Grow one for the Team!

Here's a group already working on their Playoff Beards.  Go Sabres!

Candy Warning?!

I read this article today about the most dangerous Halloween candy.  As a huge fan of Halloween candy I was intrigued.  What could be so dangerous about yummy, chocolaty, and sugary mini packages of goodness?  This article ranked the 40 most dangerous candies on the market today.  I was shocked at number one on the list.  It was a Twix candy bar.

Seriously?  How can this be dangerous?  It is made with a crispy crunchy cookie, smooth creamy chocolate, and delicious chewy caramel.  I have eaten thousands hundreds dozens a few Twix bars in my day, and not once have I chipped a tooth or had my tongue get stuck to the roof of my mouth.  So again tell, me how can this be the most dangerous?

I went through the entire list and didn't find the one candy I thought for sure would be there: the candy that nearly killed my sister Katie many years ago.  In fact, it's a miracle she is still with us decades later.

Here is a picture of my sister Katie.  What nearly killed her wasn't the pole you see sticking out of the top of her head.  Turns out she has a pretty hard head.  Instead, it was indeed candy that almost took the life of my dear sister.

It may look innocent enough:

But it turns out when you dump an entire paper straw full of fine powdery sugar into your mouth at the same time you inhale a deep breath...the world's most dangerous candy, combined with the moisture in your mouth, clumps in the back of your trachea, forming a rock hard ball.. 

The details of that day are sketchy.  I was younger and obviously scarred by watching my sister choke, but I think what saved her was her hysterical reaction to no longer being able to breath.  I think she must have run towards the house but instead she ran her head smack dab into a tree knocking the Pixie Stick coagulated ball of sugary goodness out of her throat.

Mom wouldn't allow any of us to have Pixie Sticks after that.  I guess she thought we'd all inhale like Katie did.  Even though experience has proven I can safely eat all any candy on the market.

My Costume

Halloween is a week away and my kids are all set with what they will be wearing to go trick or treating.  Darling Daughter's Perry the Platypus costume is complete.  Thing One has an Uncle Sam costume with a patriotic hat and white beard. Thing Two is all ready with a gold ninja costume recycled from the bins in the attic and Stud Boy will be a cashier. 

I have been trying to figure out what I will be this Halloween.  Last year I was Queen of the Laundry with a beautiful sash adorned with dryer sheets and stain sticks, and of course a tiara (I was born to wear tiaras).

But this year I think I will try for something a little more scary.  Inspired by Night of the Living Dead, I figure I'm nearly there with two of my fingers:

May the force be with you...

Mom Cave

Shhhhh.....maybe if I am really quiet they won't find me!

This is the room I sometimes go to hide from my children.  Not like in a game of hide-n-seek, mind you, but in the I am on the phone and don't want them to hear me gossiping with one of my sisters kind of hiding...

 

Okay, so it isn't really a room.  I guess it is considered a foyer. Although, before my husband moved the front door of our house, this used to be a closet.  Now it's more of a foyer being used as a closet!  Clearly it is a space used to stash the Nerf weapons and the Star Wars Light Sabers so they are not easily accessed unless I am prepared to supervise the play.  It  is also great place to put the boxes my kids painted this summer for a skit that never happened.  In addition this space stores an inordinate amount of scrapbook supplies, because I scrapbook exactly one time a year and, well, where else am I going to keep that crap stuff?! Then there is a sewing machine on the floor I may never use and it looks like some garbage on the floor too, nice!  Ugh.

I have decided to make this space into a MOM CAVE.

My husband has a workshop/Man Cave and also the upstairs in the barn/Man Cave.  These places include a bar, pool table, air hockey and a refrigerator for beer (seriously a Man Cave envious to all the men in the neighborhood).  But, really why is that all necessary?  He can be in the house and the kids ignore him much of the time.  He watches what he wants on TV and they pass right by him to search me out and ask me things they could have easily asked Dad.  It is women that need a MOM CAVE!  A place we can call our own.  A place we can sit and read and get away from it all.  I know I have blogged about a particular chair and possibly a space on my property that would work.  However, realistically the Town may not approve of a small, separate house built on my property.  Therefore it is my intention to turn this foyer/closet/garbage pile into a Mom Cave with a great place to read and talk privately on the phone and maybe meditate. Hummmm

Since we are all about signs in our house this will be on the door:

Not for the faint of heart (this means you, MOM)

There are times when I half expect Child Protective Services to knock on my door.  For instance, when not one, but two of my children swallow coins that get stuck and require hospitalization.  Or when people mistake one of the twins for Rocky Balboa because of his nifty black eye.

However, I want to go on record that the bruises that are currently covering Thing One and Thing Two are not of my doing.  Nor are they from any of their siblings or even self inflicted (for a change).  You can blame it on football!  Fortunately the season ends October 29th.  Until then, I am holding  my breath, hoping that a mandated reporter doesn't make a phone call and I am answering a knock on my door.

Ask it anything!

It is decidedly so that I will be taking a break from the constant barrage of questions from my children this weekend.

The Magic 8 Ball is officially on duty. They can ask the all knowing black, plastic sphere for a change!

Stud Boy asks,  "Mother Dearest Magic 8 Ball, may I borrow the car?"
The answer: "Don't count on it."

Darling Daughter asks, "Mom Magic 8 Ball, can I have a cell phone?"
The answer: "Reply hazy, try again."

Thing One and Thing Two ask, "Mommy Magic 8 Ball, do we need to take showers?"
The answer: "Signs point to yes."

Oh wait, let me ask the Magic 8 Ball filling in for me this weekend: "Do you cook and clean, too?"
The answer: "Outlook not so good."
Rats!

They call me Betty

I love Halloween.  The kids get tons of candy and after they go to bed you can eat as much of it as you want.  And even though I sometimes complain about making Halloween Costumes, the truth is: Velcro is a fantastic invention and who doesn't like to use a hot glue gun?

The best part of Halloween, however, is harassing your friends...but you know... in a good way. 

This tradition started 5 or 6 years ago when my husband decided to dress up as his friend, G.Paul.  This costume was very simple.  All he needed was a baseball cap, a goatee, a town work shirt (G.Paul's wife grabbed one from his dresser drawer) and we finished the outfit with a wubby.  

For some reason spell check doesn't recognize the word "wubby". 

You all know what a wubby is wight right?

"Now listen to me, I understand that you little guys start out with your wubby's, and you think they are great...and they are. They are terrific, but pretty soon a wubby isn't enough. You're out on the street trying to score an electric blanket, maybe even a quilt. Then the next thing you know your strung out on bedspreads, Ken! That's serious! Now gimmie the wubby!" ~ bonus points if you can name the movie

Wubby's start out as blankets (think Linus from peanuts) but at some point when little boys become grown men they are disguised as quilted flannel shirt jackets.  Anyway, this is my husband in his Halloween Costume dressed as G.Paul.  We all laughed at along with G.Paul

One summer our friend George got a fish hook stuck in his head.  That year we all came adorned with fish lures in our hair and wearing Lowes aprons.  Oh George, that was a great Halloween!  Thanks Buddy.
 
Then there was the year that I slaved into the wee hours of the night finishing up my 1950's poodle skirt to wear to the annual Halloween Party.  See costume below.

 

And the reason you cannot see the poodle skirt is because that was the year the joke was on me! Earlier that year we all went out to dinner and I had three a cocktail and I asked the young man, who was making a flaming desert table side, if he had gone to Chefistry School.  

Again, the darn spell check doesn't recognize "Chefistry".  

Chefistry makes a whole lot more sense then Culinary, just saying. 

My friends still call me Betty.