We Done Learned the Kid English

So, the little guy was babbling on as he's likely to do these days.  All good and snarky stuff, annoying at best (yet still totally lovable, of course).


Me:  "Dave, can you believe we taught him English?  What were we thinking?"

Little guy:  "You guys didn't teach me English."

Me:  "Yeah, we did."

Dave:  "Pretty much all you know we taught you."

Little guy:  "I learned cuss words from you guys."


OK, the kid does have a point...but then again, that's why I have big guns.  <snicker>


How I got big guns blog post...click here.


P.S.  I've kicked the habit, by the way.  Somewhere along the way I got sick of doing all those darn push-ups.  Too bad the kid has such high retention.

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Hip Do

I hung out with my mom briefly tonight when we were both hanging our art in a show.  I walked in, saw her, and thought, "WOW!"  She totally reminded me of the photos I have of her from when I was about nine or so.  Her hair, which is usually set in short curls, was instead straight-ish, rather choppy, a bit shaggy, sassy, dare I say "sexy," and utterly and completely hip.


Me:  "Mom, I really like your hair."

My mom:  "Ooh, I don't."

Me:  "You look so hip!"

My mom:  "I'm not hip."


Aw, mom, you have no idea how totally hip you are and always have been...even when I thought you were a big dork.  Keep the hair, pretty please!

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Twisted Good Times!

As a kid I can remember playing Monopoly...for HOURS!  It was so much fun!  Um...only when I won, that is.  When I didn't win, it was devastating.  And even if I won, the victory was seriously tainted by the hurt feelings of my friend who had just lost.  And you don't lose small in Monopoly, you only lose BIG...totally penniless, in debt, no property to your name, and wishing like crazy you were in jail.  The actual board game that I played when I was a kid now resides in my home, and the bright yellow Atlantic Avenue that was bent in half by my best friend who was losing, is a reminder of the misery that game requires.  That's just the way Monopoly is.  And it's why I can't stand to play the game any more...ever. 

Funny thing is, my kid still asks me to play it on a regular basis.  Tonight, in fact.  Me?  I'm all like, "No way!"  "Never ever!"  "You can't make me!"  "Let's play Twister!"


Little guy:  "OK, but that game's awkward."


So, we did!  And, after said awkward positions, and finding out that Dave wasn't actually really reading the spinner...he was in fact just looking to see what would be the most awkward/uncomfortable position to put us in, the little guy won.

...and I didn't wish I was in jail or anything!!!

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Another Episode of "What's that smell?"

Took the little guy back to the bone-ologist today to get his cast removed.  And what did the kid do after his cast was off?  Only the same thing he's done after the removal of his casts for the last five broken bones.  Why, of course he took great joy in sharing the stench of whatever body part had been covered and confined for multiple loooong weeks by waving it to and fro.  And, let me tell you what, there is no number of washings that completely eliminates that odor.  And, opening the door in hopes that the doctor or tech will appear and rescue me is of no help either.  Oh, and then there's the delightful peeling of stinky skin that he does all covert-like just close enough to "snow" on my legs. 

Ah, yes, that kid loves me so.  How much you ask?  Well, I asked him just that...you know, "Tell me one thing you love about me...I need to hear it, kid."


Little guy:  "I love when you make me food."


So, there ya have it!  He's a bit of  turkey, and I do love him so.


P.S.  Later on he told me that he also thought I dressed cooler than a lot of his friends' moms.  And, he thinks it's cool that I like the hip-hop music he listens to, but he wishes I'd stop singing along.

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Mmmmm...tastes like chicken...maybe

I rode my bike to work this morning.  There's always something that makes the trip special, and this morning didn't disappoint.  I was riding along, the wind in my hair, leaves falling around me, cool air being inhaled deeply into my lungs, a flock of grackles eating seeds about twenty feet in front of me in the bike lane...and...WHOOSH!...an owl swooped down, latched its talons onto the back of an unsuspecting grackle...and WHOOSH!...back it went to the top of a tree.

Wow!  I wonder if grackles taste like chicken.

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An Etsy Eclipse

I've had such an ordinary, unblogworthy day...except...I'm super excited to announce the opening of my Etsy shop. Been thinking about it for a year or so and finally got my act together. I'll be adding more stuff daily! I hope you'll check it out! Thanks!!  

http://www.etsy.com/shop/WhimsyKali?ref=search_shop_redirect

OK, I kind of lied, things of note did happen today, but it's like an Etsy eclipse occurred and I couldn't see or do anything except it.  Tune in tomorrow for more of my regular goofy ramblings.

