How soon is too soon for Halloween?

Does anyone else remember the days when we didn't start shopping for a holiday until the month it was in? School supplies were pulled the first week of September, and the Halloween candy has been taunting me ever since. (Damn you, candy corn!) We still have more than a month until the day actually arrives! Do you really think I could keep a bag of candy in the house until then? Pfft. Even if I didn't have kids, that would take an act of God. And who needs to buy those flimsy pre-made pieces of crap costumes this early?

I think that is the part of modern day Halloween that depresses me the most. It feels like we plan and plot so much earlier for Halloween, and yet we use a fraction of the imagination and ingenuity that I remember from childhood. It's all store bought. It's not so much that people didn't plan for Halloween this early when I was younger, it's that they worked hard for the reactions they got. Peeling grapes for fake eyeballs is a labor of love, no doubt about it.

My mom was never a big Halloween fan, and yet she came up with some great ideas - usually on the fly and costing very little money. My younger sister went as a gangster one year - Al Capone style - in our brother's suit, an old felt hat, and some artfully applied make up for a mustache and five o'clock shadow. The baby in the family (there are 19 cousins on mom's side, and most of us wore this at least once) wore the green sleeper pajamas with pom poms sewn on the front and a goofy clown wig to keep their head warm. The plastic bowler hat got passed around too, to be worn with a white sheet and painted white face. What's wrong with being a ghost?

Freakin' loved these costumes

My family is not the only people that I remember being inventive with costumes. One mom made herself into a Hersey's Kiss with some wire and aluminum foil. A high school buddy wore a dark ankle length robe with a hood. He'd be at the front of the line as a monk, then pull the hood up as he went to the back of the pack, grab his scythe from a friend and take up the rear guard as Death. (Ah, Darbro, you will forever be my Halloween Hero.) What happened to that kind of adventure?

When did Halloween become about pimping your kid's favorite tv show? Or dressing like you have a pimp? I like to dress up, I like to look sexy, but seriously, can we please have some women's costumes that don't look they belong at Hef's house? October in Chicago is not the time to be wandering around half naked.

My sister is the Halloween fanatic of the family, and she plans the outfits every year. They are always fabulous, even if most of them are store bought. She finds ways to make them unique. I acknowledge that the days of strictly homemade costumes are gone. However, this is the first year we have done anything affiliated with anything famous. In honor of my oldest finally discovering that books are better than movies, we are doing a Harry Potter theme.




Can't you just see her poppin' Draco in the face?

 Abby girl will make a perfect Hermione - she's got the wavy hair and know-it-all attitude down to a T. John is excited to don the glasses and scar of Harry. We may even darken his hair for the day. We are buying robes, but sewing on the patches. I'm knitting the scarves, thanks to Charmed Knits. I'm also making some really awesome wand cozies for them to carry their wands around. If I can find the time.what was I saying about it being too early to plan for Halloween...

Just started yesterday. Any bets on if I'll finish in time?

Thank you for SPEAKing out

I've watched the posts fly through the 'net about the idiot who wants to ban the book SPEAK. And I've retweeted, and shared on facebook some of the blogs that are shouting him down.

I've tried about a dozen times now to add my voice to this chorus, and words are failing me.

I am a rape survivor.

It's a fact that some of my family members are not even aware of. They don't read this, that I am aware of, and if they do...I'm sorry that this is the way you are finding out. It's been a long time since it happened, and there's no easy way to bring up the topic.

There's never a good way or time to bring up the topic, to tell someone what happened. You feel so alone, so ashamed, so afraid. Books like SPEAK are a lifeline, especially to the teens that go through this. So thank you, to all of you who are speaking out, who are finding the words that I can't.

Bea's Book Nook
Jackie Kessler
Sarah Ockler
Raven Ashley
Alison's Bookmarks
Mad Woman in the Forest

I know there are so many others out there that are helping and talking. You have my gratitude and my admiration. Thank you so much.

