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NaNaNaNa-NaNaNaNa-HeyHey-GoodBye!

And this will tie up another successful round of NationalBlogPostingMonth. I DID IT!

Looky looky here! No skipped days! Woo Hoo!

Early on in the month, being (anal) some what nervous that I might not be able to come up with post titles inspired primarily by the letters B and P (and sometimes M) I got busy and wrote some post-it note lists of inspirational B and P inspired post titles. Since my life is so full (except for the private time to blog), I had no trouble coming up with my daily titles. I thought, here on the last day of NaBloPoMo I'd share some of the post-it note ideas that didn't make it.

First my other last day alternate title was:
NaBurntOut!

Others that didn't make cut were: NaBlowByBlow, NaBloPositiveReinforcement, NaBloPoMomentInTheSun, NaBloPoMoveAhead, NaBloPoMindBoggling, NaBloPoMountingEvidence, NaBlowYourCool, NaBlowAFuse, NaBlowMe (a personal favorite), NaBlowMyStack, NaBlowItAllSkyHigh (read that in falsetto please), NaBloPoMoveOn, NaBloPoopedOut (very appropriate considering), NaBlownAway, and NaBlowMyMind.

In other news, Mom had two transfusions yesterday. It seems that she might be rejecting at least one of them. (I did not know one could reject blood. Did you know that?) The big hint for me was all the vomiting, dry heaving and bile. Dad seemed to think it was all normal again. I made mom call the doc and now she is doped up on benadryl and two different anti nausea medications. This is another reason why I can not imagine the two of them living alone. No one ever wants to call the doctor.

Also, I eavesdropped on dad talking to some of their friends today. One night I just might hit him over the head with my incredibly sturdy stainless frying pan. If he doesn't stop calling every single thing they stick into my mother an "infusion" I might duct tape his mouth shut. It's almost as annoying as dad just plain old making up diagnoses and symptoms and giving his own life philosophy and his own recollection of high school bio back in the dark ages when there were all of 17 elements on the periodic table and leeches were still commonplace. I'll infuse something right up his......

Anyway, the (crazy) husband is hopping a plane to Chicago with Evan tomorrow to go to a Giants game with some old friends who are gathering in balmy Chicago, in December to sit outside and watch football. Anyone want to guess what the forecast is Sunday? S N O W!! So if you happen to be watching and they pan the audience and you see a small huddled in navy blue human form with orange ski goggles shivering next to a really tall bald guy who refuses to wear a hat in the snow then wave to the tv it's my kid!

Josh is sleeping at a friends Saturday night, so it's down to me and Matt! And I told Matt he could hang with some friends at the movies. So it's me! And (barfing) mom! And dad sleeping on the couch! PARTY!

I had a babes lunch today and normally I don't mention my troubles at a babe lunch but today I just let it flow. I feel like I am putting other people in uncomfortable positions when I discuss, but this whole grandma/alzheimers thing has me freaking out. I stopped by to see grandma after the babes lunch and she was in bed but seemed more with it. She looked better than yesterday at least. After a little chatting she started to get weird again but I had to leave and pick up the kids by then, so I was happy to get out.

Alright, I'm saving just because the clock is ticking on me here. Ciao NaBlo!!

NaBadNewsAgain

So, I was talking to the doctor at the OFH today and she used the word Alzheimer's when referring to grandma, and I was like WHAT??? and then as if a curtain was pulled off my eyes I realized how neatly her strange behaviors can be attributed to this condition.
I mentioned the sudden interest in all things sex related, but what I haven't told you about is grandma acting like a little kid. I have seen quick passing hints of it before, with teasing or game playing, but this morning I spent an hour and a half with grandma and the entire time she spoke in a kid-like voice said she wanted her mommy and recited little rhymes for me. When the nurse came in she refused her medicine by crossing her arms, shaking her head, stamping her foot and saying "NO! I don't want to!" in that pouty little girl voice too. I was shocked. It was like being in some bizarre episode of the twilight zone with her.

I wanted to cover my ears and run from the room. This seemed like too much too handle. Can grandma be losing her grip on reality that fast? I wanted to blame the UTI, surely the medicine she is taking couldn't be right. Did they stop giving her the pain killer like I asked? I didn't think so, it must be the painkiller. How could it be that my poor grandma who has suffered so much being alone with out grandpa for so many years and so profoundly hurt by her big brother who stole her entire life savings from her and left her penniless and so let down by her kids who don't visit, how can poor grandma be expected to suffer even more? Where is the part where you get a break for being good? Where is the karma? The payback?

And now I am faced with the reality that grandma might have to go back into the rehab place I so insisted she didn't belong in just a few short weeks ago. And it makes my heart sink right down into my chest. I practically have to dig in and grab it before it hits the ground and I leave it there to be stepped on some more. But I can't because I have to take care of mom and dad and the three real reasons why I wake up every day and have the strength to get out of bed. Right now that's a real challenge.

NaBloPhoneCharger

Mostly I charge my iphone in the car. That is because I almost live in the car. So, charging in the car is just the most convenient. Yesterday Evan closed the car on the tip of my charger, so today I ended up at the Apple store. Naturally the sales person who started yesterday (this always happens to me) came up to help me and when I told her I needed a car charger for my iphone she showed me something that was a combination charger and radio player. The thought of broadcasting my own personal music collection (instead of tediously and laboriously actually changing CD's because then I would have move more than my thumb. I'd have to move maybe even my whole arm and possibly the other one too.) thrilled me to no end and I grabbed it immediately. Having some extra time on my hands I went to the shoe store and replaced my mom clogs with new exactly the same but new mom clogs, and also picked myself up a coiuple of chanukkah gifts. I decided that this year I'd be giving myself some gifts. I deserve them. Then having precisely the corrrect amount of time I needed to exit the mall, stop at the store for tonight's dinner, and pick up Josh, I headed for the parking lot. I tossed the goods into the back, hopped into the drivers seat and unwrapped the charger/radio broadcaster, plugged it in and read the message on my iphone. It said "Warning: this device is not designated for the iphone. You will not be able to make or receive calls while it is in use." or something like that. SO I had a choice, and it was go back to the Apple Store and get a cheesy only do one thing charger or get dinner. Guess who had takeout tonight?

But I got toally off track because the reason I even thought about writing anything about the charger is because poor Evan is the kid who is in the wrong place at the wrong time and Evan is the one who does stuff like break my nose, fall on my head, drop a hamster, and more. And I was not happy about the charger mis hap but when I thought I was going to have a charger and radio broadcaster instead of just a plain old charger I thought about this whole post I could write about the charger mishap happening for a good reason. Like maybe Evan's luck was going to change and I wouldn't have any more broken/pinched stuff or little fuzzy creatures wouldn't fall from great heights onto tile floors, or even if he only stopped spilling his drink at dinner every night. I thought the whole charger incident was a good omen (I have to stop with the omens) and the beginning of a new kind of luck. And then I saw that the new charger didn't work and when I went back to the store I bought the exact same charger I already had. But I am stopping believing in omens.

