The Halloween That Almost Wasn’t

Yesterday was a terrible, horrible, no good day for me, and eventually for the girls, as well.

It all started at babiesrus.

First, I have to say I was already in a shit mood. So I was VERY susceptible to intense feelings of anger and upsetedness when provoked.

Ok. So we go through toysrus first. And knowing that it would be like torture for them to walk through there and not walk out without buying something, I let them look at toys as I browse around myself for a friend's birthday present and for their Christmas. Then we go next door to babiesrus, where they start getting a little punchy. Like, "oh, mom. It's so cute when you tell me to come over there and stay with you. But I'm going to stay here." Kind of punchy. Not a too big deal. I'm getting pissed, but I take a deep breath and marvel at how much cuter strollers and bedding sets have gotten since S. was born.

In the feeding aisle, A. is trying to push the cart, and S. hops on the side for a ride. I'm not holding onto the cart. I'm contemplating adding a bottle sterilizer from my friend's registry to the cart. But then there's this flash of silver and pink, along with a crash, and I look down to see the cart had fallen sideways on top of S. Now I'm pissed. Because by then I had told them both, numerous times, to stay off the cart. So I pick the cart up off of S. and make sure she's ok, before I convey my displeasure at their behavior. "I'm going to be good, mama" they both plead. "Sure." I say.

After finishing up at babies/toysrus, we head to the commissary. Even though it's payday. And the slow-as-molasses loonies who lack any kind of situational awareness at all, will be there. Because they always are. Especially on or the days before and after payday. But we desperately need food. And Capri-Suns are $3 cheaper there than they are at Safeway (among other things). So we go. They start out in the cart, but eventually I let them loose. I'm not sure why. I think it was because they were quieter on their feet than they were in the cart and I had a headache (again). So we're bobbing and weaving throughout the aisles and grabbing the items on the list, and then some. During this time, these kids of mine thought that hiding behind pallet displays was the cool thing to do. And also that, when I told them to come on, I was probably just kidding and didn't want them close to me, after all. We leave the commissary and I'm even more pissed.

"You better be good or no one will be trick-or-treating tonight!" I yelled once we were strapped in the car. Pitiful cries of, "no, mama, no! We're going to be good!" touch my ears as I drive out of the parking lot and across the street. "Mmmhmmm." I reply.

We go across the street to the bx. More specifically, to the Starbucks in the bx mall. Because I really need a Pumpkin Spice latte, and it's payday, so I have spending money again. It is the salve that soothes the savage beast that becomes me at times like that. While I'm ordering, A. tells me she's thirsty, so I also ask for a cup of water.

A.: "But I want chocolate milk." She whines.
Me: "We have chocolate milk in the car. You can have some when we get home."
A.: "But I'm thirsty."
Me: "I'm getting water." I replied, and then turned to the poor barista who would soon be caught in the cross-fire of impending doom.

As I'm paying I turn to see the kids, who are standing in front of the display drink fridge next to the register. Right then I catch S., with an organic apple juice box in her hand, the little yellow straw in the other- just in time to see her poke at the little seal. "No!" I yelled, and grabbed it from her. Upon inspection, she barely made a dent in the seal, but the straw was already open and had been handled by her grubby little 3 year old fingers. Grrrrr. I put it down in front of the register and tell the barista that I'll need to buy that. The poor girl apologized to me for my kid practically stealing the juice box! I told her not to worry about it, that it wasn't her fault. By the time I got my coffee and we were on the way home, I was LIVID!

Me: "NO ONE IS LEAVING THE HOUSE TONIGHT. CONGRATULATIONS, YOU WON'T BE TRICK-OR-TREATING TONIGHT!"

(wails from the back)

Girls: "Nooooooooooooooo. I'm going to be good!"
Me: "You had your chance to be good and you blew it. You're staying home."

(more wailing and gnashing of teeth- all the way home)

Once we were home, I did something I swore I would NEVER do. I called dh at work to talk to the girls. During that 20 minute ride home I began to think that he might have some idea as to how they could redeem themselves and earn back their Halloween, even though I was still so outraged I couldn't even think. I gave him a brief run-down of the afternoon, he tries to calm me down, then asks to talk to A. and they strike a deal. If she & S. will clean up their room and the dining table, and be good for the rest of the afternoon, they can go. A. promises her dad that she will comply, and after handing me the phone back, gets her sister and starts cleaning up. I say good-bye and hang up the phone.

