Perpetually Peeved

Peeve podge…

The last few days have wrought plenty by way of inspiration, but not much in the area of motivation.

I finished Smalls’ Halloween costume.  Sewing is tied for third on the list of things that make me happy (food and bad reality TV being numbers 1 and 2, and the tie for third being shoe shopping).  It’s mathematical, but creative at the same time, and at the end of the day you have something to look at and say, “I made that.”

That is one scary cheetah.  Besides the fact that the pattern was made for Umpa Loompa and I had to take it in about 2 inches all around, it came out relatively good. It didn’t hurt that I just got a new sewing machine.  An awesome new sewing machine.  A sewing machine that makes me wonder what the heck I was doing wasting my time on that dinky little one I had before.  Ignorance is bliss, indeed.  Now, I just have a poodle skirt to finish up, a Lady GaGa (we finally found one appropriate enough for Biggie to wear), a Sonic the Hedgehog sidekick, a kitty cat, a zombie cheerleader and either a tiger or a hot dog (she just has to make up her mind – I’m voting for hot dog!).  Wish me luck, I will need it.


Friday night,  I spent the entire evening cleaning my house.  Saturday morning, I spent the entire morning re-cleaning my house.  Sigh.

Saturday I decided to host a dinner party at my house.  It was a potluck, but I was making the appetizers and the main dish.  And by “I” I mean me.  Mr. Peeved was working.  Don’t ask me what I was thinking, I won’t have an answer for you and I’ll just change the subject real fast.  I figured if the Irish in me can let me get away with drinking whiskey and not getting a hangover, then the Italian in me should let me make an edible dinner.  The kids and I went shopping at the farmers market.  I remembered their jackets and everything.  I remembered all the things on my list.  I whipped together an Italian Nachos sauce, a caprese salad and a tray of baked ziti all with an hour to spare.

Full cream, asiago cheese sauce with onions, peppers, Italian sausage and olives that you dredge over nachos and top with banana peppers. Mangia!

Are you impressed?  Yeah, I was too.  I was so proud of myself.  Whistling away, cleaning up.  What?  What does that empty cheese container say?  Shredded asiago?  Who the heck sells shredded asiago and, puts it right next to the shredded mozzarella?  Dagnabit!  Back to the store for baked ziti redux.


Sunday, Biggie had her first gig as a babysitter/mother’s helper for my friend (let’s call her Brave Soul, shall we?). Biggie would like me to make a public announcement on her behalf, it goes something like this:  I AM SO COOL.  Anywho, she took the assignment very seriously, packing a “do bag” and getting pointers from her more seasoned friend.

Biggie:  Don’t worry Brave Soul, I am so prepared.  I have coloring books and a tea set and a lot of fun activities that I can do with Little Brave Soul.  And, my friend, she, like, babysits all the time, and she told me all the tricks of the trade.

Brave Soul:  That’s great.  Little Brave Soul will love that.  What did your friend teach you?

Biggie:  Well, she said you just have to play whatever they want to play and make believe it is the most fun in the whole wide world even when it’s the most stupid and boring thing ever.

Brave Soul:  Yep, that’s pretty much all there is to it.

There is a rule in my car that is violated at least twice a day.  The rule is nobody is allowed to touch the radio until we are out of the driveway and even then, they are to ask first.  Biggie can’t grasp the concept.  Yesterday afternoon, we get into the car and she whips this CD out of her bag.

Biggie:  Mom, can I play this? [waving it in front of me]

Peeved:  What is it?

Biggie:  It’s my babysitting mix.  It’s all my favorite songs.  You know, for when I’m babysitting.

Peeved:  Biggie – it’s spelled wrong.

Biggie:  No it’s not, ma.  Gosh, that’s like, slang.  No one puts the G on the end of ing words anymore.  Can I put it in?

Peeved:  Sure, I want to hear this.

[Biggie inserts CD, turns up volume and it starts playing]

Biggie: Oh.  [hits disc skip to track 4]

Peeved:  What are you doing?  Just let it play.

Biggie:  Oh, I can’t.  Tracks 1, 2 and 3 aren’t appropriate for Smalls to hear.

Peeved:  What?  I thought this was a babysitting mix.

Biggie:  It is.  It’s just music I like.

Peeved:  But, the first three tracks are inappropriate for your little sister?  Why?  What are they?

