I'm a Halloweenie

Getting ready to TorT in the 'hood.

I don't know why I have such an issue with Halloween. I loved Halloween growing up. It was probably my favorite holiday after Christmas. My mother always dressed up like a witch, complete with her front tooth blacked out. She made up special bags with extra candy for my best friends when they stopped by. And my birthday is November 1, so I always had cool, Halloween-themed parties. Frequently friends would come over after trick or treating and spend the night if it happened to be on a weekend. (More on that later.)

[Side note: It was during these trick-or-treating years that I learned to like Special Dark chocolate bars. Back in the day there were not 20 million types of fun-size candies to hand out, so the Hershey's Miniatures bag was a staple. If you liked Special Dark, you could end up with a ton of extra candy without even having to trade for it. Win!]

As an adult, do I love Halloween still?

Um... Not so much.

Throwing in the Towel ... Literally

My husband cleaned up the minions' rooms last night. He got tired of them saying their room was clean and, frankly, it looking kind of clean-ish at first glance, only to find that looks can be deceiving.

These are the clothes that he found under beds, inside bedside table drawers, stuffed behind furniture, etc. [Important Side Note: We washed every stitch of their dirty clothes over the weekend. Or so we thought.]

Clean?

Dirty?

A lot of each?

Big Brothers Rock

I don't know if you've been following the story about Hannah Graham on the news. She is a second-year student at the University of Virginia — my alma mater.

[I say "is" intentionally. I will continue to say "is" until I know for sure otherwise.]

She went missing two weeks ago — Saturday, September 13 — after leaving a house party. Alone.

I don't know all of the details of Hannah Graham's disappearance.
I don't know why no one went with her when she left the party.
I don't know how long after her 1 a.m. text saying, "I am lost" her friends alerted someone in authority.
I don't know how she ended up with a stranger on the Downtown Mall.

Some of these things may never be known unless and until she is found alive.

What I do know is this: alone is dangerous.

My App-alling Life

Recently my youngest, Jordan, had a hissy fit. A good old-fashioned throwdown over his Kindle. Or, rather, over the fact that he no longer had his Kindle.

You see, he had gone into my bedroom — without asking permmission — looking for a charging cord. Instead of asking for help, he decided to unplug my iPhone cord and take it to his room to see if it would work.

It didn't. And he never bothered to return it.

So when he was informed that he would not have his Kindle for a while, he lost his ever-lovin' mind. Bless his heart. 

Your Body Told Me

There are lots of things about parenting that aren't in the handbook. I mean, if there were a handbook. And even if there were, some things just wouldn't be in it.

I learned one of those things from my son's violin teacher. Miss Keiko has no children of her own, but has raised a lot of violin students. Some have been with her for more than a decade. When they go off to college, they still talk to her. She loves that.

Enter Joshua. He started taking lessons with her when he was four years old.

Joshua, age 4, at violin with Miss Keiko

When he was four, her biggest challenge with him was keeping him vertical. He would roll around on the floor, interrupt her constantly, and participate in this stream-of-consciousness conversation that he can really carry on entirely by himself. I don't know where he gets it...Oh, look! There's a birdie!

I. Must. Read.

I love to read.

This is no secret to anyone who knows me. In fact, there were years upon years growing up when my Wish List for Santa was a list of books. Or, to make it easier on him, a gift card to B. Dalton would do. I'm flex that way.

But as I grew up, got married, had kids, my opportunity to read has dwindled. But a few years ago, I decided to reclaim reading.

You see, I was having trouble falling asleep at night. I simply could not shut my mind down. I couldn't stop thinking about never-ending to do lists. Questions ran through my mind like so many stock prices on a ticker tape.

Did I remember to turn the coffee maker on? 
Was there money in our teenager's lunch account?
Did Joshua practice enough violin this week to be able to fool his teacher tomorrow?
Why Jordan would think it was OK to put a dead snake on the kitchen table? (More about that one later.)

You know ... day to day stuff like that.

"We Make a Lotta Rules"

My son looked contemplatively at his lunch today. Then he spoke slowly and thoughtfully.

"We make a lotta rules, don't we?"

I stepped out of the laundry room cautiously. I did NOT want to have this conversation right now. You know the schtick. The conversation bout how rules are important, especially when running a house full of boys, a dog, four cats, and assorted other critters and kids.

About how God gives us rules to help keep us safe and help us make wise choices.

And about how parents are charged with doing the same for our children.

So I decided to tread cautiously.

"What do you mean, buddy? How do we make a lot of rules?"

"Well..."

Titan, RIP, after his swim in the neighborhood pool.

He hesitated.