i feel 2010 breathing down my neck

Anyone remember this creepy weird movie? Do you think this really will be "the year we make contact"? Hmmmm......

Wowie wow wow! Did I really go a whole week without posting? That doesn't seem like me. Except that I'm still busier than a one-armed paper hanger trying to make up for the 4 months that I neglected my house and (sometimes) my kids while swamped with school work. I'm hoping to come up for air around mid-next week. Next semester promises to be much more relaxed with only one Poetry class and my internship organizing a production of Shakespeare's "The Tempest" in a low-income school.

Anyway--that's where I am. It should be interesting to start reading blogs again since my readership has had a huge turnover and most of my bloggy friends have moved on to WordPress and dot coms now. Did I mention I knew the Nester and her sister Chatty Emily when they only had 3 or 4 comments? That I was one of the original SITStas? *sigh* Those were the days. I really wish there were two of me!

Now on to writing about my New Year's Resolutions. Last year I resolved not to resolve, and I'm happy to report I kept that one up 100%! I'm thinking I should do that again this year, but my brain is saying one year off is all we really needed. So this year, I'm resolving to.........

*Spend more one on one time with my kids. I'm going to rotate through the boys every other Friday and take an hour to do something special with them individually. We do a lot of family things, but I know it's important that they get some just Mom time too.

*Finish my poetry manuscript. "In Other Words" is more than 1/2 way done and I know if I can just buckle down and commit to it, I can get it finished. On that same note--at the encouragement of a professor, I'd like to try and get one of my stories ("The Wicked Men") published in a fiction periodical as well. Time to start getting my name back out there again if I hope to make a career of this writing thing!

*Improve my grammar. Yeah, I can write, but apparently my grammar (and I quote my grammar Nazi friend here...) "makes (people) cringe like a child biting into a freshly-cut lemon". That's not harsh at all, is it? So, guess I better do a little daily learning about my tenses :)!

*Figure out how to make two of me. Didn't I already say I wished for that? If I can find out how to do it, I'll share the secret with all of you......for a price!

Finally, I wanted to share the quote I've chosen to guide me through my 2010. I'm putting it up by my bed and plan to read and ponder it daily:

"As a new year begins and we try to benefit from a proper view of what has gone before, I plead with you not to dwell on days now gone nor to yearn vainly for yesterdays, however good those yesterdays may have been. The past is to be learned from but not lived in. And when we have learned what we need to learn and have brought with us the best that we have experienced, then we look ahead and remember that faith is always pointed toward the future." ~Jeffrey R. Holland

Now, for the fun part. Tell me something you will NOT be resolving to do. For example, I will not resolve to give up my affair with Ben and Jerry. Nope. Not going to happen. I don't care how naughty I am for loving two men at once, their ice cream is worth the big scarlet "I" I must wear :).

****Happy 2010. May it find you healthy, happy, engaged in giving, and blessed with all kinds of pleasant surprises.****

an open christmas letter to my readers: the gift of belief

Dear Wonderful Readers and Friends,

This is going to be a very different post than it would have been an hour ago. I was quite prepared to sit down tonight and write about giving up. How I was so physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted that I was simply going to quit with all the stupid hopeful optimism already. It didn't seem to be getting me anywhere. How I felt so ugly and old and scared and especially incapable of the burdens laid on my shoulders.

Christmas is hard. It feels like someone is shining a giant red and green spotlight on the big void in my life--the one caused by the absence of Brad. This is my second Christmas without him, and it's still difficult. I watch the joy in our children's eyes as they decorate the tree ,or visit Santa ,or stick candy on the gingerbread house ,or tell me the story of the baby Jesus being born. I so badly want to look over into the eyes of their father and share that "we done good" smile that we'd shared a million times. To reach for his hand. To lay my head on his shoulder at the end of a hectic but wonderful day. Now, I can't even get him to look me in the eyes during the few minutes he spends dropping off or picking up the boys. In my heart, I still deeply love this man who is there....but not there for me anymore.