NaBloPinCushion

I woke up after a less than refreshing 6 hours of sleep this morning with one singular goal in mind: finding a little chunk of time before 3pm in which I would nap. SOunds easy enough with three kids in school all day, right? Wrong. Welcome to my life. First stop after drop off was the acupuncturist. Yup, folks, I have to turned to acupuncture to help un-pinch and hopefully soothe the pinched nerve in my neck. SO far so good, this was week three for me. After week one I wasn't so sure, the acupuncturist isn't all warm and fuzzy and I had trouble reading her, but it seemed to help a tiny incrementally itsy bitsy bit so I went back at week 2. Then I noticed that it was truly helping and also as an added benefit I have increased flexibility which is making me very happy. Today the acupuncturist told me the flex part was due to my chi finally flowing. Go chi! Flow baby flow! Stick me baby!

I tired to nap on the table (truthfully, you can't make me lie down and expect me to stay awake these days) but I was already covered in needles and I was lying on my side, needle side up, and every time I dozed off my right shoulder would relax and head for my chin and the places in my upper back with needles in them would move and I'd startle awake trying really hard not to scream over the background muzak she had going on. After three (or maybe 6 because I am a. tired b. dumb c. stubborn and d. resourceful and I was already in a prone position and I needed a nap time dammit!) attempted dozes I was fully and acutely awake and noting could have lulled me back to dream land.

Then I suffered a torture which I had never even dreamed could exist before. Previously the acupuncturist had used cups on me, but this week, must have been sadistic week at the 'ol poke em full of holes office, because she whipped out this plastic similar to the glass cups device which had big air sucking syringes at the end of them and she's push them onto my skin and then draw out all the air while my skin painfully rose like a bubble inside the neck of the device. I had only two things on my mind at that point . Sleep was not one of them. The two things I thought was "I am so totally going to bruise" and "OOooWWWOOOoooWWW!!!"

Then, because maybe the acupuncturist got a ticket on her into work today or something else she smeared baby oil on my back and brushed it off with something I couldn't see but imagine to look much like the copper grill brush which works so well scraping dried animal fat and burnt on food marinades off my grill all summer. OooWWW again people. Let's hope I am a fast healer.

I left the needle pusher at 10 and thought I could do a quick swing by the store for groceries and then nap sweet nap time. But no, as luck would have it, I also thought I'd call another colon rectal surgeon and not be able to get grandma in to be seen today. But as (Murppy's ) luck would have it, not only is this surgeon willing to see grandma at her tender age of 95 and 3/4 but she also had a last minute cancellation for 4 o'clock. And as (Murphy's) luck would have it this surgeon also requires her patients to have an enema before their exam.

At the pharmacy picking up enema supplies such as the enema itself and also old lady diapers and absorbent disposable pads (just in case) who of all people should be in the grown up diaper aisle, but the Mick Jagger at 17 look (and dress) alike kid Matt and I see every single morning smoking outside of the school. The kid who inspires my same old boring anti smoking speech that I am fairly certain makes Matt want to gauge his eardrums out because he is not now or is he is ever likely to smoke and I just can't stop lecturing. So young Mick is in the diaper aisle working stocking shelves and my plan is to dash by him grab a diaper for grandma and quickly exit out the other end of the aisle, only I pause because there are too many choices for my overcrowded mind and young Mick asks me in this surprisingly incredibly deep voice "Do you need any help?" and I actually turn around to him and say "Can I say something to you? You really shouldn't smoke." And there may have been more, you know there was more, out of my (big) mouth, but the end of the story is that young Mick is cutting back. He used to smoke a pack a day and now his pack stretches for three days and he says he really does want to quit.

So, guess who gave her grandma an enema today! Yes, I did, and that is all I am going to say about it. Use your imagination. Now make it even worse.

The new doctor, second opinion, that I was hoping had a non surgical answer for me, said that there is no non-surgical procedure available and the procedure recommended by the other doctor (which is called an Anal Encirclement - does that not make you imagine spear wielding natives surrounding a camp fire of accountants?) didn't work and that was why no one ever does it anymore. There are different degrees of surgery, but all are pretty invasive. Then she cautioned me about all the risks of putting grandma under general anesthesia including death and losing the little part left of her mind that she still has, and I think grandma is going to have to suffer this one through. The doctor suggested waiting until the UTI was cleared and then reassessing the situation. Also, grandma can be encouraged to push her intestines back inside of her abdomen, but enough of that.

Came home, took off my shirt and saw that each little skin sucking device did indeed leave a nice purple circle back there and also I look like the scratching post of a multi cat home. With spots. Oh so pretty, guess who is lying on her stomach tonight? Right now I can honestly say that no one needs a drink more than me, and if you do, I'd love to hear about it because if the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence what happens when my side is covered in sewage?

Now I am going to combine my long anticipated nap with a good night's sleep.

NaButtStories

Last summer we went to party where one of the guests brought a big bowl of ambrosia which this family had never before had the pleasure of experiencing. It's called Texas Caviar. And the recipe has no less than three cans of assorted beans in it along with some other stuff. Matt got a hunkering for texas caviar this weekend and on Sunday when the husband was out dong manly sport related stuff with the other two kids Matt and I went shopping for ingredients. We came home and can opened, rinsed, and chopped our way to bean caviar heaven and sat down with a 5 pound bowl of fiber and a really big bag of chips. We munched and munched beside each other on the couch until I had to excuse myself to get some work done. Periodically I'd call down and ask Matt what he was doing. His answer for the next 90 or so minutes remained consistent "I'm eating texas caviar!" He'd reply and I thought he must be eating slowly. Also, I was thrilled that he was eating so much wholesome fiber! Hahaha on me because when I went back down stairs Matt had polished off about 2/3 of the 5 pound bowl of beans/heavenly goodness.

Needless to say we were forced to isolate Matt in the end of the house that Matt's bedroom is on later in the evening and also we had to pass out the air raid equipment before bedtime. But I am pretty sure that the beans were helpful in doing what beans do second best, or should I say second day, because tonight when Evan was supposed to go brush his teeth he staggered out of the bathroom (only a minute or two after Matt slunk out on his way back his computer) blue in the face and I, through my heavily tearing eyes gave him permission to skip a night and tossed him a bandana to cover his face and breathe through.

