Momaical is a humorous look at trying not to raise a flock of assholes. Cursing & copious coffee involved.

Momaical: [mom-mahy-uh-kuhl] = (Hybrid of Mom and Maniacal.)


Just Because You Can Doesn't Always Mean You Should

Recently San Francisco repealed a law allowing public nudity.  Which caused an uproar among the skyclad group of enthusiasts.  All 37 of them.

Now, if it was Joe Manganiello and the rest of the cast of Magic Mike prancing around - I'd be hosting a Naked Parade every Saturday. 

But, it never is.  It's always a group of saggy, wrinkly old men parading their dangling participles about town.  They make me want to scream "For the love of all that is holy - put your wang away!  No one needs to see that shriveled up pathetic worm!" Then go to my happy place in my mind (Midgets and puppies.  Midgets and puppies - serenity now!).

Occasionally there's a woman or two in the crowd revealing nothing more than a very long pair of boobsicles that cover from chest to knees.   I mean, really.  Is this necessary?  I can walk right to Pier 39 in Fisherman's Wharf to watch fat sea lions sunning themselves.  I don't need to see the same thing in the Financial District from a group of men reveling in the ability to party in their birthday suits like they're teenagers instead of octogenarians. 

When we first moved from Boston to San Francisco we happened upon a gang of these disrobed daredevils who were seconds from losing a testicle or two in the spokes of their Schwinns. My husband was laughing at the scene. I was trying to shield the eyes of my children to prevent needing years of therapy from the episode while simultaneously choking on vomit. 

Husband: Hah!  Did you check out the balls on that guy? Nasty and HILARIOUS.  They reached his knees!

Me: Ew! No!  I am trying not to shudder at this permanent image burned into my retinas.

Lena: What the heck was that?  A streaker biker gang?  I thought you said streaking is inappropriate.

Me: Oh yes.  It is. Did we really need to see ALL of that?

Lena: Not so much.

Emmeline: Yook!  Him have a waggly taiw!

Me: Yes, a waggly tail.  Keep thinking that while I puke on the sidewalk.

However, public nudity has not been totally banned from the Bay Area.  As quoted in a New York Times article by  November 20, 2012:

"Preschoolers can still go bare, women can still go topless and public nudity will continue to be allowed at events permitted by the city, including the annual gay pride parade and the Folsom Street Fair, a street party billed as the largest leather and fetish event in the world.     
SF Supervisor John Avalos was quoted as saying“I cannot and will not bite this apple,” before voting against the measure. “I refuse to put on this fig leaf.”  Yeah.  He can keep his fig right where it is, thank you very much.

I had no problem stamping a giant YES to ban public nudity on November 6th.  It's nice to see that my trip to the voting booth actually had some positive impact for my family.  Not only did we assure that Prince Harry will NOT be rabble rousing in the Bay Area - we have hopefully prevented mental and emotional scarring for future generations of children.  Because, I don't want to have to explain to my daughters why no man should have to elastic his testicles to his thigh to prevent them from being caught up in the bike chain.  

Unless, again, it's Joe Manganiello and then I'm getting my protest ON.  Which will also be a disservice to my girls because their expectations for a naked man will set the bar so high that no human can achieve it. So, it's really a lose/lose situation either naked way.

Note to self - get a sitter for the Folsom Street Fair.  Going to be HILARIOUS or nightmare inducing.  Either way - something to talk about!

Read Entire NYT article:


Break Ups - Version 2.0

When your friends broke up in High School - you knew how to react.  First, you tell your friend how much that guy totally sucked and how he didn't deserve you.  Second, you point out some other guy and then send that guy a note (Yes, I am that old. We sent notes instead of texts waaaaay back then. Gasp!) and say your newly single friend thinks he's cute.  They go out.  Crisis is averted.  (Unless you think the guy that your friend broke up with is hot, then you stop being friends with the girl and go out with her ex.  Because that was one of those things you did in high school which is just one more reason why high school sucked ass.)

But, things are SO different when you're an adult. It's no longer a "flavor of the month" type of relationship. Friends get married. Siblings get married (hopefully not to each other - but you never know...).  You spend hundreds of dollars on a hideous bridesmaid dress that you will never ever wear again because that's what you do now as adults. You have gotten to know both the individuals as well as the couple. You genuinely like both.   Everyone has kids (or fur-pets or all-inclusive vacations - what have you). You gain friendships with couples instead of just inter-dating among cliques.  All your kids play together.  You create a new families with all these people in your adult life and it's like one giant Sweet Pickles lovefest. Until it's not.

