Let’s face it, all the best dressed toddlers on the catwalks are sporting the peanut butter face, diaper, and daddy’s work boots.

And all the Ethiopian-lookin’ super models must wear wigs because what with all the anorexia making their hair fall out.

Look out Britney and Paris, the hubster likes to show off his unmentionables too. At least he wears some. As a side note, Mah Kizzle is into S&M apparently. Note how hard she’s pinchin’ his nipples. Can clothespins be far off? I think not. It’s a slippery slope.

And those are the only pictures in my whole collection that I could connect to “Fashion”.

“What a gyp!” “You Suck!” “Somebody call the police because we was robbed!”

I hear your cries. And you make a valid, albeit harsh, point.

I shall attempt to redeem myself. I’m going to share with you the latest literary opus from The Dinosaur.

This is the Cover. In which we are introduced to Corythosaurus (say cor-rith-o-SAW-rus). Oh, yes. You bet your boots I had to ask him for help with pronunciation.

Page 2. I asked him where he got the idea to write a Foreword in his book, and he said The Essential Calvin & Hobbes. That’s my boy. I only hope that he really does write a comic book with a Foreword with a mocking I-told-ya-so directed at his brother.

Page 3. This is the meat of the book. He didn’t have the contractions dead on, but he did use the right its/it’s. I’m so proud. And is it just me, or did Cory fart just then?

Back Page. A rockin’ logo for his comic book series. Oh yes, there are many installments. This is only Volume 10. Um, ish.

And just so The Rockstar doesn’t feel all left out…

When the boys were smallerish and did something lacking in intelligence, I would get exasperated and ask them, “Where is your brain?! Did you leave it in bed? Perhaps you should go retrieve it.” Then later, when I went beyond exasperated into Danger- Mommy’s- Head- Just- May- Explode, “Where exactly is your brain now? Is it up your butt? Perhaps you should retrieve it.” A few months later, this exchange occurred between myself and Rocky, in which he skipped a couple steps.

Me: “Where exactly is your brain?!”
R: “Apparently, it’s up my butt.”

I bit my lip and hid in the closet, laughing into a pillow. I almost peed a little. It took me about five minutes before I could recover my composure.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. Totally.

Ugh, I did yardwork today for about five hours, give or take a couple smoke breaks. Suck suck suckity suck. I can’t stop coughing up lungs-ful of crud. When I blew my nose, dirt, a couple twigs, and a baby squirrel came out. I actually had to take a couple hits on the inhaler tonight. It went a lot quicker than I thought it would though, because my girlfriend was nice enough to help me out. *waves at Mah Kizzle*

This crotchety old lady that lives next door to us is completely psycho about leaves. Well, she’s psycho in general, but let’s just dwell on this one aspect of her neuroses for a moment. One leaf lands in her yard and she waddles out there to scoop it up and deposit it in her yardy, and she thinks I should have the same crazy-ass tendencies about my dead tree poop. This gal is old… I mean old. Her and her husband are the only remaining original house owners in this section of town that went up in 1948. I’m pretty sure she was old then. Maybe she’s Gollum.

I grew up on the farm, and one nice thing about living in the country is we never had to rake leaves. Just let them be, right where God puts ‘em, I say. I did have to mow about a football field’s worth; at least it was a riding mower though. I made the boys help with leaf detail, and oh, you know their lives are soooo rough. Of course I was a mean ole slavedriver crackin’ a whip. Get ready for the When I Was Your Age Schpiel, because the boys had to hear it. When I was Rocky’s age, I was getting up at 5am to do chores in the barn, get ready for school, and then my bus came at 6:30am and I had an hour bus ride to school. In the winter, we had to break the ice in all the water buckets before we hauled fresh water in five gallon buckets to all the animals. I had to pitch horse crap, carry bales of hay and straw, carry a five gallon water bucket on each arm, help load up the truck with firewood and unload it back at the house, help put up and repair fence, and load and unload 50 pound sacks of grain. I even had to help Mom with the horse breeding. Boy, is that an experience! *chuckles*

Soooo, I worked until 6:15 and took like the quickest shower ever, and was back out the door at 6:40 to go to the hockey game. It was great; there were fights and blood on the ice — and bonus plan, baby — we won! I like me a little hockey with my violence.