The dog is still making wind virtually every time she moves, (without bean assistance) and I am also jealous that she is on a low carb diet that I should really be on. One thing I have determined watching her hunt for food around here is either dogs are capable of human feelings regarding food or the desire to carb load is all instinct because the girl is a beast on this diet and all over every crumb of bread and even managed to steal and consume a left over apple pie. But the gas? Still as rancid as ever. My mom has begged me to give her normal food again, (wimp) but since these days the devil manages to steal more bread than ever, because dad can not understand the DO NOT LEAVE YOUR TOAST/SANDWICH/PIE UNGUARDED rule under which we live here, the devil has had more variety in her diet than usual. (Donut anyone?) Blap.

Grandma is feeling no pain on the pain killers I managed to get prescribed for her in the ER. Now I just have to find a doc who will touch her old and infirm butt and fix it. Those pain killers are knocking gram into oblivion though. I spoke to Natasha (the director of nursing) about lowering her dose. Now the trained seals have to do their 2 day circus act so grandma can get less (street drugs) painkiller, because I might sue the OFH (which is what motivates every single policy in the joint) or something if they just cut the frigging pill in half (Instead of risking the over dose) without doctors orders. Luckily Glinda the good nurse of the north was there today and she agreed to skip a dose so grandma could actually wake up long enough to eat and drink something. (I never did ask Glinda what she did with that pill ... hmmmm) Grandma was pretty (drugged out of her senses) down this morning so I ran back later with the antidote to what ever ails my favorite senior and she perked right up.

NaBloggersSharePainMo

I hear you Y!

NaBloPoMo'sBaconBar

Made the purchase with great hesitation- went back for more the next day. You can't believe how good it is.

NaBloPoMoney

Last night when I was at the ER with grandma the husband was in charge of putting the kids to sleep. He let Josh stay up late to watch the end of a DVD they had rented. First the husband bargained with/bribed Evan to pretend that Josh had been dutifully put to bed at 9. Then he turned to Josh to make sure that the child who had begged to stay up late was down with the ruse. Josh wanted to know how much he'd get for lying to me, not realizing that his bargain/bribe was the staying up past his bedtime part. The husband fell prey to Josh's abundance of adorable (sucka) and agreed to the same deal he had cut with Evan. They would get ten dollars to say Josh had gone to bed at 9.

During dinner tonight the subject of bed time came up and I (having been filled in by the husband who can not keep a secret ever) asked what time Josh had gone to bed last night. A hush fell over the table. All three boys stared at their laps. Then Evan boldly spoke up and said that he had gone to bed at 9:45. I turned to Josh and asked again what time he had gone to bed. His face lit up a smile spread from cheek to cheek and he announced "I went to bed at 9 o'clock last night!" then he turned to the husband and added "Now you owe me ten bucks!"

NaBloPoMoreERGoodTimes

Just got home from another exciting 12 hour venture into emergency room hell. Today's lucky victim: Grandma.

Emergency room observations:

1. Saw handsome hunk from the down the street there with his niece said to self "It's a good omen!" WRONG It's meaningless!

2. Grandma noticed an older lady sitting there for a long time turned to me and announced for every one to hear "That old lady sure has been here for a long time!" Grandma has no idea how old she is.

3. WHy oh why must I talk to everyone? (I get that from grandma!) I ask grandma's ER neighbor how long he'd been waiting and he turned to me and spoke jibberish and sounded like Latka from Taxi. I back my way into grandma's room. The next thing I know crazy Latka is being wheeled out for a psych eval. I have to shut my mouth and learn to look away.

4. I spend inordinate amounts of time trying to figure out what the guy in the next bay did to require both a neck brace and gauze bandaged feet.

5. I listen to every other family member's sob story why? And I really hope Sam and Rachel are okay.

6. I never knew what oral contrast can do to an old girl. And now I am afraid I am once again permanently scarred by the sight (and smell) of oral contrast after the CAT scan.

7. I knew she had a UTI since last Tuesday from now on I am taking her to my own doctor.

8. ER docs are stingy with the painkillers.

9. I can sleep just fine after drinking vile waiting room coffee/swill.

10. And that is what I am going to do.

NaBloPieceOfPaper

A few weeks ago I stopped in to see my original pilates teacher. I like her a lot. She has a great perspective on life and also, she is totally hilarious. I could listen to her for hours and she's a great teacher too. Also, she's the one who looks and sounds so much like my aunt lillian that if I ever found out aunt lillian gave a baby up for adoption I'd stand up and shout "Look no farther!" Anyway, my original pilates teacher has a little box on her desk and in this box are a bunch of fortune cookie sized slips of card board and each slip of card board has a word on it. What you are supposed to do is pull out a word and reflect on that word throughout your day. On my way out of the studio after saying HELLO I automatically reached into the box to grab a word and much to my surprise got a word I had never gotten before. I got GRATITUDE. My original pilates teacher gasped, opened her eyes wide and half whispered "Oh, that is a great word for you! Think about it." My initial response went something along the lines of "Sure, I have so much to be grateful for every one around me is dying a slow and painful death." I walked out the door. I saw a brilliant blue sky. I said "Okay. Well, the sky is blue." and thinking that would be the limit of my gratitude and the last I'd think about GRATITUDE I stomped to my car.

As I go through my life since that day GRATITUDE keeps popping up. It pops up all the time. I can't shake the concept. Obviously the biggest area of gratitude I have is that my kids are healthy, happy and just fabulous. But little by little I am noticing that if I train my sights on being grateful for what is good then what is bad seems less of a big deal and much easier to handle. For example, when I am explaining my situation to people they are always astounded that my folks are living with me. And truthfully, it isn't easy at all. But then I explain to the people what a gift this has been for the kids who would not have otherwise seen their grandparents in the next 5 years and never would have developed the relationships and special memories they are making by being able to see my folks every day. So I find myself being grateful for this family time together. As hard as it is having my parents around, it is incredibly rewarding to see them growing closer to my kids each day and growing that specialness that I always wished could be there for my kids. I wanted my kids to feel like I do about grandma about their grandparents.

Also, I like to know what is going on and if my parents were in Florida they would not be as open and honest with me as they have to be here because here I am the one taking them to and talking with the doctor. They are relying on me to remember things for them.

Even though I am crazy with worry about grandma I am aware every minute of every day how few people get to ever have a 95 year old grandma. (I just love her tiny little stinky self so much.) I am so grateful that I still have her.

I'm grateful for this easy existence the husband gives me. I can buy three times more food than we need (OMG- did I ever over cook this year!) for Thanksgiving and not even blink an eye. I can have a teeny tiny little job because I love it so much I'd do it for free and not have to feel like I need to jump back in to the rat race and bring home the bacon. I can be at every dreadful school event they conjur up. I can go to the gym for 1/2 the day.