Sometimes worlds collide and the couple doesn't survive the collision.  Suddenly you're facing a break up amongst two friends. You traipse across that line between adolescents into adulthood where there are real issues and a break up is no longer cut and dry. Now you're talking about divorce, dividing property and most heart wrenching - protecting the children from the maelstrom.  People that you have spent many nights laughing over a glass of wine suddenly are slinging mud laced with shards of the others soul.  You think "Oh, I'll still be friends with both."  But it becomes awkward and eventually you may end up choosing one person over another.  Plus, you have front row seats to the ugliness that rears its head during an acerbic break up.  They are fighting over tubes of toothpaste and using children as weapons. 

Really? You just cost me $5,000 in lawyers fees for THIS?

What do you say?  The go-to "There's other fish in the sea" or "That douchebag totally didn't deserve you" no longer is appropriate or enough.  A simple "I'm sorry" followed quickly by an invitation to drink your face off and bitch without judgment - that's what I offer.  But, can you do that with BOTH individuals? I've found that no, you can't maintain the SAME relationship with both parties.  You eventually end up on one side of the fence or the other. Perhaps with a tainted view now of the ex after you see all his dirty laundry strewn across the front yard and all over the Twitterverse?

I would never be able to hang out with an ex-husband of my best friend, especially after I saw him put her through the ringer.  Plus, I would hate it if I found out that she was going out for drinks with my ex.  I mean, that's just weird.  Unless she was totally there to get gossip on him and his fat loser new girlfriend because after me, it's all downhill.  Right?  Anyone? Anyone?

Ok, then...moving on.... point is breaking up is hard on all of us kids - even the ones who forced their ways into your Christmas card list. You may want to prepare a little something to say in the event of a split that is more mature than "Dude. That sucks."  And, to those in the break up process - be sensitive when you're bad mouthing that two-bit sonofabitch that left you for that hussy waitress at Crapplebees.  Because, some day you might be that hussy.  And that would be so awkward. 


The Lost Tooth Club

For the last several years Lena has been dying to lose her first tooth.  She was always pointing out "loose" molars or convinced that she was going to lose her "vampire teeth" at any minute.  She was extremely envious of friends who were initiated into the Lost Tooth Club before she.  And, then it happened.  An actual wiggly tooth. 

And there it sat, wiggling a little more and a little more over the course of a few weeks; slowly working its way out of her mouth.  We were provided with hourly updates about the progress of the tooth extraction.  Every day was "the day" that the tooth fairy would make her first appearance at our house. 

Then it was THE DAY!  The tooth was hanging on by a thread.  Lena was pushing it into oblivion with her tongue.  I asked her if she wanted me to pull it out for her.  She said YES!!!

Norman Rockwell Version:
A quick tug and the tooth fell into my hand.  The crowd cheered in the excitement of the moment and the arrival of the coveted membership of the Lost Tooth Club.  The tooth was wrapped up in a beautiful cloth in a gift to the Fairy.  Lena couldn't sleep in anticipation.  When she finally drifted into oblivion, she had sweet dreams about showing off the new hole in her smile to all of her friends.

And....then there's our version:
I asked Emmeline to bring me a tissue to use.  She brings me a piece of toilet paper that is the size of an M&M.  Lena yells at Emmeline, making her cry.  Emmeline comes back with a fist full of toilet paper.  One yank and the tooth is in my palm.  There's a little bit of blood - normal with a lost tooth.  Lena starts to FREAK THE FREAK OUT.  She is sobbing and telling me to put the tooth back.  Emmeline is yelling "Don't bweed on the fwoor!" which is making Lena cry harder.  She is crying so hard about the lost tooth and the resulting blood that she makes her self throw up. 

Lena runs into the bathroom and begins puking her guts out.  Emmeline pulls a stool up right next to the toilet for an extreme close up of the action.  When the fireworks end, Lena is still crying about the lost tooth.  She doesn't want it to be gone.  She is begging for me to put it back in.  Even Emmeline knows this is an impossibility. "Eena.  You toof is fawed owt. It not goin back in.  You gots to gwow anover." Lena sobs into her Hello Kitty nightgown.