With that attitude of disparaging sadness, I was ready to let spill from my fingers what would have been probably the most depressing Christmas message ever! Then right before I did, a friend of mine caught me on the chat feature of my computer. She and her three boys lost their husband and father in September to a massive heart attack. He wasn't even 40. She asked me for some advice on if her life would ever feel normal again....on how to find hope during this bleak period.....on whether or not she would ever find someone to love her again.

And there I was--answering her questions while answering my own at the same time. My life was put into perspective in the act helping her to find some. It's true---It is not easy. There will always be that scar, that pain, that yearning for those we love who leave us--in whatever capacity that might be--but there will always be hope. It reminded me of some of the words penned by Francis Pharsellus Church, editor of the New York Sun, in 1897. A young girl named Virginia had wrote him to ask if there was really such thing as Santa Claus as her friends had told her there wasn't. To this he said:

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge......

......You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

So, this Christmas I have decided to give myself the gift of believing just a little longer. I don't know when or in what way I am ever going to get over the great pain inflicted on me in this life by the person I loved most, but I choose to continue to believe that I will heal. That there will be a time of sweet peace in my life again and even a type of innocence to be rediscovered. For now, I cling to the blessings I have. I breathe in the joy of the little moments. I take time to acknowledge my pain and cry through it, then to put myself back together and push on.

The future is as bright as your faith: May you grasp that message as I have and be showered with all that is good and bright this holiday season. Merry, Merry Christmas!

With all my love,

~Jennifer P.

that second sunday in october, part 5

I decided to just go ahead and put the remainder of the story up. I figured those of you reading this just want to have it finished already and don't mind how long it is! So, I present parts 5,6, and 7 (in order--just keep reading the next post till the story ends). Make sure you chime in at the end too :) !

Part I: http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october.html
Part II: http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october-part-2.html
Part III: http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october-part-3.html

Part IV: http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october-part-4.html

I finished straightening the display of inserts. They always reminded me of blue fish on hooks, a very aquatic look to the gel they were filled with. I noticed we were running low on women's size 8's and bent down beneath the counter to check the stock. Somewhere nearby, I could make out the syllables of Anupam's words bouncing along in a rhythmic high-low pattern. He must have been talking to Charley as I heard her distinct laugh answer back each time his voice stopped. When I stood up, my hands full of the extra size 8's, Anupam was there--leaning over the counter as if he'd just been trying to look beneath it. His face was inches from mine.

My mouth opened as if to say "hello", but a breathy "huuuuu" was all that escaped.


"You are Jillian Bayne?" he asked.


I nodded my head, my mouth still hanging half open.


"Charley tells me your name" he said, waving two fingers in the direction of the avocado stand. "I am Anupam. I will be working here on the weekends for a time." I let my eyes follow the invisible path he had traced over his shoulder and met Charley's gaze. She smiled and blew me a kiss, clearly mouthing the words 'you're welcome.'


Anupam smiled, surveying the display of squishy inserts hanging behind me. "I might need some of these soon. I am not used to standing for so long. Do they work?"

I nodded again, struggling to find something--anything--to say. Whatever was going on in my head wasn't producing any words.


"Do you use them in your own shoes?" More nodding from me.

He stayed silent a few seconds longer, waiting--I'm sure--for me to speak. "Well, I best go make the popcorn" he said, pushing away from the counter and smiling again, "It was nice to meet you Jillian Bayne."


"It was nice to meet you Anupam," I finally managed, my voice sounding hoarse.


"Maybe we will talk more later?" he said. He turned and walked the few feet to the kettle korn booth, disappearing inside. I heard the heater beneath the big copper kettle click on and roar to life.

---

It was a busier than usual Sunday. The pumpkin vendors had joined the market, and I wondered if they had anything left. Everyone that day, it seemed, was hugging a fat, orange orb as they made their way around, or were dragging several behind them in Radio Flyer wagons. I saw the camouflage lady again, the one with the big back. She was wearing the same clothes, but this time riding a motorized scooter with a red Dauschund in the basket on front. I watched her feed it a bite of corndog then take a bite of the same corndog herself.

