Be A Meany For Halloweenie :)

Halloween has always been a magical time for me. As a child, it meant dressing up and becoming my dearest heart's desire. My sister and I always had the best Halloween costumes. Whatever I wanted to be was within my grasp. Every year we’d load into the car and take the winding roaded trek to our local Sprouse Ritz.

Once there, we would comb through fabrics until we found just the right ones. Pink laces and silky satins to make the perfect princess dress, or the right color blue stretch cotton that would transform my sister into the beautiful Smurfette.

The hours my mother spent huddled over her sewing machine, turning ordinary materials into puffed sleeves and hooped skirts. It was pure magic.

This is a tradition I’ve tried very hard to pass down to my own child, but alas, no matter what, the boy seems to only want to be one thing. That one thing turns out to be anything wearing a sweatsuit.

It started out quite perfectly. At age zero, I toted him around in an adorable Superman outfit that I had created out of a sleeper set, and I fashioned a cape and superman stenciled bib over the top. It was genius and he was warmly content as I carried him around trick-or-treating (hey you have to start early).

The next year, coincidentally, Aydin wore an army sweatsuit with dog tags and went as a little soldier like his dad. That sweatsuit was the beginning and the end of my Halloween fantasies.

Finally, Aydin was old enough to decide his own Halloween costume. He wanted to be Dark Heart from the Carebear Movie, which may sound cool, but Dark Heart is really a mean kid who wears a red, you guessed it, sweatsuit. I was doomed. I then decided to jazz it up by making a big car costume to wear on top. I spent hours creating this carific masterpiece. In the end it lasted three minutes before the car was discarded and Aydin went happily on his way in his red sweats.

Aydin the little store-bought army guy

For some reason I thought I’d be smart the next time around; we broke family tradition, which slightly broke my heart, and we bought a soldier costume. This was the year he almost froze to death and trick-or treating ended with a stop at Safeway to buy candy that I snuck into his pumpkin bucket.

My sweatsuit masterpiece Knuckles

The next year I created what I think is hands down my best sweatsuit masterpiece. The boy wanted to be Knuckles from Sonic The Hedgehog, and I was stoked! This was something I could work with. Yay!

I made gloves, and cartoony hair, I stenciled and sewed to my heart's content, and the kid was happy. He loved it. However, we lived in Alaska. Trick-or-treating meant drive the car...get out...run to a house...run back to the car before you freeze...drive ten feet...and repeat. It sucked, but man, the costume rocked.

The next year, when asked what he wanted to be, he said, “A jail guy.” What is a jail guy, you may wonder..or maybe you don’t? Well, I wasn’t sure if a jail guy meant an orange jumpsuit or a police officer. Off we went to the fabric store. We came back with all the crap to make a lovely striped inmate costume. Wonderful. The materials cost me about forty-five bucks. A week later, I found an almost identical thing to the costume I had just slaved over at Walmart for $6.99. Sometimes being creative bites.

A tribute to the years of the black sweatsuit

The next three years pass in a blur for me as the "black sweatsuit years." There was the secret agent (meaning boy in black sweats), the ninja warrior (a.k.a. boy in black sweats with a vesty thing), and the sullen mean boy who looked like a burglar in black sweats and a ski mask, until the mask was too itchy, and then he was just the boy in black sweats.

Percy Jackson

Finally, the year before last, Aydin actually was gung-ho for Halloween, and I thank his love of reading whole-heartedly for it. He wanted to be nothing less than Percy Jackson, and marvelously Percy does not wear a sweat suit. Nope, Percy wears a pair of jeans, and a t-shirt, but he carries a sword. At least, I got to draw on the orange T with Sharpee and we dyed his naturally blonde locks brown. Here’s to semi-creativeness.

My little witch, I mean wizard

Last year, we were once again back in a black sweatsuit..well dammit, I'd had it!!!!! The kid was ruining my Halloween. He was twelve, perhaps my last year of trick-or-treating with my baby. What is a mom to do? Well this mom threw a hissy fit. This mom cried (I was probably premenstrual). This mom, forced her son to wear a little witch outfit and lied and told him that he looked like a cool wizard. But hey, the boy was in a costume and this mom was happy.

Now, in 2013, Aydin has decided he wants to do his own costume. He’s planning to be a very original zombie, or of course as he would tell me he is NOT a zombie, he’s a WALKER. I had better get this straight.

I was never allowed to be anything evil for Halloween. My sister was once lucky enough to go as a she-devil while I was the angel. My mom didn’t believe in wearing “Evil” costumes. She liked happy princesses and cute smurfs. My mother obviously did not have a boy. Boys want to be boys. They want swords, and Halloween isn’t really about Halloween for my boy. It’s really about getting that sword for future play. The important part of Halloween for him is the fun, and the candy.

So, I guess I have to leave my motherly fantasies of princess costumes and fairy wings. I can still dress up the cat, or myself. But hey, a thought just occurred to me. An exciting thought, a hopeful thought, a marvelous thought....I just might be lucky enough to have grandchildren one day...and one of them might be a little girl or two, complete with the desire for princess attire. One can dream.

