The International Language of Cartoon

The other night, after a particularly grumpy day by all involved I called an impromptu Family Movie Night. So while I threw a bag of popcorn in the microwave Damonn started the movie and got the kids settled into the big bed in our room. When I came in a few minutes later everyone was planted quietly in their preferred spot, the kids intent on the featured attraction and Damonn flipping through a magazine (how many times can you pretend to be interested in The Sword and the Stone?). I quickly settled into my spot between the kids and started watching the movie. Something immediately caught my attention and I started looking around to see if anyone else was noticing. Nope, kids were still enthralled in the antics of Merlin the Wizard onscreen and Damonn was still casually scanning his magazine pages. I couldn't help myself and started giggling. This of course caught every one's attention and I was suddenly surround by three faces with expressions of, "What?"

"I dunno know", I shrugged pointing towards the T.V., "I was just wondering if it might be more enjoyable if we didn't watch the entire movie in Chinese."

WANTED: Three Pieces of I.D. And Your Right Kidney

You know what I love about the DMV? I mean, besides the way their camera makes a completely normal law-abiding citizen look like a career felon. I like the way they put everyone on a level playing field. A business man in a three-piece suit, a gangly first-time teenage driver, a middle-aged mom that can't find her driver's license anywhere even though she's checked every coat pocket, every purse, under every car seat, and the dryer after every load for weeks on end. We are all at the hands of a few individuals armed with the power of rules we had no hand in making and have no ability to alter. Rules that require us to dig through dark corners of the closet and sift through years of memorabilia looking for long-lost, crumpled documents. Like, your birth certificate to prove you're a legal citizen, your social security card to cross-check that you don't have outstanding child support payments, and your marriage license to prove that your name legally changed. No, your social security card doesn't do that, at least not according to the DMV. My favorite is needing a bill in your name with your home residence on it, but without a P.O. Box listed. Somehow having a P.O. Box on the envelope along with your home address voids the place you actually live. That is, unless your homeless. In which case, as the Oregon DMV website puts it, you can use a desciptive address such as, (and I quote) "under the west end of the Burnside Bridge".

Yep. The rest of us must dig through boxes and bills to find something that comes directly to our house and not to a P.O. Box, but if you mention that you're homeless, well, just a vague corner of the city will work just fine too. So much for that even playing field, huh? I bet their pictures turn out looking like glamour shots, too.

Wonder Wheel

You'll have to excuse the tardiness of our well wishes. I've been trying to get this video posted for the last two weeks, but the first time I finished it I realized it was way too big to post on blogger and had to start over using a different format. So finally, here it is. . . . The Year 2008: A Review in Pictures. The song I used is Wonder Wheel by Dan Zanes from the For The Kids album. The first time I heard it I knew it was the perfect anthem to the crazy ups and downs of our life.

so begins another day
crazy stops along the way
think of funny things to say
and ride the wonder wheel

going round and around,
it takes us up and it takes us down
i love the sights and i love the sounds
riding on the wonder wheel

So here's to another year, folks. May it be even better than the last and may it always be filled with wonder.

The Winds of Change

Okay, so I didn't get around to writing the same night - I spent it skipping through the eight hours of inauguration footage I had recorded on the DVR and basking in the glow of the new First Family. And rest assured that that glow has kept me walking on air the entire week. Watching and celebrating as Barack Obama was sworn in as President of the United States has been the perfect cure to my winter blues. Its like opening the windows on a brilliantly sunny winter day and letting a crisp, cool breeze blow all that old stagnant air out of the house. I imagine the Obamas doing the same thing in the White House. Letting that energy that always seems to surround their family flow through and recharge that place like it has recharged the country.

I read somewhere this week that the curtains are usually changed along with a change in the administration. At first I thought this seemed like an unecessary extravagance given the current economic situation, but then I thought about it some more and realized that a light dusting and a spray of Febreeze just isn't gonna cut the smell of Bush. The curtains had to go. . . . . . and maybe the carpet too. And anyone know a good exterminator? Actually, we might be okay there. I heard all the rats and roaches were headed off somewhere towards Texas.

