Holy Halloween, Batman!

Last night, the kids and I volunteered at the elementary school’s annual Halloween Carnival. The Teenager and several other members of our newly formed ASTRA service club had dipped caramel apples on Thursday night and we set out to sell them at the carnival as well as assisting in a number of other booths. The hours spent at the carnival will count toward the number of community service hours the Seniors in our club need to graduate and the experience will aid in getting the younger teenagers used to volunteering on a regular basis. Or, so we hope.

In addition, the kids had fun and, because it was a Halloween carnival, many of the kids went in costume, including The Teenager, who went as Batgirl, accompanied by Kaz as Supergirl. And, since every super hero needs his (her) arch nemesis, the Man-Cub went as a Mobster, complete with Tommy gun and ginormous cigar, a costume that won him second place in the costume contest held for his age group.

We sold out of apples within the first hour and half of the carnival and the girls were free to help in whichever booths they found most entertaining. The Man-Cub was free to spend his entire report card earnings on chances at the cakewalk and I was free to circulate amongst the crowd, delighting over costumes and visiting with the other parents who were volunteering their time. It was a nice way to spend the evening.

Later, I supervised Hugh in the carving of his most recent addition to our permanent jack-o-lantern collection. Hugh has carved an artificial pumpkin for the kids every year since 2005; we take turns choosing the design and this was my year so, I picked the Bride of Frankenstein to go along with the Frankenstein’s monster that the Cub picked out a couple of years ago. I love this collection and especially enjoy the fact that Hugh carves a message to the family into the bottom of each pumpkin; they are a nice legacy to leave for future generations of Halloween lovers.

And, speaking of Halloween lovers; we will be disappointing a few this year since Hugh is too busy to decorate the front yard and porch or to throw a mini-haunted house as he has in years past. Hopefully, the fact that I purchased the premium candy for the trick-or-treaters will take the edge off their disappointment and we won’t wake up to a tree flowing with toilet paper or a trail of egg yolk down the front of the house.

On the bright side, if that happens, we can always call upon the Superfriends to avenge us. Or, we could take out a contract with the mob and the Cub could whack them about the head with his giant cigar, making it well worth the $1.99 I paid for it.

It Isn’t Even Halloween Yet and I’m Already Planning Thanksgiving

Specifically, I am planning to brine a turkey, a fresh turkey. That’s right, no pre-basted, frozen solid, guaranteed-to-be-juicy bird with an automatic pop-up timer for this girl, I’m going Pilgrim all the way.

This will result in either the tastiest, most tender and succulent bird that I have ever cooked or a replay of the carving of the Griswold family’s Christmas turkey.



Hold me.

Melancholy

This morning, while searching the attic for a costume to lend to a friend, I stumbled upon the Dopey costume that the Man-Cub wore when he was two and my heart swelled to three times its’ normal size. There may have been tears.

This afternoon, the Cub announced that he thinks he has hair growing in his armpits and I couldn’t help but think that a club to my head would have been kinder than pummeling me with that sentence.

For the record, I’m pretty sure the “hair” was lint from the shirt he was wearing. Either that or, he really needs to apply a little more pressure when scrubbing his armpits because; Dopey is too young to be sprouting armpit hair and, to think otherwise would make me most Grumpy.

How to Get Your Husband to See a Chick-Flick

Chelle: We need to use the free movie tickets that we won at the Policeman’s Ball before they expire this weekend.

Hugh: I’m free tonight. What do you want to see? That Paranormal movie is playing. Or, we could go to Red; I hear those are both pretty good. Or, Jackass 3D! That would be awesome.

Chelle: I don’t feel like being scared or, you know, offended by idiots. Let’s go see Life as We Know It.

Hugh: Never heard of it. Wait, is that a chick-flick?

Chelle: Nooo, it’s a romantic (mumbled under the breath) comedy.

Hugh: What kind of comedy?

Chelle: You know, a comedy, comedy. It’s supposed to be funny.

Hugh: Is Sandra Bullock in it?

Chelle: Yes. Yes, she is. And, Jennifer Anniston and Julia Roberts, too. In fact, I heard they have a naked pillow fight scene. In slow motion.

Hugh: Now that is a movie I would see.

Chelle: Well allrighty, then.

For the record, the movie was cute and Hugh enjoyed it despite the absence of nudity, pillow fights and Sandra Bullock.

