A daughter-in-law dedication

My Saturday in SoCal has not been nearly as eventful as this. My son sent these pics from New Haven where he went cross country skiing in thirty-eight inches of snow. I hope everyone is OK and hasn’t lost power or anything!

This is my 200th post–what a milestone! It seems only right that I dedicate this to S, my DIL. She badgered encouraged me to blog, to share my thoughts and snarky commentary (and not bug her and my son so much??) and it was my son who set up the WP account. (I’ll save those accolades for his March birthday post-plenty of time to get your hankies washed, ironed, and perfumed–they’ll be drenched with tears. A mommy’s love is fierce, y’all. Just a warning.) 

miljokeI hope I’m not a bad MIL. I had two of the worst mothers-in-law you could imagine-three if you count my tugboat man’s evil stepmother. The first one wasn’t really that bad; she suffered from a lot of medical problems so I’ll give her a pass for that reason-but she was just a precursor, a forerunner to a doozy of a bitch. Hub’s mom; a laconic thrower of backhanded one-liners–a future post’ll share some of my most memorable experiences.

MIL noteHopefully, that’s taught me not to be SO terrible, but as mom of an only child who happens to be a son whose nickname is Angel Boy and on whom the sun rises and sets, you can bet there needs to be a bit of benevolence, compassion, understanding, and sensitivity on both sides. There’s a def learning curve.

(I’m sure she fondly remembers our house rule of “no cohabitation without documentation” before they were married.)

S has a great sense of humor and a highly developed wit–a great way to deal with a MIL! Right, S?

Although she did recommend I watch “Monster-in-Law”…do you think she was subtly trying to tell me something?

Is my DIL trying to tell me something?

Is my DIL trying to tell me something?

S is London-born with a Ph.D. in Neuroscience from Brown. She’s opened up my world to lots of cool things like Absolutely Fabulous, Gossip Girl, and Downton Abbey. She’s a girly girl in addition to all that brain power. We’ve had a lot of fun together: shopping, getting manis, and making candles. I never had a girl child so it’s been a lot of fun doing things that my mom and I did. As a family, we’ve all gone hiking and camping together–it was DIL who taught me how to “pop a squat”–a skill that’s come in handy more times than I care to mention!

I can’t share what she does-YET-but as soon as I can, you can be sure I’ll shout it to the heavens with PRIDE!

DIL earned a special title.

Isn't she totes adorbs?

Isn’t she totes adorbs?

When she calls (which she should do more often), I’m alerted by the screen telling me it’s Angel Girl.

Thank you, DIL!

UK SPK™- Part Two

Since my son met and married a girl from London, his language has become peppered with UK SPK™, which I define as words and phrases he’s appropriated from his wife, her family, and friends. Because I like to be as trendy and hip as he is, if only to annoy him, I have incorporated quite a few into my daily life.

When everyone was here for Thanksgiving, my DIL (daughter-in-law) and her sister left behind quite a few gems to share.

I really love this one. You need to use rinse if you listen to a song over and over again. “I love Christina Perri‘s song, ‘Jar of Hearts‘ and I’ve been rinsing it.” Or…to use something a lot; “I’ve given my credit card a rinse this holiday season.” …or to play Candyland with your kids until it wears out, or to read the same bedtime book over and over.

Spunk is a very interesting word. For us who speak American English, it means courage or spirit or full of energy, as in  “She’s full of spunk” or “She’s a spunky girl. However,  for Brits–spunk takes on a WHOLE different meaning!  it’s a slang term for semen. Imagine the shock on DIL’s face when a man at a business meeting told her she had a lot of spunk and she thought he was sexually harassing her!

Cheers–not as a prelude to lifting a glass or a toast, but as a way to say thank you. It’s spoken in monotone with no inflection. Let’s say someone passed you a bowl of mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving. You would say “cheers”. It’s low-key.

To DIL and her sister, swish means cool–to us, swish is a disparaging term for a gay man and denotes an effeminate personality.

Reem = sexy, great, fantastic. Be reem, see reem, look reem. “Johnny Depp is so reem!”

Error or to drop an error, which means to make a mistake. “I dropped an error and left something in the car”.  The family is sitting around the dinner table and somebody makes a mistake in etiquette and one would say, “Error” and then everyone laughs.

To cotch is to relax, chill, take a rest. Describing something as a cotch means it was relaxed and chilled out. A really great cotch is cotchtastic.

Amazeballs is the same on both sides of the pond. Amazing, obvs.

The last and best one comes with its own hand gesture.


This is an example. This is how you do it!

The word is cringe–but it’s not pronounced the same way –/krinj/–as if we meant to bend one’s head and body in a servile manner.

This is how to pronounce it the  UK SPK™  way.

/kr-AWW-nJ/ drawing out the w and j sound. This is the perfect word to use when someone says something really unfunny and then everything goes silent, or when someone goes on and on about something which is really boring, or when someone makes an unwanted comment.

“OMG, gurrrl, I can’t believe that Phoebe got wasted and fell down the stairs naked in front of her brother-in-law. That was cringe. Totally cringe.”

What makes cringe totes amazeballs is that, to be accurate, it needs to be accompanied by a hand gesture that is very similar to the Wendy Williams‘s “how you doin”, but with one hand.