Thanks!

P.S. Spread the word!

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Dogs are disgusting...Cats not so much

Our cat, Pug, injures himself and has surgery.

+

Pug isn't allowed to go outside for over a week.

+

Pug must use a litter box.

+

I get worried because he hasn't had a #2 in seven days!

+

Our dog, Hazel, has had terrible, awful, really, really bad breath.

=

Yeah, you guessed it.

Can't believe it took me a week to figure it out...

...dogs are adorable, but they sure are disgusting!

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Love...unconditionally

I've felt a little longing in my heart today.  I'm not feeling sad, or even melancholy...actually I'm in a really happy place.  Perhaps that's the very reason why I'm feeling a longing for my maternal grandmother.  You know, most every one of us has the privilege in this lifetime to be loved, unconditionally, by at least one person.  She was mine.  The other in my life has been my dog, Scout, but that's a different flavor of love...quite wonderful, but not the same.  I called my grandmother, "Nana", and I mirrored, in my own little girl way, the love that she showered upon me.  She was my confidante, my teacher, my mentor, my fellow adventurer, my friend, and above all, my very soft place to fall.  With her I could always just be.  And that was enough.

I dearly hope that I will someday be able to be that very thing for some small spirit, or perhaps one that has been on this planet for quite some time.  It will be such an honor.

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How to Slow those Rascally Toddlers and Kitties Down

When my boys were little, I spent large portions of every day figuring out ways to wear their little butts out.  In hindsight, I'm pretty sure their days were spent successfully wearing my butt out.  I had mixed success with my efforts, but I had a go-to solution if I needed them to slow their little butts down...and they loved it!  What was my solution?  Benadryl?  No...well, hardly ever, and they had to have a sniffle, too, of course, right?  Why, it was cowboy boots, of course!  They adored their cowboy boots and took such pride in strutting their stuff all around, everywhere I went.  They loved them so much that they always failed to notice that they weren't very skilled at walking in them.  So unskilled, in fact, that they had to walk very slowly to keep the boots on and to stay upright.  They were happy...I was happy...it was a win-win situation.

What brought this to mind was that our cat, Pug, who recently had surgery, is now experiencing his own sort of cowboy boots phenomenon.  His cowboy boots?  Well, it's his cone of shame.  When it's off, that precious cat runs around (in spite of the fact that the skin/muscle/almost to the bone injury was repaired only days ago...Pug's Injury Story Link) like his super happy crazy self.  But, when you put the cone on him, he is practically paralyzed.  He will slowly lower himself to the floor/bed/couch, whatever he's on, and then stay there.  For many hours!  After wearing it for four days now, he's finally able to walk a few feet in between freaky lie down episodes.

So, my calming recommendations for toddlers and cats...give the cowboy boots and cones a try!

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I'm thankful for my Super Funny Husband!

I'm so thankful for my funny family!  They generously give and give and give, and I gratefully receive (and quickly write it down so I don't forget).  My wonderful husband gifted me with this, just this very morning.


Dave:  "Hey, Kal.  Did you know that 'crotch' and 'crouch' are spelled the same way?"

Me:  "They're not."

Dave:  "U!  There's a 'U' in crouch...Without you (U) there is no difference between 'crotch' and 'crouch'!"

Me:  "Um...."

Dave:  "I'm going to post on facebook about this!"

Me:  "Oh, I was already going to blog about it."

Dave:  "Well, I get credit for it!"

Me:  "Oh, don't worry, I'll give you credit."


...at what point should I mention to him that there's a "T" in "crotch" and there's not one in "crouch"?

Yeah, never.

Thanks, Dave!  I love you!!

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Harry Houdini is in Da House

After a fitful night's sleep full of worrying about my post surgery cat and all his pain and drug induced wiggling, I reluctantly got out of bed.  And what did I see?  I saw a very smug orange tabby sans his cone of shame.  I looked around and the cone was nowhere to be seen.  I looked high and low, well, mostly low.  I grabbed the flashlight and looked under all the beds and chairs.  I looked in every room, in every nook and cranny.  It was gone.