Why is the rum gone?

I love Talk Like a Pirate Day. From silly sea shanties to funny outfits, it's just pure fun. If you've never partook of the the festivities, you should check out the website: International Talk like a Pirate Day

And just to add to it all, don't forget that that it's also Hermione Granger's birthday. The wonderful Tom Smith even wrote a perfect song to combine the two events. Hey, it's Can(non) is a stitch to listen to.
Tom Smith Online - Free songs I wish I could provide a better link. It's on the list.

In the meantime, I hope you like the flash fic in honor of the day:


Raising Pirates

Sitting at the desk in her cubby hole of a home office, desperate to finish her piece before the deadline, Annie attempted to tune out the raucous group of hooligans terrorizing the house. The repeated and irregular thump of 14 year old Jack’s basketball against the shared wall reminded her of cannon volleys. It warred with the drum beat from William’s Caribbean music as the 18 year old tried to hide the prohibited presence of his giggling girlfriend. Sam and his friend Paul were again tearing apart the living room to build forts, stashing their treasures in odd places, and swearing vengeance on invisible foes who would steal their riches, as only 10 year olds can.

Annie sighed, checked the time, and weighed her options. Was it worth it to round up the ruffians and make them mind? After a moment, she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a bottle.

“This, my friends, is why the rum is gone.”

New routines

I have always loved the start of school. The new supplies, the change in weather, the return to familiar routines, with the promise of new discoveries. Getting the kids back on a routine has been fairly easy. But this year, I'm struggling with my own. None of my classes are at the same time, so everyday runs very differently. Hubby's schedule changes from day to day as well, which also throws me for a loop. I'm always forgetting which days he goes in late, and he often decides last minute to stay late on the days he goes in early. So I'm three weeks into the school year, and it all still feels brand new.

In addition to a full load of classes, several sewing projects, two kids, and two cats, I've added writing and blogging to the mix. And am loving it! But I'm now looking for a way to keep on task. I have a shiny new schedule/calendar, courtesy of my university, a white board that the we never use anymore (gotta get some more markers) and zero good habits about checking things once I write them down.

I don't have a cell phone, but a rarely go anywhere without my laptop, so I really ought to set up something on here. Any calendar/schedule programs that people can recommend?

Reminiscing

My grandmother passed away 3 years ago this month. It's not the only reason I associate this time of year with her, and certainly not the best. She was a reserved person, not afraid to speak her mind, but who believed her actions said it all. She fostered my love of good books and homebaked goodies.

In honor of Marian Jean.

Reminiscing

My daughter’s chin rests on the table as she watches me slice the peeled apples. I smile down at her and remember watching you.

The crisp of the knife sliding through the apple’ flesh releases its tart scent. The chopping rhythm reminiscent of a metronome. Setting the pace for the masterpiece being created. I snack on crunchy peels as you scoop up the slices and deposit them in the big bowl. Quick, deft movements as you measure out the sugar, flour, grate the fresh nutmeg and the spicy cinnamon. The confident dash of ginger added to the mix. Kneeling on the chair, I listen to your soft instructions as you ‘help’ me coat the apples.

Her hands seem so small, and I wonder if you thought the same thing, all those years ago. Together we flip the slices over and over in the goopy mess, laughing when a pocket of still dry mixture flies up at us. Her exuberance delights me. I can’t remember why I hadn’t taught her this before.

I play with patterns, laying the apple wedges one way and then another, changing with each new ring. In the center, you show me how to lay one over the other making a heart. Every pie is made with love.

The top crust is rolled out, and she stops me for a moment. Having shown her the same trick with the slices, my impulsive little one wants to expand the theme. Bolting for the cabinet, leaving flour finger prints along the way, she triumphantly pulls out the cookie cutters. The little heart, too small for cookies, has never been used. It makes perfect vents in the dough. She is so proud. I can just imagine your amusement at her.

