Too Much Perfection?

The wutz decided over a month ago that he wanted to be Thomas the Tank Engine for Halloween. I was saddened that he picked out a cheap costume from Target instead of some of the uber-cute costumes I'd found online, though. Apparently he's grown out of the stage where I can use him as my dress-up doll. *sniffle*

So tonight we dressed him up in his little costume and took him first to Grandma's house, where she gave him a handpainted cauldron of treats. Inside the cauldron was a toy tractor and trailer. Wutz bliss in a cardboard box.

Next we drove to town and went to Granny and PopPop's house. There he got an entire bag of chocolate and another toy package that contained a truck, tractor, and trailer. He was thrilled to death and immediately started playing with his loot.

Finally it got dark enough to go Trick or Treating. We went to the Polo Grounds because they close off the streets so vehicles cannot drive through. It is very crowded with children, so it really makes it a lot of fun. Except for the handful of snotty kids with zero manners that I want to bop in the head with the wutz's treat pail. And I did it several times in my head, too. It made me feel a little better. But I digress...

After the first house, the wutz realized something was very wrong. We walked up to the second house and he stepped closer to the steps and the lady handing out candy. He hesitated. Then he leaned forward and looked into the basket containing oodles and oodles of candy. When he realized there really was no tractors in the basket he shook his head and turned around to leave. Fortunately, the lady had no clue why he stepped back and turned, so I eased in quickly and steered his shoulders so he had to accept the candy in a quasi-polite manner.

Back on the street we had to have a brief little talk about what Trick or Treating is really supposed to be about. Fortunately, he got the hang of it and ended up having a great time.

Dear Blog,

I promise, I have not forgotten or forsaken you. Life has been crazed but I hope to return to you very soon. If the whole pain-in-the-ass writer's block goes away. And the flu. And the insanity.

Pending the disappearance of all that, I'll be back very soon.


Love,

Tuesday night I met up with a friend of mine and her two kids to take them all to the county fair and the Demolition Derby that was also being held there that night. The wutz was looking forward to the Derby and was already bellowing, "Derby!" back from his carseat as we traveled to the fairgrounds.


However, when we got there all was forgotten once we wove our way through the building where all the booths of vendors hawking their cheap wares were set up and we then arrived at the threshhold to the fair itself. Once the kids saw the lights and the rides the Derby was all but forgotten. So we gleefully tanked the Demolition Derby plans in exchange for $20 armbands for each child in attendance.


My friend and I followed the small tugging hands of each child, first to the flying Dumbo knockoffs. Then we made our way to the race cars that looked much like the vehicles I could hear being destroyed mid-Derby.




After the race cars we stood for about 15 minutes outside of a funhouse that had a plexiglass maze. We laughed so hard our sides hurt from watching each of our oh-so-graceful children bonk their heads repeatedly on the SAME pane of plexiglass each and every time they attempted to wander through the maze.






It was a grand time.

Until little dudes and the diva started getting tired around 10pm. Then we knew it was time to depart. So as we wandered back out the fair we then had to retrace oursteps through the gauntlet of vendors.

While trying to make our escape my friend's son kicked over a fairly large potted plant, sending it toppling onto its side. My friend and I both turned around and looked down at it and then each other, both faces mirroring the "I'm not bending over in these jeans to pick that up." So we all just walked past it and acted like nothing happened.



But then...


A little further down the gauntlet, so close to the end I could see the exit, the wutz walked up to a giant stuffed dog, stared at it for a moment then head butted it so that it went tumbling backward onto the floor. Fortunately a booth worker was there to retrieve it, because I can assure you none of us planned on it. Too much effort, you know.


On we continued toward the grand exit when a small group of teenagers stopped us and one said, "We just have to tell you, you two have the coolest kids EVER. They are awesome!" It was then that we cracked up and laughed all the way back to our cars.


Yes. Our own personal Demolition Derby. We were so very proud.

AGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

*Photos taken with the cell phone and a terrified and trembling hand

Last month, while on vacation, I made my way to the mainland to Apalachicola. I love the little town, with its quaint clothing shoppes, amazing restaurants, and neat little stores that stock some of the craziest things you've ever seen. If you've never been, then I highly recommend you pay the town a visit.


But I digress. While there, I meandered into a little bookshop that carried next-to-nothing. I was in search of an easy beach read because I'd already sped through all five of the currently available House of Night novels. In five days.


Instead of finding a read for myself, a children's book caught my eye. It was the cover (as is always the case with children's books) that caught my eye. On the cover was the spitting image of Harley, the newest addition to our family.






Even though the wutz was eyeballing a book with a cool dump truck emblazoned on the cover, I managed in my oh-so-persuasive manner to convince him that he absolutely had to have the book I clutched excitedly in my hand.



And so we both brought home our first introduction to SkippyJon Jones, the Siamese cat that thinks he is a Chihuahua.




The next few evenings at our beach house ended with repeated readings of SkippyJon Jones and I confess I loved every word. But I didn't realize how much until our exhausted drive home as I clutched my phone and occupied myself with Twitter, as I'm oft to do.

For whatever reason I went to tickity-type in the exclamation "Holy Fuck" over something I'd seen, but instead it came out, "Holy Fuckitos" and since that day the phrase has seemed to spread like wildfire. Okay, okay, a small brush fire. Very small.

But still.

It is a phrase that has slowly creeped into my real life vocabulary. Much to the chagrin of those in my company. I just can't help but smile and laugh every time the phrase chirps across my twitter feed, as I imagine a masked Siamese cat exclaming, "Holy Frijoles" and I realize that "Holy Fuckitos" is so much more amusing and satisfying, even if I can't read it to my three year old.