Because I'm Sure You All Thought I Am Super Mom on Halloween

Just in case you were waiting on the edge of your seat wondering what all my sweet children are going to be for Halloween, I'll leave you with this post from last Halloween.

Wherein I confess my loathing of the tricking and the treating.

Please don't hate me because I diss Halloween.

I still buy the candy.

I just eat it all myself.

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I have a little confession.

I'm not much into Halloween.

I don't dislike it, really. I just don't like it. I never even liked it as a kid. I have no particular reason why. I wasn't scared out of my wits by the neighborhood bully in a vampire mask. I didn't get an apple with a needle in it in my trick-or-treat bag (though one of my friends did).

I dreaded trying to put a costume together growing up. Even though I seemed enthusiastic the day the plastic masks - with the strings that always broke - arrived at the dime store, I really could have cared less. One year I bought a Raggedy Ann mask, one year a ghost, one year a princess. But most of the time I was a witch. It just seemed the easiest thing to do. **sigh**

I've never understood what Halloween is supposed to celebrate. I mean, Christmas celebrates the birth of Christ. Thanksgiving celebrates the Pilgrims, Indians and turkey. Valentine's Day celebrates the big pockets of Hallmark. But what about Halloween? What's up with walking around in the dark knocking on people's doors and yelling for candy?

And that's another thing. I don't like handing out candy. The first Halloween in our neighborhood I thought I'd be the consumate Halloween hander-outer and lowered the bowl of candy so the precious little ones could choose. One snotty little Princess grabbed herself a whole handful and ran off without even saying thank you. That was the end of that. The next year I plunked one piece in every one's bag. And don't even get me started on 14-year olds who come to the door with no costume.

Now then.

I am well aware Adam may some day take great delight in Halloween.

I will suck it up, put on a happy face, and put my whole heart into costumes and candy, because I'm a good mama like that.

Until then, I am here to tell you...

My trick on Halloween: getting the heck out of dodge.

My treat: a plate of tacos and a large margarita.

Boo-humbug, y'all.

Boo-humbug.

Fourth of Fourth

Several of you have done the "Fourth of Fourth" photo meme recently and I thought I would, too.

I am to pick the 4th picture in my 4th picture folder, write about it, and then tag 4 people.

4th folder -√
4th picture - √
Write about it - √
Tag 4 people - √

That's Bayley (then age 8) and Adam (then about a year and a half) on the deck after dinner in early summer 2007.

I can't really remember anything special about the photo, except I probably thought those two sweet faces were too good to pass up.

If you'd like to play along, let me know so I can be sure to visit.

Wordless Wednesday - Two. Sweet.

For more Wordless Wednesday, visit 5 Minutes for Mom.

Midwest Living

I'm in the Midwest visiting family and friends for a few days.

Back soon...

The Old Grey Mare...She Ain't What She Used to Be

If you should happen to suddenly get a wild hair to perform a Rockette-style kick in your kitchen at 9pm on a Friday night and end up flat on your back on the floor in a split second, please write about it on your blog.

Don't forget the part where in the .43276 seconds it takes to fall you see your husband gasp and cover his face.

And then there's the part right after you land hard on your left hip where you don't know whether to laugh or cry and you wait for the shooting pain to begin.

And then tell about how your husband got down on the floor to see if you were OK and you both start laughing hysterically.

And then how you laughed even harder when your nearly-teenage daughter walks in and says, "I thought I heard a thump and then I walk in you all are like....on the floor.....laughing" (**rolls eyes**).

I know if it happened to you you'd probably write about it the next day still laughing.

And then cringing at the pain in your neck and arm.

And then I am sure you'd say, "I guess I'm not 25 any more."

And maybe even roll your eyes.....

if your neck didn't hurt so much.

**GIVEAWAY WINNERS** - Have a Little Faith

I was pleasantly surprised yesterday when I received not one but five autographed Faith Hill Christmas CDs.... so the following five numbers were drawn by random.org

Random Integer Generator
Here are your random numbers:

27 - Sandra
6 - Stacy at Exceedingly Mundane
61 - Ms. Mayhem
7 - Jennifer (Mom of Four)
12 - TCP
Timestamp: 2008-10-17 15:00:01 UTC

Please email me at JillianInc (at) yahoo (dot) com with your mailing address. I will drop them in the mail this weekend.

Thank you to everyone who visited and left a comment. I wish I had one for everybody.

A Little Bit Country...and a Whole Lot Embarrassing

One of the radio stations I have pre-set in my car plays only old timey country music. I think it's called "Country Legends" or something like that.

Every once in awhile I like to flip to it and hear Dolly, Waylon and Willie, or Hank Sr. croon some country tunes.

I realize my coolness factor isn't real high when I do this.

