Yesterday I took Delaney on a walk down one of the most popular Boise streets for trick-or-treating. I took her during the day so she could see for herself that the decorations are pretend and NOT SCARY. I had this brilliant idea after recalling the HORROR that was last year when we went trick-or-treating. It went like this:
All the adults: YAY! Look at THIS silly Halloween house! HA HA HA! OKAY! Let’s walk up to the door and we’ll say TRICK OR TREAT! Ready?! TRICK OR TREAT!
And it wasn’t just that she was cold or tired (which she was probably both), she LITERALLY would SHAKE with fear at seeing people dressed up, seeing any Halloween decoration that wasn’t a pumpkin, seeing ANYTHING at all. All these nice homeowners would take off their masks and show her that SEE! It’s just a human under here! But she still wouldn’t have it. My child is truly my child, she’s scared of everything.
My Mom loves to tell the story of taking me to the park when I was 2 or 3 years old and finally forcing me to go down the death contraption commonly known as the slide. She really truly FORCED me down the slide, WAILING and KICKING and FIGHTING for my LIFE much to the dismay of all the other parents in the surrounding area. All those parents watched in horror as my Mom dragged my toddler body up those stairs and PUSHED me down the big metal slide, probably laughing while she did it (remind me to tell you about another rather painful and ghastly memory of my Mother YANKING my loose teeth out of my mouth with a dishtowel while sitting on top of me SNICKERING with delight). THIS, my friends, is what it looks like to be raised by a Psychologist. REMEMBER THIS, all you Psychologists out there who are about to unknowingly subject your children to this kind of childhood. But back to the slide, she forces me down and the scene is reminiscent of the scene in Charlotte’s Web when Wilbur is about to die but then halfway down the slide I start laughing! I say WEE! And at the end of the slide, I say “AGAIN!” and my Mom likes to imagine that all the other Mothers in the park start nodding, smiling and advancing towards the slow clap. (slow clap: clap….clap…..clap…..clap..clap..CLAP..CLAP..CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP!!! BRAVO!)
Well, I tried a DIFFERENT approach this year rather than throwing her to the wolves again, which proved UNAFFECTIVE last year. And she did really well on our little walk. I think she gets it. We’ll see though.
Here are a few pictures from some of my favorite Boise houses decorated for Halloween.
The scary front door entrance
The scary gate entrance
The front yard graveyard
The spider web entrance
The flying ghosts
the Reaper
The uh, ritualistic burial ground entrance?
Close up of bloody head
Pumpkins that will be smashed to smithereens in a few hours
The real fun begins tonight, though, when all the owners of these beautiful old houses bring out the smoke and mirrors and put on a fabulous show for the kids. And the parents. They hide and jump out at you, they pretend they are dead on their rocking chairs and then BOOM! come alive, they play scary music and hand out MASSIVE candy bars. It’s pretty fun. Boise’s fun like that. We also have cornfield mazes and haunted forests, pumpkin patches and Halloween street fairs. We really love Boise. What do ya’ll do in your respective parts of the country? Is Halloween as fun there as it is here?
And just for fun:
Delaney’s first Halloween at 9 months
Delaney’s embarrassing parents as a Saloon girl and a Gambler last Saturday night.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE! Be safe and have fun tonight! And remember that Michael Moore says that there never was a razor blade in a candy.
Seen in the kitchen of her Mother’s beautifully manicured and spotlessly maintained home, said Teenager takes out a cracker, eats it and places the crumbs just so upon the perfectly disinfected counter top, almost as a love note to her Mother. Later in day, said Teenager is seen rolling her eyes and snarling in the face of the preposterous Mother for attempting to ask said Teenager to do some cleaning (the nerve). Said Teenager then laughs in her parent’s faces (since she knows this method proves the most effective in successfully making their blood boil and drive them insane) as they tell her to be home by 11 pm. A mean remark to her younger sister that she’ll carry with her throughout her whole life and a disgusted glare over her shoulder on the way out the door tops off the daily routine.
Said Teenager then meets up with girlfriends, gossips for a few hours before heading out and then manages to collect a few car keys at the big party while remaining sober and untouched by any male counterparts the entire night. Has a good time, as usual, and to top off the nightly routine, arrives home 2 hours late in an attempt to kill off her parents. Death by ulcers.
The kind of Teenager Mike was:
Seen in the kitchen of his Mother’s beautifully manicured and spotlessly maintained home, said Teenager takes it upon himself to clear the dinner table and do the dishes without being asked, all the while making his Mother laugh uncontrollably as he tells her a story. Later on, said Teenager is seen asking his Mother how HER day was (can you imagine?), validating any emotions she may have about her annoying boss and then gives her a compliment on her latest painting. A playful wrestling match with his younger brother and a quick conversation with his younger sister on the way out the door tops off the daily routine.
