Thursday, November 30, 2006

Behold! The Lengths I Will Go To Create Warm Holiday Memories!

I admit that I tend to go a bit overboard during the holidays. I spend too much money, bake too many treats, deck too many halls and generally spread myself too thin. I know this about myself and yet I am powerless to change. I am a victim of a little known disorder called Santa-itis.

It's hereditary; I blame my mother.

Just how overboard do I go? Lord, that would take days to explain..

Let us begin with the tree…When Hugh and I were first married, I was adamant that we have a freshly cut tree. Having grown up with a sister whose mold allergy prevented us from ever having had a live tree, I felt completely gypped of the whole tree-cutting experience which, in my fertile imaginings went something like….

…The happy couple loads up the station wagon and drives to the pristine forest as Christmas carols play softly on the radio. Once arrived, they begin the search for the perfect tree, not too big, certainly not too small and with just the right amount of fullness to neatly fill the space in the living room, next to the fireplace on which mantel the stockings will be hung. Upon finding the perfect tree, the happy wife gazes on approvingly as her handsome husband fells the tree with one solid swing of the axe, hefts the tree over his well muscled shoulder and carries it back to the car. With the tree attached securely to the station wagon’s roof, the lovely wife twists the top off the red plaid thermos of hot cocoa that she has lovingly prepared. The happy couple gazes adoringly at one another while sipping the cocoa amid the pristine forest, the scent of pine flirting with their nostrils….

…..Fantasy? I’d like to introduce you to Reality.

Our first Christmas, Hugh and I picked up our tree at a temporary tree lot in the parking lot of our local supermarket so, no pristine forest for us. And, while the tree was certainly the right size, it wasn’t exactly fresh, having seen many a day since the blow of the axe. In fact, the volume of pine needles left in our wake as we dragged the tree to Hugh’s truck rivaled the needles that remained on the tree by the time we got it home (although, there were certainly enough left to shed throughout the holiday season, requiring daily vacuuming; what fun!). Also, the non-freshness factor stoked my inherent paranoia; I spent the remainder of the holiday season fearing that the tree would spontaneously burst into flame under the massive weight of lights with which I had decked it. Good times. And, I digress.

Needless to say, while that was the last year that we had a fresh tree, it was the first year of my decorating mania.

These days, a 71/2 foot pre-lit Douglass fir graces our living room; on occasion, Hugh and I will gaze adoringly at one another while sipping hot cocoa and admiring our tree so, the fantasy didn’t die.

You know, completely.

We put the tree up the day after Thanksgiving and there it will stay until January 2. It takes approximately three hours to decorate the tree, including the various paraphernalia that we have to accompany it.

The ornaments gracing the tree have been collected throughout the thirteen years of our marriage and are reminders of the time that we have shared. Each one is special and, to us, priceless. Descriptions of my favorites would fill an entire entry but, I won’t bore you with that. Or, maybe, I will…mwaa, ha, ha, ha….

Where was I?

Our tree topper is a traditional star. The children take turns each year, placing the star on top of the tree and, amazingly, they never fight over whose turn it is. It is our very own version of the Christmas miracle.

Underneath the tree is a tartan plaid tree skirt featuring three cross-stitched panels. The first panel depicts a father and his son, trudging home through the snow with a freshly-cut Christmas tree (in an era pre-vacuum cleaner! Gasp! Whatever will the lady of the house do?!). The second panel shows a joyful family dashing through the snow in a horse-drawn sleigh. The third panel reads Merry Christmas, a happy phrase surrounded by holly leaves and berries. I stitched the panels myself, long before I met Hugh and I haven't cross-stitched since. I'm not sure why.

Circling the tree skirt is a toy train. Hugh bought it for my birthday the year we began dating and it is as special to me as any of the ornaments on the tree.

Thus ends the description…of our indoor tree!

We also have an outdoor tree. While it is smaller in stature than the indoor tree, it is equally well decorated and massively lit because, yeah, see above: the topic of this post.
Having two trees is nothing compared to my younger sister who, suffering from an even worse case of Santa-itis, has a tree in every room of her house. Ok, not every room but, only because she couldn’t think of an acceptable theme for a bathroom tree.

I kid because I'm jealous, obviously.

In addition to the trees, we also put up a holiday village, numerous garlands, wreaths, candles, lights and other sundry decorations; all thanks to my disease.

Speaking of, my Santa-itis rears its ugly head most viciously in the kitchen; tune in next time when I regal you with tales of gingerbread men and drop-sugar cookies.

