Happy Halloween

...from our house to yours!

To see our Halloween pics through the years, check this out.

I'll be eating candy and writing tonight. What do you have planned? 

Happy Halloween!

From our house to yours...

Poor Margaret feels sick and will be staying in from Trick or Treating. I'll try to get her to put on her Pillow Pet costume for you! Adorable.
**********

This past week was pretty brutal with all of the storm preparation and anticipation. I don't tell you this to complain, but to thank you for the prayers and good thoughts you sent our way. It was a very heavy time, and your concern helped us feel less alone.

The good news is that most of the Northern Virginia area was spared major damage unlike the Outer Banks, New York, and New Jersey.

The bad news is I experienced a lot of grief and anger and flashbacks for the better part of the week.

It was so hard to believe that with all of the advance warning and preparation this week we did not even lose power for a second, while on the day of Jack's accident the power went out, and roads and bridges were flooded, yet schools and businesses continued as usual, and we did not have any warning about how dangerous the situation had become until it was too late. And don't even get me started on the shitty little (empty) creek I saw this weekend.

We really are grateful to be safe and dry.

But we're still grappling with the big questions, and probably will be for a long time.

My love and prayers are with those families who lost dear ones during this storm, and for those of you who are dealing with the aftermath in both big and small ways.

Halloween

Monday Musings...

So I’ve come to realize that PMS and Profound Grief are not a winning combination.

Of course I’d gladly embrace the former every day of my life to be spared the latter, but that’s not a choice that’s mine to make. Last week I found myself silently railing, to no one in particular-- random cars driving down the road, strangers in the grocery store-- “Blank you and the horse you rode in on!” I don’t really even understand that expression, except, of course, its intent, but I was spewing it, inside my head, again and again. I found this slightly troubling yet liberating at the same time.

I remember reading “The Green Mile” years ago and being taken aback by the warden’s sweet wife, who was dying of cancer, as she spewed out every epithet in the book. Such was the depth of her suffering. I wondered how she could have the thoughts to formulate those words, when she had probably not used them in her entire life.

Now I realize I do not even know what the vocabulary of my grief will be. Ugly words? Ugly thoughts? Soothing words? Edifying thoughts? We will see, day by day by day.

When people say how strong I am, I don’t know how to respond. Because all I am doing is getting out of bed and trying to function through the day. I am eating. I am laughing. I am crying. I don’t feel that I am any stronger than someone else who does stay in bed. And, really, who knows what tomorrow will bring?

23 years ago, when my mom died suddenly, I was 18 and had just come home for summer break. Three days later, I got a job hostessing at the local restaurant where our family had eaten 3-4 nights a week ever since Mom decided she was fed up with cooking.

So that summer I pulled on my jean miniskirt, laced up my Keds, and smiled and joked my way through my shifts. I stayed busy during the days and wandered the house crying at night. It’s just what I did. My father, brother, and sister did things differently, and that was okay, too.

Tim, who misses Jack terribly, has found comfort in being with people. Watching baseball, football, playing cards or going out for a beer. Getting together with a group of neighbors to discuss where God is in all of this. In the first days and weeks after the accident, I couldn’t understand why my normally shy husband was becoming a social butterfly. He went to museums. He wanted to have people over. He had a catch with friends. I wondered, ungraciously, “Does he miss Jack or does he miss having a catch?”

He took another friend geo-caching, which was our family’s favorite hobby. Huh? When we talked about it, it became clear that Tim likes being in a group because it is a welcome distraction. Being with friends buoys him up, even when they aren’t talking about Jack. And doing the things he did with Jack, such as going to a cherished geocaching spot or watching a baseball game, helps him feel closer to Jack.

Me? I don’t want to be in a large social setting right now, even though that is more in my nature than Tim's. It's too hard to be with people talking about toenail polish, standardized tests and the like. I know that will get more bearable, but for now I would rather be with just a few people who are willing to talk about Jack. I want people to know that talking about Jack isn’t going to “remind” me of what we have lost. Believe me, we know.

I also find great solace in messages on facebook and comments on this blog letting me know people are praying for us, even when I don’t have the energy for face to face contact or to write back. These gifts from you are accessible to me any time during the day or night.

In the week ahead, with lots of “firsts” coming up, such as our treasured Halloween parade and trick-or-treating, we wonder how we will navigate them. Tim suggested maybe standing at a different parade spot with different people, while I want to say at “our” parade spot of 12 years. Who knows what we'll do?

Despite our different personalities and grieving styles, which we are grateful to be able to understand and express to each other, both Tim and I LOVE to hear how God is working in people’s lives as a result of Jack’s life and death. If you have something like that to share, I hope you will.

Sometime in the past year, as we were getting out of the car, Jack said to me, “I think I may want to be a missionary, but I might be too shy.”

Margaret replied, “I don’t ever want to be a missionary. They have TERRIBLE toilets!”

Fairly accurate statement, I suppose.

I told him there are ways of being a missionary even if you are shy.

Perhaps, through the way he is still touching people’s lives right now, Jack is getting to be a missionary without ever having to say a word.

Pumpkin Porn?

Each Halloween we visit “The Pumpkin House” in our town. Hundreds of HUMONGOUS pumpkins perch on scaffolding up and down the driveway, and the line of spectators snakes down the block.