Lena announces "It's puke time again" and runs back to the bathroom for round two.  I follow behind, armed with bleach and paper towels.  Emmeline takes her seat again - just millimeters from getting puke on her face.   I'm gagging, trying not to join in on the puking festivities and Emmeline has her face all up in the puke mix. 

Once the next round of vomit ends, Emmeline and I try to get Lena excited about the pending arrival of the Tooth Fairy.  We get a pink polka dotted cloth in which to wrap the tooth.  Emmeline is running around with the yard of cloth - wearing it as a cape and screaming "I da toof fawy!"  Lena is just lying in a puddle of self loathing and moaning. Once and a while the moaning stops to the tune of "I don't want to talk about it."  She finally falls asleep in her sobbing induced exhaustion.  I carry her up to her bed, thinking she'll be excited about the event after the arrival of the tooth fairy. 

In the morning she still "doesn't want to talk about it." It takes her several hours to be mentally prepared to receive the crisp $5 bill left in the place of the lost piece of Lena's childhood.  But, she's finally coming around.  Plus, the "next tooth over is loose now Mommy!"  So, we have that going for us.  Which is mint.  Because I can't wait to repeat that experience. 


Hell Week at Puppy Beta Phi

I've discovered that getting a new puppy is kind of like entering the Greek system in college.

You finally make the decision to be a part of it. You know that you will need to make some changes in your life to accommodate it but the desire outweighs the inconvenience and the demands it will place on you.

You're super excited about the prospect of having a puppy, but you know that it's going to be torture getting accepted into the program.

You spend several weeks figuring out what kind of puppy that you want and go through a rigorous interview process.

Once you choose the perfect puppy, it becomes a matter of fitting it into your already crazy life.

There is a lot of pomp and circumstance surrounding its entry into the home.

There are a whole bunch of new rules established in your life and you take an oath not to break them.

There's a naming ceremony and jewelry is given to establish that this puppy is joining your home.

Instead of a Big Sister paddle, you get a leash and harness.

Shots take on a whole new meaning.

You're not allowed to buy anything new until Hell Week, I mean the housebreaking period, ends.

Everyone is all excited for you in the beginning, but then the enthusiasm ends and you still have to carry all the responsibility of your real life plus this new addition.

You're on guard to constantly make sure your pledge master (namely my husband) doesn't catch you screwing up, or you might get tossed from the house.

You're woken up in the middle of the night to go out and party. Sometimes you wake up somewhere you did not fall asleep.

You always have to be on guard because you're not sure when they'll strike next and drag you out.
Um...I thought Greek Council prohibited this!

You walk around in a sleep deprived haze, neglecting your housework and writing assignments, but are too tired to care.

You may receive a "gift" or two.  Hazing consists of scrubbing floors several times in a short period of time.

You will recite the rules of the house over and over until they're clear: We don't bite.  We don't jump. We don't bark.  We go potty outside.

There's a secret signal to get the door to the house opened.

You're exhausted, your life has changed priorities, but you have gained a new member of the family.  You realize that these are some of the happiest times in your life and you are SO GLAD you made the choice to join this society. Then you can get your official sweatshirt because it's freakin cold to go outside in the middle of the night in a nightgown. 


A Fish Poll

Friends of ours own a bar.  It's amazingly fun and full of the best, most eclectic, wonderful group of people I have come to know and love over the past decade.   One Saturday afternoon a bunch of us were sitting around the bar.  Someone had ordered a tuna sandwich and the guy to my left said "I hate tuna. It always tastes too 'fishy' to me."  I couldn't relate.  I love tuna.  I eat it frequently and am picky about the kind that I purchase. Not oil. Not chunks. It needs to be (dolphin safe) solid albacore in water. 

We got talking about tuna preparation in our households - because it was clearly a burning question on everyone's minds that needed to be tackled and we were just the people to do it.  The question arose: Do you rinse off your tuna before you take it out of the can?  And, if yes, why?

Our informal (fish) poll of the people around us discovered that more people than not rinse their can of tuna before they prepare it.  The reason: because their moms did it.  We extended the poll farther around the bar until it got to an elderly woman who was always there with her husband and a handful of Keno tickets. 

Her response to "Do you wash your tuna?"  was "Yup.  I scrub it every morning in the shower.  Why?  You trying to tell me something?'

After everyone at the bar wiped away the tears of laughter, she drank for free for the rest of the day.


