As Time Goes By

A fellow blogger (who is very funny, by the way - check her out) mentioned in passing that she is 35 years old. And it got me to thinking, what wouldn't I give to be 35 again? Not any younger, mind you, because 34 was the Year of the Head Lice around this house, and there is no way I could repeat that. But 35? If I were 35 right now, I could start yoga and then, when I would be 44 again, I wouldn't be pulling my back out lifting a jack-o-lantern off the porch and maybe my wrists wouldn't hurt when I try to brush my hair, and perhaps I would be so limber that I never would have done whatever it is I did to my hip a couple of weeks ago that is making my leg be all weird and numb for most of the day.

Also, my kids would all be young enough to worship the ground I walk on.

In short, I am rapidly falling apart here, and there doesn't seem to be anything (aside from time travel) that I can do about it. I do yoga now, and I walk in the mornings, and I give birth regularly; but things just aren't working the way they used to. Youth is wasted on the young, I'm afraid.

The entire house smells like burned pumpkin. Don't ask.

I am hating the New Yorker right now. They never pick my entry for their cartoon caption contest. Sometimes I can't even understand the entries that they do pick. And I'm originally from the New York City area, so it's not as if I'm some rube from the Midwest who doesn't get sophisticated East Coast humor. Dammit, I want to win. It's the only way I'm going to get something decent to hang on my walls that doesn't cost a mint.

[Whoops, looks like I insulted every Midwestern reader I have (all 3) - but remember, just because there are some rubes in the Midwest doesn't mean that everyone from the Midwest is a rube. (The converse of a true statement is not necessarily true - I know that because I've been helping my teenagers with their geometry this year.) So assume that I am talking about someone else. Someone not intelligent enough to enjoy the oh, so sophisticated humor of this blog, for example. Thanks.]

Where was I? Oh, yes - my walls. Larry has been having a stressful time at work lately, so I figured it was time to pile on and let him know that we need him to paint our living room and dining room in time for the New Year's party I'm planning to have. It's not a New Year's Eve party, because I can't stay up late enough. I'd have to go upstairs to bed while everyone else was still here and ask people to make sure to turn out the lights and lock the door when they're done. And I don't want to do that. So I thought an Open House sort of gathering on New Year's Day for the entire neighborhood would be a good idea. These things always do seem like good ideas, until, say, the night before when you are up late trying to hang the curtain rods and curtains that have been lying behind the couch ever since you moved in 6 months ago. And the paint on the walls is still wet. So maybe I should rethink this. But I don't want to. I'm stubborn that way.

Wow, it's quiet here - everyone fell asleep before me. That's surprising, considering I've been letting the kids sleep late this week, in preparation for turning the clocks back this weekend (yes! an extra hour of sleep!). Twice a year I plot and plan to make the transition go smoothly, and it never works. One particularly memorable spring, we had a baby a week after we switched to Daylight Savings Time, and nothing got back to normal (schedule-wise) for 6 whole months - just in time to switch the clocks again. Ouch.

The End of Halloween (I Promise)

Thought I'd grab a moment while the kids continue overdosing on sugar to let everyone know that Halloween here was a rip-roaring success. Larry took the 4 youngest to a zillion houses and they came home bearing approximately 46 pounds of candy each. Which we promptly took away. Just kidding - we waited until they finally went to bed and then we took it away. Except for a few pieces, which they are working on now.

Susie dropped out after about 50 houses and came home and sat on the floor and devoured candy. It was awesome to watch. She ate and ate and ate. At one point, she had 3 different lollipops going, and an open pack of Skittles. What finally slowed her down was when she peed in her (pretty darn absorbent) pumpkin costume.

Anna went trick-or-treating with a neighborhood friend. Because the friend's family is just so cool and not horribly embarrassing like ours. Not that I am bitter or anything.

This morning we walked to the bagel shop for breakfast and the kids picked up dropped candy from the ground. Because they didn't eat enough last night. Happily, they didn't mistake the round piece of dog poop for chocolate.

I chopped up our jack-o-lanterns today - darned if I'm going to let those stupid squirrels eat them instead of us. And before all you slackers start commenting on how you don't even know how to cook pumpkin, let me just point out that it's easy - you hack the pumpkin apart, take off the rind (that's the dark orange part, for you cooking novices out there), and you cut the rest into chunks and throw it in your crockpot on high all day. (Oh, and make sure the crockpot is plugged in. The food cooks faster that way.) That's all there is to it. And it sure beats throwing 20 dollars worth of pumpkins in the trash.

At least, that's how I felt before I spent an hour chopping up one and a half pumpkins and then realized I still had at least 2 hours to go. Now, I'm not so sure. If I'm saving 20 dollars by not throwing out the pumpkins, but it takes me, say, 4 hours (including clean-up) to do it.....that's 5 dollars an hour. I think I'd earn more working at Target, and I'd get an employee discount, too.

But which is better for my career, pumpkin-hacking or customer service? That is the question. I wonder what Hillary would say....