Dear Sis

Dear Sis,

Tomorrow you move. I could just add the line "You suck" and call this complete because it sums up my feelings at this moment.

Actually no, it wouldn't be complete because there are so many other things I want to say.

You and I are just about as alike and different as two sisters can be. At times I find it so hard to believe that we share the same set of parents, but at other times it's like we share a brain.

You like asparagus. I personally would rather chew on a dog turd than eat that nasty stuff.

We haven't done it in a long time, but that whole bursting into song IN HARMONY thing? Still freaks me out.

You wear heels and suffer through the pain for the mere sake of fashion. My sneaks and I wouldn't know fashion if it hit us with a Coach bag.

We both love us some Michael Buble'.

You do math puzzles FOR FUN. I used to have Mom write a notebook page full of sentences just so I could diagram them FOR FUN.

You feel like there is so much more out there waiting for you, full of opportunity and adventure. I feel like all that stuff out there is waiting for me so it can chop me up into pieces, stuff me in a 55 gallon drum and bury me in its backyard.

We both love our kids and feel we're doing right by them and anyone who doesn't agree is not only a complete a**hole, but will probably also get mowed over.

For the rest of my days I will remember and be appreciative of the time you took a brussel sprout for me.

I will also remember all those times when we were kids that I shot you down, hurt your feelings and dismissed you because you were annoying.

The night we were dragging Main and you made me laugh SO hard then flipped the seat down so it looked like I was a raving lunatic laughing by myself? Yeah, also a very fond memory.

I slapped a kid for you on the school bus when he kicked you. The week of riding in the front of the bus as punishment was totally worth it.

You were there last summer during the church drama that dented my faith and made me doubt humanity and religion and people as a whole.

When I was about 15 I told you you could just wake up one day gay, not knowing you had OCD and that very thought would terrify you for years. Of course, I also told you that if you pulled your pants and your underwear up at the same time you would get sick, so you should've known I was full of it.

You held onto my arm for dear life the first time I rode the Tower of Terror and made my first trip to Disney World one I will never forget.

You refrained from punching me in the mouth the day I backed you against a wall and screamed in your face. The only thing that saved me from a fat lip that day was the fact I was pregnant. I deserved a fat lip, pregnant or not.

You killed my goldfish.

I probably broke 27 traffic laws driving your orange kitten to the vet after the dog got hold of her and shook her nearly to death. Dad was pretty peeved about that vet bill, but you were so upset I couldn't just do nothing.

You allowed me to be there for your first child's birth and I'm so glad you were there for the birth of my last. You have allowed me to have a very important hand in raising your children and for that I am eternally grateful.

You were and still are one of the few people that acknowledge the baby we lost as a real child, someone to be missed. Everyone else was quick to sweep his death under the rug, but you were an Auntie from the start to a child you never knew.

I haven't been there for you lately and I've already apologized for this, but I feel the need to do it again. It's because of my selfishness and fear that I have pulled back. I hope you can forgive me for doing this. You and I have a very special and unique relationship as sisters and I am terrified that is never going to be the same. I have had so many women say they wish they had the same kind of relationship with their sister that you and I have. I'm scared that putting 200 miles between us is going to change that. I still don't understand your need to go because as I mentioned before that same world out there that seems so welcoming and full of promise and opportunity to you seems cruel and unforgiving to me, but boy how I admire your courage. I always have. I worry, but it's because I'm the big sister and it's my job.

Be good. Always lock your car and apartment. Sleep with your cell phone under your pillow. Call me. Read my blog. Be cautious. Know that because we're broke and can't come see you does not mean we don't have the desire. Take pictures. Play your Wii. Read books. Glee and LOST should still be priorities, as well as calling me during both. Be safe. Take a vitamin every now and then, okay?

The night of the Glenn Thanksgiving last week, when you were here early, both of us in the kitchen, singing songs from Glee and dancing like idiots while the bruschetta baked and your banana pudding mixed will probably be one of my most precious memories ever. I almost said something as it was happening, but decided to keep my mouth shut and just enjoy.

If things get tough, if you've had a bad day, you know where to find me - you know I'm not going anywhere.

I love you,

Sis

Christmas, Possums and a Whole Lotta Drama

I said I was going to post here at least every other day, managed ONE POST before I blew it. I am awesome.

Yesterday Paul, my niece Karissa, Conner and I spent the entire day at the state park setting up our display for the Park of Lights. Okay, we took about 45 minutes out of that to go eat deliciously greasy hamburgers at the Turtle Stop Cafe', but the rest of the time we were at that dang park. We couldn't have done it without Karissa - she kept Conner occupied with a seemingly endless supply of Froot Loops and entertainment, plus she kept me amused and entertained by adding "on a steek" and "That's what she said" to the end of virtually every sentence spoken.