And they did what they were told, and things were looking promising when, about two hours later (approximately 3 pm, Tucson time), I hear this strange noise coming from behind my chair in the office. This cannot be good. I thought to myself as I got up. I had no idea how NOT-GOOD it actually was until I saw snips of yellow yarn-cabbage patch doll hair strewn about behind my chair. The poor fabricky, yarny, un-named victim lay sprawled near the cut pieces of hair. The cutter- a.k.a. A.- sat on her knees, scissors laced between her fingers and looked up at me. I went blind with rage. The I-don't-care-if-the-neighbors-hear-me-screaming kind of rage.

Me: "What are you doing? What the hell do you think you are doing?"

A. stumbles for an answer while I get her dad back on the phone.

As I'm telling him how there "DEFINITELY will be NO TRICK-OR-TREATING tonight", I see S. out of the corner of my eye. I look at her, and HER HAIR IS ALL GONE!!! Truly. She had long brown hair that fell into soft curls mid-back, and now there was nothing below her shoulders. I screamed, then I cried. Right there, forgetting I was still on the phone with dh, and I screamed and cried. After a few seconds I was able to get myself together enough to tell him that S. was now missing inches of hair off of her head. I don't even know where A. got the scissors from!! After watching her get snip-happy (under our supervision) the night before and cutting construction paper into tiny shreds, we told her she couldn't ever use them without asking us, and then I went and round up all the scissors we had in the house and hid them. Or so I thought, but apparently not.

Once I get off the phone, I scream at A., demanding to know why she cut her sister's hair. "Because she wanted me to." She answered. "She's 3, A.! 3! You DO NOT CUT HER HAIR without talking to me or daddy first, do you understand?" I yelled. And in case she misheard me before, I remind her that she has just lost trick-or-treating privileges. I didn't tell her this, but I wanted to add Christmas in there, too. No Halloween; no dress up and no candy, and no Christmas; no hunting for Santa Claus and opening presents. Because there would be no presents for her from Santa or anyone. But I held my tongue on that and went to vacuum S.'s hair off of the living room floor.

By the time dh got home, I was calm- er. Meaning that I had taken a sedative (per dr.'s instructions earlier that afternoon, coincidentally) and talked to my sister.

We talked, then I brought A. out so she could talk to him, and then sent her back and went into our room to discuss what we were going to do.

We finally decided not to take Halloween away. Don't get me wrong, it wouldn't have bothered me one iota to keep them home. It was a drastic way to set an example, but at this point I felt desperate times needed desperate measures. But after thinking about it, I realized I didn't really want to take away something irreplaceable. Her 4^th Halloween would only come once in her life. After tomorrow, it would be gone. So we decided she could go trick-or-treating (I would even let her keep the candy, which I definitely wasn't going to do), but in exchange, we were taking all of her toys out of her room and she would spend all day today in her bedroom. She could come out to potty and eat, and that was it. She agreed to the conditions of her sentencing and we got ready to meet friends we had planned to collect candy with.

The rest of the evening went nicely (for ALL of us) and the girls got to go door-to-door asking for candy with their friends (another princess and a mermaid. A. was also a princess –for the second time, and S. was a witch).

Now that all is said and done, I learned a few things:

1- ALL crafty type things- markers, paint, scissors, glue sticks, crayons, hold punchers… will be hidden from sight. Both in location and altitude. So neither of them can climb a chair and get them out of the cabinets they were being stored in.

2- S. actually looks very good with short hair.
I hate to admit it, but A. actually didn't to a terrible job with her sisters's hair. It was at least cut in a way that was mostly salvageable. It pretty much just looks like we got her some trendy pixie hair cut, where edges are meant to be uneven and funky.

3- I suppose they're not getting enough supervision.
One minute they were watching tv, the next minute I catch A. playing "Edward Scissor Hands", but with real scissors, and on her sister. Who knew.

Just for context, S. before:

S. After

The worst movie EVER!!!

Okay, so onto the worst movie ever, which I was angrily contemplating ending midway through anyways because I was so fed up.

28 Weeks Later.

First I have to point out that I don't watch scary movies very much. Hardly at all, really. There are several reasons for this:

1- I have this imagination that runs away at the weirdest shit, at the worst times. For example, I watched The Exorcism of Emily Rose when it came out. HUGE MISTAKE! Typically I avoid anything involving demonic forces, but for some reason I was enthralled. I had to see it. I could barely sleep for days, and when I woke up at those odd hours of the morning like I sometimes (usually) do I would get SO FREAKED I could hardly get back to sleep. I prayed myself to sleep, every single time, and tried to convince my psyche that I was a grown woman and should not be afraid of such things. And then I rolled over and grabbed dh and squeezed him tight because it made me feel better. As a result, I will NEVER see such a movie again. You have my word.

