Happy Halloween

So, here I sit. I opted to let my husband take the kids door to door this year in their endeavor to sucker people out of their candy. I am pretty sure they pulled the same racket last year, but I have no proof (Jeromy had our camera overseas, and I didn't have a camera phone then). Anywho, I thought that while I sat here waiting to dole out gumball after gumball, that I would write down who came to visit me this year. I was quite surprised. I didn't know there were so many famous people in our neighborhood!
First to visit me was Optimus Prime. He's shorter in real life than I figured he would be. Indiana Jones made his way up my sidewalk next, brandishing his whip. He had to trade it for his candy bag, which his mom carried for him, so he could claim his treasure. I think Mom should have been dressed as a boulder if she was going to walk behind him.... that would have been funny. The Burger King escorted several pirates to my door. His head really is that big. Austin Powers has a pet frog that he has taught to say 'Trick or Treat'. I had to ask the next one to be sure, she was a Power Ranger..... is that show still on?
There is a lull here. I guess I will take a moment to say that the weather has been unusually cooperative. It had been raining ALL day. I kid you not. It was raining when I got up, when I took the kids to school, when I went to the store, when I had lunch with my daughter, when we came home from school and even when I announced that it was left over night. Then all of a sudden the rain stopped and the clouds broke apart and it's been that way since. It's cold..... but it isn't raining. I figured since it was Washington it would be natural for kids to Trick or Treat with umbrellas and coats, but I guess this year it wasn't to be.
So, The Grimm Reaper just stopped by with his friends. Tobey Keith was dressed as a blond woman and is apparently dating the Wolf Man. Best of luck to them. Oh, Look.... Buzz Light Year is holding hands with Snow White! Sweet!
Awesome.... an assassin just stopped by followed by a girl holding her brain announcing that it was "nutritious and delicious"..... oh, wait... those are mine! I guess they are done, and by the look of those bags I should probably go dig through their stash to make sure it's 'Safe' *Wink Wink* Perhaps some quality control measures might have to be implemented. I would willingly sacrifice myself to taste test any suspicious chocolaty substances.
Happy Halloween!

Smells Like A Winner

On a recent trip to Burger King I read something interesting. On the bag containing my Burger and Fries was a statement titled "Smells Like A Winner" It went something like this:
"You always hear sports announcers talk about the 'Sweet Smell Of Success'. But none of them ever really explains what that smells like. We'd like to propose it's the scent wafting from this very bag. Of course, we could be wrong. But we don't think so."
To you, Burger King, I would like to say..... "I respectfully Disagree". The sweet smell of success actually smells nothing like Flame Broiled Burgers and Crispy Fries. It smells more like 10 foot tall stalks of corn, with a hint of muddy earthiness.
We went to Kent to get some pumpkins for the kids to carve..... side note..... don't let your 10 year old daughter, 8 year old son and their equally aged friends be in charge of hunting for the pumpkins. Trudging out to the edges of the pumpkin patch is not for the faint of heart, and all they provide you with to haul the heaviest pumpkins they have is a cart with no sides. It takes "Off Roading" to a whole new level.
The Pumpkin Patch not only offers monstrously heavy pumpkins for your creative carving pleasure, but it also offers fresh made Kettle Corn and Corn still on the Cob Roasted and Slathered in enough butter to make you question if it still qualifies as a vegetable according to the Food Guide Pyramid.
Here's the best part.... They also have a corn maze! Yes, that's right! They will be more than happy to let you pay 7 dollars per adult, and 5 dollars per child to go GET LOST! After handing over the proper amount of Washington's we were each given a map and a skeptical look. Perhaps I don't look like the type of person who could successfully brave a field full of corn in the shape of a space ship and it's alien without getting myself lost or injured. I pay no mind to the murmured concerns of the staff and head to the entrance of the Maze with my family. Perhaps the staff had some validation to their concerns. You see, while I may have an uncanny sense of time, my sense of direction is actually pretty pathetic. But what they didn't know, was that I had a secret weapon! My husband, who has no sense of time AT ALL, is blessed with 'an innate sense of direction'. He could have found his way to every point in the maze without ever looking at the map. He's just that cool.
So, with my own version of GPS at my side I stepped confidently into the maze. What I forgot to take into account was the enthusiasm of the children. The minute they stepped foot in the maze they scattered like gumballs on the kitchen floor! As I attempted to get them to come back I looked to my husband for some help. He didn't seem bothered. And then I realised why. Apparently, unless you are him, you will run around in circles in the maze. Sure enough, within seconds of their disbursement all of the children were back in front of us wondering how we got there before them.
My husband quickly gained control of the situation pairing us all up and promising that if we just followed him, we would reach every check point in the maze in no time. I was to play the part of Caboose for the duration, as I seemed most likely to make sure that no one got left behind. I was also given a map to follow..... like it would somehow help. My husband actually snorted at the idea of using the map to guide us, but agreed, just to make me feel better.
So, with the song "following the leader" from Peter Pan playing in full swing in my mind we set off trailing behind my husband. Just when I was beginning to think I had definitely seen that stalk of corn somewhere before, my husband triumphantly announced that we had found the first marker. We all stamped our cards and looked toward our fearless leader for the next move.
It continued on in much the same way for each of the 12 checkpoints with my admiration for my husband and his phenomenal navigational skills growing at each one. We exited the maze a mere 40 minutes after first entering. My husband looked a little smug, but I suppose in the end he deserved it. Because of him we were able to experience the "Sweet Smell Of Success" for ourselves. Which made me crave one of those roasted corn cobs.......

