It's May, and you know what that means. Oh wait, you don't.

It's a bit early for a Mother's Day post, but then again what better way to differentiate oneself! And yes, we realize this is strange written in the third person. No one's forcing you to read, is all we're sayin'.

Today is May.

First, you're welcome for sharing what we're sure is surprising news to y'all.

But second, we'd like to spend a few serious moments describing what May means to us as May will forever be inextricably linked to Mother's day.  See, we lost our own in early May. We remember the day she died. The day before she died. The cruelly beautiful and sunny Sunday that we tossed a shovelful of dirt into the ground. The cruel irony of burying her on the special day we had previously dedicated to the joy of drinking tequila. Sacrilege! And then, one week later, Mother's Day, which seemed at the time to be an unbearable punishment from the universe. 

Still, at the same time, it also seemed an appropriate time to symbolically acknowledge this loss. For that reason, we chose to unveil her tombstone on Mother's Day. That was one year later, one month past the official 11-month Jewish morning period, and though the constant, overwhelming grief had subsided, the intensity had not, and we recall wondering just how much longer that would take. 11 months was not enough. Who were these "forefathers" kidding? And while we were at it - why 11, specifically? Why not 6, or 12, or even 13, which is always a favorite number in Judaism? We couldn't help think that 11 was such an arbitrary number. Did they know something we didn't? Or were they just full of it, making it up as they went along - like the rest of us. Or - what if we were the stupid ones, what if we misinterpreted it and it was suppose to be years, not months?

The Least Grateful Houseguest You've Ever Had

What do you get when you put two 30-something divorced siblings into a small Manhattan apartment together for several months?  (Three months, one week and 3 days to be exact, but who's counting?)

Sibling rivalry, revisited in adulthood, still looks like this

Strained relationships? Lots of snapping? A child that delights at seeing her Uncle dressed up in a suit, because she's put together the fact that job interviews will lead to his moving out?

Well, we wouldn't know about any of that.  But we do know for sure that it leads to high comedy.

Today we bid dear Poker Chick Brother farewell .  You may remember him from guest posts such as "Clumsiness Runs in the Family", which we sort of hate because it's the most read post on this blog ever.  Don't read it, ok? Definitely don't click that link and give him the satisfaction.   We're not bitter at all.   Nope, not us.

Poker Chick Brother and his amazing sturdy back spent a few months blowing up and deflating an air mattress every single day and sleeping on our never-as-neat-as-it-should-be living room floor.  He grudgingly *tolerated* being woken up at 7am every day, as mini would stare at his but crack over her breakfast cereal, which according to him she slurped unnecessarily loudly.

Most people, we'd venture to guess, do not get the pleasure of living with their siblings all over again after everyone has left for college and started their own lives.  That said, you were all horrible teenagers, right?  It would be much more civil in adulthood, right?

Right?

Wrong.

Turns out all those immature fights as children had nothing to do with childhood and everything to do with two siblings living together, period.  Bumping into each other while trying to brush teeth at the same time in a tiny bathroom.  Running out of the room in disgust as one sibling laughs with glee after encouraging a malodorous waft of you-can-guess-what into the other sibling's direction.  Coming home late from work excited for leftovers only to find out they are gone.  Fielding insights and criticism into one's housekeeping or lack thereof...

We got to relive that all over again.

So....

You'd think after all this we'd be happy to see the least grateful house guest in America finally leave, yes?

No.
 
After finally living alone for one night, it is eerily quiet and not nearly stinky enough around here.  You see, the sibling moved out.  After months of mooching, he moved all the way cross country to the West Coast.  Moving out and not even staying in the same city to babysit?  That, we believe, is the least grateful thing he's done yet.

Congratulations on finally landing a gig, Poker Chick Brother.  This floor is always here when you need it.

Guests and Fish

My father reads this blog.

You'd think that would tame the sarcasm I use, or prevent me from using the f-word*.   You might also think that would prevent me from admitting I didn't get him a father's day present, and you would be wrong on all counts.

