callie - edited

I know it is either hideously late or horrendously early to be
writing at 1:56 in the am Friday morning.
We just got back from a trip to Sacramento and my mind is
racing so I thought I would spend my thoughts on you, tsgs.
Sometimes we think we understand God.
And then other times we know, nope, not at all.
We don't get his timing, his outlook, the way he gets at things.
And yet, all we have is him. And of course, each other.
Which is why I am sending this post your way.
One thing about being a tired supergirl is that we know
there are perhaps other vast numbers of tired supergirls
populating the planet and we are not alone.
And while they may look different, use different hair products,
live in different areas of the world, we're pretty sure of two things.
We all like chocolate or some other form of sugary goodness,
and we love babies. Especially our babies.
Or the babies that are related to us.
We love them and want to squeeze their heads.
In a good way, of course.
And I think that people that love babies are the best people
to pray on their behalf.
So tonight (this morning), I am asking for around the world prayer,
for a wee little supergirl in the hospital here.
Her name is Callie.
She was born without an aorta.
The doctors said she wouldn't live past birth.
But she did. She is two.
They said she would be a vegetable.
But she isn't, she is a firecracker.
They said she wouldn't talk. But she does and she loves Dora.
She is sweet like sugar.
We met Callie and her parents, when Scott went to pray for her.
And tonight, she is in one of those critical moments when
the doctors are saying they do not know if Callie will make it.
She has a very sick bowel and if it does not begin to heal in
the next 36 hours, her chances at life are slim.
So we are asking that you pray for Callie.
Jesus said if two or three gather in his name, he is there.
And I believe that two or three, reading a blog, whispering prayers,
counts and Jesus hears us.
And I believe he can heal Callie.
I am thankful, in advance, for your prayers.
And so is Callie.

As of this evening, December 4th, 2007,
Callie's tissue in her intestines is healthy.
After a surgery where the doctors went in saying there was a
1% chance of finding healthy tissue and of Callie living,
and a 99% percent chance of finding dead tissue and Callie dying,
they came out saying she will live. They don't know how it happened.
They can't explain it. Things like this just don't happen.
But she will live. It is a miracle. Plain and simple.
Jesus heard the thousands of prayers that went up for
this sweet baby and he answered them.
Jesus breathed life into that which was dead.
She will have to have another corrective surgery in 3 months
but tonight she is with her mom and dad.
Pray for an eventless recovery and that she will be able to go home soon.
Thank you for your prayers on her behalf.

tired

So you know I am tired because it says so in the title of this blog.
Before I had the boys, I thought I knew what it meant to be tired.
I thought it meant,"Oh, boy, I'm yawning. I need to get in bed."
Before children, I had a heavenly sleep life.
Pre-baby, I was fresh and dewy eyed
and regularly achieved 8 hours of consecutive sleep.
The real mind-numbing tiredness set in during that last trimester
of pregnancy, with the leg cramps that would jolt me awake,
the near suffocation of the 137 pillows
I had stuffed around my body to keep me comfortable and of course,
the 14 potty breaks I had to take through out the night.
Some people used to tell me,"That is your body getting you prepared
for waking up all through out the night to feed the baby."
I always disliked those people.
What my body should have done was let me bank extra hours of sleep,
for all the sleep I would be missing out on.
With Jack, I was tired when I woke up to feed him, but it was all so
new, such a novelty, I got a little excited to see his sweet face
in the night. He would usually go right back to sleep after his feed.
Bless him.
With Will, he would sometimes have gas. Oh the infernal gas.
So I would be up for hours in the middle of the night.
We would cry together. That was when the fear set in.
The fear of Jack waking up early and my getting 3 hours of sleep total.
I thought maybe I would lose my mind, tsgs, yes, I did.
The only thing that saved me was afternoon naps.
We would all go down for a nap and
the world would right itself for a few hours.
Then when Addison arrived, all chaos broke loose in the realm of sleep.
Because Jack was no longer taking naps.
So even if I managed to get Will and Addison down for a nap,
Jack was still up so I had to be up.
Now "up" is a relative word. I believe I survived Addie's first year
in a somewhat zombie like state. I couldn't properly form sentences.
Sometimes I forgot who Scott was. Sometimes I forgot to shower.
For days.
You know that phrase, "You don't know what you've got till it's gone."
Oh, how I miss going to sleep and waking up IN THE MORNING.
I get angry inside when the children wake up in the night even now.
I want to say, "I don't care if you had a bad dream about eyeballs.
Stay in your bed and work it out."
The odds for having a full night of sleep with 3 children, ages 6
and under are not good, tsgs.
Someone is invetably going to wet through their pjs (Addie - lousy diaper),
have a bad dream, (Will - eyeballs)
sleep walk, (Jack - likes to tour the house)
come crawl in bed with us, (Jack or Will or both)
or cry (me - when any of the above happens.)
It seems like a full night of sleep is a pipe dream.
I now know that some sleep deprived mom came up the phrase
"eternal rest" when thinking about the end of this life.
Because an uninterrupted night of sleep,
by any mom's definition, is heaven.