Even being extra busy, things went along smoothly until just before lunchtime. That's when I noticed the crowd thicken, all moving in one direction. Two security guards were acting as herdsmen behind them, waving their arms as they went and calling loudly, "There is a fire. We need everyone to evacuate the premises. Please don't panic." Don't Panic? That is a phrase you should never let loose in a crowd of people because they will usually do just the opposite.

One alarmed man screamed "Fire! Fiiiiiiiire!", and the rate and chaos of the evacuation kicked up a notch, increasing again as the shrill sound of fire engine sirens crescendoed in the parking lot.

I was in the middle of helping an extremely old woman select the right shoe inserts.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, throwing one hand over her wrinkle-chasmed cheek while the other steadied her against the countertop. "Oh!" she repeated, "oooooh! fire!" Her eyes searched the air for smoke and she started into a story about a fire that had occurred at the summer came she attended as a child. Something about it killing a counselor. I'm not sure. It was hard to hear over the half-frantic crowd. I could tell she was terrified though and was going to need some help.

I reached over the counter, placing my hand on her arm, "What's your name?"

"Eunice" she answered. I could feel her trembling.

"Eunice" I said, "are you here alone?"

"Yes. My granddaughter brought me and was going to pick me up in an hour."

"Well Eunice, let me grab my purse and I will get you out of here. You can use my phone to call your granddaughter when we get to the parking lot. Okay?"

She nodded.

"Just a minute" I said. I retrieved my purse from the corner and exited through the side door. Just as I stepped out, a teenage boy whizzed by on a long board. I felt the thick wheels roll over the top of my left foot, the the heavy impact of his body slamming into mine. My shoulder smashed against the door frame as the boy tumbled off his board and fell against my shins. I looked down at his face, a mixture of shock and disgust spread across it. "Sorry lady" he said, "There's a fire!" He stood up immediately and chased after the board which had crashed into a corner of the heirloom tomato seed stand. Hopping back on it, he joined the southward moving throng, leaving me rubbing at my throbbing shoulder. I remembered Eunice and limped my way around to the front of the kiosk. I wondered if my foot wasn't broken.

"Come on sweetie" I said, offering her my arm, "let's get you out of here." At that moment, Anumpam came jogging toward us.

"Are you alright Jillian?" he asked, "I saw that boy hit you."

I smiled weakly, wanting to say that it felt like I'd just been beat with a bat, but answered "I"m fine" instead. Anupam took Eunice's other arm, and the three of us made our way out of the chain link perimeter and into the parking lot. Vendors and customers stood milling about wondering what to do next. Eunice pointed out her granddaughter who was picking her way through the crowd toward us.

"Nana!" she called, running over and throwing her arms around her grandmother, "I was so worried! I heard about the fire on the radio and came right back." She nodded at Anupam, then me. "Thank you for taking care of her. Thank you very much." Eunice was led away, leaving Anupam and standing an old woman's distance apart.

that second sunday in october, part 6

"What do you think is going on?" I asked, "I mean with the fire?"

"I heard someone say it started in the churro stand" he said, "the whole back of the place was on fire and it had started to spread. Might have been grease or maybe electrical?"



I shrugged an answer, the act of doing so causing a wince of pain on my face. My shoulder and foot were still aching.



"I think you should go sit down" Anupam said, "that was a pretty bad crash."



"I think you're right" I agreed with a sigh. All the benches were inside the flea market, so I stated the only other option I could think of, "I'm going to go sit in my car." I lifted my had to wave good-bye, when he asked



"May I come along?"



I had already decided he would probably prefer talking to Charley or someone else and didn't even think to offer to have him go with me.



"Uh, yeah, sure" I said, fishing the keys out of my purse and attempting to keep my breathing steady. Anupam followed me to my car. The one I couldn't recall ever having a passenger in besides my mother.