I can take pictures with my ridiculously over priced iphone and share them with you.
And when I am tired down to the bone I can get into my warm and comfy bed and have a good nights sleep.

Good night and Happy Thanksgiving.

NaBloPostingOnTheFly

It's iPhone posting from the elementary school parking lot for me. My days lately have been filled with that akward 23 minutes of time between places I have to be so I have been spending lots of time sitting in the truck just waiting. This would not be the torture it is if there wasn't something suspicious going on with my car battery , but there is and if I even use it for the time it takes to fill the truck with gas then the motor will not turn over when I try to restart. So there is no radio for me and I have been too lazy to switch my music from my old about to die any minute now lap top to my new can not be moved and therefore cannot be dropped computer so I have no good tunes on the iPhone either.

Went to the gym this morning and had my last workout before the pig out. I wonder if I burned enough calries in spin to drink a bottle (or three) of wine during prep time tomorrow. What could be more lovable than a tipsy cook control freak who refuses all not dish washing related offers of help? I mean really!

My plan for today is to chop peel mince and slice my way through each recipe so that tomorrow I can cook like they do on tv when everything has been prepared premeasured and set out for the recipe. I am going to be so tirol an act of utter selfishness I agreed to photograph an 11 oclock game tomorrow. This means I have to be more prepared then usual. Prepared is not a word most would conjure up when describing me. Chaos would be more accurate.

PS Ooops, saved this as a draft at noon today- almost forgot to post! Heaven forbid! NoNoNo!

NaBlowMyMind

Grandma has been having trouble lately. The OFH doc (who I believe needs an attitude adjustment) attributed grandma's ever worsening pain to hemorrhoids. I saw grandma in the bathroom and being somewhat familiar with the roid myself (three kids remember?), decided that grandma's pain was above and beyond a simple matter of even a bad case of the roids. So I went and made an appointment with the butt doc that I know because there was a time when I ate some sunflower seeds and got too lazy to spit out the shells few times and ended up with a big scratched bleeding intestine which brought me to the butt doc. And once you (or is it I?) go to the butt doc they believe you need to come back every so often and have these snaking camera check ups, especially if you are of Eastern European Jewish decent, because apparently my people are prone to cancer of the colon. So, let's just leave it at ... I know the butt the doc and he sure as heck knows me. He was so happy to see me today he gave me a big kiss on the cheek (Face cheek! You pervs!)

I told him what I had observed with grandma and what I was fearful of and he began the exam.

I get grandma over to the funky butt raising exam table and what I have known all along and slightly feared comes true. I am going to have to be in the exam room with grandma. While her butt is examined. At first I get to stand by her head and I am happy about that. I whisper soothing things into her hearing aids. (Like, "Cut the screaming already! Grow a pair and take it like a man!" Kidding!) Mostly I lied and said "Almost over, you're doing great, don't forget to breathe, yadayada...."

The good kind butt doctor must have been teaching this morning because he began explaining everything that was going on and what he was thinking and worse, what he was doing. Now, around the house, I have taken to covering my ears and shouting TOO MUCH INFORMATION with my parents, (because OMG it's all body functions all the time around here!) but thought better of that technique with Dr. Butt. I just swallowed hard and listened. I kept the crying on the inside.

Then Dr. Butt goes, come around here I want to show you something. I said "me?" like maybe there was an invisible person standing right beside me that he wanted show grandma's butt to, and he seriously waved me over so I left my post up in the very safe area of grandma's head and went around to her posterior, reluctantly. It wasn't as scary as I feared. Then I let him point things out to me. Without fainting. It was a proud moment. The deal was grandma did indeed have a single hemmie, but it was not the kind of hemmie that would make a girl sweat and scream in pain.

Dr. Butt had another suspicion and he asked grandma to sit on the can and bear down for him. Then he had me and the nurse lift her part way up while he looked at her bottom with a butt doc light up mirror. He happily announced that his suspicions had been proven and asked me to look in the mirror. I couldn't see from where I was so Doc Butt excitedly pleaded with me to switch places with the nurse. He really wanted me to see this. Doc Butt seemed so happy about what he was seeing in the mirror that I was kind of thinking it might be a clown or maybe a magician or even a tap dancer. What a surprise I was in for. The dancing bear that was my first choice, was not performing on grandma's butt. Instead, there was something quite un-butt-like going on down there. I'll give it to you in two words.

Rectal Prolapse.

Here is the very tame line drawing version and here is the link that might make you want to gouge your eyes out too. Because now I can't shake the sight of what I saw. It was possibly the most frightening single sight I have ever had the heart stopping displeasure to experience.

The super bad news is that there is only one solution. Surgery. Which (a-duh!) they can't do on grandma. There is a less cut and dry solution which is a temporary kind of not very intrusive surgery, much more minor, Doc Butt says grandma could have it done, but there is a draw back. Possible serious permanent constipation.

What to do people, what to do. I have no idea what to do.

NoMoreSnow

Last night I got into bed with the husband and expressed my concern for grandma and her poor aching butt. SHe has been complaining of butt pain for a couple of weeks. FInally the OFH nurse took a look and it was serious. I made an appointment with her for the butt doctor and have to bring her tomorrow. I said to the husband "I hope they don't find anything serious. I mean, can they even find something serious? They can't put a camera up there you need anesthesia for that. The most they can do is stick a finger up there." Silence. More silence. No movement. "What?" I say. He finally responds "You can't expect me to go to bed with that visual in my mind." I laugh "Talk about something else. How about skin cancer or ingrown toenails?" I laugh harder. "Rashes?" "hahahaha" "Lice?" "HaHaHaHa!" Head injuries? Anything, just not that" "HAHAHAHAHA!"

I woke up this morning and I said "FUsnowCK FUsnowCK FUsnowCK!!" when I looked out the window. I had it all hanging on the 'ol farmer's almanac which predicted a dry and warmer winter than usual. Unfortunately I did not read the small print about the snow covered fall.

The devil dog knew what was going through my mind

I put in an early morning call to my editor and she asked me to get some first FUsnowCK photos. WIth my spare 17 minutes, that is precisely what I set out to do. It was a good thing actually, because when I shoot I don't think about how sick everyone is or how horrible they feel. And when I go out to shoot I find uplifting things like

some other mother's kids woke up so early they had time to get really wet before school by rolling up a snow man. My kids went off dry and warm! Also, that mom's kids stuck a cheese stick on snowman's head as a strip of hair and by tomorrow when all the snow is gone that mom is going to have rotting cheese stick on her front lawn, but I won't! Life is good!

Also, you might be able to make out some deer fencing in my first photo up there. Now I don't have to worry about the twice daily parade of plant eating, lyme spreading, poop dropping, long legged rats marching right through my back yard every day.
But this family does! Get a fence!

