Monday, October 30, 2006


I can't take credit for the term. Our pastor coined it. Well I don't know if he coined it or not but it was the title of his sermon yesterday. Pretty ding dang appropriate, huh. Hallowthankmus. He said he ran across a sale a couple of weeks ago that said "PRE-HALLOWEEN CHRISTMAS SALE". What the. . . . .?

So far we keep the holidays separate and consecutive at our home. I hope to always keep it that way. Halloween is just for fun, and it's over tomorrow. Then we begin preparations for Thanksgiving. Harvest decorations go up, we start talking about stories of our country and how it came to be and why we celebrate Thanksgiving - not just because of pilgrims and freedom, but for the hundreds of reasons we have to be humble and give thanks on a daily basis.

After Thanksgiving, we pack up our harvest decorations. Then we start getting excited about Christmas. I start burning holiday scented candles, and slowly, step by step our home becomes a holiday home. Most importantly, during the Christmas season we discuss the real meaning of Christmas. We don't write it X-mas and we don't say happy holidays. It's Jesus' birthday, so we throw Him one heck of a bash. We love throwing parties at our house.


Friday, October 20, 2006


My two largest male humans are leaving town for the weekend. It's Cub Haunted weekend and they're camping. Jr. Mint would never make it through the fright night tactics, plus, and, besides, which, mostly, it's s'posed to rain. If he went he'd be miserable but he doesn't know that and he'd argue with you if you tried to tell it to him, so that doesn't stop him from grieving over not being able to go.

Sooooo, as handsome husband and #1 son are packing, preparing, and just generally doing male preparations and gyrations which involve rope and knives and batteries and fuel and tents and such, my Jr. Mint's heart sinks lower and lower. As his heart sinks his head drops to his chest and he is sitting on the step with his elbows on his knees and his toes pointed out and I peep out and now I have a broken heart too. So it's part of growing up and no I won't overdo so as to spoil him or allow him to expect this every time, but I want to enjoy my weekend and him to enjoy his as well, soooooo I have such an exciting weekend planned for the two of us, but he can't get there yet. He's in the moment, he's dealing with the hole in his heart where his dad and his brother and mainly the BIG HONKIN' CAMPING TRIP are s'posed to be.

But I have visuals. Web page enticements. Audio. Ohhhhhhhhh yeah. My baby and I are gonna rock this town.

Saturday morning we are going to the dairy where they have a corn maize, hayride, farm and garden tour and squealer races. On the way out we're stopping at the country store to pick up some fresh milk. Haven't had any of that in years. Then we're going for pizza for lunch. Going home after that to nestle in for the rest of the day. Movies and popcorn at home, games, reading, activities and just generally being together. Hopefully it'll be cool enough for a fire and hot cocoa.

Sunday after church we're going to see Open Season. I promised him a new toy this weekend but I don't know when we're going to squeeze in a trip to Toys 'r Us. Doesn't matter though cuz I promised it. He will have a $10.00 limit and we will enjoy shopping and looking/playing with toys until we find the exact/perfect thing. Since the rule at the house is something in/something out, we'll also enjoy deciding on a toy of his that he no longer plays with to give to charity.

Now inbetween all these things there are normal chores. Laundry, bedmaking, dishes, etc. Just as when you camp you have chores. It ain't all glitter wherever you are.

Monday, October 16, 2006


They make it sound like parole, but actually my kids are just getting out of school at noon this week. It's conference week. So in truth, my #1 son is feeling quite like by Thursday, since my conference with his teacher is on Wednesday, that he may very well be thrown in the pokey.

He's a good student, intelligent kid, teacher pleaser. Makes E's, he's in the gifted program, reads all the time, has great word attack skills, solves puzzles all the time, adores math, challenges himself, accepts challenges readily. . . . . Can not remember anything to save his neck. If he uses the word forgot once in a day, he uses it seven hundred and thirty four times. Forgets to bring his agenda home. Forgets his homework worksheet. Forgets his Friday folder. Forgets to bring home his A/R book. Forgets to take BACK his A/R book. Forgets to test on his A/R book. Forgets his FILL IN THE BLANK. You name it. And that's just the scholastic stuff. We haven't even touched on the regular ol' stuff like the jackets, glasses, and water bottles.

His goose is cooked. He knows his goose is cooked. He prolly feels the heat under his feathers already. We've discussed specific improvements to make and time limits to make them in, specific methods he might could use to help him in his quest to remember things, and he agreed (albeit reluctantly) that they were realistic, even though each time it happens it's "not my faaaauuuuult!" He knows this will be discussed in depth at the PT conference on Wednesday.

It's going to be the first time ever I have had to have a discussion of this type with his teacher. It's KILLIN' him. But. It hasn't killed him badly enough to start remembering things.

Today he comes home and says, "So Mom. We got our checkbooks today."


"Yep. Got $250.00 to start, but everything costs. Even our checks cost. Mommeeee. Did you know checks cost money??"


His teacher, in her wisdom, has created a system which is putting some TEETH into this problem that apparently does not belong to my son alone.

