My husband is one of eleven children. He isn’t the first, second or third in line. Nor is he fourth, fifth or sixth. He is way down the line at number nine.

There are so many great things about being married to someone from a large family. First of all, you’re never bored. There is always something to do and someone to do it with. There are loads of special occasions, card games and get-togethers.

But, there are downsides to these events too. Understandably, seating is at a premium. One time when there were 45 people in my in-laws’ six bedroom house for an extended weekend, even floor space was valuable. You were lucky if you found a place to sleep where you wouldn’t get stepped on. I was not so lucky.

And, what would you guess is the most precious commodity of all?

That would be food.

If you have the misfortune of being in the bathroom when “soup’s on” is called…well, it’s possible you’ll just go hungry. If you’re not one of the first twenty people in line, then it’s a given you’ll find the mashed potatoes gone. And, if there’s chocolate pie for dessert, you need to claim your piece hours before mealtime.

Growing up in this family has taught my husband not to waste food. You just don’t do it.

When leftovers have been in the refrigerator a little too long, he will still eat them…even when they’re starting to look bad. And, he will consume bratwurst and baked beans for weeks after our July 4th party each year. I sometimes think his stomach is made of steel.

I have noticed that he is rubbing off on me. I now make the kids eat their crusts, and I have even started eating yogurt that’s a couple of days past expiration, or the eggs when they are a few weeks old.

But, there’s one thing he’ll eat that I just won’t.

I have to draw the line at gray bacon.

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I take humor very seriously. To me, there is little doubt about its benefits. Laughter is good for you.

My Dad is, hands down, the funniest person I have ever known. It doesn’t matter what you say to him, he will come back at you with one of his many bizarre, and often hilarious, catch phrases.

For instance, if you ask him what time it is, he will reply, “Time for all dogs to die, don’t you feel sick?” He doesn’t say he’s going to get a haircut, but instead he’s “going to get his ears lowered”. And, if you ask him to do something when he’s lounging in a chair his reply will be, “I’m awful busy”.

Imagine Steve Carell’s character on The Office saying, “That’s what she said”, but multiply it times infinity. My Dad has tons of these trademark lines. He has so many quotes, that he keeps them numbered “for emergencies”.

On my wedding video, he lifted his glass to toast me and his new son-in-law and said, “Here’s looking up your old address.” And when I was a kid, and I would start to get on his nerves he would say, “Go call your Mother and tell her she wants you.” But, if I was being unusually bad he would say, “Knock it off or I’m going to cloud up and rain all over you.”

More than a few of these have stuck. I find myself uttering his lines.

At my former job I heard some quotes which I continue to use such as, “It’s so cold outside, you could snap an ear off”. And, instead of saying, “Give me a break”, one of my co-workers used to say, “Peel me a grape”. I find myself saying that every day.

Not long ago a girl I know used the line, “Hot damn in can”, and now I say it too. Another thing I say quite often is, “For crying in a sink”. My husband’s family says, “For crying in a pop bottle”.

But, my most frequent quote? Well, it makes me sound like I’m Jed Clampett. When something goes wrong I always say, “Dag-nabbit”.

If I ever want to have a library as large as my Dad’s I have a lot of work to do. So, I need your help. Boys and girls, I’m curious…what is your favorite phrase?

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UPDATE: I am in no way asking you to click on my Google Ad. That would be in violation of their policy and I can’t condone that. Because if they pull it, how would I afford that half gallon of gas?

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Yesterday was one lousy day. Nobody died and no one was hurt. Nothing tragic happened. But, I was…let’s see, how can I put this delicately for you male readers? Let’s just say, I was…hormonal.

Something has happened since I entered my late thirties. Something bad. For a couple of days a month, I turn into an evil woman. I yell, I fight, and every, little, minuscule thing irritates me. I am supremely grumpy.

On many levels, I feel like a female version of Bruce Banner turning into the Incredible Hulk. There are moments, during these dark days, where I would bet money my skin was turning green. And, I’m pretty sure that I snarl and spit when I talk.

My two, poor children bear the brunt of my vicious Mrs. Hyde. I yell about toys being all over the house, shoes being left in the hall, wet towels on the bathroom floor, and kids who take too long to eat their dinner. That is to say, I get mad about normal stuff which happens every day.

But, on hormonal days, I can’t even stand the normal stuff. I become a raging freak, and what’s really bad is that I KNOW it, yet I can’t stop. For those one or two nights a month, my kids don’t even argue if I send them to bed early.

Last night I desperately tried to lighten the mood. After I grumbled about picking up some clothes off the floor, I sang, “I am grumpy. I am grumpy…” (To the tune of Frère Jacques.)

And, from the other room, my nine year old daughter was brave enough to finish the verse with, “Yes you are! Yes you are!”

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