Cars have been driving through to see get a preview, I guess. One car stopped and rolled their window down. I stopped what I was doing and looked up, but they just waved and I could see they were laughing. They drove on and next thing I know there's this little kid, about 11 or 12, standing next to my outhouse! His mom asked if she could take his picture next to it. I would've been happier if he'd wanted his picture taken with me but I guess my outhouse is the next best thing.

We left the park around 3 with chapped lips, no fingerprints because of all the duct taping we did (we can embark on a life of crime!) but a sense of accomplishment at what we'd managed to get done. Or maybe we were all just punch-drunk and exhausted.

In fact, that's why I didn't post last night - I just flat fell asleep. I changed in my pj's, sat in my big chair to read Wicked and boom I was out. Sam woke me up laughing and saying, "Mom, if you're going to read you should probably open your eyes." The whole house was in bed by 9. You know the whole household is tired when even the kids are asking to go to bed.

This morning Paul, the kids and I went back to finish up at the park. Courtney called me mid-morning and asked if she could bring Conner to me since Aunt Janet had to have some unexpected surgery. Abby had a great time babysitting him so I could listen to my husband mumble and complain about how he had no idea how we were going to power the display despite the extension cords snaking all over the ground. I ended up driving to Fairland to buy four more cords to satisfy him. He still mumbled, though.

I think the best highlight of the day was when Pops handed me a staple gun and told me to go have fun. My momma works for the county election board and their display is next door to ours. I am probably a pretty bad neighbor because I kept going over and bugging them. I'd gone over to borrow a cup of sugar see if they had a stapler and he gave me an actual staple gun. Oh the power! I probably put WAY more staples in that garland than were necessary, but oh wow did I have fun.

The next-to-best highlight was using his big hammer to drive stakes into the ground. Again, THE POWER! My mom had walked over to bring me a Mountain Dew and got so tickled watching me hammer and punctuate every blow with a word - "GET - IN - THE - GROUND". She said she was about to get misty at the sight of me doing physical labor. She's so funny.

The display is now done except for a pair of socks that Paul's going to have to hang on the line on his way home from work tomorrow afternoon. We're in a bigger spot this year and we're right on the highway. We had to get more lighting because not only did we add a few more large items but we are just spread out more. There are still a lot of trees around us, but hopefully being right on the highway will keep the squirrels at bay and keep them away from our lights. If we start having trouble I'll either call Leslie with OK Tourism or just sic the BACA guys on 'em.

The display opens tomorrow night at 6pm and will be open until 9. Make sure you drive through and see the lights. Heck, drive through many, many times and vote each time! I don't know our display number, but it will be out in front of the display. Really, just keep your eyes peeled for the possums. Ours don't move much, though, so if you see one scurrying it might not be our display.

It's THAT Time Again

You know, if the holidays came around in the summer I'd be able to do everything that needs to be done without flirting with a psychotic break. Just sayin'.

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I HEREBY PROCLAIM that from now until the first of the year I am going to post something here AT LEAST every other day. It may be something wondrous and splendid and it may be a string of letters and characters from me banging my head on the keyboard. Still, check back. Both could prove to be edutaining and informational.

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If my daughter gets an iTouch before I do I will literally throw myself on the ground and scream and cry. Unfortunately it looks like I have a tantrum to perform because my mother-in-law gives the kids $200 apiece for Christmas. And not me. :-(

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Last night I stayed up until 1am watching Brokeback Mountain and drinking what may or may not have been an alcoholic drink from a Mason jar.

I have decided that the 21 year old me would find that scenario laughable. She has no idea. Or...uhm....er.....I have no idea. Oh you know what I mean.

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We had our Annual Glenn Family Festivus Planning Meeting Friday night. The bylaws were amended, there was mucho goosing by the Sergent at Arms and while the meeting was very raucous and loud, I think it was the most fun Planning Meeting we've ever had.

To learn more about our Festivus Celebration and see pictures from last year's gathering go here, but be warned: there are pictures there that actually have been used against me by a very angry woman who tried to ruin my reputation. (Yes, seriously.) If you are offended by pictures of a fully-clothed man in a candy g-string and don't have much of a sense of humor you should probably not go look. However, if your family is as crazy as mine you should seriously consider adopting a tradition like that yourselves. The Festivus tradition, not the candy g-string tradition. Unless that's how you roll and if it is, you are awesome.

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It has been decided by several family members that over the Christmas break we are going Duggar hunting. We'd like to be able to add "Duggar Sighting" to our list of what we did over the holiday.

We love our Duggars here at the Diva Ranch - so much so we renamed our prolific momma cat (formerly known as Mamacita) Michelle Duggar. She has done as much for the feline population as the human Michelle Duggar has done for the human population. (Maybe even more, but we figured asking the real Michelle Duggar to rename herself Mamacita was out of the question.) We asked Abby if she'd like to be a Duggar someday, seeing as how John David is a teenager and the next male in line to marry, but she said she wasn't willing to give up her skull wardrobe and flat-ironed hair. However, my Kady is totally on board and thinks being a Duggar would be "Duggarific". We now call her J'Kady.

