You have to know Sadie....

Ok! So my first post! Lacking a profile, which I will correct shortly, I will say I am #3 of the 4 Joe and Eileen McLaughlin daughters, and I have 2 Children, Cole and Sadie. As all of the children in our clan, mine have their peculiarities. Here is a little story of Sadie.

We reluctantly had to take 12 year old kitty Ellie to the Vet. Sadie was convinced she was having a litter of kitties, as her tummy had become quite large. We had a bit of a wait, and Cole and Sadie were in heaven petting all the pups in the office. We kept explaining over an over, never just go up to a dog and touch it, you must ask the owner if it is ok. So Cole and Sadie were being quite cute and friendly asking all the dog lovers if they could pet their "babies". At one point, a woman came and sat next to me and Sadie with a sweet old Lhasa Apso. Sadie was between us. She looked at the woman and her dog, and in an Irish whisper said, "Mamma! CAN I TOUCH?" I told Sadie to ask the lady, who said, "Of course". Delighted, Sadie turned, and proceeded to stroke the woman's arm up and down! Ingoring the poor dog! I looked in horror, and said, "Oh! She is petting you!" She smiled and said, "Yes, I noticed that!"

Ellie, it turns out was fine. Just old!

Is the guy on the end a pervert?

Dad, Mom, Annie and I went to the movies. I believe it was Working Girl, but don't quote me on that. We sat in the the side row, aisle seat and the next three seats down. As we were watching the movie, we heard the couple behind us eating their popcorn. Very loudly. This continued on throughout the movie. Annie, Mom, and I took turns peering behind our shoulders, hoping they would get the hint and stop chewing like cows. But no, they did not stop.

About halfway through the movie, we decided we had had enough. We moved over to the seats closest to the wall. Annie moved first, I waited a few minutes then moved, and a few minutes later, Mom moved. This left Daddy sitting all by himself on the aisle seat. Because his hearing is not up to par, Dad had no idea why we moved down, he did not hear the cud chewers behind us, and he stayed where he was. We soon realized that it may have looked to others in the theatre that the gentlemen on the end was a pervert. But we thought that was a better alternative than to move back within ear shot of the moo cows.

When the movie ended, the three of us stood up and joined Daddy in the aisle and waited for the line of people to move on ahead. All of a sudden, the gentlemen who was part of the cud chewing couple looked at Daddy and said..."Joe...Joe McLaughlin!" It turns out the guy knew Daddy, I believe from Boston Edison. Mom, Annie, and I, being the mature ladies that we are, high tailed it up the aisle in embarrasment and once again left Daddy all by himself.

Husky ID Drama

So I’m a freshman at Northeastern University (Boston) and a staple that you will find on all Northeastern students at all times is a wonderful little gadget vital to college living: a Husky Card. 

In layman’s terms, this is simply a room key card which allows one access to his dorm building, dorm room, dining halls, the gyms, vending machines, and various other places around campus. Such as Chicken Lou’s, for example: that greasy shack off Huntington whose sandwiches all guys will swear by and all girls are afraid to touch for fear of gaining 20 pounds in one sitting.

They’re very cute, these Husky Cards. You’re given the chance to send in a picture of yourself for the front, so my senior picture-version of me is perpetually smiling up at the world rather than a haggard drivers-license/Sam’s Club-esque miserable shot where you always look either ready to die, kill, or fall asleep. 

The responsibility which that card holds, however, as one can imagine, is enormous. Without that card, you’re not getting into your room. You’re not eating. And no you canNOT go to the gym so THERE! Oh, what punishment....

One’s roommate is therefore an irreplaceable asset in dorm life as there is usually a good chance that only one of you was stupid enough to close your door with your ID card still inside; your means of college survival embodied in a laminate version of your beaming senior face (its expression possibly turned sour from displeasure over its current state of abandonment).

Patti Ann (my fantabulous roommate) and I have both found ourselves at one time or another semi-frantic over a misplaced ID. We’ve each actually had the experience of “losing” our ID, going to get a new one, and with a ding of piercing irony found the original card soon after paying $15 for the new. As a result of these prior mishaps, we found ourselves in possession of 4 Husky IDs: two with my face, two with Patti Ann’s. Well it was an ideal situation, really. Even though old, deactivated cards can’t get one into a dining hall or buy you something at Wollostan’s, the corner convenience store, the old cards do still let one open the dorm room door. Anticipating future key card mis-placements, us two savvy college gals gave one old card to Gina, our stupendous next-door-neighbor, and one to Brian, a rare ginger who lives on the floor above us. 

