BOO-CHOO

Halloween was fantastic! The boys (well, Jack and Sully that is) managed to trick or treat from 3:30 until about quarter of 8. Granted they all stopped at a house dubbed "THE OASIS," so the dad's could take a pee and beer break and the kids could warm up for a bit.

After they returned home from trick or treating (even Ben did good, he lasted about an hour before Brian called me to come pick him up-impressive for little feet-), our house turned into the Halloween party house and soon enough we had three different families and about 6 or 7 or 8 additional kids.

I had quite the headache Sunday morning. Compliments of wine, that is.

Then the phone call came in. A flustered friend apologizing before explaining why they were apologizing.

Their offspring woke up in the night, sick. 103 fever, and headache.

Oink oink, yes, the poor thing had swine.

So, we've been watching the kids since then, but frankly I'm not that concerned.

Well, I used to be concerned, but that was before I knew that there were at least 4kids in Sully's class out with Swine.

So, if it should happen to prey on our little ones bodies, then we'll take it from there. Just hoping that if they do catch it, it'll be minor, like most of the kids in their school, and that nothing goes too wrong, especially with Ben's respiratory issues.

Aaaaaaahhhchoo.

ALARM THE ZIPPER

68 degrees outside today in the burbs of Chicago.

But, before you congratulate me on my observation, please take note that it is nasty ass outside.

It's windy and rainy and Sully keeps saying, "it's gonna tornado!"

Naturally on the day that we have 2 Halloween parades to watch.

In the morning it's Ben's school, they'll be paraded around outside the school

as all the parents oooh and ahhh.

I've always wondered what goes through their little minds as they see all these strange people staring at them, pointing, laughing, giggling, awwwing. Strangers making comments about the boy in the spiderman mask that can't see beyond the webs because it's almost backwards on his face. Or about the boy dressed up as a bubble gum machine, as his 1cent hat penny falls back behind his ears. Or about the girl in the mermaid costume, not even able to walk because the tail is so tight, she sort of shimmies along with the class.

Ah yes, preschool costumes and kiddies galore. But thankfully not with candy because of all the allergies: kiwi, gluten, dairy, peanut, tree nut, strawberries, chocolate..you name it, someone in that school has one or many of that, the poor things.

But again, I've always wondered during these charade parades, what must be going through the little people's minds as they stare (if they can see through their masks) at all of us smiling at them. I bet some of them are all, "What's up with those freaks?" "I feel like I'm doing the walk of shame." "So is this what the scarlet letter is all about?"

Nah, probably not thinking those specifics, but to be a cell in their brain during these occasions. I'd give as many fat cells to you as you'd like, to be able to spend 3minutes in their brain.

So we have Ben's parade in the morning.

Then this afternoon it's Jack and Sully's school parade.

The K-5th graders.

Far more mature,

and generic.

No, I'm not saying that it's boring, I'm just saying that you'll see more Clone Troopers, Storm Shadows, Dorthy's, Smurfettes during these parades, versus the ones from the preschool.

It should make for a fun day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
UPDATE!:
Yes, I was right, the parade this morning for Ben was ADORABLE! Especially him!
He's Eddie Munster this year! It was either that or Ben Aflac (he'll be that next year--I ASSUME ALL RIGHTS SO DON'T CLAIM THIS AS YOUR IDEA, PEOPLE! geesh).

But back to the parade, so cute. all the little classes walking around-inside a very cramped gymnasium, because although it's 68degrees out, it was raining and really windy.

I enjoyed it so much that I didn't even realize until at least an hour later back at home, that my zipper was down. Then I remembered: "SHIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii--FT change, I was in a race to get out the door this morning with Sullivan, to get to Ben's school parade in time, since parking is always a mission, and I had to pee, so I quickly peed and buttoned my jeans, washed my hands and then zoom we were off. But I never zipped up my zipper."

Damn the man, they've made all these alarms for so many things, even remote controls. So why can't they create one for the zipper, to warn you when you're exposed?

I leave you now, with EDDIE MUNSTER!

Have a wonderful Halloween, All Saints Day, Saturday, or whatever it is that you'll refer to, tomorrow.

I ALWAYS WONDER,..