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I have rag-rolled Kady's hair several times over the last few years. The first time she looked like the Cowardly Lion. The second time, Little Orphan Annie. For Halloween this year she was a gypsy and I l o o s e l y rag-rolled her hair. The results were beautiful ringlets that lasted two days without making her look like a member of the Jackson 5. So the other night Abby asked if I could roll hers l o o s e l y as well.

Yeah. Something went awry. After sleeping on the rags all night she was excited to see the finished product the next morning. I unrolled the rags and had her flip her head over so I could finger comb the curls out. When I finished I had her flip her head up. Instead of busting out into the loudest BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I had in me at 6:30am like I SO wanted to, I instead grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her toward the mirror. The look on her face was a Kodak moment and I hate it I missed catching it with the camera. When she could speak again she said, "Oh Momma you have to DO SOMETHING!" I pulled the sides back. She made a face. I grabbed it all and pulled it back into a ponytail. Okay, have you ever been to the county fair and walked the area between the cattle barns right before a show? Ever seen those kids take a teasing comb and a bottle of AquaNet to a cow's tail? If you're a city slicker and have no idea what I'm talking about well, you are just going to have to use your imagination because I have Googled every possible combination I can think of to find a picture of a cow's tail before a show and can't find one. Dadgummit.

Anyway, her ponytail was a gigantic ball on the back of her head and she was starting to panic. Next try was me piling it on top of her head. She groaned and said, "Well, just stick a tiara in there and send me to the ball, MOTHER." Oops, my bad. So I grabbed a wide-toothed comb and started trying to relax the curls. Ugh, it just made her hair W I D E, as I kind of though it would. The clock was ticking, she had tears threatening to spill over and at one point declared she was NOT going to school. Finally, I pulled it back into a ponytail again, this time with the curls not so tight and angry-looking, and managed to arrange them and tame them with hairspray.

Word to you mothers: Be ye careful with the rag rolls. For thou knowest not how your child's hair will reacteth. Thus, tryeth the rolling of the rags out on a weekend first. Henceforth. And stuff.

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This afternoon, after we get our bellies full of turkey and all that other yumminess, we Hoovahs are headed to the state park to get the ball rolling on our Park of Lights display. As usual, we have procrastinated and lollygagged until we're down to a few days to get it set up, lit and running. We do it every year and I said this year would be different, but life has just kind of gotten in the way as life is wont to do. Stupid, inconvenient life.

(Pictures of the first year's display here. Not sure where last year's display went...)

We are setting up at a different spot this year, right on the highway, in an effort to elude the dadgum squirrels that kept eating our lights in years past. We gave our spot to the nice fellas at BACA (Bikers Against Child Abuse) because number one, I *heart* them and because number two, if anyone can scare those squirrels into the stopping of the chewing, it's those guys. They're really just big ol' tenderhearted teddy bears, but the squirrels don't know that.

Starting Thanksgiving night you can mosey on our to Twin Bridges State Park by Wyandotte, OK, and get yourself into the Christmas spirit by driving through and seeing the lights everyone has put blood, sweat and tears into for your pleasure. It's free to go through, but you can leave a donation at the end if you so desire. Make sure you look for the outhouse and possums and vote for ME!

Oh and as it gets closer to time I'll let you know when you can drive through and actually SEE US! I know! Seeing bazillions of Christmas lights AND getting to see your favorite hometown Redneck Diva is THE BOMB. Trust me on this.

Review This

Hey y'all, mosey on over to my review blog and check out the latest!

My reviews of a book, a few CD's, a website for moms and a Cinnabon treat - it's all over there!

And now I vomit on my keyboard

Last week was bad. Now, yes, I realize that it could've been worse and technically I have no right to complain and whine around, but it's my blog and you've decided to share in this splendiferous journey known as My Life, so settle in and listen up, childrens. Momma Diva is tellin' a story.

On Halloween my biological dad told me that he has five tumors on his thyroid or parathyroid and they were going to have to do biopsies and surgeries and essentially the doctor said, "You'll have another 20 good years. By then you'll be 78. That should be long enough." Kind of callous and cold if you ask me. While my relationship with my father isn't as close as I'd like it to be, he's still my father and I do love him. Parental mortality isn't a subject I care to dwell on at any time, much less when everything else around me is crap.

I haven't said anything about it here on the blog, but if you're my friend on Facebook you've seen me mentioned a few times that my little sister is moving. As in away from me. I don't like to talk about it because it sucks. I've had many little meltdowns over the past month or two, but Tuesday of last week I just lost my stuff and went and blew a freakin' gasket. Unfortunately I lost that stuff all over my momma and because she is one of the two people I can tell anything to, she got the brunt of every emotion that had been bubbling up inside. There are more issues than just Sis moving and let's just suffice it to say that it all sucks a big ol' bunch of sucking.

