My husband broke the biggest cardinal rule known to married men, specifically married men to Stay At Home Moms. Last night, my husband did the equivilant of me waltzing into his mechanics shop and telling him he doesn't know how to fix anything. My dear, foolish, thick headed husband was begging for a beating by uttering the cursed words most Working Husbands fear...

"You haven't done shit around the house lately."

I know, most of my readers who live the SAHM/WP lifestyle are right now cringing after reading those, but no fear. I am not a violent person.


I am, however, a spiteful one.



Now for a joke:

A man came home from work and found his three children outside, still in their pajamas, playing in the mud, with empty food boxes and wrappers strewn all around the front yard. The door of his wife's car was open, as was the front door to the house and there was no sign of the dog.

Proceeding into the entry, he found an even bigger mess. A lamp had been knocked over, and the throw rug was wadded against one wall. In the front room the TV was loudly blaring a Cartoon channel, and the family room was strewn with toys and various items of clothing. In the kitchen, dishes filled the sink, breakfast food was spilled on the counter, the fridge door was open wide, dog food was spilled on the floor, a broken glass lay under the table, and a small pile of sand was spread by the back door.

He quickly headed up the stairs, stepping over toys and more piles of clothes, looking for his wife. He was worried she might be ill, or that something serious had happened. He was met with a small trickle of water as it made its way out the bathroom door. As he peered inside he found wet towels, scummy soap and more toys strewn over the floor. Miles of toilet paper lay in a heap and toothpaste had been smeared over the mirror and walls.

As he rushed to the bedroom, he found his wife still curled up in the bed in her pajamas, reading a novel. She looked up at him, smiled, and asked how his day went. He looked at her bewildered and asked, "What happened here today?"

She again smiled and answered, "You know every day when you come home from work and you ask me what in the world I do all day?"

"Yes," was his incredulous reply.

She answered, "Well, today I didn't do it."


My only problem is that I do not have any novels here that I haven't already read 4325689437 times, but I do have a handy dandy computer and a really comfy chair to sit in for the next 8 hours. Maybe after I feed the kids and toss the dishes haphazardly into the sink for my dear Lurch to come home to, I'll throw on my bathing suit and relax in Ma's wading pool on the deck.



Mommy's taking a day off.. and Daddy's going to have to work overtime.

My husband is on a babysitting suspension.

My brother went out on Tuesday, and I trusted me dear Lurch with Moo, Ma, and all of our furchildren.
The next morning after a healthy breakfast of 4 cups of coffee with 3 extra-strength Tylonol, I was brushing Rubys hair and to my terror, giant clumps and locks of curls fell out, and I freaked. In a complete panic, and wondering if she got a hold of some radiation, I called my sister, jumped on Google, was ready to make a visit to the State hopsital when Lurch came home.

All of a sudden, a little voice inside said "Liz, you DID leave him alone with the kids last night.." so I asked "Hooooooney? Did Ma play with scissors last night?"

*Pause*...."Why?"

"DID SHE?"

"Umn. Well, she started to but I stopped her." he replied sheepishly and turned away.

Well Dear, you didn't stop her fast enough. I'd hate to see what could happen if he was the SAHP. Would be children be running around bald and dirty day in and day out until the Men In White commit my husband and I? Since i'm too scared to fix it myself, I'll have to make an appointment for a 25 dollar cut.

Bah.

Oh My Gobble!

Travelling down Cranberry Hole Road a car of Jersiots stopped short right in front of us, causing my husband (with awesome reflexes) to lock our truck up and turn to the side to avoid hitting them. The windows on the passenger side rolled down and heads and arms crane out with a camera, pointing with the most shocked expressions of absolute, pure joy.

It was our Sunday drive and I was not about to let this ruin my day, so we sat back and waited patiently as they snapped photos into the woods and exclaimed ”THAT’S AMAZING!” for a couple more minutes, and we wondered if they even realized there was a obnoxiously loud turbo diesel truck idling five feet behind them.

Slowly, and reluctantly, the heads sink back into the car and they move on, making us wonder. What in the world were they looking at? Did they find the Montauk Monster? The Camp Hero Beast? Bill McGintees brain running loose through the forest instead of his head where it’s been missing from for years?

Their glee and wonder at this apparently exotic animal they stumbled over on their Bonac Safari peaked our own curiosity, so my own head stretched out the window when we finally had the chance to drive by ourselves.

