~
"Just give me a sec, ok?
I heard someone say that at work today, and I could feel the hairs of the person she was saying it to bristle. I think I actually heard them.
You hear that line a lot...probably many times a day. Someone asking for patience, one moment to catch up, or find your answer, or get the cream for your coffee.... There is, without a doubt, a nice way to say that line. You can hear it in your head right now.
That's why it stuns me that this particular person has to say everything in a condescending manner...like she's talking to a 5-year-old who was born with only 3 brain cells. It's not necessary. Unless, of course, she is trying to make the other person feel beneath her - which is probably the case. She has an ill-founded superiority complex, and the saddest part is that she's not very superior. Which is why, I'm sure, she has to make up for it by ACTING like she is.
It would be sad and pathetic if it wasn't so annoying.
Xander and I have a game we play...it's called "The Dude Game." Sometimes a line will get stuck between us, and we challenge each other to say it in as many ways as possible. "It's so nice." (kindly) "It's so nice..." (amazed) "It's so NICE!" (stoked) "It's so nice?" (perplexed)
The mouth and tongue create the phonetics...air pushes past the vocal chords to create the sounds...but there's something deeper that creates tone. The tone comes from your heart, and that, ultimately, shows exactly what kind of Human Being you are.
~
Monday, November 12, 2007
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Blog 13 - Feast or Famine
~
That's the way it is with our lives...feast or famine. Either we have ten thousand things to do or we're sitting around bored out of our skulls.
I'm not sure that's such a bad thing.
Anywhoooo... Xander's show went beautifully. He and the other kid (who was the Board of Director's son - score) were professional and focused. It's hard working with a kid, and everyone was a little nervous. But they ended up the little darlings of the night. They were able to work 5 hours each day PLUS do the show without a single hitch. So proud of both of them.
(He was asked to do a show at Zach...I don't think I mentioned that in any of my blogs here - but no one is reading these so I won't bother to explain again. k, thanks!)
Then, Xander had to get up this morning and do a piece at his piano teacher's church. I was a little nervous that I would burst into flames upon crossing the threshold, but I am happy to report that apart from a little heartburn from last night's wine, I walked away unscathed.
I have a little video to share, but the Gods had one little snicker at me - my batteries ran out during the piece. I guess it was the only way to get me. Hey! I DID get burned!
So, here it is - what little bit I got. It was a gorgeous piece, and I'm hoping they'll let me get more video of it at the next class.
That's the way it is with our lives...feast or famine. Either we have ten thousand things to do or we're sitting around bored out of our skulls.
I'm not sure that's such a bad thing.
Anywhoooo... Xander's show went beautifully. He and the other kid (who was the Board of Director's son - score) were professional and focused. It's hard working with a kid, and everyone was a little nervous. But they ended up the little darlings of the night. They were able to work 5 hours each day PLUS do the show without a single hitch. So proud of both of them.
(He was asked to do a show at Zach...I don't think I mentioned that in any of my blogs here - but no one is reading these so I won't bother to explain again. k, thanks!)
Then, Xander had to get up this morning and do a piece at his piano teacher's church. I was a little nervous that I would burst into flames upon crossing the threshold, but I am happy to report that apart from a little heartburn from last night's wine, I walked away unscathed.
I have a little video to share, but the Gods had one little snicker at me - my batteries ran out during the piece. I guess it was the only way to get me. Hey! I DID get burned!
So, here it is - what little bit I got. It was a gorgeous piece, and I'm hoping they'll let me get more video of it at the next class.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Blog 10 - Like the Corners of My Mind
~
I found my house.
No, really. I found my house.
One of you (it starts with a G and ends with a rasshopper) will be thinking that I've found the house I want to live in. That's usually what we say, isn't it? "I found my house! Here's the MLS!"
No...this really is my house. It's the house I grew up in. And it's online.
20 years ago, my parents built it in an area that held less than 20 houses combined...now they sport somewhere around 100 and it's THE place to live. I promise you it wasn't THE anything when I was growing up. It was on an island in Florida...no mall, no social life, and hardly any other kids my age.... It sucked ass. Maybe it would have been fun if I had enjoyed the beach, but I was a vampire (did I mention I was a vampire?) so the combination of Sun and sand was a deadly mix.
But it was home. It's where my persona as I know it was forged. From the tender age of 8 to the bitter age of 15, this is the place I stored everything that was important to me.
I wonder if Buttercup ever went there...did you? Do you remember it? Do you remember how god-awful ugly it was? Do you remember that it looked like the 70's drank a case of Bud and threw up all over it?