Wednesday Sam had an orthodontist appointment to get another round of metal installed in his little mouth and an hour later Kady had an appointment with her PA because her eczema is causing her to scratch like a puppy with mange all the livelong day. I am so tired of her scratching to the point of bleeding and so is she, bless her heart. Because we didn't know how long Sam's appointment would take Paul drove his truck to town, too, just in case I had to leave before Sam was done to take Kady to her appointment. It ended up that timing-wise we were fine so when Sam was done Paul just took him to get ice cream and go home while Kady and I headed across town.

Now, because there are signs all over the waiting room that scream TURN OFF CELL PHONES BEFORE ENTERING EXAM ROOM I did. I really wanted to concentrate on what the PA was saying, too, so really my cell phone was forgotten for the 30 minutes we were in there. With prescriptions in hand Kady, Conner and I made our way to the van and as I reached in my purse to turn my phone off vibrate I felt it going off. Before I flipped it open I noticed there were about eight missed calls. That is never, ever good in my world. I answered with a trepiditious "hello" and was greeted with my husband's voice angrily asking, "DID YOU NOT PAY THE ELECTRIC BILL? Of COURSE you didn't because WE DON'T HAVE POWER!"

See, it's one of those months where it's a decision - pay the electric bill and have power or pay my van payment and have transportation. Oh and throw in food and water and toilet paper. I know we're not the only ones who have had to make such a decision. We can't be. I honestly thought there was enough time to skate by on the electric bill until the next payday, but apparently I was totally wrong. We've received a cut-off notice a time or two in our life, but they've always given plenty of notice of the impending doom and managed to get things righted. Guess they just decided we needed a big ol' wake-up call this time.

I asked Paul how much it was going to take to get it turned back on and he informed me that he had been too angry to ask. He had called to report the outage and was informed that his wife is horrible at pooping money and therefore didn't pay the bill. So I hung up with him, took a deep breath and did what I had to do - I called my momma. I was composed until I heard her voice and that's all it took. I lost my stuff yet again. She didn't judge, she didn't scold, she just said, "How much do you need?" It was 2:35 when I called the power company and was told that if I made the payment before 3:00 I could avoid $60 MORE on top of the insane amount they were already charging to turn it back on. I went from Mom's office to her bank, to my bank, then to a parking lot to call the nice lady at REC who managed to get my payment in at 2:58.

I called Paul back to let him know we'd have power by 5 and apologized for being irresponsible and asked him to please not yell at me because his yelling wasn't going to make me feel any worse than I already felt. He was so sweet and said no, there would be no yelling. Strangely enough, his compassion and understanding made me cry more. So by then I had cried myself into a pounding headache, had managed to calm Kady down who had started crying shortly after I had because she has a strict policy that no one cries alone in her presence and decided that power or no power I needed a Sonic sweet tea. Kady and I scrounged around the van (a fun, distracting game) and found enough change to get me a sweet tea, Cousin Courtney a diet Dr. Pepper and her a cherry slush then we took Conner home where I sat on Courtney's couch and cried for 45 minutes while we waited for Kady's prescriptions to be filled.

That night Paul and I sat down and looked at our spending and made some decisions. Man, it sucks being a grownup.

Last year we bought virtually all of our Christmas online at Walmart using BillMeLater, paying it off with our income tax return. Sunday I sat down to do my shopping and BillMeLater denied the purchase because apparently we have a "seriously delinquency" on our credit report, i.e., the $400 hospital bill we have tried to make payments on and they sent our check back because it wasn't the amount they wanted us to pay.

Fortunately, Paul's momma bailed us out on Christmas. Instead of having ham or turkey for our holiday dinners we're going to be eating humble pie.

While talking to Cousin Courtney this weekend she asked how my NaNoWriMo project was coming. I told her I just couldn't do it and I had quit. She immediately started a supportive and uplifting speech then stopped and said, "Wait, which do you need me to be right now? Supportive and understanding or do you need tough love? I can do either." I love her so much I can't even begin to express it. I told her I needed understanding and that I needed her to tell me that being a mother is more important than writing a novel this month. She wholeheartedly agreed and instead turned her pep talk around to encourage me to try again during a month of MY choosing. Have I mentioned how much I love that woman?

Sam and Kady are both playing basketball this year and from now until February we will be living at the gym at least two nights a week and all day on Saturdays once games start. Not to mention that for the next month Sam has Little Theatre practice as well, meaning that Thursdays you will find one or more member of the Hoover clan at the elementary gym from 3:30 until 7:30pm. I don't begrudge one second of this because this is something our kids want and we will make it happen if it means giving up even more. Those kids are my everything and no novel will ever hug me at night and tell me it loves me more than soup. Everything I do in this life is about them, even when I think it isn't.