“What is it? What is it?” my husband asks and my reply was more of an “Are You Serious?” type of shock than a truly awed one.

No Montauk Monster, no beast, no brain.

It was a turkey.

A friggin’ turkey.

Do they not have Turkeys in Jersey? If they really wanted to see one I would of been happy to give them the 19 pounder in my freezer. I personally think they’re a lot cuter without that tiny head and all those feathers, preferably Golden Brown with cornbread stuffing on my Thanksgiving Table.

A. TURKEY.

I loudly Gobbled at it, and hoped my poor attempt at Turkey Language translated to “Get in the woods you damn bird.. you’re amusing the tourists too easily!” At least the gobbling made my hubby giggle, since before that second he looked more ready to make a Golden-Plated-Jersey-Volvo sacrifice to the Poultry Gods.

I hope those folks don’t cause any accidents by stumbling over a rare and elusive Squirrel or even gasp, Bunny. “AMAZING!”? No, not car accident-worthy amazing.

The Bonac Wall and A Ploversy

Reading Jerrys letter two weeks ago (I'm probably one of the few who cracked a smile during some of it, Hell I giggled.) left me wondering about these stupid little birds that continue to shut down our beaches, and how their sheer existence effects our Summertime quality of life.

Probably one of the most popular beaches to attend for Locals is off of Napeague Lane. Every Sunday we gather the kids and join the line of trucks of friends and families for a great day.. especially now because thanks to a little snafu in Mr. McGinfees parking sticker Nazism, you may have to pay to park AT the beach, but not ON it. So thankfully we didn't have to take 25 dollars out of our rent or grocery money to buy a sticker this year.

So, imagine my surprise when we went down a few weeks ago and found our glorious beach, the last place real locals can have a good, free time, has all but disappeared. Instead of a couple of miles of good friends and families, we now only have a couple hundred yards before that dreaded snow fencing and Piping Plovers signs rise up out of the Sand like the Bonac Berlin Wall. A couple families were there, crammed in the few yards between the fence and entrance to the beach, shrugging and shaking their heads.

I come out of my truck and survey the situation. Unlike other "Plover Quarantine" areas, this fence protrudes as far towards the water as possible, and there must of been at least six threatening signs zip tied all over it. Reluctantly, since there was no room for us, we packed it up and went home.

How strange. Up until this summer, Napeague was the only beach that has never been bordered off in such an extreme way for the rats. Napeague is also the only beach a Bonacker can go to without needing the 25 dollar McSticker. Now the beach is so small no one can fit on it. Did Billy Boy realize the little loophole in his Money Making scheme? Sure, there was a plover inside the fence, there was also one outside, Heck, there are plovers running around on every beach I have been to this summer. They're about as thick and irritating as deer ticks these days. I've seen More of these little sucker than I have seagulls.

When I got over my initial fuming I did come up with some good schemes, to make the day of anyone who is as annoyed with these little birds as I.

Plover Putting. Want to give some Citiots and maybe a beach cop a good heart attack? Find yourself a few golf balls, dip it in glue and roll it in a mess of black, white and grey feathers. Head down to your favorite quarantined beach one morning and place them strategically near the snow fencing, close to the surf. Then go relax on your beach chair with your favorite nine iron close at hand. Whenever a couple comes walking by, spring up, go running at one of your "Plovers", and with a loud "FOWL!" put it off into the ocean, feathers flying and all. Watch the reaction that ensues and be pleased.


New Recipe: This one is Fail Proof people. I gave it a try last weekend and once the population is high enough for open season on these suckers it will be my favorite snack.


Buffalo Plover:

1 Dozen plovers, plucked and cleaned
1 egg
1 cup flour
1 teaspoon Seasoned Salt
oil for frying
1 stick of butter
4 tbsp Hot Sauce
1/2 cup ketchup
Melt butter, ketchup and hot sauce together on low heat.
Scramble egg and reserve in small bowl. Mix Flour and seasonings in a larger bowl.
Heat oil to 375 degrees
Dip plovers in egg, then flour mix, then fry for 7-10 minutes or until golden brown.
Dip in sauce, and serve with blue cheese and your favorite vegetables.
An excellent, organic alternative to chicken wings that is sure to please a crowd.