A Moment In History

I'm currently holed up in the server room at my office listening online to CNNradio.com to hear as Barack Obama becomes our 44th president. I'm visibly jittering in my chair. At least I think that's why the letters on my laptop screen won't sit still. I can't remember the last time I've been this excited. I want to write more, but I have to listen now. . . . only 15 more minutes. More later tonight after Adam and I watch it together on TV!

I Made It Through December. . .

A Continuation. . . . .

I have so much to tell you about, like all the details of my "hen party" in Seattle with two of my best friends where we shopped at our leisure for silly magnets, cheap sunglasses and the perfect pair of jeans. Where we slept in beds with down matresses and ate Italian food so good I completely forgot that Kraft existed (If you're ever in Seattle you must stop at Tulio's downtown and order anything with their homemade ricotta cheese. It was lighter and fluffier than the down mattress at the W hotel. An absolute taste of heaven). And when we awoke from our peaceful childless slumber late the next morning a light dusting of snow had the city looking Christmas-card perfect. But that bit of snow was just the beginning of what was about to hit our usually rain-soaked Northwest. Just the beginning of two weeks of clausterphobic, snow-falling, car-spinning, ice-crunching hell.


A further continuation. . . . .

As my train from Seattle got further and further south the snow got heavier and heavier and by the time we reached the station the temperature had dropped considerably and there were several inches of snow on the ground. Chains (put on expertly and graciously by my friend's husband as I sat in their warm truck and watched the the wind blow snow in his face. I still owe you one Dan!) got me home that night. The next week (as most of you know) was like a game of Russian roulette on whether or not work/school would be open or if you'd even be able to get out of your driveway. Through it all my little Mazda sedan was a champ. And with the help of those chains, which didn't leave our tires for almost two weeks, it got us where we needed to go. . . until the day I absolutely, positively, no questions asked, HAD to be at work. That is the day our chains decided to give out.

Almost 18" of snow creates some casualties and the roof on the warehouse of the company I work for was one of them. A conference call on Christmas Eve sent a group of us into action and my boss's boss on a flight up here on Christmas Day. And when your boss's boss flys on Christmas Day to help you out (the next day) it really doesn't matter if there is still 8" of snow and ice on your street, your chains are lying broken in the driveway and two tow truck companies refuse you their services, you MUST still get to work. And so with this gumption, this fear of the unemployment line and a rusty ol' garden shovel I dug a path through snow and ice for our chainless tires to follow from our driveway to the already available ruts in the middle of our street. And again I dug a few feet down our street. And again at the end our street. With frosty, frustrated, snow-hating tears running down my face and two kids murdering each other in the backseat of an overheated car, I was determined to get to the (finally) plowed highway.

We finally made it, about the same time the sun rose, only to realize the road to the daycare was just as bad as our neighborhood. Now we were a whole new kind of stuck. It was a clear road to work, but we had the kids in the backseat with no way to get to daycare and no way to get back home - at least not without a lot more digging. There was really only one choice. My dear husband took one for the team. I dropped him and our two bundled kids off at the edge of our neighborhood and took off for work - an hour and a half late - and he slipped and tripped his way back to our house with both kids in tow. I'd say I owe him for that but I'm still so far ahead on favors nobody's even counting anymore.


And in conclusion. . . .

And somewhere smashed in between multiple spin-outs on major highways and breaking inch-thick ice in our backyard so our dog could take a crap without breaking a hip, Christmas came and went. I have a vague memory of it, smiling faces digging through stockings and a hideous Christmas dinner at Shari's restaurant (that's a whole other story for a later time), but mostly I just wanted it all to be over. The snow, the ice, the tinsel, the fir needles. . . . . December. I wanted it out the door. And so my shouts of jubilation on New Year's Eve were not so much an expression of joy for the possibilities of the new year, but for the thankful deliverance from the last. . . . and of course that third glass of red wine.