Said Teenager then goes out for the night, steals a motorcycle with his friends, gets in a pointless parking lot brawl and then samples a few not-FDA approved substances. Oh and then skips school again the next day much to the dismay of all his Teachers who adore him and to the dismay of his Father who, uh, TEACHES AT THE SCHOOL.
So, knowing that both Teenagers grow up into happy, well-adjusted and WILDLY successful adults, which would YOU prefer to raise? The one who makes your home life a living hell for 3 years straight but was a downright ANGEL out in the real world? Or the one who’s an angel at home, kind, helpful, hilarious, someone you actually WANT to be around but then also has a wild streak in him? And did YOU fit into either category? And is it possible that Delaney will magically retain BOTH kinds of the admiral qualities of her parents? Is there a mutant Teenage life form out there who is the best of both worlds? It’s possible…… right?
Me in high school. This pic is from a dance I went to with the red-headed dude and some other amigos.
Mike in high school. Isn’t he CUTE! This pic is from his birthday. His kid brother and sister made him a t-shirt, which he wore for YEARS.
On another note, I have never seen him with his magical afro. Stupid Army.
Mike: You promise? Because I haven’t done ANYTHING
Me: Really, I didn’t and am not planning to.
Mike: Do not get me a present. Do not buy me anything. DO NOT write me a nice letter, okay?
Me: Okay. You don’t either. I hate nice letters.
Mike: Okay.
Me: I guess I should make some dinner reservations…..
Mike: Ya. What are you thinkin? Arby’s? heh heh. Get it? Thinkin Arby’s?…….
(silence)
Me: This is going to be our MOST romantic anniversary EVER I think.
Six years. Six whole years together. That’s a long time. Over the last 6 years of marriage, Mike has done some pretty extravagant acts on our Anniversaries. There was the private flight over Boise in his buddy’s twin engine plane, there was the time he rented a Limo and took me to a fancy Fondue Restaurant, the surprise weekend to Nevada, the Bed and Breakfast on an Elk Reserve in the mountains and plenty of spa pamperings. All of which, I won’t lie, I loved.
But this year, we’re broke as a joke. Brrr-oke. And really busy. So busy, in fact, that the most exciting part of our Anniversary was that we were actually TOGETHER for it. Alone, together.
I don’t know if it’s because we are broke and tired or if it’s because we are getting old and boring, but we really were relieved that all we were doing was a simple dinner and movie, something that we used to do on a weekly basis in our previous life (previous life as in 6 months ago).
Don’t get me wrong, being able to pamper your Lover (eww I HATE that word. My Lover. Blech.) is fun but there’s also something really …. nice about just kickin it wit cha gangsta, yanno? Just bypassing all the hoopla and enjoying each other’s company for a change. We went to dinner, I talked Mike’s ear off, we had dessert, we walked hand in hand to the Theater and watched a pretty decent flick (3:10 to Yuma). It was… perfect. EXACTLY what both of us needed and wanted.
If you’re doing the math right now and realized that I am 25 celebrating a 6 year wedding Anniversary, then you’ve probably realized that I was indeed a fetus when we married. An Embryonic sac, really. When people ask how long we dated, Mike says “Well, we went to lunch, so… about 45 minutes I guess?” and that’s about right, joking aside. It’s not our faults, entirely, that we rushed into marriage. One of the only negative things you’ll ever hear me say on this blog about the Mormon church or it’s culture, and most of our Mormon friends will agree, is that the topic of and expectancy of young men and women marrying is prematurely discussed and altogether too commonplace in the Mormon church. It worked out in our case but I have seen, first hand, the confusion and devastation that follows a quick divorce, in particular a young divorce. And it’s not their faults. It’s, in my opinion, a mixture of outdated traditions and customs and a strong-willed, overly confident and optimistic young couple. It seems and feels like people just trying to do what’s right. That’s why we did it, for those same reasons, but we don’t consider ourselves any MORE in tune with God or any MORE dedicated to each other than those people with failed marriages under their belts. And that’s all I got to say about that (GET OFF YOUR TANGENT).
Edited to add: I should probably step in here and make it clear that my parents did NOT encourage me to get married, they were not THOSE parents. My dad made me sign numerous contracts growing up stating that I would not date until I was 35 and my Mom tried everything short of murdering Mike to stop the wedding. But alas, I was 18 and in love. And both of their stubborn traits were genetically mutated to triple force when handed down to me. They now like Mike, I should also point out.
Let’s take a stroll down memory lane.
Our wedding day.