Laugh And The World Laughs With You.......

Last night I had an experience that ranks in the top 5 of most painful experiences of my life. Up until then the list included things like, 3rd degree burns and subsequent physical therapy, Pitocin, and the occasional awkward date in college. Admittedly, the last one doesn't count as actual physical pain, but if you had been there, you would understand that it qualifies. It wasn't a long list. Pain isn't something I am used to dealing with. For good reason too, it Whomps! But I added something to my list this morning. Headaches. Now, don't misunderstand me. I have had headaches before, but I usually don't medicate myself for them because they are merely a nuisance and nothing more. Besides, I don't medicate myself as a general rule anyway because of the ease to which I fall victim to its side effects (read Misery Loves Company below for more on that). Last night we were going to go to a friends house to hang out and have some tasty snacks, but about 2 minuets before I was going to leave I experienced something that can only be likened to the phrase 'being hit by a truck'. I have never been hit by a truck, but I imagine that is what it feels like.
I understand that until now, I have severely underestimated the durability of the human skull. It is sturdier than I thought it capable to be. As I lay on the floor of our bathroom unable to form a coherent sentence, I became consumed by the pain in my head. I bleakly thought that this must be what a bottle of soda feels like when it gets shaken, and vowed to never shake soda again. I kept waiting for my cranium to succumb to the pressure and allow what gray matter I have left to decorate the walls and ceiling, but for some strange reason, it held together. However creepy it may seem, I can totally relate to the concept of physicians of old who would drill a hole in the skull to relieve pressure.
I did manage to get to bed at some point, but not before finding some medicine that was guaranteed to keep someone the size of Paul Bunyan from feeling any pain. I think I fell asleep. I must have. I remember waking up and stretching in bed, an act that should have caused my head to explode, without so much as a tingle. I was very cautious as I got out of bed and fed the dogs. I didn't move too quickly and even wondered if this is how hangovers feel. The pain returned after a while, but it has so far contented itself with being a background nuisance.
Now, I don't normally condone laughing at other peoples pain. But I thought, that by writing this out I can somehow manage to find the humor in it all and perhaps laugh at the pain myself. If not, well, at the very least I can hide in a dark corner and hope that it doesn't happen again.

Snow Globes

My life is like a Snow Globe.
Most of the time, it sits there. Perfectly in order. Everything in place. Everything calm.
And then the two year old of life comes along and shakes things up.
This sweet, curious child comes in many forms. Once it was the birth of a new child. Another time it was the induction into the military. Not too long ago, it reared it's head in the form of another move. And recently it showed up looking just like my husband.
Every time my snow globe gets shaken I hold my breath and wait. I wait for things to settle and get back to the serene way it all used to be. Occasionally I think that maybe the shaking will never end and fear that my snow globe will drop and shatter, leaving me with a mess of glass, water and Styrofoam bits to clean up.
My husband seems to think that its healthy for our snow globes to be shaken once in a while. Easy for him to say.... he's usually the one shaking my snow globe. And if he's not shaking my snow globe, he's rearranging the scenery. His Feng Shui and mine are rarely, if ever on the same page, so it's a little frustrating when he does that. My children are very much like the snow in my globe. They stir themselves up into a frenzied blizzard at the first sign of change and enjoy the ride, while I cower in my safe little corner waiting for it to all fall back into place once again.
Eventually, things settle down, and when I take stock, I see that things are nearly the way I left them. I am almost there now. The sweet cadences of routine are starting to take hold and I can relax a little.
I can see the two year old of life waiting in the wings, though. It's wide angelic eyes are eager to see what will happen next.