Rip it. And stuff like that there.

The Story Behind the Picture

I took this in April ’03. 2003 was a rough year. The Hunk and I were separated. I was living at my dad’s and trying to decided if I wanted to scrap my marriage or not.

The Seester was graduating from Western Michigan University. This necessitated a week-end long trip to Michigan. Whether it was because I felt I couldn’t handle the boys on my own, or the fact that Seester really, really, wanted Hunky there — maybe it was a little bit of both — I asked him if he wanted to go with. He did, and we spent the weekend together (with the boys of course). We got a hotel room in Kalamazoo. We did the whole family hoopla, huge dinner the night before, then the graduation itself, then the party afterwards. The Seester took the boys that night, and HunkyDory had the hotel room to ourselves.

That was the weekend I started talking to him again. I left on 02/08/03, and for the next couple months, I really didn’t talk to him much at all. I was altogether too busy being angry and bitter and throwing myself a bitchin‘ pity party. But on the way to Michigan, the boys fell asleep in the back seat, and we really talked for the first time for a few hours straight. Then the night we had the room to ourselves we sat and talked for a long, long time. The next morning we left Kalamazoo. Before we drove back to Iowa, I wanted to stop out at my mom’s farm and spend some time with her. So Seester, me, Hunky, and the boys drove out to the farm. We rode horses for a couple hours and at one point, I was on the ground and Hunky was up on a horse with Dino, and I snapped this pic.

Then on the way home to Iowa, we talked the whole way. I wish I could say that I came to my senses and moved back in when we got home, but I had more tantrum throwing to do, and more stupid shit to pull before I yanked my head out of my ass. Like having a big fling, and buying a house on my own, and buying a car on my own, and having a little fling, and getting laid off and ultimately deciding to go back to college.

I think me getting laid off was the catalyst for change. It completely blindsided me, I totally did not see it coming. Then as I drove out of the parking lot of McLeodUSA, sobbing my head off, the first person I dialed, the only person that could make it all better, was my best friend. And he talked me down off the ledge and told me of course I was going to be ok; he reminded me what I had already accomplished on my own. Later, he told me that while I was on the way over to meet him, he thought about being a great big dumb jerk. Aren’t you glad he wasn’t?

Ya see there what I gave ya? A big ole happy ending. You know I love me some happy endings.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude.

I love happy endings.

Yesterday had a happy ending.

The Teacher e-mailed me back and said that was just fine if I wanted to pick him up, but they also had an extra costume if I was ok with letting Dino stay. I e-mailed back that was fine with me, but I was still coming in just in case Dino might have a meltdown. I got to the school a little bit early and came into his classroom. Of course the kids were completely wired for sound; actually ricocheting of the walls like super-bounce balls.

The Teacher came up and said to me, “I offered the costume to D and he said ‘no, thank you’ but he does still want to be in the parade. I asked him what he was going to dress up as, and he said he was going to be himself.”

I said, “Great! Sounds good to me.”

The Teacher announced, “Ok, boys and girls, it’s time for us to get dressed for the parade! I’ll help the boys and The Para will help the girls.”

He gave D some coloring stuff to do while everyone got changed, and chaos ensued. At one point, D buried his head in his crossed hands on his desk, and I was worried we might have an impending meltdown. Loud freaks him out. But he looked like he was handling it for himself pretty well, so I left him alone to take care of his own distress. The other kids were getting changed into their costumes, yelling excitedly and running in tight circles not unlike a highly caffeinated herd of Jack Russell Terriers.

Oh, and one interesting note… one little boy dressed up as a girl. What better costume for the budding closet transsexual? Um, yikes. Of course, he got the most attention from all the other kiddies; but much to my surprise, it was fascination rather than derision. He must’ve pulled it off because he was one of the cool kids.