Don’t Make Eye Contact, Don't Make Eye Contact

After the Man-Cub’s football game on Saturday, Hugh, The Teenager, the Cub and I drove to Neighboring City to spend some quality family time together and, by quality family time, I mean; we dragged the kids to a haunted house in the hopes that they would be scared shitless because nothing says "family time" like clutching each other in terror while your body threatens spontaneous-and embarrassing- functions.

On this particular occasion, however, no one lost control of their bodily functions for, while the haunted house was awesome, my kids weren’t overwhelmed with terror. Now, the same could not be said for a college-aged girl who, along with her boyfriend, went through the house with us; that girl was terrified and looked to me to protect her from the scary, bad things laying in wait for us at every turn. Either that or, she just really didn’t like my sweater and thought that it would benefit from being pulled completely out of shape by the death-grip that she applied to the hem of it the second we crossed the first threshold, either way.

While there were some scary moments, I managed to make it through without too much screaming and, my adopted mantra, don’t make eye contact, don’t make eye contact, chanted over and over each time we were faced with a new spook seemed to calm the college girl-whose name we learned was Shannon-down quite a bit although, not enough to keep her from berating her boyfriend for not doing more to protect her from a chainsaw wielding maniac at the end of the tour and, “I can’t believe you let him touch me, Ty! You are a horrible boyfriend!” was the last thing we heard from our copatriot in terror.

Totally worth the ten bucks per person that we paid, by the way.

Also in Halloween news, we carved pumpkins last night and The Teenager adopted my Don’t make Eye Contact mantra as a way of showing her displeasure at being forced to do something mildly entertaining with her family. Not coincidentally, she recently saw the original Exorcist movie for the first time and now understands what I am talking about when I accuse her of making my head spin or of pushing me to the point of spitting pea-soup at her; both of which I threatened to do if she did not lose the attitude and at least pretend to be having a good time.

So, while there was no eye contact, I’m pretty sure there was plenty of eye-rolling but! Pumpkins were carved successfully.

And, as I've said, no one peed their pants inappropriately. Or, otherwise.

The Boys of Fall

The Cub’s football team lost their last game in overtime yesterday. The loss brought their record to 1 win, Too Many Losses to Record but; they had a good time, learned a lot and managed to exemplify the term gracious loser. We are quite proud.

Three of the Cub’s best friends played on the team; the four of them comprise the group that the Middle School teachers described as girl crazy although, the boys prefer the term ladies men, thank you very much.

Proving both the teachers and the boys right would be the constant shift in each boys’ Facebook status from Single to In a Relationship which, cracks me up every time I log on to see the reversal. When I asked the Cub what In a Relationship meant to the boys, we had the following conversation:

Cub: It means we have a girlfriend.

Chelle: And, what does that mean, exactly?

Cub: It means we are dating.

Chelle: Dating? How are you dating? Where do you take these girls on a date?

Cub: We don’t go anywhere, we’re just, you know, going out.

Chelle: That makes no sense, whatsoever.

Cub: Ok, we go to lunch together.

Chelle: In the cafeteria. And, you take a sack lunch. That is not a date and, if it were, it would be a terrible date.

Cub: Well, I hug her. I do, on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

Chelle: You schedule your hugging?

Cub: No! Those are the days that we have lunch together.

Chelle: Oh, those are the days of your imaginary dates.

Cub: They are not imaginary. They are creative. And, we don’t even have to go to lunch together to be dating, we just have to say we are. And, we are. So, there.

So, by the Cub’s logic, I could say that I am dating Taylor Kitsch, going out with Hugh Jackman, in a relationship with Ryan Reynolds and it would Be So. I hope none of our spouses or significant others mind.

As an aside, pre-teen boys are so special.

I Think I Squeezed My Way to Arthritis Last Night

In the course of decorating four dozen volleyball cookies, I managed to do quite a number on my hands. This can only mean one thing; old age is right around the corner and all my joking about how my kids are going to be picking out my nursing home is coming to fruition.

Or, I need to invest in a larger bottle of Bufferin.

Anyway, the task shouldn’t have caused me quite so much distress but, the frosting just was not cooperating with me and a chore that should have taken an hour took almost two and a half and resulted in cookies that are not my finest work. I would be sad about that but, they are going to be eaten by four dozen teenage girls who are more focused on their last game, boys, texting, the latest episode of Gossip Girl or some combination thereof and, on a school bus no less so; I’m having a hard time getting worked up over the situation.

