Can I Have a Taste?

Food mooching. 


How do you respond when you sit down to eat and another person asks for a bite?

Is this appropriate behavior? Do you enjoy sharing your dinner platter with others?

When I sit down to eat, I want to eat what is on my plate. This is mine – that is yours, don’t ask. Eat your own stuff.

I recognize that there are couples who are deliberate about collaborating on food choices at restaurants so as to each share half a plate. If that’s your thing, I think that’s cool, but it is so not me. Please don’t ask me to share.

I know entire families whose forks are constantly on each other’s plates, cutting up chunks of meat and eating freely.

No. Just no.

When it comes to parenting, sharing food is a whole other issue. I often give my kids whatever they ask from my plate just to keep them from bugging. The loss of food is worth the silence it buys. I’m not talking about that.

I’m talking about adult on adult food mooching – do you do it? Do you approve? Or do you inwardly cringe and then purposefully “sneeze” all over your food when a known food moocher walks in the room?

I May Be Addicted

I may be addicted.


I had a mini-“help”er.

I’ve spent eight+ hours over the past two days, basically this whole weekend, painting a bedroom. At 6:30 tonight I changed my paint-laden pants into a semi-clean skirt and took my daughter out to buy a bathing suit for tomorrow because the one she bought after church today, during the “entire family buys bathing suits after church extravaganza”, didn’t look right (to her). Of course, as soon as I reached the shopping center I realized it was Sunday and the shops would be closed by 6PM. It was 7:08PM. I promised the girl we would stop at the store on the way to the pool tomorrow and get her a suit, I sent her into the local ice cream parlor for a vanilla milkshake for dinner, swore her to secrecy since the sisters weren’t getting ice cream and came home.

Dishes need to be done, my house is trashed and all I really want to do is lay down and sleep. Or watch Signed, Sealed and Delivered, whichever comes first.

I think not.

I think not.

Before any of that could happen I was hugging my tearful seven year old whose heart was breaking because she didn’t get ice cream (somebody spilled the beans) and I smelled smoke on her hair. When I asked why she smelled like smoke she told me it was because there was smoke upstairs. Uh oh.

“Why does it smell like smoke upstairs?” I yelled up the steps.

My thirteen year old said it was the potatoes on the stove.


The boiling potatoes for the potato salad for tomorrow that I put on the stove. And forgot about.

This confirms that I really shouldn’t be allowed near kitchens or basically attempt to work at all for the rest of the night.

Yet here I am. 7:39PM on a Sunday night and I feel compelled to blog.

I wonder what disasters I’ll find when I read this post tomorrow…

Happy Memorial Day!

Happy Memorial Day!


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I Eat Crazy for Breakfast

I stopped by the drugstore this afternoon to pick up a card for my mother whose birthday was yesterday. Eighteen dollars ($18) later while attempting to hand over my credit card to the checkout guy he asked me if I wanted some headache medicine. Was the insanity swirling around me that noticeable? He gestured to the swippy machine in front of me (as usual – my brain refuses to believe that I actually have to swipe the card myself) and before I left, with my two cards, four bags of chips, two packs of Strawberry TicTacs and four wonderfully rambunctious (and hungry) children  I replied,

No thanks. I eat crazy for breakfast.



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It’s Like a Jungle Up Here

If you visit Clothed with Joy regularly you may know that I am from New Jersey. I realize that NJ is not “up” to a large portion of the world and for that I’m very sorry. It’s just how we talk, plus most jungles tend to be located geographically south of the North East, USA. FYI.


Fact: Squirrels like the sound of my screams.

This morning I startled a squirrel. Squirrels in New Jersey are aggressive. I still have memories of being chased around the block by a squirrel as a child. I am not kidding. Around the whole block. It happened.

squirrel hole

Squirrel hole.

If you visit just about any outside trashcan lid in South Jersey you will find that a hole has been chewed into it. A squirrel hole. I once came home to find a squirrel on my lawn holding a piece of pizza by the crust and chowing down. Not kidding. It happened.

