Halloween: An Evening In Pictures

As always, we had a great time trick-or-treating in the little old neighborhood where I grew up.  After the candy run, Umpa got home from work and we all went outside to play in the yard for a while before heading over to Miss Anita's house for the annual shindig.

Nana, I have to tell you, The Princess's costume was a huge hit.  Everyone loved it, and they were all amazed when I told them you had made it yourself.  Thanks again for all the work you put into this one-of-a-kind, beautiful dress.

Let the candy coma begin!

Perfect

Alarm.

Snooze.

Alarm.

Snooze.

Alarm.

Oh, crap, I did it again!  Not running late, but now I've got to hurry.

Squeeze the blue gel onto the toothbrush while the shower's warming up.

Brush teeth.

Step in.

Warp-speed washing, shampooing, conditioning.

Faucet off, towel dry, run for bedroom...all in one single motion.

Time to stare blankly at the closet.

And then I hear it.  The angelic singing coming from the other side of the wall.  She's lazily getting up and letting us know about it in her own way.

While I'm still struggling to find any two pieces of clothing that match in my entire wardrobe, The Hubbs pays a visit to our little girl, bringing with him a new Pull-Up and a grin.

I can't help but smile while I pull what appears to be a pink blouse over my head.  I can't really be sure, because I'm still in a bit of a fog.  These early autumn mornings are tough.  Until I can get used to the fact that it will be dark out every morning when I get out of bed, there's, well...let's just call it a period of adjustment.  And it ain't pretty.

Sitting on the edge of the bed to put on my socks, I turn and smile.  The Princess has catapulted herself onto the bed with me and is kneeling behind me, hugging my neck with a smirk plastered on her beautiful little face.  Her hair is enormous, bangs sticking out in every direction while the rest of it does its very best to mimic a lion's mane.

I turn her around and take her in my lap.  She giggles and holds on tight.  I kiss her cheek.  She puts her mouth against my cheek, just for a tiny, fleeting second.

My heart swells.  I can't remember a more perfect morning.

Listen, You...

Let me preface this post by reiterating, for those of you who don't know me "in real life," that I really am a positive person.  Annoyingly so sometimes.  Just ask anyone who's known me for seventeen seconds.

That said, I've decided to let y'all know what frosts my cookies.

***

Listen, you...the guy who pulled a total 180 on my gal: Suck it up, pal.  It is what it is.  I have a feeling you're going to wake up one day soon and do an epic mental head-slap when you realize your stupidity.

Listen, you...the one who takes no responsibility for your actions or their consequences: Grow up.

Listen, you...the ones who give me the look when The Princess goes into sensory overload: Education and understanding are wonderful things.  Sticks and stones may break my bones, but the looks and comments you make sometimes do loads more damage than any physical beating I could possibly imagine.

Listen, you...the computer that decided to keel over while still in possession of my precious pictures from the past two years: You're goin' down.  One way or another, those pictures will be recovered.

Listen, you...the ones who still use the "R" word: Racial slurs don't seem to be a part of your everyday vocabulary; nor do slights based upon religion, sexual orientation, or any of the other biggies.  Perhaps we could find a new way to describe things, eh?

Listen, you...the one I'm paying to teach me Spanish: Shape up, Buster.  I'm doing okay as a result of sheer will and the refusal to leave the classroom before our scheduled meeting times end unless I feel 100% confident in what I'm doing.  Many others aren't this dedicated, and I happen to know you're going to find yourself in a tough spot in the future as a result of the way this particular class has gone.  You're a nice guy, but you don't need your students to tell you that each week.  Stick to the syllabus and teach the material that is in the book.  You're doing us all a disservice - your students and yourself - if you continue on with the current shenanigans of this class.

Listen, you...the one who is convinced that the world is out to get you: It's not.  Contrary to popular belief, you are in charge of what happens to you.  The fallout from each of your disasters is worse than the one before.  Think about this.  Take a deep breath and try to look at your situation objectively.  What can you do to make your life better?  Do it.

***

Okay, steppin' off my soap box now.  Have a nice day, y'all.

Mourning the Loss

Well, it's been a good four or five years since the purchase of my HP desktop computer.  We've had some good times, and we've had some spats.

But now it's time to say goodbye.

The stubborn thing won't even power up anymore.  Methinks the hard drive is fried.  How?  Not a clue.  The Hubbs updated iTunes to the newest version last week, and all of a sudden the PC is dead.

Sigh. 

At this point, I'm just crossing my fingers that there's a way to get the last two years' pictures off that hard drive before it kicks the bucket for good.  I know I should have moved them to my external hard drive, but guess what?  I procrastinated.  Yeah.  That worked out well.

I feel slightly nauseous when I think about exactly which pictures were on that PC instead of the handy-dandy external hard drive.  The Princess swimming, laughing, playing, looking at the camera.  Probably every single picture since I lost my last job.  That means I have no remaining photographic evidence of those 9 heavenly months spent at home with The Hubbs and The Princess before starting this new gig.  Last Halloween?  Gone.  Birthdays?  Gone.  Last Christmas?  Gone.  Two entire years of photos?  G-O-N-E, gone.