You know, if I haven’t lost you, already.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Snowed Under

Yesterday’s blizzard dropped more than sixteen inches of snow on our town which made the drive home from work a real bitch, pardon my French. By the time I made it home, there was so much snow in my driveway, I had to completely shovel it off before I could park in the garage and, people, I have four-wheel drive.

And, a back-ache; shoveling is a bitch.

I didn’t let the blizzard spoil the anniversary of my 29th birthday, however. Hugh and the children took me to the only open restaurant in our small town and we had a pleasant, if rather quiet, dinner. Quiet because we were the only patrons in the place, the storm keeping away the general populace.

When we got home, I opened my present which was the Kodak Easy Share camera with the printing dock. I have wanted this fabulous piece of technology for quite some time and lord knows I dropped enough hints which, to his credit, Hugh obviously picked up on. Of course, I assumed that, should he decide to get it for me, it would be for Christmas, but, Hugh explained that he wanted me to be able to actually use it at Christmas like, duh.

Hugh is smart. And, generous.

And I’m not just saying that since I came out of the blog-closet on Thanksgiving and he now knows about, and reads, this rag on occasion.


Speaking of Hugh (who is sooo good looking, generous and smart), he spent the majority of the evening shoveling snow off the back porch. His back aches today, too.

And, while I curse the snow on the roads, in my driveway and on the kids trampoline, which we kinda sorta accidentally (in a totally non-lazy way, I swear) never got around to taking down for the winter; its frosty whiteness does serve to put me in the holiday spirit; tonight, I shall bake cookies!

And, tomorrow (turn away from the computer if you are reading, dear); more shopping!


Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Oh, the Weather Outside Is Frightful

When I left the house this morning, I wasn’t expecting it to snow eight inches within the course of two hours. Had I been, I would have forgone the high heeled pumps and short-sleeved sweater in favor of boots and a down coat and I wouldn’t be sitting here now freezing my ass off and dreading the drive home.

One thing is certain, I won’t be driving anywhere once I do make it to the house, which is a shame considering that today is the 9th anniversary of my 29th birthday and Hugh had planned to take me out to dinner, a plan that he will be sorry to abandon. However, while I love me some gourmet food, I do not love it enough to risk our lives on snow-packed roads after dark and even Hugh cannot argue with that logic; he wants to live to see the 11th anniversary of my 29th birthday, after all.

All of which means one of two things; a, we are eating leftovers or b, Hugh will cook his famous Boy Scout hash for dinner.


Maybe taking our lives in our hands by driving to the restaurant in a blinding snowstorm isn’t such a bad option after all.

Monday, November 27, 2006

Throwing In the Towel

Thanksgiving with my parents was fabulous. As usual, my mom outdid herself on the meal, serving three kinds of pie in an attempt to make everyone happy. Of course, you can’t please everyone and this year it was the Man-Cub’s turn to be disappointed; no chocolate cream for him.

To make up for crushing his Thanksgiving dreams, we took the child to see Happy Feet whereupon all was made right in his world.

Otherwise, during our stay, we watched a lot of movies, caught up on local gossip and ate so much left-over turkey we feared we might develop feathers as a side effect. We also took great pleasure in watching the antics of the three hundred squirrels who reside in my parents’ neighborhood. My parents, it should be noted, take no such delight in this particular activity since they long ago deemed the squirrels to be vermin and would like nothing more than for the whole lot of them to relocate to places unknown. Sadly for them, this won’t happen anytime soon since my children spoiled the little bastards with the promise of peanuts; ginormous piles of which they left outside each morning for their hoarding pleasure. My parents have no intention of continuing this habit, of course, which means we now have to pray the little dears don’t become violent while in search of their next nut fix; squirrels are quite dangerous, after all.

Speaking of squirrels, Hugh and I put up our Christmas tree on Saturday night after traveling home from my parent’s house for that express purpose and not, as Hugh would have you believe, because I was afraid that the squirrels would eat my face off in my sleep once they discovered the empty peanut bag in the garbage can. Honestly.

Still, I have to admit a brief shiver ran up my spine when Hugh re-enacted the “squirrel in the tree” scene from that National Lampoons Christmas Vacation movie. But, only for a second.

And I digress.

Our tree looks lovely, the rest of the house is pretty much decked out for the holidays and on Sunday, and I endured the annual torture that is the Christmas card photo shoot. Neither of my offspring was thrilled and, to be honest, I finally just kind of gave up and let them fight it out. I think it might be the best Christmas card I have ever done.