If I Can Make It Through December. . . .

Isn't there a country song that goes something like that? If I can make it through December, everything will be alright. Only three more days. . . . . I think. I'm not really sure at this point. I feel like I have scratched and clawed my way through every day of this month and finally I can see the light of the New Year. I just hope the light isn't an oncoming train.

I know it's been forever since I've written. Or at least it seems like it. Then again, Thanksgiving seems like a holiday that happened about three years ago, so what do I know. Where did I leave off? Oh yeah, Santa Claus was coming to town. Well, he did, but before he got here, Mother Nature, Old Man Winter and Jack Frost all got together and decided to have a pissing contest right in our corner of the continent. I couldn't tell you which of them won. All I know is that it wasn't the residents of the greater Portland metro area.

But still, I'm getting ahead of myself. There are things to tell even before "Arctic Blast '08" decided to roll into town. . . . . .

To Be Continued. . . . .

Santa Claus Is Coming To Town!

Every year part of the Christmas festivities in our community includes Santa flying into town on a helicopter and this year was no exception. We met some friends for donuts and then bundled up and headed to the shopping center where Santa would make this year's Christmas debut. The wind was cold, but the sun was shining and you really can't ask for more than that in Oregon. After landing, Santa made his way around the cordoned off circle of eager boys and girls for hand-shaking and photo ops, then headed inside to get down to the serious business of toy requests.

We bided our time in line for the hour or more it took to reach Santa, but it was all worth it to Adam. There was no way he was passing up the opportunity to ask for the Millennium Falcon. . . and the Bat Cave. As we were walking back to our car, Adam sidled up to me and whispered, "Santa knew about Jaba the Hut and Han Solo. How does he know all that Star Wars stuff?"

Because Santa is magic. . . . . . and apparently a Sci-Fi geek.

What A Girl Wants, What A Girl Needs

The "work" of Christmas is almost over. Except for a couple of stocking stuffers I have all my shopping done and most of it is already wrapped and under the tree. After years of being the primary holiday shopper in this family I've finally gotten smart the last couple of years. Instead of braving the malls on the weekends when the whole damn planet seems to pack themselves into the local Macy's, I take a day off work and hit the stores with latte in hand and absolutely zero children in tow. In about five hours I make a major dent in the Christmas list and my stress level never even hits "anxious".


Part of what I love about getting out there and scouring the stores is finding that one item that makes you stop and say, "What the hell?" Some of you may remember the Santa blow-up doll socks from last year. They still make me shake my head. This year? Well, this year it was the Pink Ouija board by Parker Brothers that made my cart and my head do a 360 in the middle of Toys-R-Us.

Yes, folks your young adolescent girls can now have their very own window to the underworld in a new fashionable color! It comes complete with a box of "questions girls want to know" like, "Who will be the next to call/text me? Will I be famous? Who wants to be me?" and a zippered carrying case for easy travel to their next pajama party!


Now whether you believe Ouija boards can cause any real harm or not, you have to admit Ouija just lost all street cred. In fact, he just had his balls handed to him in a purse. A pink one.

Attack of the Smurfette

One day I'll learn my lesson, but I'm pretty sure today is not that day. Every once in awhile I tell myself how fun it would be to do a holiday craft with the kids. Something simple, something easy. I imagine us painting and smiling while we sip hot cocoa and glue on googly-eyes to the latest feature project in Family Fun magazine. This season, I set my sights on this little gem:

Now this really is a simple craft, especially if you have most items on hand, which I don't so it cost me about $15 dollars just to get started. Then there's this small detail: Adam all but detests art. His idea of a craft is three seconds with a black crayon. So tonight when I announced we were making a terra cotta Nativity scene, he just looked at me blankly and continued playing. Jamie on the other hand loves art and in the future will probably be right there with me making pipe cleaner reindeer, but at the moment she is two. Which means she loves to paint, but would rather paint herself than mini terra cotta pots.

