BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


1 Comment

Halloweens, Long Ago and Far Away


I really love Halloween. Not the scary stuff, but the fun stuff. The jack-o-lanterns and the dressing up and the trick-or-treating are all wonderful. I’ve always loved Halloween. As a kid with a big imagination and a sweet tooth, why wouldn’t I? I got to dress up and fill a bag full of candy from all over the neighborhood. What could be better?

I have no idea when I first started to dress up for Halloween. We don’t have pictures of Halloween past that I’m aware of. There are dozens of close up shots of flowers, but no little kids in costumes. Go figure. Still, I know I trick or treated as a kid.

The first costume I recall included one of those awful plastic masks that were hard to see out of and hard to breathe through. It was a woman’s face with blonde hair. I think it was Sleeping Beauty or Goldilocks, but I can’t be sure. Either seems like an odd choice for me, but I imagine it’s what was available at the store at the time.

My mother isn’t exactly what you’d call creative. My brother and I took care of our own costumes for the most part. I seem to recall that he was a hobo more than once. He did create a rather impressive robot out of odds and ends one year that left a lasting impression on me.

My costumes weren’t always the best, and honestly I don’t think the neighbors had any clue what I was dressed as half the time. That’s okay, since most of us had to wear our winter coats over our costumes anyway. I never had a great costume as a kid. Charlie Chaplin with his colored scotch tape mustache was kind of a bust. I didn’t give up though, not until the final year, in high school, when I pinned some ears on a grey sweatshirt and used eye pencil to draw on whiskers. DSC00553So lame, but at least I didn’t go alone!

When my son came along I swore his Halloweens would be memorable. For his first Halloween I sewed him the most adorable pumpkin costume, but it turned out way too big. At the last minute I put him in white pajamas and stuck on a cute little puppy bib and called it done. He was darling.

At two he wore the pumpkin costume, and it was perfect! When he was three I sewed him a lion costume that was equally charming. I practically swooned when I saw him in it. Then, at four, he decided that he had to be Batman. A small part of me died inside, but he was happy.

At five he “spotted” a cute leopard costume, and I had to admit that I couldn’t have made it myself for the same price, so it was store bought again. Then there was a Power Ranger costume, and a Ninja, and who knows what else, until he decided to put together his own costumes.

One year it was Darth Mullett… a hillbilly version of the terrifying Darth Maul from one of the newer Star Wars movies that I don’t like. DSC01972He donned red and black face paint and a wig, and he looked pretty bizarro. He was happy. Another year he was a creepy pumpkin patch guy. He made a pumpkin mask, then borrowed a fall leaf garland that he wrapped around himself. He looked pretty awesome.

My son is too old to trick or treat now, and Halloween has lost some of its magic for him, but I still love it. I enjoy being outside and watching the neighborhood come to life. I love to see the little ones experience it for the first time, and to joke around with the teenagers who are trying to stuff their pillowcases with free candy and hang on to their childhoods.

I think back to all those freezing cold Halloween nights from my childhood, and I wouldn’t change a thing.


5 Comments

I Just Don’t Want To

lazy.jpg
All those good intentions I have? Screw ’em.

The still packed boxes from my move two and a half months ago? Forget about them.

The laundry that needs to be washed? The dishes that need to be put away? The groceries that need to be purchased? Nope, nope, and nope. I don’t want to deal with it. Any of it.

I also don’t want to deal with the fact that I’ve been doing a crappy job of caring for my physical well-being. There, I said it, but I’m just not in the mood to deal with it. Stupid, I know. But true.

My mental well-being, on the other hand, has been pretty good, thanks in large part to the fact that I’m just finishing a week off of work, part of which I spent with my son exploring our beautiful state. Still, there is a little too much chaos around me in my home for me to really feel settled. I don’t like having lots of stuff around, which is ironic, because I have lots of stuff.

Here’s what I SHOULD do.

1. Wash and put away all laundry.

2. Empty the dishwasher.

3. Fill at least two boxes with donations (clothes that don’t get worn, those curtains I’m never going to hang from two houses ago, that set of knives I’ve never opened, those ugly picture frames I’ve somehow accumulated, they all need to go).

4. Get that additional storage cube thingie and build it so I can fit my stuff into my studio appropriately.

5. Unpack the last few boxes.

6. Take the dog for a nice long walk.

7. Work on revising my manuscript.

I know that if I did those things I would feel more settled and accomplished, and less at odds with my environment. I have no desire to do any of it, though. Here’s what I really feel like doing instead.lazy-dog-pool

1. Spending the day in my pajamas.

2. Playing Candy Crush and Pet Rescue Saga.

3. Reading ( This week I read Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs and Butter by Erin Jade Lange. Now I’m reading Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher. Yes, they are all Young Adult novels. I don’t care.).