Biggie:  It’s mostly Lady Ga Ga.  The first one is the one with the Christmas tree and the second one is the one with the disco stick.

Peeved:  I don’t think either of those are appropriate for you.  What are you doing downloading these?  And, what’s wrong about a Christmas tree.

Biggie:  You know, when she says “light me up, put me on top, let’s fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la”.

Peeved:  Give me that thing.  Right. Now.

Biggie:  Guess I’m not allowed to listen to it anymore…

You think?  It’s bad enough Katie Perry is melting Elmo’s popsicle.  Now I have to worry about the sanctity of yuletide carols.

photo from


This morning, I couldn’t find my soapbox.  Which, is a shame, because apparently people have completely forgotten the art of manners.  Simple things, like hold the door open for the person behind you.  And, say thank  you when someone holds the door open for you.  And, if you see me running (or hear my heels clicking) towards the elevator, don’t pretend you can’t find the door open button.  Jackknives.


I will be appearing on Animal Planet's "After the Attack" next month.

Smalls:  Mommy, thank you for my cheetah costume.

Peeved:  You’re welcome, honey.  I’m glad you like it.

Smalls:  When are you going to make your costume, mommy?

Peeved:  Well, Smalls, I don’t know what I want to be for Halloween yet.

Smalls:  But, you need to make a gazelle costume.

Peeved:  I do?

Smalls:  Yeah.  What am I going to eat if I don’t have a gazelle?

Revenge of the Mom

As mentioned here on numerous occasion, Biggie is a torturer extraordinaire.  Elevated from Jr. Secret Torture Agent to full-on, eye-rolling, foot-stomping, back-talking Secret Torture Agent once she officially turned 12, this girl is a handful.  Which is why, when the school newsletter came out with an article asking for parent volunteers for the fall dance, I sent that “I’ll do it” email faster than you can say, “honey, get my shotgun.”  Pass up the opportunity to keep an eye out (or as she likes to say, “spy”) on my middle-schooler?  No way. 

Seeing as I am in marketing, I sew, I throw parties, I make unique invitations, I take photos, I thought for sure I would get assigned a very cool task. 

I receive a response to my email and with much anticipation, double-click to see what wonderful job I am going to be assigned and it’s…. 

wait for it… 

wait for it… 

photo courtesy of


Peeved:  Honey, you know how you told me to sign up for something for that dance at Biggie’s school? 

Mr. Peeved:  Yeah, I think it would be a good opportunity… 

Peeved:  I know, I know, to spy on her, but… 

Mr. Peeved:  … to NETWORK with the other parents, Peeved.  And, to, you know, keep an eye out for boys dancing too close. 

Peeved:  Blah, blah, I got an email back – guess what I get to do for the dance? 

Mr. Peeved:  Decorations? 

Peeved:  No, the freaking concession stand. 

Mr. Peeved:  [insert 2.5 minutes of belly laughs here] How did you manage to get assigned the ONE THING you can’t do? 


Never one to let a wonderful opportunity pass me by, I decide to make the most of this.  You know, when life hands you lemons, make limoncello. 

Hey, if it's good enough for Danny Devito, it's good enough for me!

Overheard in the car on the way home from school yesterday: 

Peeved:  So, Biggie, you know that dance at your school this fall? 

Biggie:  Yeah…? 

Peeved:  Guess who’s going to be there. 

Biggie:  Mom.  You are NOT going.  Mom!  No! 

Peeved:  Yep!  And, guess what the best part is? 

Biggie:  This is not even funny.  You will ruin my life.  This is NOT a good joke.  Mom.  Mom! 

Peeved:  Oh, yeah, baby – concession stand! 

Biggie:  Wha?  How?  Huh?  Mom.  Mom!  MOM!  NO!!!! 

Peeved:  What’s the matter?  I’m just going to stand around and say, “HAWT DAWGS, GET YER HAWT DAWGS!” 

[Please imagine I sound like the lovechild of Delta Burke and Robert DeNiro after it has been dropped on it’s head a few times.] 

Biggie:  AAAAAHHHHH!!!! NO!!! SHUT UP!!!  MOTHER!!!!  NO!!!! 

Smalls:  Yeah, I’m gonna go too.  Mommy, can we dance there? 

Peeved:  Oh shawr dahlin’!  We’re gonna give away the hawt dawgs and dance to GaGa… “ga, ga, awl awl la la, ga ga, bad roooommmaaanncee…” 

[Insert dancing of the Elaine variety.] 

photo from

Biggie:  No.  Mom.  You can’t do this.  You will ruin my reputation. 

