Welcome November

Halloween 2012 is in the history books, and as soon as the calendar hits November 1, I start stressing about the Christmas shopping I haven't done.
We are waking up from our sugar coma, and I am also stressing about the lack of chocolate in the boy's loot from last night.  I count on that chocolate to get me through to the New Year.  I blame the tight economy on all those Sweet Tarts.

The boy went as Tony Stark... a.k.a. "Iron Man."
"I am Iron Man."

 

 

In the Avengers movie, Tony describes himself as a "genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist."  All good things... minus the "playboy" part.  I am - after all - still Iron Man's momma.

I told the boy he should consider a real goatee one day when that facial hair hormone starts working correctly.  If an eyeliner beard and moustache look that good, imagine what real hair can do.

 

Go pick up the jack-o-lanterns and fake spiderwebs, friends.  Thanksgiving is right around the corner, and you haven't finished Christmas shopping.

Happy November!



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.

Old Married Minds Think Alike

Dan/Daddy and I celebrated our anniversary a few weekends ago.  I am a slacking blogger, so the updates are old.  Like us.
We've been married for 19 years.  If you would like to assume we were 13 and 16 years old when we got hitched, then who am I to stop you?

Dan's grandmother (Nonie) sent us an anniversary card with a photo in it.  Nonie has a uncanny ability to do 3 things:
1.  Take an unflattering photo of me.  Like in my pjs with no makeup and a pimple.
2.  Carry around an unflattering photo of me and show it to all her friends and family.
or
3.  Resurrect an old photo to remind me of skinny days gone by.

Here is the picture she found.  Dan/Daddy and me... 1991ish?

 

 

1.  Yes... I am skinny. 

2.  Yes... Dan/Daddy has hair.  Loads of it. 

3.  After we got married, I threw away all the tank tops.  You're welcome.
Yes... We look 13 and 16.

I think he's got that death grip on my arm to keep me from blowing away.  I hope my mother-in-law got rid of that cinnamon broom.

 

So for our 19th anniversary, we got a good laugh from the old picture.  Then we got fancy and went out to eat.  (I know why I'm not as skinny anymore.)

 

 

 

 

 

We ended up buying each other the EXACT same anniversary card.  Either the card choices in our stores are pretty pathetic, or we really are old married people.



Halloween Logic

Here in our town, a sure sign of Fall is not the cooler weather nor the changing leaves.
It's the gigantic inflatable costume shop that looks like a 2-story pumpkin sunk into the ground.
I'm not sure why the costume people don't rent a building or a store.  I plan on asking them when we go in.  When we go in.

The boy and I drove past the ginormo pumpkin a few days ago, and we had this conversation:

Me:  "Are you dressing up for Halloween this year or not?"

The Boy:  "Ummm... candy."

Me:  "Very true."

The Boy:  "All these people think Halloween is for babies.  They think they're too cool to dress up."

Me:  "You aren't worried about that?"

The Boy:  "You know what I think is cool?  Coming home with a sack full of candy."


That's my boy.

3 Weeks And 1 Day And Sad Hearts

If I had a nickel for every time I started a blog post in my head, I would have a lot of nickles.
Sometimes it feels like nothing is happening and sometimes everything happens at once.

It also feels like Summer will never die.
If Labor Day is the unofficial end of Summer, then old man Heat didn't get the memo.  Neither did his friend, Humidity.  It's so hot I can't even complain about the heat.  The weather chic promises a "weekend cooldown."  Unless it snows, I will not cool off.

In the last 3 weeks and 1 day since a blog posting, here's some of what has happened:

1.  I've noticed a man that lives in our neighborhood is always on his porch.  In a creepy way.  Every time I drive down the street, I see him... staring.  Any time of day or night,  he's there.  Now I tell myself, "Don't look, don't look."  But, I do.  And he's looking back.  It's starting to give me the heebie jeebies.

2. We went to my parents' over the holiday weekend so the men folk could hunt doves. The women folk hunted bargains.  It was boiling hot, so Dan/Daddy whacked off the boy's long pants into the shortest pair of camo short shorts I have ever seen.  The boy said the doves flew away because they were blinded by the whiteness of his legs.  Remind me to never let Dan/Daddy alter my clothes.

3.  I started a new walking regimen.  I walked for "health" before, but I have a new partner.  She's a retired Marine.  Yeah... I don't know what I was thinking.  She said she wanted to walk for her health, but I suspect she's taken me on as a project.
On Day 3 of our walking, she suggested we add crunches.  I suggested she was smoking something.
I gave her permission to ditch me, but she hasn't.  I may not live till Halloween.

4.  My email was hacked.  More than once.  A few of my friends were receiving links to something that I obviously did not send.  The name was mine, but the email belonged to Benito Somebody.  Really, Benito?  You have nothing better to do?

5. The boy developed (another) mystery rash.  (Way before the hunting trip.)  This one started on his hands and arms and spread to his feet. 
I took him to the doctor, sent pics of his arm to an ER Nurse friend, chased down a PA and another nurse at church, and made Dan/Daddy ask a surgeon friend of ours.  I have no shame.
The diagnosis?  No one knows what it is.  Something he touched or brushed against caused a reaction.  The doc prescribed steroid cream, and now everyone we know in the medical field is avoiding me.

6.  College football has returned and all feels right with the world again.  Turn up the TV, and bring out the food.  Something containing cheese, please?

7.  On a very very very very sad note... Our puppy was killed.  I have been avoiding blogging about it partly because my heart is still breaking.  I can't go into details without crying into the keyboard, but it was a traumatic accident.  Dan/Daddy and the boy were there, but she didn't make it to the vet.
We have muddled through the last week, and we try to remember the sweet times with her.
If you don't mind, say a prayer for my little man... he's taking it in great stride, but I know it was hard to see and even harder to get over.
So sorry to end on a sad note.
I hope and pray wherever you are... you have a blessed weekend.
If it's cooler wherever you are... get ready.  I am moving in.