I Am The Queen Of Halloween

We only had three trick-or-treaters this year in our household (David didn't think it was worth it to hop around the neighborhood on a crutch when he could just pilfer his younger siblings' candy).  I'd like to tell you what the youngest 3 kids' costumes were; but every time I try to do just that, I end up typing, "A witch, a pirate, and a Viking walked into a bar...."

Brian made his own Viking hat out of craft sticks and duct tape and it was AWESOME.

I realized tonight that Larry has taken our kids out trick-or-treating 18 years in a row.  No wonder it seems a tad repetitive at this point...

We had 30 trick-or-treaters come to our door (including my 3).  Not bad, but still nowhere near our counts of 65 that we used to get years ago.  The problem is these stupid church parties and "trunk-or-treats" that well-meaning adults are sponsoring on Halloween night.  People, listen to me.  The fun part of Halloween is doing stuff that you normally don't do - including (but not limited to) wandering around outside after dark in weird costumes, knocking on people's doors, and taking candy from strangers.  Driving your precious offspring to your well-lighted church or school gymnasium and letting them grab candy from one large receptacle is not Halloween.  It's coddling.

NOT a Halloween treat

And don't even get me started on the neighbor who hands out apples every single year.  Honey, get with the program.  As stated in this blog before, the "H" doesn't stand for "healthy."

Someone this year was handing out leftover Easter candy.  That's just plain tacky.

And, no, I don't know who died and left me in charge of Halloween.  But I'm taking to the role just fine, thanks.



[Jack-o-lantern image: Cyber Cauldron]
[Apple image: Long Island Press]

Gone Knittin'

Way back last summer, I decided that I could knit a pair of socks each month.  Now, I'm not quite sure how I reached this decision, seeing as how my previous sock knitting rate has been approximately 1 1/2 pairs per year.  Maybe I was just seized with the desire to be like all these knitters in the blogosphere who actually complete projects regularly.  And, surprisingly enough, I have managed to knit 2 pairs since the beginning of August.  Meaning I'm right on track, so long as I finish the pair I started yesterday by...let's see...

August...September...October...

hmmm...next week!  Monday, to be exact...

Of course,  I wouldn't have fallen behind if I hadn't become so immersed in my felted Lopi totes.  You know how it is...the ol' knitting switcheroo.

No?  You don't?  Well!  I don't even know what to say.

My yarn, but definitely NOT my socks

Larry's muttering something about maybe I should put down the needles and cook a real meal every once in a while.  I don't see what his problem is - the kids seem perfectly happy on a steady diet of pizza and franks 'n' beans.  Why should I neglect my knitting to cook food they'll hate?  I just can't see the sense in that, can you?

Don't even answer that.  Of course you don't.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a date with some sock yarn...




[Gone Knitting image: Midnight Knitter]
[Sock yarn photo: A Bluestocking Knits]

Florence Nightingale Fail

Judging from my blog stats, I'm attempting to entertain a mass of strangers who are here only because they were doing a Google Image search.  Everyone, everywhere, needs pictures of Tweety Bird.  Also?  Yosemite Sam.

When David was 2, he looked like Tweety Bird.  He had this big round head and skinny body, and he had the same speech defect going on ("tat" for "cat") AND he was very attached to a stuffed Tweety Bird that someone had given us.  Weird coincidence, that.

This is not me.

Well, now he is 14 and doesn't look like Tweety Bird (much) and is way taller than me and managed to sprain his ankle on Sunday.  Usually, David does everything for himself - laundry, cooking, homework, whatever.  And now, suddenly, he can't. Which infirmity has made me realize that it is a good thing my older kids are somewhat independent, as I have no idea whatsoever how to take care of someone bigger than me.  Actually, I have no idea how to take care of anyone older than 5, say, short of throwing some food at them and making them go to bed by a certain hour.  

So, deciding to make this a community-service opportunity for his younger siblings, I delegated David's laundry to Brian.  I made Susie his official water-cup carrier.  I've tasked Rachel with trying to keep the floor clear so that David doesn't break a leg while maneuvering his sprained ankle around on crutches.  And I'm off the hook.  Because it just feels downright weird to be pouring water for my 14-year-old.




[Tweet Bird image: Wallpapers]
[Florence Nightingale: Nursingcrib]

Stinkbugs Like Camping

Remember that spiffy used pop-up camper that Larry and I impulsively bought?  The one Larry was calling my "vacation home," the one we were so excited about because now we could go anywhere with the kids and still have an affordable place to stay?

It turns out anywhere means "anywhere EXCEPT where there might be large numbers of stinkbugs waiting to infest an unsuspecting tent trailer..."

My vacation home, before stinkbugs

You see, on that group camping trip a couple of weekends ago, stinkbugs found it easy - nay, IRRESISTIBLE - to crawl between the snaps that attach the canvas trailer cover to the trailer box. Larry, who usually pooh-poohs my drama-filled accounts of stinkbug encounters, regaled me afterward with tales of how he spent hours shoveling stinkbugs up with the dustpan and throwing them into the fire.

Under the mattresses!

On the ceiling!

Everywhere!

Our camping friends, meanwhile, had hardly any of the pests infiltrating their unpretentious zipper-sealed domed tents.  Hello, Livin' Lite?  I have some redesign recommendations to make.

Isn't it funny that I bought the pop-up camper in part to prevent the insect PTSD I would suffer by staying in possibly bedbug-ridden hotels?  Joke's on me!

Sigh.

Statistics Will Be The Death Of Me

Not-so-grim Reaper

I'm just popping in to thank Murr for pointing out  (in the comments on my last post) that "death risk" is always 100 percent.


Thanks, Murr.  Now go away and leave the rest of us alone with our comforting conviction that we can avoid the inevitable, all right?  Sheesh.



By the way, doesn't that guy up there look a tad too cheerful for his job description? 




[Grim reaper image: FishbowlNY]