Missing My Little Punkin'

We went to the Pumpkin Patch this weekend with our Youth Group from church.
I am the mom of a teenager, and that harsh reality really hits home at the pumpkin patch.
Small children are everywhere, and they are so stinking cute carrying those pumpkins around.
My friend, C, said
"I'm really missing my boys being little this year."
Ouch... I know exactly what she means.
Every year since the boy was a toddler, we've hit up the patch to pick a pumpkin.
I have pictures of him knee deep in bright orange pumpkins, riding in a hay wagon, and petting goats.
I knew it wouldn't last forever.

Little boys turn into big teenage boys.

Instead of climbing through pumpkin vines, the boy ran through the corn maze with his big teenage friends.
Instead of taking pictures, he zoomed all over the farm... acting like the goofy 13 year-old he is.
And instead of walking home with a pumpkin, he limped to the car.

He limped to the car because he was injured, and he was injured because he went with me through the "haunted woods."
You see... teenagers don't come to the Pumpkin Patch to sip cider; they come to go through "Scream Creek" in all its gory glory.
So because I am a  brave chaperone and a crazy woman, I went along.

The "Scream Creek" haunted woods were dark and scary on their own, and then all sorts of creepy things started happening.  We ran from werewolves, psychos with chainsaws, meat butchers, zombies, and a few clowns.  We tripped over roots, pushed through dark sheds with hanging body parts, and slid down a 75-foot slide.
I did it all... all while holding a death grip on the back of the boy's jacket.
He kept yelling,
"I can't breathe!  You're choking me!"
When I let go of his jacket, I held onto his arm until he wrenched it away and yelled,
"You're cutting off my circulation!!"

The worst part of the whole "trail" was a section winding through a corn field.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a dark figure chasing us. 
Being the sane, calm person I am... I whispered to the boy (who was in front of me),
"There's something in the corn."
When he didn't panic to my standards or speed up, I screamed,
"THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE CORN!!"
Then I tried to run.
Being the graceful, agile person I am... I fell.  I took the boy down with me.
One of the other chaperones behind us tried to help, but he couldn't stop laughing.
We rolled around for a second until my adrenaline kicked in.  I stood up and grabbed the back of the boy's jacket, lifting him onto his feet with superhuman strength.
I suppose we looked like prey, because the black thing in the corn burst out of the corn right at us.
Let's just say I'm glad I went to the bathroom before we got there.
Let's also say my son may never forgive me.

No matter how many times I told myself, "It's not real," I couldn't stop jumping and screaming.

The rest of the trail is kind of a blur to me.  I let go of my wounded child, and I clutched the arm of my friend, C, for the remainder of our trip through Scream Creek.
I may or may not have pulled her into a wall at some point.

When we finished the trail, everyone had a great laugh at my expense... including the boy.
As much as he fussed and complained, I know he thought it was hysterical.
It was a blast.
Except for the bruises all down the left side of my body.

I do miss the boy being little.  It seems like I miss it more every day.  He has such a fun personality, and I have enjoyed all his "stages" of growing up.
He may be a teenager, but he let this momma hang onto him all through the haunted woods.  He laughed with me and at me, and he says I wasn't even embarrassing.
He's been telling people I was the scariest thing in the woods.
As much as I miss my little punkin', I wouldn't trade these bruises for the world.

Sick Days With The CTU

I think I may be about 11 years behind the curve with this post.
Thanks to back-to-back illnesses and streaming Netflix, the boy and I are hooked on "24" and Jack Bauer. 
It all started when he had strep throat.  The boy... not Jack Bauer. 
We were stuck at home and decided to do something useful with our PS3 besides play hours of violent video games. 
We decided to watch hours of a violent TV drama. 
Now we've been sucked into the world of counter-terrorism.
I vaguely recall watching the first season way back in the day, and I remember enjoying it.  I don't know exactly why I stopped watching.  Maybe it was the toddler claiming all my time, energy, and freedom to watch adult television?
Now that toddler is a teen and we are well into Season 2.  Thanks to the stomach virus, we knocked out the rest of Season 1 in a day.

Living in Jack Bauer's world for hours at a time does have its negative effects.
The line between reality and "24" has blurred on more than a few occasions.

In the first Presidential Debate, I was surprised when President Palmer didn't walk out on stage.

The boy has started showering with the curtain partly open. He told me terrorists are known for walking in on people while they're showering.

We got excited when the pouring rain cancelled soccer practice. It meant we had time for a few episodes.

I was kissing the boy good night last week and he asked me to "un-tuck" his covers from the sides of the bed.  In case he had to make a quick get-away.

Last night, Dan/Daddy worked late, so the boy and I ate dinner in front of the TV and burned through 2 episodes.  There was a scene where Jack kills a federal witness and hints at the fact he's going to cut off the dude's head.  He said,
"I'm gonna need a hacksaw."

The boy and I both cheered and high-fived.  I think we might need counseling.

What Does A Bear Know Anyway?

We are 5 days into my most favorite month of the year.
I am dragging out the spooky decor this afternoon.  We've had cooler weather, and we've had a few pots of soup. 
We've also had strep and a stomach virus.  So far, only the boy has been sick.  I am praying like a saint that Dan/Daddy and I stay puke-free.
But I still love October.

One of my favorite Fall things is a fire... fire pits, Halloween cookouts, s'mores, and warm cozy fires in the fireplace.  I even enjoy grilling out more when it's cool outside.
Apparently, the love of a good fire is genetic.
It's passed down from one generation to the next like blue eyes or dimples.

I was picking up some clutter last week, and I reached to put a ruler back into the junk drawer.
That's when I saw it.

Look very closely.  You may have to click on the picture to see it best.

It's a freebie ruler... It's a little beat up and colored on.  It probably came from a preschool visit to the fire department.

It says, "Smokey's Friends Don't Play With Matches."
It's what's penciled in underneath that makes me worry.  Can you see it?

"Then I am not Smokey's friend."

I'm not sure when my little pyromaniac wrote it.  The handwriting looks a little shaky.  He probably wrote it a few years ago. 
He may have written it the day the firemen gave it to him.

I am so proud.
Happy October and happy fire building, friends.