This morning I startled a squirrel. Apparently, I startled the squirrel enough that he leaped out of the adjoining trashcan and onto my thigh. This is the honest to goodness truth. This stuff happens to me. Neighbors four blocks over heard the screams.

A few months ago I was at the Philadelphia Zoo with my girls. It was winter and a little snowy so we ate our lunch at one of the many picnic tables near the carousel.

Picnic tables + zoo = Squirrel Hunting Grounds.

As we were eating lunch a squirrel came over and sniffed around our table. G, who is terrified of animals (zoo animals don’t affect her) started to get a little panicked. The squirrel continued to get more and more aggressive and moved from under the table by our feet up on to the table with us. G was in a full scale freak out by this point. I shooed the squirrel and spoke calmly to the children, who were now all sitting on the same side of the table opposite to me and somewhat freaked out as well (I don’t blame them).

The squirrel had moved on, so I instructed the children in my most momly voice to ignore the squirrel and it would go away.



The squirrel leaped off the table behind me and clung onto my back spread eagle for a good half second. If only someone had been videotaping, we would be millionaires.

It’s like a jungle up here, and the squirrels like the sound of my screams.


I once had a squirrel in my dining room, remember this post with the squirrel trap? That’s nothing compared to the monkey in my kitchen, but that’s another story.

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In a pool of mediocrity occasionally you come across a written piece of work, so true and so stinkin’ funny that you cry. I’m going to be laughing all day over this one. If you have taught children, parent children, occasionally spent time in the presence of children – you’re gonna get this… Enjoy, it’s worth the four minutes of your life. -Rebecca

John Lee Taggart

Kids make me sick. And, no, not just uncomfortable, or a little bit queasy – but down right, pit of the stomach, SICK. It’s just something that they do that can turn that “thank God it’s Friday!” feeling, into “thank God I didn’t eat a large greasy breakfast”…let me run you through Friday’s events real quick ~

So I’m sitting in my kindergarten class, going through one of the books – most of the kids say that it is “easy peas” (they’re Korean so cut them some slack on the misuse of the phrase!), however one of the boys struggles with learning difficulties, so I’m giving him a little bit of extra help. That’s when I hear the long whine that I hear about 3000 times a day (approximately): “Teeeeeeeaaaacccccherrr? Oh, Teaaaaaachhherrrr? Teeaaaaachherrr! TEAAAA-”

“Oh my GOH…WHAT?”

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Everything in This Post is a Lie

The Following Foods DO NOT HAVE ANY CALORIES!:

1. Any French Fries left at the bottom of the McDonald’s bag.

2. Cookie dough directly off the beater.

3. Ice Cream licked off of your kid’s melting cone.

4. Every single Potato Chip that is folded in half is calorie free. They are a gift from the Lord Himself to His children. Chips that are folded over twice actually help you lose weight.









Everything in this post is a lie.

The proof? Multiple posts that proclaim that I am plump:

I suppose you get the picture.

Everything in this post is a lie, yet for some reason, I still believe it.

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The Moment That I Lose My Love for Humanity

bird tree

Fact: If people learned how to drive there would be a lot less traffic.

Oh my. Cars. Are. (gulp) Merging.

What? There is a…shoe on the side of the road? Whatever should we do?

The road appears to curve ahead! Woe. Is. Me. Woe.

This is the moment where I pretty much lose all my love for humanity.

What did it? Traffic and the bad drivers that create it.

These traffic nightmares usually happen during long drives on the highway when I really just want to get there. You know – there. Wherever there may be. Home, usually. To make matters worse, my regular radio station tends to be out of range in these remote places and so in between slowing down to a full stop for no reason other than there appears to be a large bird sitting in a tree next to the highway, I must lean over to continually push the seek button on my ancient car’s radio. The love may be gone, but I still harbor a teensy bit of hope that I might find something pleasing to listen to as the precious moments of my life drain away.

