Trick or Treat

I have this love/hate relationship with Halloween.

On the love side, I remember the 31st, years ago, when we lived in Michigan and I was so sick I couldn't go trick-or-treating. Mom took an old sheet, cut eye holes in it, and took my bag and went house-to-house for me.

That's what Mom's do: we do our best, when our kid's chips are down, to build them right back up.

On the hate side, I remember the first time, a couple of years ago, that we realized the extent of the kid's allergies and we were forced to make them choose just a few pieces of candy out of a bazillion that they could enjoy. The rest? Gone.*

That's what parents do: we help our kids make decisions that are the right ones, not necessarily the EASY ones.

On the love side, I've always thought a good costume was worth it's weight. It's nice, for one day a year, to assume the identity of someone besides yourself. I loved dressing up in Dad's size 15 shoes and stuffing his jean jacket to be a hobo when I was younger. I was positively glowing in my fake chocolate brown, cinnamon bun, yarn braids that completed my fifth grade Princess Leia outfit. In that moment, I WAS the beloved of Luke.**

That's what parents do: when our kids have dreams, we equip them with the goods to make those dreams come true.

On the hate side, I just don't like celebrating a holiday that is so filled with scary images and blood and gore. I don't like it when my kids decide they'd rather be "Chucky" than "Prince Charming". Or when a bloody sword is more appetizing than a white horse.

But, that's what parents do: we walk a thin line between what the world offers and what is good and right and true. And, at times, we make determinations about how to be Godly in a world that is working hand-in-hand with the Devil.

So, I'm coming to terms with Halloween. We're doing a mission's project in the afternoon and dressing up in the evening to go door-to-door.

We're not carving a pumpkin because they make Daddy gag. But, we're proudly displaying the one The Babe painted at school.

In short, we're making compromises. We're still learning how to navigate this thorny path of life, melding two lifetimes of Halloween memories together, to make our children's lives the best blend of the good that we both brought to the table.

And, in the process, we're still learning what's good and right and true. And, for now, I think we can still enjoy this little holiday without fear of anyone turning to the dark side.

UNLESS Mike shows up in a Darth Vader costume tomorrow.

In that case? I fear all bets are off.


*OK. Truly? Mike and I probably ate half of what was left. But neither of us has allergies, unless you can consider being a few pounds overweight an allergy.

**Even though he ended up being my brother and all that stuff.

Eating Humble Pie

I wrote this back at the end of August and I guess I wasn't ready to really bite the bullet and ask for forgiveness at the time, so this ended up in the "drafts" section of the blog.

But it really spoke to me today, for some reason. Maybe one of you is waiting to hear these words? Maybe not from me, but from someone else, and it will just be nice to see that there are some of us who screw up and can admit it. Even if it is in a very fashionably late manner.....

Or maybe you need to apologize to someone else and you just don't know how to start. Read on....

For whatever crazy reason, this is being posted today. And I hope it speaks to you, the way I hope it speaks to the person it was originally intended to reach.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I really hate admitting I'm wrong. I'd rather eat cow poop and wash it back with otter urine, frankly.

But, sometimes, I have to apologize when I've just been a raving lunatic.

So, if this message applies to you (and I'm sure you know who you are): I'm sorry.

If I have offended you by implying you did something you didn't.
If I hurt your feelings by being distant.
If I acted in a way that made you wonder if I was losing my marbles. Or wonder if I really love you*. Or wonder if I'm ever going to talk to you again**.

If you think this applies to you now OR if anytime in the future I step out-of-line OR if you just like reading a blog that says "I am wrong" because it makes you feel all warm inside: OK.

I hate preachy people and these last few days I've become exactly that. Times five thousand.

I've been haughty and mean-spirited and annoyed.

And I haven't at all been sympathetic, which is generally the place I try my best to live.

So, I hope you will forgive me. And I hope that you will allow me back into your world and ask for my forgiveness, too.

I think there is going to be a little give-and-take on this one and I hope we are both willing to meet in the middle.

See you there?



*I do.

**I will. As soon as I'm done eating this humble pie and trying to figure out what exactly to say.

It's the SMALL Victories

You'll recall, if you read this blog regularly, that I reamed the Hooman at the breakfast table at the beginning of September.

It was the classic "There are starving kids in China..." message with a not-so-subtle side of details that weren't for the squeamish.

At the time of my clearly over-the-top message, I took victory as having taught him a lesson. I actually should have made it really clear that I do have NORMAL children who vacillate between "I really learned something from what you said" and "When did you say THAT?".

It's rather like watching two children on a teeter-totter. Up we go to "I learned"; down we go to "Brain freeze".

But, on this particular occasion, there was an impact. And I know because Hooman has asked to pray multiple times over the last two months and he never forgets to include some variation of "Please give the starving people in Africa something to eat."

This is quite possibly the only time when adding gory details and snark to the way I talk to my kids is going to be a) acceptable b) educational and c) a reason for me to do the happy dance.

My next task: figuring out how to use this tactic to keep them away from premarital sex......