And tomorrow when I bring grandma to the butt doctor and I inevitably end up in the examining room with her I am totally replaying Seinfeld's Assman episode in my imagination the whole time. Yay!!

NaBurnedOutAtDay18

The scales are loaded with this right now: sleep on the one side and post on the other.
Naturally I'm going to post, because I said I would post each and every day for a whole painfully long month and heaven forbid I don't after thinking all those evil thoughts about the lucky people on the randomiser who skipped a day, but here is about all I am capable of right now. I've got two tid bits of cuteness that I emailed myself after hearing them (so I wouldn't forget!) and that is about it.

1. The husband took the boys to an old fashioned Kosher deli. It was full of atmosphere. They had the hundred year old shriveled salamis hanging from the ceiling. Evan glanced up and said "Whoa! Those things look like grandma!"

2. Putting Josh to bed he said to me "So, my bed is a jack right?" And I was so confused that I didn't know what to say. I just looked at him with my screwed up face. Then Josh, trying to clear things up for me, went on "Well, if yours is a king and Matt's is a queen, then what else is there?"

Also, Postsecret didn't post new post cards today and I am totally bumming. sigh. Well at least my girls at gofugyourself are not at a fashion show this week and Monday is always a good day over there.

That's all I got.

NaBloPostingRightUnderTheWire

Last November, the first time (and I know one can have their first time once) I did NaBloPoMo I was completely hooked on the randomiser. I recall staying up late at night, clicking and clicking and laughing and bookmarking blogs that I liked and just feeling completely joyous about the whole thing. Oh yeah, also I totally grooved on the extra traffic the randomiser brought my way. (Stat whore, remember?)

This year, not so much. The randomiser has failed me, let me down, broken may heart. First of all if you haven't posted every day then I think you should remove yourself from the post fest. It's only fair. Also, "I got nuthin" does not qualify as a post. Also, why does my randomiser rotate through the same 20 or so blogs over and over (and over again)? Where are the other thousands of people? Did we do something wrong when we signed up? Tell me, I can handle it.

Every day I check my stats and no randomiser hits. Also, no change in stats. I was hoping to make some new friends on the randomiser, and now I just (a tear rolls silently down my cheek) feel so alone. sniff. Is anyone new out there?

As a matter of fact (having more spare time than I recognize) I managed to take notes during my last very completely dissatisfying randomizing session and now I have a list of reasons how the randomizer has failed me.

Ready?

11. Manic Mommies every 6 clicks
10. People just signed up yesterday and joined NaBloPoMONTH 1/2 way through after not posting since Oct 16th.
9. signs off her posts TTFN
8. First line of post "I cannot believe that I'm 23 years old!"
7. Male blogger who doesn't think WIll Smith is sexy. Don't even go there.
6. Everyone but me is getting tagged for some meme.
5. Knitting
4. someone got NaBlo combined with NaNo and is writing part 38 of his novel.
3. I don't go to musical events in Hudson Valley
2. Aprons

and the number one reason why the Randomiser has failed me

1. No hablo espanol.

I want to know what a girl has to do around here to
randomise blogs that don't try to sell me something, convert me, preach frugality, dis Will Smith (or Matt Damon, Hello??), knit or sew (except sock zombies because they (and their maker) are funny) also, what I want (what I really really want) is blog that strikes a chord, maybe it gets me all choked up, maybe it tickles my funny bone. If you make me laugh out loud, even better.

NephewSavesThePostForToday

So, feeling rather tapped out by both life (my personal one these days, not life in general) and also NaBloPostEverySingleDayBecauseYouSaidYouWould- AndNowYouHAVETO I sat in my vehicle at almost 3 o'clock this afternoon, waiting for Josh to get out of school wondering if I'd be able to summon the funny for tonight's post when lil sis called to save me with this anecdote.

This week, here in Stepford was conference week, (and you'll be happy to know my kids are still perfect and absolutely beloved by their respective teachers) so when lil sis said she had a conference with 8 year old nephew's teacher I wasn't surprised. . Lil sis said she and her husband were at my 8 year old nephew's private school (for boys who are incredibly smart just their aunts) for a conference with his teacher as well. Except it wasn't the kind that is all prescheduled and follows a report card. It was the kind where the teacher calls you on the phone at home and says in a very serious tone "There is something we need to discuss"

And I got so excited because OMG lil sis was a holy terror as a kid and if her kid has even a fraction of her ... spunk... then this is going to be such a fun ride! You know, for me! I'll just sit back and observe from 120 miles away. Someone get the popcorn!

So, lil sis starts telling the story, and I am all giddy and imagining lil sis holding the new baby nephew on her lap and her husband sitting in the little third grade chairs, wearing their nice teacher meeting clothes, with their knees up near their shoulders and sweating it out while the pinched faced bespectacled teacher (I have no idea what the teacher actually looks like) rifles through some papers setting her authoritative tone for this impromptu conference. And then the actual (as opposed to my imagined) teacher tells them that there was an incident involving my nephew (their son, what ever) and a computer.

And my imagination is speeding a thousand miles an hour, I think of the kid who while doing her animal report google imaged BEAVER, I'm thinking about wildmom's kids who should be hired right now by the government today (if the government has a brain) because those kids can and have done remarkable things on the computer (that we know about) and their school is not always thrilled about that (understatement), and I am thinking about lil sis's own personal brand of special and how she related to her teachers (In second grade lil sis's teacher wrote EXCELLENT across the top of lil sis's assignment and lil sis says to the teacher, "How dare you write on my paper! This is my paper and if you have something to say to me you can say it to my face.") and the possibilities of what my sweet charming nephew, son of lil sis, could have done between the potential genetic bad ass attitude he may have inherited from lil sis and the involvement of high tech 21st century equipment are literally getting me high.

Then the teacher, according to lil sis, explains to lil sis and her husband that the students were told to do some school related research on the computer and that they have been instructed to do their school research on elibrary.com (or something like that) and my nephew, jokester that he is, decided to entertain his pals and check out eharmony.com instead.

I couldn't contain my laughter.

Then lil sis reports that the teacher informs her that all the schools computers have had to have eharmony.com blocked from them.

So I'm guessing the teachers won't be internet dating from the faculty lounge any more.

NaBrickHouse

Hey mighty mighty letting it all hang out!

