Obligatory

Last year I posted photos of the spectacularness that is Fall in New England . . .

. . . and one insightful . . .

. . . delightful . . .
.
. . . intuitive . . .

. . . commenter . . .

. . . called it . . .

Tree Porn.

For obvious reasons.

Who am I to argue? It is.

So, now, a year later . . .

. . . here is 2009's version.

. . . in full regalia . . .

(That is not a drink in my hand, it's an apple. Puh-lease!)

. . . I don't consider it a choice to share this with you . . .

. . . I consider it an obligation . . .

Obligatory Tree Porn.

. . . It is pure spectacularness, once again . . .

Oh! There's me again!

. . . So. For all of you lucky tragic enough to be without foliage . . .

. . . and to have great, summery weather All. The. Time. . . .

. . . and to not have a Mom or an Uffie to send you leaf care packages in the mail . . .

. . . this one's all you.

care package

Did your mom ever send you care packages when you were away at school? In college, any kind of mail was a huge treat, a delightful distraction from the bottle books on many a long and woeful day spent far from home. Without the constant contact that we now enjoy through e-mail and facebook, the separation from family was more intense back in the day. Plus, we had to fight off the dinosaurs and walk uphill both ways through snow to our one room schoolhouse. Mail was a lifeline, and on some very special days, the postal engineer would loop back around after delivering the paper goods which meant only one thing: a package!

Of course, you’d expect packages around your birthday, but the best ones were the care packages that arrived without explanation.

Even if it wasn’t an official care package – traditionally consisting of items intended to provide loving care – mom and dad both always sent good mail. Whenever mom had a box or an envelope prepared to send something to one of us, she would find cool little surprises to put inside. If we left something at home during our last visit, if an article in the local paper would be of interest, mom would send it along to us, but in the box we’d also find some artfully chosen memento from the house, like one of the dogs from my collection; a photo from the den; or a hat that grammy had sewn. And then there would be the staples of our family diet: cash and candy.

Just because I’m now generally able to procure my own money and candy does not mean I’ve outgrown the appeal of the care package. My birthday packages still always contain a funny little bag of candy and often some other random tidbit retrieved from far down memory lane. More often, packages from my parents now arrive addressed to my kids, who have gleefully taken over the fluttery anticipation when a package arrives at the doorstep.

We received one just last week, wanna see?

It was an inauspicious envelope, bulging just enough to tease at greatness

Inside, there was a veritable bounty of miscellany


First, there was this treasure, bringing other moments right back to mind:

The prize money was still inside!

Then there was Mom’s most recent school photo. Ain't she purdy?

And of course, there was candy!
I think my mom is the last person on the planet who still keeps non-zip baggies in the house.

Inside, we found a hilariously endearing assortment of sugar free suckers,
after dinner mints, and loose m&ms.



The last thing we pulled from the bag was the magnum opus: a gallon sized zip loc (!) bag full of .....

fall!

Autumn leaves of all colors and shapes. My Aunt Uffie used to send me a few leaves inside a birthday card each November, and once she became unable to do so, mom took over. Oh, the smell of it! Takes me right back to Bettswood Road.

The kids were thrilled, and quickly sorted the leaves in two so each would have a bag to bring to school and share with their fellow foliage-deprived California cohorts

I don't know how anyone could construct a better care package.

Thanks, mom

Piece of the pie

I enjoyed reading Vicki Iovine’s, Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy, back when I was pregnant with my first born, years ago.

There are a few things that I remember clearly from that book, one of which is her description of when she approached her husband about wanting a fourth baby. He was not enthusiastic, not at all. He really couldn’t conceive of it, not because he didn’t like babies, or children, or being a father, but because he already didn’t have enough of his wife.

He explained it to her (something) like this, “Imagine that you are a pie -- with each child my piece of the pie, which used to be quite large, gets smaller. Every baby takes a big piece of the pie.”

I mentioned this pie analogy to my husband recently, and his response was, “Honey, I can’t even seem to find the pie tin.”

