Category Archives: We Put the Fun in Dysfunction

July 14, 2026 · 11:30 am

Jet Lag

Confession: My husband and I haven’t flown in over 16 years—and it shows. I don’t know how that happened, it just did. Life got in the way of our travel plans, I guess. At any rate, we looked like fools at the airport, not realizing that people check in with an electronic kiosk now instead of interacting with an actual human. Thankfully, we were traveling with our daughter and her partner so together they were able to walk us through the process of tagging our enormous suitcase and printing our boarding passes—which would’ve been a nightmare for tech-challenged people like us.

Of course, packing that enormous suitcase (that came unreasonably close to exceeding the 50-pound weight limit) was an exercise in futility. We scrutinized the ridiculous list of approved substances for our carry-on bags, the recommended baggie sizes and permitted volumes of liquids along with all the restricted items until we were ready to scream. And because the gods hate me, my 3-oz. bottle of shampoo leaked anyway. On both flights.

As one might expect, our TSA experience was tolerable in both airports, but still inconvenient and time-consuming because of the incredibly long lines—and because I had to remove my belt and almost lost my pants shuffling to the scanner. Everyone else was in the same boat which made it entertaining. Sort of. Thankfully, only one of us had to be subjected to a pat-down and the thorough inspection of a backpack—all because of sweat and the fact that the stupid machine couldn’t “see” through a hardcover book. As a result, we almost missed our return flight. But on a positive note, we encountered some adorable cats that were also waiting in those long lines and at least one of us got to pet them. On a side note, I’m fairly certain the cats were more personable than the TSA could ever aspire to be.

I know I’ve used a travelator/moving sidewalk in the past, but I don’t remember it being such a challenge to keep pace with while hauling an embarrassment of bags and constantly looking over my shoulder to see how my husband was managing with his embarrassment of bags. As an added bonus, he had to maneuver around an oblivious toddler who was planted near the exit path like a tree. The good news was that neither of them wiped out and we made it to our gate in time for preboarding.

I also don’t remember navigating an airport so large it should be criminal via a people mover, which is a glorified subway where it’s common practice to hang on for dear life. But it got us to where we were going—in a hurry.

The actual flights were good in that we took off without incident, stayed in the air and landed safely, all the while tracking our path across the country on a nifty little screen situated on the back of the seat in front of us. Being the nerd that I am, I truly enjoyed such a device and felt compelled to inform my husband every time we flew over a city, lake or other noteworthy landmark. I figured he’d thank me later. The only downside was that our kids were seated next to an oddball who never spoke—not even to the flight attendant or to them when they needed to scoot past him to use the restroom. It takes all kinds, I guess.

Interestingly enough, I later learned that Newark and Denver made the list of 11 most stressful airports in the United States. Naturally, we hit both of them in one day. But because of the expertise of our wonderful AAA travel agent, Felicia, all went according to plan. She made arrangements for both hotels, two-way flights for the four of us and a spacious rental van for the amazing week we spent in Colorado with another daughter and her fiancé.

Needless to say, we all had a terrific time bonding for the first time as a family since January—unless you count FaceTime. We visited with some friends who live nearby, shopped ad nauseam and had a blast at Topgolf together. Never mind the delicious meals. And the trip to the summit of Pikes Peak was especially exhilarating via the Cog Railway. Only three of us needed canned oxygen and/or an inhaler, so I’d call that a win.

And because every adventure is educational, I learned that it’s not a vacation until someone gets a tattoo. For the record, four of us did. I also learned that jet lag is, indeed, real.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (poring over gorgeous photos of snow-capped mountains). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

Out to Pasture

Just when I thought my household décor was in vogue and on par with the latest design trends, the universe had the audacity to inform me otherwise. I know this because I watch entirely too much HGTV. Apparently, my kitchen cabinetry is dated, even though its appearance and functionality are ideal in my mind. I love the soft close feature that each cupboard boasts and the ridiculously spacious Super Susans nestled in the corners. Even the key cabinet, where we now house all sorts of things aside from keys, is beyond convenient. Never mind the enormous drawers hidden beneath our 34-square foot island that can each hold 100 pounds or more. And because I own way too many pots and rogue Rubbermaid containers, those drawers are perfectly suited to manage it all.

I can’t even begin to express how thrilled I was, and continue to be, with the spaciousness of almost every aspect of our kitchen that we renovated over 13 years ago. Even the junk drawer has room for all our junk—which is really saying something.

