Tag Archive: dinner

This weekend I realized, even more than ever, I am truly my mother’s daughter.

In fact, I came to the conclusion that she and I should probably hang out less.

Drew came home this weekend for the first time in about three months and he was appalled at my behavior.

We went out to dinner last night as a family. This restaurant is one of those restaurants that has hibachi style Japanese food (yum!) and it was really loud.  Drew sat between Mom and I and we were in a situation where neither of us could hear what the other was saying.

More than once, Drew stopped and looked at us, exasperated and incredulous.  He could not believe his eyes or his ears.  Not only did both Mom and I interrupt each other, but we were usually asking the same questions or making the same observations.  At the same time, or just seconds apart.

This is deeply upsetting because Drew and I make fun of Mom all the time.  She only tends to half-listen so she ends up saying “huh?!” and “what?!” a lot during conversations.  It also doesn’t help that Drew and I have our own special, weird sibling language. You know, the kind of language where you don’t speak in complete thoughts or even real words.  Really, we can have an entire conversation in movie lines and weird faces. That might sound a little shallow, but in actuality, our conversations aren’t always all surface-y, even though we are using other peoples’ words.

I love that about us.

Mom, however, does not love that.

She tends to get lost a lot.

But then she throws out gems like this:

What? Elvis is walking in a train station?

She said that in response to something I had said to her over the phone one time.

Or she just makes her own conversation and hopes it catches on. It usually only catches on because I think what she said is so ridiculous and random that I immediately latch on and tease her relentlessly.

For example, Drew shared this gem with me last night. She apparently said this:

His cart pulled up and I immediately turned to the kids and said, “Look at that giant wheel of butter!”

I’m fairly certain she said that to the woman she was talking to at our hibachi table (whom she had just met- and then proceeded to advise her 16 year old son about which engineering programs to pursue at various schools known for engineering.)

Oh, the other thing that’s hilarious about my mom? If she’s not talking about work, Drew, or me, she’s talking about Chief.  And with a face like this, why wouldn’t you?

he is SO presh!

My family is awesome.


Just moments ago, Tam came inside saying something about how Chief was munching on some frozen dog food.

Only, Drew and I were enthralled in season 6 of Grey’s Anatomy on dvd (which he got for Christmas) and Tam is making pot roast for dinner (ew) and the pressure cooker was making that obnoxious noise it makes from that little knob on the top of the lid. It was difficult to hear and I was only half listening.

Turns out Tam was saying that Chief was outside eating some frozen dog poop.

Yeah. You read that right.

Frozen dog poop.

My dog eats his own poop.

He is BEYOND precious

Can I just say….

What the fuck?

In fact, there are a few things that I say what the fuck to because of Chief.

He’s quite peculiar.

Like yesterday, Nikki came over with her family and brought her dog Sally. Chief and Sally became fast friends and played together allllll afternoon. But when they played, Chief kept trying to sit on Sally. They would bite each other ears and run around but then Chief would whip around and put his butt on her.

What is that about?

And Chief really enjoys being wet.

He found an open spot on the otherwise frozen lake and hopped right in. Just decided he’d take a dip. Then he got out, rolled in the snow and got back in the water. And then he cried at the door when it started raining the other day because Michigan weather is outrageous and it went from being freezing cold outside to 52 degrees and raining. He cried at the door because he wanted to go outside and sit in the rain.  He just sat there. Hangin’ out in the rain. And just yesterday, when I turned around to let him in from being outside, I was surprised to see him soaking wet. It wasn’t raining and the ground wasn’t even wet anymore. But then I realized that the cover to the grill had been on the floor of the deck and there had been a puddle and some ice on it. Chief had found it and rolled in it, effectively covering himself in water.

It seems we have figured out if he likes water or not.

Sure, you hear golden retriever and think that of course he’ll like water. But let me just tell you, Ruby, the golden retriever at my dad’s house, does not like water and does not enjoy swimming and being soaking wet like my Chiefy poo does.

I’m so happy we have a dog again.

Upon walking into the kitchen this evening for dinner, I realized something was different.

Everything was exactly the same, but something was different.

Grandma called my attention to it right after she said grace at dinner.

She gets her hair cut every five weeks. Like clockwork, she goes to get a haircut every five weeks. She gets the same cut every single time. Every single time, she has the same girl cut her hair, and she’s been doing this for fifteen years, she said.  The same girl cuts my grandma’s hair to a short, easy-to-do, low-maintenance haircut.

