24 Hours

Yes, as it turns out, Clooney's eyes do APPEAR to be different colors. They are not, in real life, different colors. Freaky, though.
So, Halloween is OVER. For another year. All of my decorations (ugh) are packed up and happily back in the attic. The boys now play dress up in their costumes, and I give them another week before they are torn or filthy.
My mom has been a big help this week. M and I spent a very relaxing 24 hours in Biloxi. I ran, sat in the steam room (I so love the steam room), dressed nicely, had drinks, a lovely dinner, and lost only $2 on the nickel slots. This is a tremendous success. M had better luck at the tables, and I think the whole weekend was a welcome break for both of us.
Plus, Northwestern pulled some magic out of their hats and gave us an unexpected win. AND you know, we were without our kids for 24 whole hours. Awesomeness.
I finished my gardening project with mom's help, too. I also cleaned out the fridge, the kitchen cabinets, and did MOUNTAINS of laundry...even going so far as to put it all away.
My kids got to eat out with their grandma, pick out toys at Target, and be spoiled rotten for a week. Nice for them.
Tomorrow, all this election hell will be over. And I hope it IS actually over tomorrow. Those Floridians better figure out how to push the buttons this time. If I have to hear about ONE dangling chad, some one is going to get hurt. Enjoy your last day of political ads. I know you'll miss them come Wednesday. You'll be sitting there, watching Oprah and eating bon bons and wonder, where is my daily dose of lying and hatred? I know. Try to think happy thoughts. About how, in some amount of time, depending on what political officer is speaking, you will get to hear how THEY, in turn failed you, and some one else is going to do the job "differently."
Buck up. In just 4 years, we get to do this again! @#(*&%(T^

Peeka-Tzu, I see you!

Clooney wishes you a Happy Halloween. Despite the pumpkin bows. Really. Happy barkin' Halloween.

Things that go Blah! in the night.

What the hell? Today is being strange. I had all these big pre-mom visit plans, and they are steadily running down the toilet. It's already 10 AM. I was supposed to have (per my list) washed the floors, done laundry, mailed my sister's birthday present, cleaned out the fridge, and run. None. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Not done.
But, I have been sitting here, rocking out to Neil Diamond (Do NOT judge me) and thinking about Halloweens past.
I freaking hate Halloween. More than any other holiday, religious or otherwise. I hate it. Loathe. Detest. Abhor. Even more than all the pepto bismol pink of Valentine's Day and overly commercial Christmas. More than jingoist Fourth of July or intoxicated St. Pat's. More than the overly important Hannukah, and the only recently added Kwanzaa. More than the frilly, floppy Easter, or the age-old Passover.
Actually, apparently, I only like Thanksgiving, for the record. Which is true. I love Thanksgiving. I loved watching football with all the men in the family while my mom and grandma washed a million dishes. I loved sitting at the kiddie table with my uncle. I loved stuffing. I love mashed potatoes. I love dark meat on the turkey. I love the rolls my grandma used to make for us. I love the smell. I love the no-gift, no-problem experience. I love that every one is welcome anywhere. That's there's always enough. And more. For almost every one. On one day, there is enough for everyone.
Anyway, sorry for the rather sappy aside. Halloween is a problem for me. For one thing, I never had the right imagination for costumes. Like sometimes, not enough imagination: the year I wore the plastic Garfield costume. Sometimes, too much: the year I wore a black leotard with adhesive stars and was The Universe. Sometimes, misplaced: the year I was a 'punker' and everyone thought I was a hooker. Sometimes, overly executed: too-creepy witch when all my friends were good witches. Anyway. Almost every year, hell. I hated picking a costume. I hated whatever my mom bought. (Even if it was what I wanted). I hated trying to make a costume (how did that one kid make Storm Trooper so awesome out of TP rolls?) I hated that never in my entire childhood did we have one trick-or-treater at our house. We lived at the top of this steep hill that was unlit and spooky on the best of nights. Somebody REALLY had to want to come up there. No mini Milky Way was worth the trip, believe me.
We sometimes went trick or treating at a friend's neighborhood. Once in my grandma's neighborhood. But my parents had this (completely accurate) argument that we could have candy whenever we wanted. Why go beg for it? True. How to counter that? It all went bad anyway. We forgot about it, or my mom ate the ones with the nuts, or whatever. After we had it, we didn't care. So we traipsed around the neighborhood in the cold and the dark, begging for candy we didn't eat all of, or lame ass stickers we didn't want. I can NOT buy into the Halloween experience. Even now, I want my kids to have the perfect costumes. (They are Red Power Ranger and Buzz Lightyear). I want them to enjoy it. But with M. He'll take them out. Meh.
The only good costume, in my entire life--EVER--was when I was pregnant with one of the kids. I bought a cheerleader costume that you could iron on whatever school name you wanted on the shirt. My cheerleader costume was WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY too small. My giant belly hung out. My shirt said "SLUT." That costume rocked. One. In thirty something years.
So, trick or treat, y'all.
Bah, Humbug.