2- The ones I do decide to watch are usually incredibly stupid.

Having said that, I have to say that I agreed to watch 28 Weeks Later because it's a zombie movie. Zombie's don't really scare me because (as far as I know) they are completely fictional. And because I saw 28 Days Later and I HATED it! So I had to see this one to see if it was as terrible (fucked up logic, I know. But that's me.) Having watched only the first half or so I have to say that this movie far exceeded my expectations. Not only was it terrible, like the first one, it was WORSE!!!

And now that I'm getting over the snake thing, I'm back to being agitated the way I was as we were watching the whole fucking debaucle unfold.

I realize that it's FICTION. And something like science-fiction, at that. But when I do decide to watch a scary movie, I like my characters to be smarter than the monsters. And I like them to get into shitty situations because something smart they were trying to do went awry or was impeded and then they have to find their way out of that. I do NOT like watching stupid people do stupid things to bring catastrophic shit upon themselves and others, and then CONTINUE to do stupid things until the final credits.

And this is my problem with this GOD AWFUL movie.

SPOILER ALERT!!! IF YOU INTEND TO EVER WATCH THIS DISASTER OF A FILM, DO NOT READ ON.

England has been wiped out because of a catastrophic infestation of the "Rage virus" which makes people "mindlessly violent" (gotta love Wikipedia).

Let me tell you, first, what I did love about the first movie. The virus which turned people basically into zombies started with monkeys in a lab which were infected, for whatever reason, with this (man made?) virus. Some animal rights activists thought they'd "do the right thing" and free those poor, abused creatures. HAHA! So they do, and the rest-well, the rest turns into these terrible movies.

Anyways, the whole country is quarantined as the virus spreads quickly through the cities and towns, resulting in the complete devastation of the entire country. The last of the infected people eventually starve to death, and so the country becomes safe for cleaning up and rebuilding and reinhabitation. This is where the sequel picks up.

Some time before the destruction of Britain, a group of survivors living together in what is supposed to be a very well reinforced house in the country hears a pounding at the door crying accompanied by a frantic cry for help. It turns out to be a little boy. Alice wants to let the boy in because "he's a boy", despite the protests from others in the house. Meanwhile, some downtrodden idiot survivor is mourning the absence of her boyfriend, who ran out on them, for some reason, some time ago. Because she's an idiot, she thinks that he is going to come back. Quite alive and normal and uninfected, to boot. No one can seem to convince her otherwise. This is critical.

So there's this boy, Alice wins, they quickly let him in. As he stuffing his face with what looks like penne, they ask him who he's running from.

"My mum, my dad… the others." It's pretty clear those "others" are hankering for a chunk of his flesh. They are(DUH!!) infected.

"How many others."

"Loads."

Loads, this kid says. So then this idiot girl (the one who's delusional and thinks her brilliant and darling boyfriend will return any minute now) goes upstairs and takes some of the stuff keeping zombies out, off of the window, thereby exposing herself to the "loads" of infected people closing in on this little boy. Crazy blood shot eyes attached to a snarling mouth appear in the sliver of space that she opened up (she's still behind the window though) and then an arm crashes through the holdings and grabs her arm and starts gnawing away. She screams, and then chaos just fucking breaks loose. She is now infected, and attacks the guy who comes to help her, infecting him and so on and so forth and suddenly the entire fucking house is packed with infected beings (could you really call them people at that point?). Alice (who wanted to let the boy in, which I suppose was the humane thing to do), and the little boy are becoming quickly overwhelmed by blood thirsty savages. She calls out to her husband, Don, for help, but he's almost safe. And decides to continue being so, and therefore leaves his wife and the little boy to fend for themselves. He gets away with the help of a conveniently located speed boat, finds the military compound that was recently set up to help facilitate the homecoming for British citizens who were able to flee the country safely and were living in refugee camps throughout Europe.

Months later Don is reunited with his 2 kids, who were sent to a refugee camp in Spain, and tells them about how their mother died. And this is where the fun begins.

Apparently, having a military official tell you that you are, under no circumstances, to leave the green zone because it's not safe, is not enough to convince a 12 year old and his pre-teen sis from doing just that. And you know why? So that they can get a picture, because dumb shit boy is afraid he'll forget what his mom looks like. I get it, you're grieving. But really?!! You're going to do something incredibly stupid and dangerous for a picture?!! So the sneak out while their dad is doing whatever official thing he does at the compound. The kids get to their house, miles and miles away (they stole a moped in town) from this compound and start rooting around their house for pics and whatever else they feel they must have to take with them; shoes, board games, whatever. After a nice bounce on the trampoline, Andy (the dumb shit boy) finds his mom, very much alive, although looking pretty rough, in the house. The military shows up just in time to get the kids (they were seen leaving, and then called in missing by their dad once he realized they were gone) and the kids and their mom are all whisked back to the base.