So as I type, my tub is encrusted with a blue ring, my table needs a scrubbing as well and the terra cotta pots are covered in nothing more than fingerprints, but I'm sure I'll give it another try the next time glitter paint catches my eye because even if nothing but a mess is actually made, its all worth it for pictures like this:

Mayhem At The Mall

I just returned from Black Friday shopping. Yes, it only 6am and I am already done. I have survived the onslaught of like-minded holiday shoppers and returned to tell about it. And what do I have to tell? That people care way too much about $5 DVD's. And that I'm grateful that the rental car we have has Maryland plates because there is no way I would have realized that I was trying to get into the wrong tan Sienna if I hadn't been for this small detail. And yes, there was someone waiting for my spot that then watched me move over two spots to the other tan Sienna. The one with the taillights blinking everytime I tried to unsuccessfully unlock the doors of the van I was standing in front of.

Damonn thinks I'm crazy do get up this early to save a few dollars and usually I'd agree, but something was drawing me to that Wal-Mart parking lot this morning that I just couldn't ignore. I thought it was the Blu-ray DVD player for $129, but once I was shoulder to shoulder with the most determined of Roseburg shoppers, I realized what had drawn me here was the social experiment of it all. To watch people levy their carts and manuever their bodies to cut in line for an $8 dollar coat that was normally only $15 all because it was a "Black Friday" special. It is truly corporate marketing at its best.

I have one suggestion for the organizers of Wal-mart black Friday. Ban shopping carts. Make it survival of the fitests. If you can't carry it, you don't buy it. That way I wouldn't have to punch the sweaty post-menapausal woman blocking the aisle with her cart while she digs waist deep in a bin for the pink Mp3 player.

Welcome to the Holiday shopping season everyone!

T-minus 10 Seconds to Turkey Day

After three days of Jamie asking if it is time to go to Roseburger, we are packed and loaded and everyone is whining so yes, Jamie, I believe it is finally time to head to Roseburger. I hope everyone has a happy and hearty Thanksgiving filled with more relatives than you can stand.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Politics, Protest And Power

Saying Adam has a tendency to fly off the handle is a understatement. He can go from helpfully setting the table to a puddle of fury and loathing at the flip of a switch. (I wonder where he gets that from) I just wish I knew where that switch was located. I would find it and layer it in inches of packing tape so that at no time could it be accidentally switched on ever again. And then perhaps our family may be able to consume one dinner in peace - even if (gasp!) pork or pea pods or potatoes or pineapple - or whatever new food he decided he now absolutely detests was being served.

Food, once again, was the catalyst for such dire emotions as we left their daycare last night. Damonn was going to a Blazer's game with a friend so we were on our own for dinner. I announced that we were going to McDonald's and waited for the cheers and confetti. Instead I received a proclamation from Adam that we were going to "Volunteer and have a battle between McDonald's and Shari's". After several clarifying questions into what in the hell he was talking about, I came to the conclusion that he wanted to vote (not volunteer) on where we ate dinner. I hate Shari's. I hate everything about Shari's. From the way that everything is served luke warm, to the apparent pool of grease that everything is cooked in, to the ridiculous price they ask you to pay for such fare. But being the proponent of democracy that I am, and knowing full well that Jamie will always pick McDonald's, I agreed to his suggestion.

So how did Adam take to his democratic loss? Let's just say there was less anger and mayhem after the Rodney King verdict than there was in the back seat of our car last night. And the range of tactics he used to first persuade our votes and then push for a re-vote was quite impressive. But when he ended his tirade in saying that voting Shari's actually meant McDonald's and vice-versa so really Shari's had won, I just had to laugh. Politics is definitely in his future. Or maybe a future in defending such politicians.