Carvings range from cartoon characters and political figures to pop culture icons. It’s not unusual to see the gang from Twilight sitting next to Renoir’s Luncheon of the Boating Party. I am amazed how elaborate the carvings are each year.

Molly takes pictures of nearly every one.

When she saw one of a BULL with a piece of dooky coming out of its rear, and a big slash through it indicating, “NO,” Molly said, “Look, NO BUFFALO POOP! That’s so cool!” Cracked me up.

So we had presidents, Scooby Doo, the Mona Lisa, and even God’s hand reaching across the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel to touch a Jack-o-Lantern. Very neat.

This year’s theme was “optical illusions,” so the line went slowly as people tried to see hidden pictures within pictures.

Check this one out! See the old people? See the vase? See the people playing instruments?

The thing is, hidden or not, there was an awful lot of nudity this year. Seriously. I’m used to a Venus de Milo here or there. Fine. But several of this year’s pumpkins looked like they were ripped straight out of the K*ama Sutra.

I feared my 11 year old boy would encounter porn at some point, but I had no inkling it would be of the Pumpkin variety.

In fact, one pumpkin looked a lot like page 37 of a certain book my well-intentioned friend gave me years ago in an attempt to "loosen me up." When I found the book too hot to handle, I placed it high on my closet shelf. A couple years later, when my father in law was helping with a home improvement project in my closet, he found it and said to Tom, “Heh, Heh… I found your Instruction Manual.” Good times.

Anyhoo, I’m still a fan of the Pumpkin House. And I guess I don’t have to worry about teaching my kids “family life education,” something that is absent from our school’s curriculum. When they ask questions, I can just say, “Wait until next Halloween.”

And that’s no Buffalo Poop.

So Many Skittles, So Little Time

We went to our town's annual Halloween parade tonight and had a blast. The parade made me (finally!) realize that Halloween is just a few days away. I have not purchased a pumpkin to carve. I have not come up with a dog costume for Shadow, even though I promised Molly I would. Most importantly, I have not finished eating the kids Halloween candy from last year.

I tried, really I did.

But as the kids have gotten older, their ability to stay out later and hit more houses for trick or treating has meant a huge increase in candy. They weighed their bulging pillowcases last year, and Jake had 11 lbs and Molly had 5.

I thought eating 16 pounds of candy was in my realm of expertise, and I tackled it at a steady clip. Unfortunately, March-May I forgot about it completely, and I never really got my groove back. Valentine's Day and Easter also threw me for a loop. So here we are, less than a week away from the big day, and I'm not just not ready for the big re-supply.

If you are wondering if the kids know about my habit, which usually takes place when I sneak in their rooms late at night, I would have said no, but tonight on the way home from the parade I heard them talking to our neighbor in the back seat:

Jake: "I only eat about 2 pieces of Halloween candy a year. I leave the rest in my closet."
Neighbor: "Really?"
Molly: "Yeah, me too."
Neighbor: "Then what happens to it?"
Molly: "My mom eats it."
Jake: Head nod

So, with only four days remaining, I have an idea. I am seriously considering handing out last year's candy this year. Sure all the Kit Kats, Twizzlers and Snickers are gone, but there's still a decent variety.

Cheap and resourceful? Or just plain icky?

Mice Would be Nice

While I am impressing you with my mad photography skills and aversion to touching things, I have another fun thing to show you.

During our quest for Chalk Ink at Michaels, the kids and I picked up this little kit from Martha Stewart for about 4 bucks. It took about 2 minutes to put them up with the sticky dots provided.

Before:

Here’s my blurry little mouse at the top of the stairs.



After:

Here’s the same staircase after we Halloweened it up a bit with these mouse (rat???) silhouettes.




They haven’t freaked any of us out yet.

Pumpkins, bad lighting, and dog hair optional.

Thank You For Not Commenting

No, not my readers. I crave YOUR comments. This is for Tom. When I came home today with two mini-scarecrows to put in the pots in front of our house, but I didn’t have time to get milk for our breakfast tomorrow, you may not have noticed.

If you did notice, thank you for keeping quiet about it. You see, Halloween is 2 days away and I wanted to get a little decorating on. I have priorities. Like coming home and blogging about it.

I tend to think that if you had gone to the store for a big box of my favorite Special K and had come home with-- I don’t know…a baseball card-- I might have had a little something to say about it.

Thanks also for not getting ruffled about that little home improvement “To Do” list on the fridge. You know I like to write jobs down so we can have the satisfaction of crossing them off if we ever get to them. Thanks for not taking this as a personal affront to your manhood.

When you’ve asked me to pick up stamps while I’m out, I’m sorry for those times I’ve acted like you are trying to oppress me and all womankind. I guess sometimes a stamp IS just a stamp, and a #2 coffee filter is just a #2 coffee filter.

While we’re at it, thanks for never once, in the 9 ½ years since I quit teaching, ever uttering the words, “But you’re home all day anyway.” Good decision. Good man.

Friday Confession

I'm already on my third round of candy corn for the season. I've gone through 1/2 a bag of Skittles and just opened the Reeses assortment Tom bought for trick or treaters. I hate to think I'll have to make a run to the store on Halloween night, but why should this year be any different?