So no worries. No matter how we got locked out, Patti Ann and I would always be able to get ourselves back in.

(Note the foreshadowing--tantalizing, don’t you think? A reader at this point can already assert that, inevitably, a seemingly un-fixable lock-out will happen. But how, o, HOW?! 

Chillax, now, I’m getting there...)

...

I awoke this morning a tad tired. Nothing new, it would seem, for a human to feel the heavy weight of fatigue still tugging one insistently back into the melty-comfort of a warm bed in the morning. But this was architecture major tired. This was haven’t-slept-in-two-days-came-back-from-the-studio-an-hour-after-sunrise-only-dozed-for-two-hours kind of tired.

I knew it well. 

But, to reuse the overused phrase, Nature called, and I slumped out of bed and shuffled toward the bathroom trying to tell my body to shut up we’re awake now get used to it (this is, of course, assuming that my body and I are at once separate and as one, able to feel the same tired and yet scold each other back and forth for succumbing to such trivial human needs as sleep). The reflexive grab of my Husky Card was performed as any other sleep-deprived morning bathroom trip, and I did not even have the imagination to assume that today would be the same, let alone any different. It just would be, as it had been before.

Now the dilemma with having to take one’s Husky Card to the bathroom is the matter of temporary storage: where to put this most valuable slip of plastic while one did one’s business? Several options are available. The first is a pocket. This can be dangerous if the pocket is not deep enough and through the process of semi-disrobing the card tips over the edge of the protective slip of cloth and tumbles out and downward (as out and upward would mean one is not on Earth or attempting to pee upside down--an endeavor not personally recommended). My red plaid pajama pants--which coincidentally match the pairs of red plaid pajama pants each of my sisters have, together enabling both Christmas joy and holiday humiliation--have no pockets. ...Or if they do I do not know about them...So that was out.

There’s the counter with the sinks. This is usually a decent option, but one has to have the presence of mind to not charge straight into a stall but first stop and drop one’s card onto a dry stretch of counter (one never knows exactly what the liquid on a college bathroom counter is). 

And there’s the stick-the-card-in-your-bra bit, but that’s just not so feasible when you’re encased in an over-sized College Republican t-shirt.

Final option: the top of the toilet paper dispenser. Now this may not seem possible to the pessimistic, as the plastic dispenser is circular. Yet to the innovative college student with the need to pee and the will to succeed in that mission, nothing is impossible. A simple balance with the card’s center of gravity skillfully positioned atop the rotund plastic box (an oxymoron, this last phrase?) will suffice as a last-resort key-card holder.

This last was the route I ended up taking this morning.

Physically relieved, my sleep-deprived body lost all sense of concentration. A sloppy torso rotation was all it took to send my Husky card toppling off the top of its precarious pedestal and into depths of the toilet.

I didn’t have much of a reaction. I just stared. Stared at me staring at me. That smaller me ironically smiling despite my current predicament.

Well, now what? 

The thought was there, briefly, to reach in and get it. Not bare-handed--I had just gone to the bathroom and who knows what else had been in there? But there must be something I could use to fish it out, right? Tongs? No no I don’t have those...

Stare.

Stare back.

And then the automatic toilet decided that I must have finished by then and with a sudden noise was shooting my card down and away and gone.

Watching my face struggle a second or two to fit through the opening pipe, I slowly realized the helplessness of my current situation. Patti Ann was gone off to class for the next two hours. I had no cell phone. A double take struck me with further shock as I realized my attire: orange flip flops reserved only for showers and such routine bathroom runs as this one had seemed to be, red plaid pajama pants that like all pajama pants I have ever owned shrunk too-short to cover my ankles, and a black College Republicans t-shirt with a graphic scene of an elephant ravishing an unwilling donkey to the slogan “Don’t Preach That Liberal Crap to Me” vividly across the back. No make-up, unbrushed teeth, hair that hadn’t been washed in two days, and eyes that hadn’t shut for more than three hours in the past 48.

I was a hot mess.