I've always wanted to know how dogs know where not to step. So they don't end up paw deep in poo-poo. I mean, even when they're outside playing fetch with you, they automatically know where NOT to step. It's amazing!

Yet I could be walking through a large room, and still manage to step on a matchbox car.

Must be the scent?
But do they have time to stop and sniff, or just sniff, while dashing through the yard at high speeds after the tennis ball? I don't know.

Even when they go out back to go potty, they still always know where to avoid.

Have you ever seen a dog step in their own poo?

I wonder,...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, until the comments reach 25, I cannot close the contest(SEE PREVIOUS POST). Which means you still have a chance.

SOLE PICK

Take a guess.
Take a gander.
Be a goose and leave your answer.

I will reveal what it is (and who is right) when the comments have reached 25.
Is that manageable?
probably not, but it's always worth a shot.
Plus the person to guess right, wins something.
So you can guess as many times as you want.
One guess per comment.
If there are multiple right answers (DOUBTFUL)
then we will have Sully draw from the random virtual online mad hatter.
**********************************************************************
*Oh, by the way, if you're ever in Illinois, and you're here during the Fall months, and it's before Halloween, you Have have HAVE to go to Dan's Candies in Joliet. They have the most tastiest, delicious yummy caramel apples you'll ever taste. They make their own caramel, and it has the most delicious buttery not toffee but hard to explain it taste that I have loved ever since my Grandma would buy us each one when we were kids. Now my awesome mom is doing it. Following in her mom's footsteps, she dropped some off the other day for the 5 of us. SOO Delicious! (Please, if you will, also try their G-shaft candy, seriously, delicious too, if you're into unique tastes)
So, Dan's Candies, there are 2 locations in Joliet. Go to the one on Plainfield road, and thank me later, when your tummy is warm.

Click on their link and just scroll down to view their homemade never told recipe caramel apples!
Tell them that One Crusty Mom sent you.

BamBoozle-DUH

Dear Balloon daddy and mommy(and especially DADDY!),
Thank you for shifting the camera's eyes away from Jon left so it makes Kate plus 8. You have made the Ed Hardy wearing daddy very happy. All eyes on you, your ghetto wrapped UFO and your insane story because you're more starved for attention then, well, I'm sure you can pick out a few celebrities names along with me.

But really? I mean, really?
Really, now.

Let me ask you a question. A question unrelated to your balloon hoax.
What is it that you want your children to take with them into their adulthood?
What sort of guidance do you want your children to act out when they are grown adults, with families?
How do you want your children to be, as adults?

Because, newsflash,..it's time to show them the first example: you need help.
Serious help.
You care more for a TV show.
To promote yourself in a sick way, by engaging your children, and whomever else, just to "win" a slot on some future show.
Sick.

I bet you cheated on those scantron tests, when you were a kid, didn't you?
You're the type of parent that needs help. You need to show your children, be the example that you are confused up in your head, and you need to get help. It's really simple, actually. Just treat it like you would if you had a bad case of the doodie tush runs-except for your situation it's verbal vomit -to gain spotlight at your kids expense. If you have diarrhea of the ass what do you do when all else fails? You seek medical attention to rehydrate your ass before you end up sick from a flare up on the swollen colon.

In your case it's the same thing. The moment your mind let you to the plan of balloon boy isn't really balloon boy, but rather, rafter boy, and all his friends are going to hate him, or tease him, belittle him, or just be jag offs to this poor corrupted young man, all at your hand, you should have felt that a "flare up" was starting to appear. You should have sought out the medical help necessary to help the swollen ego not get to the point where it needs some serious hydration of how to be a NORMAL person-especially DAD-for that matter.

You have made everyone forget about Monica Lewinsky. Those two almost divorced people, with, like, 8 kids. Uh,..Obama's Nobel piece prize, Chicago Olympic has beens, Blago, pregnant former playboy girl, pregnant reality I can never pronounce or spell their names. Kim something.
Chris Brown is busy writing a new song, inspired by the heat of your airless head. John Mayer thinks you're hot and swears that you're the dude he kissed the other night in the "no I wasn't in a gay bar," bar. Jessica Simpson forgot about coyotes. Kevin Federline forgot to eat. Britney Spears forgot to ask her dad for permission to cross the street. Regina gave in to Dave's love demands for "lets role play and you'll be Paul Schafer and I'll be me, David Letterman."