Two if By Land

So, I ran around the house today in "parents are coming" mode. Again. My mom is (and I say this without irony) graciously coming to spend Halloween with the boys. Which is nice because, you know, kids grow out of Halloween fast, and they're cute all dressed up, and this way I don't have to eat all the candy by myself.
On the flip side, OnStar clean-up is still a dream, and my house just isn't up to par. Nor is my garden. Or my laundry. Or my car. Or, let's be honest, me or my children. With this cold,I sound like Kathleen Turner. And not kinda foxy War of the Roses Kathleen Turner. More like transgendered Chandler's dad Kathleen Turner from Friends. My head hurts from screaming all the time just to make myself heard, and I'm down to the really old underwear in my drawer because I haven't put away the BASKETS full of clean laundry. (Is that better or worse than having no underwear because it's all dirty?)
My kids are excited to see grandma, but in a spoiled, annoying kind of way. My car smells like Chinese food and spoiled milk sippy cup. My kids seem to generate more laundry than Elton John. And, honestly, I have piles of crap randomly growing around the house.
Additionally, I'm beat. The reason the house isn't all spic and span is because I walked three miles this morning in the freezing cold, which actually took something out of me. I had a beer with dinner, which is having its desired narcoleptic effects, and everyone relevant at my house is either sleeping or at work. So, I'm going to bed at 8:15. I could stay up. But it won't come to that.
So, my mom is coming. But I feel guilty when she comes and does work. Except for babysitting. I do NOT feel guilty about that. So, I won't want to work in front of her, because she wants to help, and I won't let her work, so scratch another week of getting anything done OFF the list.
On the upside, since she is here, M and I are running away to Biloxi for the weekend. It's not Monaco. Hell, it's not even Vegas, but it's away. And child-free. And relaxing. So, I am excited about that. Also, and this is in no way personal, but E and S can go to their fourteen-millionth birthday party this month without me. Grandma can go. I will provide present, wrapped and ready and Grandma can go. I have no desire to go to yet ANOTHER party. There is an endless stream of aging children out there, people. Somebody needs to FIX IT!
So, come Saturday, I will be footloose and fancy free. Must make it to Saturday. Must make it to Saturday....
And only the hideousness of Halloween stands in my way. I can hear the MWAAHAHAHAH of Dracula now. Spooky.

This is OnStar. How May I Help You?

I have an invention. Now I need engineers and big thinkers to make it happen. Actually, it's an improvement on the existing technology of OnStar. Have you heard the ads for OnStar? The car wrecks, and a pleasant voice is beamed into the car, "are you hurt? Emergency vehicles are on the way. I will stay with you until they arrive."
As I left the house today, all the beds unmade, breakfast dishes in the sink, toys on the floor, laundry in Himalayan peaks in the hall, I thought, I could be in a serious accident. This is what my house will look like when I'm bleeding on the side of the road. So, enter my invention. When my car hits a tree, a soothing voice will be beamed into the car. "Are you hurt? Emergency crews are on their way. Maids will be arriving at your house shortly to tidy, wash, take out your trash, put your dirty undies in the hamper, and wipe out your sinks. They will handle the worn pull ups in the bathroom, and make all your beds. Don't worry. I will stay with you."
Otherwise, when the CSI enter my house (the lesser known series CSI: Mobile starring Andy Griffith as chief) this would be the conversation:

CSI Griffith: What do you think?
CSI Delta Burke: Looks like she left in a hurry.
CSI Griffith: Yup, maybe some one else was here. They tore the place up looking for something.
CSI Delta Burke: We got a mystery, dahlin.
CSI Griffith: Or a MYSTERIOUSLY bad housekeeper. (Looks at camera and removes sunglasses)
(Dum de dum.)