It’s usually in these moments where I have lost all my love for humanity that I’ll catch myself singing along to every word of Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” even though I haven’t heard it since at least the 1990’s. Madonna, of course, reminds me of walking around my house at 11 years old belting out the words to “Like a Virgin” at the top of my lungs and not having a clue what it meant.

Eventually, my nineteen year old brother got annoyed and told my mom what I was singing. I don’t remember what mom did but for some reason the memory of little Rebecca belting out “like a virgin, touched for the very first time” while strolling around the familial homestead, is suddenly hysterical, and just like that, my love for humanity is restored.

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Everyone is Friendlier Than People from New Jersey


NJ t

Everyone is friendlier than people from New Jersey.

I am a born and bred South Jersey girl, and honestly, I never really believed the above statement was true until I was away this past weekend. I drove oh so far away, it took a whole hour and fifteen minutes to get there and I crossed an actual state line, but I may as well have been in another country. I walked (like Forrest) around this little PA town and everyone (and when I say “everyone,” I mean EVERYONE) greeted me as I passed by. Fellow walkers, people on bikes, working people – every variety and age of human being said, “Hello” and/or asked How I was.

At one point, after walking for about an hour and having everyone and their brother (literally) acknowledge me in some way,  I passed by a house where three adults were standing far back on the property in the middle of a discussion. As I came closer I thought to myself, they are totally gonna stop talking and say “hello” to me. And you know what? THEY DID.

People from New Jersey think they are friendly. We recognize that Southerners are certainly way higher up on the Friendliness scale than we are but other than that, I don’t think we actually believe the whole “New Jersey people aren’t friendly” thing.

We honestly believe that we are friendly.

I feel friendly. I talk to people in grocery lines. I smile at people walking by. I almost always at least say “Hi” if I pass a dog walker on the bike path. I even bring Welcome Gifts to new neighbors.

I  truly believed, until this past weekend that is, that I was friendly. Maybe not Southern friendly, but friendly.

Traveling to another state shot that idea to crap. I realized that, yes, I AM friendly, but in a NJ friendly kind of way which probably doesn’t translate to other areas of the world as “friendliness” but to us New Jerseyians, it totally does. We get it.

For instance, if I am walking down the street and someone is passing by on the other side, I will politely ignore them so as not to disturb them from their internal revelry. NOT acknowledging a passerby so as not to disturb them, translates as friendly to a NJ person. If however, I am passing on the same side of the street as another person, I might nod and smile, I may even go so far as to say, “Hi.” And that right there is like Girl Scout Badge Award Winning Super Duper friendly in New Jerseyland. We are friendly in our own minds.

At least I am.

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Answer Honestly

Answer honestly. Captain-America-Poster

It’s Friday night and you walk into a 6:45PM movie, for example, Captain America, The Winter Soldier, and see a woman seated along with 1,2,3,- four children. What comes to mind?

“Oh crap.” ?

“They’re gonna be loud.”

“How cute.”  Hahahahahahaha, (wipes tear) that was a good one.

Oh, you didn’t even notice?

Just curious because, I might have possibly been at the movies at 6:45 last night with four children watching CA, TWS. Now, granted, my seven year old was ticked and whiny when it was after 7PM and the actual movie hadn’t started yet. “You said FOUR minutes!”


Never-fear, it’s not nearly as bad as you imagine. Ten minutes into the film, both the five AND seven year old were sound asleep. On me. I’ve just now regained feeling to my left arm.

Why do I even buy tickets for these people?

We made it through the next 2 hours and 3 minutes of movie without a peep. Well, almost. The little one whined for something to drink the entire last fifteen minutes, but it was intermittent and somewhat quiet whining. I did finally pay attention to her and realized that my eleven year old was harboring nearly two gallons of Sprite just two seats down.

Alls well that ends well. And, let’s face it, we could have been watching The Amazing Spider-Man 2. Everybody should be counting their blessings.



So, be honest, what DO you think when you see a child/row of children in an older audience movie? Inquiring minds want to know.

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