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Category Archives: At Home With The Rizzutos


I know, I said I was going to visit all of your blogs more often and I’ve totally slacked.  Already.

I don’t know what’s come over me.  I have no enthusiasm for stimulating my intellect.  In fact, I just made myself a bowl of raman noodles, turned off Keith Olbermann and started watching American Idol.

Remind me to tell you about the wildlife up here in the frozen tundra.

Oh, I was going to post a video tribute to Ricardo Montelban but I couldn’t find anything good on YouTube.  Sorry.


So this weekend we got Starz for free.  Our cable provider does that from time to time to try to coerce us into subscribing to the pay channels.  We’ve fallen for it in the past but now we know that they only show the good stuff during the free weekend.  This time we got hip to their game and just DVR’d all the stuff we want to see.  Maybe it’ll disappear after the weekend is over, in which case we’ll never get to everything. Read More »

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My nine-year-old son and I were just watching Seinfeld and doing the Elaine dance around the living room.  You know, the one where she sticks her thumbs out and bounces around like she’s having a seizure?  It reminded me of what I’m thankful for this year.

This summer the Rizzutos were on vacation at a large northeastern amuesment park.  At one point we decided to get on one of those huge plastic slides, the one where you have to slide down on a burlap sack.  While we were waiting in line we were talking about our previous trips to amusement parks.  My son reminded us of the first time he went on one of those slides when he was little.

“I was scared to go down,” he said.  “Then Mom saw me and she climbed up and went down the slide with me.” 

I didn’t remember that at all, but it made me feel good.  My parents would never have done something like that with me when I was his age.  Not that they were bad parents, they just weren’t…what’s the word…?  Fun.  They weren’t fun.

I’m glad I’m not the kind of parent that’s too uptight to go down the Big Slide, and I’m thankful that my son remembered that, of all things.  Because he could have remembered some other stuff that I can’t blog about.

I’m going to go lay down now.  I think I hurt myself doing the Elaine dance.  Happy You Know What.

One afternoon after doing something or other in the yard I put the baby down and parked myself in front of the computer.  After a few minutes she tiptoed up to me and poked me in the side.

“Mama!  Mayno!”

“Right, honey,” I said.  I wasn’t really paying attention.

“Mayno mama,” she repeated, pointing towards the kitchen.



“Uh, OK.”  What the hell was a mayno?

I picked her up and took her into the kitchen.

“What is it honey?  What do you want?”


“Uh…you want some chips?  A banana?”

“No nana.  Share mayno.”

I had no idea what she wanted.  I shouted up the stairs to my son.

“What’s a mayno?”

“I don’t know,” he yelled back.  “Give her some juice!”

Right.  She always wanted juice.  You can’t go wrong with juice.  I looked for a bup, which was a task in and of itself.  She has about 15 bups, but there never happens to be one handy.

“Where’s her bup?”  I shouted.

“I don’t know where her bup is!  Look under the couch.”

I finally found one and filled it with juice.

“Here you go.  Bup!”

She started to cry.

“Mayno!  Share mayno!”

“What’s a mayno?  I don’t know what you want.  Is mayno on Backyardigans?”

I fumbled around with the remote and tried to comfort her at the same time.  She was starting to lose patience with me.

“What channel is Babies On Demand?”

“One thousand three!”

I typed in one-oh-oh-three and found Backyardigans, which is her favorite show at the moment.  Maybe mayno was one of the characters.

“Ta-da!”  I said.  “Mayno!”

“Share mayno!” she said, pointing to the kitchen.  I forgot.  The mayno was in the kitchen.

I suddenly remembered that there was a little green turtle that my son won at an amusement park a few weeks earlier.  I also remembered that he gave it a strange name.  That little green turtle happened to be sitting on my dishwasher.  Could that be mayno?  It had to be.

“OK honey,” I said.  I put her down and went to get the turtle.

“Here it is!  Yay mayno!”

That just about sent her over the edge.  Her face turned red, she stomped her feet and started screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Maaaaayyyyynoooooo!” she screamed.

“But I don’t know what that is,” I cried.  At this point I was crying too.

That’s how Mr. Rizzuto found us.  She was backed up against the stove and I was sitting on the kitchen floor.  We were both sobbing.

“Mayno!” she said.

“I don’t know what she wants,” I said.

He looked at the two of us, reached for a tomato that I had just picked out of the garden, rinsed it off and handed it to her.

“Here you go, sweetie,” he said.

“Thank you mama!” she said, and skipped away.

“She really likes those things,” he said.  “They’re good for her too.”  Then he went away.

For a minute I considered telling them that I was going to use that tomato for bruschetta, but I decided against it.  Instead I just sat there.

“She wanted a tomato,” I said.  “I knew that.”