Besides, I have another four dozen cookies to decorate tonight and, with a few tweaks to the frosting recipe, I should be able to redeem myself and my mad frosting skilz.

Or, push myself completely into arthritis-land.

Either way, there will be cookies to eat.

There Exists a Fine Line Between Reward and Bribery

I just got back from the Man-Cub’s Parent/Teachers conference. The school utilizes a round-robin approach to the conference, gathering all of the teachers together at one table for the appointment rather than forcing parents to wander from classroom to classroom and, I really appreciate that.

I also appreciate the kind words that each of the teachers had for the Cub; it’s rewarding as a parent to hear that other adults enjoy your child almost as much as you do. It’s also nice to hear how much the Cub’s standardized test scores have improved and to see all A’s and B’s on his report card; in fact, the good grades almost negate the fact that I also learned that the Cub is extremely girl-crazy (ok, this I didn’t so much learn as have confirmed for me by five independent adult witnesses) and that passing gas as loudly as possible is his idea of high humor.

Eh, it’s a trade-off.

After the conference, I joined the Cub in the gym for a quick presentation of his science fair project which, while failing to place in the Finals, still managed to pull in a good grade, adding an A to the above-mentioned report card, a report card that is going to cost me $31 since I had the brilliant idea to pay the children for their grades this year ($5 per A, $3 per B). Some might view this as a bribe, some as a reward; I personally couldn’t give a shit either way because, hello, Honor Roll!

And I am totally getting the bumper sticker.

I Used To Think They Would Outgrow This

Tonight I baked eight dozen sugar cookies, four dozen in the shape of volleyballs and the rest in the shape of footballs. The volleyballs are for The Teenager’s team  to eat as they take their last road trip of the season on Friday. The footballs are for the Man-Cub’s end-of-season team picnic on Sunday. Once upon a time I assumed the kids would grow weary of the sugar cookies but, between you and me? I’m so glad they haven’t.

On a similar note, the Man-Cub lost a tooth at school today. This of course means a visit from the Tooth Fairy tonight, a visit complete with purple iridescent fairy dust and a couple of silver dollars. And, while I’m not exactly looking forward to waiting the Cub out as he falls into a deep enough sleep to allow me to reach under his pillow to retrieve the tooth, I also dread the day when I am no longer required to do so.

On the other hand, if I feed the kid enough sugar cookies, he could continue to lose teeth for years. That, my friends, is the classic definition of a diabolical plan.

Not that I’m actually considering it; the denture replacement of permanent teeth would cost a fortune.

Not So Deep Thoughts, by Joe Handy, Jack's More Shallow Brother

After Halloween last year, while “helping” me put away my Dept. 56 Halloween village, Hugh accidentally broke one of the bulbs in my favorite piece and, as Murphy decreed, it was a specialty bulb, one that gives the illusion of lightning inside the porcelain building so; finding a replacement for it was not a mere matter of visiting the local hardware store (alas). I finally managed to track one down last week and, while installing the bulb this evening, Hugh got a wicked shock. Coincidence or karma? Your call.

In other Halloween news, we visited the local corn maze and pumpkin patch yesterday. The Man-Cub guided us through the maze in record time, despite being slowed down by The Teenager’s lolly-gagging and, by lolly-gagging; I mean texting, like duh.

Hugh remedied the situation by confiscating her phone and then challenged her to piggy-back him through the remainder of the maze. She made a valiant effort but was only able to stagger a few steps under his weight; I give her ten points for effort.

Speaking of efforts, the Man-Cub presented his science fair project to the first panel of judges today; he impressed them enough to move on to the finals, tomorrow. We are quite proud of him. He even dressed for the occasion, in new kakis, dress shirt and a tie that we purchased for him yesterday. This morning, I commented on how preshus he looked and he argued that, in fact, he did not look preshus, he looked presentable.

I didn't even know he knew that word.

Pretty Maids All In a Row

The Teenager and her friends enjoyed dinner this evening and are, as I type this, dancing the night away at the Homecoming dance. They made quite an impressive group and I’m glad they decided to go to the dance in a perfumed, well-coiffed and multi-sequined herd although; I do feel slightly sorry for all the boys who missed out on that arm-candy.