Well, it's had a face lift.
I knew it had been remodeled...when I was 20 or so I talked my best friend, Chris (miss you every day...but that's for another blog) into walking up to the front door and asking if we could come in and look around. I have to give props to the old couple living there - we were barely out of out teenager angst-phase, and our closets still consisted of black, black, and more black. I think Chris had pink hair at the time. And a lip ring. I never would have let us in, but they were amazingly gracious and gave us a grand tour.
It was heartbreaking.
Because no matter how ugly something is, it's missed when it leaves forever. That was no longer my house. "The house where I grew up" was gone forever.
Enough with the maudlin crap...time for some pics of the home that shaped the insanity called I:
This was my house...the front was never quite this pretty because - well, to be blunt, my mother has horrible taste. Grasshopper can attest to the aqua green walls and ceilings running throughout their current home. Why aqua green? It matched her bedspread. 'nuff said?
Now let's move to the living room.
Is that a fireplace? Wow...that would have been cool to have growing up. Sitting by a nice cozy fire in the 98 degree weather. That investment probably made the new owners giggle with glee.
This is the "new" look of course...the old look was, as I've stated before, puked out of a 1970's JC Penny catalog. Wood paneling, brown carpet, sectional sofa (my mother was so proud of that sofa) and a genuine television cabinet that also housed an 8-track. It was Hi-fi. Groovy.
It looked a little something like this:
That's the best I can do on such short notice. My time is almost up and we have SO much more to see!
If you look at the back of the picture, you'll see a sliding glass door that leads to...wait for the cleverness...the Florida Room. Yes, those special people get a whole room named after their State. "What could a Florida Room be?" you ask? A room with sunshine and orange groves?
Actually, it's just a closed in porch...but that doesn't sound ritzy enough when you invite the neighbors over for iced tea. Anyhoo...this is what one looks like in case you ever meet one in the street:
Ok...now I'm not feeling so guilty about my family's decorating skills. Hey! Is that a jug of Granny's medicine in the corner?
Off to the left is the kitchen. I spent many an hour washing pots and pans at that sink. We had a dishwasher, but for some reason my brother and I were forced to wash them by hand. Probably because my mother burned every meal she ever made, and the 1980's had yet to invent the Power-Washer Kenmore.
My father took 2 years to lay the floor in this house. It was parquet flooring and very expensive for the time, so they could only buy a few boxes at a time. I remember the moment he laid the last square in - he was so proud his heart nearly burst. Good to see the new owners have ripped it up and replaced it with generic machined planking. That is SO much more interesting than intricately designed parquet.
Time is running short, so let's move down to my brother's room...
This is the room I broke into hundreds of times over the years. He had all the best stuff. I stole every one of his his Journey and Foreigner tapes, and my love of Douglas Adams was born in this room. I stole his series and denied I did it. I think I blamed it on the old lady next door. Yeah, he totally believed me.
Further down the hall we come to....ready? To the room that cushioned the one and only. Yes, my room. The room where I spent hours pretending I was a teacher and, later, Madonna. The room that held the pillow I cried into when the boy I liked didn't ask me to the Dance. The room that housed various mice, parakeets, and even, once, a turtle. All my games and toys and art projects and.....
Oh. How boring. How generic. THAT is my room now?? Yuk. Seriously, yuk.
My mother, in her finest moment, decided that my room should be my favorite color. Yellow. That might have been nice, but it wasn't just a little yellow...it was ALL yellow. It looked like the urinal that the 70's took a piss in after too much beer. Yellow wallpaper with yellow designs on one wall, yellow paint on the others, yellow carpet, yellow bedspread, yellow curtains..... You get the idea. No? Well, it looked a little something like this:
Now you know why I'm insane.
Move on...the loss of my yellow room is making me nostalgic again. And I'm almost out of time....
Time for only one more stop. I wanted to give you the grand Tour, but I can't blow this BaD thing.
This is my Father's office:
Amazingly, it's exactly the same as it was when I was growing up. Apart from the lack of the pull-out Berber couch, it's like walking back in time. The door is still there...my Narnia door. That was the door I believed magical creatures lived behind. It's where my many imaginary friends stayed when I was at school. My parents forbid to open that door since it went to the attic, but my young imagination created a more bizarre, more outlandish, and ultimately more enjoyably explanation.
That was the door to another world. Maybe that world would be a better place than this one. Maybe?