Misery Loves Company, Even If It's Just The Cat

Ugh. Who knew that sound could cover so much? I use it all the time. Sometimes I use it when I see the laundry that mysteriously appeared after spending a whole day washing clothes. I use it when I have to clean up after the dogs. I use it when I have to squish a bug and it turns out to be a really juicy one. I even use the sound when my children start arguing with each other about something trivial, like who got up earliest.
Last night I made the 'Ugh' sound when I finally succumbed to the evil virus that has taken up residence in my chest. I had been doing so well, too. Aside from my loss of control over my vocal cords and the 30 pound weight that had strapped itself to my chest, I was doing pretty good. I was still getting on with my day and functioning just fine. Then, I was buried in the rock slide that was to be my next two days. I gave up on the simple things, like walking in a straight line and brushing my teeth. I'm lucky to have the energy to place my face next to my toothbrush and will it to move back and forth. As if I wasn't tortured enough, I gave in and went on the hunt for some Night Time, Sniffling, Sneezing, Coughing, Aching, Stuffy Head, Fever, So You Can Rest Medicine. I make it a point to avoid medicines as a general rule, as I seem to have an exceptionally low tolerance to it's side effects like drowsiness, because I like to be conscious. But in my current state, I thought that perhaps a little stint in a coma might do me some good. After a short search I found some unpleasant looking, green, Cure All My Ails, liquid and poured out the proper dosage for a victim of my age. How come childrens medicines can come in flavors that smell like cotton candy and bubble gum, but mine has to smell like Pollyjuice Potion? After taking one whiff of the goo that promised to make me forget about my misery I made the "Ugh" sound while wrinkling my nose, closing an eye, and pulling my face away as quickly as possible. In that time, our cat, Cheeto, had sauntered over and sprawled himself out across the bathroom counter trying to seem uninterested. I wondered briefly how he might react to the medicine I kept at a safe didtance from my nose. So, I cautiously lowered the cup toward him, where as old wives tales will confirm, his curiosity got the better of him. He leaned closer to sniff at this new offering, only to have an identical reaction to it as mine. I didnt know cats could make a face like that. If he were physcially able to make the 'Ugh' sound, I am certian he would have. It didnt make me feel any better having to choke it down, but it did make me laugh, and as they say... Laughter is the best medicine. Probably because it doesnt leave an after taste.

Revenge is a dish best served..... Well.....