Dinner got off to a rocky start tonight. By rocky you can pretty much guarantee that we were all perfectly content except Evan (my man on the edge. I have taken to describing him as "edgy". I think it fits, don't you?) who was doing his best to agitate someone (Josh) else, while I was doing my best not blow my top (and scream in front of my (judging) parents). Luckily there was peace in sight tonight! Tonight thanks to a table topics (I can not tell you how much my kids love the table topics) tangent (the best part of table topics is how far we can go with a single idea) we went around the dinner table saying something nice about the family member to our left. It was all very loving, very hallmark card, very aaaawww, and rather dry and predictable until we got to Evan who stood up and performed a whole original song and dance about how great his brother Matt is. You can imagine the accolades of praise he received after his original vocals and choreography and Evan, being one who loves the spotlight as much as any one else who loves the spotlight then grabbed some nearby paper and penned a funny, touching , loving song for every family member at the table. When he turned to me, to present my original song of specialness after a lively and amusing over the top introduction, Evan broke into his very special rendition of Brick House complete with his very Chippendale dancer type moves. It was funny, but not as good as Matt's song of love and appreciation, but then Evan sang a real made up just for me song and my favorite line in his song was "You are a pearl among pebbles". Evan said he thought this one up all by himself (along with "You are a shark among fish", which didn't exactly strike the same chord) so don't even think of telling me that you have heard it before. But you know that the next time Evan pretends to load and shoot a semi automatic weapon into his brother's head, I am going to summon up all that good loving pearl among pebbles energy and try to react (without freaking) accordingly.

NaBigFatty

I went to spin class today. Pretty much as soon I started to spin my legs my thighs began whining. And whimpering. I said "Quiet you two! Just move those pedals! And no complaining when I have to stand!" But the thighs are stubborn, oh yes they are, and whine and complain they did for the whole entire 1 hour spin class. I tried to talk it out with them. I said "Guys, what is the deal? You have no energy.... like ever. Why is it that you are not recovering between torture exercises?" But they didn't answer me, only kept on with the pitiful kind of heart wrenching mind blowing whining. In order to block out their cries of agony, I set the mind to work, I said "Mind, what is going on here? They are so unhappy, always lazy, never wanting to get the job done. They weren't like this back in September. They were roaring to go back then and I didn't even use them all summer!" And then the mind briefly considered that I had given the legs the summer off, kind of, and that maybe they needed inordinate amounts of rest, and then the mind remembered something critical, back in September we were still sugar free from the summer of good eating. And the mind reminded me that the legs never want to play after a thorough sugar binge and I realized that there are so many food issues that I need to reconcile. Like my enjoyment of physical activity and how difficult it is to be active when I am not eating well.

Also, there were full body bathing suit photos taken of me during this past vacation (one of my kids apparently has a death wish) and they really blew my mind. I can not believe (well, I can but I don't want to) that my physical self is the same person as my mental self. To me I look like I am a complete psychological mess. Maybe this is my own personal issue, perhaps I am a weightist, but if my big fat self struck up a conversation with my physical self, say on line at the check out counter or something, my mental self would burst out crying imagining the psychic pain my physical self must be in in order to eat herself into this condition.

NaBoobsInHiding

The Piggy Back

Find A Broad Shoulder and Lean

Inner Tube Duck Down

And finally, the moment no one saw coming, the full reveal, otherwise known as Feeling Violated

NaBloMeGotSomeBigOnes

When I was packing for this trip I couldn't find my beloved under wire bathing suits. I could wax and wane forever about the way my little easy to please heart sings at the mere thought of underwire bathing suits for my *ahem* fuller figure. A suit which lifts, supports, separates, and covers the girls has been all but an elusive dream to me since I was a wee little preteen with pole dancer boobies. That is until recently when some mastermind of genius proportion figured out how to sew the underwire into a bathing suit. I'd like to salute that brilliant mind. I hope it was a fellow bosomy gal just like me.

So I had to grab the only other two bathing suits that fit me in my upper weight range where I currently find myself. The bathing suits that made this trip with me I are the two suits otherwise known as smoosh them into the center and add some magical underarm boob overflow for good measure and the other one known as hang them 2 inches lower than normal while pulling her neck forward and even more out of alignment. Needless to say, I am a master at the photographic hide behind. So, in tomorrow's night post, I will share with you, dear readers, actual bathing suit photos in which you can barely see my cleverly hidden massive heaving in and out a bathing suit bosom.

I'd show you tonight, but I am dead tired, the migraine has migrated into a cloyingly annoying eye lid pain (I know! It never ends here!) and I just realized that I left two loads of unfolded laundry on Evan's bed this morning. So, until tomorrow, remember, lift, separate and be discreet!

NaBloPoMigraine

No, I don't have a migraine from all this daily posting! I looove the daily posting! I have a migraine because of the karma. The karma that said "Okay you spoiled little princess, if you are going to whine about being whisked away to a tropical island then I'll give you something real to whine about!" And when the alarm went off Thursday morning the only thing I could do was to whisper (sound sensitivity!) "pain" and that pain was in my head, which I suspect may have been filled at that very moment with hot burning lava that shifted and crashed against the inside my skull (pain!) with every attempted movement of either the head or the rest of me which is attached to the head. I took some useless pain killer. I still managed to dress myself and wake up the boys. I said ssshhhhhh a lot, and I said it very very softly. We got into the car service, it smelled like pee (phantom smells and smell sensitivity!). Then the airport smelled like rot. Then the plane smelled awfully pee like too. I managed to pass out for the bulk of the plane ride. Didn't help. But I made it there alive (and thankfully my brain did not seep through my ear holes with the pressure change as I had feared it might) and the nausea (nausea!) subsided for a few seconds so that I could take some other kind of pain killer and that painkiller brought the pain down to about 30%, which meant I could speak in a normal tone of voice again. We took the kids down to the pool for a dip and when we got back into the room I wondered out loud why everything, including the hotel room, smelled like pee and Matt suggested that I wipe the dried pee off of my upper lip. Isn't he a hoot? And then because he is even funnier than that when I pulled open the pee stinking hotel room curtains, I saw this and screamed "A rainbow! A rainbow!" and Matt, in his very best (and very convincing) Irish brogue (is that right?) said "and now those kids are going to try to steal my Lucky Charms!" or something else equally as hilarious, but I just thought that I could ignore a headache if someone or some thing was going to dish out some of these for me.

NaBloWhoCares?

I have lots of rules to live by.

1.My boobs do not advertise.
Therefore I wear very boring shirts.

2.My vehicle does not advertise.

But only because I don't know where to get me one of these.

NaBloPoorMe

My parent's reuse tea bags until they drink clear flavorless tea.

The heat is so high in the den that I thought the boys were all having allergic reactions due to their flushed faces.

My mom sits in my chair at the dinner table.

Dad commandeered the dining room table for all of his papers. We used to call the dining room "The Lego room" because that is where Josh did all of his lego. Now it's an office.

Mom and Dad use placemats. We don't.