Many an hour was spent in front of that door. If I was punished by my parents or if one of my friends was mean to me, I would stand in front of that door thinking that if I could just open it...just reach out and open it...then I could get away from the sadness I felt and go somewhere beautiful. Maybe. All I had to do was lift my arm...turn the handle...
But I always walked away. Maybe just the belief that I could escape was enough. Maybe because I knew it wasn't really a door to another world I could never really open it and see. Because if I had put my hand on the doorknob...if I had pulled it open...if I had seen that it was nothing but a hot, dusty attic in there, it could never again be that door to another world. And I needed that door.
Sometimes I wish that I could have walked away when I was 20. I wish I would have turned around and never put my hand on their doorknob. Sometimes I wish that I had never seen their clean, crisp whites and their remodeled bathrooms. Because now it can never be my house again.
And, sometimes, I need that house.
~
I found my house.
No, really. I found my house.
One of you (it starts with a G and ends with a rasshopper) will be thinking that I've found the house I want to live in. That's usually what we say, isn't it? "I found my house! Here's the MLS!"
No...this really is my house. It's the house I grew up in. And it's online.
20 years ago, my parents built it in an area that held less than 20 houses combined...now they sport somewhere around 100 and it's THE place to live. I promise you it wasn't THE anything when I was growing up. It was on an island in Florida...no mall, no social life, and hardly any other kids my age.... It sucked ass. Maybe it would have been fun if I had enjoyed the beach, but I was a vampire (did I mention I was a vampire?) so the combination of Sun and sand was a deadly mix.
But it was home. It's where my persona as I know it was forged. From the tender age of 8 to the bitter age of 15, this is the place I stored everything that was important to me.
I wonder if Buttercup ever went there...did you? Do you remember it? Do you remember how god-awful ugly it was? Do you remember that it looked like the 70's drank a case of Bud and threw up all over it?
Well, it's had a face lift.
I knew it had been remodeled...when I was 20 or so I talked my best friend, Chris (miss you every day...but that's for another blog) into walking up to the front door and asking if we could come in and look around. I have to give props to the old couple living there - we were barely out of out teenager angst-phase, and our closets still consisted of black, black, and more black. I think Chris had pink hair at the time. And a lip ring. I never would have let us in, but they were amazingly gracious and gave us a grand tour.
It was heartbreaking.
Because no matter how ugly something is, it's missed when it leaves forever. That was no longer my house. "The house where I grew up" was gone forever.
Enough with the maudlin crap...time for some pics of the home that shaped the insanity called I:
This was my house...the front was never quite this pretty because - well, to be blunt, my mother has horrible taste. Grasshopper can attest to the aqua green walls and ceilings running throughout their current home. Why aqua green? It matched her bedspread. 'nuff said?
Now let's move to the living room.
Is that a fireplace? Wow...that would have been cool to have growing up. Sitting by a nice cozy fire in the 98 degree weather. That investment probably made the new owners giggle with glee.
This is the "new" look of course...the old look was, as I've stated before, puked out of a 1970's JC Penny catalog. Wood paneling, brown carpet, sectional sofa (my mother was so proud of that sofa) and a genuine television cabinet that also housed an 8-track. It was Hi-fi. Groovy.
It looked a little something like this:
That's the best I can do on such short notice. My time is almost up and we have SO much more to see!
If you look at the back of the picture, you'll see a sliding glass door that leads to...wait for the cleverness...the Florida Room. Yes, those special people get a whole room named after their State. "What could a Florida Room be?" you ask? A room with sunshine and orange groves?
Actually, it's just a closed in porch...but that doesn't sound ritzy enough when you invite the neighbors over for iced tea. Anyhoo...this is what one looks like in case you ever meet one in the street:
Ok...now I'm not feeling so guilty about my family's decorating skills. Hey! Is that a jug of Granny's medicine in the corner?
Off to the left is the kitchen. I spent many an hour washing pots and pans at that sink. We had a dishwasher, but for some reason my brother and I were forced to wash them by hand. Probably because my mother burned every meal she ever made, and the 1980's had yet to invent the Power-Washer Kenmore.
My father took 2 years to lay the floor in this house. It was parquet flooring and very expensive for the time, so they could only buy a few boxes at a time. I remember the moment he laid the last square in - he was so proud his heart nearly burst. Good to see the new owners have ripped it up and replaced it with generic machined planking. That is SO much more interesting than intricately designed parquet.
Time is running short, so let's move down to my brother's room...