First, let me give you a little back ground into where this is headed. Several years ago, when Green Day's 'Wake me up when September ends' was super popular and played constantly on the radio I had a brilliant idea. It was sneaky and a little bit rude, but really really funny. At the time I had a cell phone with a nifty feature that I miss most dearly since switching to a new phone. I was able to set a time for text messages to be delivered. I would sit down in the morning and clack out several text messages at once and set them to send throughout the day. Then, one particular morning I had a flash of inspiration (which is SOOOO much better than the flashes of perspiration I get now!). I was texting away when Green Day came on the radio and I thought to myself "Self.... How funny would that be?" To which I replied "HILARIOUS!"
So I got to work. I set up a text to my husband that he would receive at 12:01 am on October 1st and it would read "Wake Up! September's Over!"
Genius, right? I know.
I giggled to myself all day about it and then quickly forgot. I can keep secrets, but when they make me giggle its so much harder. Then, several weeks later, in the middle of the night, My husbands phone went off waking us up. "Who the heck would be texting you at 12 o'clock?" I wonder to myself. Then I hear a groan and a muffled "You're a Dork" before I remember that it would be ME! As the realization sinks in I giggle to myself one more time before going back to sleep. Naturally, it becomes a topic of discussion for several days and he tells his friends about it, but then it moves into the past with all of the other moments we shared like this one.
Until last night.
There I was minding my own business, dreaming of psycho, purple fringed, talking toothpicks, when my phone starts shaking like it's Pompeii on Volcano Day. 'Who on EARTH would be calling at 1 in the morning?!?!' I wonder to myself. I try to focus on the screen display, but the feeble light it emits during the day seems to have magnified 100 fold and is now the equivalent of pure star light. I manage to see the number when I turn the phone away from me to keep from blinding myself. I answer thinking something must be amiss, for surely he wouldn't call at this hour unless it was something important. Turns out 'Important' is a relative term.....
I answer the phone not bothering to disguise the sleep still wrapped around my sluggish brain. And once my husband ascertains that I am coherent he says to me "Hey.... You awake?" I tell him that I think I am in a conscious state and he tells me "September is over" and then proceeds to giggle to himself, clearly pleased that he was successful.
As my mind wraps around this new bit of revelation and the panic fades, because clearly there is nothing wrong with him.... yet....., I repeat his earlier statement replacing Dork with Spaz. He tells me he has been waiting 4 years to do that to me. I wonder if it was so I would have forgotten about it and it would come as a surprise, but he tells me that it was actually because he was waiting to be out of the country so I couldn't pummel him for it. How very wise. I can only imagine the planning... having to calculate the time difference so he wouldn't be off by a day, and then succumbing to silent fits of giggles throughout the day in anticipation. In the end all I managed in retort was that September ended a hour previous and that I would spend the next several days planning a retaliatory attack... He laughs, which is actually nice to hear, even if it is 1 in the morning, and tells me to try and get back to sleep.
So, Revenge..... It is said that it is a dish best served cold, but I say, if you are going to recycle it like he did, then it qualifies as left overs and it's best served heated through and during the daylight hours.

Am I the Tourist? Or the Local?

I have lived in 5 different states in my life. Some of them several times now. Like most states there is always some Something-or-Other that the state has to offer as an attraction that most tourists go there just to see or do. I tell myself every time I move somewhere new that I will do this or that or such and such while I am there, because that's what people do when they visit that place. Then I spend the next three years putting it off because I live there and will do it next weekend. I missed my chance to go to Tombstone or to see "The Thing" for those very reasons. But not this time! No Sir! This time I will do what every tourist goes to Washington to do!
I have already sampled the pleasures of the coast. You can drive right up to the water front here and park. Can anyone imagine a more perfect day at the beach? You load up a picnic, drive out to the beach, park 10 feet from the water, and let the family out to enjoy the day ahead of them. Then after ten minutes or so of splashing around in the frigid waters of Central Washington's finest ocean front, everyone piles back into the car to turn on the heater. On the plus side, there's no sand in your lunch, but on the down side, you don't get those rascally seagulls trying to sneak up and steal your food from you when you aren't looking. Did I mention the wind? No? Well, it was windy to boot! Definitely going to get the kites out and dust them off for the next trip.
I have also partaken in the ritual of paying to ride an elevator to the top of a building to look down at where I just came from. That's right. I went to the Space Needle. I still can't figure out why I would pay to get to the top of a building just to look down, but I did the same thing in New York. And I am likely to do it again in my lifetime. The Space Needle was cool, but it doesn't have what the empire state building has. In the historical photos, it absolutely Towers over everything. Now.... Not so much. Good thing it sits out so close to the harbor or it would be lost in the City Skyline. Still. I can say I went there. And I have the Space Noodles to prove it.
I went to the Point Defiance Zoo and Aquarium. It's nice. No Giraffes, but I like it anyway. It's a great way to spend an afternoon. It's not too big, and it has pressed penny machines. You can't go wrong with pressed penny machines.
Point Defiance also has a Train Museum with a real train ride. And it's not some dinky kid train either. It's a real locomotive. The whole place used to be a logging camp that has been turned into a working museum. It's a work in progress and my husband (an avid hobby train enthusiast at the moment) was told that any time he wanted to work on a full scale train he was welcome to dabble in the arts. It was like riding with a kid at Christmas on the Polar Express.
Mt Rainier is my favorite thing so far, though. It's massive. I see it every time I go to the store (unless the clouds are covering it, but it's not as often as you might think). I still get excited when I see it. It has some beautiful scenery on the trails. I am still trying to wrap my brain around being able to hike and play in the snow in July.
Admittedly, I have only done those things because someone was here with us. Too bad we didn't think of that sooner. Maybe next time we move we will invite a friend to come stay with us so we can take them to see the sights and then we will get to see them too!
There is a really cool place in Seattle that I want to go to called the Underground. Apparently the city built over itself after some major fire and they have unearthed a portion of it and give tours to those willing to part with their Benjamins to see what the 'old days' were like. I will let you know in three years if we ever got around to seeing it before we move again.
So, I guess for now, I am the Tourist.

