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Welcome to Loserville, And Now All Is Right In The World

Mostly True Memoirs

Loserville

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Loserville, Indeed

The Grown Son has been furious with me.

For days on end.

Because my Aztecs eliminated his Crimson Tide from the basketball tournament.

This morning he greeted me with glee.

“Welcome to Loserville, population You!”

And now all is right in the world.

At least for him.

Welcome to Loserville indeed.

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An April Fools Prank? I’ve Seen Better

Mostly True Memoirs

April Fools prank

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An April Fools Prank?

No, it wasn’t a prank.

Over the weekend, I came home from the grocery store to a tsunami of water on the laundry room floor.

The Grown Son had crammed three loads into the washer.

That day, he learned the difference between an industrial washer at a laundromat and a regular household washer.

I’ve been meaning to clean out the laundry room, so this was a perfect opportunity for him to do that.

Now that the laundry room is sparkling clean, I can see that the kitchen pantry could also use a good cleanout.

By the Grown Son.

He’s my inspiration, after all.

He’s going to wish this was an April Fools prank by the time I’m done with him.

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Does Marry Me Chicken Really Live Up To The Name?

Mostly True Memoirs

Marry me chicken

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Marry Me Chicken

Everyone is talking about the Marry Me Chicken recipe.

I had to try it.

I went online and found a zillion variations.

Which one is the right one?

I put a lot of thought and effort into picking which recipe to try.

It had to fulfill two requirements:

  1. Use ingredients I already have so I don’t have to go to the store
  2. Use a minimum of dishes so there won’t be much to clean

Yes, I base most of my decisions on laziness.

The Marry Me Chicken turned out good.

But I don’t know if it was worth marriage.

I mean, come on.

Been there, done that.

Both with marriage and with chicken dinners.

We spent the entire meal poking fun of wedded bliss.

And chickens.

I guess that made it worthy after all.

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A Bruised Toenail And A Serious Decision To Be Made

Mostly True Memoirs

A bruised toenail and a serious decision to be made

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A Bruised Toenail

When my boys were little, they were terrified of the Tooth Fairy.

They didn’t want some crazy-a$$ fairy getting all into their business while they slept.

They decided to leave their teeth under my pillow instead of their own.

Seriously?

I didn’t want some crazy-a$$ fairy getting all into my business either.

However, this idea did present some simple logistics for the whole tooth-fairy thing.

The teeth went under my pillow.

Fast forward to today.

Bob recently injured his big toe.

The nail became horribly discolored.

Today the bruised toenail popped off of his foot in one large piece.

A callus developed underneath the nail, so it wasn’t really gross at all.

The horrible part was the actual toenail.

Bob proudly displayed his disgusting souvenir to the family.

The Grown Sons wondered if he put it under his pillow, would the Tooth Fairy bring him a quarter?

Bob guessed that the Tooth Fairy would be a little offended at this particular offering.

“I came all the way here for THAT?” is what she might say.

Before punching him in the teeth.

Bob decided that he doesn’t want some crazy-a$$ fairy getting all into his business while he sleeps.

So he’s going to leave that nasty, bruised toenail under my pillow.

Of course, he’ll have to weigh the options of a crazy-a$$ wife versus a crazy-a$$ Tooth Fairy.

It’s his call.

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A Very Special Birthday Dinner With Mushrooms

Mostly True Memoirs

A very special birthday dinner with mushrooms

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A Special Birthday Dinner

It was my mother’s birthday.

She’s been gone a long time now.

Every year I make her a special birthday dinner.

We always have chicken tetrazzini.

It’s a pasta dish with chicken and mushrooms in a cream and wine sauce.

It’s delicious.

Mom loved it.

Every year, The Grown Sons complain bitterly about the mushrooms.

Every year I tell them that I don’t care if they don’t like it.

Grandma liked it.

That’s all that counts.

Every year, they come up with new and innovative ways to insult the mushrooms.

I guess we’re creating new family traditions.

Not, perhaps, the traditions that I had in mind.

But still.

Mom loved a well-placed insult.

She would have been greatly entertained by The Grown Sons’ vulgar descriptions of the mushrooms.

But soon she would have shut them down.

She had a terrific sense of humor.

But not a whole lot of patience.

Happy birthday, Mom, I miss you every day.

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I’m An Avid Reader, And Now They Are Too!

Mostly True Memoirs

Avid reader

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Now We’re All Avid Readers

I’ve always been an avid reader.

There are usually three or four books going at the same time.

I used to be the only person in my family using the online library system.

That changed during the quarantine.

The whole family started using my account.

Today, three years later, they’re still using my account.

I couldn’t be happier.