Speaking of arm-candy, while the girls were all beautiful and amazing, none could compare to The Teenager, you know, in my eyes.

And, in case I didn’t mention it before; I’m really glad I skipped the play in favor of staying home for this event.

It was way more entertaining than watching a bunch of greasers do the Hand Jive.

Way more.

Winnahs!

The Freshman class float placed first in yesterday’s parade which didn’t surprise me in the least since it featured a giant volleyball made of chicken wire and napkins. A giant volleyball, people.

The football team then trounced the competition at last night’s big game; a Senior whom The Teenager is quite fond of was crowned Homecoming Queen and all three of the girls’ volleyball teams won their games without breaking a sweat.

It was a productive and victorious day.

Tonight, The Teenager and her friends will attend the Homecoming dance. The girls are coming over to the house to get ready for the event and then I am taking them all to town for a nice dinner. Wait, allow me to clarify; I am dropping the girls off at a nice restaurant for dinner at which point I will magically disappear, reappearing only to chauffeur them to the dance after their meal.

Then, after the dance, I will pick them up and deliver them all back to their respective homes before my Tahoe turns into a pumpkin.

How in the world did I ever think that I could get away with attending Grease in Denver this weekend?

Everyone Loves a Parade

This morning, The Teenager called me at work, begging for a favor; please pick up several packages of white napkins, and deliver them to the school, pronto! The napkins were for use on the Freshman class float which was due to make an appearance the Homecoming parade later in the day and the kids didn’t have a minute to spare in getting it ready.

So, being a sucker an involved parent, I ran to the store for the napkins and then spent a few minutes at the school, watching the kids work on the float and chatting with their class sponsors who were supervising the endeavor. While I was there, I figured I might as well snap a few pictures despite my dear daughter’s complaints that I looked like a stalker, after all; one day she will thank me for recording every preshus minute of her fleeting youth, you know, for blackmail posterity.

In the meantime, she’ll just have to put up with it; otherwise, I’ll be forced to remind her that I spent thirty-six hours in labor just to bring her ungrateful ass into this world.

And, no, that just never gets old.

Sorry, baby.

I’ll Give You Each a Dollar If You DON’T Throw Me the Ball

The annual Homecoming Powder-Puff  Football game was a blast to watch and, despite being terrified at the thought of actually having to participate while participating, The Teenager had a really good time. And, although the Senior/Sophomore team beat our Junior/Freshman team, the game was entertaining as hell to watch. Even more entertaining, however, was the color commentary provided by two of the varsity football players who had the crowd in stitches with their humorous play-by-play throughout the game.

Final score, 12-6 with at least six of the winning points coming courtesy of some righteous cheating on the part of the Senior/Sophomore team but, apparently that is almost as much of a tradition as the game itself and, as I said before; The Teenager had a good time.

Especially since she did not once have to actually touch the football.

Yeah, Like No one Saw This Coming

Several months ago I purchased tickets to a performance of Grease at the Buelle Theater in Denver. The tickets were for October 16th which, several months ago, seemed like a really great night to attend a musical. That is, until last month when The Teenager informed me that her Homecoming dance was, wait for it.... October 16th.

And, I was torn. On the one hand, Grease! With my sister! Plus, a weekend of shopping and dining in restaurants and Girl Talk! On the other hand, my only daughter’s first Homecoming dance, her only first Homecoming dance. What to do, what to do?

The Teenager was great about the whole thing, while disappointed that I wouldn’t be here to help her get dressed for the dance, she defended my planned absence by stating that I , and I am quoting here, don’t get out that much. She thought I deserved to have a Girl’s Night with my sister.

Still, when we were picking out her dress for the dance, I couldn’t help but sense her disappointment at the thought of me not seeing her at the Big Reveal.  I was resolute, however, and; I assured my sister, my parents, Hugh, my friends, and random employees at the bank I frequent that I was just fine with missing The Teenager’s first Homecoming. After all, there would be other dances and, as The Teenager grew fond of saying, it wasn’t like she was going with a boy, having opted out of several invitations in favor of attending the dance with a group of friends.

Yes, that was my stance and, I went about planning my trip to Denver while everyone else I knew, including random employees at the bank I frequent, went about waiting for the guilt to eat away at my heart which, it did, accomplishing a decent sized hole right around eight o’clock last night. While I was at book club.