Dr. Love Muffin and Coconut

After months of begging, pleading, temper tantrums and crying - my husband finally gave in and let me get my dog.  The girls and I are beside ourselves at the newest member of our family.  My husband was actually the one who found our baby: a 10 week old Maltese.  He's perfect and fluffy and has the sweetest face I've ever seen on a puppy. 

Challenge #1 Naming the Dog.

He was being called Teddy, which my husband immediately nixed. 

Lena wanted to name him Dr. Love Muffin. 

Emmeline wanted to name him Coconut or Bug.

I liked Riley, Duke, Bo or Baxter.  My husband hated them all.  Any person-style name (which is how name typically name pets) had some tie to my husband: friend, co-worker, celebrity tie in or just a flat out NO.

Husband: "We can't have a fluffy white tiny boy dog with a fluffy tiny name.  He needs a masculine ass-kicking name like Killer.  Or a cool name like Yort or Bobert."

Me: "We are not naming our dog 'Bobert."

Husband: "How about Whitey - like Whitey Bulger?"

Me: "No."

Husband: "How about "Bait?"

Me: "No." 

Husband: "Stinky?"

Me: "No."

So, the puppy formerly known as Teddy went nameless.  Until he started to answer to Dr. Love Muffin.  Action HAD to be taken immediately.  I opened up a name website and the first name I saw was Loki.  Loki was a Norse deity who liked to cause mischief and mayhem. 

No friends or family named Loki.  No pets we know named Loki.  Mischief and mayhem - not fluffy and tiny. And, not Dr. Love Muffin.

Next step: Housebreaking.  God (and Loki) help us all.

Fly On The Wall

Welcome to a little slice of my Momaical life....

Emmeline: Oh, shit. Oh, shit.
Me: That's not a nice word, honey. What's the matter?
Emmeline: Me need paper.
Me: Do you think you can find a nicer way to ask?
Emmeline: Oh, dammit. Me need paper pwease.
Me: Sigh...
Just overheard Lena giving Emmeline the following pep talk : "If someone is being mean to you, just politely ask them to stop. If they don't stop then give 'em a good whack and that will teach em not to mess with a girl."

I told the girls to grab some snacks for the park. Here's what they brought. A bag of bacon. I was thinking more like goldfish or fruit.

I love to tuck Emmeline in to bed and snuggle for the last few moments of the day. Her prayers are so cute: "Deaw God. Fanks for Mommy, Daddy, Eena and popsicles." And she always give me a big hug and says "I yove you Mommy." right before she falls asleep. Except for last night. I was cuddled in to her when I felt a sharp pain in my eye. "Weyax Mommy. It's just a eye poke." Oh, good night to you too.


Eye Love Your New House

Friends of ours invited us over to dinner this past weekend.  They just purchased a home and this would be our celebratory meal.  On the morning of my husband was heading to the grocery store to pick up a few things for the party.  I asked him to bring home something for us to bring as a dessert.  This is what he came home with:

Wait - you brought home eyeball cake pops?  I was thinking more along the lines of a decadent chocolate cake or creme puffs.  Eyeballs.  Ok...

So, here's what we brought to celebrate an exciting new chapter in our friends lives.  Because nothing says "Happy Housewarming" like a batch of red velvet optical organs.


For that Stinky Someone In Your Life

Do you have that someone special in your life?  Someone that you have something you want to tell them but aren't sure how they'll react?  Will they embrace your proclamation? Or will they walk away from you forever?

Well, the solution has arrived.  Deo Perfume Candy.

You roses!

No longer do you have to have that awkward "you smell like kitty litter" conversation.  Simply rip open a bag of Deo Perfume Candy and offer that stinky someone in your life a sweet perfumed treat. 

Why, burly Hell's Angel scary biker dude!  Do I detect a hint of rosy goodness over your leather vest?

No, I don't have any spare change, but I do have this. 

Yes, my child would like an extra long time on this carousel ride.  Candy for the effort? 

Why suffer with Gary the Gross Garlic Guy in the cubical next door?  Just place a bowl of Deo Perfume candy on your desk and give your olfactory department a rosy fresh break! 

Ass-smelling teenagers no more!  Just hide a bag in your pantry before their next social gathering.  Deo Perfume Candy use to be available only in Bulgaria. Finally, just in time for the holidays, you can order it directly from

But, wait!  It's also now in Sugar Free!  So, that overweight neighbor that smells like laundry that has been molding in the washing machine for a month can also enjoy the benefits! 

