Love and Grilled Cheese


Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Food, Love, Memories | Posted on 18-01-2015

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All you need is love. And grilled cheese.

To me, nothing is more comforting when you’re sick than a grilled cheese sandwich. Especially one that’s made with love. And butter. Golden, crusted bread with melted cheese overflowing. When you make one for the patient, you kinda have to make one for yourself.

Our family has been sick a lot this winter. Which means, there has been a whole lot of nurturing going on. And a whole lot of bread, cheese, and butter.

When my youngest son and I visited my aunt and uncle, my uncle asked if we wanted grilled cheese for lunch. Yes! And I could tell it was made with so much love (and American cheese) because it was quite possibly one of the best grilled cheese I have ever eaten. My son and I still reminisce…remember that sandwich?!

It was probably all the love that made it taste so good.

Grilled cheese sandwich = gone in 3 seconds.

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Mom Is Sick


Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Mothering, Parenting, Pippi's poetry | Posted on 15-11-2013

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Mom is Sick

Today was an “octopus wrestling” day
Work, soccer, sick child, deadlines, algebra…yay!

Too many commitments, I have no chance!
Where are my jammy pants?

The body aches are starting
At least I’m not farting

I must get to bed
Ah, the burning head

Mucinex Sinus
It is the finest

Fancy dinner? No such luck
That’s OK, Brussels sprouts suck

Cans of clam chowder en masse
My daughter can heat them, what a smart lass!

Asks my son, is that soup from New England? You bet!
He knows those Patriots

My two-hour nap was heavenly
My family got along swimmingly

Shows you that when Moms get sick
It’s really OK to check out for a bit

A lifesaver when Mom is sick.

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Threads of Life


Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Childrearing, Children, Family, Health, Life, Parenting | Posted on 29-03-2013

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My grandmothers and great-grandmothers were quilters. I’m a fan. The colors. The craftsmanship. The history. The metaphor: the quilt representing life. Especially the crazy quilt. I read that while many quilts have a repeating pattern, the beauty of a crazy quilt lies in its differences. Remember the movie How to Make an American Quilt?

My youngest son had eye surgery two weeks ago. He had a lump on his eyelid that needed to be removed. Worried parents. Anesthesia. Hospital gown. IV. He was wheeled away down the long hospital hallway. Brave boy. I couldn’t hold back the tears.

An hour later, he  emerged from surgery, that brave boy of mine. With a patch on his eye, he looked small, but relieved. Three new stitches in his eyelid.


Two days of recovery at home. Then, back to school. Back to tumbling class. Back to normal life. Two weeks later, the stitches came out.

And we now have another block to sew into our quilt of life. Just with three less stitches.


I spotted this beauty of a quilt here:


The. Stomach. Flu.


Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Humor, Life | Posted on 11-02-2013

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Ever wonder what your stomach is saying when it is gurgling and swirling with the stomach flu?

I know this! Pippi raises hand…

The other day, two of my children and I were home sick with the flu. The 24-hour variety. You know, the kind that when your friend asks, “Were you sick? What did you have?” And then you say “The stomach flu.” And you quickly add, “But I’m all better now!” Then your friend takes a few steps back. Because, eeewww. Who wants to get THAT?

So, this is what we looked like and sounded like. Instead of roaming the cemetery, we were roaming the house. The moaning was the same. I’m not kidding you, straight out from Night of the Living Dead. But instead, it was Day.


Is Your Bucket Half Full?


Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Attitude, Family, Life Lessons | Posted on 10-05-2012

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You’ve heard of the glass half full. But have you heard of the bucket half full? As in the vomit bucket?

The other day, I woke up sick. Sick, sick, sickety sick. Several trips to the bathroom. Enough said. I thought to myself, “I’ll call in sick to work and have the day to myself to sleep off the sickness.”

Not so fast.

Time to wake up my oldest son. “Uhhhh, Mooooom, I feeeeeel siiiiiick.” “Take a shower,” my husband suggested to see if he feels better. Five minutes later. Nope. Still stick. He’s staying home from school.

My daughter, who vomited the night before, woke up still sick. She’s staying home.

My youngest son walks like a zombie out from the toilet. “Mooooom, I have diarrhea.” OK. He’s staying home.

My husband heads bolts out of the door, heading off to work. Unscathed from the sick wrath.

To recap. One sick Mom. Three sick children. All at home. With the stomach flu.


Actually no. Despite multiple visits to the toilet, it was actually a day when all four of us stretched out on the sofa. Lying feet to feet. Comatose. We watched Lady and The Tramp. We dozed. We watched Bee Movie. We ate chicken noodle soup. We watched The Sword and The Stone. I dozed. We drank Sprite. We lazed around all day together. We were pathetic together.

Will we look back on this sick day as being awful? No way. The togetherness was healing.

This bucket was…half full.

Triple-Check Your Thermometer Before Inserting


Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Animals, Childrearing, Dogs, Family, Family Pet, Humor | Posted on 07-11-2011

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You know when you and a friend laugh so hard? So hard that you are shaking and you can’t catch your breath. And it is really hard to breathe? And you have to bend over so you can get some air in?

Too bad that doesn’t happen to me that much. I love to laugh like that. I chuckle. I giggle. I laugh. I LOL. But I don’t laugh-so-hard-you-can’t-breath laugh that much.

Here is a little, tiny real-life laugh-so-hard-you-can’t-breath story my husband and I experienced not too long ago.

One day, my oldest son was sick. He was burning up with fever. Rifling through our first aid tub, my husband and I found Bandaids, ointment, Neosporin, Tylenol, cough syrup, cotton balls. Where the hell was the thermometer?? We needed it pronto.

Digging, digging, we finally found it. Under all the supplies.

And then we saw that on the thermometer—written with a skinny Sharpie marker—was the word…DOG.

Enough said.