Except this time.

This time it was sassy. And cute. And fancy. I loved it, and I told her so. She seemed surprised, clearly still trying to decide if she liked the change she had made. But, seriously, it was adorbz. I should have taken a picture because I just know everyone would agree. In general, my grandma is what most people would describe as a cute little grandma. She just is. But with this new hair, it’s like a whole new level.

Grandma told me that she took a picture in with her this time.

She told me how she found a picture of a lady with hair that she really liked. She told me how she went to bridge club yesterday and showed the picture to the girls.  The girls at bridge loved it. When she went to breakfast this morning, everyone there told her to go for it. (The first Thursday of every month, Grandma meets classmates from high school for breakfast. How adorbz is that!?) When she showed the picture to her hairstylist, she got another positive response. Everyone was in agreement; she needed to do it.

Now, I’m sure you’re wondering what this picture was and where she found it. I know you’re wondering because I was wondering. And everyone she showed it to was wondering. Well my friends, here is the very best part of this whole story.

Grandma cut the picture out of the newspaper.

The obituary section.

Yes. She. Did.

The other best part of this story is that upon showing this poor woman’s obituary photo to everyone she knows, someone actually knew the lady.

So awesome.

Add this story to the list of reasons why my grandma is a pretty hilarious lady.  And even though I sometimes complain, she’s a gem. 🙂

I realized I haven’t talked about Grandma in a while.

This is mostly because I’ve spent a ton of time at HomeHome this summer, at least since classes ended at the beginning of August.

Classes are starting this week. Boo 😦 RIP Summer 2010. So I’ll undoubtedly be spending more of my free time at Grandma’s again. In the meantime, here’s a classic tale of one of Grandma’s idiosyncrasies.

Every night, Grandma and I sit down to have dinner at 7 o’clock. We sit at the small-ish round, glass table in the kitchen because the dining room is too fancy and too large for just two people.  I generally sit down first, at my usual place at the table, where Grandma has set my place with a red place mat and her white porcelain dishes. There’s always a glass of milk sitting at my place beside a small lettuce salad or bowl of fruit, because you have to have a vegetable or fruit at every meal. When I take my seat, Grandma looks over the table and asks aloud, “What am I forgetting?”  I no longer respond to this question because the answer is always “Nothing, looks like everything’s here” and she usually just ignores it anyway.

She then makes some disparaging comment, like “well, this doesn’t look as good as the food your mother cooks, but it’ll be juuuuust the way we like it!”  or something like “I tried to work the grill again; that was a job Grandpa usually did…” when, in actuality, she did a perfectly fine job with the grill.  When she says stuff like that, it makes me kinda sad ’cause it’s just unnecessary and the negative things she says are pretty much unfounded. Sometimes I respond with “Noooo, it looks great” or I just shrug because it seems that my comments don’t really make a difference anyway.

By this point, she hasn’t sat down yet, but I’ve been seated for at least three minutes. Comfortably situated in the seat I always sit in.  Meaning, I have pulled my chair out, sat down, and scooted my chair in close enough to the table that I’m not far away at all from the table. No unnecessary reaching. It’s after these comments have been made that she finally reacts to me sitting at the table. There is plenty of space between me and the wall behind me. Sure, it’s a small space; where the table is, it’s in a little nook. But like I said, I am comfortably seated and I am not at all pressed for room. I’m not squished in between the table and the wall. All is well. It’s perfect. No fussing is necessary.

But ooooohhhh noooo. Grandma always, ALWAYS grabs the table and pulls it away from me to “give me more room.” She just grabs the base of the table and yanks it away from me, saying “Here Kate, let’s give you a little more room.”

I DON’T NEED MORE ROOM! More room is the last thing I need. I could hoola hoop with all the room I’ve got!

I have since stopped reacting in any way other than scooting my chair to follow the table. Before, I used to say something like “Oh, no, it’s fine, don’t worry about it” or “No! Don’t move the table!!” but my pleas go unheard. Or, maybe she hears them and just ignores me. The latter is more likely, as she has ears like a wolf, like me, so I know she hears me. She just chooses to ignore my requests.

So every day, I scoot into the table on my own and hope that she’ll forget to move the table away.

But, alas, she never forgets. So it’s a constant battle.

Maybe one day I’ll hold on for dear life to the table and pull it towards me while she tries to yank it away. Until then, though, it looks like I’ll continue to scoot my way across the nook to catch up to the glass table that keeps getting taken away from me.