Happy Halloween!

I went to my girlfriend's house last night for our new tradition: a pumpkin martini. Vanilla vodka, brandy, pumpkin pie spice mix (from a can), cream (whipped or otherwise) and a dusting of nutmeg. Yum!

I had one last year at a cute little cafe on Park Ave., Cibon, that was soooooooo good I couldn't get it out of my head but they haven't had it on the menu since. Believe me, I know. We've gone back twice (once last fall and again last week) and I've now resorted to calling beforehand. No such luck.

And, although it is the last day in October, it is gorgeous Indian Summer day today -- perfect for Trick or Treating. With only one exception, it has been warm on Halloween every year since we moved to Rochester. That's four warm Halloweens in a row. So I get to go door-to-door with Darth Vadar and Jack Sparrow while the hubby entertains all of the kids who come to our house. I'll cash my chips in and man the door next year when it has to be cold, right?!

Which, on an somewhat related note, brings me to the following. I don't remember a single costume I ever wore on Halloween (as a kid) nor do I think there are pictures of any. I may have gone as a member of Kiss once; I vaguely remember my face feeling super itchy one horrible night. But I do remember, as clear as if it were yesterday, my same pumpkin-martini-pouring-girlfriend going one year, when we were really little, as a ghost. Yep, the white sheet with two eyes cut out. Why is this image so clear? Because as we ran between houses in the dark, she continued to trip on her sheet and fall down -- all night long.

Not sure it was ever funny to her but almost 40 years later (yikes), it's still funny to me!

Yard Defender

Our front walkway courtesy of my husband.

Note: Idea co-opted from Extreme Pumpkins author Tom Nardone as seen in USA Today.

Holy Roller

Yep, more God stuff that my brother detests . . . D'oh!

My girlfriend and I had a brief conversation when we were leaving church yesterday about becoming "holier than thou." Whereas she knew that reading the Bible and applying it to her life has been making her a better person, she also recognized that others might still see her flaws and not want to subscribe to any religion that would accommodate someone who behaves as poorly as she. (Her perception not mine.)

I felt the same way for years. For a long time, I didn't want to share my faith for a number of reasons including:
1) I always thought that Christians were stupid -- ergo, others probably now think that I am a total idiot (and who could blame them?).
2) My behavior didn't change overnight; therefore, I could predict overhearing the following in Thirsty's as I did a bar crawl, "I thought she was a believer. Some Christian she is."

But the simple fact is, I haven't actually done a bar crawl in years. And that's not because I'm a holy roller but rather because I'm in my 40s, don't get out much and, when I do, my nights are not typically wild. (Note the use of "typically" -- I still have my moments.) However, the truth is: I never really did many bar crawls. That was (and is) more the province of my rowdier girlfriends. And it's still hysterical to witness.

However, instead of covering up my faith because I am a sinner and might give Christianity a bad name, I now recognize that I would rather change my life to be a better reflection of God. Not easy (I still keep falling) but better than the alternative.

One friend, when talking faith, always quotes John Lennon, "Whatever gets you through the night; it's alright." This view is much more tolerant than any I ever espoused historically but also doesn't quite describe my current leaning. To me, faith hasn't served as a crutch that makes me feel better about myself. Instead, the opposite has happened. It has opened giant areas of my life that desperately needed attention. Things I had previously chosen to ignore or I simply never considered to be issues, are now brought to life with a loud (but understanding) "So, what are you going to do about it?" question.

I grew up with this vision of God as a distant entity who had much bigger fish to fry than to deal with my little problems. People were starving in Africa and this little girl in Junior High wants a boyfriend? How selfish and petty is she? I thought I was bothering him when I would ask for anything through my prayer life and, since I never saw any of my prayers answered anyway, I thought he didn't really give a shit. More importantly, I always thought that I never measured up to his expectations. I was supposed to be perfect and I wasn't. Really, who wants that kind of constant condemnation in life? Not me.

I'm still unbelievably far from perfect (farther than I can fathom) but I now understand that I'm deeply loved in spite of all of this. He knows exactly how I act and think but still somehow loves me. How cool is that? Now that makes me want to be a better person . . . not to avoid disapproval but rather to please him. Who knew?

Never Sleep Alone

The New York Times published an article this week entitled, “Shhh . . . My Child Is Sleeping (in My Bed, Um, With Me)” which categorizes those who sleep with their kids in three ways: 1) intentional co-sleepers (e.g., those who believe it’s good for a child’s well-being and emotional development), 2) reactive (e.g., those who can’t get their kids to sleep any other way) or 3) circumstantial (e.g., when on vacation). I fall into all three categories.

