Halloween

It is that time of year again where it is socially acceptable to dress up as the un-dead and frighten small children while simultaneously freely contributing to the growing "obesity crisis" by handing out tons of diabetes-inducing, teeth-rotting, conveniently packaged sweets.  AKA, Halloween.

I keep hearing that Americans are increasingly spending more and more time, money, and effort on Halloween.  That it may soon one day surpass Christmas as the "BIG" holiday.  That Halloween is FUN!  And EXCITING!

Yeah, I don't get into it.  Big shocker there, right?  I have never followed what the rest of the general public does.  Not on purpose; it just kinda always ends up being like that.  I would take pride in this fact, except for it makes my life a PITA sometimes.

I tried to figure out why I am not so much into Halloween.  I briefly considered the idea that as a child, dressing up and pretending to be something scary was just as bad as my own fucked-up reality...so I did not need the escape the way others might.  That was too depressing to contemplate, so maybe it was the fact that I have never been into scary stuff.  I much prefer to see a comedy or even a drama than a horror flick.  But Halloween does not necessarily have to be scary (though it often is...) so I discarded that idea as well.

I finally just decided it was not my thing.  I take my kids out to trick or treat; we decorate (though that is mostly by Elizabeth's insistence); I go to a friend's annual Halloween party.  I am just kinda "eh" about it. 

Maybe some day I will come around.  Happy Halloween anyways!

Conversations VI

At the doctor's office, with Elizabeth in that little paper gown:

E:  Look Mom!  I am a transformer!

Me:  What, are you going to turn into a car now?

E:  (Rolls eyes) No Mom.  You have to turn into something that is, like, the same species!  Like a fawn!  Or a rabbit!

Me:  WTF?  (Yes, I probably actually said WTF.  Parent of the year I am not.)  A fawn?  Out of all of the animals that you could have chosen...you say fawn?

E:  Well, they are kinda the same color as we are...light tan-ish.  If we were talking about Charlie or my dad, it would have to be something really white.

Conversations V

Talking about Charlie:
Me: Unfortunately, Charlie has my T-rex arms and Charles's thighs.

Charles:  Well, she has my strength though...

Me:  Yeah, I have no upper body strength...

Elizabeth:  Yeah, she is gonna be like a cobra (takes her hand and arm, bends it to look like a snake head, then makes it "strike").


Elizabeth, reading what I just wrote:

E:  You have a blog?

Me: Yes, I have a blog.  There is a link on my Facebook page...I write about you a lot.

E:  Is it because I am hilarious?

Me:  Suuuuuuuuure......

Multi-tasking

So as I sit here tonight typing this there are no less than 4 additional tabs open on my web browser.  Grand total: 5.

I have never been able to just sit and watch TV.  I am usually sitting and crocheting, sitting and folding laundry, sitting and catching up on paperwork from work, etc., etc..

I tried this morning, while brushing my teeth, to weigh myself.  I got really pissed when the scale gave me an error message because I was wiggling too much while brushing.  Apparently I put a bit of booty into my brushing...

I frequently eat my lunch while driving.  I am embarrassed to admit this, but I am really good at eating yogurt and going 65+ on the highway.  I don't do this during rush hour though (like that makes it any better...)

I have been known to read mail and cook dinner at the same time.

Springing off my last post here I guess.  Is it any wonder I constantly feel like life is a race that I can't win?  Like I am always second best somehow because I can't do as many things at once as I want to?    What the hell am I afraid is going to happen if I just slow down and RELAX for a minute?

I have always made things hard for myself.  My chosen career, my political beliefs, my religious beliefs, my style of parenting...all at one point or another in my life have come under fire in a major way.  Perhaps my need to prove to people that I am not worthless, my conditioned by society response to prove to the privileged class that I can pull myself up by the bootstraps (which ironically is never good enough for them...) is the driving force behind my inability to just do one thing at a time.

Or maybe my meds need adjusted. 

Sandwiches

There are two tasks that I truly dislike.  One is folding laundry, as evidenced by the current mounds that occupy a good portion of my basement (and most likely my dryer as well.  I could happily live forever out of my laundry baskets.  Folding laundry just seems to me to be an exercise in futility.  I seriously feel like that hamster running frantically on its wheel.  You never get anywhere, you know...)

The other is making sandwiches for lunches.  Elizabeth is old enough that and apparently cool enough that I dare not taint her lunch with my unholy, un-cool hands.  She packs her own shit.  I am also a bad wife and make Charles pack his.  This leaves Charlie and Alexis. 

Charlie is still young enough that she pretty much has no say in what she eats.  She gets sent to daycare with leftovers.  Alexis, however, has been corrupted by that oh so powerful force known as children her age and long ago dug her heels in on the leftover thing.  She now demands a sandwich for lunch.  The nerve, I tell you...I think I need to remind her of the hell that was her labor and delivery...

I really don't know why I dislike this task so.  I could possibly blame it on her wanting a PB&J, the most labor intensive of the sandwiches.  You have to get the correct ratio of the PB to the J, then spreading out the jelly...and those little fucking globs that JUST WON'T SPREAD....then there is the whole don't taint the PB with the J or vice versa; so really you HAVE to use two utensils to make it.  Is there any greater sandwich snobbery than having  to use TWO utensils?  I think not.  Then you have to use the nifty little cutter thingy that I have that removes the crusts (BECAUSE GOD FORBID THERE BE DARK BROWN CRAP AROUND THE EDGES, MOTHER!!!) and cuts it diagonally for you...bringing the total utensil usage up to THREE.  It gets very stressful.  Though I do admit that sometimes I exploit my child's distaste for dark brown crap and buy multi-grain bread.  Whatcha gonna do now, huh?  That entire bitch is dark brown!

At any rate, it is not her desire for the childhood classic as I hated it when she wanted bologna, when she wanted salami, when she wanted turkey.  I just hate making sandwiches.  Maybe it's because I don't eat them really myself.  Maybe it is somehow related to how often my mother did or did not hug me as a child.  I really don't fucking know, or care.  I am sure there is some grand symbolic meaning behind my reluctance to engage in all activities sandwich-making, but the internets haz funny videos made by funny peeps, so...

I delegated for a while.  I asked Charles to make it for me.  Not sure he really understood why, but he lives with me and usually does not pretend to fully understand me, so he went with it.  Then it just got to the point where I just started to do it.

Herein lies the problem. I think every working mother struggles with this very thing.  I just make all of the lunches at once, and if Charles is not readily available I just do it instead of waiting.  I am just too busy in my mind to wait.  Hell, I try thinking of ways to multi-task while brushing my teeth.  I am at the point to where I would try to pay bills during sex if I thought my husband would let me.

When did I get to the point where slowing down and waiting a minute became a sin?  What am I running from?  And how does this interrelate with some of what is going on  in my life now?  All very worthy questions I need to ask myself.

So much for not analyzing.