So, on the way home, I called my sister to break the news that I would not be attending the play after all. And, because she is also a mother, she understood because, really; the fact that I am a mother was the only real factor in making this decision.

I am a mother.

 I have responsibilities that sometimes include setting aside plans that I have made for the benefit of my children. And, while some might think I am making a sacrifice by doing so, between you and me? Being able to watch my daughter experience the only first Homecoming dance that she will ever experience is a privilege.

And, I have a pretty good idea that Sandy and Danny will cha-cha their way back to Denver at some point in my lifetime but; a second chance at witnessing one of my children's first experiences? No gonna happen. And, not something that I care to miss, not for all the Pink Ladies in the world.

It is interesting to note however, that every person in my life knew that about me before I did.

At the Risk of Perpetuating Unfair Stereotypes…

Hugh, The Teenager and the Man-Cub attended the High School football game Friday night. While they were out, I caught up on my DVR queue. About halfway through the latest episode of Glee, Hugh called to tell me that he had just had an interesting conversation with the Middle School principal, the jist of which was that the Man-Cub had been accused of taking an eighth grader's lunch money that day.

As I marveled at the interesting pattern that my brain matter left on the ceiling, Hugh quickly assured me that the whole thing had been a misunderstanding which is why we hadn't been summoned to the school during the day.

Apparently, that morning, the Cub had been doling out fake teeth (it was Hillbilly Day and I had  purchased a bag of the teeth for the Cub. Obviously he could only use one pair so, I had instructed him to give the rest to his friends). An eighth grader had heard about the teeth and approached the Cub at lunch, offering to pay him $2 for a pair which, the Cub thought sounded just dandy so; he took the money and headed to his locker to retrieve the teeth. Unfortunately, he was intercepted by a teacher who sent him to class and, being the Man-Cub, forgot all about the teeth and the money which caused the eighth grader to feel duped, as one would under the circumstances. So, the eighth grader went to the office and said that a sixth grader had stolen his lunch money.

The Cub was called in, the story came out and the Cub not only handed over the teeth but offered to refund half the asking price. End of drama, back to class.

The principal had forgotten all about it until he saw Hugh at the game and then he couldn’t help but tell him about it, laughing the entire time. He and Hugh debated whether or not to call it extortion, a con gone awry or a laughable mistake but, knowing the Cub, quickly agreed on the third option.

I told him that, while I was glad they had found the humor in the situation, I was personally appalled that the Cub would try to profit from something I specifically told him to give away.

Hugh said that was the least of his concerns, after all, the boy was showing good financial sense and, that, right there? Was the Jew in him coming out.

At which point I reminded him that the Cub had offered to return half the money as well as handing over the teeth and that right there? Catholic guilt.

We are, as they say, at an impasse.

Not Surprisingly, Mentos Do Not Propel Rockets

The Man-Cub’s hypothesis regarding the Mentos rockets vs. an engine-driven rocket was proven, leftover Diet Coke and Mentos were consumed and stickiness prevailed.

What was surprising? The fact that ten out of ten 6th graders could not accurately identify the Cub’s 80’s Day costume as being that of one Sonny Crockett of Miami Vice fame.

Four out of five teachers (over the age of 40), however, were all over that shit.

Zombies Love Spirit Week and the People at Webster's Have Nothing On Me

At this morning’s rocket trials, Bob the Rocket accidentally found its way to the roof of the Middle School. Since it was the third and final trial, Hugh and I sent the boys back to class and set about finding a ladder with which to rescue the wayward Bob. This proved far more difficult than one might imagine.

During our search, we entered the wood shop where a class was in session. Imagine entering a building where band saws whir away, nail guns pop menacingly and sanders grind wood into a fine dust. Now, imagine the shock of all those tools being manned by bloody zombies because, that is the scene that greeted us, today. Blood, gore, bandages, splints, crutches, it was like the a hospital waiting room in Pamplona after the running of the bulls and; it took me a solid minute to remember that it was Fake Injury Day and not a class of really, really clumsy wood shoppers.

I am genius, hear me roar.