dance fever

So my sister, Jenny, my friend, Lindsey and I went to see
So You Think You Can Dance, the live tour,
along with 12 other girls, friends of Doreen's, Jenny's friend from work.
Our seats where in a suite. A SUITE. Not the way back in the back seats.
A suite with free beverages. We were living the high life, tsgs.
If you want to see unmitigated joy and euphoria,
give 15 women free tickets to a dance show, host them in a suite
and ply them with unlimited caffeinated beverages.
There was a whole lot of happy going on.
The lights went down. And the people that I watched dance on tv,
were suddenly dancing in front of me.
They were leaping. Cavorting. Twirling. Mesmerizing.
Doing things that only people who know how to dance can do.
And I did what any decent lover of dance would do.
I screamed. And clapped. And hollered.
I lost my voice. There were some tears because some of the
dances were so lovely and beautiful and real and amazing.
One of the dances was the story of the choreographer, Mia Michaels,
seeing her dad for the first time in heaven. He died two years ago.
At the end of the dance they flashed a picture of Mia, around age 4,
holding her soda up for her daddy to sip on.
Now, that's not right. Doing a dance like that for a bunch of women,
hepped up on free tickets and diet pepsi. That can break a girl down.
And then there were just shrieks of approval. For the breakers.
THEY WERE CRAZY GOOD. And the Lion King dance.
It was all I could do from leaping up and swinging my arms above
my head and shouting out something in swahili.
If I knew something in swahili.
It moved the soul, tsgs, it really did.
You can see it on our faces. Joy and pepsi. It's all there.
Me. Jenny. Lindsey.

And then at the end, as we were getting ready to leave,
we saw one of the dancers, Neil, in a corner of the backstage area.
We could see part of the backstage area from our high perch in the suite.
One of the girls said loudly,"There's Neil!"

And he looked up at us and waved.
And simultaneously, we all turned 15 again,
and screamed and waved back at him.
The sound was deafening. 15 screaming happy women.
And then another dancer, Hok, saw us and acknowledged our existence.

And again we were 15 years old, shrieking and waving.
And then we were laughing from the gut,
because we were shrieking and waving.
It was good. Everything about the night was good.
And if anyone ever wonders if you should go to see
So You Think You Can Dance, the live tour,
get there as fast as you can. Because they can.
They REALLY REALLY can dance.

thanksgiving giveaway winner

As I rolled out of bed this morning,
(I had to because I ate so much yesterday)
I remembered today I must pick the bonbon necklace winner.
And as the fates would have it (and the random integer generator),
comment #16 -

Anita

is the winner!
Congratulations! You can e-mail your mailing info to:
customerservice@bonboncharms.com.

