The best parts...

I was tidying up the kitchen during the quiet hour just before bedtime. Lily breezed by, engrossed in another episode of her daily adventures throughout the house, presumably squeezing every last ounce of life out of an already busy day. I stopped for a moment and scooped up her yummy-ness, just as if she were a baby (yesterday in my mind). I nuzzled my face into the nape of her little neck, inhaled a deep breath of her perfection and whispered closely into her ear,

"You make me so happy.
Did you know that?"

She looked up at me, and for a brief moment I was locked into those pretty little eyes, peering into her hazely greens. She smiled a genuinely Lily Lu smile at me and whispered - oh so softly - back,

"Yeah."




"Good."

Oops.

My Mom has been known to tell me, in her kind - motherly - way, "Dear, you are just being a little too intense." It's a politically correct substitute for the following adjectives: out-of-control, overly dramatic, angry, tyrannical, perfectionistic, exaggerative (not the deceitful type - but more so that I take situations to mean more than they really do).

As much as I hate to admit it, oh boy, is she right.
Case in point:
Halloween night.

We all happily headed out trick-or-treating. In an effort to not be just another house with their porch lights turned OFF, I left my lovely woven pumpkin basket stuffed with candy on the porch with the lights on for fellow trick-or-treaters. It just didn't feel right to go around the neighborhood begging for candy without returning the favor. Even if that did mean that the little ghouls would be shoveling more than one piece into their sacks. Happy Halloween, world. Good world, full of happy children parading down the streets in a safe and sound neighborhood.

Later at Gigi's spookfest party, Lily came up and explained that she had a bad tummy-ache. She was pale, and obviously about to vomit. I sat with her on the floor of the bathroom, waiting. I began to panic....is this the candy poisoning discussed in my third grade Halloween safety pamplet? I didn't check the wrapper before she ate candy? Is it cyanide...cyanide is lethal?! Maybe we should call the cops. Or rush to the emergency room. Why wait? Why wait for her to begin vomiting and convulsing with her eyes rolling into the back of her head before we take her to a doctor, only to be told if we had only caught it sooner she may have survived?!!?!
She tooted (we don't say "fart" in our house - we're what you might call a "classy" bunch) a couple of times and explained she felt much better. That was the end of that.

We arrived home later to find that the trick-or-treaters had not only taken all of the candy, but stolen my PRIZED PUMPKIN BASKET too, along with the rest of the pumpkins on our porch. I began lamenting to Tyler immediately, "I TRIED TO BE A GOOD CITIZEN...I TRIED TO BE A FRIENDLY NEIGHBOR...AND HOW DO I GET REPAID?!!! THEY STOLE MY PUMPKIN BASKET?!!! MY WONDERFUL WOVEN, BURNT ORANGE PUMPKIN BASKET!!!! IS THERE NO DECENCYYYYYYYY LEFT IN THIS WORLDDDDDDDDDDDD!? TAKE ALL THE REAL PUMPKINS, ALL THE CANDY - THAT IS FINE - BUT WHY MY BASKET?!!!"

It was 9pm, I was obviously a little tired. (Operating on what I call "mother time". When you are a mother your perspective on "late" hours and "dangerous" hours shifts dramatically. I used to feel like 1:30-2:30am marked the "late" hours of the night, the hours when bad things can happen. Now that hour begins somewhere around 8:30pm in the summer hours, and 7:15pm during winter. For example, since the daylight change, I begin feeling very afraid wheeling my cart out of a grocery store around 6:57pm.)

Tyler and I put the girls to bed and began watching a movie. I walked into the kitchen to grab a drink, when I heard something out our front window. I peered through the slats of our blinds, and saw a dark, black VW bug sitting in front of our neighbor's house with a teenage boy standing outside the passenger door. Down the street, a few other boys appeared to be throwing something at a house. This is it, I've had it. First, my daughter barely escapes being poisoned, then my pumpkins and pumpkin basket are STOLEN....and now my neigborhood's safety is threatened before my very eyes. It is 10:15pm, and under the cover of night our very own homes are now being compromised....

I'd like to claim that what happened next was a Halloween invasion of an evil spirit entering my body, but I fear I remember the details too vividly:

I threw open the door and marched out into the night. I halted and abruptly called out:

"Do you have my pumpkin?"

The boy turned around, facing me. He didn't say anything.

"You heard me. Do. You. Have. My. PUMPKIN.?"
DO YOU HAVE MY PUMPKIN?

If it wasn't so dark, I'm sure I would have seen a face of total bewilderment from the boy, looking at the crazy lady screaming accusingly about her pumpkins. The other boys down the street turned and started walking back towards their car, slowly. Angered at the lack of response, and the obvious vandalism I assumed was occurring, I began screaming:

"Get you ASSES out of here. GET OUT OF HERE!!!!!! GET. OUT. OF HERE NOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!