And after I'd finished my search, I picked up said tabby, scared to see what damage he'd done to his incision and drain tubes (yes, two of them).  And know what I saw?  I saw the most tidy surgical site ever.  Nothing had been disturbed, and it was spotless!  Dude's a little clean freak!  "Whew!!!"

I continued my quest for the cone, admonishing my dogs as they were my prime suspects for eating the cone in its entirety and leaving no evidence, and finally looked in our closet.  Now, as we live in an old house, the structure has settled here and there, so we have no closet doors any more.  Just curtains hanging in their place.  And, tucked ever so carefully behind our closet curtain was the cone.

Man, my escape artist cat was totally channeling Harry Houdini!

...now, back in the cone, little guy.

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When Mom Dads

You know what happens when I make a good joke around my family?  Well, sometimes they actually laugh.

You know what happens when I make a bad joke?  Well, lately the reaction is kind of awesome.

"Mom, stop dadding!!"

Yup, a true sign of a joke fail...being accused of making a joke as terrible as one of Dave's.  <snicker>

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Leap of Faith

Our tough guy cat, Pug, had to have surgery today.  Somehow he ended up with a rather large cut on his inner back leg.  Turns out it was deep...all the way to the bone, and some muscle tissue was cut as well.  We figure he got snagged on the top of a chain link fence or something else sharp and pokey.  He came through surgery just fine, and, according to the vet, he was quite a feisty patient.  That's our Pug!

Anyway, his little incident reminded me of one of my own that was quite similar.  I was about six, I think.  It was my birthday...or perhaps a bluebird meeting...at my house.  I was in the back yard with oodles of other kids, and we were playing on my new swing/monkey bars/jungle gym thingie.  As a kid I LOVED jumping off of high objects.  The roof was my favorite.  I even tried doing it while holding an umbrella, many more times than my parents would ever guess.  Anyway, this day I decided to be super cool and jump off the top of the monkey bars.  I remember standing up, looking below me, and taking that familiar leap...until something went wrong, terribly wrong.  Instead of finding myself on my feet and running on to the next silly thing, I found myself looking at the world, and it was upside-down!  Or, rather, I was!  You see, the hem of my dress had caught on the bolt atop the monkey bars, and there I was, dangling, my underwear exposed for all the world to see!  Well, at least for about ten or so kids to see.  Oh, the humiliation.

Here's hoping that none of Pug's friends were around to watch his failed leap.  That would have made it so much worse, I'm sure.

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The Eighth Wonder of the World

In the last two days Dave has not only made the trek to IKEA and come home with a boat load of huge boxes..."some assembly required", uh-huh...but he has also put together two pieces of furniture.  BIG pieces.  So, I'm declaring that my husband is, officially, the Eighth Wonder of the World.

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Words of Wisdom

I'm short on time tonight...feeling the pressure of having to drive through formula one traffic to get to my kid's karate class.  Usually it's a twelve minute trip.  Tonight?  I'm betting at least an hour.  Ah, well....

So, in lieu of my own personal ramblings, I thought I'd share my little guy's epiphany with you.

"Mom, I just realized that the toilet is the best place to think of stuff!!"

Take that bit of wisdom and stick it in your pocket.

...and then go wash your hands.

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Think Fast!

So, my little guy is often sometimes rarely annoying.  Tonight I did something about it.


Little guy:  "Hey, mom, think fast!"  And he kicked a soccer ball at me...in the house.

Me:  "No, I don't want to play."

Little guy:  "Hey, mom, think fast!"  Yup, ball kicked again and it glanced off my shoe.

Me:  "No."

Little guy:  "Hey, mom, think medium!"  Ball kicked at me at a somewhat slower speed and it hit me on the leg.

Me:  "I said, 'no'."  I picked up the dogs' water dish and began filling it.

Little guy:  "Hey, mom, think slow."  Ball kicked at me at a very slow lob style and hit me in the middle of the back.

Me:  Well, I didn't say anything, I just turned around and threw a big dog bowl worth of water at him...a direct hit!

Little guy:  "Mom!"


I looked over at Dave, who was smiling really big and giving me the thumbs-up sign.  My soaking wet little guy ran by me to the bathroom.


Me:  "I guess I should've said, 'Think fast!'"