And it’s true, I really do feel like a ever disappearing pie these days. And I’m not trying to flatter myself here, I’m simply the only mom and wife in the house, there is no other. They all may long for another wife and mother sometimes, but it’s just me. Little ol’ me.

How to make the pie bigger? I guess one way is to stay up later or get up earlier, but in a crazy book I’m reading that Jacquie lent to me, the character who attempts this ends up walking to the wood pile, picking up the ax, and bringing it down on her husband’s skull.

I’m blood averse, so this is not a good plan for me. Plus then I’d be the only one in the house with a license, which would be very inconvenient. (Just kidding, honey.)

So what to do? Stop nursing the baby? Refuse to help with homework? Quit my job?

I like the last option, but unfortunately it’s just not feasible.

Obviously we all just need to suck it up, it’s what all families before us have done and those following us will continue to do. The older girls can start doing more, by themselves, the baby can, um, grow, and my husband can lock himself in his office and pretend that he never got married keep supporting me like he has been. For my part, I will continue to give everybody all I can, and remember that I damn well better enjoy today’s craziness as much as I can because someday they will be grown and gone.

I ♥ Saturday Night

Jacquie may have cute little green witches, and poor tormented tortured guys and Cans-O-Beans in San Diego, but around these parts, Halloween brings the likes of these guys:

They were nice boys, actually, even though I think they were all about 22. And they were very excited about our Now 'n' Laters.

And we got our fair share of the cute young crowd, too.

We had a raging campfire and gave out treats to the kids who made the long walk down our street. Since it looks like we forgot to turn any lights on in our houses, it's no surprise the brave souls who made the long walk were few.

Which means we got the lefties.

And it meant we could carry on in our usual way. We moved inside when it started raining and Tommy and I cut up a mean kitchen dance floor. I wish I had audio of this, because I don't remember what the number was. We were good, though.

.

Does it seem like all my posts are about drinking and dancing? Well they're not. Sometimes they're about donuts.

We kept an eye on the World Series game by computer and radio, because we are just that high-tech.

When it stopped raining we headed back out, but all our neighbors had gone in. And it was only 1:30! And we gained an hour! Silly neighbors.

Note to self: get out the tripod, put the camera on it, set the self-timer, and get Mistah Schleckah in an occasional photo. Poor Mistah Schleckah. Always the photographer, never photographed.

Tommy and Dawnie look good in front of the Westy, don't they? I think they need one.

Another Saturday night, another raging good time.

It's fun around these parts.

and then I'll shut up about halloween

For someone who claims to hate Halloween, I sure do talk about it a lot! I'm so happy that it's over, and despite the obscene quantity of candy that is now a very important part of my existance, it was a good holiday.

The bonus to sharing halloween photos today is that it allows me to forego the pretense of reason or intelligence. I can just grunt like the cavewoman I have become after this long, packed weekend and gesture at the cute and/or disturbing images of my spawn and their cohorts.

.

Look! funny dog:

Whachoo talkin' bout, pumpkin?

And look! Surly witch girl:

The madras print slip-on shoes slay me

And look! Disturbing pre-adolescent bloody boy:

He calls this look: Tortured Guy

Here is a photo that could very well land me in jail:

How many times do I have to tell you to lie still while I implant the bolt in your chest?!

We went to a party at the dojo that featured a costume contest. These were the finalists for the costume category:"scariest"

What mother could be more proud? Two out of five came from my very own loins!

.

My boy took home the trophy! My girl was a great sport, she said: "I'm just happy to be nominated to get the candy bar"

(aside) I love how in this photo, the knife through his head looks like cute little yoda ears

It wasn't until much later that day, after suffering through enjoying the festival at the kids' school, that we were able to join up with our neighbors for the nighttime fun. Our solemn witch found a kindred spirit, and smiles emerged from beneath the depths of green:



And the boys... well, the boys sort of speak for themselves

In the middle? Grampa Gangsta

The tortured one took time out from his anguish to help a sistah out with some grub

In the end, the almighty candy prevailed. These tuckered out tyrants sorted and traded and stuffed themselves ill.

In other words, it was a perfect Halloween.