"Get out of here! Get out of here! Get out of here!"

They continued their moderate pace back to their car. One boy finally broke their silence and simply muttered, "Whoa there, turbo."

"Oh yeah?! You wanna see turbo?.. wait till I get my GUN...YOU BIG BUNCH OF WUSSIES IN YOUR LITTLE BLACK BUG! GET OUT OF HERE!!!! GET OUT OF HERE!!"

And with that, they drove away. I returned to our bedroom where Tyler was still watching television (too far away from me to hear what was really going on). He asked what I was doing. I explained what had just occurred.

"Are you kidding me? You threatened a bunch of teenage boys with a gun?"

He was angry. Very angry.

"Well, um, ,yeah. But I wasn't really going to get it, and if I did I only planned on doing that little "chuck chuck" sound when you, you know, do that thing before you shoot it."

"See...this is what I mean! I CANNOT BELIEVE you threatened a GUN?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW DANGEROUS THAT IS?! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE WORD IS FOR THE LITTLE "chuck chuck" SOUND...it's called PUMPING the gun!!!

"But I was angry and trying to keep the neighborhood safe."

"From a bunch of teenage boys at 10pm???!"

Uh oh. Oh no. He was right (and by default, once again - so was my Mother). Another classic case of me "overreacting". I went to the garage, got in my car and drove down the street to the house they were throwing stuff at. I shined my car lights and noticed toilet paper laced throughout their yard. Great, just great. Flippin fantastic. I had just unleashed all kinds of crazy on a bunch of poor kids toilet papering on Halloween for fun. They were probably Mormon too (as evidenced by their response to me that didn't include any swear words and the relatively early time at which the toilet papering was occurring - before the 11pm curfew when they'd return safely to their homes for a little of Mom's special Halloween rice crispy treats).

Oh, what have I done?!!!! I should have been encouraging them! Toilet papering is the perfect Mormon substitution for the male release of testosterone through underage drinking and illicit sex. I should have applauded them, and offered more pumpkins to smash. That's it boys, release the need for aggression and teen violence, smash those pumpkins! Release the toilet paper! Allow the paper to unroll all over the rooftop, eliminating your desires for non-virgin status...Release! Release!

I was upset. I still am. Tyler later noticed how upset I was over my behavior. He cut me a break and told me to forget about it and come watch the movie. But I can't. I wish I could find those boys. I wish I could apologize in person. I wish I wasn't so intense. I've got to stop flying off the handle.

I promise, I'm really going to work on it. In the meantime, does anyone know any teenage boys in the area who drive a black VW bug? If so, there is one sorrowful mother who would like to make them a big plate of Rice crispy treats and provide them with at least one perfect home to toilet paper.

To you...

Happy Halloween!

Luv,

Lon-tildy the Witch

&

Lily-Lu the Ladybug

(On their way to the church Halloween party - we didn't forget to dress up this time.)

Missed the Memo: A Horror Story

We arrived at story-time five minutes early (a miracle for me). I've purposefully been trying out my new theory on "rushing". Every time I am in a rush to get somewhere, I can just feel the tension and negative energy transferring to my girls. They begin acting outrageously, finding every possible way to thwart any progress being made on getting out the door on time, thus leading to more intensive rushing and absurd behavior (I think I've even been known to respond to my daughter's request for baby Cinderella - the 80th request of the exit routine- with, "She's dead. Now get in your carseat.")
Before I know it I have a headache, we've made it nowhere on-time, and I've acted like a monster of a mother with two mini-monsters for children. It all starts with me. It must stop. So, I make a conscious effort to walk meekly around our home, casually picking up toys and giving my children gentle nudges towards the door.

"Come along, darlings," I sweetly coax.
The whole morning ended up being very pleasant. We breezed out the door, and I was once affirmed in another theory I've been developing: the "I am a good mother" theory.

Until we arrived at storytime. We found ourselves instantly swarmed with little costumed Tinkerbells, Fairies, Sharks, Spiderman(s), Ponies, Chickens, and one Strawberry Shortcake. My children stood there, holding hands - in their old navy sweatpants - surveying the giggling children decked out for a

Very Special Halloween storytime.

I was confused. It took me a moment to process the bombarding stimuli in every direction, and the sobering reality that am a horrible mother.

"Girls, I'm so sorry...I didn't know we were supposed to dress up."

Lily looked up at me with sad, distraught eyes.

"Oh, come on, Lu...you don't want to be like that lame little ladybug over there. Just look at her costume. It's ridiculous and ill-fitting. If I didn't know any better I would have guessed she was a beetle. Really. And look at that chicken. Who wants to be a chicken for Halloween anyways? Her Mom must not even like her..."