Now before anyone gets all preachy at me about money -- Paul and I talked about me going back to work again and it still doesn't pay us for me to do that. We like me being at home and until we get to where we can't feed our kids it will likely stay that way. We're in that uncomfortable spot just under the poverty level where if you stay where you are and scrape by the skin of your teeth, paycheck to paycheck, you keep medical insurance for your kids and free school lunches. If you add another income you lose all that and you pay more than you make in insurance and food and gasoline and clothing. See, I can still wear my old holey sweats and save us money!

We made a choice several years ago to give up any and all credit cards. We do our absolute best to only buy what we need and pay cash. We didn't do as much this last summer, we don't run out and buy the iTouch we want so desperately we can taste it, we only get our highlights touched up every 9 months because we don't have a credit card BUT by March of next year we will also own our vehicles, have no credit card debt and while it's hard now, we know there's a light at the end of this really poor tunnel.

Why am I writing about this? It's not for sympathy. I guess it's to let anyone out there who has had their power cut off, who has had to tell their kids that even Santa is feeling the pinch of a rotten economy, who has had to give up TLC, Disney Channel and Spike which means no more Duggars, Hannah Montana or WWE, who has had to lean on family to get them through.... well, you're not alone. You really aren't. You can ask for help if you have a support system, you can swallow your pride and admit things are tough, you can send me emails and I will cry with you.

This Thanksgiving I think I'm going to be more thankful than I've been in years. Yes, it's tough and I've seen happier days, but I am blessed with three healthy kids, a husband who puts up with my poor budgeting skillz, a roof over my head and no one in this house has ever had to miss a meal.

And my father just called - the biopsy showed no cancer.

Thank God.

NaNoWriMo boo boo! Stick your face in doo doo!

I've heard about it for years. I actually looked into it last year. I guess it was just in the natural progression of things that I would actually do it this year.

I am writing a novel this month. I am participating in NaNoWriMo. OH MY GOSH. Please take this moment to put together a Priority Mail Package for me full of Mountain Dew, Xanax, Dunkin Donuts coffee and chocolate Tootsie Pops. I find I can concentrate much better with a chocolate Tootsie Pop crammed in my maw. Yes, seriously. It causes synaptic firing or something. Google it.

People tell me all the time they think I should write a book. However, no one has ever told me to write one in a month. Also, my plans for a book are really more of an Erma Bombeck type format, short stories, essays and the like. (Hey, kind of like my blog! Wow. How creative of me.) So this writing a 50,000 word work of fiction is really causing me to step out of my warm little bubble of security and comfort.

I have set a personal goal of 2000 words a day. I know there will be days I don't get there. Yesterday I wrote 1794 by day's end, but in my defense, yesterday my goal was 1800 words. Today I have written two words so far. Of course, I've also been trying to keep the puppy from using Conner as a chew toy, doing laundry and cleaning up puppy mess. Oh and being interrupted 92 times when my husband finds something on Jerry Springer and Maury SO amusing he must rewind the TV to show me - like how that gal in the g-string pulled out some other chick's weave while their boyfriend threw Cool Whip at them. (Why the boyfriend had Cool Whip on stage in the first place is beyond me, but then again, I don't even pretend to understand half of what happens on those shows.) Plus, all those closets in my house are now in URGENT NEED of being cleaned out and organized. I'm also sick and tired of all those pictures of the kids being just stashed in totes under the beds and those picture albums aren't going to fill themselves, ya know. Oh and? I'm thinking about hand crafting our Christmas cards this year. You know, because I've never done that before and it might be fun and what? No, I'm not avoiding writing. Why do you ask? Oh, because I'm writing a blog post instead of my novel? Hmh. You might have a point.

My friend Cap'n Neurotic said at this point last year he had 10,000 words and he had 4600 last night. I told him he sucks. My friend Delinda had nearly 3500 words last night. She sucks, too. And I also admire them and applaud their progress. Because they are rocking the NaNo, which is only somewhat like rocking the Casbah yet much more fulfilling. My cousin Lori is my favorite cheerleader of all. She was one of the "winners" last year and she's awesome like that. She's a continual source of encouragement and tips. She may find me sobbing on her doorstep one of these nights. (Lori, just give me a Tootsie Pop and I'll go away. Well, I'm pretty sure...)

I have wondered many, many times who the dingbat was that decided NOVEMBER was the right month to crash-write a novel. I mean, does that person not celebrate Thanksgiving? Does that person not have pumpkin pies to bake and a house to clean? Does that person not shop for Christmas presents early? Wait. Wait wait WAIT. I know the answer to these questions. Because that person is obviously not female. That person may very well be my husband.

I considered giving up the night before it all started, so to stop myself from backing out I ordered the t-shirt. Yes, I am that dorky. But I also know that the money in my PayPal account is so precious right now that ordering a t-shirt for a project I weenied out of before I even started was not an option.

And while I think the design is great and I look forward to wearing it I think instead the official t-shirt slogan should be, "I wrote a 50,000 word novel in a month and all I got was this lousy t-shirt."