But the night didn't end there, folks. Oh no. Because I don't take kindly to a five-year old holding a personal political protest in my back seat, I made the executive decision to have PB&J at home. By the time we pulled into the driveway his "kid power" fist in the air shenanigans had turned to the calmer approach of civil disobedience. He now refused to get out of the car. Again, his tactics were impressive, his stamina. . . . not so much. Within about 90 seconds of Jamie and I leaving him for the warmth of our kitchen he was following behind, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

The Man will always win, Adam. You have to be The Man to beat The Man. Only then will you be able to rule with all the evil that you possess.

It's The Little Things That Squeak Up On You

Yesterday I noticed that the steering wheel in my car is making this faint, little mouse-of-a squeak when I make a turn. Today the strap on my laptop case started squeaking with the rhythm of my walk down the street. This afternoon my right shoe began squeaking with every step. All of this makes me fear that my life is on the verge of coming loose at the seams. Either that or it's just my brain grinding to a halt.

Tension Breaker

We were all hungry and getting a bit grouchy this morning as we drove back from visiting the Children's Museum. After asking, reminding and then demanding several times that the kids keep their hands to themselves and quit the incessant screeching I reached my breaking point when Adam tilted his head and gave me a smirk that said, "Really? What can you actually do to me speeding down the road buckled into a car?"

I turned to Damonn and muttered under my breath, "If we don't get out of this car I am going to wipe that fucking grin off his face!"

Adam apparently heard me and instantly shrieked, "Aaaww! I heard you! You said Millennium Falcon!"

Damonn and I looked at each other and just started laughing. Guess what the new expletive phrase is in our house?

Grendel: Controversy Hits the Burbs

Last night I attended my first ever school board meeting. Well, now that I think about it, it was actually my second. My first being when I gave a presentation to the Roseburg School Board at age 12 as co-editor of the high-class production that was our two-page Elementary School newsletter (printed on goldenrod paper, of course). The only thing I distinctly remember about that night is my teacher being irritated that I didn’t wear a dress. Not much has changed.

The topic that drew me and about 300 of my fellow townspeople to the meeting last night was a proposal by parents to have the book, Grendel, by John Gardner removed from the Sophomore Advanced English class curriculum. Well, I should be honest. What really drew me was a caller on the Rick Emerson Radio Program calling in to state that a small group of Mormons were trying have a book banned from our local high school and since very few things chap my hide more than a religious group trying to dictate how others should live their life, I was determined to be in attendance. But alas, from the reading I did before the meeting and the several people who stood to make their case for both sides of the issue last night, I gathered that it wasn’t an all out ban on the book that these parents were looking for but the removal of the book from a particular curriculum.

Their stance on the issue is that while they respect Grendel as a work of literature (which, by comments both in person and on the handout they passed around, I feel this was said more for their argument than their actual belief), the several instances of graphic language depicting rape, torture and mutilation are not appropriate for fifteen-year old children. And even though this novel is used in many sophomore classes across the country, they felt that the same aspects of human nature could be taught and discussed just as easily with a less explicit selection and that we could and should do better for our children. They were also concerned with the lack of explanation on the permission slip that went home to parents as to the nature of Grendel and felt that this non- communication to the parents was intentional so as not to bring to light the type of literature that was being read.

From the viewpoint of the high school English department and many parents in attendance last night, Grendel is regarded as excellent literature and that while there are parts that are graphic, the overall theme and message behind the actual words are great catalysts for classroom discussion. They also pointed out this is an advanced, college prep, optional course and feel that the students accepted to this class are mature enough to process and discuss the graphic content. And in regards to the parent’s concern about the permission slips, a three-hour workshop – in which the protesting parents participated – the high school had came up with a more comprehensive permission slip for parents, optional books that could be read in place of Grendel if parents did not approve and were still working on a way to better incorporate those students in the overall classroom discussion.