I wish that was my Grandma’s wedding dress or that the fabric held some sort of emotional meaning for me but truly, it was the cheapest one and had sleeves, so I got it. It’s a very traditional Mormon wedding dress. Looking back, I could have made it MUCH more stylish. My Cousin, also married in the Mormon Temple, wore the most adorable 50’s modern wedding dress and completely blew me away with the pizzaz and flare that most Mormon wedding gowns lack, in my opinion (honesty is the best policy folks, just being truthful here). Or I could have done a Spanish themed dress with the long sleeves and beautiful Spanish veil, that would have worked as well. Thinking of it now, we probably COULD have done a Spanish themed wedding since everyone assumes Mike is Spanish anyway. Speaking of Mike, here’s the dashing Groom himself:
Mike hates this picture. We both hate ALL our wedding pictures. I had to go digging through piles of old boxes to find these, that’s how UN-DISPLAYED they are in our home. We never look at them because they make us both so agitated and annoyed that we start fighting. “WHY didn’t you tell me that my hair was at it’s ugly length!? I have helmet fuzz in every picture! This is YOUR fault” He says. “Why didn’t YOU tell ME that the lame phase I was in where I REFUSED to wear makeup or do my hair was a PASSING PHASE and could be over-ridden for special occasions, special occasions like MY WEDDING DAY!? Huh?!” I say.
I look like I’m playing dress up. It really does. Because 1. I look so young and 2. It LITERALLY looks like I was watching tv, flipping through Oprah and decided to GET UP and THROW ON a WEDDING DRESS, except that NO. This isn’t dress rehearsal, this isn’t pre-show before hair and makeup, this is the REAL DEAL, the BIG DAY. I have nothing more to say. I mean, I’m adorable, but seriously… CAN I GET SOME FRICKIN MASCARA HERE? A curling Iron perhaps?
See how my body language in this picture is all “What are you doing? What’s happening right now? Uh! Wait. You’re getting awfully close to my mouth.”?? Well, our Virgin wedding night was JUST as suave. JUST. AS. Polite. It was ….. pretty hot. I would go on, but I don’t want to make anyone jealous.
Moving on to the Reception. Held in our church basketball gym.
One of the few things I remember from the Reception, it was all a big blur, was that my Grandpa came from out of State to be there. His wife (my Dad’s sort-of kind-of Step Mom but not really) wouldn’t come because she couldn’t go to through the Temple for the actual ceremony. You have to have a Temple Recommend to go through a Mormon Temple and she didn’t have one because she wasn’t Mormon (no brainer, I suppose) but nevertheless, she boycotted the wedding. Which, in a way worked out for the best since her presence would have made my Grandma uncomfortable and I love my Grandma more than anything in the world. So, Grandpa’s wife wouldn’t come but Grandpa did and although he ALSO couldn’t go through the Temple, he was a perfect gentleman about it and instead mingled with other family and friends. He mostly stayed along the sidelines and mingled with guests for the entire wedding. I saw him while I was dancing with Mike and I had no idea at the time that seeing him standing there along the sidelines right then would be the last time I would ever see him alive. Technically, I saw him one last time before his death but it hardly counted. It would be six months after the wedding, he would be lying on a hospital bed with all his kids surrounding him but he wouldn’t be fully there anymore. He would be in the process of leaving. So the wedding day was the last time. He came ALL the way down to MY wedding and I didn’t dance with him. I didn’t even THINK to dance with him and I REALLY should have danced with him. I always remember that when I see the pictures of the reception dance, how I had the perfect opportunity to share a dance with my Grandpa before he died and I didn’t take it. I blew it and it makes me cry.
This dance picture is sweet, though, isn’t it? I’m looking into Mike’s eyes thinking “who ARE you?”
Here’s an interesting one for you:
What’s happening in this picture, I don’t know. It LOOKS like I was having a meltdown and collapsed into the fetal position on the floor of the basketball gymnasium during the reception and this shot is of Mike reassuring me that everything was fine while also reassuring the cameraman and everyone else that I was actually quite well indeed, just a humorous little moment we are having on the floor right here, heh heh heh. I wish the story was that interesting, so I let people believe that. But in actuality, I was probably checking on my swollen ankle. I TRULY DID have a swollen ankle that night. I tried to use it as a decoy later that night in our hotel room for awhile as I was contemplating postponing forever our wedding night inauguration.
But the inauguration happened and so began the next 6 years of me trying to use clever excuses to get out of woopee. But in the end, I usually thanked him for sticking with his game plan. And the same goes for this. Thanks, Babe, for sticking with your game plan. The last 6 years have been fantastic.