School Daze Part 2

Friday I got to go to my son’s class. Traditionally I start off by meeting him for lunch and then staying the rest of the day, so that’s where my story begins.
I walked into the cafeteria to find my son, but soon realized that his charming good looks don’t stand out nearly as well when he is surrounded by more than a hundred other kids all wearing the same red school spirit shirts. It only took a moment to find him thanks to his friend. He spotted me standing in the doorway and started shaking my son to get his attention. It’s not nearly as hard to find him when he is impersonating a milk shake. So I take my place at the table to hear about the events of the past week from the kids in his class. Did you know that Michael can spit farther than his older sister? Neither did I. I wasn’t showing nearly as much enthusiasm that this news clearly required so my son patiently explains that Michael’s sister can spit farther than all the boys in her class. Now, that is impressive. After giving him his due respect for his new found talent we all start discussing the ways we might fight off space aliens if they ever invaded earth to turn our brains to mush. I won’t go into detail here because it was deemed “Classified” and after hearing what would happen to the aliens I shudder to think what they might do to a traitor.
Finally they release us for recess. It’s a much more pleasant experience since Crabby Abby seems to only be assigned to the third lunch group of the day. We pack up our lunches and head outside. Man it gets windy here. It’s a good thing I didn’t bother to do anything more with my hair than pull it into a ponytail. My son doesn’t feel much like running around so he suggests we take shelter behind a wall to stay out of the wind. Not a bad idea. Until the wind decides we can’t hide from it that easily and punishes us by sweeping a gust of sand around the corner of where we were sitting. We spent the rest of recess sitting further away from the corner of the wall rubbing dirt out of our eyes and wondering in our dog Cookie would make a good Seeing Eye dog.
The bell rings and we all line up to be marched back to class. The only thing missing is some sort of cadence. Once we reach the comfort of the class room we get ready for show and share. I like my son’s class. There are a lot of interesting kids in there. Pay Attention Vinny was the first to show us what he had brought. It was a shirt. He told us a couple things about it and then the class gets to ask three questions. This one seemed to have stumped the kids so the teacher said that if they didn’t have any questions they could say something nice about it. What a good idea. So three kids took turns telling him that it was a nice shirt and then Pay Attention Vinny sat down. Then it was Speak Up Hailey’s turn. We couldn’t hear what it was she had brought, but it looked like a picture of some kind. Next, Raise Your Hand Leeanna showed us a bookmark she got from a book fair. It went on and on like this and finally we finished with Use a Tissue Brenton. He showed us a foot that was made of wood and marked how many miles he had walked in Kindergarten. After that the kids got to practice their penmanship while the teacher put me to work grading homework and making phonics activities for the class to use. I like making those, once I have them colored and cut out they let me use the laminator. I may even change my name to “The Laminator” and start announcing that “I’ll be back” when I’m done. They just got a new laminator at the school and it has a key that you need to sign out in order to use it. This is a big deal. I mean, they don’t let just anybody use the laminator, especially if you need to sign for the key. So after a quick background and credit check they deem that I am worthy to use the prized laminator if I promise to sign back out when I am done. They hand over the key and it was like those moments in the movies. There was this weird music and a light shown down from above on the key. With Excalibur clutched safely in my hand I walk down the hall to the laminator and realize I have no clue how to use it. It can’t be that hard, right? Lucky for me someone left the user guide on the filing cabinet next to the table, so I glance through it and find out that it really isn’t that hard. So I turn it on and wait for it to warm up and get on with the laminating. Everything went smoothly, I didn’t even break it. I handed over the key and feeling a sense of loss I head back to the class room so I can cut out the things I had just laminated while the kids roam about the room working on various projects. By the time the bell rings to go home I think I have developed some new form of Carpel Tunnel Syndrome. I think I will call it Carpel Scissors Syndrome (say that three times fast!). I say good bye and promise to come back next week to teach them all how to recognize an alien in teachers clothing and go home. My son thinks I’m the coolest mom in the whole world and I’m OK with that.