It is certainly the most honest.

Monday, November 20, 2006

It Takes a Child to Raise a Village

My determination paid off at Friday night’s charity auction; I won the porcelain carousel that I wanted. Granted, it took some doing, I hovered in the general vicinity of the piece and, every time someone bid, I mentally noted the amount then, with seconds to spare before the bids closed, I swept in with an offer five dollars higher than the highest bid.

Although I could not have been more pleased, I played it cool so as not to hurt the feelings of the losing bidders. The Man-Cub, on the other hand, made no effort to hide his glee and instead broadcast it to the entire room via a touchdown dance so showy and obnoxious, it would have embarrassed a pro football player.

At least it was all for a good cause. I’m not certain of the final numbers but it looks like we pulled in quite a good deal of money; hopefully enough to ensure that our charitable works will be funded for another year.

Speaking of charity, as I was standing in line to pay for the carousel, Oscar appeared next to me, grabbed the ticket from my hand and proceeded to pay the bill. I argued, of course, but he insisted and I now own a carousel paid for by my father-in-law. I kissed Oscar on the cheek, thanked him profusely and invited him and Emily to come by the house later in the week to see my holiday village, the center of which will be my new carousel.

Saturday, I set about constructing the village and, with more than a little help from the Man-Cub (the Girl was at a birthday sleep-over), managed to get the entire thing set up within a few hours and, it looks fabulous if we do say so, ourselves.

Sunday, Hugh surprised me by suggesting that we drive to the neighboring city to do some Christmas shopping. The kids and I were totally up for it and I’m really glad we went because it gave them a chance to see Santa; something that the Girl will probably have outgrown by next year. As it was, both kids readily hopped up on the big guy’s lap, whispered their fondest wishes and posed for a photo.

Once our shopping was done, we headed to Barnes & Noble so the Man-Cub could use a gift card that he received for his birthday back in September. Hugh’s eyes glazed over the minute he realized we were heading into a book store but, once he discovered the aisle containing books about coin collecting, he rather enjoyed himself. In fact, it was all I could do to pull him away.

While Hugh was memorizing the value of his coin collection, I flipped through a book on vintage jewelry and was pleased to see a picture of a pin that I inherited from my grandmother. I was especially pleased to see how much the pin was worth and I made a mental note to call my sister to give her grief about how ugly she had declared the pin to be when I received it.

I need to remember to do that, actually.

For now, I am off to the dentist’s to have a cracked filling repaired which is way less fun than torturing my sister or admiring my fabulous holiday village.

But, there ya go.

It's going to take me a month to figure out how to get it all back into those boxes but, as Scarlett O'Hara would say, I'll think about that later.

Friday, November 17, 2006

Okey Dokey, Artichokey

My alarm failed to wake me this morning.

But, seeing as how I forgot to set it last night, I have no right to be annoyed.

Also, since my body is a well-oiled machine, functioning at a level that makes lesser women weep, I woke up right on time, anyway. This totally spared me from arriving late to my 7:30 meeting which, by the way, I ask you; who in their right minds schedules a meeting for 7:30 on a Friday morning and then fails to provide coffee? Who?

The adrenaline rush from waking up and realizing that I had come thisclose to oversleeping can only last so long and, currently, I am dragging ass like a cat with pinworms. And it’s only two o’clock. So much for the well-oiled machine.

At this rate, it will be a struggle to stay awake through tonight’s Holiday Festival fundraiser and, since I simply must win one of the auction items, it is imperative that I do so. After all, I can’t take a chance on some blue-haired old lady out-bidding me; I really, really want that porcelain carousel for my Christmas village! Must stay awake to the bitter-last possible minute to place a higher bid-moment, people!

Since the answer clearly lies in caffeine, and since caffeine can be found in both chocolate and coffee, both of which I am currently craving, I predict a Starbucks run in my near future. Mmmm…Peppermint mocha, yummy.

Know what else is yummy? Getting over three hundred dollars worth of Premiere jewelry for the low, low price of $19.97. Seriously, once the orders were totaled for my recent sales party, I had earned that much free booty. I cannot wait until it arrives and I can get with the bling.

Or whatever you kids are calling it these days.

Speaking of kids, the title of this post is one of the Man-Cub’s favorite sayings and, if you knew him, you would know how well it suits his personality. It’s like, his motto.

My motto, if I had one, would be; its all good, spoken in the voice of that turtle from Finding Nemo…it’s all gooood.