(The ONLY wedding picture we allow to be displayed in our home)
It’s a wall sticker from Ikea. Here’s a shot without the flash on:
And another:
It’s right up my alley in regards to style and funkiness. I like it, but sometimes I get carried away with style, I go into style overdrive. Sometimes I need Internets to slap me upside the head and tattoo me with the motto “less is more”….
Even though DCRmom hates it when people post Youtube videos on their blog, I’m going to continue to do so. DCRmom is CLEARLY just jealous that she didn’t find the Business Time Video first and is now behaving childishly by lashing out against us Youtube lovers. But please know this, my loyal Battlestation readers, I practice extreme caution and discretion in what I choose to put on this blog. EXTREME discretion. I would never risk the highly intellectual and thought-provoking reputation that has been so carefully instilled within the confines of this exquisite sanctuary.
So, BRING IT DcrMom. Bring it.
This video is worth your time. It actually IS intellectual and thought-provoking, which is totally ironic, but nonetheless, here it is on my blog. I am a HUGE fan of the Dove campaign and would like to share with you their new Ad. As a mother of a young daughter, I have to say, it frightens the piss out of me (the word piss is used in sanctuaries now, I double checked).
Please let me know your thoughts. Especially on the whole plastic surgery movement. I have very mixed emotions.
And also, I was tagged to do a Meme. And since I have ignored several Meme-tags lately, well, really, since I started blogging, I thought I’d bite the bullet and do this one. Mainly because it’s short and sweet. And I really feel like talking about myself today. It’s called Four Things and I was tagged by Julie and Erin (Erin TECHNICALLY tagged me for 2 different Memes but I’m pretending she tagged me for the short Meme instead):
Jobs I’ve Had:
1. Office cleaner at night (oh fine, I was a Janitor)
2. Barista (what? a triple Venti 6 pump no water 195 degree No foam double cupped Soy Chai? Nooooo problem) (There really is a man out there who orders that EVERY day)
3. Model (That’s right, gracing the Boise Towne Square Mall with my catwalking presence)
4. Administrative Assisant (My bosses made me cry. And they slept with each other. It was horrible)
Places I’ve Lived:
1. Farming community in Washington
2. Northridge California (WAY after the earthquake)
3. Encinitas California (my brother Burke skates there and it’s the Skateboarding MECCA of the world)
4. Rexburg Idaho (When we were Mormon, Mike and I met here at Ricks College, now BYU Idaho)
4. People (speaking of the aforementioned Dove video….)
But I DO read the Newspaper! I’m not THAT out of tune with the REAL world (I love the Road Rules Challenge!) (Kidding!) (I meant REAL World as in the important stuff)
You know your significant other is tired and stressed out when you find a post-it note to himself saying:
Now: 220 class, presentation
After Now: Quiz, 120 questions
I found this very thing on our computer desk as we were getting ready for bed last night. I started giggling and he walked in the room and I said “Honey, do you want to go to bed now? or after now?”
Blank, tired stare
“Which one Honey? Now or after now?”
Blank, tired stare again “I give up” he says. I then provide the source of my ridicule upon which he laughs and says “Wow, my brain is getting badder isn’t it?”
Quiet.
“Let’s just go to bed Babe.”
Some of you may remember this incident from Finals season a couple months ago. Well, the madness reaches a whole new level at the BEGINNING of each semester as my otherwise calm and mellow husband resorts to color-coded graph and pie-chart methods of organization.
He’s in the midst of the hardest semester in a Nursing program and add on top of that a REALLY needy wife, a REALLY hyper 3 year old, financial stress and an upcoming adoption of two kids. SO….. I guess I don’t blame him. The thing is, my otherwise confident and assured husband nearly breaks out in hives at the mention of finishing a degree. He has had some serious delays in obtaining one (see: year and a half in Iraq and 2 year Mormon mission to England) and often doubts his ability to REALLY get there, to REALLY wrap his hands around a diploma. And add on top of that the fact that he hates his sordid past of skipping out on a high school diploma and instead camping out in the mountains reading Jack Kerouac, John Steinbeck and Kurt Vonnegut (which I always thought was super cute). So, needless to say, there are issues to deal with and monsters to face in this household when it comes to school.
I, on the other hand, have no second thoughts about him graduating, no dignifying of the doubt. I drive him insane with my nonchalant responses to his melt downs, usually something like “Babe, you’ll do fine. It’ll be fine. Your the smartest guy in the world”. And he is.
The thing is that he is passing all his classes with flying colors and impressing all his instructors so I’m all “What’s the big deal?” But nevertheless, we have this semester and one more before the weight will be lifted, the stress kicked out on it’s arse and the world will be in it’s homeostasis.
He can do it. I can live with him while he does it. We’re almost there. *sigh*