Wild Rumpus

Yesterday was my nephew TotTwo's birthday. He wanted to see Astro Boy, but our little theater wasn't showing it and trekking 45 minutes to Joplin on a school night wasn't an option, so we all loaded up to go see Where the Wild Things Are.

First off, let me just say that I have the rawest emotions right now - my family is in a bit of upheaval, it's been rainy and gloomy for weeks now and my self-diagnosed SAD is kickin' in early this year, we are feeling that $2 an hour pay cut my husband took several months ago (How convenient that we just start to feel it this time of year...), and the holidays are closing in quickly. I cry at stupid stuff, I tend to over-emote over minute details and everything is cataclysmic. Yeah, I'm pretty much a wreck.

When I first saw the trailers for Wild Things I teared up, even though it was previewing before the dang Harry Potter movie I saw with my then 12 year old who merely rolled her eyes are her mother who had the audacity to cry over a TRAILER. I came home gushing over how I HAD to see that movie and Kady immediately picked it as her "And Me" date.

Explanation: Paul and I try very hard to spend one-on-one time with our kids when we can. Whether it's a trip to Walmart with one child, an afternoon making cookies or even a "Hey, I've gotta go pick up a loaf of bread, wanna ride with?" type thing. Not very often we also do an "And Me" night with the kids - you know, Mom and Me, Dad and Me. Get it? Back in the summer Abby and I saw Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Paul and Sam saw both Transformers movies. Sam and I are going to see AstroBoy and Abby and I will see New Moon next month. Kady and I .... wait.....something just occured to me. Our dates should be "And I" date. Dude, my mad grammar skillz are slipping. Oh well. We've called them And Me Dates for so long, why switch now?

ANYWAY

Kady and I have planned for months to go see Wild Things but TotTwo's AstroBoy-less birthday party kind of demanded a change in plans. When we got there Kady asked if I was okay with her sitting with the "big girls" (her cousin and her cousin's friend) and I said that was fine by me. Not every day your big bad 7 year old self gets to sit with full-fledged BIG GIRLS WHO ARE NOT YOUR BIG SISTER, ya know. Well, all it took was watching poor Max destroying his big sister's room in a rage of hurt feelings too much for his little self to handle to send Kady running back to me in a blubbering, sobbing mess of tears and emotion. It wasn't that long ago she taped all of her brother's books shut in a fit of frustration and hurt feelings and I'm guessing she totally knew what Max was feeling.

At one point she and I had to get up and leave the theater for a few minutes so she could calm down. She is a very emotional child, to say the least.

I loved every bit of the movie - even the loud, visually intense scenes and was able to enjoy them despite my mother saying, "Oooh I'm getting nauseous from that camera wiggling like that." I was able to dwell internally on the underlying themes of familial conflict and acceptance while my oldest daughter and sister yawned loudly and repeatedly. I was able to nod my head in complete agreement at the unconditional love the Wild Things had for each other even when all they wanted to do was eat each other and run away, even though everyone else around me was checking their cell phones for the time and fidgeting in their seats.

I was riveted. I was mesmerized. I was Max. I was a Wild Thing. I was a mother with my arms wrapped around my sobbing 7 year old, silently crying into her hair, hoping she never grows up and never loses her imagination and always hangs onto those emotions that grab her the way they do right now.

When the movie was over and Kady and I had at least stopped sobbing to the point we could walk, we all got up to leave. Mom patted Kady and said, "Honey, I'm on the verge of tears, too - I paid money to see this movie." Pops chuckled. Mom said, "No, I'm serious. I didn't understand one thing that went on on that screen!" Abby rolled her eyes, flipped open her phone and sent a text updating her Facebook status to say that she had just seen a movie that was dumb and confusing.

Standing in the theater lobby tried to explain to them what they had all just experienced, but they all stared back at me blankly. Finally I gave up and said they were all dumb and shallow-minded. Fortunately, they love me enough to know that I said that in the nicest way possible and don't hold their inability to understand wild rumpuses and gobbling someone up because you love them so against them in any way.

When I tucked Kady in last night she asked if she could be Max for Halloween. I said, "Honey, Halloween is two days away and I just don't have time to sew you a wolf costume by then."

She nodded, yawned and said, "Okay, next year then, Momma...."

I turned her light off and hoped beyond hope that next year she still believes in Wild Things. Really, I hope she always does.

It's Spooky How Awesome I Am At This Mother Thing

Normally when it comes to Halloween and my kids' costumes I am one crazy stage mom. I mean, seriously, in years past those gals on Toddlers and Tiaras would have had NOTHING on me. We don't just dress up - we get into character. We suffer for the sake of the costume. We rehearse. We research. We live and die by the costume. We meaning my kids. See also: the year Abby pushed a shopping cart as a bag lady and nearly had security called on her when she walked into the Library Administration building at the college. Or the year my kids were Goth.