So, my new OnStar device will spare me from that embarrassment. I would seriously rather bleed from a nasty head wound than have police see my house as it is now. AND I CLEANED YESTERDAY. No one picks up. E's room look like a bomb went off at the Comic Book Convention. There are Marvel, Transformer, Star Wars, and assorted Other body parts, action figures, and accessories all over. S's room has used (but not dirty) pull ups from yesterday and today on the floor. My room has laundry (clean and dirty) in sorted heaps ready to be washed/put away. My kitchen has suffered from this morning's oatmeal feast and lunch packing activities. Plus, there was a cockroach in my flour this morning, which necessitated an emptying out of that cabinet. As if wiping it all down removes the memory of that giant bug walking around in a nearly-sealed ziploc. *Shiver*
"Ma'am, the maids were wondering if you'd like them to iron. Also, we have contacted Stanley Steamer. Apparently, your carpet is excessively dirty. Do not worry. The nearest Stanley Steamer is only 4 blocks from the site. I will take care of that for you."

Oh. blissful technology.

This Week in Mobile

Phew! It's been a crazy week. In short:

Clooney got neutered. He's been miserable, as he also has a yeast infection in his ears and has to wear the stupid cone collar. He had a total system shutdown on Thursday, let out this weird yelp and collapsed. He couldn't lick his crotch OR scratch his ears, and had just given up.

S had two days off school last week. The Jewish Holidays were brutal this year. Too many days off the little synagogue school he goes to. We went to paint a piggy bank at the pottery painting place, we ate out at Wendy's, we ran errands, we were together NONSTOP for two whole days.


E had two early dismissal days. He had parent conferences (which were positive) and a very exciting fall festival at his school. We got to eat lunch together twice also, and had a lot of fun at the school Friday night. Plus, today, he had a birthday party to go to in costume.


I have laryngitis AGAIN. This time is way worse than last week's. I can't speak above a whisper, and that's annoying. I can't even yell at my kids.


Saturday, we had nearly 40 people over at our house for a Halloween party. My kids had a lot of fun, as did we. I hope all of our guests did, too. I was so anxious about it. It's hard for me because I want everything to be so perfect, that I over extend. Should do fewer things better than try to do all the things. Oh, well. I think it was good, in spite of myself. Too bad we had a stinky football day around here.


Yesterday, we carved our pumpkins:


This is E's. It has the Decepticon and Autobot images on it.

This is S's: It has Uniqua and Pablo from the Backyardigans.

They turned out cute. They looked great for the party, but alas, won't last until Halloween. S has a field trip tomorrow to a pumpkin patch and Daddy and I might have to carve again!

We are very lucky that still, in the waning days of October, the temps are in the low to mid 70s and in the full glory of the tropical dry season. The weather is gorgeous every day now. Interestingly, Mobile is one of the wettest (if not THE wettest) city in the United States. Almost all of that average five FEET of water comes in the months from May to November (hurricane season, the wet season). From now until next May, most days will be in the 60s to 70s and sunny and clear. Perfect for the hot tub in the evenings, and light jackets in the mornings. It is the karmic return for sweating through summer.

My mom is coming to visit on Tuesday. Hurray! The boys are excited to see their grandma, Grandma is excited to see her boys, and I am excited! M and are going to spend the weekend in Biloxi. (The economy needs our help. We will be depositing some money in the Beau Rivage casino.) We will get to go out with our friends. Grandma gets to go to the Halloween parade at school, trick or treating, and of course, play with Hot Wheels at 6 AM. Awesome.

I am going to try to return to regular posts. October has been a thin month, I apologize. Hopefully, I will be sending some daily notcinnamon to you starting tomorrow.