And the sturdy exterior of the cabinetry, a beautiful Brazilian stained quarter sawn oak that makes my heart smile every time I enter the kitchen, extends all the way to the ceiling so that I no longer have to wonder what to do with the worthless space (i.e. dust trap) atop the cupboards. Plus, I can now store even more—I just have to haul a stepladder in to make it happen. And yes, the countertops, island, floor and paint all hail from a decidedly warm and earthy color palette—egregiously far from what is considered trendy by today’s standards. Everything, it seems, is either pristine white or muted gray nowadays. Where’s the fun in that—let alone the whimsy?

What’s more, popular kitchen/bathroom hardware, fixtures and lighting are mostly brushed brass of late, something I tried so hard to eradicate from my home since it smacked of the ‘80s. Are we going backwards here? Are bell-bottoms next? That said, wallpaper has been resurrected from the dead, evidently. I cringe every time I see the hosts of the Property Brothers or Love It or List It decide to add it to various rooms as some sort of magical feature because I distinctly remember becoming enraged while attempting to remove every stitch of it from my home. At one point, we had to hire someone to save us from ourselves by doing the job for us. Thank you, Ed Gair.

It’s no surprise that the entire topic of home improvement has always been a point of contention between my husband and me. We rarely agree on the specifics of how to renovate, so when the stars and planets align so that we are, in fact, on the same page, we immediately put the changes into effect. That’s how we ended up with gorgeous dark walnut-hued vinyl plank flooring (that looks exactly like hardwood) in our living room and dining room. Amazingly, it resists scratches, stains and water. Good thing—because we had a little dog that whizzed on the floor indiscriminately for years. Unfortunately, though, we can’t seem to agree on whether to replace our hideous pink carpet in the bedrooms that my husband swears is salmon with more carpet or perhaps more vinyl. He is of the opinion that we should install more carpet (potentially terrible carpet) while I think vinyl plank flooring makes more sense because it would contribute to the overall flow in our home. Of course, I learned that term by watching HGTV.

Either way, we’re doing it wrong according to the home décor experts. Invariably, the folks on many of the episodes prefer lighter-colored flooring. And they almost never opt for carpeting, much to my husband’s disappointment.

Further, I’m sure if they had their way regarding our home, they’d advise us to knock down walls, move the stove and reorient our stairwell in order to create a more open concept and better feng shui. Yes, I learned those terms on the network, too.

No doubt, that very same network would likely be prepared to put my precious design ideas out to pasture, long before it’s time. Who knows; maybe the universe is right.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably watching HGTV). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

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Filed under Captain Quirk, Home Improvement, Rantings & Ravings, We Put the Fun in Dysfunction

Tagged as cabinetry, family, HGTV, home decor, Home Improvement, humor, marriage humor

May 27, 2026 · 12:39 pm

Pool Fools

My husband and I put in a pool about seven years ago, when our youngest kids went off to college. It was a not-so-veiled scheme to lure them back home to visit each summer; and it worked for the most part. It didn’t hurt that we kept adding fun floaties every season so they could loll around in the water while listening to a favorite playlist and sipping something cool and refreshing. That said, our pool truly is an oasis—our little backyard refuge where we have fun just bobbing up and down on our oversized noodles, not a care in the world, balmy water lapping at our chins.

Despite how decidedly wonderful this pool is, I’m quite sure our kids have no idea what horrible caretakers we are. To date, our ineptitude knows no bounds. The folks at Fagnano’s Pools know the score. Without a doubt, no two stupider people have set foot in their establishment seeking guidance and/or a small team of marriage counselors. We never remember anything they’ve taught us so they have to walk us through the opening every year. Thankfully, they are more than accommodating and incredibly patient, even though it’s plain to see by every metric we are fools and we have no business owning anything that requires regular maintenance. Every spring we turn to the gurus at Fagnano’s for specific instruction on opening our pool. Of course, they remove the winter cover, install the ladders and get the filter running, et al. But when it comes to adding chemicals and salt, we’re utterly clueless. Fortunately, they provide us with a detailed list of what to add and when—and also when it’s safe to begin heating the water. No one wants algae running amok.

That is not to say, our pool experience has been uneventful. Perish the thought. There was the time we somehow sucked the mesh “skimmer sock” through the pipes, under the pool, all the way to the filter on the other side. And because the gods were smiling upon us, the sock didn’t get wedged in the pipes UNDER THE POOL. And thankfully the pieces of my husband’s dissolving swimsuit didn’t get sucked into the skimmer. What’s more, within the first couple of seasons we tore the solar cover and just stopped using it. Besides, there are big, hairy spiders in the cavity that houses the cover and I am not a fan of reaching in there.

