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Human, Woman, Wife, Mother, Daughter, Sister, Friend & Aspiring Unicorn Breeder


Teenage Zombies and Such

Just a short post today... kind of a Halloween public service announcement really.

When teenage zombies, ghouls, and other assorted weird characters appear at your door trick-or-treating for candy tonight, please - PLEASE- don't turn them away. Don't give them shitty looks and ask them, "Aren't you a little too old for this?" or tell them you're saving the candy for the younger trick-or-treaters (buy more, sheesh). Don't begrudgingly plop candy in their bags with a look of disgust on your face. Don't be rude.

Don't try to make them feel bad for wanting to enjoy their childhood just a tiny bit longer.

Because honestly that's all they've got... just a tiny little bit of fun & innocence left until reality and responsibility and jobs and bills hit them like a shotgun blast to the chest. Two, three, four years tops. So let them have this one night: To be silly. To dress up. To hang out with their friends, eating candy and reveling in the last visage of childhood.

Of course they could be out drinking... smashing your carefully carved pumpkins... toilet papering your house... decorating your cars and shrubberies with shaving cream filled condoms... anyway...

Instead they are choosing to be kids, young and innocent - if only for one night - clothed in ridiculous costumes and getting sick on too much candy. Just like they did when they were six. So please remember that when they step onto your doorstep with their grown-up looking bodies and requests for candy. Those grown-up bodies you see are the costumes for now, housing the children underneath but for a little while longer. Try and remember that tonight. Happy Halloween!

This is Wesley. Our resident fat-cat.
Pic By: Yours Truly


We've Successfully Raised a Kid!

Time flies, whether you're having fun or not. It just does and there's absolutely no way of getting around it... Especially once you have children.

Our first born, our son, is turning 18 tomorrow. Eighteen. He will legally be an adult. He'll be able to buy cigarettes (he won't), and porn (he will), and lotto tickets (he better remember us). He'll be able to vote (I hope he does), and enlist in the military (I hope he doesn't), and get drafted (God help the government if they try to take my baby; I'll turn into Rambo).

When he was little it was all fun. He was a sweet, chubby baby with enormous coffee brown eyes and baby-powder soft skin. He was so bright that you could almost see the light bulb go off above his head every time he'd learn something new. He spoke his first word at five months old. It was "Mama." Clear as day. He reached up for me with fat, wobbly little arms and the light bulb went off... "Ma-ma." I clapped and cried and lifted him up and squeezed him tight. He was delighted. He knew he'd gotten through what he wanted to say. He knew he did it right. He just knew. You could see the recognition of it in those big, beautiful expressive brown eyes.

He started talking up a storm after that. I'd read him his favorite Dr. Seuss book and he'd recite it along with me, his excitement barely contained as he bopped up and down on my lap. He was conversing in paragraph length sentences by the time he was one. It was amazing to watch this little human being that I'd created morph from confused & voiceless to sentient & verbal. He was lightening quick with everything he'd learn. He was gifted, there was no doubt.

Of course when you have a gifted child there are bound to be issues... and so the not so fun parts started. As he grew, wills clashed and tempers flared. Our patience as parents was pushed almost to the breaking point. Many times I prayed to God for more patience and I often wondered if my ever-willful child was God's response: Here you go, now you will learn to be patient. I finally stopped praying for patience and started praying for the wisdom to deal with parenthood. His childhood years were hard, but filled with moments of wonder and joy. We cried along with him at his sorrows and rejoiced with him at his many accomplishments.

He didn't come with a handbook. We didn't know what the hell we were doing. He was our first of three and so he was basically the experimental kid. By the time we got to the third one we knew what we were doing. Older children always think their parents favor the baby of the family, but that's not at all the case. It's just that by the time the baby come along we've just developed the patience of Job, the wisdom of Solomon, and the experience of Moses - confidently leading these little humans we've been entrusted with into the promised land. But with the first... well, it's more like being in the middle of a lake with the weight of a child around your neck, trying not to drown.

When the teenage years hit, they hit pretty hard. We felt unprepared. Except we weren't totally unprepared. We became parents at a young age and all of our experiences from that time still felt freshly engraved on our hearts.

Yes, he was difficult, but I was a thousand times worse at that age. Yes, he fucked up several times, but his dad fucked up in bigger ways at that age. When we'd feel like throwing in the towel and running away from home - (teenagers aren't the only ones who want to run away) - I'd remember the things I put my mom through and then I'd feel so.incredibly.grateful. Yes he mouths off and throws tantrums, and is messy and teenage-lazy, and pulls some ridiculously stupid stunts... But he was nothing like we were at his age. Nothing.

I mean really... Why were we so stressed out?? We had it easy compared to our parents.

So when he did the most awful thing he'd ever done - cussed me out and ran away from home - I felt kind of prepared. Not prepared for the utter chaos in my heart, not knowing where he was and worried sick to death, but prepared to handle it in spite of that. And when he came home we didn't beat the ever loving shit out of him like everyone, including the cops, suggested. We told him we loved him and we moved forward. Just another notch of experience on our parental belts.

That happened not so long ago, but he's grown so much since then. Physically he's the same, but emotionally he's a different person. He's becoming a man. A responsible, rent paying young man with goals and dreams that are all his own.

I keep asking myself, when did this happen?? He was just a baby... wasn't he? I was just 18 myself, like yesterday. But tomorrow I'm going to be the mother of an adult. Time flies, whether you're having fun or not. It just does and there's absolutely no way of getting around it. And oh holy shit... we've successfully raised a kid! Two more to go... Where's our medal?

Photo by: Me
Huckleberry-Finning-It When They Were Little
Bottom (left to right): my nephew & my daughter
Top (left to right): my oldest & my middle son