moves a chair back and forth, tests out the antibacterial soap three times, asks for a toothbrush, tries to break into the bathroom to converse with Sir Poops A Lot, closes the door to the waiting room, rifles through the toys as a very last resort, but then inexplicably acts angelic during the exam.

While the one who read quietly fidgets and freaks when he gets his fluoride treatment.

Huh? But I miss most of that because after Sir Poops A Lot finishes his biz, and it’s obvious the 12 year old in the waiting room isn’t going to claim him (his parents should really teach him to make eye contact with his elders—rude!) , he waddles to the door and whips it open—pants on the ground! pants on the ground! —and hollers, “DONE POOOPING!” aka come wipe my arse, woman.

So was I wrong to ask the receptionist and hygienist when we left if it was happy hour yet? (It was 11 AM. So sadly, no. I mean, they didn’t expressly say NO, because they aren’t my legal guardians, but I’m fairly certain they might have 911 on speed dial in case of dental emergencies and what not so I gave the hearty yet polite laugh to signal I was mostly kidding.)

I have been dutifully saving for my kids’ college education. Their 529′s are bursting with enough money for used books and dollar drafts. But I have to wonder if I should be setting a little sumpin’ sumpin’ aside for their therapy?

I mean, was I wrong to happily inform my kids there was 61 days left of summer break….and counting?

Was I wrong when I barked at them yesterday in the 97 degree 3 h’s (heat, humidity, haze) after busting around my backyard like a sweathog setting up our klassy blow up water slide, patching holes, hammering stakes, and putting together lawn games for a playdate when I asked them to simply turn the hose on and they answered, one after the other, um, I don’t really wanna.

WHAT!

I’m on an online moms group and I happen to know other kids their age make their beds, sweep the floor, set the table, and run Fortune 500 companies.

The extent of my kids’ chores that they fulfill without argument is running down to the basement to get me a beer out of the fridge. I even pour it into my own mug! Shouldn’t THEY be doing that? Oh, I told those moms that, too.

They thought I was kidding.

Those kids know I like the slim can and they better not come back with the Silver Bullets—I don’t even care if the mountains are blue or not. No thanks. A girl has her preferences, am I right?

UGH OH.

I had dreams. I had visions. My parents raised me with manners. They did! So I planned a treat today on a rainy day–we met daddy for lunch. YAAAAY. So as I sat at the finest kids eat free restaurant with my handsome brood assembled, napkin on my lap, elbows off the table, mouth closed as I chomped complimentary popcorn, we colored with the unwashable crayons (that damn well better not have been smuggled into my home!). We played tic tac toe, and I let 6 year old win one game to bolster his confidence but beat him in the second match because dude, no one likes a 6 year old bragger. All of a sudden, spontaneously, 6 year old spun the hanging light that teetered over our table while the mini Jonas brothers burst into song.

“I’m naked and I know it!”

What.

The.

Hell.

Thankfully, they weren’t naked. Bonus! And we were in the corner. (They know us! And remember us! Isn’t great customer service the best?!)

Should I have interjected and said, “Actually, the song goes, ‘I’m sexaaay and I know it.’”

I didn’t. Because I’m really working on being positive. Positive reinforcement! Because someone told me when you make one negative remark toward a kid, you need to make eleventycajillion positive ones to make up for it.

So I just smiled and clapped. “Great singing boys, great singing! I love you MORE than these french fries which, undoubtedly, were fried in unsaturated oil for your good health and mine!”

And then I sipped my Diet Coke. And looked at my watch.

59 days left of summer vaca. But only 4 1/2 hours til happy hour.

Shazamalam!

Love,

That Mom

 

 

BON BONS HERE I COME!

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Boys, boys, boys! And did I mention, boys?, Friends...you got what I ne-ed, Random Rage, Retail Therapy, Uncategorized | Posted on 14-06-2013

And just like that, another school year is almost over. And now that I’m out of my pollen coma (*waves–remember me?), I realize I have tons of fun stuff to look forward to this summer with my three boys. Now that they’re getting older, I feel confident they can entertain themselves. Bon Bons here I come. FI-NALLY!