This is the room I broke into hundreds of times over the years. He had all the best stuff. I stole every one of his his Journey and Foreigner tapes, and my love of Douglas Adams was born in this room. I stole his series and denied I did it. I think I blamed it on the old lady next door. Yeah, he totally believed me.
Further down the hall we come to....ready? To the room that cushioned the one and only. Yes, my room. The room where I spent hours pretending I was a teacher and, later, Madonna. The room that held the pillow I cried into when the boy I liked didn't ask me to the Dance. The room that housed various mice, parakeets, and even, once, a turtle. All my games and toys and art projects and.....
Oh. How boring. How generic. THAT is my room now?? Yuk. Seriously, yuk.
My mother, in her finest moment, decided that my room should be my favorite color. Yellow. That might have been nice, but it wasn't just a little yellow...it was ALL yellow. It looked like the urinal that the 70's took a piss in after too much beer. Yellow wallpaper with yellow designs on one wall, yellow paint on the others, yellow carpet, yellow bedspread, yellow curtains..... You get the idea. No? Well, it looked a little something like this:
Now you know why I'm insane.
Move on...the loss of my yellow room is making me nostalgic again. And I'm almost out of time....
Time for only one more stop. I wanted to give you the grand Tour, but I can't blow this BaD thing.
This is my Father's office:
Amazingly, it's exactly the same as it was when I was growing up. Apart from the lack of the pull-out Berber couch, it's like walking back in time. The door is still there...my Narnia door. That was the door I believed magical creatures lived behind. It's where my many imaginary friends stayed when I was at school. My parents forbid to open that door since it went to the attic, but my young imagination created a more bizarre, more outlandish, and ultimately more enjoyably explanation.
That was the door to another world. Maybe that world would be a better place than this one. Maybe?
Many an hour was spent in front of that door. If I was punished by my parents or if one of my friends was mean to me, I would stand in front of that door thinking that if I could just open it...just reach out and open it...then I could get away from the sadness I felt and go somewhere beautiful. Maybe. All I had to do was lift my arm...turn the handle...
But I always walked away. Maybe just the belief that I could escape was enough. Maybe because I knew it wasn't really a door to another world I could never really open it and see. Because if I had put my hand on the doorknob...if I had pulled it open...if I had seen that it was nothing but a hot, dusty attic in there, it could never again be that door to another world. And I needed that door.
Sometimes I wish that I could have walked away when I was 20. I wish I would have turned around and never put my hand on their doorknob. Sometimes I wish that I had never seen their clean, crisp whites and their remodeled bathrooms. Because now it can never be my house again.
And, sometimes, I need that house.
~
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Blog...um...9?
~
I'm still writing my Blog A Day (S_ has coined it BaD) but some of them just aren't relevant here...if you don't know the people, they make no sense. Our BaD has turned into its own animal...and that's a good thing.
So, it looks like I've missed a few if you look at this journal...but since I don't think anyone is watching this one I feel safe from reprisals.
But I'll still carry on.....
;-)
...............
I was writing a message and my brain went this direction:
It's an interesting phenomena, this online friendship; this cyber-culture. Without the normal societal practices, friendship is something quite different. You cannot use sight or sound or smells or touch to make judgment calls - it's completely raw. I would argue that it's the purest form of relating to another Human Being.
With someone online, the emphasis is on communication, so you have a clearer understanding of what that someone is really all about. (I'm cutting off the tail end of the bell curve that encompasses the crazies and the serial killers, of course.) As online communication progresses, it's own language and rules of conduct emerge. We are witness to the birth of a society.
What defines a society? Language? Art? Social networks?
I could go on, but I have to return to the "other" society and make dinner.
I hate cooking. If only there was such a thing as cyber-food.
~
I'm still writing my Blog A Day (S_ has coined it BaD) but some of them just aren't relevant here...if you don't know the people, they make no sense. Our BaD has turned into its own animal...and that's a good thing.
So, it looks like I've missed a few if you look at this journal...but since I don't think anyone is watching this one I feel safe from reprisals.
But I'll still carry on.....
;-)
...............
I was writing a message and my brain went this direction:
It's an interesting phenomena, this online friendship; this cyber-culture. Without the normal societal practices, friendship is something quite different. You cannot use sight or sound or smells or touch to make judgment calls - it's completely raw. I would argue that it's the purest form of relating to another Human Being.
With someone online, the emphasis is on communication, so you have a clearer understanding of what that someone is really all about. (I'm cutting off the tail end of the bell curve that encompasses the crazies and the serial killers, of course.) As online communication progresses, it's own language and rules of conduct emerge. We are witness to the birth of a society.