My bedroom is over the den TV and I fall asleep vibrating to the base sounds every night.

And most of all: I feel judged.

NaBloPointItOutTheWindow

I really hate my iphone. Really ido. As a matter of fact, I intend on trading it right back in as soon as I give it $500 worth of use or have it for two years and my AT&T contract runs out. Which ever comes first. There is only one good/bad thing that I can kind of groove on with the iphone and that is the photos. They are totally crappy, especially in low light, and they are only 2 mega pixels so they are pixelated even on my computer screen, but the one good thing about them is that they download onto my blog fast!

You already know I go crazy when driving (especially at dusk) and often try to shoot while on the road or even pull over and shoot a spectacular color show. Here are some "waiting in the car" pictures that I shot either out the window or through the sun roof.

NaButWhatAboutME?

Once upon a time there was husband who thought that doing the best for his family meant giving them every THING under the sun. One day the husband asked the wife "Would you like to go on a trip?" and the wife said "No." Then the husband turned to his eldest son and asked "Would you like to go on a trip?" and the son said "No." So the husband, who wanted to go on a trip booked a trip anyway.

The night before the trip the wife, who really hates to travel, was in her usual "My plane is going to crash!" "I hate packing!" "It's still hurricane season!" "I'm gonna get MRSA from the pool!" "The plane is going to run out of fuel!" pre-travel self induced hysteria. And she realized that she hadn't posted that day. And since the wife had taken a solemn vow to post every day for the month of November she postponed her last minute packing (because why pack early when you can forgo sleep the night before leaving?) and sat down to post.
And she had nothing. Except eye daggers for the husband, who never helps with the packing and hasn't said "How are you?" to the wife for about 3 years now.

So the wife thought to herself, I need some thing to focus on, something that will bring me the peace and serenity I need to make it through the next 4 days. And she changed her screen saver, not to a kitten hanging off of a tree, not to a basket of cddly puppies, not even to a warm sandy beach somewhere she would have to hop on a plane and travel to, but to the place where her heart really longs to be.

UTOPIA

Ahhhh.

NaBloMyMind

I can never get in the groove and settle in, even though I want to, with what Bubbles has to offer because week after week she always comes up with something new to "challenge" me with. y a y . I can not believe how many ways there are to do a frigging sit up. When it came to running I thought that we, Bubbles, me, lefty, righty, top jelly roll, and bottom jelly roll, all had an understanding. And that understanding went like this "Me and my big boobs, and my excess belly poundage want to do something that appears, for all intensive purposes, to be running. We are not concerned with speed, only with appearances. If we appear to be running and we appear to have a decent form (we do not want to look like a waddling wing flapping penguin) and at the end of such "runs" face is satisfactorily red and sweaty then we are good. Our expectations have been met. And not only are we good, but we are so extremely satisfied that we can do this form of molasses type running forever and never ever once ever want anything more out of our weekly running sessions than just the ability to look like we are running no matter how much faster than our run we can actually walk." Desire to run fast-zero, happiness at running at all-infinite.

But then one day towards the end of a good solid slo mo just the way I like it run Bubbles says to me in her insufferably cheerful way "Hey, let's run as fast as we can to the door in the fence over there, ready go!" and I fear I know exactly what she has on her mind. She is planning on trying to make me, lefty, righty, top jelly roll, and bottom jelly roll, all run faster than really really slow! But I go ahead and run to the fence anyway because I just can't admit that I can't do something. Somewhere in the back of my head the panicked screaming begins. And then she does this whole "run just this far as fast as you can" thing one more time on our last lap around the track. And then when we are stretching afterwards I ask her what kind of new torture she is going to subject me to, because I can see right through her very thinly veiled run quick test, and she begins to tell me how amazingly wonderful it is for your body to interval train and how I'll burn more calories during and after and how my heart will benefit and then she had more to say but I just kind of made her voice into white noise because I was busy trying process the fact that I would now be "sprinting" during my weekly turtle runs.

And yesterday I did just that. We get to the track and I in my sad defeated "I am not going to get my slow comfortable way" way asked Bubbles what she had in mind and she told me we were going to run 1/4 of the track as fast as I could and then speed walk the rest of the 3/4 way around and then run the same 1/4 over and over like that. So I did just that- for three miles. Each time around as we approached the garbage can which signaled the end of the sprint section, the garbage can seemed to stretch farther and farther away into the distance, just like a bad dream on tv when your goal is making itself unattainable. At the end of the whole thing I didn't even speed run a mile during the whole sprinting experiment which disappoints me, because I worked so hard to be able to run for three miles, and I just can not see me ever running faster than incredibly slow for any significant distance, at least not at this weight. My plan is to tell Bubbles that running less than a total mile is not acceptable to me and that next time when we meet we'll have to run a third of the track instead of a 1/4 so that at the end even though I covered 3 miles distance I will have run for one of them. I can't believe I am letting her talk me into this.

NaBloPoNobodyLikesTheirBossAsMuchAsILikeMine

I love my editor. I really do. I wish she was my cool aunt or something else related. I'd like to claim her. She'd be that relative that really truly understood me even when I was a hormonal sobbing most of the time, misunderstood by all of humanity (except for her!) teenager. She is that cool, yes, she is.

And she is interesting too. For instance, she told me all about chem trails from planes and all the conspiracy theories related to their appearance. I'm not going to tell you, dear reader, just in case you tend on the side of paranoia. Don't go searching the internet now! You like sleeping at night right? Yeah, forget I ever said anythign about chem trails and just look at the pretty picture. Isn't it cool the way those long stringy clouds line up almost like like stripes through the twilight sky?

NaBloPoMoreMinutes, just 5 more minutes

Before kids I was 5 minutes early on time for life. After Matt, I slid in right at the bell. After Evan arrived, I was 5 minutes late for everyhting and now, a third kid later, I am 10 minutes late for most everything in my life. But, my kids know which door is the last to be locked at their schools, and damn, if I paying for lesson/class than it's just my money lost. Movies all have 15 minutes of previews and any respectable restaurant will hold a reservation for 20 minutes minimum. I'm good. Usually.

For a week now my laptop, the one piece of equipment I am most likely to be hiding behind each evening during prime booming tv hours, has fallen behind. It has fallen behind exactly one hour. As in my lap top, which has not been updated for any software update in over a year for fear of that final (genius bar funeral) crash that would do it in, thought that last weekend was the end of daylight (or is it the beginning?) savings time and not last night. So, for a week I have simply and for the most part fallen another full hour behind. I never knew how much I depend on that little laptop digital clock in the corner up there (just like I never knew what a compulsive hand washer I was before the plumber had to turn the water off for an hour and I tried to wash my hands no less than 20 times before he turned it back on) at least not until dinner was an hour late every night, and the boys all got to stay up curiously an hour late because I, like the lap top had fallen behind (except lap top and I were the only ones) and I kept thinking I had plenty of time to write/read/randomise when in fact I had an hour less.