By the way, if you did not catch Amy Poehler's (presumably last number. Congrats to her and Will Arnett on arrival of Archie. Perhaps due to this musical number?) last appearance on SNL, you must watch her rap on Sarah Palin.

http://www.hulu.com/watch/39808/saturday-night-live-update-palin-rap

All you Mavericks in the house, raise your hands...

It's Not Like PreSchool on TV

Ok. Something scary happened to me yesterday. I woke up exceptionally sore from Thursday's work in the garden, which turned out beautiful, by the way:

Hooray! No more weeds. Anywhoosles, I drove the kids to school, washed the car, got Sam dressed, and let him watch the first fifteen minutes of The Wonder Pets. I took him to school, came home, cleaned up, did some laundry, and got ready to shower. I went upstairs, and plopped myself down on the bed to file off a torn fingernail. Filing away, I absently watched Ni-Hao, Kai Lan, which was on Noggin. Here's the scary part--after I finished with my fingers, I sat there and watched the end of the episode. Alone in my room. And wait for it, I had SEEN the episode BEFORE.

So that is frightening, right? Not as scary as if I had actually enjoyed it. But, still. Little Rintoo was not feeling special. I started wondering if I make my kids feel special. And then I was wondering if telling a kid he's special is the same as making him feel special. And then some rhinoceros with a balloon was on the screen, and I was lost. All kinds of big-headed, talking animals populate that show. And Kai Lan has the maturity of a grandma inside a doe-eyed, smartly dressed 3 year old. Then, I was wondering if shows like Kai Lan promote and embrace diversity as much as they purport to. And then, I thought, yes, they probably do: My kids really enjoy Diego and Dora and have learned some Spanish words, and learned about quincineras, and a compassion for animals. And that's diverse, right?

And then I started wondering about Yo! Gabba Gabba! and what blackmail or indiscretion went on to get that show on the air. There is a cycloptic phallus (I wish were joking), a pink thing, a robot, and a green poof. With names like Tofu, Beepob and Solee. There is our host, Lance, a flamboyant guy with a bearskin cap like the guards at Buckingham Palace, only his is yellow, and he wears fake glasses. And a shiny jumpsuit. And we all know why men should not wear jumpsuits. Especially shiny ones.

Even my kids think that show is stupid. How could the same network with Little Bear and its sedate music, and charming stories produce Yo! Gabba Gabba! I mean sure, Little Bear is a little Eurocentric. What with the Victorian costuming, and the nuclear family, and the single bear-family income and conventional maternal role of housekeeping. BUT! I propose that a dancing phallus, a yellow (horribly puppetted) robot and friends who are always screaming at me, who change scenes every fifteen seconds, and have no continuity or transition cannot be good for any child. Do these negative aspects make up for a positive black gay role model? I don't think so. Its messages of diversity and uniqueness are good. The messengers need to be beaten with their own costumes.

Does every show have to have a message? Can't we just entertain ourselves if we watch TV in moderation? I loathe that woman at the beginning of every Noggin show. "This show promotes self awareness, phonics awareness, numeral awareness, animation awareness, and after your child watches it, s/he will be ready for college." If we don't treat Noggin like "preschool on TV" and only watch, say one show per day, does it really HAVE to be a meaningful half hour? Can't it just be a fun half hour?

So, I turn to the Backyardigans. I love the Backyardigans. Pablo, Uniqua, Tyrone, and Tasha play outside with fantastic imaginations, and very little squabbling. They teach us things about the past without being didactic, they have no parental struggles, they are happy in their charming backyards, and have without a doubt, the best lyrics and music of any children's show. There's the memorable number about Pirattitude, or when the Viking-yardigans get stuck in maelstrom and have to hold on tight with all of their Viking-might. Or when they go to ancient Japan and ninjas try to steal their Samurai Pie. Or their terrific rock opera set in medieval times. Or the very entertaining James Bond Super Spy episode (Agent Pablo likes his juice boxes shaken, not stirred). They're great. I love them. Why are there so few episodes? I would not be embarrassed to be found watching them alone. And singing along. Maybe.