Please, oh, please, let them be recoverable.

Because, honestly, the computer has no sentimental value.  The pictures, however, are a different story.  I'll be mourning the loss of those for quite some time.

Fall

In my pre-dawn haze this morning, I've vaguely registered the fact that it's chilly outside.  And raining.  Huh.  Fall is here, and I'm not quite sure when that happened.  Just last week, it was in the 70's.  I'm certainly not complaining; this is my favorite season in our little corner of the Midwest.

Today, The Princess and her class are supposed to venture out to the pumpkin patch.  Here's hopin' the weather cooperates!  I can't wait to see what kind of treasure she brings home with her.  :)

On This Day

On this day, six years ago, I awoke alone in my house. Well, alone except for my puppy and the butterflies in my stomach.

I got up, let the puppy out, showered, dressed, and shoved a bit of food in my face. I didn't taste it; my mind was on other things, which somehow managed to take over all perception.

Getting into my fire-engine-red 1999 Ford Escort ZX2, I popped the button to raise the garage door and headed into the next town to pick T up at her hotel.

Hair and nails done, I dropped her back at the hotel and drove home alone with my veil flapping in the wind.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion; it was the longest day in history. Until T and D started down the aisle in front of me and Pop, and I finally caught a glimpse of my sweetheart.

It was all I could do not to run full-tilt down that aisle and jump into his arms. The rest of the day was a blur. A happy, wonderful, fabulous blur. It was as if time sped up the second I saw him that day.

Vows, pictures, drinks, pictures, reception, pictures, learning how to pee in a wedding gown, pictures, nibbling on a salad, pictures, two-second visits with every member of the family, pictures, dancing to the theme from The Breakfast Club with the wedding party, pictures. Dancing with - and singing to - my sweetheart. Pictures. Dancing with my daddy. My sweetheart and his momma. Pictures, pictures, pictures. Going home with my sweetheart and our best friends to change after the reception before heading out to play pool. Realizing the extent to which my tiara was wound into my hair. Not caring. Throwing my red University of Wisconsin sweatshirt on anyway and heading to the neighborhood bar, tiara and all. Celebrating with my sweetheart and my friends.

Funny how time flies. I could swear we just got home from our honeymoon, but here we are with two fur kids (ages 6 and 5), The Princess (age 4), and a pretty established life together.

I have to tell you, though, that the butterflies never left. Ever since I met this boy, they've continued flittering about. I guess it's a package deal.

Six years to the day since our wedding, and it still feels shiny and new.

Swatta, you are my best friend. I love you so.

Two Weeks

Well, two weeks and a couple of days, really...

No notes home from school.

No digestive problems.

No indication that anything is wrong.

The Princess is back, folks.  Thank goodness!

Getting Things Done

Some of us out here are still struggling to keep our heads above water, wondering how people like Jess do it.  Visit her blog and read the last two posts if you have the time.  You'll see what I mean.

This woman is eloquent, powerful, and real.  Somehow she manages to say what I'm feeling without the whiny note that creeps into my voice every time I try to talk about it.

Her girl, Brooke, is on the spectrum, too.

Her girl, Katie, is wise beyond her years.

If I only have time to read one blog, it's always this one.  Hands down.

So what are you waiting for?  Jump on the ol' bandwagon and head on over to Diary of a Mom.

Thank You, Mr. Jobs

Hmm...sounds a lot like a very special group of kids I've come to know and love over the last few years.  I suppose only time will tell, but I couldn't have said this any better myself.

Thank you, Mr. Jobs, for all you did for us.  You will not be forgotten.

Two More Months

This past weekend, I finished my abnormal psych telecourse from the summer semester.  Now I'm just down to my online math course (with various gobbledygook due on Wednesday and Saturday of each week) and The Dreaded Spanish Class.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, I head to school to sit through another "class," which is really a time for our professor to tell us what a cool teacher he is while getting so frustrated with the students that he - more often than not - sends us all home at least 30 minutes early, usually in the middle of a lecture that none of us are grasping.  Mm-hmm.  That helps a lot.

I feel like I'm at the end of my rope with this class.  I knew it would be different being taught by a native Spanish-speaker (my professor last semester is from this area and Spanish is her second language), but nothing could have prepared me for this.

I'm feeling overwhelmed with the amount of self-teaching we're required to do in this class, given that the instructor doesn't take the time to make sure we understand these things.

I'm feeling a lot of regret for ever having decided to take this class in the first place.

I'm feeling cheated.  Every single time he throws his hands up in the air and treats us like misbehaving elementary school students.

For crying out loud, I paid over $300 for this class.  The least he can do is remain in the classroom until our scheduled meeting times are over.

And lastly, I'm feeling repulsed.  Repulsed by the fact that this guy gets paid whether we learn or not, and that seems to be all that matters to him.

Two more months.  That's it, and then I'm done.  Two more months.