Now they're mad at their dad because he told them "he saw her die" and now she's not dead. So obviously he's a bad person. Anyways, Don learns his wife is alive and in a treatment room being decontaminated and evaluated. She's strapped to a hospital bed in a room behind bullet proof glass where a badge is needed to get in. Blood is taken and examined. She's not necessarily infected, but she's a carrier. Her dumb shit hubby doesn't know this yet. He just knows his wife is there. So somehow he finds her, goes into her room and starts crying and apologizing. They kiss. Like, kiss kiss. Mouths wide open, spit being swapped, all that. And WHAMMO!! He's infected. Just like that. So of course he goes bat shit crazy and kills her. Gets out and begins infecting the rest of the compound.

What I'd really like to know is, why wasn't this chick being guarded by ARMED GAURDS? SEVERAL OF THEM?!!! How's that for being prepared for every possible contingency?!! And how does this guy SNEAK UP on scores of ARMED GAURDS when he kills them?!!! Again, this place was really secure. Wouldn't you love to live there in such dire circumstances?!!

And the civilians are moved into a containment area, which turns out to not really be contained. Oh, and dumb shit Andy boy gets away from this Major who's trying to secure him and his sister because she believes they may be carrying anti-bodies like their mom, and could provide a cure. But Andy just won't listen. And he gets away from the Major, even after she tells him to hold her hand because people are everywhere and they're panicked and hysterical and shoving each other out of the way to get to "safety" first. So he ends up with the rest of the civilians who end up locked up in what looks like a small parking garage, "for their safety" the military tells them. Andy finds a quiet corridor and gets away and then hears (rigorous) pounding at the emergency exit down the hall. And he goes to investigate because he's really kind of an idiot. Even for a 12 year old. It's his dad. Blood dripping from his mouth, eyes blood shot and crazy- then his dad bursts through the door (because, again, it's just sooooo secure) and bites a man who sees it happen and intervenes for Andy. So then that guy is infected and he bites someone else and so on and so forth and then the entire fucking locked up population is infected. Andy, of course, gets away THROUGH AN AIR VENT IN THE CEILING!! Again, what was that about being secured and safe?!!

This is where I stopped, and pondered, quite angrily, all the idiocy that led to that scene, and then the snake thing happened, and then it was over, and then I was mad again. But, I had to know how it ended. You can read the rest

here because this is getting long and my wrist is hurting. What the entry doesn't mention is the guaranteed acts of supreme stupidity which leads to the conclusion. Rest assured- they are there in full cinematic splendor. Or whatever. I promise.

Oh, and they're making a third film in 2 years, making this a train-wreck of a TRILOGY!! In my opinion.

If you do decide you just must see this car-wreck of a movie, and you hate it, you can't say you weren't warned. And if you did like it, well, you're just weird.

We are NOT desert people…

And I'll tell you why.

Dh just killed a fucking rattlesnake in our house. It was, thankfully, just a baby. But it was still a fucking rattlesnake, and it was in my fucking house- across the hall from my girls. A. saw it first and started screaming. DH heard the screaming and thought he would investigate. It barely registered at first (I was caught up in some GOD AWFUL movie, more on that later), and then I thought they were playing. Thank God he got up, he saw the snake in the hallway, shouted at the girls to get on A.'s bed (top bunk) and had me get A.'s big ass walking stick we took home with us from our last trip to Mt. Lemmon. It was long enough, and thick enough to do what we needed it to do (more accurately, what he needed to do), which was smash the hell out of that fucking thing until it was no longer moving. At all.

This may sound silly, but I'm very proud of A. for screaming enough to get our attention, and not trying to look at it and investigate for herself. And for listening when dh told her to get on her bed, and for looking out for her little sister. She's taking this quite well. By the time dh got rid of it, I was shaking. And then while he was disposing of it (placed in a rectangular tupperware container, taped shut, and then wrapped in 3 force flex trash bags), I was on the verge of tears. I may have actually shed a few. Or several. Then I had to call someone. So first I tried my sister (not caring, in particular, that it was at least midnight on the E. coast) and then I called my friend, K. until I was able to stop thinking about all the things that could have gone WRONG. I still, can barely breathe right, and I'm wondering if my left over valium would calm me down and if so, how much would reach a therapeutic level (I'm not talking about an overdose, people. I want to be settled, not dead. Just thought I'd clarify).