Hope you all had a fantastic Thanksgiving Day!

morning

When I crawl in bed at night,
I have high heady dreams of what morning will be like.
I will awaken to a brewed pot of coffee and a couple of hours
of dark peaceful child free time to write.
The children will come meandering out on their own,
fully dressed, ready for school and make their own breakfast.
We will climb peacefully into the van, not forgetting anything,
and sing songs all the way to school.
This morning was more like D-Day.
I missed my alarm and missed out on my writing time.
Scott and I woke up with 30 minutes to get us all ready,
a blaring television and the trying task of awakening the one
child who actually has to be to school on time.
I believe Jack is Rip Van Winkle in 1st grade form and
could sleep until he is 60.
When he finally makes it to the table, we are in a mad
scramble, his hair looks like it has taken on jet fuel and
is trying to sky rocket off of his scalp. I just let it be.
Every morning I tell Jack, don't wipe your hands on your pants.
Every morning he goes to school with peanut butter,
jam or syrup on his pants.
EVERY MORNING. This morning I asked him,
"Jack, do you feel like we have the same conversation every morning?"
He smiled and said, "Yep. Deja vu, Mom."
Addison has taken to calling out my name like a trucker from the bronx.
"Maaaaa, Maaaaa, Maaaaa!" He saw me put pretzels in Jack's lunch.
He does not stop accosting me with "Maaa!" until I give one to him.
Scott stops me in the kitchen and says, "Your bangs are doing something."
Which sent me to the bathroom, lest I go out in public, with my bangs
"doing something."
Will follows me into the bathroom. As I am fixing my hair,
he says, pointing to the scale, "Mom, I want you to stand on here.
I want to see what number you are."
"Not right now."
"When?"
"Will, I am not going to step on the scale."
"Is it because you don't want to see what number you are?"
"Yes, that is exactly right. I do not want to see what number I am."
"Are you 2-8-0?"
"No, I am not 2-8-0!"
"Are you 2-0-0?"
"No."
"What number are you, Mom?"
"Will, for the record I am far less than 2-8-0 or 2-0-0.
That's all I'm going to say. Go get your shoes on."
There is nothing that kills the morning's joy better than having
someone who weighs less than a peanut, ask you what number you are.
And so the morning went.
We are all still alive but a bit wounded with poorly coiffured hair.
Let's hope for a better afternoon.

ps if your morning was similar, you might want to sign up for the
thanksgiving giveaway...a necklace might make you feel better

tired supergirl thanksgiving giveaway

A few years ago Scott encouraged me to start blogging.
And I thought,yes, that is what I need,
one more thing to add to my to do list.
Nurse the baby, do the laundry, make the meals, and somehow
find a quiet moment amidst the chaos to log my inner most thoughts.
And then I went to a writer's conference and the publishers said,
"You need to start blogging."
And so of course, I started blogging.
And I also had to go to Scott and tell him,
"Of course, you were right all along. And you are so incredibly handsome.
And the most funny person in the world....can you set up a blog for me?"
Thus was born confessions of a tired supergirl.
But what I had not counted on was the joy.
The joy of writing. The joy of sharing.
The joy of reading YOUR comments.
(Those comments are like chocolate, I just can't get enough.)
And of course, the joy of knowing there are so many
other tired supergirls out there, struggling with the same things
I struggle with, enjoying the same things I enjoy,
understanding all the crazy that goes on in my head.
A veritable league of tired supergirls.
That was the best part of all.
And I am thankful. I am thankful for your encouragement.
Your readership. Your senses of humor. Your willingness
to come hang out and read my stuff.
So today, thanks to my sister, Erica, and her amazing creativity,
she has designed a tired supergirl necklace from BonBon Charms.
It is made from fine silver (better than sterling),
with a fresh water pearl (like moonlight on a string),
and hold on to your seat, girls, a sterling ball chain.
It's shiny. It's pearly. It's free.
What more could a supergirl want?

A little thank you from me to you. It says -
HOPE. BELIEVE. FLY.
It echoes the scripture that we supergirls cling to with a
vise like grip.

Isaiah 40:29-31 says,

He gives power to those who are tired and worn out;
he offers strength to the weak.
Even youths will become exhausted, and young men will give up.
But those who wait on the Lord will find new strength.
They will fly high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary.
They will walk and not faint.