Happy Halloween, everybody. Have a great time. Oh, and this year I'm wearing a sweatsuit....

Pet-Peeves, You Gotta Love Em'

I recently did a poll asking my friends what their pet peeves were. Researching via friends is fun and a can be quite educational. For instance, if I hadn’t polled I never would have found myself reliving an OCD nightmare.

It started out innocently enough, the gang and I headed out to one of our favorite haunts, Red Robin. They make an excellent gluten free burger if anyone is interested. After my poll, however, the lovely clean restaurant was hiding my darkest nightmare. One of my fellow pet peevers had told me about her own peeve.

“I am totally grossed out by people who lick their fingers while eating. Especially if they sat down to eat without washing their hands. My stomach will flip if they double dip or pass condiments around. Eeeeeeew!”

After that, the innocent ketchup bottle was suspect. I looked over at my fellow patrons and watched and waited. Which one of them was going to lick their fingers? It destroyed my whole dining experience, I needed a Xanax!

I now realize just how susceptible I am to the power of suggestion. I have gone from one big pet-peeve, the toilet paper must face out, to lots of big pet-peeves. I am officially a classic pet-peeve adopter.

“Mine is peeling the label off product when you brought it home to use. I get a bit crazy when I see label on other folks cups or dishes, planters or pots, or even clothing that kids do these days ;{“

Don’t be surprised if when I come to your home for a dinner party, I’m checking for labels now that I am entirely aware of this peeve.

“lol. So sick of seeing that as the universal response to everything. Are they really laughing out loud? I doubt it.”

I’m not sure if I’ve quite adopted this pet-peeve, since I am the queen of its over-use, but I am now entirely over aware of it, lol.

“Also people who don't wash their hands after going to the bathroom. Just nasty.”

That one should just be general human decency, but since we all seem to have a difference of opinion on decency there are plenty of offenders out in the world.

“People chewing with their mouth open! Especially in a restaurant! Come out of your cave and join the rest of civilized humanity.”

I have begun to notice a pet-peeve theme here. Restaurants, cleanliness, and manners. I knew I had these friends for a reason! Chewing with the mouth open, snapping gum, slurping soup. These activities should be reserved for lazy evenings watching late night TV and never should be done in public.

“I really love when I'm bartending/serving and my customers wipe their nose, or bloody cut and then leave the napkin for me to clean up.”

Ugh, can you even imagine?? I work with tiny little children who know better than to wipe their snotty little noses without throwing away their used tissues. Hospitals have special bins for contamination. What are these drunk people thinking???

“People in the 10 items or less line with MORE than 10 items...people who park in a spot right in front of the grocery store even though it's not a spot, like they're so important...not wanting to cuddle after sex OR wanting to cuddle after sex (depending on mood/time) *just kidding*...when a cop pulls someone over and the cop stays entirely IN THE LANE blocking traffic...people who don't understand the personal bubble...men who leave the seat up after they pee in a coed bathroom...men who leave the seat down in a coed bathroom and pee all over the seat...”

Who can’t agree with those? I believe she covered all bases there. :)

“people on airplanes who don't put their seat in the upright position or put on their seat belts until the flight attendant has to personally tell them. And the people who talk through the safety briefing. And people who cant wait for their row to be called and have to be the first on and the first off”

The dreaded hideous airplane flight. Your legs are swollen, you just paid $75 dollars for peanuts, and the guy behind you is trying to run you over with his forty pound carry on. Remember the days when flying was glamorous?

“Pet peeves: none of the above. But how about simply no soap in bathrooms. U serious? Do i now have to touch the door handle? I wear cotton with no sleeves usually! Perpetually grossed out.”

I totally hear that one. Soap, that wonderful bubbly stuff that makes all the nasty go down the drain.

Pet-peeves, we all have them. Sometimes they can make us want to commit murder. They are our own special hell. Isn’t that fun? It seems that peeves really just come down to manners or some sticky labels.

Hope your day is peeve free, but I bet it won't be. :)

Thanks to all my guys and gals for the great pet-peeves. 

(Tiny writing? Is this anyone else's pet peeve, lol?)

10 Signs You're A MOM

1. You’ve made sure that everyone else brushed there teeth before you headed out the door, but you realized a half a mile down the road that you forgot to brush yours.
2. Your car stereo now plays Kid Bop on a regular basis.

3. You threatened to remove all xboxes, play stations, and Nintendo DS’ from the house and give them all to charity at least five times last week. 

4. Your Calgon-Take-Me-Away-Bath was interrupted 700 times with “Mom, are you done yet.” 

5. Going Pee by yourself is a luxury comparable with the European vacation you’ve been dreaming of. 

6. Your purse contains an unlimited supply of bandaids, kleenex, and snacks. 

7. You are capable of simultaneously cooking dinner, changing a diaper, mopping the floor, and checking facebook. 

8. You’ve made sure that the kids have a wonderful home-cooked meal and you then eat a bowl of cereal for dinner when no one is looking. 