What bothers me the most is that I have no idea how the fucking thing got into my house to begin with. We suspect through the garage, and then into the laundry room, which is the room between the garage and the hallway into the house (which I STUPIDLY left open all day the other day because I was so excited the girls were napping and didn't wake up when I carried them in from the car. The door between the garage and the laundry room, not the actual garage door.) And then the door from the laundry room into the hallway was open…

So tomorrow, I'm calling professional snake handler people (of which there is no shortage of in Tucson, AZ) to see if there are some preventative measures we could take. And they're number is programmed into my cell phone, and by tomorrow afternoon, will also be in all 3 handsets for the house line.

Meanwhile, dh did some research and here are some suggestions for handling it (which I will be reviewing periodically for good measure. Like a code green or something) if it ever happens again (God willing, it won't):

1- it's a good idea to get something in between you and the slithery invader

2- If you can (safely) find something to throw over it like a shirt of a jacket, do. A blanket is perfect. Because you can toss it on the snake to slow it down and then put books or weights or whatever heavy thing is available to put on the edges of the blanket to basically immobilize it until you can a) find a nice long walking stick to smash the shit out of it with under the blanket, or b) call professional snake people to come handle it and wait on the top of the kitchen counters while the blanket is clearly in view, until they arrive.

3- There was a 3. But now I can't remember. Did I mention I was still in the throes of a mild panic attack?

Because I am TERRIFIED of snakes, real or imagined, slimy or fake plastic, dead or alive. I didn't even want to go near the office (where the snake met it's tragic demise- tragic for it. Quite triumphant for us) while dh was wrapping it and triple bagging it until it was out of my house and enclosed in our trash can in the garage.

I don't even know if I'll be able to sleep tonight. Seriously.

Get your trash can out of the street, will ya?!!

I hate home owner's associations. So much so, that I refuse to even capitalize the first letters. They are not deserving of the respect that capitalized first letters demand. They, much like Dreamweaver and Word 2007, are the devil's brainchild. I'm convinced of that. They exist to collect money and strike fear in the hearts of residents who may forget to tear out a few weeds once in awhile. You pay the monthly association fee, then you pay a fine for whatever egregious infraction you've committed, and they make money doing nothing other than stalking your lawn, putting tick marks down for the number of days the weeds remain before you finally pull them.

Home owners associations are practically terrorist organizations.

The one we had in MD sent out a newsletter every month. Which was great because it filled me in on all the ridiculosity that abounded in the hallowed halls of the community room or wherever it is these crazed people come up with their dumb shit rules. One month they purchased a digital camera. Yeah, that's how our hoa fees were being spent. They purchased a camera. And you know why? So they could take pictures of people who were not cleaning up their dog's shit, and have proof that they were violating an hoa rule. Not cleaning up after your dog is rude and disgusting, I will agree. But hiding behind a bush with a Canon powershot and photographing the incident like some private investigator trying to catch a cheating spouse, just so you can prove that citizen x is rude and disgusting is stupid in truly astronomical proportions! How about just jumping out of the bush and saying nicely, "maybe you should pick all that shit up. You know, with the plastic baggies we provide at the pet poop stations throughout the neighborhood." Although I must admit that the very idea of some anonymous hoa "official" running around like 007 and trying to catch people leaving steaming piles of dog shit behind sort of cracks me up. What those people need, are hobbies. Any hobby. Three legged kite flying, or underwater basket weaving- anything will do, because those people were obviously leading unstimulated lives, leaving them with copious amounts of time tending to unimportant, mundane shit. There is a war going on overseas with thousands upon thousands of our country's men and women risking their lives for whatever, and these people are running around fining people because they're grass is more than 1/10" high, or painting their door red when red is clearly unacceptable (which they would have known if they'd dug out their hoa rule book, followed protocol and filled out a permission slip before painting). Ugh!

Can you tell I find hoa's truly detestable organizations?

However, I understand why they exist, in general. They want to keep the neighborhood looking clean and like a good place to raise a family- or a pack of dogs- whatever. I can **cringe** respect that. But just a little bit. As in teeny tiny. Like, nano-tomical proportions (yes, I made that word up. Deal). That much.

Which leads me to the point of this rant.

Trash day.