What defines a society? Language? Art? Social networks?
I could go on, but I have to return to the "other" society and make dinner.
I hate cooking. If only there was such a thing as cyber-food.
~
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Blog 5 - The Importance of Being Interventionist
~
Late last night I had to rescue my baby.
His voice over the phone was the tone which sends Mothers' brains to that quiet place called instinct. Autonomic reflexes take over...vision becomes startlingly clear...breathing increases to quicken the flow of blood to the brain...not a wandering thought or unbidden image crosses the mind.... Cut through traffic just south of the "safely" line and get there as fast as humanly possible.
"Mom? I'm sick."
He was at his Father's house. I'm not saying his Father isn't a compassionate parent, it's just that...um... - ok, he's not a compassionate parent. He and his wife are lovely people, but empathy is not high on their lists of "good attributes to embody." They ignore their own crying children (SCREAMING children) and feel that showing concern creates "Mamma's boys." I've learned the hard way that even though they are competent parents, they cannot (will not) take care of Xander when he's ill.
And it's important to keep an eye on him when he's ill.
One night when Xander was doing "The Full Monty" his father brought him in with a fever. He'd had it all day. No one called me, and beyond that they didn't give him anything to reduce the fever.
I could have torn his Father's eyes out.
As the show's Stage Manager I had to make sure he went on, no matter what. As Xander's Mother I had to watch my baby writhing in pain backstage between scenes. I had to tell him he had no choice but to go on...and that killed me. I will never forget (or forgive myself) watching him throw up in the bathroom and making him hurry because his next scene was coming up.
All because his Father has the bedside manners of a troll.
You see, when Xander gets a fever, it isn't one of those wimpy 102 degree fevers - he gets those Monster Fevers. 105...106...106.4...I honestly don't know how high it could go because I've always been too busy panicking to stick a thermometer in his mouth. The first few times we ended up in the Hospital, and once the day care he was in called 911. It happens fast and it happens hard and it's fucking scary.
That's just the way his body rolls. I'm a little more used to it after 12 years, but there is always the fear of seizures or of THIS time being the one that cooks his brain. For some reason, his Father can't understand that.
So, late last night I had to rescue my baby.
~
Late last night I had to rescue my baby.
His voice over the phone was the tone which sends Mothers' brains to that quiet place called instinct. Autonomic reflexes take over...vision becomes startlingly clear...breathing increases to quicken the flow of blood to the brain...not a wandering thought or unbidden image crosses the mind.... Cut through traffic just south of the "safely" line and get there as fast as humanly possible.
"Mom? I'm sick."
He was at his Father's house. I'm not saying his Father isn't a compassionate parent, it's just that...um... - ok, he's not a compassionate parent. He and his wife are lovely people, but empathy is not high on their lists of "good attributes to embody." They ignore their own crying children (SCREAMING children) and feel that showing concern creates "Mamma's boys." I've learned the hard way that even though they are competent parents, they cannot (will not) take care of Xander when he's ill.
And it's important to keep an eye on him when he's ill.
One night when Xander was doing "The Full Monty" his father brought him in with a fever. He'd had it all day. No one called me, and beyond that they didn't give him anything to reduce the fever.
I could have torn his Father's eyes out.
As the show's Stage Manager I had to make sure he went on, no matter what. As Xander's Mother I had to watch my baby writhing in pain backstage between scenes. I had to tell him he had no choice but to go on...and that killed me. I will never forget (or forgive myself) watching him throw up in the bathroom and making him hurry because his next scene was coming up.
All because his Father has the bedside manners of a troll.
You see, when Xander gets a fever, it isn't one of those wimpy 102 degree fevers - he gets those Monster Fevers. 105...106...106.4...I honestly don't know how high it could go because I've always been too busy panicking to stick a thermometer in his mouth. The first few times we ended up in the Hospital, and once the day care he was in called 911. It happens fast and it happens hard and it's fucking scary.
That's just the way his body rolls. I'm a little more used to it after 12 years, but there is always the fear of seizures or of THIS time being the one that cooks his brain. For some reason, his Father can't understand that.
So, late last night I had to rescue my baby.
~
Thursday, November 1, 2007
I Rock.....
You're going to pee. You know who you are. I can hear the "oh my god"s even now.
First, let me post a picture of the original...it's good for reference purposes. And let me remind everyone that I had to do this costume in 24 hours. I shudder to think what I could have done in a week....