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Our Dogma is Leaking all over our Karma

My old girl, Scout...well, she's about 11 or so...she has a problem.  You see, she leaks.  Not saliva or anything as unobjectionable as that.  No, she leaks pee.  If she barks too much, if she falls asleep, if she's just resting a bit...she leaks.  Unfortunately this means her lap dog days are long since over.  Now, I get it.  I know I have to cross my legs if I have a coughing fit.  I dare not laugh to vigorously.  And I completely avoid trampoline action.  Hey, I've had two kids ya know.

Anyway, Scout's leaks go completely unpunished, of course.  We just try to clean up after her as best we can.  She is one of our very best friends after all. What's a little pee spot between friends, right?  And, gosh, I figure we're all building up leaky karma for when we all hit that leaky point in our lives (yes, I know I have a bit of a head start on the rest of my family).  I feel quite sure that we will be surrounded by loving people (or maybe poodles?) that just quietly clean up after us and love us anyway.

OK, gotta go...feeling the need to give my puddle making poodle a great big hug.

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Super Mom Attempt Number 5,048

Made a serious effort at earning my Super Mom cape today.

I felt a little funny all day at work and when I got home, I sure 'nuf was running a fever.  Within minutes of arriving home I received a text from my little guy.

"When you come can you bring me a jacket"

Gadzooks!  Turns out the kid had a band event at a district event and was stuck outside in just a T-shirt.  I figured I'd try to eat a little something and count on his youth to provide the circulation necessary to keep him warm enough.  Soon, another text arrived.

"Can you come a little early I'm cold"

Double gadzooks!  So I text, "On my way."  I gather up his green hoodie, and drag my pity party fevery self to the car.  I get there super-d-duper-d fast...surprised even me!  I talk a cop into letting me park in the important people lot so I can give my cold kid his jacket.

So, here's what happened.

• I called him, no answer.
• I asked a volunteer for information to help me.
• I looked everywhere.
• I called him, no answer.
• I asked a volunteer for information to help me.
• I looked everywhere.
• I called him, no answer.
• I asked a volunteer for information to help me.
• I ran into a student who used to volunteer in my classroom...MADE MY DAY!!!
• I looked everywhere.
• I texted him, "I'm going to leave.  I can't find you."
• I looked everywhere.
• I found a kid with a band shirt from his school.  EUREKA!!!!
• He told me my kid sits right next to him and I could leave the jacket with him.
• Awesome kid told me where my kid might be.
• I looked in that general area...and there my cold kid was!


Little guy:  "Hi, mom."

Me:  "I brought your jacket."

Little guy:  "Where is it?"

Me:  "It's with your horn.  Where's your phone?"

Little guy:  "In my backpack."

Me:  "I've been trying to find you for an hour."  No exaggeration, seriously!

He reached over, put his hand gently on my shoulder, "Thanks, mom."

Me:  "No problem.  Love you!"

Little guy:  "Bye, mom."


P.S. I think I'd like to trade in my Super Mom cape for a warm blankie, please.

P.P.S.  Saw my old high school's marching band as I was leaving, and they get to wear much cooler uniforms than the one I had to wear 30 years ago.  And it's super sparkly...bonus!

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Keeping track ain't all that!

Sometimes A lot of the time I have conversations with myself.  Seriously, it can practically be considered a problem.  Had one such conversation just now....


Me:  "Gosh, I wonder why all appliances don't have the number of uses proudly displayed on them."


OK, let me take a moment here to say we recently got one of those super high-powered, ninja blenders for making juices, smoothies, and the like.  It proudly says the number each time you turn it on.  Currently?  "297" thank you very much!  OK, back to it.


Me:  "Yeah, it makes me feel so healthy and like the machine is really kickin' butt!"

Me:  "Washing machines and Dishwashers should display that info, too."

Me:  "Yeah, but knowing that number might actually be depressing."

Me:  "Oh...I guess you're right.  Who wants to know they've done 982 loads of laundry in the past three years?"

Me:  "Or 1756 loads of dishes!"


So, anyway...never mind.

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Dorkiness is in the Eye of the Beholder

And since my little guy is the one who was eying me...well, you can guess how this goes.


Me:  "Who's a bigger dork.  Me or your dad?"

Little guy:  "DAD!"

Me:  "Oh, that's good.  I knew I was the cool one."

Little guy:  "You're not cool, mom."

Me:  "Well, when am I dork?"

Little guy:  "All the time."

Me:  "Even when I'm sitting at my desk painting?"