Where do I stand on all of this? Let me first state that I have not read Grendel. I did read what I assume is most if not all of the passages in protest passed around on the printed version of the argument and in no uncertain terms, it is graphic. I even found myself balking at certain phrases, but is it too graphic for a 15-year old? I suppose that depends upon the 15-year old. Does the content of the book outweigh the vulgarity of the prose? I don’t know. I haven’t read it. But my argument does not lie with what is within the pages of Grendel. My argument is for personal choice.

If the English department required the reading and dissection of Grendel to graduate, I would agree with these two parents. This book is most likely not appropriate for all teenagers, not even all adults for that matter, and a different novel would be better suited for a general audience. But this is not required reading. This is not even a required class. This is an optional, advanced, college prep class that is designed to promote the more critical thinking that will be required as they move into college courses.

I understand the concern of these parents and I whole-heartedly commend them for staying abreast of what and how their children are learning. It was wonderful to see such parental involvement in the education of our children at the school board meeting – our community is very lucky. But as I listened to both the mother and the father make their case, even in light of better permission slips and optional reading for those families that don’t feel comfortable with Grendel (and a community suggestion of moving it to the senior class curriculum), it became apparent that this had become more about getting their way than making our schools better for all students. They were determined to stand their ground and stamp their feet through meetings with teachers and department heads and principals and superintendents and three school board meetings until the curriculum of our school district was in direct line with their ideals. They were not looking for compromise; they were looking to guide all of us with their own personal moral compass.

I know that whether or not we include this book in our high school curriculum is really inconsequential, but who decides whether or not it will be there is not. Why not let the parents speak in a more democratic fashion? Hand out the permission slips and if a large majority are opting out of reading Grendel then the department can review the reasons for this selection and perhaps choose another title. But if we allow our communities to be governed only by the strictest of moral code and the most limited of ideals of any one group then we are compromising much more than the education of our children. We are compromising the freedoms that allow us to reach, ask, ponder and explore any topic of our choosing.

I admire these parents for standing up for what they believe in, it takes a great amount of courage to do so, but there is a difference between refusing to personally cross a line in the sand and making sure no one else does either. They have the right, and now the option, to have their children read books they are comfortable with. Shouldn’t I be allowed the same? My school board thinks so.

Yes We Can!

I sit here this morning blurry-eyed and sleep deprived, but with a smile that just won’t stop. I keep returning to CNN for confirmation that it really happened. Barack Obama has won the presidency and we have elected our first African-American president! It is somewhat surreal that I am part of, and have participated in, such a monumental step forward in American history and that I will be able to personally relay to my grandchildren what it felt like to be a part of this moment.

And between the hoots and hollers and the Eskimo Pie eating last night at the Election party, actually many times during this campaign, I thought about explaining to Adam the significance of this country electing a man of color to be our President. Two things have stopped me. One, Obama’s campaign has never been about race and I felt it unfair for me to make it so. But more importantly, Adam has never once mentioned a difference between Obama’s skin color and his own. Could he distinguish it if asked? Of course. Just like as a child I could have distinguished a difference between myself and a black person beside me on the bus or standing in front me at the same drinking fountain, but it would have never occurred to me that there was a time when they weren’t allowed to be there. Adam will learn about the history of this country in his own time and I will be happy to share any knowledge and perspective I can, but I believe the strides our country is making can be honored just as much by leaving intact the innocence to our differences as it can be by acknowledging and celebrating this huge step towards a more perfect union. And I hope that when my children learn about the barriers of inequality that were broken last night by the people of this country that overlooked the color of a man’s skin to choose hope and inclusion over fear and division, that their amazement won’t be in that an African-American would actually, finally, be elected as President of this nation, but amazement that there ever was a time when they wouldn’t.