Another spring, our water was the color of a pond (actually, less inviting than a pond) because great hordes of spongy moth caterpillars were perched in a huge oak tree above the water, pooing indiscriminately. What we didn’t know was that the disgusting particles were so fine, they couldn’t be removed the way we normally cleaned the pool. This necessitated vacuuming by hand so as not to stir up the poo that had settled to the bottom, and because we’re so dependent on the robotic vacuum that does the job automatically, our neighbor, Jay, had to show us how to do it because he’s forgotten more than we know. To say that this task was laborious is an understatement. That’s code for WE DIDN’T SWIM UNTIL MID-JULY. Although we hated to do it, we removed the oak tree and haven’t experienced that sort of fresh hell since then.

Aside from the spongy moth fiasco, last summer we noticed that the pool wasn’t holding its heat for about two or three weeks even though it was ungodly hot outside and the nights weren’t all that cool. Naturally, we called Fagnano’s to save us from ourselves. They took one look at our equipment and informed us that THE HEATER WAS OFF, apparently. My husband and I were dumbfounded as to how that happened. Like I said, no two stupider people own a pool.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably floating on a purple noodle). Visit me there at

www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom.

Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

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Filed under Endless Summer, Ode to Embarrassment, Vacation Schmacation, Vat of Complete Irreverence, We Put the Fun in Dysfunction

Tagged as humor, marriage, marriage humor, pools, summer, summer activities, swimming, swimming pools, village idiot

April 28, 2026 · 12:00 pm

Strangelings

Most would agree that cats are weird little dudes. Adorable and fuzzy, of course, but definitely weird. At least ours are. My husband and I have had a number of them over the years. Long-haired, short-haired, smoky grey, orange, jet black and tabby. But they all seemed to have one thing in common: weirdness.

We had one cat who made it a habit to walk our kids to and from the bus stop before and after school. He was like clockwork. Even the bus driver, Helen, was keenly aware of his presence and made sure he was all the way across the road before she drove off, as if he were one of the kids—just furrier. This cat also played fetch, like a dog. He would chase various items that we threw for him and dutifully brought them back.

Another cat felt compelled to bring us the carcass of whatever he happened to slaughter on his nightly adventures. He’d leave beheaded creatures at the doorstep as a “gift” for us or conveniently carry them inside where we could more closely inspect that which was obviously precious to him. Sometimes he’d remove not only the head, but the paws, too, and then he’d display them neatly in a row, which is both disturbing and impressive. I’ll never forget stepping on a dead mouse on the porch IN MY BARE FEET on one occasion, stifling a scream. I’m sure he was pleased that I took note of his hunting prowess.

Still another cat, who was feral but became quite loveable over time, used to BITE rocks; although he did bite my husband more than once, sending him to the doctor for antibiotics. At any rate, our kids collected rocks at every turn and displayed some of the smaller ones on our kitchen island next to some candles. I don’t know what went on in that furry little head of his that insisted it made perfect sense to grate his teeth across stones from time to time, but something clearly did. I think he even had a favorite rock that he gnawed upon more than the others. Of course, I kept the rocks. I just couldn’t bear to toss them out after he passed.

Currently we have two cats that get along for the most part, Peets and Mario; but what’s odd is that Peets routinely tackles Mario like a linebacker—a cat that is TWICE her size. She just walks up to him, looks him dead in the eye and pounces, wrapping her tiny arms around his enormous neck. Stranger still, he backs down after a short-lived scuffle (so that Peets can resume giving me a bath). What a weirdo. But aside from the mismatched brawling, Mario has some traits we’ve discovered that eclipse all the others. We haven’t had him all that long, but he has provided a wealth of entertainment in that time.

For starters, he crawls inside ridiculous spaces—like our Lazy Susan, our pantry, our dryer and our refrigerator for God’s sake. I know, it’s a disgusting habit. He also resurrects random items from the cellar, carries them upstairs and shoves them under the door—like a gift. Stuff like pencils, screws, bolts and chewed-upon markers (often with the caps removed). Of course, we’re immensely appreciative. For context, our cats spend the night in our basement because we simply cannot let them have the run of the house. I haven’t completely lost my mind. What’s more, he plays fetch with himself by hauling an actual tennis ball to the top of the stairs and then lets it bounce all the way down. I know because I hear it thud on each step for hours on end and it only started happening after we adopted him. I’m pretty sure he’s the one placing toy mice (and sometimes REAL mice) in his water bowl as well, soggy as ever. I’m not sure if the real mouse died because he was bludgeoned to death or he drowned. Either way, he was a goner.