Do I feel badly about it? In a way I do, in a way I really do.  So to alleviate my guilt do something nice for the man who has put up with 29 (ahem) years of my cr-p, I write this post as a thank you.

Nancy wrote a lovely post this week about fathers in general, and one of the excellent points she makes is that every father has his unique quirk, the mini freak flag he flies at home that teaches you the one or two or three things only a father can teach.

For me, it was guests and fish.

You see, several years ago I was a foolhardy teenager pretending to be an adult due to the fact that I was already in college surrounded by people older than myself.  At that time, I had a bad case of puppy love and the object of my affection had been doing a semester abroad.  He asked me to come visit him at home when he got back, as he couldn't wait to see me any longer.  Practically begged.  And logical person that I am I spent probably the entire contents of my bank account on a flight.  Seduced by offers of a New Years' Eve party, basketball games, and a solo trip to Orlando, I planned to stay with his family for a week total.  You know where this is going, don't you?

Yes, dear father, the man who infuriatingly tells you the blunt truth even when he should be telling polite white lies (Really? You can't say things like, no your breath smells lovely, like a rose!?  It can't possibly be that hard) warned me with a finger wag so strong I could hear it over the phone.

Guests and fish, Poker Chick.  This is not a good idea.  Come home sooner.

You see, for years my father had sounded like a broken record, telling us about a saying his father used to tell him that "Guests and fish smell after three days".  (Fun fact: the original author of this quote was the man who founded the college I would one day attend, but none of us knew that at the time).  Usually this quote amused us, as it was often uttered in the context of discussing a very annoying house guest behind closed doors and Poker Chick Brother and I relished in the secret rebelliousness of the admission and swore not to tell our mother.  But he used it as a warning as well.

Good daughter that I am, I heeded his advice.

Yeah right.

I did the usual foolhardy teenage thing and informed him I could spend my hard-earned money as I liked. 

I had a great first two days. He was happy to see me, it was just as I dreamed.  Then we went to the magical kingdom (literally) and I was smugly enjoying the fact that I had been right.  Then I got dumped.  That's right, read it again.  I got dumped in the happiest place on earth.  On Christmas Eve.  Seriously, I did.  You can't make this sh-t up.

A number of factors kept me there, despite the humiliation.  First of all, there was the fact that I had spent all my money, and couldn't afford the fee to change my ticket.  Second, though I'm sure my father would have underwritten the earlier trip home, I was too damn stubborn to give him that satisfaction.  So I kept a brave face and pretended nothing had happened.  Didn't even cry, not even once.  On my last day I woke up and saw the dog (have I mentioned I am not a fan of the canine species?) had eaten the batch of brownies his mother had made for me to take home, and I reached my breaking point.  I had my heart broken, Disney world forever ruined, and now someone was messing with my dessert!? I think NOT!  This was of course, the last straw, and I packed up my stuff, went to the airport and stayed until they finally let me on a flight standby for free.

I called my father to give him the new arrival information, since I wasn't too proud to mooch a ride home.  Said I was having a great time.

The man was smart enough to add two and two and figure it out on his own, and despite keeping a stiff upper lip for several days, the minute I got off the plane and saw him I lost it.  He was kind enough just to be there and not say I told you so.  But we both knew what he was thinking.

*You might think I don't type swears out for politeness, but you would be wrong.  I have no problem typing out my mofo curse words if I want, except for the spiders.  The invisible bytes of code that crawl the web and register search results at rapid speed.  See, I got caught by the spiders once.  One innocuous blog title circa September 2007 happened to have a word in the title that brought it a lot of attention for a while.  And not the kind of attention you'd want.  I shudder at the thought.  This blog does not, I repeat NOT, contain "relevant results" if you're looking for that, thank you very much.

A Conversation Between A Brother And A Sister

Sister (amidst pity party): "No. No real friends. Bet if I died there'd be no more than 15 people at my funeral".

Brother: "No, c'mon, that's not true."

Sister (shaking her head dramatically): "No, it's true."

Brother (smiling): "No, it's tnot rue. I'd have at least 15 of my friends come to support me".

Sister, laughing out loud. Pity party over.

*Yes, ladies, he's available.