4. Creating a menu of delicious meals that a) someone else should cook, and b) are sinfully unhealthful.

5. Baking (and then eating) something extraordinarily decadent.

6. Pinning all sorts of cool stuff on Pinterest.

7. Sewing with some of the great new fabric I added to my stash during my road trip.

8. Hanging out with my sweetheart, maybe catching a movie on tv (pajamas, remember?).

9. Loving on my doggy.

10. Stalking all my facebook friends. Nah, not really. I comment on their stuff a lot.

The reality of the situation is that I’ll more than likely do things from both lists. After all, it is the last day of my vacation, so I want to enjoy it, but stuff needs to get done, so I might as well suck it up and do it. I still have all day stretched in front of me, so why not?

 


Leave a comment

Alone vs. Lonely

I am home alone. This is a rarity. If the whole family isn’t home, I’m usually either with my son or my sweetheart. Occasionally I get home from work first on a day that my son is with his father, so as I’m puttering around, unwinding from the day, I may have fifteen minutes to myself, but they are full. I come in, put my work things away, let the dog out, feed her, use the bathroom, check the mail, and *poof* the alone time is gone.

On the days my son isn’t with his dad, I’m his driver. We walk out together in the morning, and we walk back in together in the afternoon. When he’s gone for the weekend, my sweetheart and I spend a lot of time together. We like it that way. We run errands together, we go on dates together, we do projects around the house together, and we just generally enjoy each other’s company.

55171_20130814_162130_tumblr_magk3i9S7I1ru61w7o1_500_largeMy family, however, understands that I’m a bit of an introvert, and that I need some time and space to myself.
I have a wonderful “studio” in our home where I can retreat for a bit. After a while one of them might wander in, and that’s fine. I’m not a hermit by any definition of the word. I love them both dearly, and enjoy spending time with them.

There’s a difference between being alone by choice and being alone by circumstance. I learned that lesson when I got divorced. I was okay with the idea of being divorced. I wasn’t thrilled about it, but I understood it, and figured that in the long run it would be best for all involved. It has been. But what I didn’t understand, just couldn’t wrap my head around, was the idea that I should be forced to be 100% utterly alone as a result of circumstances that were beyond my control. I’m talking about my son’s time with his father, of course. My rational brain knew that they deserved to spend time together, and that my son needed his father in his life. It was the primal brain, however, that screamed out, “THIS IS UNFAIR!”

The weekends he was away were torture for me. It felt like the most horrible type of punishment I could imagine. I went from what I considered a normal family life, with a husband and a son, to a completely single entity for those ghastly weekends. How could I be a mother for x number of days a month, but not a mother for the rest? Oh sure, I was still his mother, but I couldn’t parent him. I tried not to think about it too much. I tried not to be critical of his father’s parenting (he’s not a bad father at all, in fact there are a lot of things that I think he does really well in terms of his relationship with our son). I tried to just separate myself from the whole situation when he wasn’t with me. I was always available for my son, but he didn’t need me when he was with his dad. It’s been several years now and to this day I rarely speak to him when he’s with his dad. It’s not that I’m not interested in what he’s doing, but I don’t want to infringe on their time together.

That first year or so of that utter and complete aloneness when he was gone forced me to make some decisions about how I wanted to handle myself. I could have spent those entire weekends in front of the tv, binging on movies and ice cream. I didn’t. I started to find things to do and people to connect with. It started to hurt less and I started to find peace in the alone time. Still, I didn’t like it. I loved having a family. I loved going on outings and sharing family dinners and playing in the pool together and watching movies and celebrating holidays and going on vacations and all of those things that families do. I was heartbroken that it all came to an end, both for myself and for my son. I felt like we were being robbed. Still, I had to make a decision to either wallow in it and make myself even more miserable, and take my son down with me, or deal with it. I’m a grown up. I dealt with it.

Time has passed, and there is a new man in my life, and family has a new definition. No, we’re not married, but the three of us are a family, just as my son’s father and his extended family are still part of our family. It’s not what I expected, but it seems to be working out okay for us.

Long story short, I enjoy those few hours alone at home when nobody is around, but I enjoy them because they’re not forced on me. I’m alone, but I’m far from lonely.