Credit card bill got you down? It's all goood.

Still scraping brain matter out of the ceiling fixtures? It's alll goood.

Like, totally, duuuude.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

In Which Hugh’s Head Explodes Upon Opening the Credit Card Bill

I told y’all I was getting a little carried away with the holiday shopping this year.

On the plus side, should the Girl start her period today, she won’t be scarred for life by the thought that she bears responsibility for her father’s messy demise; I’ve got it covered.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

In Which the World Conspires Against My Best Intentions

Although I fully intended to follow my diet and exercise program to a T lo these last precious weeks before the holidays, I have been foiled by circumstance at every turn.

Last night, my intentions were laid waste by a jewelry party that I hosted as pay-back for being invited to a friend’s party a few weeks back. The party was at six, and, since I had to work a full day, run to the grocery store and prepare food for my guests; Exercise was the first casualty of the night. Not long after, Diet died a mercifully swift death at the hands of mini hotdogs wrapped in flaky croissant, Mexican seven-layer dip on tortilla chips and deep-fried cheese and artichoke bites.

My best intentions are threatened again tonight due to a dinner invitation from one of Hugh’s suppliers; tomorrow isn’t looking too good for them either, courtesy of a cosmetics party at Jana’s. Because, you know; party=food.

It is the American way.

And, you know that old saying, the road to hell is paved with good intentions? Tis true! And, on the same road; Christmas!

Remember how I gloated over having accomplished my shopping for the out-of-town relatives? Yes?! And, how I intended to mail all of my gifts before Thanksgiving? Yes?! Well, guess who got a memo sent via the Mother-in-Law Communications System, requesting that; in lieu of toys this year, gift cards to the new bookstore being built in their neighborhood be purchased for the out-of-town children?


I intend to return the toys and use the cash for gift cards.

Of course, we all know how well that has been working out lately.

Monday, November 13, 2006

It Takes A Special Kind Of Stupid….

….to fall off of one’s own office chair for no reason whatsoever.

Momma always did say I was special.

Also, my ass hurts.

Hugh and the Girl attended the annual Father/Daughter dance at the girl’s school on Friday night which left the Man-Cub and I to our own devices at home. We enjoyed a leisurely dinner which, to my shame, included processed potato flakes and mystery meat nuggets served in sectioned aluminum dishes. Then we watched trash television while cuddling on the couch.

Now, either I was feeling unusually generous or the copious amounts of preservatives in our dinner addled my brain because, when the Cub asked me to tickle his back, I complied. He didn’t even have to resort to the pouty lip and puppy-dog eyes; the two most deadly weapons in his guilt arsenal. Then, without so much as an argument, I agreed to make him an ice cream sundae topped with not one, not two but three of his favorite syrups, something previously unheard of in my home.

The only explanation I have for my actions is that the preservatives in the TV dinners had left my brain temporarily addled. Seriously; it is the only explanation.

I am also of the belief that there exists a conspiracy between the food industry and a global alliance of children determined to take over the world through the judicious use of processed carbohydrates.

You read it here, first.

Fortunately for me, the effects of the preservatives were, as I said, temporary and I was able to regain my normal capacity for denying the requests of my offspring for the remainder of the weekend.

Saturday morning, the Girl and I headed to town to help my fellow woman’s club members set up the displays for our annual holiday fund-raiser. I assisted in the assembling of two twelve foot Christmas trees while the Girl lent her mad sweeping skilz to a friend whose fully-decorated tree had not fared well during transport from her home to the event center. Luckily, she only lost two or three glass ornaments and her tree still looked fifteen times better than almost anyone else’s.

When the Girl and I were of no further use, we wandered through the event center looking at the various trees, wreaths, garlands, stockings and gift baskets that will be auctioned off later in the week. I set my sights on a centerpiece featuring a porcelain carousel that will go smashingly well with my Christmas village and the Girl was kind enough to call her father and urge him to bid on it as a gift for my birthday later this month. Here’s hoping.

We followed up the fantastically good time we were having volunteering for a good cause by hitting the Hellmouth for groceries where, as a tribute to the power of good karma, nothing unusually sucky befell us.

The rest of the weekend was a blur of housework, laundry and cooking. My father-in-law, Oscar, has been on his own this past week as his wife, Emily, has been away visiting relatives so; we invited him over for dinner last night and I cooked a meal fit for a king.

Then, I fell into bed, exhausted.

This brings us to this morning when I again fell.... on my ass while attempting to sit in my office chair. In my own defense, the chair is on wheels and the mat underneath it is unusually slick.