My guys are reading books!

Today there was an argument.

Someone messed up someone else’s bookmark and lost their place.

Oh, my heart!

They’re arguing.

About books.

I have lived my entire life for this moment.

When my boys were little, I read to them religiously.

I thought that reading to your kids would make them avid readers.

It did not.

Until it finally did.

My next goal is to get them to discuss the books with me.

I know, I know, I shouldn’t get too greedy, but I can still hope, can’t I?

Covid was good for something – my guys turned into avid readers.

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The Right Hook That Taught My Son A Valuable Life Lesson

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That Right Hook

When the Grown Son was little, he loved to jump out and scare me.

It was adorable when he was tiny.

But it got gradually more and more annoying as he grew older.

It culminated in one disastrous evening when he was 12.

He hid, ninja style, in the hall closet, waiting for just the right moment to jump out.

He was quiet, he was stealthy, and he was as devious as only an adolescent boy can be.

Finally, he pounced.

And scared the living **** out of me.

I screamed.

And instinctively threw a right hook.

When I saw what I had done, I burst out crying.

Because I hit my baby.

Hard.

I started yelling at him through my tears.

“Quit scaring me!”

Bob ran in to investigate the commotion.

I was bawling and yelling.

The Kid was still reeling from that right hook.

Bob laughed so hard he cried.

He told The Kid that’s what he gets for jumping out at me.

That was the last time my son did that.

Lesson learned.

He thinks it’s hilarious, now, to reference, “that time you punched me.”

Yeah, nah, it’s still not funny.

Well, maybe it’s a little bit funny.

OK, I’ll agree that it’s a lot funny, but he has to promise to never scare me again.

And never tell anyone that I punched him.

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The Ultimate Opportunity for some Hearty Pirate Talk

Mostly True Memoirs

Pirate Talk

All Pirate Talk, All Day

Shiver me timbers!

Do you know what day it is today?

It’s International Talk Like a Pirate Day.

Arrghhh, Bob apparently forgot, the old salt.

He hasn’t pirated once today.

I’m kind of disappointed in him.

No, I take that back.

I’m very disappointed in him.

Queen Elizabeth I ruled during the Golden Age of Pirates.

Is it a coincidence that Queen Elizabeth II’s funeral was today?

There’s a historical connection.

A dubious connection, but it’s all I’ve got.

Avast, Bob, you scurvy hornswaggler, you’ve still got time to redeem yourself!

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How To Resolve Your Millennial’s Problem With Bed Sheets

Mostly True Memoirs

The problem with bed sheets

The Problem With Bed Sheets

I don’t understand why millennials have such a problem with bed sheets.

I just went to change the guest bed.

There were no sheets at all in the room.

Every time the Grown Son comes to visit, he makes up the bed with only the bottom sheet.

He refuses to use a top sheet.

And he takes the fitted one home with him every time.

At this point, I have about a dozen top sheets in the linen closet.

But I don’t have one single bottom sheet.

At least I know the Grown Son has linens at his place.

He has plenty of fitted sheets.

Probably a dozen.

Sigh.

I will be shopping for more bottom sheets this week.

If I bought Justin Bieber bedding, I bet he wouldn’t swipe it.

Of course, I’d never have guests again either.

Y’all will have to come and visit me to see how I resolve this issue.

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How To Get A Good Grade On A Bad Poem

Mostly True Memoirs

How to get a good grade on a bad poem

There’s a trick to getting a good grade on your writing projects.

Several years ago, my high-schooler woke me up in the middle of the night.

He had an assignment due in the morning, and he needed help.

“I have to write a sonnet,” he whined, “Will you write it for me?”

“No,” I said, “I won’t write it for you. But I’ll help.”

The first thing we had to do was define the assignment.

A sonnet is a love poem.

Seriously?

This teacher is going to have to grade 145 idiotic, teenage-angst-filled love poems.

Ugh.

I’d rather stick flaming needles in my eyes than read that drivel.

If I were the teacher, I would have assigned a limerick.

At least I’d get a laugh while I was grading papers.

I told my kid what I do when I can’t write.

I write about something else.

Writing anything at all can help to ease writer’s block.

From that first draft, you can edit and rewrite and revise and come up with something acceptable.

I had him write a sonnet about dog vomit.

He started laughing, and within just a few minutes he had his first draft complete.

We edited and rewrote and revised and came up with a poem about a boy and his dog.

A love story, of sorts.

Without the humiliation of writing an actual love poem.

It wasn’t a great piece, but it met the standards of the assignment.

He got a good grade.

But I preferred the first version.

Who knew that dog vomit, in iambic pentameter, could be so much fun?

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