This year I just haven't been feeling it. I was totally in a zombie frame of mind and all three kids were going to be zombies - Abby a zombie cheerleader, Sam and zombie nerd and Kady a zombie ballerina. I already had my little zombie family pictured in my head, we talked about it constantly. But then something happened and suddenly my zombie dreams just staggered out the window and into the path of an oncoming truck.

Abby decided that dressing up was lame. Sam decided that he wanted to be something from Star Wars (which I nixed). Kady said if she was going to be a ballerina she at least wanted to be a clean one that wasn't oozing brains. Apparently, they didn't want the zombie family dream as much as I did.

Sigh.

Plus, with Halloween being on a weekend this year, it would require TWO separate days of costuming and since we have all of three houses to trick or treat I wasn't feeling the whole drama of doing it twice in as many days. The elementary kids will dress up Friday for school and then we'd have to dress up again Saturday night and fight what I fear will be a crazy wicked insane night full of people. People who might be carrying a flu virus!

Yes, our Halloween has been drastically redirected because I am terrified of the pandemic that is upon us. I admit it. Feel free to send your leftover Paxil, Prozac, wellbutrin or Xanax my way since, ya know, I don't have health insurance.

So anyway, I bribed the kids with the promise of exorbitant amounts of candy, DVR'd spooky shows AND A NEW PUPPY.

YES, INTERNET, I PROMISED MY KIDS A NEW PUPPY IF WE DIDN'T HAVE TO GO TRICK OR TREATING.

You can either boo me or send me an award. I figure it could go either way.

I asked Abby last night what she wanted to do on Saturday night. "You want popcorn AND candy? Or just candy? Movies? What?" She looked at me blankly and said, "Play with the new puppy. That's it. Nothing else." Sweet. Saves me money on candy.

Yesterday I made a quick run to Joplin to buy Sam a pair of black, low-top Converse shoes and a Fred t-shirt because he just wants to be Fred now. Please be warned: If you have not yet experienced Fred I hereby disclaim any auditory injury you may incur by clicking that link. Also, don't play it around your 10 year old son, otherwise you, too, will live that life I live right now - where every sentence is spoken in a false-preschool voice and seventy-leven times a day I hear, "HEY, IT'S FRED!"

Kady is resurrecting the gypsy costume her older sister wore in the 2nd grade. She doesn't really understand what a gypsy is, she just knows she gets to wear makeup and gigantic hoop earrings. This morning she asked me, "Exactly what is a gypsy, anyway?" Apparently yesterday she was trying to explain to her friends what a gypsy was.

She told them she's dressing up as someone who dances for money.

I am just glad she didn't ask me if she gets to carry around a pole.

Observations from the Yard

* Saying you'll never have another garage/yard sale doesn't necessarily make it so.

* I used to think that ads saying "NO EARLY SALES" was rude and unnecessary - until we had someone show up at 5:45 this year. Sis and I were bringing things around from the back yard and as we got into the front yard we saw Mom talking to people in a car in the driveway. We said we weren't ready. The driver shouted out the window, "Well, can we just hang out here until you are? We don't have any place else to go!" I felt like I was on a reality show as I finished putting things out with all the watching they were doing.

* There is one lady who comes to EVERY yard sale we've ever had. Over the years we've come to call her Snake Light Lady because one year she showed up before dawn and had a snake light wrapped around her forearm so she could see. She will try to bargain with you on EVERYTHING no matter how cheap you have it priced. I absolutely refuse to come down for her on principle alone. We price yard sale items to sell because we have no desire to bring them back into our houses. Plus, she buys our crap and RE-SELLS it in her own flea market! I think not, Snake Light Lady. I'm onto your clever and cheap ruse.

* I posted this as a Facebook update Saturday morning and it bears repeating: Rude yard sale people that unfold EVERY SET OF SHEETS may get sissy kicked in the back of the head. Yeah, you heard me, grandma. Your bun will not protect you. She didn't even buy any of the dang sheets and I had to refold them all.

* Most disconcerting thing I heard all day: A child barking his head off like he had tuberculosis and as he touched every toy on the table his mom repeatedly put his hood up on his head and said, "Put yer hood up, Johhny. Yer sick, remember?"

* Sometimes a .50 pooping Barbie dog is the best toy a kid could ever get at a garage sale. Just ask my mom's neighbor's daughter.

* Normally on yard sale day we do a sleepover at the host's house, but this year I didn't have it in me to sleep on my sister's couch. Paul was already borderline whizzed at me for having another yard sale to begin with, so we came home around 10:30 Friday night. Also normally, I get up in time enough to shower, fix my hair and put on makeup. This year I didn't. Two cousins, my optometrist's wife, a kid I was in band with in high school, a teacher at my kids' school, a girl I was in youth group with at Picher FBC and several thousand other people I knew came to our garage sale this time. Of course. I looked like a skanky street walker by day's end. Heck, I probably looked that way before 8am.