Today is Friday. Trash day, was Tuesday. 3 days ago, everyone in the neighborhood rolled their big blue and green trash cans onto the street so that the city could collect our refuse. And they did- the city fulfilled their end of the bargain. By the end of the day, recycling and trash had been collected and hauled off to slowly decompose in a landfill somewhere. So there is no longer a need to keep your trash cans IN THE STREET until next Tuesday. But that is exactly what has been going on with my street this week. On Wednesday, at least 5 houses still had their trash cans out on the street, and one of our neighbors kept their trash bins right outside their garage door until yesterday. Could you be any more lazy? Is it so hard to open your garage door with your automatic garage door opener and go the extra few feet to secure your trash can in your garage? Is it? Honestly, people.

So you may be wondering exactly what the lazy neighbors have to do with me. I'll tell you.

I wouldn't care if they left the trash cans out by their front door because it's more convenient on a daily basis. Back to our house in MD- we lived in a end house in a row of townhouses. We didn't have a garage or a carport. So the residents living in the 2 middle houses had to haul their trash cans out of their back yard and around two other houses to get their trash into the street so it could be picked up. Or drag it through their house. And who wants to do that? So our one neighbor left his trash can in the front of his house, by his front door. But it was out of the street, and you could barely see it because it was placed behind some big ass tree. This poor, well-meaning neighbor got a warning letter from the devil's organization for leaving his trash can where it was visible from the street. Give me a fucking break. It wasn't an eyesore in any way. It wasn't like this guy had trash bags heaping up by his door, or in his lawn. It was a green trash can behind a green tree. That, to me, is an unreasonable concern on the part of the hoa, and a completely acceptable reason for keeping his trash can in the front of his house. Did I mention it was obscured by a fucking tree?

There are no trees to obscure trash cans here. I mean, we have trees. But they're scrawny and sad in comparison to the fullness of the trees we had around our house in MD. And anyways, I happen to know that most people, if not all people, living here keep their trash cans in their garage because it's out of sight and because it's closer to the kitchen. So where are these lazy people putting the trash they accumulate on the days following trash day if their trash cans are still out on the street? Who knows. Who cares. Except when your fucking trash can blows out into the middle of the road because it's been sitting there for 2 days, and it's been windy all day and you're not home to pick it up and IT'S NOT TRASH DAY- that's when I care!

Leaving the street to embark on some child-friendly excursion the other day, one of the at least 8 trash bins left out (2 per house. One green, one blue) blew right into the middle of the fucking street. If it were Tuesday, and that happened, okay. It's trash day, after all. But the day after trash day and it becomes a major annoyance. And I was already in a terribly pissy mood. I saw the trash can- like a big green target right in the middle of the road- and immediately felt an intense urge to just drive right over it. Except they're kinda big and bulky, so I wouldn't have run over it so much as pushed it along in front of my car until I decided to drive around it and leave it behind. And I had the girls in the car. I try not to do really stupid things when I have my daughters. Especially if we are in a vehicle. I save the retarded shit for when I'm alone.

Anyways, that really pissed me off. But then I turned the corner and forgot about it. But today I notice a lonely blue trash bin STILL OUT on the curb (different neighbor, though). And it made me mad all over again, because as I said earlier- is it really that difficult to just drag the fucking thing in when you come home from work and get out of your car? It's not like we're walking a fucking city mile to drop off and pick up our trash cans. They're right in front of the house! A slalom over (er- behind) that trash can could have been fun. And then the neighbor would come home with no trash can in the street and no trash can in their garage. What would they do then, huh? Maybe then they'd learn.

But again, the girls were with me. And no dumb shit with the girls in the car.

I may have to make a solitary trip into town tonight…

Feeling a little literary today

A. is on a rhyming kick. She's been making up songs with rhyming words. Except that at least one of the rhyming words are complete gibberish. Like "light" and "gite" ("does that rhyme, mama?"). It's rhyming gibberish, but rhyming all the same.

So I remembered one of my favorite poems, and thought that maybe she would like it because of it's great alliteration and has tons of rhyming in it. When we got home I looked up Bells by Edgar Allen Poe, printed it out and read it to her- all 3 pages of it. And it got me thinking about all the poems I've loved over the years, but that have become piles of dust in my memory. I began to feel slightly reminiscent of the years of my life given over not to just the written word, but to rhythm and prose in long form and short. I wrote poetry prolifically for a long time (but what teen-ager doesn't at least try their hand at a few poems?). I spent hours not just closed up in my bedroom with candles and silence writing poetry, but also during class- any class- in which I felt myself inspired or moved to pen words and stanzas and streams of consciousness. I've even written poems- that actually made sense- in other languages (but don't ask me what they were though, those words have long since abandoned my memory and those papers have possibly been recycled into the Sunday's newspaper edition by now).

One of the best gifts I've ever gotten was a book of great American poems from my Uncle and one of my cousins. I cherished that book for years, poring over the words, highlighting and folding down the corners of pages, and finding inspiration in between the line breaks and artistically used punctuation.