9. You are the only one in your house who knows where to find a cereal bowl and spoon, even though they’ve been in the same place for years. 

10. You look forward to the precious 10 minutes a day before bed when you get to pretend that your not a superhero.

My Dad

My Dad

My Dad. Faster than a locomotive, able to air-condition tall buildings in a single bound, and shorter than your average bear. My Dad or Daddy as I so often call him is a crotchety old fart, and yet there is just so much to love in all that stink.

Something that you should know right of the bat is that my Dad looks like one of Santa’s elves. He stands just a tad over five feet, with a round little belly, and a snowy white beard. In fact not to long ago my father appeared at my preschool wearing a Santa hat to fulfill his fatherly duties of putting a little something in my Christmas stocking. The Stocking stuffing happened during nap-time so one of the little cherubs, who was about three at the time, awoke and dreamily said “Sarah’s Dad is Santa Claus.” That little tale fills me with heart-bursting love. My Dad although crabby really is Santa Claus. He is one of the most honest and giving people I know.

Many a times the “perfect” birthday or Christmas card has appeared in my greedy little hands. Those cards are always special. He’ll spend hours searching for the ideal card. Combing Rite-Aid or Hallmark in his journey until he spies the one for you! Most people see cards as a semi-garbagable material meant to proclaim who gave you that gift. With my dad the card truly is your gift.

Over the years my Daddy has had many a hobby! Archery, car racing, car building, pool, pinball machines, libraries, record collections, computers, and believe it or not that isn’t the half of it and that Poppy of mine, Cliffy Pooh to those who love him best, gives his all to everything!

He taught me how to drive. Some of the most horrible moments of his life I’m sure. He even pulled the keys out of the ignition once while I was driving and told me, and I quote, “Get the hell out of this car. You are scaring the shit out of me!” end quote.

With my sister, who of course always drove like a pro and had no trouble, he praised her driving prowess. I was the rebelious daughter. The daughter who threw loaves of bread at him in the middle of Safeway and once even told him to “fuck off." Not my proudest moment, but I have to say he’s never grounded me in my entire life and all in all I was a good kid. The soft spoken, neat freak who did her best to keep the house clean and only cut school once.

When I got married he gave me away and gave me my most prize possession, my mother’s ring. A ring I wore that day in her memory and I now hold dear like no other. You see my Dad did his best to raise two girls. He may not have been perfect and Lord knows I surely wasn’t perfect, but he tried and I think we turned out pretty darn good the two of us.

He is a man who knows everyone's name at the local Wendy’s that he haunts or does free jobs for the guy at the local hardware store just to keep busy. You see my Dad has rarely sat down in his entire life and if you do happen to find him sitting you can guarantee that he is going to have a big fat paperback in his hands. The man reads nonstop and he has passed that love of reading down to his daughters. You see a book doesn’t have to be the best book ever written to be good, it just needs to have words and a story and thank God most books do and so does my Dad.

Christmas 1975

Christmas 2004

F*** You Days, A Universal Pastime

I don't really look like this

Why is it that some days you wake up and the world looks bright, chipper even? Everything seems to be going your way. The sun is shining, your hair looks amazing, you have plenty of gas in the car, and your bank account is in the black.

Then there are the less than stellar days. The shining sun woke you up with a glaring migraine, your perfect hair is sporting an Alfalfa cowlick, your tank is on E, and your account is overdrawn.

Why do the good and the bad seem to come in giant waves together? I find that when I’m at my brokest, that is the moment that I get a flat tire. And, that flat tire will usually occur on a Sunday when Les Schwab is closed. Yay, life just sent me a little message.

The message is very clearly a big old “F*** you.” Why does the universe conspire against us in such stressful ways? That is the age old Tootsie-Pop question, and the answer is always the same my dear, “The world will never know.”

A few months ago, my cat drank rubbing alcohol out of the tiny cup I was disinfecting my nose-ring in. I had no idea that this was even possible. This, of course occurred at 1am on a Saturday/Sunday-vet-office-totally-closed-time. While he was vomiting and drunkenly trying to walk around and falling down, I was obsessively googling finding horror after horror. Things like, “If he lives through the night he should be okay,” and “Brain damage may occur.” Brain damage seemed almost worse than death for my already mentally challenged kitty!!! This is the cat that runs for the car because he’s so excited to see you and, as you’re screaming for him to move, decides that the tire of the moving car would be a lovely place to sharpen his claws......OOH....DUMB-CAT/FLAT-TIRE, COULD THERE BE A CONNECTION???

Anyway, thankfully kitty woke up the next morning seeming no more stupid and thankfully alive, so all was good, but I was a wreck! No one wants to kill their cat while cleaning jewelry.

Suffice it to say bad stuff happens, your day could be awesome on the same day your neighbor's house burns to the ground. The universe is tricky that way. So please enjoy all the great moments and remember that no matter what everything always works out in the end and Les Schwab will be open on Monday. :)

Kitty really does look like this

:) Have a nice Day!