Take the time to stop and smell the rose scented pits, people.  Deo Perfume Candy. 

Modern Mother Goose

I live in an area of California where the weather is just about perfect.  It's always sunny and warm.  So, when it rains it's always a bit of a surprise for my kids and there's a ton of pomp and circumstance surrounding it.  Especially the following song:

"It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring. 
He bumped his head when he went to bed and couldn't get up in the morning."

So, basically when it rains, we chant songs about a man getting a concussion which leads to a coma.  Sweet.  Which makes me wonder if perhaps we should sing more songs about things that suck as a way to get kids to buy in. 

I'm going with the tune "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" because it seems like a million different nursery rhymes use it - why should mine be any different?

"It's time to go and get a shot.
Full of mercury I hope it's not."

Earthquake preparedness drill (London Bridge is Falling Down)

Your whole world is falling down, falling down, falling down
Your whole world is falling down, falling down, falling down
It's an Earthquake

Cheer up poverty to the tune of The Farmer and the Dell:
Repos at the door
You can live for free no more
Hi ho your shit must go
Repos at the door

Infidelity is much easier to handle when sung to Do You Know The Muffin Man:
You look like the FedEx man
Or maybe the UPS man
It could be the mailman
Mom sure gets a lot of packages

Why is no one other than Andrew Dice Clay updating nursery rhymes?  I mean, who do you know that has had the plague?  Yet we're still chanting "Ring Around The Rosie"!  This needs to be relevant to modern illnesses:

Bullseye on your leg
You can't get out of bed
You have Lyme Disease!

I believe I have discovered an untapped market here.  Now if only I could sing...


Baby Theta Pi

A few nights ago we were eating dinner with some friends. As I sat eavesdropping on the conversation between the five kids I realized that it was like hanging out at a fraternity party with very tiny college students.
  • The conversation got increasingly louder as the night progressed. The kids were slam dancing to The Fresh Beat Band. The neighbors may or may not have called the police.
  • Sometimes they would all burst into laughter for no reason. There were also some tears shed and emotional outbursts - also for no reason.
  • Strange smells emanated from that general vicinity.
  • A child announced that his name was "Taco" and that everyone should address him as such.
  • Potty jokes and disturbing bodily functions = upper echelon of humor.
  • An impromptu "beach party" was thrown together around a koi pond.
  • Several drinks were spilled but no one made a move to clean them up.
  • Someone puked. But, immediately rallied right back to continue partying.
  • Someone wet themselves. That also did not stop the party.
  • There was quite a bit of hazing and name calling. But, soon after there were hugs and butt slaps. Followed by a really violent game of full contact "tag".
  •  The shot girl was carrying a plastic water gun full of “yemonade” and wearing an eye patch – on both eyes.  She was surprisingly popular despite the fact that she kept walking into furniture. 
  • Taco ate a dangerous amount of goldfish.  We were a little concerned when he mixed the explosive pizza flavored ones with Diet Coke.  You know, after that whole Mikey / Pop Rocks and Soda incident. 
  • A pledge got dangerously close to the grill.   Although, the patio would have been dust free and lemony fresh if it had fallen in – after they cleaned up from the explosion. 
  • A battery powered car drove over a basketball and rode on two wheels for a few feet until it flipped. Once the driver was deemed alive and safe, the kids all tried to replicate the action and laughed hysterically at each other when they failed.  
  • My two year old was walking around drinking all the half full sippy cups. She laughs in the face of germs.
  • Someone brought out a plastic ukulele.  We requested Free Bird.  They sang about Big Bird instead but we all held up our flashlight app on our iPhones.
  • At some point in the festivities, Taco wasn't wearing any pants.
  • Everyone who passed out early was recipients of a make-over – thankfully it was with Hello Kitty lip gloss and not Sharpies.
  • My 5 year old came home with a pocket full of numbers.  She must have raided the Uno set.
  • All the kids woke up in some random place and swore this was a one-time deal. Then called their parents to pick them up for the drive of shame back home.
If this is a sign of things to come, my girls can go to college when they're 90. 

Dude.  I am NEVER drinking fruit punch again.


Oh, I'm a Model...