School Daze

I have the wonderful opportunity that is rarely afforded to parents to embarrass my kids in their class on a weekly basis. I don’t know how long it will last, but as long as my children volunteer to have me in their classes I will keep coming. This year my daughter has opted for Monday to be her designated day of humiliation. Dutifully I visit her class on Monday’s helping the teacher when she needs me and explaining math concepts that I didn’t learn until High School to the kids when they ask. Monday is also Music for her class. We are marched down the halls of the school and wait as quiet as it is possible for a group of twenty some odd nine year olds for the music teacher to grant us visitation rights to his Fortress of Musical Learning. He takes the roll and reminds me of someone who missed his true calling as a Hippie and is now forced to teach basic musical skills to droves of children day in and day out. He starts to review concepts that were taught the previous Monday and is disappointed when no one can remember 40 minuets worth of sheet reading skills after an entire week of Social Studies, Math, Science, Art, PE, and Library not to mention a weekend spent emptying their heads. So he moves on to have them sing the songs for the holiday presentation that the school puts on every November. I sit quietly in the back trying not to knock anything over because I have a feeling that he wouldn’t hesitate to bring me to the front of the class to have everyone explain why we shouldn’t be a distraction to the rest of the students. A glorious 40 minuets later we are released from Music Class to go back to our room and get ready for lunch. It’s always been my favorite part of the school day. You can sit and eat and talk with your mouth full and no one will tell you to mind your manners and get your elbows off the table. But then I met Crabby Abby. I don’t know her real name and even if I bothered to find out I would stick with Crabby Abby, because it fits. She prowls the lunch room looking for rule breakers and anyone talking in more than a whisper. When you are finished you need to put your head down and wait to be released to the playground. What a drag. She stopped liking kids about 5 years ago, but likes the job so the rest of us have to put up with her. Naturally as the responsible adult that I am, I do my best to make faces at her when her back is turned and whisper imitations of her to the children huddled around me at the table. Then when the anticipated moment of release arrives we put our heads down and wait to be set free. Finally we can run and play and make as much noise as we like only to be called in because of the thunder storm moving our way. “Those bolts of lightning are way over there!” I protest. It seems the teachers (who double as proctors) have the children’s safety in mind and they load us back into the cafeteria. No big deal. We can still tell jokes and talk about what we did over the weekend; Until Crabby Abby walks in. She lets out a whistle that sounds like life will never have a fun moment in it ever again and tells us all to “quiet down”. Quiet down? Are you serious? We just lost our recess through no fault of our own and now she wants us to speak with our indoor voices? You’ve got to be kidding me. But another whistle tells me that she is not kidding. So we spend the rest of the recess thinking up reasons that would explain her disposition; quietly, of course. I offer that maybe she was never a kid. Perhaps she was just dropped on this earth as a grown up and given a book of rules to make everyone follow. My daughter thinks that perhaps she is inhabited by a crabby race of aliens and it’s not really her fault. She might be struggling to get her body back from the snatchers so she can be the fun loving person she might once have been. One of her classmates suggests that perhaps she always ate alone at lunch when she was their age and is bitter about it. Not bad, but someone else thinks that she is from the government sent to spy on us and if she’s disliked by the students no one will want to get to close to her leaving her free to spy on the entire school unchecked. Yet another theory is from a girl I’ve never met. She thinks that the teachers have to draw straws when they start teaching at the school. Some of them have to be strict and some of them have to be cool, and some of them have to be mean. It’s to fill the quota set by the school so that there is balance in all things. We don’t get to think anymore ideas because the bell has sounded and we line up by class to be ushered back to our rooms. When we are back in the loving atmosphere created by my daughters teacher (clearly she drew a “nice” straw) we are instructed to take out our writing books and tell a story. It can be real, or completely fabricated. I like to mix the two. My daughter gets me some paper and a pencil so that I may join in the writing exercise, and I do not want to disappoint her. I let my mind wander a moment and settle on the perfect thing to write about. But you will have to wait until the next blog to read about it. We finish our day with a little math, and little reading and head home for the day. I can’t wait until Friday when I get to visit my son’s class!