About us

So I’ve been getting some pressure from some of my readers to put SOMETHING here that’s actually informative, and not just snarky and sarcastic. Because I love my readers (and because, quite frankly, some of them scare the bejesus out of me), I’ve decided to oblige.

I make no promises about the snark, though.

Who We Are:

Me (Bunker Wife, Mama, etc. etc.): a 36-almost-37-year-old, New York City born-and-bred Sicilian/Colombian/Lebanese (yeh, I know) chick with an MSW, a clinical diagnosis, an unhealthy concern with proper grammar, and way too much time on her hands. Alternately channeling Laura Ingalls and that smart-ass girl you knew (and had the hots for) in high school, I’m just trying to keep my head above water and Child Protective Services away from our door. Thus far, success! Check back periodically.

Him (Bunker Hubs, Daddy, where-the-hell-have-you-been-you’re-an-hour-late): a 49-year-old-going-on-13, country-raised, public school-educated boy scout who loves his job (land surveying), loves his wife (most of the time), and loves his boy (always, even when he’s being “difficult” – see below).

The kid (Bunker Monkey, The Boy, Child, Baggage [when mama's in a mood], kid-stop-biting-the-damn-cat!, etc.): a five-year old bundle of energy who was born 11 pounds, and has been making his presence known in many and varied delightful ways ever since. Walked at eight months but waited until age 2 to talk; this was a portent of things to come. Mostly delightful and charming, he has been known to drive adults to distraction and little girls to declare, “The boy is not doing what I tell him to do!” (Oh honey, welcome to my world.) Officially diagnosed with Aspergers (and “maybe PDD, but we just can’t tell” – wheee!), he’s been slowly showing us the amazing kid he really is. All in all, he’s mama’s and daddy’s lovebug, even on the days we want to sell him to the gypsies (kidding! There haven’t been gypsies in these parts in years!).

It (The Bunker, The Layer Cake, Home, “That Scary House Back in the Woods”): The basement for what will eventually be a geodesic dome (yes, like at Epcot). Located on 18 acres of woods in the countryside outside of Albany, NY, The Bunker has stood up to various natural and unnatural disasters, including that time we found the dead mouse. It ain’t pretty, but it makes for a fairly good conversation starter. And the roof is fun to run around on.

Them (Zombie Turkeys, Atomic Bugs, and various other lower life forms): The members of this group vary from week to week. Some days it’s the Zombie Turkeys gathering outside to plot their coup and reclaim the land for theirs; other times, it’s the Psychotic Squirrels flinging themselves with deadly force against the window screens. But worst of all, by far, are the various members of the insect world who, from time to time, decide to make our home, their home. The Bunker’s largest export, pound-for-pound, is bugs.

But the Zombie Turkeys are pretty damn bad, too.

As for the rest – The identity of the fourth denizen of The Bunker (hint: She’s short, furry, and suffers from a chronic lack of interest in chasing mice), what exactly I do all day long (good luck figuring that one out), and why The Boy makes me cry (seriously, what kid doesn’t like hamburgers??), you’ll have to read the blog.

I recommend starting with the post about how I permanently marked my body in the name of Satan, and go from there. If you’re still with me after that, then you probably don’t have anything to worry about.

At least, until I start blogging about the ants.