Peeved:  Aw shucks honey, I just wanna go enjoy myself.  Maybe sell some hawt dawgs and see that cutie guy you like – what’s his name again?  Connor?  “CON-NER – is that you dahlin?  Biggie just raves about how cute you are and ain’t she right… don’t you wanna come go ga ga for Ga Ga with me? ” Ga ga – awlalala… 

Biggie:  Mom.  No!  I don’t even like him anym… you have to be kidding.  You’re kidding right?  [hyperventilating]  Oh my… no!  No! No! No!  You. Will. Ruin. My. Reputation. 


You know what I learned from my 12-year-old?  Tenacity.  I kept it going for another hour or so – horrendous accent and all.  Back at the house: 

Peeved:  “Hawt Dawgs!”  Oohh Lordy, child!  Know what I’m gonna wear?  Your mama is gonna look so purdy!  I have just the thing. 

Smalls:  Oh, yeah, I’m gonna look pretty too, mommy.  Can we wear dresses? 

Peeved:  Bet your britches we can, sugar! 

Biggie:  No. You have to stop.  Don’t talk like that anymore.  I need to call Friend.  Why is Friend not answering?  You are going to RUIN MY REPUTATION!  You understand that, right? 

Peeved:  ga ga ow la wawl… 

Smalls:  cha cha bad romance…  come on mom, let’s ruin her reputation!  [insert mini-Elaine dance here] 

Peeved:  Oh yeah Smalls, get down! 


Peeved:  Ta da!  Sweetkins, doesn’t mommy look purdy? 

Biggie:  AHHHH!!! NO!!! WHAT ARE YOU WEARING????  [door slam – in the bathroom for rest of evening] 

Peeved:  What’s the matter sugarbottom? 

Biggie:  I’m holding a funeral for my reputation. 

Smalls:  Yeah, ma!  We ruined her reputation!  Seriously. 

I had changed into this dress and put my hair up Peg Bundy style: 

What?  It screams Ga Ga to me.  


Yes, revenge is sweet.  Now, pass me my limoncello!

What? I can’t hear you – I have a drill bit in my ear

What’s worse than someone drilling into your ears with a Mikita?  Someone NOT drilling into your ears with a Mikita and subjecting you to the musical selections of a pre-teen girl.  Please, put me out of my misery.  It’s like someone came up with a checklist:

Repeat the same verse over and over and over and over and over – CHECK!  AleAlejandro AleAlejandro… tonight’s gonna be a good night, tonight’s gonna be a good night… baby baby baby oohhh it’s like baby baby baby oohhh. (Everyone knows that children don’t listen to you unless you repeat yourself over and over and over and over.)

Misspell Words – CHECK! T, to the A, to the S-T-E-Y, girl you tasty… (Hey, who cares if you made it past second grade, they’re singing YOUR song.)

Make Up Words – CHECK! Flossy, flossy (Can’t spell?  There’s a simple fix.  Make up your own words and no one can tell you you’re spelling them wrong.)

Get children to sing about inappropriate adult situations they should know nothing about – CHECK! Shorty is an eenie, meenie, minie moe lover… can’t read my, can’t read my, no you can’t read my poker face… London, London bridge is falling down… (The more nursery rhymes you can fit in, the better.  Everyone should pick their lovers the same way they pick their candy.  It’s important to have a good poker face when lying to your parents.  You mean she’s not talking about the bridge in London?  What is she talking about… oh… oh… what??)

Rhyme words that do not end with the same sound – CHECK! Sometimes I feel like I live in Grand Central Station, tonight I’m not takin’ no calls ’cause I’ll be dancin’… (If you pretend like you’re foreign or have a lisp, it is so much easier to rhyme. Oh, and a double negative always works if you need some extra syllables.)

Say your name in the song so they don’t forget who you are – CHECK! Jason Derulo!…  Ga Ga!… (In case they can’t read the posters, t-shirts, screensavers and myriad overpriced marketing materials they begged their parents for, you should say your name in the lyrics – maybe even more than once, they tend not to listen the first time.)

Some GENIUS (and I am, for once, not being sarcastic when I use this word), came out with this:  It will erase Justin Beiber from the web for you.  Um, does that come in Fergie and Lady Ga Ga?

Please, help… don’t forget your drill!

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