So here's the deal.
I am not keeping it for myself. Even though I want to and
it would accent my neckline beautifully.
It is for ONE OF YOU.
If you would like this necklace for your very own,
leave your name or a comment in the comments.
Get your comment (1 per person) in by Thanksgiving day.
There will be a drawing Friday morning.
The tired supergirl winner will be announced on Friday's blog.
And thanks for reading.
Again.

ps the christmas charms are up at Bonbon...
you might want to check them out while you are at it!

so you think you can dance

What is it about dancing that is so fabulous?
I'm no "Jenny from the block" but I really do love it so.
I love to dance with my boys.
After watching High School Musical 2 a bajillion times,
we have mastered the Bet on it dance,
the I don't dance dance and are now we moving on
to Work this out dance.
And believe me, tsgs, when I say, WE. ARE. WORKING. IT. OUT.
Oh yes, we are. Even 19 month old Addie,
has the dancing gene and he gets his groove on,
pointing his finger repeatedly at the ground
and doing a kind of hop-skip-and-hitch-up-his-pudgy-little-leg dance.
I do a jig of joy when good things happen in my life.
I do a happy dance when I eat something that tastes really good.
Every now and then Scott and I have an early 90's dance off
and the children look away in shame.
I love all kinds of dancing. Except that chicken dance.
I don't know who created the chicken dance that people do at weddings
but that is not really a dance, just in case you were thinking it was.
But I digress.
When I was in my 20's I got to be a part of a 40's
musical and learned to swing dance.
I always felt like I was going to vomit right before I went on,
but the feeling of being out there, swinging and jiving,
made me feel alive. The music, the moves, the joy...rapturous.
So you must believe me when I say,
when I found out there was a possibility that I could go see
the So You Think You Can Dance Tour, I got real sweaty.
And had a few heart palpations.
And felt a little bit like I could be sick.
And then when I nailed down that YES, I was ABSOLUTELY going,
I had to do a little grapevine across the kitchen,
then I threw in a Jackson 5 shimmy with a touch of James Brown
I'm-sinking-down-to-my-knees-somebody-put-a-cape-on-me dance of joy!
Because nothing can be more fun than watching people dance,
who love it and do it so very well.
And this is the week that it all goes down.
Shout outs to my sister, Jenny and Do, for the tickets!
Dreams do come true, tired supergirls, dreams do come true!

thankful

Sometimes the days are full but the heart feels empty.
Life presses in, and I feel like if I get one more bill,
or the kids argue one more time,
or if one more thing goes wrong with the car,
I will officially go cuckoo for cocoa puffs.
But around thanksgiving time, it gets one to thinking about
the real stuff that matters, the good stuff that makes up one's day.
And for some reason, I am able to let the crazy slide off of me
and really savor those sweet moments that come tip-toe-ing by.
Tonight at dinner, Jack was begging Will to be his show and tell.
Tomorrow he has to bring in something he is thankful for.
And he chose Will.
Unfortunately, Will prefers not to be shown and told.
Jack kept trying to sway him.
"Will, all you have to do is stand up and I will say,
I am thankful for family because they are always there for you."
Will was not convinced so Jack added more sugar to the pot.
"I think some kids will be bringing toys
because they are thankful for toys.
And we read a funny book in the morning and
all the kids in my class will give you a high five."
At that point, Will offered up Addie
as the sacrificial show and tell offering.
But the thing is that Jack is thankful for Will.
That is the part that I love. And Will loves Jack back.
Because just a few days ago, he set up all of Jack's legos for him
before he got home from school and he waited for him by the door.
When Jack came in, Will said," Hi, Jack....here are your legos."
And they sat down and played together.
Now I don't know about you, but I think there may be
some cosmic alliance of the planets going on
because my children are getting along.
They actually look forward to being together.
I know it will not last. These seasons come and go.
All miraculous signs and wonders must come to an end.
But tonight, I am basking in the glow
of a friendship growing between my two boys.
It is precious to behold. And for that, I am thankful.

the dress

So my sister, Jenny, and I were in target because
target is where dreams come true.
You can buy toothpaste and a couch at the same store.
That doesn't just happen anywhere.
Jenny was talking about how she needed a dress
for an upcoming wedding.
She was talking about how cute that shiny dress was.
That dress that I thought could be the sparkly will of God for me.
That dress with its vintage feel and sassy neckline.