I spaztically shuffled around the bathroom for a few seconds, my groggy mind at a loss to form a coherent plan of action. I soon rushed out of the sanctuary of the bathroom, that wonderful span of space where a girl may be assured that no male, cute or otherwise, might discover how she really looks. A knock on Gina and Hayley’s door confirmed what I already knew--they were both in class. As was Brian, I knew, at this time. I was locked out. When we had been so sure that such a thing could never truly happen, I was locked out. 

I had no choice but to go into that even more public place, the dorm lobby. The proctor who swipes people in and out of the different wings of the dorm was Indian, and a few precious minutes were wasted in trying to communicate my situation. (The details of exactly how I got locked out I did not relay.) This prolonged conversation only put me on public display for that much longer--in all my glory--to the 10 am wanderers of Speare Hall. Who, as it wonderfully turned out, to be I swear every one of them a guy.

Once it was finally communicated that I was locked out, the proctor sent me to the RA office--across the lobby where this fifth year RA Mint Mike has a good chance of being--to see if an RA could let me in. 

No one’s there, of course. 

The proctor’s response to this was a phone call to who-knows-where, and the sympathetic suggestion that I sit and wait for someone to come rescue me. Choosing the most shielded seat that I could find in the lobby, a bench right behind the proctor desk where I hoped I would be below the sightline of any passersby, I sat dejectedly--smelly, ugly, exhausted.

After about ten minutes (during which I realized by the amount of curious stares of strangers and acquaintances alike how un-hidden my perch upon the bench really was) Rithik came. 

Rithik lives in a single next to Brian. He’s in the military. He likes to argue.

Rithik came and sat with me for five minutes or so. He heard my sad story. After telling him that no, I can’t call Patti Ann because I do not have my phone, he texted Brian and found out that--wonder of wonders--Brian had gotten out of class an hour earlier that morning so he WAS in Speare after all.

So down comes Brian. Another witness to my shame. When at the desk the extra card didn’t work because it was the toilet card that was activated, Brian generously offered to run into my room (deactivated cards have the odd ability to work on one’s dorm door, but no where else) and get my activated card, Rithik giggled knowingly and I mumbled with black humor in my eyes that my card was not in my room.

More giggles.

“Then where?...”

“Just wait.”

The lovely foreign proctor graciously signed me into the dorm hall anyway, my un-working old id proof of who I was (as if she didn’t watch me walk out twenty minutes ago  tired and distraught and disgusting, if pitiably card-less). 

“Well? What happened?”

“...I flushed my card down the toilet.”

God and a plumber only know where my plastic smiling face is now.

You Must Be Elizabeth

I showed up late to my first day of CCD class when I was in 2nd grade. When I walked in the room, the teacher said.."You must be Elizabeth Corbett". I said..."Ok". For the entire class, I signed my papers Elizabeth and raised my hand when she called Elizabeth's name. Did not respond when she called Mary-Jo. This lasted through to the next class. I finally told Mom that my teacher thought my name was Elizabeth. She wrote me a note to give to the teacher, but she was out and we had a sub, so I didn't turn in the note. Mom urged me to tell the teacher the following week. I finally got up the nerve during attendence and raised my hand when she called Elizabeth, and then I raised my hand when she called Mary-Jo. She looked at me funny (as did all the students), and said.."Elizabeth, why are you raising your hand for Mary-Jo?" I said.."Because my name is not Elizabeth, my name is Mary-Jo." She said.."Um...ok."

She did say I must be Elizabeth.

I was shy. Very, very shy. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

If You Want a Man..

We went skiing for the weekend with Mom's friends Marilyn, Maryanne, and their families. One evening, the ladies decided to go out for a few cocktails while the kids stayed in and watched t.v. When they arrived home there was a lot of chatter and giggling going on..from the ladies mind you. When Mom came in to our room to say goodnight, she sat on the bed, and gave us a bit of advice that I do believe helped me in the future to find my husband. "If you want a man...you got to wash your feet."

Don't Touch that Dial!

One of our most beloved memories revolves around a new TV set. Back in the day, there were no remotes, you had to get out of your chair and change the channel. And there were all of seven channels at the time - 2, 4, 5, 7, 38, 56 and an occasional 27. On one particular afternoon, my sisters and I were arguing about what to watch. So every few minutes, one of us would get up and change the channel. Back and forth and back and forth, we would get up, walk across the room, turn the nob, sit back down. The constant bickering and the never ending parade of channel changers was just too much for our dear mother to bear. So, as the next kid approached the TV, my mother loudly declared, "You touch that dial again and I'll cut your legs off at the knees and you'll be walking around on stumps!!!"