Speaking of my genius, while running errands today, I accidentally ran the words shoes and situation together when describing my dismay at not being able to find shoes to match The Teenager's homecoming dress. The result of the grammatical error was a fabulous new word; shituation. I don’t know about you but, I find myself in lots of predicaments that could easily be described at shituations thus, it is my new go-to word for such occasions. Example: We have a serious shituation, here; a horde of pre-teen zombies has taken over the wood shop, demanding braiiinnns.

Admit it, it’s a great word. In fact, feel free to use it in your next conversation about zombies. Or, you know, whatever the shituation calls for.

Rocket Like a Hurricane

This morning Hugh and I accompanied the man-Cub to school where we had the pleasure of supervising him and two of his classmates as they worked on their project for the upcoming Middle School Science Fair.

It was nice to visit the school without a stop in the Principal’s office and without hearing the words In School Suspension or After School Detention and, the science project was cool, too; the boys shot off a rocket that the Cub had built, painted, wired and christened with the name Bob. Seriously, Bob.

Bob proved to be quite the over-achiever, zooming into the sky until he was out of sight and then not making his descent for a solid minute and a half which is damn good hang-time. Tomorrow, we will be back in the science class to supervise the boys as they set off a Mentos rocket which, apparently has something to do with Mentos candy and a bottle of soda pop. The boys have hypothesized that engine-propelled Bob will have flown higher than the Mentos rocket and, I think the word you are looking for here is duh.



Anyway, as I said, it’s a nice break from visiting the school for disciplinary purposes and, the look of excitement on the boys' faces during the countdown from 10 to 0 was worth the price of a package of Mentos and a 2 liter any day.

In other school news, it is Spirit Week at the Middle School. Today the kids were encouraged to dress up as a character from a fairy tale, a feat at which we failed miserably, and by we, I of course mean me; I just could not come up with an idea for a costume that didn't involve fairy wings, tights or a tutu and, well, Hugh draws the line at dressing his son like a fairy, anyway. It's ok, though; tomorrow is Fake Injury Day and, with three old arm casts at his disposal, the Cub is all set. Then, on Thursday, when the school celebrates 80's Day; I have gone to great lengths to provide him with a passable Sonny Crockett costume, white linen suit jacket, pants and all the best that Miami Vice had to offer, except for the bitchin' speed boats. Friday, for Hillbilly Day, I'm simply going to encourage the Cub to dress himself in whatever outfit he would normally chose for the day only, I'm not going to intervene with suggestions for things that might a) match better, b) fit better or, c) don't look as though they have been worn by children working in a coal mine and, wa-la! Insta-Hillbilly.

It's not rocket science after all. Ha! See what I did there? Rocket Science? That's called remaining on topic.

October

I have had the nicest weekend. The Teenager‘s volleyball game on Friday was exciting and, while the team eventually lost, the girls played really well. Saturday, the weather could not have been more beautiful and we spent the morning enjoying the warmth and sunshine from the sidelines of the Man-Cub’s football game.

Later in the day, the kids and I made the drive to Neighboring City to shop for a Homecoming dress for The Teenager. It took a bit of searching through the dresses that appeared to have been made for Homecoming at Stripper High (too short, too shiny, too tight, too, um, leopardprinty (not a real word but, go with it; parentheses inside parentheses, also not really grammatically legal but, what the hell; I like to live dangerously), too low-cut, too slutty) but; I finally convinced The Teenager to try on a dress that, while not looking exactly beautiful on the hanger, looked freaking phenomenally gorgeous on The Teenager. Like, gorgeous. I can’t wait to share pictures of her in the dress but, Homecoming isn’t until the 16th so, I’ll just have to restrain myself. But, trust me; she is going to look gorgeous.

Anyway, while at the mall, we met up with my girlfriend, Phoebe and her kids; they were in town for a portrait appointment at a photographer whom I had recommended and we used the appointment as an excuse for an old-fashioned Girl’s sleepover only, with less alcoholic beverage and more responsible parenting. Three cheers for adulthood, rah, rah, rah!

Today, after saying a reluctant goodbye to Phoebe and Co., the Man-Cub and I got busy decorating the house for Halloween. The unusually warm weather made the chore of decorating the porch less chore-like and more, wow, what a beautiful day, I could spend all day out here, effort. That’s my kind of chore, I assure you.

Tomorrow I am back to the grind but, with everything I accomplished this weekend, I am ahead of the game and less scattered than I have been in quite some time. Also, I really like October, in case I have never mentioned it before.