I was at a loss to explain Strawberry Shortcake. Nobody could deny the splendor that was the 9 pounds of pink toule Strawberry Shortcake. I hung my head and moved towards the back of the room. I scanned the crowd, hoping to find other pathetic mothers like myself. No such luck. My gaze briefly halted, catching a woman eyeing London up and down, with a squint, as if trying to figure out her ensemble with her insinuating stare and crooked smile, "Oh...Hi, poor little girl, what might you be? Where is your mother? Do you have a mother? Is she a part of a fundamentalist religious sect?"
She's the younger sister of the older sister who are both not dressed up but instead wearing the exact same outfit due to their mother's matching fetish. Booooo. Creeeepy, isn't it? So stop staring at my kid before you get a candy corn shoved .... ..... .....

I did find a Grandpa with his grandson in regular playclothes. But Grandpa's are always clueless about these things. It's their job.

We still ended up having a good time, trick-or-treating around the library and singing Halloween songs.

This in spite of the fact that, as spooky as it may seem, I am the sole winner of the
Big, Bad, Halloween-Reject-Mother of the year award.

Quit Day.

Do you ever have Quit Days?

A day devoted to quitting whatever it is you have going on.

I am lucky enough to get them every now and then. Usually Tyler, or my mother, takes over and I get a few hours (and sometimes an entire day) to quit.

( Sidenote: I remember when my Mom used to take those occasional days. Tired from the exhausting insanity of raising her eight kids and running a business with my Dad, she would look around our messy house and sigh, "I wish I could have a good fairy come and help me."
Sarah and I would usually catch the hint, and went about excitedly cleaning the house while she took a nap. We couldn't wait for her to wake up and see the results of our sneaky labor. She would come down the stairs later and squeal and act surprised, "OH! My good fairies came!".)

It is on theses days that I just quit everything. Motherhood, house-cleaning, self-maintenance (and grooming - eeww), reading, writing/blogging, phone chatting, school-work, church activities, working, catching up.

And I sleep.

I am fantasizing about excessive, gluttonous, guilt-inducing, intoxicating sleep at this moment. The type of sleep when you occasionally awaken only to read a few more chapters in your favorite book, make yourself a big plate of gooey nachos, and fall back asleep. I've been dreaming about this since sometime yesterday afternoon. Wrapped in the comfort of my white sheets and cushy down comforter.....aaaahhhhh.

Only Tyler is at work, and I can't get a hold of my mom.

Mom, where are you?!!!?

Help! I need a good fairy.

P.s...It is now 7:30pm (6 hours after original post). My fairy came earlier. I finished my book. Thanks Mom, what would I (or have I ever done) without you?.

Yeee haaw

Lily constantly talks about "choo choo trwain wides" as of late. So we decided: what could be better than a trip to the Wild Wild West to experience a first train ride?!

And a real life stagecoach ride?!(Pulled by real horses, just like out of a Well's Fargo ad - shooting down the dirt hills and around the town...ok....the ride lasted only 3 minutes and was 12 lousy bucks per person: worth every penny. I told Tyler I was willing to spend up to $100 for at least 45 seconds of such adventure. Have I ever told you, in addition to desiring to be a medieval princess, that I've always wanted to be a pioneer too?)

Just look at these faces...

My life's dream, fullfilled (well, one of them):

Later, we finished off with a cozy lunch in a cafe in the back of an old saloon. We sat on the balcony, eating under a warm heater and enjoyed the crisp fall weather in the old ghost town of Virginia City. It was a goooood day.

This Little Child of Mine...

She snuck her favorite blankee into the bath today.



She climbs out of the crib now. It started two days ago.

It is a terrible day for any mother: the day they learn to escape prison. The day it first happened, I had put her down for a nap, was finishing dishes in the kitchen when out of nowhere she suddenly appeared. I stared, in horrified disbelief. How did you get here? Nooo, nooo, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooo!

I found her a total of SIX times tonight after I had tucked her into bed, out in front of the television. Tyler was at class, and I turned out all of the lights and locked myself in my room in an effort to curb her desire to get out of bed. What good is escaping bed if the house is dark?
Naaa naaa naaah, that didn't deter this child. She knows how to turn on the hall light. Walks down the hall, turns on the television, and plops herself down with her bottle.

She was watching Jon Stewart re-runs each time I found her (she still can't work the controller).

I would hear the buzz of the television, exhaustively pull myself away from my book and bed and head down the hall. Pick her up, tell her "No.", and put her back to bed. Six times.

And yet it still makes me want to eat her up all the more.

*Photography courtesy of Lily during our spontaneous photo shoot the other day.