pumpkin-palooz

I love that the pumpkins Tony worked diligently to grow have provided us with so many memory-making photo-ops.



I love that we have great friends to share the pumpkin fun with.

I love that I came home to a perfectly baked chicken, and that I didn't have to bake it.

I love that my children have a wonderful grandma who will take care of them when they have an ear infection.

I love communal eating.

I love how everyone supports us in rationalizing with the irrational Noni when she won't eat, because really we all just want her to be healthy.

I love watching the intensity of loved ones when they carve pumpkins.




I love how Lexi has deep-rooted stories with our family.

I love the gruesome giggle Nadia makes when she squeezes the pumpkins innards.

I love how Aidan sets Sara up for classic one-liners and she returns the favor.

I love that my kids are old enough to be trusted with carving tools (mostly).

I love how we can bounce from deep philosophical conversation to laughing our patooties off at completely inane, completely inappropriate potty humor.



I love how carved pumpkins smell when they are cooking from their little candles.

I love how meticulously Aidan picks out the seeds so he can roast them.


I love how Trevor has a recipe for bacon-flavored pumpkin seeds.

I love how everyone was patient with me while I insisted that every candle was lit and re-lit for a commemorating photo.



but oddly enough, I really can't stand the process of carving pumpkins.

no better way (amended to read, I spoke too soon)

to spend a saturday night
than
cuddled up with Tony
in my fuzzy Mario p.j.'s
watching a movie
and eating chocolate.





except
this little one woke up
just minutes after
the end of the movie
ear pain, tears
snuggles, Motrin
restless night
walk in clinic in the morning
puke in the sink
(sorry we missed the arrogant
doctor's pleated-front pants)
finally antibiotics

no better way to spend a sunday than baby-ing my sick Nonikins
and cleaning the house

toilets, urinals and such

I have lost my voice, most of it anyway. When the whisper of my vocal cords decides to catch mid syllable, always mid syllable, my voice sounds exactly like the flushing toilet in our last house when there was sand trapped in the tank. It may not register at the same decibel level, but I do think I have nailed the screeching-witch-like pitch.

Aidan has learned a crafty use for school toilets and it goes a little something like this: see toilet, remember school is boring, insert vomit, go home for the rest of the afternoon. The good news is that he is wicked-smart, I have the grandmotherly-sweet school nurse as a second opinion. Oh to be just eight and to have already mastered how to get around the mundane-ness of elementary education. What he hadn't counted on is a mother who has "been there, done that, and now knows how to sleuth out a malingerer", or the community service that faking an illness will earn you.

I have learned that in certain restaurants, hotels and the like they put ice in the men’s urinals. Why did it take me 32 years of life to learn this? 1. I am not a man so I don’t frequent men’s restrooms. 2. I have never thought to ask, I assumed the fanciest thing in a men’s restroom might be little bedazzled dividers so men don’t have to abide by the ‘leave a urinal between’ rule. 3. Again, I am not a man, so no where in my little mind is there room for the idea of making peeing a recreational sport.

I now have a new (soon to be ex) classroom pet. He (I am choosing to believe he is a he but it takes a professional herper to properly 'probe' a snake to learn it's sex) is a bullsnake. Snakes eat mice. I like mice. I don't want to watch a snake eat something that I think is cute. Ergo, snake will be finding a new home. How does this relate to toilets? He is the victim of a high school prank cleverly called 'put a snake in the bathroom and see who screams'.

Tony just shared with me that at his work the wall that separates the men's urinals and the women's loo is paper thin. We're talking thin enough to hear zippers people! That is just creepy.

I wanted to give a coworker a swirly when they sent a messenger to ask me if I planned on making it a habit of meeting the needs of my class of students who were begging to be educated and meeting student's need for photocopied materials come between said coworker and their coffee break. Ok maybe it didn't happen just like that, but seriously, what is the big deal if a student respectfully walks into the open teacher lounge (one of 4!), quietly copies a paper, and then quickly walks back to class? Are the adults so afraid that the student will divulge all of the faculty secrets they were gossiping about or is it that they are afraid that they were just caught not doing their job, you know the one where they were suppose to be in their classrooms helping young minds reach their potential? Wow! That felt way better than a swirly!