"Yeah. It costs $10.00 for desk rental, $5.00 for checks, $10.00 every time we forget our homework, $50.00 if we get sent to the office, $5.00 if we have a late library book, $10.00 for the guy that cleans our room for us, stuff like that, and we get a prize if we have money left at the end of the month. I can't wait. It's a great prize."

This is a wiiiiiiiiiiise woman. Why didn't I think of this?

Yeah son, I can't wait for you to win that prize either.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006


So what's it all about, anyhoodeepo? Chocolate, I say. Who can get the most, the best, the fastest. That's if you're a kid. Initially, only in anticipation stages is it about the costume. During the candy gathering stage the costume is only a hindrance, unless the child is a toddler, in which case you get "Oooooh's" and "Ahhhhhhh's" which leads to more candy, usually.

If you're a parent, it's all about who can give out the A. healthiest candy, 2. most amount of candy, or III. least amount of candy and get the porch light flipped off fastest. Depends on your opinion of the holiday in discussion.

I don't quite understand not allowing your children to participate in trick or treating at all because of the old "it's a devil's holiday" thing. I mean, actually I think in some cases maybe I do understand it after all, but it's just my little theory that lots of parents are trying so hard to be good parents that they make issues where there just aren't any, just so they have another opportunity to be a good parent. It's a upside down, flupped up good/bad agenda with self absorption or maybe self promotion at the root of it. At least in the case of "Jane", we'll call her, whose daughter goes to preschool with my Jr. Mint. Daughter does not get to participate in Halloween in any form for the above mentioned reason. We research holidays before we allow her to participate in them, says she. Daughter is however, allowed to participate in the Christmas program, even though "Jane's" family is Jewish. Practicing.

Mebbe I ate too much Halloween candy as a kid, but I dun get it.

So OK, I don't let my kids dress up as anything scary, upsetting, or violent. No weapons, no blah, blah, yada yada. We go to the local outdoor mall and do their thing - each of the boys takes a buddy, we run into neighbors and friends we know, drink lattes along the way, one of us stays home to give out candy to the neighborhood kids and the other one takes our kids through our neighborhood, and between those two things they have bagsful of candy. When we come home, the boys each get to pick out ten pieces of their candy. . . . . and the rest goes away.

How is that about the devil????? Unless it's that we don't let them keep but ten pieces.....


Saturday, October 07, 2006


While I was stopped at a red light this morning I looked off to the right, where there was a Wendy's sign announcing their new wonderful sandwich that I really must try. It's called . . . (trumpets blaring) the Italiana Frescata. The EEEE-tall-eeee-anna Fttttres-kaata!!!

Come on people. IT'S WENDYS. Singles. Doubles. Frosties. Smothered baked potatoes with poured orange cheese and limp broccoli.

WTH? Which brings me to what I (ain't this a kick in the head) was thinking about when I happened to gaze off into no man's land as I was sitting at that red light to begin with. Why is it so difficult to just be who we is? It's sooooo much easier to lead an authentic life. Be an authentic you. Me. Us. Whoever. Wendys.

I was sitting at soccer practice Thursday afternoon and on one side of me was a buddy soccer mom who is such a very authentic person - as far as I know her, that is. She's not a close friend. We don't socialize, but we come in contact frequently through our kids and if there's one way to get a good bead on whether someone is putting on airs or not it's to sit with a group of women when their kids are playing sports - especially when it's not recreation league sports, but sports leagues with certified coaches and tuition/program fees. Trust me on this one. Now this soccer mom buddy and her husband have been living in their home which has acreage for many years, and our bustling county has basically grown up around them, such that now their modest home and acreage for which they paid a modest, reasonable amount many years ago is worth sixteen I say SIXTEEN MILLION DOLLARS, and they are in the process of closing. Next week. She visited with my youngest son during practice, talked with him about the dinosaur images on his shirt, goosed him a time or two.

Couple of the other moms way on the other side of the bleachers couldn't be bothered to do much of anything but talk (loudly enough so that they could be sure and be heard) about their newest BLAH or their latest BLECH and they have the biggest YUCK and I'm pretty sure my son walked by them at least twice maybe three or four times and they didn't smile at him once, much less goose him or notice that he had dinosaurs on his shirt.

Not that I expect them to. Just making a point.

Authenticity. Lots to be said for it. I don't think I'll try the Italiana Frescata from Wendys. In fact I haven't been to Wendys in years. But I do have a real taste for a Frostie......

Thursday, October 05, 2006


Yep, me. Thaaaaat's me. Pahr-tay mom. Picture me with a lampshade on my head, dancing on the preschool table.

Well it used to be called Room Mom. Not sure when the title changed, but I'd like to go on record as saying that I enjoy the term Party Mom entirely better. It seems younger, fresher, more updated, all terms which I appreciate immensely, and more and more on a daily basis as birthdays come and go.

Except for this. In a Preschool world, it tends to come out of their darling little traps as Potty Mom.

I think "CRAP!" would be the appropriate expression for that.