From the moment Son #1 was born, he wanted to be held. Even in the hospital, when he fell asleep and I put him in the bassinet next to me, he immediately awoke. After repeated wake-ups, I finally propped the pillows on the side of my hospital bed so he wouldn’t tumble out, placed him next to me and we both fell asleep. We’ve been together ever since: 7.5 years.

Although we had one of those cribs that attaches to the side of the bed, it ended up housing my laptop – which at the time was a much-needed convenience given the preponderance of 3:00 a.m. emails at my previous job and my ancillary night-time feedings which corresponded nicely (no pun intended!).

People who heard about these sleeping arrangements either fully understood (i.e., did the same thing) or, conversely, were aghast. I heard from so many people, “Just put him in the crib and let him cry through it.” The one time I agreed to try it, I hated every moment. His sobbing seemed to go on forever and penetrated every corner of our house. Finally, after hours of sadness, I couldn’t stand it any longer and went in to his room to check on him. Like a beaver, he was trying to bite his way through the crib. His mouth was literally filled with wood chips. Never again.

I definitely feel that a childhood filled with warmth, love and snuggles trumps any negative side effects. Like the fact that I now begin my nights reading books with my kids, saying our prayers and falling asleep; however, mid-night, when I cannot roll over and my body is in a cramp, I finally make my way back to my bed where I belong and attempt to fall back asleep. And, I don’t think the hubby appreciates the fact that this has been going on for so many years.

Now that the kids are older, having me (and each other) in one bed falls squarely in the “reactive,” least positive, most stressful category. Son #2 now has a hard time falling asleep alone and oftentimes, if I’m working late or out with friends, attempts to stay up and wait for me. Not healthy for him -- or for our backs as we repeatedly carry a 65 lb. kid up the stairs who has fallen asleep on the family room floor.

The last line of the article sums it up nicely, however, with a quote from the pediatrician of the author’s daughter. “I can tell you with certainty,” he says, “that one day you will wake up, and she won’t be there.”

We're a long way from being empty nesters but I'm glad. For now, I love the tenderness and, until they're ready, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Girl Scout Cookies

It's that time of year when everyone comes out of the woodwork shilling for the Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, Jazz Ensemble, etc. We currently have Thin Mints coming from the little girl across the street, Fat Free Chocolate Chips from her sister, Cinna-Spins (whatever they may be) from our niece, more Thin Mints from the daughter of a friend from High School, Caramel deLights from the daughter of another friend from High School, popcorn from the boy next door, popcorn from some other boys up the street and two Thanksgiving pies from another neighbor's son.

Why do I care? Well, not only did I just get back from the fat-farm only to eat handfuls upon handfuls of chips, I also dyed my hair brown. And then I realized that one of my son's friends from school -- whom I've met on multiple occasions and blogged about yesterday -- asked me recently, "Who are you?" as if I was no longer recognizable.

Dark brown hair? Fat? OMG! Maybe he thought I was Britney Spears . . . I hear that drugs can age you twenty years.

Normative or Deviant?

What do you do if your son's best friend at school keeps inviting him over to his house and subsequently showing him his penis? Nothing? Anything?

I first heard about it after it happened a few weeks ago at our house. I was informed of it by son #2. Son #1 proceeded to confirm the story and state nonchalantly that it happened at the kid's house, too.

Then, son #1 rode the bus home with this kid and they did "something bad on the bus" which he refuses to talk about.

Monday, he went to this kid's house again. I asked, "Did you have fun over there?" to which I got an excited response about various video games they played and Naruto cards they swapped. I then asked, "Did he show his penis again?" "Oh yeah." As if it was nothing. So, of course, I don't want to make it something. I just think it's really weird behavior for a seven-year old. But I don't know. Maybe that's what boys do?

I told him that he could have this kid over if he promises that he won't let him take "it" out of his pants. "I already know that." Well, okay then.

Beyond that, what? Speak with the kid's parents? Is this something innocuous that boys do? Or the sign of worse things to come? Can any guy answer this for me?

No More Tears

While I was gone last weekend, Son #2 began sobbing before bedtime on Saturday night because he missed me.

In order to get him to fall asleep, the hubby told him that if he stopped crying, blew his nose and put the tissue under his pillow, he might get a visit from the snot fairy.

I wonder what she brought . . .