The point is, you take the rotten cake. Just think, this year the prime Halloween costume is Bernie M, but next year, here's to hoping its your face on a mask I see, while attached to the back end of a goat, you nasty twisted bad example of a dad.

The good news is I hear Brad and Angelina are first in line for the adoptions of your children. At least then they'll be in a normal home setting.

Yes, as you can see, I am That ticked off. I try not to be too judgemental but this time my tongue has escaped me and it's just a brain to keyboard type thing and I cannot believe you would bamboozle all of the people that helped, watched, prayed..

If you wanted a scam, all you had to do was become a blogging dad with a terminally ill (PRETEND!) stage IV 4weeks to live, son.

geesh.
and no, I'm not even going to do you the justice of giving you link tracking by posting your sick story on here. For those of you that haven't heard about this, all you have to do is type in "balloon boy Colorado" in google, and you'll see what I mean.

When Life's Collections Become THE BED

You spend your entire life collecting
and selling.
Antique searches.
You collect bears.
Trinkets.
Stuff.
Lots and lots of stuff.

You accumulate so many precious desirables within your home.
Your home.
Filled with teddy bears happily gazing upon the stars that shine through the white colored lace curtains, that hides the peeps from outside. Only the Angels and Him are able to see within that window. But from within, from inside, the teddy bears see out. They see day. They see night.

Each room a place to rest a beautiful trinket.
collected.
Ready to sell, show or swap.

Years of this.
With your partner.
Your spouse.
Kids raised.
Living scattered across the US.
Even Grandchildren a part of this picture now.

Then, before you know it, the trinkets turn to "stuff."
Just stuff.
The bears have to be moved out of the front room.
The room that shows the most sun.
The room that allows the sweet angels to see within at night, as those worthsomething bears. All the trinkets and art and rare finds will have no choice but to remain silent
remain silent and stare blankly out the window, beyond the curtained veils. Wondering when it will be that time.
When the knock appears as the final cough that fills up her lungs.
When today turns to the last one.

Soon, the couch is moved out of the way and before long they deliver the bed.
The bed that will be the spot that the house dweller will remain, until she goes.

All those years in that beautiful comfortable home.
All those years, those seasons, those milestones.
All those trinkets that suddenly stopped mattering the moment certain words are shared with you;
"there's nothing we can do."
Or,
"hospice is wonderful!"
Or,
"it's terminal."

Suddenly all those adventures to buy things for nothing and sell for something stop mattering.
Suddenly all those trinkets collected are now looked at as a chore just waiting to happen-when dirt helps dust return the Soul to the Sky.
Such a mission to move on when there's so much to pack.
To sell.
To donate.
To distribute.
Just things.
Just stuff.
Stuff doesn't speak memories, your mind does, after all.

So now, a room that had so much light, and so many trinkets has been all rearranged.
To accommodate the last trinket that will enter the house:
The hospice bed.

The room still has her amazing light. The curtains are still white. The bears moved into other rooms within this lovely old home. But suddenly it's all different. The focus completely shifted.

For she lays there. Unaware of all the trinkets. She lays there sad and scared. How quickly this all happened. Two weeks ago it was "see an ENT." Now it's "there's nothing we can do."

Now, the center point of the room is the person that will soon no longer be with us. No longer a physical presence. No longer a living relative. No longer a living wife. No longer a Living Mom. No longer a living Grandma.

Soon, when it is time, and time is never determined when terminal and hospice is given, she will leave the center part of this room. The chairs that surround the bed will return to their places. The Kleenex boxes and all the pretty flowers will be thrown out. The sound of the oxygen running, will no longer be, and all that will be left are the footsteps of yesterday that this woman carried.

The spouse will have no choice but to leave. Too big a house, too many memories. Forever loves. Now, soon, too hard a memory to face alone. For that will be how he manages it. Some stay. Some runaway. No rules when it comes to saying goodbye permanently.

She is the center of the room. She that is fearful. She that is tearful. She that is aware that she is unaware. She that is sad. That she is scared.