HANGING FROM CURTAIN RODS IS A FUN GAME! I THINK IT'S RATHER THOUGHTFUL THAT THEY DID IT ON BOTH SIDES SO THEY'D MATCH. I'M SURE HUBS WILL GET TO FIXING THAT WHEN THE STANLEY CUP IS OVER....OR IN 2014 SOMETIME. NO RUSH. NO RUSH.

 

Who needs educational games when we can just dump a family sized box of Cheez-It’s on the table and in the randy Christmas tree dish that’s most likely caked in dust. Bon appetit!

 

HO HO HO? WE DON'T NEED ANY FANCY CAMPS TO LEARN ABOUT SPACIAL RELATIONS!

We’ll be hitting the open road for sure. How lucky are we that 4 year old is totally qualified to run his own safety patrol? I mean, if he doesn’t come down with a rare dust induced botulism. Or the neighborhood kids don’t give him a wedgie—he did just shriek that a kid was riding his bike without a helmet on—on the movie Frankenweenie.

WIPE THAT SMILE OFF YOUR FACE BEAR. YOU'RE ALONG FOR THE RIDE BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN I'M BUYING YOU A DOUGHNUT TOO!

Freeloader!

Some people like to lounge pool side at a fancay club. Not us! We keepin’ it real in the hood.

GUNITE POOLS AND SNACK BARS ARE SO OVERRATED. WHEEEEEE!

WT, two sides painted shed with dead flowers in windowbox, optional.

(Not pictured: mom holding beer in a can with Lands’ End granny suit on reading trashy magazine. Hear no evil, see no evil!)

Party on, rockstars, it’s summahtime!

I LOVE THAT DIRTY WATER

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Random Rage, Some things just don't fit into a neat little box. The uncategory!, Uncategorized | Posted on 16-04-2013

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There is likely nothing I can say about the horror show at the Boston Marathon yesterday that hasn’t been said already.

I was born in Boston. I grew up not twenty miles outside Boston. Raised by two Bostonians, one of whom was a Boston police detective, who was the son of a Boston Police Captain. I lived in the city as an adult. And so it has been for my family, and for me, our home for generations, even though I have since moved some fifty miles north.

Like so many, I have dear friends who ran the race yesterday. Who worked tirelessly to train for what was supposed to be a joyous event. And who are thankfully alive and well, as are their families.

Like so many, I have children of my own.

And so somehow, this all feels very personal. As it should. We should all take it personally, that someone would assault and terrorize our friends, families, fellow citizens, beloved guests from America and abroad, in our city, state, and country.

I don’t know what will happen in a minute, an hour, a day, a week, a month, a year, two years, five years, fifty years. And yes, that scares the hell out of me. But I do know this. You do not mess with a city like Boston. Boston is Paul Revere and a midnight ride. It’s six generations Brahmin. Four generation Irish. One generation Cape Verdean. And everything in between and back again. It’s Regina and Santarps– the best pizza in the world. (Sorry, New York.) It is cold tea in Chinatown at 2 AM. It’s college transplants who come, fall in love, and never leave. It’s doctors, cops, bartenders. It’s bad accents we love to hate and hate to love. And Dunkin’ Donuts. On ever corner. (Really.) It’s Filene’s Basement (RIP) and the Pru. Triple deckers and brownstones. Universities and hospitals. Boston is wicked smaht. Just asked Donnie Wahlberg.

Boston doesn’t bow to queens. Or crazies. And definitely not to terrorists.

Boston is grit and determination. Boston is courage. Boston is PRIDE.

Boston is the Marathon. It’s Uta Pippig. Bobby Orr. Larry Bird. Doug Flutie. “Manny Ortiz”. Ted Williams. Boston is The Garden. Fenway. The Red Sox.

It’s the ghosts of yesterday and the promise of today.

Boston was cursed once. It won’t be cursed twice.

That is one thing I do know.

I love that dirty water, don’t you?

 

PHOTO CREDIT: www.kimworld.com

**On a side note, Erin Gale Williams is the winner of the book pack, I Just Want To Pee Alone and Mommy Mixology: A Cocktail for Every Calamity. Please email me at janet@muffintopmommy.com so I can email you with details. Congrats.