In the chair’s defense, I would totally roll away to escape my looming ass, too.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

What Is It About Bad Boys?

Last night’s episode of Lost certainly was yummy. If you like hot dirty sex in a cage which, I do. Or, at least I would if it was hot dirty sex in a cage with Sawyer. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure it would just be really uncomfortable and, well, dirty. In a not good way.

Hey, just because I married a cop doesn’t mean I can’t fantasize about the bad boys.

In news unrelated to my Holloway lust, the Girl has reached that stage of puberty dreaded by mothers the world over: Period Angst.

It seems that two of her classmates have recently welcomed Aunt Flo to the family fold and the Girl is beside herself with fear that she will be Next. Although she knows all about the mechanics of the menstrual cycle, she is understandably paranoid about the possibility of it happening at school since, as she tearily informed me last night “It could happen anywhere! At any moment!”

Like an alien invasion which, come to think of it, is really not such a bad parallel when you think about it.
Now, I don't actually anticipate this happening for the Girl for at least another year or so. After all, she is only ten and three quarters years old and I was twleve when it happened to me for the first time. Obviously, I have a whole year and a quarter left before I have to worry about this stuff for real. Right? (Won't you please excuse me for a moment while I breath into this paper bag while rocking back and forth in this corner)?

To make her feel better however, we discussed the topic at great length and together devised a priority-coded set of strategies designed to fit any possible scenario regarding the initial onset of the child’s lunar cycle including:

Def-Con One: PERIOD STARTS AT A FRIEND’S HOUSE (Explain situation to friend’s mother, call mother, and celebrate over chocolate bon-bons with friends! Mazal tov! You're a woman!).
Def-Con Two: PERIOD STARTS AT THE POOL (Excuse self to the locker room, call mother, execute safety word (hotdog) for immediate extraction).
Def-Con Three: PERIOD STARTS ON A FIELD TRIP (Explain situation to nearest female chaperone, call mother, safety word, extraction).
Def-Con Four: PERIOD STARTS AT SCHOOL (Excuse self to nurse’s office, call mother, safety word, immediate extraction followed by girls day at the spa).

And, lastly,

Def-Con Five: YOUR PERIOD STARTS AT HOME WHEN YOUR MOTHER IS OUT OF TOWN AND YOUR FATHER IS IN CHARGE (Explain entire situation to father using as graphic language as possible, watch father’s head explode, clean up blood and gore before mother gets home, throw a party celebrating both your initiation into womanhood and your status as an unchaperoned minor).

I think she feels better. To be on the safe side, however, I visited and downloaded some articles for her to read pertaining to the situation. We are as prepared as can be expected for her first cruise on the crimson tide even though it won't occur for another one and one quarter years.

And, now we will put a period at the end of this conversation and return to our original programming…..

Sawyer. Shirtless.

Is it hot in here?

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Leftover Night

My kids love Wednesday nights because they know they won’t be required to eat a healthy, balanced meal for dinner. Instead, they will be allowed to choose whatever they feel like eating from the plentiful stock of leftovers in the refrigerator. Which means that the Man-Cub will be eating something containing pasta and the Girl will be eating a ham sandwich, unless we have leftover Chinese on hand in which case, she won’t even need a clean plate; girlfriend likes to eat cold Chinese food right out of the take-out cartons.

Tonight is her lucky night.

I enjoy Wednesday evenings too, not only because I get a break from cooking delicious, well balanced meals for my ungrateful offspring but, I get to indulge in a similar gastric fashion. Looks like I will dine upon leftover chili tonight and, not just any chili but my special Blowout Turkey Chili, so named for its never-fail ability to, um….clear the way for future meals, if you know what I mean.

Sorry, I know you know what I mean.

Wednesday leftover night became a tradition because Wednesday is Hugh’s bowling night and, without him at home to complain about the abysmal lack of freshly prepared food, we are free to go wild with the Tupperware fare and can do so without fearing his disapproval; one can hardly disapprove of one’s family skipping several food groups at a meal when one is himself relying on greasy bowling alley pizza for nourishment. He might have a legitimate beef with the fact that we sometimes eat dessert before the main course though so, we’ll just keep that between us, ok?

Look! An entire entry about how I am teaching my children to make bad food choices! Who’s rocking this parenthood gig? I am! I am!