So to review, when you find yourself in a perfect situation to use cringe, you’d lift your right hand, (or the hand that’s not holding a vodka marty), and make that WW or “claw” gesture. Got it? Practice makes perfect!

(Check out UK SPK™ Part One)

When DIL/sister were here, we all rinsed “Jar of Hearts”.


The universe is dropping some love on me today, that’s for sure. Ommmm. After the gym, I stopped at my secret source consignment shop…somewhere in SoCal…I’ll never tell. But I bet DIL knows which one I went to. OMFG, first I spied the red polka dots (and I’m a sucker for polka dots), and then I looked at the label. Vintage Valentino-fur reals. Then I looked at the price. $40. Forty dollars, are you serious??? Finally I tried it on, and it fits. It’s too good to be true! It’s two pieces. The dress is a sort of a halter top, but very intricate. The top is a snug fit with a flowy skirt, enough to hug the curves but not to make anyone think you’re trying to hide a big belly or some of that good old menopause paunch. The long-sleeved coat is absolutely stunning with handmade fabric buttons. It’s silk, of course, and that famous Valentino red. So well made, it puts my Target outfits to shame. Now I have the perfect outfit to wear for the captain’s arrival! Check out the label–I was telling the truth.

No Rest For The Weary or How My Captain Spent The First One-Hundred-Forty-Four Hours Of His Homecoming

Monday at midnight: Yet another godawful thirty-five minute drive to the airport, albeit no traffic and not too many drunk drivers weaving all over the road, thank goodness. I wore an animal print maxi-dress, nothing elaborate this time, no “theme”. I could barely keep my eyes open, but my car seems to know the way without much intervention from me, so that helped. I waited in the airport cell phone parking lot, which is not well-lit and has the most disgusting Porta-Potties. I mean DISGUSTING. And to make matters worse, they have no lights at night, which means—well, it means that it’s a nightmare for me.

When a girl has to go, a girl has to go, ya know what I mean? I was at critical mass.  But I am a smart and resourceful chicka and brought a camping headlamp to use so that I could see how nauseatingly filthy it was in there. At least I could see what I was doing—there were no seat covers, so I used three layers of toilet paper on the seat before I dared sit. No squatting on the sides this time; not enough room for two feet. OMG, could anything be more ghastly.  What were the previous 645 people DOING IN HERE!!!????  Got the call, picked him up, moved over to the passenger side—no snacks to hand feed this time. That’s what he gets for giving me no notice at all, but yes, very glad to see my captain anyway. I just like a bit of time to properly prepare an appropriate welcome. He’s lost a bit of weight, but still has those incredibly gorgeous blue/green/gray eyes.  He’s tired, but very glad to be home.  After a late dinner of leftover chard quiche,  it’s off to bed by 1:30 a.m. I am a harsh task master and make him get up at 7:00 a.m. with a cup of freshly ground French roast and we are off to the gym for my regular Boot Camp class. Hee hee, he doesn’t have much energy, I mean who can blame him; he told me he had two hours of sleep in the last two days, but I think he needs to work through the pain. I whipped out my project list and he was willing to meet my demands without too much whining and pleading and negotiation.

I really, really wanted the upstairs bathroom to have new floor molding. For some reason, he had previously installed some gray rubbery looking molding and it always reminded me of a nasty Greyhound bus station bathroom, which was totes at odds with my enchanted seashell and beach rock persona, so it was off to Home Depot! Got the floor molding and a commitment from my nice husband to completely remodel the downstairs bathroom the next time he’s home for a few months. Yeah!

He got right on the molding…see how lovely?

My 1983 Mercedes odometer stopped working about a month ago, so my hard-working husband took the instrument cluster out from under the dashboard and discovered that a couple of teeth had broken off the gear (I’m repeating what he said, I have no idea what he’s talking about) and MacGyver’d a solution. He glued small pieces of a toothpick to the gear where the teeth had broken, and voila! Success! He is a very ingenious captain, that captain of mine.

Next…I wanted to replace a swing arm lamp that was a creative project gone wrong. I had painted it black and glued seashells on it. This was not one of my better ideas, I have to admit. I don’t have a picture of it ‘cos it’s too embarrassing to view a failure, but I did take a picture of the beautiful new lamp my ever-so-nice husband installed for me during his first seventy-two hours not out to sea.

The weather here has been so very hot that our vegetable garden was suffering. My ever long suffering husband covered the garden in shade cloth.  Of course he did a much nicer job than I would have. He’s very detail-oriented. Just what you’d want in a good captain.

On Saturday we walked to the beach and back, about six miles. The weather had cooled off enough to make this endurable, but the last mile back is uphill and quite challenging.

Not done yet with projects; he decided to sand and varnish the deck. This was not on my list, I really hate when he does it, ‘cos sanding makes a mess and I have to close all the windows or I end up with a fine coating of dust everywhere. You can definitely tell he knows his way around boats; our deck looks like it could float away on its own.

Sanding while wearing the proper dust mask

Welcome aboard! “Stand by to cast off!”

Now he’s taking a well deserved nap with the remote still lightly clutched in his hand…