Feeling the salty drips of the tears, her husband and children and family members let escape through their eyes. The tears of her remaining living members that fall near her pink pillowcases. Her soft, oh so soft skin. Her salt and peppered curled hair. Her face. Her eyes. Her body. Her sheets. Her body that has shed so many pounds in so many weeks.
Frail eyes no longer able to be opened without help from her living family's finger tips.


For she is dying.
Yet another death to experience, within my family.

When the bed is gone. When she has left us, the room will rearrange itself, selfishly as if the bed never existed. But the bears. Her favorite collections, will remain where they were moved to, until they are sold.

No matter where you are.
How big your house is.
How many things you adore to have,
when it is time,
when He gives your body time for all your loved ones to say goodbye to,
(if you're lucky to have that)
and you are given the chance to return home for sometime, suddenly all those things that seemed important, won't.
For it will become a bed in the room.
That will be the importance.
Not your art work.
Not your shoe boxes full of bank ledgers from 20years ago.
Not your stylish eye that you see with your furniture.
Not your shoes.
Not your nailpolish.
Not your music.
Not your Foosball table.

None of the materials will matter in any ones life, the moment you come home for everyone to say goodbye.

When the moment happens.
That moment when the hospice bed, becomes the last collection brought into the home that carried a life of children, memories and love. It's a moment many experience. Some, however don't. But when you witness it, you'll know what I mean. Even if it means witnessing it from words on a computer screen. When you see that all those silly things suddenly mean nothing. Most of you, if you live within the home won't spend your time focusing on those things, until after your loved one has gone. Those things so easily moved out of the way, so that the important thing, the center of the room, Her bed, will become the focus as you hold onto her hand when she breathes her final breath.



May pain be less.
May hearts ache with sorrow and hidden happiness for the memories that were given to us.
May her daughter not feel alone, and remember she has a large family to lean on.
May her husband's heart not break, may he not feel so lost.
May his dreams provide comfort, his heart feeling relief.
May her sons grieve with their wives.
May they help their children, as they cope with missing their grandma.
Who always said, they were the lights of her life.

May her soul dance in heaven, her ears hear the songs of the Almighty.
May her heart join her brothers, her mother, her dad.

May time be swift in allowing her to go-
May we remember these lessons for the life that we may hopefully still have.
For when it becomes our turn to go.

The Blue Pill Spam

Recently one of my friends email accounts were hacked, and a link was emailed out to all of us in her address book. It was a geocities link that, when you clicked on it, a screenshot page popped up advertising Viagra, Cialis, the usual hardening pills. Along with steps on how to seek help when the hard on goes way beyond hard.

People, people, people. SILLY, silly spamming people, if I was interested in buying online drugs, don't you think I'd already be involved with this? Do you really think that by spamming me in all the many ways you Internet erectors attempt to do so, it's going to force me to buy the crap you're promoting? Silly people, give it a rest. Your spamming will not remind me of what I haven't done yet, online. So, no, I'm not going to buy some of those prolonging pills. Quit wasting your CC: space, okay?

If I'm going to buy drugs online (which I don't, just to clarify), it's not going to be because someone hijacked my friends contact list and told me to order a bundled package of erection pills.

If you want to market it, buy ad space on a blog or something, for crying out cream!

I don't, nor will I ever, order pills online. No matter where it comes from: a spam, or a sent link from somebody else's email. While I'm ranting, I must tell you that I also will never transfer money to a widow in Nigeria, nor will I search for Ashley Flores.

What I will do, is laugh at any email that has pictures about Halloween costumes, or those motivational posters. I will cry at stories of lions and men, of hummingbirds and women, of cats and dogs, and anything 9/11, or on motherhood..

But I won't be persuaded to buy narcotics, or any sort of pill for that matter, via the Internet. So, do me a favor, stop trying to market a limp line. It's not going to happen in this house, so give it up.

If you want to though, here are a few things I love:
I'm a big fan of US weekly
ways to help my children improve with their developmental delays
appetizing holiday dessert recipes.

So why not send me those things?

Stop with the pills. I will not buy them no matter how many times you feel the need to remind me.