Poetry was my escape from a world and a reality I felt burdened by.

And then one day, it all just stopped, and I hardly thought about it again. Until tonight. So, while I'm feeling reminiscent, I would like to share some of my favorite poems (by other poets. I don't even know where any of my writings are anymore).

First and foremeost, I loved Invictus by William E Henly Somewhere around eighth grade my English teacher assigned us to each pick a poem to memorize and present to the class. I read this poem and immediately knew I would carry those words around with me forever. It made such an impact on me- this is the way I wanted to live my life, I realized. I wanted to meet every challenge with my shoulders bared and my head held high. I would not become a victim of circumstance. I would forever be "the master of my fate, the captain of my soul". Invictus became my manifesto.

And what is any young girls life without a profound belief in romantic love?

Some of my most favorite poems were written by one half of, what I think, is the greatest couple in history. They are not, surprisingly enough, Meredith and McDreamy, but rather Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning. I have long since stopped believing in love at first sight, but they're story is still so beautiful to me. For those who don't know, Robert Browning read and became an avid fan of poems that Elizabeth had written and published, and began writing her letters telling her so. Even from his very first letter, Robert wasted no time in conveying his admiration for her writing and her persons. Thus began a wonderful correspondence which eventually led to their first meeting and secret marriage ceremony.

What is so beautiful was not that he "fell in love at first sight." I actually find that a little ludicrous. But that they were so passionate about each other. In the course of twenty months, they exchanged approximately 600 love letters to each other! Elizabeth was an invalid from her early twenties due to an unidentified ailment which left her morphine dependant, and I think even physically impaired, for the rest of her life. Robert learned of her condition, and while he suspected that her condition was even worse than it actually was, he decided to marry her anyways- knowing that he would most likely have to take care of an invalid for the rest of his life. He "was sure enough of his love to regard that as no obstacle" And while Elizabeth's own feelings about love in general appeared to be ambivalent, she deeply loved Robert, and seems to have both fully embraced and enjoyed her marriage to Robert.

Her greatest works, Sonnets of the Portugese, were inspired by her growing relationship with him. They were married for about 20 years before she died. My favorite sonnet- well, there are several- but the one that made me think of my dh when I first read it and when I read it now, is If thou must love me.This poem signifies my idea of the greatest expression of love; that you don't love someone for any physical characteristic or personality trait, no matter how positive and charming they may be. What if they stop writing you sticky love notes every day and sticking it in your briefcase or bdu pocket? Will you still love them? Probably. But no doubt feelings would change shape a little bit. One might become insecure and feel abandoned once such loving attention wanes. But if you love to love, the transitory things won't matter a bit. The good things will merely be fringe benefits, and the bad things will simply be challenges. Love me for me, and not how good I am to you, or what I do for you. Just love me "for love's sake, that evermore; Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity."

They are legendary, and for good reason-they were a passionate, but not tragically dramatic couple who loved each other through severe and chronic illness and inspired each other to literary greatness. It doesn't get much better than that.

The Garage Sale Bandit

Someone stole my daughter’s book bag today. DH took the girls over to our friends’s house to help them set up for their garage sale. When he got there, there were already close to a dozen people there, and the garage sale wasn’t supposed to start for another half hour (that’s at least how it was told to me). So things got pretty hectic very quickly and he set the book bag down by the garage, but not with the things being sold. When he was getting ready to leave a few hours later, the bag was gone. It was my favorite bag, too. It was cute and colorful without being obnoxious- hot pink with lime green and white accents. And it had different compartments on the inside, which was cool. I could keep A.’s extra clothes in one, S.’s clothes in another and diapers and wipes in yet another. And now it’s gone. There were even clothes in there! Not that I’m ever disappointed to have an excuse to shop, but now is just not a good time.

What really irks me is that it’s not like my friend accidentally sold our book bag full of diapers and clothes. But that these people stole the bag. Who steals shit from a garage sale, anyways? Really, what kind of person does that? It’s not likely that the person who did it will stumble upon this entry, much less this blog but if they do, I would like to take a moment and say, “I hope the devil will greet you with open arms for even thinking about stealing from someone, much less at a garage sale!” That may go over really well, especially if they’re Catholic. And I’m not going to say why I think that they are, but I’m pretty sure that they are.

Anyways, I keep racking my brain, hoping that I didn’t have anything important in there, since we just used the bag last weekend and have a terrible habit of not unpacking when we get home. So far I’ve come up with nothing. Let’s hope that it’s not just a faulty memory- although it very well may be.