I find it curious that weekly we have a pink ring of fungi around the water-line in one of our toilets. What does the pink mold have against the other potties? Why pink? I am not complaining because who would want green, or even brown mold in their can?

not me (a plea not a declaration)

And there it floated, I imagine it floated anyway. That inconsequential, yet completely overpowering teensy invisible pathogen into my nasal cavity where it multiplied then divided, doing its little mathmatical reproductive dance, until my body yielded to it's tiny itsy bitsy little whim...

and there you have it...

I am sick.

strange but true

I project feelings of self doubt on my stripped throw pillow and try to placate it by making certain it's stripes are always in the vertical position.

Aidan refuses to drink out of plastic cups because he is sure he can taste other people's left over spit.

I hesitate to use the word obsessed, but I am slightly obsessed with having a fully stocked pantry.

I talk to my cat and he answers.

Tony, my uber-hard working husband, has been known to spend the better part of a day hold up in the bath tub with a good book and nothing for nourishment but pistachio nuts and beef jerky.

Nadia sings every request. Every single request from "can I have a glass of milk to will you read me a book".

I do not have a problem buying black high heels. Actually, it is quite easy for me.

I have zero shame about cutting my hair in the same style as my daughter's and also, without even a pang of shame, look forward to the day that she wears a size 7 shoe so we can share that too.

I fantasize about sorting things...ribbon, utensils, pencils, sheets... but absolutely loath sorting papers of any kind.

Aidan likes to drop the word mundane in casual conversation.

I fell in love with a beautiful owl in a rehabilitation center no bigger than my palm that had eyes the size of dollar coins and have loved all owls ever since.

Tony doesn't like whip cream. Who doesn't like whip cream?

I feel self conscious when people ask me what my favorite color is because the color I love most is crisp, clean, sassy black.

I felt awkward today when a guest speaker in my class described me as normal looking for a woman in the field of science.

I love the strangness that fills our home.

verified by fall

For some, simple enjoyment comes from telescoping and rotating roasting forks...

...for others it comes from shiny, matching ladels to serve three kinds of homemade soup.



Inviting friends over helps the whole family break out of their insulatory shell......and it reminds me that sticks make festive centerpieces.



We live in a beautiful part of the country...

...and the wonderment of clouds will never cease to amaze me.




My children have a lot of really wonderful friends...

...and Aidan does stop moving once in a while.




Girls rock...
...and I think that is awesome.




I am saddened every year to see the warmth of summer fade...
...but I do love the coziness of fall.





Even as I was missing some friends and family who couldn't make it, I was reminded that I have some pretty terrific friends (like this one who knows how to wear a fantastic green jacket and jump into help without being asked)...

...and I seriously need to get my greys touched up.

The wii still provides some great entertainment...

...but is no compitition for fire, s'mores and the chance to play in the spooky graveyard.

Nadia and Aidan are old enough to roast their own goodies...

...and I am proud of the responsible kids they are growing up to be.

And speaking of fire, this fall verified that fire not only warms the body, but kindles conversation...

...and it will always be really, really cool.

changing seasons

golden autumn

harvesttendrilsbounty

crackle

cornucopia

crispWe love celebrating the changing season from summer to fall with preparing for Halloween.

Ordering and planning costumes has become a laborious task of weighing the pros and cons, costs and uniqueness, durability and option for accessories.

Creating the one of the last circular patterns in the grass as Tony's days of mowing wind to an end has become a source of glee for me as I despise yard work.

Giggling as I morbidly lie down so Tony can realistically place the emerging skeleton in the graveyard has become an annual tradition.

Choosing the headstone that will get the memorial plastic mum bouquet has become an important decision.

Straightening the ominous crow atop the lamp post has become a balancing act.

Artfully arranging the pile of lighted bones has become a production.

Instead of just decorating for Halloween this year we also cleared the family garden. And by we I mean Tony. I just took pictures when he was done. And by family garden I mean Tony's garden. He planted, he rototiller-ed, he raked, he transplanted, he spread manure, he weeded, he flexed his green thumb, he rotated, he harvested, he let us enjoy the literal fruits of his labor and then he cleared all of the debris. His most prolific plants were the tomatoes, onions and the pumpkins that took over the every square inch they could stretch their tendrils to. Thank you Honey!!!