* I simply cannot - CANNOT - have a garage sale with my sister and not buy something from her. It's something in my DNA. Or maybe I'm just stupid. This sale's booty? Two ginormous coffee mugs that hold roughly 2.6 gallons of liquid apiece because really I need that much coffee at a setting, a copy of The Portable Pediatrician to give to my cousin because it is THE BEST book to have if you're a parent and neurotic like I am and two of my niece's Pixel Chix that are totally going in Kady's stocking this year because I am cheap.

* Some people will bargain with you, not because they are poor or really even looking for a great deal - some bargain with you just to tick you off. You can see it in their eyes. I once had a guy bargain with me for five solid minutes over a food dehydrator. I had it priced at $7 and considering I had used it once, that was a great price. He thought he'd eventually wear me down and maybe that I'd give in just to get rid of him. I did not. I also did not sell the dehydrator and at day's end I hummed a happy tune as I loaded it up to be donated.

* I just remembered I haven't paid Sis for that stuff.

* I will never, ever, EVER have another yard sale.

Dreams

**UPDATED BELOW**

The kids do a Career Walk in the 5th grade where they go to school. They pick a career and then dress up and give a short speech over and over and over throughout the day as people come through the building. Abby did it two years ago, my niece did it last year and this year Sam is doing it.

When Abby was Sam's age she wanted to be a gymnastics coach. She was told that was a dream job.

My niece said she wanted to run an orphanage. She was told that was a dream job.

My son wants to go to Julliard. He has dreams of being an actor. He was told yesterday that being an actor is a "dream job."

Now, I realize that choosing a job for this career walk isn't setting in stone their career paths, nor is it feasible to let all the firemen be firemen and the all the teachers be teachers for this project. Then you'd have a room full of firemen and teachers and the waitresses and business owners would be under-represented. I realize this is a project about jobs and careers and it's for enrichment purposes.

But these kids are ten and eleven years old. They are not in college prep courses. Most of them aren't even standing on the front porch of puberty yet, knock knock knockin' to get in. Most still think the opposite sex is gross and holding hands will give you cooties. But they have dreams. When Sam was little he wanted to be Superman. Guess who wore Superman pajamas every night. My cousin wanted to be a dogcatcher. His mom told him it was a noble profession and bought him a net. Someone told me last night that her brother-in-law wanted to be a police dog. Did his parents tell him it wasn't possible? No, they let him sit under the table and bark when someone came in. Did he grow up to be a police dog? No. But for that brief moment in time he totally thought he could. He thought he could until he realized on his own that he truly could not be a dog. My cousin, a Kindergarten teacher, wrapped a little girl's legs in aluminum foil once because she wanted to be a mermaid. She was a mermaid that day.

Joe Don Rooney, a member of the country group Rascal Flatts, is from Picher, OK. Carrie Underwood is from Checotah, OK. Mickey Mantle hailed from Commerce, OK. Jamie McMurray is a NASCAR driver from Joplin, MO. And J. R. Conrad played for the New York Jets and he is from the town where the kids go to school. My cousin is from Picher, as well, and he has done acting on the History Channel, has done standup at the Gotham Comedy Club and has been on other TV shows. They're all from relatively small towns, but that didn't stop them. These people were kids once and they pursued a dream. They didn't give up on it.

If we tell our kids that they should always aim low, they will. We need to point them toward the sky and tell them, "See that? It's yours. THERE IS NO LIMIT."

When I was a kid I wanted to be a mommy. I was told I was selling myself short. I was told I was wasting myself. I was told that because I was settling for motherhood I would amount to nothing. Why, I was college-bound! I scored a 32 on the English section of my ACT! I made straight A's and had scholarships! WHAT WAS I THINKING??

I see those three kids walk up my driveway every afternoon and my breath catches in my chest. They are amazing, they are wonderful, they are full of limitless opportunities....

They are my dreams come true.

---

Just got off the phone with the school counselor who apologized profusely for the misunderstanding. He assured me he wasn't a dream basher (although I kind of feel like he was making such a title akin to "kitten mangler") and that he wasn't telling the kids they couldn't achieve their dreams, just that they needed a plan B, a way to put food in their mouths until they hit it big. He said he would stop calling them dream jobs and would make doubly sure the kids understood what he meant. I also assured him that I would be having a talk with my extra-sensitive boy-child who apparently got his feelings hurt wayyyyyy too easily over this. A talk that may very well begin with, "Stop acting like your sister. You know, the sister that cries during Annabelle's Wish and at Kodak commercials just like her mother. Wait. You know what, just stop acting like your mother. Oh and by the way you are going to make a GREAT actor, son."

And let me just take a moment to tell you that a personal phone call from a school employee who calls me by name is just one more reason why I'm glad my kids attend this school. I wigged out, sent an email in pure advocacy for my child and wasn't met with criticism or defensiveness, but instead with an apology and an explanation. Let the above post just remind us all to refrain from kitten mangling - I mean, dream bashing.