And I said, "You can't have my dress!
I searched the internet for that dress.
I copied the link....it's here at target...
Let's go try it on!"
They only carried it in navy and black, no rosy plum.
So we each grabbed the SWOG dress. (sparkly will of God)
And that is where the sparkle ended, tsgs.
Because it did not look like it did in the picture once it was on.
The waist was large and billowy when it was not meant to billow but hug.
It sat about two inches above the natural waistline which
does not bode well for those of us shortwaisted gals.
This meant it rode slightly lower than the chestal region.
And I must say it was mainly meant for those who do not have a
significant chestal region because the bodice was so very tight
it constricted the breathing to halted gasping and hissing.
Jenny and I could only speak in staccato like sentences to each other.
All excess of skin was left to flee for it's very life.
My excess skin took the high road and chose to pour out of the poorly
constructed armholes, creating an awkward underarm flap.
I think I will have to rename the dress because I know for
certain that it is not God's will for me, sparkly or not.
Maybe it should be "the sparkly-not-God's-will-at-all dress" or
"the sparkly-horrid-breath-stealing-dress from the pit of hell" or
"the sparkly-shame-on-Isaac-Mizrahi-
for-using-ill-fitting-designs-for-his-target-line dress".
Whatever the name, Jenny and I decided something.
Toothpaste from target? Yes. Christmas decorations? Yes.
Shampoo? Paper Goods? 200 thread count sheets?
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Shiny dresses?
Never ever. Nope. Not ever. Don't even think about it.
Go to Macy's.

good news....bad news

Good news first....
TRADER JOE'S. CANDY CANE JOE JOE'S. HERE. NOW.
My sister-in-law, Cheri and I, met up at TJ's,
to do a little grocery shopping in tandem.
We get to chat, browse and sip free coffee out of teeny cups.
Does it get any better than that? Yes, it does, tsgs, yes, it does.
Because after hoping beyond hope that the Christmas Joe Joe's
were in stock, and looking all over for them, I headed up to
customer service to see if they could help me out and lo and behold,
in front of the customer service counter was a monstrous display of
CANDY CANE JOE-JOE's.
(imagine a silvery light from heaven shining on them)
I had remembered them as peppermint joe-joe's, but dearest of friends,
they are called candy cane joe-joes's because there are crushed
pieces of real candy cane folded into a cream filling,
wedged between two chocolate wafer cookies made from real cocoa.
Real candy canes. Real cocoa. It says it on the box.
I don't know who the person was who married mint and chocolate
but I love that genius with an everlasting love.
When I saw the giant red and white display before me,
I broke out into song...just in my head of course,
because I was still in the store.
It was the chorus of an old Winan's song.
Looks like I can feel the breaking of day
Oh what joy breaking forth in my soul
Now for the bad news.....
TRADER JOE'S. CANDY CANE JOE JOE'S. HERE. NOW.
Now that I have brought said cookies into my home,
the war between healthy-eating-Sue and give-mama-the-cookies-Sue
must now commence.
Last year, I was still nursing Addison when the cookies entered the
picture so I ate whatever I wanted whenever I wanted.
But now that I am not nursing and I am trying not to eat whatever I want
whenever I want. And yet I have eaten 4 already today.
Sometimes in all of my twisted eating logic I think,
"If I eat the whole box right now, then it won't tempt me tomorrow..."
Never mind the fact, that if I did eat the whole box,
all those little slivers of candy cane goodness
could send me into a diabetic coma.
So I am rationing the Joe-Joe's (feeding them to my children),
to save myself. They are appreciative.
Addison thinks he has died and gone to mint cookie heaven.
So rush out and get a box, tsgs, call your girlfriends,
and have a peppermint party.
You can share the calories and the candy cane joy.
Christmas only comes once a year.
And so do candy cane joe joe's.

words

I am mesmerized by words.
Every time I crack a book, I get caught up in
the rich world of words. They open the imagination.
All writers love words. I like to piece them together like a puzzle
so that I can express how I feel, what I've seen, who I love and so on.
I especially love the words in songs.
So many times, I have backed up a song to hear a certain phrase,
riding in on a set of notes and I feel undone.
Song writers are poets. They sing what I feel.
Scott says that his high school buddy, Eugene,
and I know how to beat a song into the ground....
because I will replay a song I like a bajillion times.
Oh, yes I will, tsgs, because how else do you learn
the words so you can sing into the mirror with your hair brush?
So as I write this blog I am listening to "unwritten" by
Natasha Bedingfield for the 57th time tonight. It's not a new song.
But it's one of those songs that means something
and I want its words tattooed on my heart.
(Just a figurative tattoo because I'm scared of needles.)
It's a song about WORDS!(And of course, she rocks it!)
Natasha used to sing with Hillsong in England.
I'm thinking she loves Jesus.
Check out these words:

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you cannot find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin

No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else...no one else can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

We are unique, each one of us. Jesus comes along and says,
"Have I got a story for you! Let's start writing!"
Mostly, I think this song shouts,
"DON'T BE SCARED!" "GO FOR IT!" "DON'T MISS ANOTHER DAY!"
To me it says,
"Susanna, DON'T YOU DARE FORGET THIS SWEET LIFE YOU ARE LIVING
just because you are stuck under mounds of laundry
and have croupy kids with lots of phlegm!
Go scoop up those little morsels of little boy goodness
and kiss them until they beg for mercy!" or something to that effect.
I want to soak it up, this life. I don't want to miss out.
So many days go by where I feel like I am clutching for control,
forgetting to live life with arms wide open,
forgetting to receive what this season has to offer me.
So maybe I have filled a few pages of my life with piffle,
with words of self pity or fear or silliness...but what about tomorrow?
I don't want to squander the pages God has given me.
So...that said....what are you going to write today?

pumpkin socks

It is cold this morning, with a thick fog blanketing the trees.
I have to say I love, love, love fall.
I love the cool weather and cozying up in front of a fire.
I love seeing little kids bundled up, little knit hats shoved
down over their heads, as they walk to school in the morning.
And I love pumpkins.
I loved seeing all of the pumpkins lit on porches and sidewalks
on halloween night, and the golden light pouring out through
the spaces in the jack o'lanterns smiles.
I love pumpkin muffins, pumpkin bread and pumpkin pie.
Especially one-handed pumpkin pie, eaten for breakfast,
the morning after thanksgiving.
There is no need for a plate...
just pick it up and toss it back. Yummy!
I replaced the tahitian vanilla candle in the hurricane
on my coffee table with a pumpkin spice candle
and it is filling the room with it's subtle pumpkin-y goodness.
And since yesterday, I now love a pair of
over fluffy bright orange pumpkin socks
with jack o'lanterns embroidered on the sides.
They were a gift from my mother-in-law for halloween.
She is a fantastic giver of gifts and I love her for it.
But when I first saw these socks, I thought,
I do not think I will ever wear them. Not in this lifetime.
I had sock pride. No crazy pumpkin socks for me.
I, myself, usually play it straight when it comes to socks.
White socks. Trouser socks. The occasional black and brown.
Socks that are the fiery color of the sun's core? Not so much.
But yesterday as the temperature dropped and my bare feet were turning
to frigid blocks of ice, I began ransacking the house for socks.
I have to confess this last week, laundry has not been a priority.
And as fate would have it, all I could find were my pumpkin socks.
So I slipped them on and lo and behold, their over-fluffiness
encased my frozen feet and massaged them into toasty warmness.
They also seemed to pick up every stray piece of lint in the house.
Which can be beneficial if you have dirty floors like I do.
I wore them all day. Without shame.
My sock pride had been humbled by a lovingly fleecy pair of socks.
Even now as I am typing and my feet are cramping in the cold,
I am wondering, where are my lovely warmth giving festive booties?
So as you can see, I am officially old.
I am not caring about what they look like, only the comfort they can give.
Next time you see me,
I may be wearing orthopedic shoes with arch support.
But take a moment to ponder this...
maybe you are trying to save some money on your heating bill
and a pair of fluffified socks are part of your answer.
Maybe there are no white, subdued beige
or subtle gray puffy socks to be found.
Don't judge a sock by its color.
I give you permission to go with a shocking magenta or violent purple,
apparently they have a purpose to serve as well.
Even socks with appliqued pumpkins on the side.