(This was at the end of the night, so the hair and make-up were failing....)
And now the costume...and the character behind it:
And some of The Posse....
Ryq would kill me if he saw this...I used one of his shirts. But since he wouldn't be caught dead on this side of the BlogWorld, I'm sure I'm safe.
The makeup would have been better, but the father of one of the kids was going bananas to get started...he wanted to Trick-or-Treat with his business partners and got a little un-festive. Business partners? Who the hell does that? No kid should be subjected to that.
The very saddest thing was that it was the father of Xander's best friend, Kyle...and he ended up not getting to go with us. His father ditched us at the "party" house...what a turd. I'm going to make sure Kyle gets some extra attention this afternoon - just so he knows I still adore him.
Sins of the Father my ass.
~Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Trick or Treat...Now Gimme Some Candy
~
This is my favorite day of the year...what can be more fun for a theatre diva than dressing up and scaring people? Oh yeah, dressing up her child so HE can scare people.
To be honest, the boy has never dressed up as something scary...he's had ideas, but they either push the "good taste" boundary or the "can't walk around getting candy if you're encased in a wooden coffin" reality. Physics are often a factor - when he was 6 he wanted to take his head off and carry it under his arm. I might have hurt his feelings when I laughed.
Usually, he ends up being something kitschy. Megaman (3 years in a row because the costume, if I do say so myself, was bloody brilliant) John Lennon (he got so much extra candy for that one) a Samurai warrior (rented, so I felt like it was cheating).....
So, what to be this year? In true procrastination-that-is-my-life-style, the costume was left to the last minute. Possibilities were discussed and thrown out as either being too lazy ("I'll go as my friend, Kyle"), too expensive ("let's buy a bunch of video games and glue them all over me" ~ kid thinks he's sneaky), too obscure ("I know! I'll be a Salvador Dali painting!"), or just too impossible, ("What if we put a big box over me and I'll go as a 'This End Up' monster").
So what to be? Time was rapidly dwindling so I issued the ultimatum on Tuesday. "You have to decide tonight because I'm not staying up all night making your costume just because you waited too long." We sat on the couch together, staring off into the space we hoped brilliant ideas came from, and then it hit us at the same time. It probably hit us at the same time because the direction we were hoping brilliant ideas came from was pre-empted by the movie shelf.
Edward Scissorhands.
So, I stayed up all night anyway, but it's looking really good. I wish we'd thought of this 2 weeks ago, but for being a last-minute costume idea it's not TOO bad. I'll post a picture (would that count as one of my daily blogs?) if it looks acceptable.
Happy Halloween, everyone!! Eat lots of candy and scare lots of little children!!!
~
This is my favorite day of the year...what can be more fun for a theatre diva than dressing up and scaring people? Oh yeah, dressing up her child so HE can scare people.
To be honest, the boy has never dressed up as something scary...he's had ideas, but they either push the "good taste" boundary or the "can't walk around getting candy if you're encased in a wooden coffin" reality. Physics are often a factor - when he was 6 he wanted to take his head off and carry it under his arm. I might have hurt his feelings when I laughed.
Usually, he ends up being something kitschy. Megaman (3 years in a row because the costume, if I do say so myself, was bloody brilliant) John Lennon (he got so much extra candy for that one) a Samurai warrior (rented, so I felt like it was cheating).....
So, what to be this year? In true procrastination-that-is-my-life-style, the costume was left to the last minute. Possibilities were discussed and thrown out as either being too lazy ("I'll go as my friend, Kyle"), too expensive ("let's buy a bunch of video games and glue them all over me" ~ kid thinks he's sneaky), too obscure ("I know! I'll be a Salvador Dali painting!"), or just too impossible, ("What if we put a big box over me and I'll go as a 'This End Up' monster").
So what to be? Time was rapidly dwindling so I issued the ultimatum on Tuesday. "You have to decide tonight because I'm not staying up all night making your costume just because you waited too long." We sat on the couch together, staring off into the space we hoped brilliant ideas came from, and then it hit us at the same time. It probably hit us at the same time because the direction we were hoping brilliant ideas came from was pre-empted by the movie shelf.
Edward Scissorhands.
So, I stayed up all night anyway, but it's looking really good. I wish we'd thought of this 2 weeks ago, but for being a last-minute costume idea it's not TOO bad. I'll post a picture (would that count as one of my daily blogs?) if it looks acceptable.
Happy Halloween, everyone!! Eat lots of candy and scare lots of little children!!!
~
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