Flashback: Mortified by Mom, moment #83

Mom, Friendly A-bay waitress extraordinaire, spies a familiar face sitting at the counter. She chats with the teen, commenting that she knows him from somewhere.

Did she say, "We are both from Medway!"
No.

Did she say, "You attend the same school as my daughters."
No.

Did she say, "My daughter Eileen has a picture of you on her bureau!"
Yes! Yes, she did.

She told Charlie, my secret crush, that her dorky daughter had sniped a photo of him and placed it bedside.

Within days, Charlie's sister presented me with a framed, autographed 8x10. I could have died of embarrassment.

The world revolves around Aidan

When I was very visibly pregnant with Charlotte I ran to Walmart to pick up some baby items. I was holding a box of baby crackers, trying to see if they were age appropriate for Aidan when a Walmart employee came up to me:

Emp: How many months?

MJ: Eight

Emp: Are you nervous?

MJ: Yes, a little bit

Emp: Your first?

MJ: Yes, and i'm just not sure if he'll choke on these, he only has two teeth

Emp: Huh? Um...oh..you have another one at home?

MJ: Oh..er..yes, i have an 8 month old at home, and i'm 7 months pregnant

Emp: Oh, well, i have a 2 year old, and she loves those crackers

MJ: Ok, thanks....


So needless to say, I was very embarrassed. It never occurred to me that he was talking about my very pregnant belly. I thought for sure he was asking me about Aidan..how could he not know that I had an eight month old at home??

I guess the world doesn't revolve around Aidan??

POOH !!!

We were sitting at the table after dinner last night, looking for themes to use for Charlotte's bday party. Aidan was perusing one of the catalogs, which was flat down on the table, when he saw Winnie the Pooh. He got so excited, he screamed out POOH, and then slammed his face down on the table at full force in order to give Pooh a kiss.

Ouch. Too much excitement can hurt. :(

Starting us off: a heart-warming holiday tale

December 19, 2009, Annie wrote:

OK, so I wanted to get Sadie the same make-up case my girls use for dance, and they are sold out everywhere. Can't get them online. I google them - available in the Walmart in Woonsocket. Try to get there early Friday morning, but Dad came by to have me do our usual last minute LLBean order for Mom for Christmas, so I got a late start. I get there, get one of the two available kits, grab the make-up, stocking stuffers, candy - all set for Christmas. Heading to the checkout. Then it begins - the fire alarm. Everyone out! We had to evacuate the store and leave everything where it was. It was now 11:20 - I have to be back in Medway at noon. I call Mark on the phone, so trying not to cry! Stuck in the parking lot with a zillion other holiday shoppers trapped by fire trucks. It sucked. I so wanted that case for Sadie!

So I head to work, sad, mad, pissed. Get a call about an hour and a half later - it's Mark. He's at the Woonsocket Wallmart - what the heck does this thing look like? OMG! He got the LAST ONE!! And, got some serious serious points!!

I'm thrilled to come home and start supper. Abby tells me she's setting the table. She gets out a fancy holiday table cloth, the Christmas dishes, wine glasses, candles, cloth napkins, the works. Went well with the sloppy joes!!

Here we go!

Joe McLaughlin married Eileen Reen September 23, 1961. They settled in Medway, Ma. They live there still.

Joe and Eileen raised four daughters. I am one. By New Year's Day 2010, each daughter had married and given birth to two children ... with one exception. Steve and I literally one-upped everyone by popping out a third. Have you done the math? Joe and Eileen have four daughters, four sons-in-law, nine grandchildren.

We sisters, we daughters of Joe and Eileen, intend to keep one another abreast of our little life stories through this blog. Our oldest children may chime in as well. Mary-Jo's kids are barely toddling and talking, so it will be some time before they are direct contributors.

Peek if you will. Peter may mind, but we don't.

Happy birthday, Mark!

Historical Note: Mark Carver shares his birthday with Grandpa, Mom's father.
Quick Quiz: Which of my sisters knows the year he was born?