“Insanity is hereditary: You can get it from your children” ~ Sam Levinson

Those of you over 40 probably remember the late 60s/early 70s TV comedy Family Affair. The show was about a well-paid hip bachelor with a to die for Manhattan apartment who, after his brother and sister-in-law die in an accident (wow what a fun premise for a comedy!), “inherits” three of his brother’s children. The trio included 6 year old red-headed twins Buffy and Jody – who totally annoyed me – and their 15 year old sister, Cissy.

ITALIAN LESSON: To swear = bestemmiare

In my four-year old mind, the real star of the show was the house butler, Mr. French. Mr. French was a proper English gentleman, and he seemed so likable to me. Looking back, I actually think I was more intrigued with his real name than his character on the show or that signature black umbrella he toted around New York. You see, the actor’s name was Sebastian Cabot, but I thought it was Sir Bastard Cabinet.

I think Mom and I called him Sir Bastard Cabinet for years, even once I knew what his name really was (and I think Mom just got a kick out of it). Plus, it was burned into my brain cells, just like freckles (see Freckles post).

Next up, a post about how my four syllable first name became the one syllable name it is today. Wow, how lucky I am to have so many sweet memories, thanks to hours upon hours of chats with my Mom. Kudos to Mom, and thank you to Sir Bastard.

Please share in the comments spot: Do you remember this show and/or what were YOUR funny names for people from your childhood?

“When I was born I was so surprised I couldn’t talk for a year and a half.” ~ Gracie Allen

My mom was certainly gifted with a clever tongue, and her way with words always made me laugh. Her wit was mentioned in a few of my previous Madness posts such as The Sh!t List!, Mom’s Prison Rap, My Clever Ma and This Little Piggy.

Yesterday I was pleasantly reminded of a funny phrase mom used to say when I was little. You know how babies get something called cradle cap on their heads? It’s a form of dermatitis which appears on the scalp of infants. But let’s not get gross here, I don’t even know if you’ve had your morning coffee yet.

(ITALIAN LESSON: That’s a cute baby = Che carino bimbo / Che carino bimba (for female)

Anyway, it was…well, Mom said it best, calling it “Cradle Crap”, and she used to gently peel away whatever traces of this mushy scalp crap I had on my little baby head.

Cradle crap, exploding diapers and boogers — bless you moms for all you endure!

Time to vent! Please share your baby incidents in the comments section HERE. I’d love to hear your stories (bring on the yuck factor, I have a pretty strong stomach)!

My mother really had a kick-ass sense of humor, which you can clearly see in these past posts: My Clever Mom, Dissin’ & Dishin’ with Mom, and The Impatient Patient.

Her original “PRISON RAP” is one of my favorites, and I’m lucky enough to have a taped version featuring rapper mom at the mic! Yeah, it might sound crazy, but this little rap of hers is one of my most cherished memories of her clever wit!

So let’s get to it — here is Mom’s original rap:

PRISON RAP ~ by Margo Romano

I’m going through a phase with my razor blades
I’ll stab you in the neck, but what the heck
I got you by the balls, so you’re takin’ a fall
I’m hopping on a train, going insane
But I’m coming back and that’s a fact

I’m telling no lies, so you better hide
I’ll do my time for committing my crime
I know life sucks, but what the F*CK!