Thankfully, my two year old isn't very cognisant of the coolness factor. He still thinks his mama's got it goin' on.

Because he loved it when I rolled down all the windows in the car and sang every word to "CONVOY", the CB truckin' song from the 1970's.

And I won't even tell you about my bopping and clapping and other embarrassing "moves."

Scary...all the words came back to me like I'd sung it every day of my life.

Which I did in the summer of 1975, thank you.

Except then I was riding my purple bike with the pink and white basket on the front.

Cause we gotta little ol' convoy, rockin' through the night
Yeah we gotta little ol' convoy, ain't she a beautiful sight?
Come on an' join our convoy, ain't nothin' gonna git in our way
We're gonna roll this truckin' convoy, cross the USA
Convoy... Convoy...
(now try not to hum that song in your head for the rest of the day)
10-4, good buddy.
Over and out.

Have a Little Faith **GIVEAWAY**

On a whim last week I emailed a famous singing friend in Nashville to ask her if she might have a new Christmas CD coming out.

She wrote back: No Christmas CD for me this year, but Faith has a new CD and it's fabulous (and so is the dress she's wearing on the cover). I'll send you a couple and maybe I can even get the girl to autograph them.

I thought it would be fun to give away one of those autographed CDs right here on my little blog.

All you have to do is leave a comment (one per person, please) and I'll draw a name using a random number generator on FRIDAY, OCTOBER 17.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Let the holiday fun begin.

Weekend Fun

Pumpkin Patches * Apple Picking * Crisp Cool Days

Hayrides * County Fairs * Afternoon Football Games

Craft Fairs * A Drive in the Country * Movies + Popcorn

Family Dinner * Church * A Walk in the Park

So.... what are you doing this weekend?

A Built-in Personal Assistant

Just got this email from my husband:

Adam was so cute this morning.

When we got in the car he said, “Daddy do you have your keys?”

I said, “Yes, they’re right here.”

He said, “Do you have your wallet and your phone?”

I showed them to him and he smiled and said. “All set.”

Thank goodness we have a 2 year old watching out for us.

Harried

Dear Guy that Colors My Hair and Keeps Me "Naturally" Blonde:

I like you. I like how you color my hair.

That's why I keep following you around as you skip from one salon to another and back to the one where you started. The one run by people you couldn't stand, but now you think are great, but are really ex-bodybuilders who somehow think they can run salons.

I have referred many, many people to you, though you have failed to acknowledge even one.

I pay you $200 (plus tip) to color my hair. I gladly pay it, because otherwise my hair would be grey and dark brown and I would look like a hag. Operative words here are I pay you.

You pay me nothing. Operative words here are pay me nothing.

So that makes me the customer and you the service provider. (Monday thru Friday I am the service provider catering to the every whim of wealthy customers, so I feel your pain and have walked in your shoes.)

Therefore, I have some requests:

Do not arrive at 10:10am for a 10:00am appointment. I have been waiting for you since 9:55am. I was early. You were late. You should have been standing by your chair with the hair color already mixed up, thus allowing me to be greeted by a happy guy-that-colors-my-hair. I took a day off work and you are one of many stops today. You robbed me of at least 30 very valuable minutes.

Offer me coffee or a Diet Coke or even a glass of water for heavens sake. That fancy coffee bar is there for a reason, and I assume it's not to keep the staff happy (or maybe it is). If that's the case, it doesn't seem to be working.

Don't ask me how many foils and how much of my hair I need colored. I come to you so you can tell me that. Because I am the customer and you are the service provider. And I cannot see the back of my hair.

After you do figure out how much color to put in my hair, don't continually talk about how many foils you put in my hair compared to the "routine" hair color client. I don't care about their hair or their "routine". I only care about mine. And after 20 minutes of your talking about what a favor you are doing me (though I had to ask for coffee and a magazine) I will quit answering you and you will not even notice.

Don't complain to me about all the little problems in your life. I have enough of my own. I like to come to the salon to escape the gas crisis and the economy problems. The salon was practically empty. One of the other "hair designers" said she skipped work three days last week because she didn't have gas. The economy does suck. But here I am, spending money. So don't complain to me.

And don't slip in a $20 charge for snipping one piece of hair that you deemed as "too long" and clipped yourself, without asking me. Especially in light of the fact that I once let you cut my hair and you whacked it and left a 1/2" stalk right in the middle of my head that took months to grow out.

I will ask to see the listing of all the hair services and which ones you circle. And I will not pay for anything that we did not discuss. Like the written-in $20 under Misc. Services. You can't take back my hair color if I don't pay for those snarky little nickle and dime snarks. And, though I'm sure you've discussed it, you can't chop off my head and keep it until I ante up the American Express. I tip, and I tip well. But try to slip something in on me and I will very obviously tip not one single penny.

The end.

Now back to our regularly scheduled program.