The Teacher had everyone line up for the parade and at the last second, D got up and joined the line, next to last place. The procession, well, proceeded. The Para showed us other moms the short cut out to the playground where the kids would end up. We walked through the gymnasium and down the fire exit to the playground.

Ok, side note? All elementary school gyms smell the same. I walked through the double doors and instantly was flooded of memories of the humiliation of getting chosen last for teams, staggering in last in races, and forged notes excusing myself from the requisite involuntary indignities that is Physical Education. I found myself wishing that I had been able to raise my kids where I grew up so I would see a full circle, bringing my sons back to where I was humiliated educated. Partially the nostalgia of returning, but also partially so I could go to parent/teacher conferences and say, “See, I turned out OK in spite of your insistence that I would never amount to anything since I was brilliant yet completely incapable of applying myself.” I had a hearing impairment and ADD to boot; and instead of an IEP, I got shamed because I could not be what they insisted I should be.

Oops. That’s a tangent I didn’t intend to go off on. Moving on.

Anyway, we got downstairs just in time to see the 2nd & 3rd graders parading and the 4th & 5th graders supervising. I heart R’s teacher. She’s so perfect for him. She came up and chatted a little and told me how well he’s been doing.

How about some sugary cuteness with a side of adorable?

I have a Halloween dilemma. I shall explain.

In ’05, when I suggested forgoing ToT in 40 degree weather for a warm church party, The Dinosaur was all for it and The Rockstar was skeptical, but willing to try it. They came home with more candy then they would have gotten for ToT and they got to play a bunch of games to boot and got kool-aid, hot dogs, and popcorn. And I was Mom of the Week. No costumes were purchased. Neither boy cared at all.

So in ’06, I didn’t even have to cajole them into the car. They were in the back seat waiting impatiently, and honking when their dad and I didn’t come out of the house quite fast enough. Rocky was a 4th grader who didn’t parade in a costume at school, and Dino’s school didn’t parade, period. No costumes were purchased. Neither boy cared at all.

This year, I again gave them the choice of ToT vs. Church Party, and I might as well have asked them would they like pepperoni or snails on their pizza. Duuuhhhh, Mom. Much eye rolling from them and apologizing from me ensued. So sorry, a thousand pardons, where was my head, etc. No costumes have been purchased. It remains to be seen if either boy cares at all.

This year, D is at R’s school now, and 2nd & 3rd graders wear costumes and parade the halls while the 4th & 5th graders watch. Now, the only reason I would have to buy D a costume this year is for that 20 minute parade. And I just couldn’t justify spending $20 for a 20 minutes. So I talked to D about it, and he said he didn’t care if he paraded or not. But. I’m worried that at the last minute, D will have one of his meltdowns because he wants to parade in a costume, and it won’t matter to him if I try to explain that I offered the choice earlier. Very often, even though we give him a choice and he gives us an answer, it doesn’t quite sink in until he’s actually presented with the situation. And it very well could go the other way– a meltdown because he’s terrified to put on a costume and parade around with his friends. Too much of a breakdown in his routine. (I have another good story about what happened when I tried to change Dino’s routine at school once, but NaBloPoMo is coming, and I can save it for that.) We just never know what will happen until he is actually presented with the situation. And just to let you know, the meltdown is not a temper tantrum. He’s not mad, kicking and screaming. He’s terrified and sobbing. Much harder on a Mom’s heart.

So this morning I e-mailed his teacher and told him I’d pick up D early right before the kids got their costumes on. I explained my reason to him. I haven’t gotten a response. But I’m so worried about what his teacher is going to think of me. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. Will D’s teacher think I am a mean, cheap-ass wench who is going to scar her child for life? Will D have a meltdown and prove I am indeed a mean, cheap-ass wench who is going to scar her child for life? Why do I give a rip? These are the questions that agonize me.

The Hunkman is showing off his new toy on his page. Go see!

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. And I sure hope you raid your children’s Halloween candy after they go to bed just like HunkyDory does.