As the retail industry ramps up for the holiday spending season, so does the amount of catalogues that grace my presence daily.  I love to flip through them.  I also hand them to my kids if they're whining and have them circle what they would like.  This guarantees me a few minutes of peace, because it takes a surprisingly long time to circle every single item in a catalogue. 

The other day The Catalogue Favorites: A Showcase of Catalog Best-Sellers arrived with a giant red circle in the corner proclaiming "It's Time to Start Holiday Shopping!" I truly love this magazine because it makes me wonder who is buying these "best selling items"?  Are people really whipping out their credit cards with reckless abandon to purchase "I'm So Old I Fart Dust" shirts in large quantities?  Or a "MySack Golf Ball Holder" - a bag that looks like a scrotum in which to store a pair of your precious Callaways?  A must for every wicked klassy country club member. 

And then I discovered the pièce de résistance.  The gift I am purchasing for everyone I know: The Super Kegel Exerciser.

"It's fantastic! Use it just minutes a day to tighten thighs, buttocks and abdominal muscles, and to relieve lower back pain."  The description wasn't what reeled me in though. It was the picture:

10" of rubber-coated steel can be yours too for the low price of $34.95!

Which leads me to my next quandary: If you are the model for the Super Kegel Exerciser - which is clearly a BEST SELLER (because this magazing wouldn't pimp it out otherwise) - do you tell people?

"What do you do?"

"Oh, I'm a model.  You must be familiar with my work.  Super Kegel Exerciser?  It's a best seller. Wait, let me turn around and bend over.  See my inner thighs?  Now do you recognize me?  Please make sure to place us in the most perfect seat in the restaurant.  Because these Super Kegel Modeling thighs deserve nothing but the best."

All I know is Santa had better stock up this holiday season because THIS is the gift that keeps on giving. 


My Attempt At Fiction...

Welcome to the second Secret Subject Swap. Twenty brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

Here's my submission!

The bus groaned as it slowed to pick me up. An abused door creaked open, inviting me in. It's been raining all day and I'm glad to get out of it for a while.  I smile at the driver, hand him my fare and hobble to the back where there are a few available seats. I settle in next to the window, prepared for my long journey.

I glance at my arthritic fingers, gnarled like the roots of a tree that has seen a lot of seasons. The slowing of the bus snaps me out of my reverie. A young woman, looking older than her years, is trying to wrangle two young girls on to the bus. I pat the seat next to me, inviting her to join. She sighs her thanks; she certainly has her hands full with these two wildlings. "These are two spirited pumpkins. I'm Martha. Can I help you with anything?"

"Thanks, but I'm all set. The girls are seated, for now. I'm Blaire. These two crazy ladies are Bria and Louise. Pleased to make your acquaintence."

Martha: "Likewise. I'm here for the duration. Heading to Syracuse to meet up with my family."

Beth: "We are headed there too! At least we will have some nice company for the ride."

The bus interrupts us as it grumbles to a stop to allow another patron into the warm and dry recesses. A surly teenager swaggers toward the back.  She's got a scowl tattooed on her face and dark look in her eyes.  She chooses the only open seat on the bus: the one next to the little girls.

Oh, dear.  I am waiting for the teenager to have an outburst as the girls are chattering about their dolls. 

"Hi!  I'm Bria.  This is my baby doll, Cutter. Would you like to play with him?"

Much to my surprise, Bria had coaxed a smile out of the grungy teen.  She replies "Hi Bria!  I'm Cheri.  I love dolls too!"

The hours passed quickly as we talked about our lives.  Teen angst didn't speak much, but instead kept the girls occupied - which was a blessing on this long voyage.  A few others came into the conversation but then had to leave at stops prior to ours.  We talked all about marriage, parenthood and growing up.  Sweet stories and fond memories were shared between all of us.  It was as if our lives overlapped each other. 

The foliage changed before our eyes.  I stared out the window, ready for the journey to come to an end.  I said my goodbyes to my new friends and waited in my seat until everyone was off so I wouldn't hold up the line.  I stared out the fogged up window and tried to spot the people with whom I have spent the past several hours.  All I see is darkness.

I feel a tap on my shoulder.  I turn and look into the kind face of the bus driver. 

"Ma'am?  Ma'am.  I'm going to have to ask you to exit the bus now.  It's the end of my shift and you have been sitting back here by yourself all day. Thankfully we only had a few people due to the storm and no one but you has been riding for the past several hours.  I'd let you stay longer, but it's against policy.  Can I call you a taxi?"