Thanksgiving Follies...a.k.a. What You Really Need To Know To Survive

Poker Chick would like to wish all her readers a Happy Thanksgiving and invites everyone to share their own "Thanksgiving Follies".

Continued from previous post....

The ill-fated haircut was part of a necessary annual "get ready for Thanksgiving" prep. A few whirlwind days filled with in-laws, friends of in-laws, meeting new people, and trying to remember a whole heck of a lot of names unsuccessfully. Well-meaning and nice as everyone may be, it still results in overwhelming noise, claustrophobia, and whole lot of name-forgetting embarrassments ("nice to see you again.....er....you...."). And we won't even begin to describe the great feats of gymnastics that are required for a clumsy person to navigate a giant buffet table in a small room. And we're talking about the good china, peeps.

This year has added complications where a big engagement party was added to the festivities. A practical and nice idea, no doubt. But we've just upped the ante significantly by adding introductions to a whole slew of people Poker Chick has never met before.....in their fancy clothes. So now Miss Manners is thrown into the three-day chaos, someone Poker Chick is not exactly "intimate" with.

Finally, let's not forget the mini. Put an overtired, overstimulated three-year old into a loud room with no other kids and thirty adults she doesn't remember who want to pinch her cheeks and kiss her and you have......one exhausted mother*. On top of that there's the issue of how to keep your kid safe in what is traditionally a pecan, walnut, and egg-infested meal.

So, peeps. Are we stressed yet?

If you can relate to any part of this, you probably realize that in situations like these a person needs to come equipped with some mojo. An advantage to tip the scales. And who among us couldn't use some of that?

Thus, we bring you the Poker Chick three-step-strategy:

1. Carry a lifeline (i.e. cellphone) at all times.


2. Know your weaknesses and use your assets to compensate. (For example, a great memory for names is not one of Poker Chick's core competencies. However, bribing someone with baked goods is a great strategy for diverting attention away from this!)


3. Look your best. Even if you don't feel your best, hey, no one will know! (We must caveat: stay within your comfort zone. "Look your best" can mean haircuts and shoppers for some. It can also mean a two-second swipe of lipstick for others. For others it just means wash your hair that day. You know who you are.)
   

Of course the three-step strategy isn't foolproof. For example, PC would need the discipline not to consume food or drink at said party in order to maintain the illusion of grace. But that's another post entirely.....

__________________________

*ok, and father.

You Did NOT Just Forget That....

How bad is it when your husband has to remind both you and your brother that today marks the date your mother died? Should you both feel like guilty children or is there some intentional self-preservation memory block going on today? Shouldn't Big Boy have called today then, or did he intentionally block it out too? And is it odd that though they live in two separate continents today happened to be they day they reunited?

Family Detour

Note: A couple of days until we post Part Two of the crazy travel week. We promise. Meantime, please to enjoy this sap-fest...

Emily's post had Poker Chick all sentimental and reminded her she had wanted to recount a moment to her own family (hint: family, this means you actually need to read this once in a while!). The other day, she and the mini were going through old pictures. This is a rare event, as anyone who knows Poker Chick is probably shocked she even knows where her pictures are.

At some point the mini found a picture of Poker Chick as a baby, maybe at 2 years old or so. She appeared to be whining and struggling to get out of her stroller. How appropriate. Anyway, the mini saw it and exclaimed "that's me!". Poker Chick jumped up too, because my g-d the kid was right. Had Poker Chick not been able to tell what year the photo was taken, it could easily have been mistaken for a photo of the mini. But what really amazed her was when she realized just how emotionally intelligent children can be.

The Mini: "Are you sad, Mommy?"
PC: "Yes, sweetheart, Mommy's sad".
Mini: "Why are you sad?"
PC: "Because I miss my Mommy".
Mini (throwing her arms around PC in a big hug): "Don't be sad, Mommy! You have me now."

Damn, that kid is smart.

Shout Outs

Poker Chick would like dedicate the song "Champagne Supernova" to Din Din and Big Boy today. To the Canada bunch, you've been awfully quiet up there. What's the story, Morning Glory?