But now, alas, we (my laptop and I) have fallen legitimately behind, right along with the rest of civilization, and for a few days at least I can pretend that it is 7 o'clock when I drag my lifeless self out of bed each morning at 6 o'clock (and maybe just maybe there will be a hint of sunlight in the sky for a week or so before the days get really really short) in order to send my children off to school which starts before any human should be even required to think, let alone perform basic hygiene maintenance and eat a good breakfast. (And to think, I used to be a morning person!) So, tonight I'll be nice and tired at the early hour of 10 (really 11) and I'll get a full 8 hours by sleeping til 6 (really 7) and tomorrow that work/school week will begin again, all a convenient hour late, and hopefully I can manage to get to it all, or should I say, get the kids to it all, on time and not my usual for the past week hour and ten minutes late.

Yay?

NaBloMeAGoodnightKiss

Speaking of dreams (not because you and I were speaking of dreams, but because I was just now talking about dreams on the phone with Boops) I have this recurring dream where I am living in an apartment (which I did my whole life until I was 36) it is the same apartment in every dream, and yet is not an apartment I have ever lived in or seen before, and I discover that there are whole sections of the apartment that are unused. Parts that I have never discovered and they are infinitely more interesting (sun filled, unusual shapes, architectural details, etc...) than the parts we are already using! But everyone is comfortable in the parts we have inhabited and no one wants to shift our lives into the new and better/way superior rooms that I just uncovered except me. So I try to figure out how I can slowly inch by inch move into the new space just a room at a time, which usually starts with changing into the new kitchen. I am no Freud, but, ummm pretty transparent dream isn't it? I can analyze that dream before I even wake up.

But there is another apartment dream that involves my old downstairs neighbor's apartment. It's pretty much the same thing where it turns out that she has all these undiscovered aspects of her apartment too, and I run around trying to make the most of all the theatrical treasures that I discover in her apartment. (like the huge auditorium or the outdoor path that stretched from one end of the block to the other) In the dream I try to tell the neighbor about the secret wonders of her apartment but she doesn't want to listen. I thought for the longest time that I was dreaming about this neighbor because once she mentioned that she used to hear me letting Matt "cry it out" and that she completely understood that I needed to teach him how to sleep. At the time I had no clue what she was talking about because I never let my babies cry. I always attended to my kids instantly and thought maybe she heard someone else crying. But one day I realized that what the downstairs neighbor had heard was baby Matt having night terrors. Most kids that get night terrors get them as toddlers but Matt got them as an infant and he would cry during the middle of the night in some kind of weird not sleeping or wakeful state for an hour or two until he fell into an exhausted sleep and woke up the next time completely regular. If I held him he cried and if I put him down he cried, there was absolutely no comforting him and when it stopped for the night it wasn't because of anything I was desperately trying to do it because Matt had most likely exhausted himself and passed out. But I can tell you that for every second of those dreadful night terrors I held and rocked and walked and cried right along with my not to be comforted baby. I never would have just left him there to cry all alone. But by the time I figured out what the neighbor had actually heard she had moved away and I never got to tell her that I thought crying babies needed to be held and loved and understood and not abandoned in cribs to "learn how to comfort themselves" which I don't agree with. And I always wondered of this neighbor ever had a baby and let her baby cry because she thought that was what I was doing.

NaBloItOutYourEarCancer!!

Dad went to the doctors yesterday to see if his cancer was responding to the oral chemo he has been taking. It's the one possibility that showed the most promise yet only had a 50/50 chance of working for him, and the answer is YES! What a great way to end an emotionally draining 2 weeks. In between laughing at any thought that I might have known what stress was during the first 42 years of my life I have decided to nap. Right now I'm crawling back to the couch.

NaBloGenderConfused

Evan: (thinking in a sing song kind of way) Pretty pretty I can be so pretty
Josh: WTF?!?

In yet another, cool guys aren't afraid to wear heels (and now I know lil sis's true shoe size!) moment, Evan decided that despite the not one but two different costumes he talked me into spending lots of cold hard cash for this fall, he wanted to go as a girl for halloween. Boops donated her old nursing dress, we had the wig from my own personal stint as Buttercup one year and lil sis donated the 3 inch heels. How clever is my frighteningly gorgeous (as a girl) 10 year old son? The real girls couldn't resist him all day. They spent their Halloween day coming up with girl names that fit Evan and also giving him hair and makeup tips. My personal tip would have been: no sweat socks with lil sis's 3 inch mules, but whatever... Very slick there son, very slick.

The above photo was taken on the way out the door in the morning. By the time Evan (Evelyn, Evana, Evanka) participated in his school's halloween parade at 2 o'clock he looked like a lady of the evening after a particularly gruelling shift. His wig was crooked and mussed, his eye makeup smeared and he was limping (all the while sashaying down the driveway) after not ever changing into the sneakers his mother made him bring to school for day time use.

Which didn't matter much anyway because Evanika passed out on the couch upon returning home from school to awake two hours later with 103.5 fever. Sadly, he was then quaranteened to the bedroom and did not participate in last night's national sugar binge. This year might go down as a Suckoween in Evana's book.

Josh didn't wear his Harry Potter outfit (including the over priced brand new robe, over priced glasses, over priced plastic wand, over priced broomstick, and something else, oh yeah, the ugly over priced diagonal striped tie) but instead opted for a more royal type day of glutonous paganism. It worked out well in the end because there were many Harry Potter's walking around Josh's school but there were no other kings, unless you counted one King Tut. Let's not count him, Okay?

Matt didn't wear the huge afro, sunglasses and bling he got at the costume store in September either. Instead, he went as Sanjaya. He had a pony-hawk.

The girls didn't respond to him the same way. It was anti-climactic. Next year I am going to get him a cheerleading outfit. (Just kidding!)

Since I was upstairs (my useless presence was absolutely required) tending to (breathing the same air as) poor sick (hopefully not contagious) Evan I asked the husband to turn off all 43 of the voice and motion activated halloween devices which decorate our front porch each year. Not knowing where the (oh so tricky they are pratically child proof) off buttons are located (Uh, on the back maybe?) he instead brought each device inside, which was fine through the night while the devil dog was in her crate, but once I let her loose this morning there was some kind of ghoulish commotion coming from the living room and the box of voice and motion activated devices. I had a grandma's rehab roommate flashback. shivers. Then I turned all of power switched to"OFF" and joined Evan for his (and my desperately needed) day of couch vegetating. He is still sick, but I feel much better.