The kitchen is warm and filled with the mouthwatering smell of fresh baked pie. You crack the window to let in the cool air, bringing in the smell of fallen leaves and sending out the aroma of apples and cinnamon to those clearing the yard. The two swirl together, the perfect fall memory.

The boys clamor in, taking a break from yard work to beg for a snack. My daughter’s braids flail as she jumps, pleased as punch to see her father and brother’s reaction to what we’ve made. I grab the plates and forks as she chatters at them about all she accomplished this afternoon. I listen as the banter slowly turns to praise as everyone digs in. I look at my piece, and smile at the perfect heart in the crust. I have no memory of you ever telling me “I love you.” But I know that you did.

A very big thank you to Danielle who got me hooked on writing these, and helps me edit them!

Who told them they could grow up?

So, Abby's ready for earrings, and John...well John has discovered girls. Not that he didn't know they were there before. He came home with his first set of digits (phone numbers, people, not fingers!) when he was five. From a girl 2 years older than him. But I'm fairly certain he didn't ask for them. Something about big blue eyes with the kind of lashes that most women pay good money for seem to garner him attention. Not that he notices. Noticed. Now things have changed.

I'm jealous of those lashes!

So this week, I had a moment of panic, when he was 30 minutes late getting home from school. This is the first year he's gone to a school close enough for him to walk home. And he's old enough to want to walk without his mother. *gently dabs the tears away*  I get in the car, drive as far as the corner of our street, and there he is. Skipping. Grinning. Blushing bright red. I am relieved. Happy to see him. Mad that he is so frakkin' happy when he is in so much trouble.

After thoroughly startling the grin off his face, and telling him he needs to come straight home, I asked him just what kept him so long. And the grin sneaks back. He walked a girl home. One he's known since kindergarten, and who's had a crush on him for about as long. She lives closer to the school than we do, and in the opposite direction. But her mother didn't come to walk her home. Somehow that was brought to John's attention, and he just couldn't let her go by herself. Walking her home was the gentlemanly thing to do. And they aren't in the same class, or have the same recess...they miss each other. *facepalm* I am not ready for this.

Now it's not like I haven't had clues. He pretends to not watch anything that has to do with kissing. In a protest too much kind of way. And at fireworks this summer, he was pretending the explosions were alien missiles, along with a few kids near us. When I told them to settle down and watch the show, he inched next to one of the girls. A moment later came the most startling thing I could have heard. "Y'know, if the aliens are coming, we should be prepared for the worst. Or at least hold hands."
O_o
Excuse me?
I don't know what's worse. Hearing that from my 9 year old, or the fact that it WORKED! Someone needs to talk to that girl. I have to deal with Cassanova. I prefer the days of unasked for phone numbers.

Hope

Eyes closed, I feel the world blurring around me. The wind cools and caresses my skin. Gravity has no meaning. I soar; I fly, I escape the world below. I open my eyes and savor the sight of the sky rushing to meet me, and the transitory sorrow when it recedes.

The smell of fresh cut grass, leaves wet from last night’s rain, even the tang of weather roughened metal chains take me into a timeless moment. One that never changes, regardless of my age. I lean back, legs and arms stretched to help my body slice through the air, striving to get higher, go faster.

I believe I can launch myself into the clouds if only I gather enough speed. I pull my limbs in, protecting myself from the disappointment of sliding back toward the earth, only to fling them out again. Hope springs eternal. Maybe this time I can reach the heavens, dance with angels and lost loved ones among the gloriously lit swirls floating across the skies.

I retreat from my goal one last time, determined to reach my destination. The swing hits its pinnacle and I let go. My body soars upward and stops. For a split second I hang there. My arms windmill, hands reaching for something to pull myself closer to the clouds.

The fall is heartbreaking. Frightening. Exhilarating. I land in a crouch, softening the impact. My hands dig into the damp dirt, releasing its earthy scent, the spongy feel of it brings me back to the present. The chain creaks as the empty swing twists. I close my eyes and I can feel the world slowing around me.