There ain’t no reason, there ain’t no rhyme,
I’m just sitting in my cell doing time.

~~~

“Sarcasm is just one more service we offer.” ~ Anonymous

Mom had a phrase I’ve been finding myself using a lot lately, especially while walking two easily distracted terriers. Terrier one is the Napoleon Dynamite of schnauzers. He’s lacking in basic social skills plus he’s a bit of a close talker. Terrier two thinks she’s heading up CSI Philly. She can sniff the living hell out of a spot the size of a tiny green pea, leaving you wondering just exactly how much DNA was left at the crime scene. If she had opposable thumbs, little Sherlock Holmes would be taking page after page of notes. I, of course, would be her Gal Friday — you think Miss Westie would carry her own notebook and pen?

Ok, I digress. Mom’s phrase? “SH!T OR GET OFF THE POT”. Now I know ma didn’t make this saying up, but she used it so well. It comes in handy for a variety of social situations: the deer-in-the-headlights ATM banker, the old woman at the deli counter who can’t make up her mind between the mozzarella or the mortadella, the driver who waits for a better shade of green at the traffic light, the hold-out in a couple who isn’t quite sure about commitment, etc., etc. You get my drift — the list can go on and on.

ITALIAN LESSON: know-it-all or smart ass = saputo/a a know-it-all (from the verb sapere, meaning “to know.”

So, let’s try it out! Tell someone to sh!t or get off the pot in the comments section below – think of someone and let it be known! You don’t even have to name names, just do it, and get off the pot.

After you get that off your chest, please head to the home of Madness again HERE.

Something new! Little six sentence snippets of my family insanity posts.

These six (long sentences) are from my original post, “Just a Crazy Italian Famiglia from NJ”. Hope you enjoy ~ Ciao Bellas!

Mom certainly contributed her fair share of insanity to our little Romano clan, and I love her for it, I really do. Come on, how many other daughters can go on about how their mom threw her shoes/purse/dad’s wallet out of the car window, flipped her spaghetti plate at the dinner table, ran away a few times (well, it was just around the block, or to the corner of her walk-in closet), had special “turn-the-car-around” powers, or flipped on the gas oven to do the family in?

Plus, an almost-daughter-in-law (seeing her before noon, you would’ve sworn she was Don King) who beat down an enemy with a plastic lawn goose and occasionally went berserk on family members with a Ginsu knife!

Seriously, mom and I shared many a laugh over these memories, complete with those precious “pee-your-pants” moments, and this is just the beginning.

MADONNA MIA! If you have a weak bladder, pop on your trusty Depends and hang on for the ride!

“My husband said ‘show me your boobs’ and I had to pull up my skirt… so it was time to get them done!” ~ Dolly Parton

“Mom, what are those?” A little me asked inquisitively one day, while staring at mom’s boobs when she was casually changing her summer blouse. Mom, thinking I meant the little “dots” on her skin, replied “freckles honey”.

ITALIAN LESSON: Boobs = tette (tits) or poppa (breasts)

From that day on, for about a decade or so, I thought boobs were called freckles. I couldn’t understand why some of my friends didn’t know what the word meant — I just figured my mom told me more about that kind of stuff than their moms did. Lucky to be me!

Please say hello to your freckles, and head to the home of madness: Here

“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.”

Not to sound cliché, but this is by far the hardest, most heart-wrenching post I have written so far.  Honestly, if anything else in the next decade comes anywhere near this, immediately find me a stiff new straitjacket, so I can throw myself into a padded room — forever.

Ok, here comes the hard part, words I thought I would not have to write about for at least another decade:  Mom is gone.  My wonderful witty mom passed away in her sleep Thanksgiving morning.  No warning, no illness, no clues, no nothing, no mom. Mom is gone. Mom is gone. I have to repeat myself over and over, because I just cannot believe it’s real. I’m hoping my next post is about the coma I’ve been in for the past week or so — I’ll write about how when I awoke, mom was there with one of her famous QVC jewelry trinkets for me to open, and a pot of her famous spaghetti sauce bubbling away on the stove, so we could all get home and enjoy a  nice Italian dinner in celebration of my new coma-free existence.