I suspect Mario has a personal vendetta against my houseplants, too. More specifically, he tries to murder them on a daily basis. He pulls them out of the pots and drags them across the floor, dirt and plant bits scattering everywhere. Naturally, I shout obscenities at him—just like all the times he jumps on me (or my husband) and attaches briefly to our backsides. Occasionally, he’ll leap as high as our shoulders, which is remarkable in its own right. Clearly, he’s not getting enough attention.

I’ll have to work on that.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (with two strange little beasts). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

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Filed under Home is Where the Weirdness Lives, The Natives are Decidedly Restless, We Put the Fun in Dysfunction

Tagged as cats, family, humor, pets, rescue cats

March 3, 2026 · 9:46 pm

Hot Mess

It may sound a bit strange, but I have a slight obsession with snowmen. The indoor décor variety, more specifically, designed to be displayed throughout the house—several of which were handcrafted by my daughters in grade school. That makes them even more special, I think. I realize that spring is just around the corner and that most people have probably stowed that sort of thing away already. But not me. I can’t bear to banish them to the attic with the rest of our holiday decorations. Call me crazy.

When our kids were little and even a little biggish, we spent countless hours building snowmen, snow forts and snow furniture together in the yard—sometimes with neighbors, sometimes with grandparents and sometimes after dark. I’ll never forget the night we built two gigantic snowmen at the edge of our property facing the street so that our bus driver, Helen, could see them when she arrived in the morning. I think she was pleased. Without question, those times spent in the snow represent some of my favorite memories harvested from parenting. Maybe that’s partly the reason I keep the snowmen around—a little reminder of the good days that were had.

Or maybe my shrine to snowmen (and cutout snowflakes for that matter) has more to do with the fact that my love for winter has grown exponentially since the advent of menopause. I used to be a “summer person.” Not so much anymore. Hot flashes are no picnic. Neither is weight gain, brain fog or night sweats. I’ve had them for ELEVEN YEARS and counting. That’s longer than we’ve endured Trump—which is really saying something.

Not surprisingly, I’ve purchased special (very expensive) “menopause pajamas,” read tons of books and articles on the subject, talked with numerous doctors about my sufferings, tried various medications, both over-the-counter and prescription, and have come to the conclusion that I’m doomed. Or maybe it’s just that God hates me. Probably both.

Thankfully, I was gifted two personal fans to help with my miserable situation, in the event that the batteries wear out and I need a replacement. One of them is ideal in that it’s small, lightweight and designed to be hand-held. Plus, its fan blades are really soft and flexible so that when they hit my face, I don’t take an eye out. The other one is super quiet, has three speeds and is actually wearable—for my insufferably hot neck area, of course. When I switch one on, my husband instinctually moves away from me, because obviously, the last thing I need is his body heat adding to my inferno.

I’m sure that man just shakes his head when he finds me lying on the tile floor like a dog. In my defense, I knew our dogs were on to something. Cold air sinks and central air-conditioning can only do so much in the stifling heat of summer.

What’s more, I set the bedroom temperature at a cool 67 degrees and sleep with a ceiling fan on even in the dead of winter. Yes, my husband hates it. But he loves me (I think) and takes one for the team every night. While he’s burrowed beneath the blankets, I’m flipping my flipping pillow over to the cool side umpteen times a night, ripping the sheets off and hanging one leg off the bed so that, for at least a moment, I can catch a breeze from the aforementioned ceiling fan that’s just trying its best. Sad to say that a lot of nights, spooning is out of the question. In lieu of that, he sometimes retrieves a spare fan out of his nightstand and holds it over my face in the dark. Not to worry; the blades on that one are soft and pliable, too.

What’s weird is that I can be minding my own business, completely comfortable with the air temperature around me and then out of nowhere I feel a wave of heat so intense I’m sure it came from the depths of hell. It then rises from the base of my skull, eventually enveloping my entire head and body. As an added bonus, my glasses fog up and I sprout a tiny sweat mustache. Talk about a hot mess. That’s an understatement.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably building a snowman in the lawn). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/notesfromplanetmom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.