the sparkly will of God

The other day Erica called me to see if I had read boomama.
She is an absolutely HILARIOUS writer who loves Jesus,
her little boy, diet coke, High School Musical 2 and all things sparkly.
My favorite line in her post about trying to resist the
urge to buy an electric blue sequined dress was,
I’m just seeking God’s will, people. God’s fun, funky and sparkly will.
Now Erica and I were saying, we had never before realized
that God had a fun, funky and sparkly will.
But of course he does.
He made chocolate (fun), the platypus (funky), and diamonds (sparkly).
He also made snowflakes, icicles, and semi-precious stones.
(sparkly, sparkly, sparkly!)
So I began to think about what his sparkly will for me might be.
I think maybe it could be some
sparkly mercury glass candle holders for my mantle,

or a trip to the sparkly waters of Hawaii,

or this dress,

which is not so much sparkly as shiny,
but I believe those words belong to the same adjective family.
I do not know where I would wear the dress but I would like to have it
in my closet so I could visit it and try it on
and enjoy it in all of its shiny taffeta deliciousness.
Or maybe it is God's sparkly will that I would weed in my back yard,
and that I myself would be sparkly with all that sweat from hard labor.
I've got some serious weeds, people.
More than likely, his sparkly will is
that I look after my sons who have caught the croup
and whose runny noses tend to sparkle in the light.
So many sparkly options.
I have some tissue in hand...and some garden gloves but I would be more
than willing to splurge on some 50 spf suntan lotion,
if God chooses to go with Hawaii. Yes, I would.
We can always hope, tsgs. We can always hope.

candy coma

Last night was all about the candy.
As Halloween has been for years for children across this country.
We woke up yesterday morning with a sense of high anticipation.
As the afternoon deepened, we could barely contain our excitement.
Our first stop was at McDonald's with friends for re-fueling.
We had showed up as Qui-gon Jinn (Obi-wan Kenobi's jedi mentor),

Luke Skywalker,

and Peter Pan.

Scott and I showed up as ourselves.
My friend, Paula, also showed up as....me.
With a freakish black wig on that could not be controlled by clips.
That one lady who said mean things about my hair
would have re-thought her comments on going dark
if she saw how hot Paula looked last night.
2nd stop was the harvest festival.
There was the bounce house, the ring toss and of course, the candy.
Jack scared the pastor because for some reason the eye holes in his mask
were the exact same size as his real eyes.
This brought on the Mona Lisa effect where his eyes would follow you.
While not noticed at first glance, Qui-gon Jinn bears an uncanny
resemblance to some pre-raphaelite renderings of Jesus.

So as Jack looked at you from his his mask
you felt like it was Jesus peering into your soul.
None of us would look him directly in the eye.
Then we went trick or treating around our neighborhood.
We were joined by the Jensens and Uncle Brett and Aunt Jenny.
Candy bonanza.
It brought to mind those cold Illinois nights,
in my $2.99 plastic bunny costume with the mask that would get muggy
from condensation as we ran from house to house.
A lot of sugary goodness was tossed into those little boys candy
buckets last night. At each house their little buddy Gabe,would say,
"Trick or Treatin'!" And there was a lot of treatin'!
As the children labored to carry their candy filled pumpkins,
we adults would urge them on.
"There's a good house! Look at all the pumpkins! Say THANK YOU!"
When else during the year can you go up to anyone's home,
mostly people you don't know or have only seen mowing their lawn,
ring their doorbell and they will throw open their door showering
you with candy? Never.
At one point, Jack turned to me and said,
"Mom, I know another good thing about Halloween besides the candy."
"What?"
"We get to meet lots of people that we've never met before."
It was true. And we were greeted with a lot of joy since who doesn't
love seeing little ones dressed up, begging for treats?
When we finally made it back to the house, all three boys
dumped out their candy and Addie danced a happy jig around his pile.
They began to count their pieces because you must.
it is a halloween tradition.
And then Jenny turned to me and said,"Now the trading begins."
NAFTA is put to shame by the serious trade deals that go down
with Halloween candy.
And my children will have to learn what children down through
the ages have learned, no one with any sense will ever trade for
a Bit o' Honey. Unless you went to a house with hippies, and they
gave you some of that weird sesame candy or peanut butter taffy,
then maybe, someone will trade for the Bit o'Honey.
Take the Bit o' Honey as a loss and move on.
So goes another Halloween.
A lot of joy. A lot of laughter. A lot of pumpkins.
And oh, yes. A whole lot of candy.