Sighing, I pick up my umbrella and hobble back into the real world alone. 

My subject is: Schizophrenia


Halloween with the Rockwells

Ah, yes.  Halloween.  The sugar infused time of year where millions of children assume alter egos and terrorize the neighborhoods. 

Here is the Norman Rockwell version of our holiday:

The girls and I carved the pumpkins together, laughing until we stop as we create beautiful family memories.  We seamlessly move through the myriad of events, enjoying homemade confections while dressing for the grand finale: Trick or Treating.  The girls, resplendent in their costumes, lead the Halloween brigade and enjoy a bounty of sweet treats with no tears, whining or meltdowns.  A wonderful time was had by all.

And....then there's our version:

My husband was out of town all week on a business trip.  That left the pumpkin carving to Tracy Krueger and the Kardashians.  We decided the designs that we wanted for the pumpkins and I began the lobotomies on the unsuspecting curcurbitas.  Armed with spoons, the girls each began their own cerebral-ectomies.  That lasted about 3.2 seconds until Emmeline announced "Dis is goss" and skipped away.  57 seconds later Lena said "Oh, look!  A worm!" and was officially done with the pumpkin carving.  I was the lone surgeon and it was up to me to finish the operation.  Seven million hours, 23 close calls with the knife, a bout with carpal tunnel syndrome and four meltdowns because "Me no want a kitty cat!  Me want a fider!" later I was done.  I opted to leave my pumpkin without a face or a brain.  Much scarier that way, right?  Fine.  I was lazy and left mine blank.  Kind of like my mind at this point.

We had two different Halloween parties and a kindergarten parade to attend. Which means Lena Kardashian needed several costume changes because God forbid we be seen in the same costume.  How gauche.  Over the course of 72 hours I had to transform my 5 year old into a cheerleader, a snow fairy and a candy corn witch.  And, my 2 year old was a bat and a "doggy wog".

The day of was a blur of costumes, glitter, meltdowns and sugar.  Running here for shoes, running there for parade, running back for candy and butchered attempts at naps.  Somehow the production all came together and it was time for the show.

A Candy Cane Witch and a Doggy Wog arrived at our friend's house for a fabulous party.  About two minutes into the event my Doggy Wog tripped and had muddy knees and paws.  My witch was absorbed into the frenzied amoeba of kids elbows deep in Snickers, Twix and Twizzlers.  Occasionally I saw a streak of black, orange, yellow and white in my peripheral vision, reassuring me she hadn't flown off on her candy corn broom.  The Doggy Wog almost had "a accident" in her Doggy Wog costume. We caught her in the nick of time. And, then she was all set wearing the costume.  My husband was volunteered to be a part of the Haunted House next door and disappeared with some burlap sack fashioned into the most horrifying scarecrow I have ever seen on his head. 

We somehow wrangled up about 20 tiny people - ages 6 and under - and everyone got ready to go out to scavenge for candy.  There was many tears, whining and meltdowns about costumes.  It took a lot of begging, pleading, threatening, convincing for Emmeline Kardashian to wear her costume.  Now she wanted me to hold her the entire time because "me no have yegs".  Thankfully I had the foresight to know this was going to happen and planned ahead.  I chucked her in a wagon and headed out after the kids who were now several bite sized treats ahead of us. 

Long story short, Lena trick or treated, Emmeline refused to get out of the wagon and would only stop whining if we shoved a "yowwy pop" in her mouth.  The herd of kids consumed copious amounts of  candy and ran themselves into a sugar induced coma.  Unfortunately that did not happen until several hours after their normal bedtimes. We came home to discover that someone had stolen the bowl that I left out with candy in it so our house didn't get egged because we weren't home.   And, this morning was just a pile of joy in my house.  Time outs were issued before 9 am and I have had a headache the size of Egypt since last week.

Thank God Halloween is only once a year and the Kardashians only show up for holidays. 

Unveiling of New Collaraborative Blog!

Drum roll please.....

Ok, I have gathered 20 amazing women bloggers to start a fabulous new blog: The Epistolarians.  This is a women-centric blog covering topics with a bit of humor and bite.  We'd love for you to check it out - it's still in the beginning stages, so expect some morphing over the next few weeks. Thanks for your support!

Presenting...The Epistolarians!

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