We Don't Need No Stinking Halloween Decorations

Is there a position open for the Scrooge of Halloween? Because I'd like to apply.

Could everyone just stop it already with the Halloween decorations already?

The writing was on the wall when we had that week of summer-like weather spanning two weekends. People had their ladders out, stringing skeleton lights, hoisting hay bales onto their perfect front porches, balancing plump orange pumpkins on their front railings and placing mums in terra cotta pots on the steps. You know the ones. Those flowers that look so perfect that they look suspiciously artificial. And don't get me started on those little witches who look like they rode their broom right into a neighbor's fence and flattened themselves.


Don't forget the fake headstones with the pithy epitaphs:

Here Lies a man named Blake. He was bitten by his own pet snake.

I told you I was sick. 

Ben Dismembered. May he rest in pieces. 

Here Lies Mr. Jones. Now he's just a bag of bones.

I knew my kids would start in begging.

"Can we get some decorations?"

(No)

"Can we?"

(No)

"Can we? Pleeeeeeeeese?"

(Nooooooooo)

That's why I snapped this picture of the lamp just outside our back door:

 

"Here!" I yelled triumphantly, holding up my phone so they could see the picture. "This just proves that we have Halloween spirit!"

They gave me blank stares. Were they mocking me, or were they just glazed over from video games? I couldn't tell.

"Mom, that's not a decoration. That's a lamp."

"Ahhh, but the cobwebs!" Look at those! Those aren't your everyday big-box variety cobwebs made of polyester and nylon. Those are the real deal! There are even dead bugs in them!"

They just stared at me, incredulous. Yep, their mother had finally lost her marbles. I think one of them rolled their eyes—just a little bit. I heard an almost inaudible sigh.

Sometimes, my kids don't get my humor.

Sorry kids. There will be no inflatable Frankenstein in front of this house this year. Probably not next year, either.

And slaying perfectly good vegetables for Jack-o-Lanterns so squirrels can nibble and adolescents can smash them to smithereens? Don't get me started. That's a huge waste of a perfectly good pie.

No, sir. We're in a recession. Waste not, want not. A penny saved is a … well, you know the rest.

With this, I nominate myself as Scrooge of Halloween. I'll be the mean lady passing out kale chips and pencils to the Trick-or-Treaters.

Boo Humbug!

Breaking Up With Myself

I've been watching old episodes of "Seinfeld" with my kids (what a relief to find that my kids not only "get" the humor, but they love it!). I came across the episode entitled "The Dog" (Episode 21, Season 4, airdate: October 9, 1991) in which Kramer breaks up (or tries to) with his girlfriend, only to desperately beg to be taken back later.

How familiar is Kramer's voice, when he says, "Look at you! Why don't you do something with your life? You sit around here all day, you contribute nothing to society! You're just taking up space!"

 

Every time I see this episode, it strikes me how I've heard those words before; but they're not from a nasty break-up I've had in my past. They're my own voice, my inner admonishment to myself. Being a stay-at-home mom feels a lot like running in place, like a hamster in one of those exercise wheels. I don't get much done, so the Go-Getter Me tells Stay-At-Home Me, "What have you done all day? The house looks like a warzone, your to-do list only has a few things crossed off! You've contributed nothing to society!!"

The Stay-At-Home Me usually answers back: "You wanted this life! You wanted to stay home with your kids! I'm here so I can see all the milestones, and referee all the fights. I can administer the time-outs, apply the band-aids, kiss warm foreheads and help with homework. This isn't a glamorous life, but hopefully in a couple more decades, when my kids are independent, strong and compassionate, I can look back and know I had some small part in who they are."

And that's when Go-Getter Me, much like Kramer, brow furled, arms outstretched says, "I'm sorry! I take it all back! I love youuuuuuuuuuuu."

We break up, then we make up. And then we both get right back onto the hamster wheel and try to figure out what we're meant to do in this life.

Walk and Roll (or Roll Outta Bed and Drive) Day

It's International Walk and Roll Day (hint: I drove)

To all the mothers and fathers who dutifully walked their kids to school this morning for International Walk to School Day today:

You're welcome.

You can smugly feel confident today in your superior parenting skills today. It was a beautiful, sunny fall day, and you successfully got your children out of bed, dressed and fed before walking to school to arrive—on time—to the 8:15 a.m. Walk to School Day Rally on the neatly manicured lawn of the elementary school.

I didn't.

I was the one you saw speeding past you in my gas-guzzling mini-van (which is long overdue for an oil change) pushing my kids out the passenger door so that they made it to their classroom before the tardy bell rang. (They did, but only by a hair.)

I rolled my window down so I could hear the strains of  The Four Seasons singing "Walk Like a Man" coming from the speakers set up next to where the principal was standing. I saw heads whip around to watch me drive past the celebration about … not driving.

I waved like the Queen. Look at me, look at me! I drove my kids to school on Walk to School Day! Look! My dog is riding in the front seat with me. I don't even walk my dog!

Special thanks to my kids who didn't give me any grief about driving today. They've figured out long ago that Mommy isn't a morning person. They just clicked their seat belts and said, "Well Mom, there's always next year."