But even as we celebrated this milestone, Obama was sure to remind us in his acceptance speech that this election is only the first of many battles that lie ahead. “This victory alone is not the change we seek. It is only the chance for us to make that change. . . . . So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism, of responsibility, where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves but each other."

I hear this call to duty and am ready, willing and able to do my part. So as my favorite fictional president, Josiah Bartlet, would say, “What’s next?”

Party At My House!

Tomorrow we will have a new president, but tonight, tonight we celebrate democracy Suburban Reality style! A few friends and family are gathering at our place to watch the election results tediously roll in. To break up the monotony of the cable news pundits I have some riveting Presidential trivia at the ready and of course food! Behold my election night menu honoring each of the four candidates. I'm so clever I can barely stand myself!

Happy Election Night Everyone!

God Bless Democracy!

October Activities. . . Rolled Into One Big Post

You know what I love about Halloween? It has all the fun of Christmas without all the stress and guilt. And considering both the involvement and the turn out for our "Harvest Moon Party" at work there are a lot of other people that feel the same way. Harvest Moon Party? Yeah, we can't officially call it Halloween at work. Although when HR reminded us of this technicality I responded by telling her that I was Wiccan and I didn't appreciate not being able to accurately refer to my high holy day. The way her face contorted in a politically correct effort to hide her dismay was priceless. I can't wait to see her confusion when I start lighting my Menorah for Hanukkah. But I digress.

What started as a simple Pumpkin Carving contest and Eerie Edible Bake-off to raise the morale in the office ended up as an all-out decorating competition between departments complete with spiderwebs and hanging banshees, jars of "brains" and mechanical lawn ornaments, a fog machine and a treasure hunt for the kids. I even won best costume for my pirate garb! The mess we'll need to clean up on Monday morning is completely worth the morale boost because seeing your co-worker in drag does way more for productivity than any sales kick-off ever could.

But the festivities didn't start - or end- there. Last weekend all my family gathered at our house for our annual trip to the pumpkin patch at Lee's Farm. This was our fourth visit to the farm but the first time with our new cousins! What I love about Lee's Farm is that it has all the basic pumpkin patch activities without the lines of Disneyland. We pet the goats and ride the ponies, take a trip through the two-minute hay maze complete with a black plastic culvert slide and then head for the barn to chow on some donuts. Oooohhhh, the donuts. Still warm and dusted with sugar, these apple-cider donuts absolutely melt in your mouth. They are so worth paying $7.00 for a pumpkin.


But of course the main attraction of Halloween is the gathering and gorging of sugary treats. And something mysterious happened while we were out trick-or-treating last night. Maybe it was a full moon or maybe she felt a new sense of bravado behind that clown make-up, but Jamie was not her usual clingy, don't-look-at-me, curl-up-like-a-ball-in-front-of-strangers self last night. She took the lead ringing door bells, remembering her thank-you's and forging her way through groups of strangers up porch steps. It was the spookiest thing of the night. Well, that and the kid dressed up as the Burger King king. That guy creeps me out in a completely wonderful way.


Jamie also took the lead on the gorging of candy. The rule in our house is all the candy you want to eat on Halloween night. With Adam, this has always been more of a suggestion than a challenge. After three or four pieces he was done and on to something else. Jamie took candy eating to a whole new level. After at least ten pieces in as many minutes thoughts of mid-night chocolate peanut butter barf started dancing in my head and we had to call a halt to the gluttony. And for the next half hour we laughed as she bounced around the living room like a raving midget clown on some really good shit. God, how I love Halloween!

The Power Of Democracy. . . and MS Paint

A year of watching debates and obsessing over polls and making calls and spreading the word. The power of democracy all comes down to a tiny little oval on a piece of paper. . . . .

And because I'm really not that mature, it was all I could do not to scribble out the names of John McCain and Sarah Palin in an extremely childish fashion. But alas, the temporary joy of vandalizing their names was just not worth invalidating my ballot and my vote.

So I made a copy.

Ah, that feels better.