Little guy:  "No, not then."

Me:  "Even when I'm in the other room completely ignoring you?"

Little guy:  "No, not then either."

Me:  "Any time I'm around you?"

Little guy:  "Always then."


So, as it turns out I have to pretty much be in solitary confinement to not be a dork, I figured I had full rights to be my dorky self the rest of the time.  Right?  So, when the little guy and I went shopping and we passed by the live Yiddish music playing, and an employee told me I had to dance to get by...well, I figured I just had to.  I'm a rule follower, after all.  A rather dorky one.

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Magic Happens

We got to experience magic today.  Magic in the form of a twelve-ish foot giraffe and its ever so slightly smaller kiddo.  There's simply nothing more magical than a HUGE creature leaning over...way, way, way over...and letting you scratch its nose.

Yes, magic happens.

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It's the little things that gross me out.

Two little things...


Little guy:  "Mom, will you turn these right-side-out?" as he tosses two very long red soccer socks at me.

Me:  "Sure!"  I mean, why not, turning things right-side-out is every mom's super power, right?

Little guy:  "Now will you help me put them on?"

Me:  "You need help putting your socks on?"

Little guy:  "Yeah, they're hard."  I give it a go, having to brace myself against the wall to put enough force into the task."

Me:  "Dang, dude.  That was hard."

Little guy:  "Can you help me with the other one?"

Me:  <sigh>  "OK."  I assume the sock putting on position again and this time I notice a little dirt on the socks.  "Hey, are these dirty socks?!?!"

Little guy:  "Yeah, but I only sweated in them once."

Me:  "Aaaaaaaaaaaaarrrgghhhh!"


I had my whole arm in those nasty things!  Not a fan, little dude, not a fan.

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Itchy and Scratchy

Itchy and Scratchy?

Yup.  Dave is "Itchy".  Me?  Well, it turns out I'm "Scratchy".  For pretty much all 22 years of our relationship thus far.


Dave:  "Kal, I need you to scratch my left shoulder blade."

Me:  "OK, you know what always happens."


What happens?  Well, that darn itch gets bigger and bigger and bigger...until soon it's his entire back that I'm scratching. 

Yup, just one of the million and five things I love and cherish about my marriage.

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Good Dog, Good Kid, Good Neighbor, Good Stuff

So my little guy texted me first thing the other day.

"There was a trained dog that followed me to the

 bus today it was a chocolate lad with a lump on its 

side can you pt it on the list serve"

The total scoop...that I found out later that evening...because I was left a little puzzled and wanting more.  Super proud of my kid for letting me know, but puzzled.

Turns out that as my little guy was walking to the bus stop, a very large chocolate lab decided to follow him.  It was super friendly and clearly wanted to hang out with him.  So much so that it stuck with him all the way to the bus stop, stayed with him until the bus arrived, and then tried to get on the school bus.  Unfortunately his attempt failed.  This would've been a much better blog entry had it gone the other way.  I rather like the idea of dogs at school.

P.S. This big, lovely furry fella was picked up by a good neighbor and his owner was found soon after.  All's well.

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I'm not paranoid...they really are following me!

I was driving out of town with my dad last weekend.  I approached a traffic light and it turned yellow.  What did I do?  Did I slow down?  No, completely against my natural instinct and inclination, I gunned it.  I think maybe, just maybe, I made it through before it turned red.  Maybe.


Me:  "It had one of those red light cameras on top."

My dad:  "Hmmmmm."

Me:  "It's OK, they'll send the ticket to you."  After all, I was driving his car.  <snicker>


OK, so it wasn't funny.  What's funny is that a few seconds later I saw flashing lights in my rear view mirror.  My heart started beating really, really fast.  Ohmygosh!!!  Then the police car was right behind me.  I slowed down and pulled to the right, ready to take my licks.  And...ya know what?  That black and white sped up, pulled around me, and got on the highway.

Whew!  Guess I dodged that bullet!

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Meeting Frida Kahlo

I keep finding myself closing my eyes and reliving a particularly enchanting moment.  OK, close your eyes and stick with me now.  OK, don't close your eyes...you have to read this, after all.  Anyway, take a little trip with me.  It's Halloween night.  The doorbell rings.  You go to the door for the fiftieth time that night.  And what's there?  The teeniest, tiniest little Frida Kahlo.  You squat down to get right in front of her so she can be eye-to-eye with you.  She takes a few steps toward you, stopping mere inches from your face.  She leans forward, her single brow blurring as your eyes can no longer focus, and she touches her forehead to yours, ever so gently, and lingers for a few seconds.  She slowly stands erect and looks at you.  You're trapped in her gaze and only realize that she's there for a purpose when her gaze shifts to the candy you're holding.