Yes, mom is gone.  My house is filled with condolence cards, flowers and such very touching notes from caring family and friends, but somehow it doesn’t seem real. It CAN’T be real.  Mom was SO ALIVE, so funny, always ready with a wise-crack, or words of wisdom.  I loved her advice. She was one of my best friends in the whole world. I see the cards with her photo and a pretty poem, yet I’ll still dial her phone number and expect her to pick up.  I’ll want to call her about who was just told to f*ck off on Hell’s Kitchen, or who we think should have gotten fired on The Apprentice, or the new boots I bought, but then the cold harsh smack of reality hits me right in the face, telling me those days are over.

Mom & I would dish together, watch movies together, shop together, cook dinners (for my hubby and the furkids) together and every so often I’d mix up a couple of whiskey sours and mom would share her humorous and wonderful stories which fill a small notebook of mine.

Loss of any kind is a real tough pill to swallow,  and when you lose a mom and a best friend, you feel like your heart is literally ripping apart. With that said, I think I’ll mix up two whiskey sours, leaving one on the coffee table in mom’s honor.   I just hope I don’t water them down with all of my tears.

Love you & miss you forever Mom

xo Your daughter

Please head home to the madness home page here: www.MadnessMomandMe.com

“A child is a curly dimpled lunatic.”  ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Most parents have a ridiculous threat they keep in their pocket to throw out when they want to keep their kids in line.   My mom had one which shut me up pretty quickly, because the thought of being away from my quirky family (insanity and all) made my knees knock together in terror.  Also, how the heck could I ever live without mom’s lasagna?

Her threat?   HELGA MUNSON!

This is the beaut I pictured playing the role of Helga.  Mom’s actual threat was that schoolmistress Helga Munson would come to our house to collect me, and take my sorry little talking-back ass to Camp Marymount reform school!

(ITALIAN LESSON:  Threaten (speak threats) = minacciare a voce)

Of course, Helga and Camp Marymount are fictional, but this trick of mom’s worked like a charm (I think she even had my dad involved in her Marymount scam a couple times).

Word to the wise:  if you have kids, be sure think up a few reusable threats today. This way, you’ll be ready to toss one out to your brats at a moment’s notice!

 HELGA SAYS: “Get back to the home of madness now at www.MadnessMomandMe.com !”

(Italian Lesson: cigar smoker = fumatore di sigari)

Don’t make me get the cigar! Please go back to the home of Madness at www.madnessmomandme.com
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St. Margaret's Madness

St. Margaret’s Catholic School, Morristown, NJ – Second grade:  my foray into the Catholic school system.  Jesus, how I hated those wretched uniforms  – come on, who can look halfway decent in those ridiculous plaid accordion-pleated skirts and dowdy white buttoned-up blouses? And that stupid little crisscross tie thing in front of your neck – what the hell was that about?   Where was my favorite little black velvet dress now???

A St. Margaret’s education was OK I guess, but the little me did not leave that school without a couple  “incidents” which got me in a bit of trouble — expelled for a day actually, but more about that in a bit.  This post is all about the mean and utterly terrifying Sister Urselena.  YIKES — even typing out her name makes me tremble to this day!

(Italian Lesson: meschino = mean)

Sister Urselena was one of those nuns who would hit kids acting up in class, and God forbid if you were chewing

Sister Urselena wishes she looked this good

gum, because you’d end up wearing it on your nose and stand in front of the class for an hour with your chewed up gum on the end of your nose.  Yup, this was one frightening nun!  A nun who wouldn’t know a smile if one crawled up her habit and bit her on her ass.  Urselena never smiled at all — maybe it was because she had a mouth like a puppet —a real wooden puppet.  You know, one of those with the deep lines next to her lips, in fact, her mouth opened and closed like a Charlie McCarthy doll.

After seeing Urselena hit a fellow student with a ruler one day, I told my mom about it.  Mom advised me to leave the school if they ever tried to touch me.  So, the next day, I walked to school with my head held high, went straight up to Ursulena and told her that if she, or any nun ever touches me, my mother gave me permission to bolt outta there immediately.  Urselena promptly called my mother to verify this, and mom basically told her “damn straight, sister”! Unfortunately, this was not the last time Sister Ursulena called my mother at home — stay tuned for the “pencil incident” post.

Get back to the home of Madness here www.madnessmomandme.comor I’ll tell Sister Urselena!

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