On an unrelated note, I picked up the proofs from our professional family photography session and, while I greatly respect the photographer and find her to be a generally fantastic artist-I was not blown away by our photos and, while I mostly blame that on the fact that I was in them, I'm still a wee bit disappointed. On the brighter side, I won’t be spending a ridiculous amount of money on prints. Now, I can feel a little less guilty about spending a small fortune on the photo books that I designed on Shutterfly yesterday as Christmas gifts for the in-laws and my sister.

It’s good to look on the bright side, no?

Since I was already downtown picking up the proofs, I stopped at the jewelry store to have the jeweler look at my wedding ring since one of the prongs has recently started snagging on my clothing and, that just isn’t normal. The jeweler agreed that it was a bad thing and took my ring for a procedure he called “re-tipping”. He then informed me that he is really swamped right now so I could expect to have my ring back in about a month. Or, you know, two. Ordinarily, I would have told the gentleman to shove his two months so far up his rectum that not even my famous blow-out chili would touch it but, I declined to unleash the Furies as this is the same jeweler who designed and fabricated my five-year anniversary band so that it fit seamlessly with my engagement and wedding bands, a spectacular feat considering the asymmetrical nature of the original bands.

Also, do I really want to wear the ring after it had been there? I do not.

So, I just have to get used to not wearing the ring; easier said than done considering I have not been without it in fourteen years and I now have a habit of rubbing the center stone when I am nervous or bored which, come to think of it, totally explains how the prongs got worn down enough to require “re-tipping”.


I hope I don’t turn to nervous eating in the absence of the ring; random eating of everything in the fridge could prove detrimental to Left-over night.

The children would not be happy.

Monday, November 06, 2006

Back To the Grind

The rest of the annual Stay-At-Home Mother Project went remarkable well. I am now an avid daytime exerciser, my house is clean and organized, I have several casseroles in the freezer for nights when I don’t feel like cooking, I am mostly caught up on the children’s scrapbooks and I am an expert on daytime television which is to say; daytime television sucks. I will never get the image of Martha Stewart dressed like a Cat and crawling across the floor of her studio out of my mind, it will forever color any association that I have with the maven of domesticity. For shame.

On the other hand, without the distraction of a full time job, I found myself engaging in a wee bit of consumer over-load via the internet and the stores in the neighboring town. Since I am all out of hands, the other foot would like you to know that I now have the vast majority of my Christmas shopping for out-of-town relatives completed. If hearing that serves as a reminder of your own Holiday angst, feel free to hate the other foot.

Speaking of the holidays, can you believe Thanksgiving is only three weeks away? Neither can I but, the calendar doesn’t lie. It does get really pissed off when you imply that it might, however.

Also pissed off? My children who were torn from their beds an hour earlier than they have become accustomed to this past week making breakfast this morning a particularly ugly affair.*

So, now I am back at work and happy to be here. I might be happier at home but, in all honesty, I’m a whore for the money and baking cookies doesn’t pay nearly as well as my day job. If it did, those would be some damn fine cookies.

*No children were harmed during this unfortunate incident. Sadly, the same cannot be said for Captain Crunch.

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

The annual Stay At Home Mother Project is going swimmingly. So far I have:

-Taken the children to the pumpkin patch where they enjoyed a hayride, roasted marshmallows and picked their own pumpkins which we then carved into fabulous jack-o-lanterns.
-Baked and decorated four dozen sugar cookies in the shape of Frankenstein.
-Cleaned the house four million times.
-Put to sleep and buried our thirteen year old female German Shepard (which broke my heart even though it was totally the right thing to do for her).
-Experienced a weird UFO moment when the radio, lights and gages on my car freaked out and flashed on and off for about twenty seconds during a quick run to the grocery store for Halloween cups. Hasn’t happened since. I blame it on Halloween. Or, you know, aliens.
-Volunteered as the classroom mother for the Man-Cub’s Halloween party where I led twenty-one hyper eight year olds in a rousing game of Mummy Wrap and an even more energetic game of musical chairs.
-Taken five children Trick-or-Treating and to the school Halloween Carnival.
-Cooked several gourmet meals plus pizza for five very hungry Trick-or-Treaters.
-Taken down all the Halloween decorations and replaced them with Thanksgiving decorations including a set of wooden pilgrims that are still scarred from a chewing given to them by our late male German Shepard chewed many, many years ago.
-Cried over my lost German Shepards.
-Went for a portrait consultation with the photographer who will be taking our family pictures on Sunday.
-Came to the office to download pictures, order prints from Shutterfly and update this blog before the cobwebs choke the mechanism.

Looks like I made it just in time.