(Enter smooth segue here)

This afternoon I took the girls to B&N for a little R&R. I enjoyed a toasted marshmallow mocha (good, but not great), and let them browse around and play in the childrens section. While I was there, I found these really cute books I saw at another B&N for the first time last weekend.

It’s a children’s series called Franny K. Stein, Mad Scientist written by a man named Jim Benton. They are sooo cute! It’s about a school age girl who is a mad scientist. Much like Jimmy Neutron, but with a broody, and morbidly creative little girl. Actually it's more like Jimmy Neutron and Wednesday Adams all rolled into one. It’s great! It’s written for 3-6th grade readers, and is a chapter book. But it still has pictures, which are also very cute. So, I let A. pick out a few (they were about $4 each. Who knew books even sold for less than $7 anymore?!) and bought them. I want to start reading to her more often, and so I figure there’s no better place to start than reading a book that even I am interested in! I read 5 chapters to them when we got home (about 30 pages) and so far we all really like it. They love the pictures, too. So if anyone out there is looking for a good children’s read, I would recommend this series. As I said, they’re chapter books so they’re great for the crowd it was intended for and you'll find them in that section of the book store. But each page only has a few sentences on it and then pictures, which makes it adaptable for the preschool set. And they’re much more interesting than the Hungry Caterpillar or Paddington Bear. At least to me, they are. And if I have to read aloud, I may as well enjoy myself is how I see it.



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You don't have to buy American, just don't buy Chinese

Okay, I’m getting a little tired of seeing these toy recalls lately. What irks me so much is not that toys are being recalled in general, but who is making these products and why they’re being recalled in the first place!

Fisher Price recalled close to a million toys back in August, and the most recent recall comes from Wal-Mart this month. What is so infuriating about these recalls that they are results of high lead content in toys. Lead. In toys. Haven’t we known for almost 30 years now that LEAD IN TOYS IS NOT A GOOD IDEA?! Or have these Chinese vendors forgotten?

I don’t know if the same vendors are responsible for painting the Fisher Price and Wal-mart brand toys. But it would be worse if they weren’t. Because now there’s not one idiot rogue toy-paining company in China, but now there are at least two.

Fisher Price promises a thorough investigation and tighter controls on their already strict quality control standards, and they will no longer be accepting shipments from that vendor.

Also this year, a toy company called RC2 was forced to recall Thomas & Friends toys that were on the market; Target had to recall several hundred Happy Giddy Gardening Tools and Children's Sunny Patch Chairs sold in stores from August 2006 through August 2007 and Jo-Ann stores recalled over 16,000 toy rakes sold at their store this year. In addition, 150 Bookmarks by Antioch Co. were recalled; Albert’s retail store announced this past Thursday that they will be recalling50,000 skull halloween buckets ; CKI recalled toy decorating sets sold at Toys r us, and Riddell recalled mini Jeff Gordon helmets which were being sold at Academy and other sporting goods stores.

All of these recalls were due to excessive amounts of lead either in the base product, or in the paint.

All of the recalled products were manufactured in China.

And who makes paint with lead in it, anymore, anyways??!!

As if the toys and lead paint weren’t enough of a problem for China, several pet foods were recalled because they contained contaminates which were sickening and sometimes, even killing the animals who ate them, and 450,000 vehicle tires in NJ were recalled because their “Chinese manufacturer had stopped including a safety feature that prevented the tires from separating.” Stopped. As in, consciously discontinued adding a SAFETY FEATURE on the tires. Oh, and how about this- Chinese authorities recalled TAINTED LEUKEMIA DRUGS earlier this year.

This is, in no way, a complete list of recalled items coming from China this year. You can visit The federal recall and consumer safety website and search around for more information.

What is the government planning on doing to prevent this from happening again?

Well, first of all, the head of China’s FDA was beheaded.

Yep, chopped off- gone (that was a decision made by Chinese authorities, not ours).

That may be a little extreme, but it is definitely a great example to his predecessors.
“See what happens when you screw up and let tainted cancer meds and contaminated pet food through the gates? You kiss your noggin good-bye. Forever.”
I know that would motivate me to get my shit together!

China says it will cooperate with US officials to resolve this problem.

For me, it’s too little, too late. In a statement made by the safety commission’s spokesperson, Julie Vallese, “China is responsible for 60 percent of all commission recalls so far this year. Of about 30 children's products recalled, all but two have been made in China.”

28 children's product recalls were manufactured in China. In this year alone, and the year's not even over yet!! 10 months. 28 recalls in 10 months coming from China.
For just children's products.

Can everyone say "embargo"??