And, yes, now I love Frida even more than I did before!

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The Magic of Moving through the Years

It's been a weekend of, well, getting older.  Not everyone else so much, but me, for sure.  Not that I mind at all, of course.  I'm pretty used to my own kiddos getting older, year by year.  I was reminded of that just last week when my little guy turned fourteen.  That's the gradual style I rather like.  What has me in awe is that one of my nieces, the one who was just a little, tiny baby when I first came onto the scene that is my husband's family, had a baby shower today.  She's now a tall, incredibly beautiful being, who has always had this divine ethereal quality about her, floating just above rather than touching this ground of ours as she moves through life.  Anyway, she's having a baby, a little girl of her own.  Magic is just around the corner.

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Sittin' here a Wonderin'

I'm sitting here looking out the window during my little dude's birthday party.  I'm watching him and a bunch of his friends play football in the front yard.  And...I'm wondering a couple of things. 

1. I wonder how amazing it must feel to be surrounded by a bunch of boys he's known since kindergarten.  Some of them he sees just very occasionally, some weekly, and some more often than that.  I can only imagine that it must feel wonderful to be immersed in such familiar comfort.  Lucky guy!

2. I wonder what on earth makes a person, of any gender or age, be willing to actually dive into a situation (i.e. football) where you know your odds of getting roughly smooshed or bumped are extremely high.  Me?  I take the safe "Eeeeeeek!" stance, and duck for cover.

...guess that's why I'm the only one in the house looking out the window....

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Birthday Cake

I'll be making the little guy's birthday cake tonight.  I LOVE making birthday cakes!  They've all actually been quite spectacular.  Not in that photogenic kind of way.  No way!  In that "How could a cake be any more chocolatey?" kind of way.  What do I usually do?  Well, I cheat, of course.  I buy one of those Moist Delicious cakes...seriously, folks, you cannot go wrong with one of those.  I get some really rich frosting.  Then I buy a HUGE bag of M&Ms and cover the entire cake.  Top and sides.  Since that's clearly not enough, I place homemade chocolate chips all around the perimeter.  When I bring it out, I tell ya, you've never seen a more Pavlovian drool response.

So, this year when my little guy and I went shopping for his cake ingredients, I ran into a friend.  While I was busy talking, my little dude took off and rounded up all of the cake ingredients.  It was all foreign stuff...not the usual stuff of my birthday cake making.  There were cans of squirt icing and six different kinds of icky sprinkles.


Me:  "What is this stuff?"

Little guy:  "It's for my birthday cake."

Me:  "Where's the good icing and M&Ms?"

Little guy:  "This year I just want you to make the cake part.  I want everyone who comes to my party to decorate their own piece."


I stood there for just a moment, feeling a little hurt and let down, and then I realized that he'd cut my cake prep down by at least an hour.


Me:  "OK, sounds great!"

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Halloween Bliss

Yesterday was the first Halloween in 17 years I didn't go trick-or-treating with a kid.  It was weird.  It was kind of scary.  It was pretty darn wonderful!  What was cool about it?  Well, from my big kid's point of view, it was awesome because I was there to make him some food.  From my little guy's point of view, it was amazing because he finally got to go trick-or-treating without his mom in tow.  To be honest here, he never complained about me going with him before and even shared his candy with me.  But there's something magical about the age of fourteen that suddenly means you need your mom less...at least in the trick-or-treating kind of way.

What was wonderful for me is that I got to stay home and enjoy the bliss of handing out candy to the little, and not so little, kids in the neighborhood.  And, I must say, I felt like a freakin' celebrity.  We had quite a number of princesses, goblins, and the like, and I knew no fewer than 90% of them.  And they knew me!  A total and awesome perk due to being a teacher at the neighborhood elementary school for the past nine years.  And what rocked the most?  Seeing the beautiful little faces of my former students.

...and I got to do it all the while rockin' my Pippi Longstocking get-up.

Yup, I think I rather like being a stay-at-home Halloween mom.

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