We sat there for three hours, just talking. We talked like two people who hadn't had another person to talk to for a long time. About the flea market, about UC Irvine, about Indian culture, about the Anaheim Ducks, about music, about politics, about my two cats, about my sick mother. Anupam laughed in all the right places and nodded in sympathy at all the right things. Every 15 minutes or so, I would switch on the air conditioner and let it run long enough to cool the car down. I completely forgot about the pain in my foot and shoulder.



By the time we started to take note of our surroundings, we could see that only the vendors remained loitering about the parking lot--not wanting or able to go until they could secure their merchandise. Most were sitting in their cars like we were, smoking cigarettes or napping. I spied Charley by herself near the entrance. She had on a pair of headphones, her eyes closed, swaying back and forth methodically to whatever slow song was playing in her ears.



Finally we saw one of the security guards making his way from car to car. As he approached, I rolled my window down.



"You vendors?" he asked, removing his baseball cap and scratching his bald head beneath. Anupam and I nodded. "Well, the fire is out. No damage to anything except the place it started. We're closing down for the rest of the day to clean up though. Go lock up shop as quickly as you can and we'll be ready for you again by morning." The guard put his hat back on and walked off toward the next occupied car.



I looked over at Anupam who was looking back at me, our gaze locking for a second or two longer than one usually looks at another. He broke the silence,



"Do you like cinema?" he asked, "the movies?"



"Sure" I answered, "I like a good movie."



"Would you maybe like to go to a movie with me? Tonight?"



My head started nodding, slowly at first, then gaining certainty. "Yes" I answered, breaking into a wide smile, "yes. I think I would really like that."



He returned the smile. "Okay. Good. How about we take care of our stands and then I will follow you back to your house. You can leave your car and we can drive together. Are you comfortable with this?"



I continued nodding. Anupam reached over and squeezed my hand. "Thank you for keeping me company today. It has been a long time since I have really had a talk about my life with someone. I have lived in the U.S. off and on for many years, but I often still feel a stranger here." He began to rub the length of my fingers with his thumb, the motion setting my whole body humming, "It is nice to know that someone still finds my stories interesting."

that second sunday in october, the end

---

The sky was hanging in that orangey-gray state between dusk and dark when I pulled into the driveway of my house. I could see one of the cats sitting in the windowsill wiping at his face with a licked paw. Anupam's Jeep Cherokee pulled up behind me. He stepped out, resting his chin on the door frame, watching me as I approached. He looked happy.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

I glanced over my shoulder toward the house, "I need to run up and check on my mom" I said, "let her know where I"m going. I'll be right out."

Mom and I would usually sit on her bed on Sunday nights, watching episodes of old TV shows on DVD--currently we were into season 2 of Barney Miller. Sometimes I'd make popcorn and malted milkshakes or paint her fingernails.

I wasn't sure what I was going to tell her about tonight. Should I downplay it all? Maybe even ask if she minded if I went with Anupam? Of course she would say yes, but at least it would let her know that she was still my first priority. Or should I jump up and down, squealing about being in love the way I wanted to?

I turned the knob and stepped inside the house, leaving the front door open behind me. "Mom" I called, climbing the stairs, "Hey Mom! I'm home!" The other cat emerged from the bathroom and rubbed against my legs. I quietly opened her bedroom door and stuck my head in. "Mom" I whispered, "are you awake?" The dim light coming through the window revealed her outline in bed, her back to me. I considered for a moment just leaving another note, but I didn't know if she'd heard anything about the fire and didn't want her to be worried.

Entering the room, I noticed the breakfast tray next to her bed. The half a bagel with cream cheese. The bowl of blueberries. The tail of an herbal tea bag trailing out of a mug. The note I'd scribbled on a yellow post-it. None of it had moved. I could see too, the baby blue tint of her pajamas in the semi-dark. The ones she had on when I left this morning.

My body locked in place. My voice wouldn't go above a whisper. "No,no,no,no,no" I repeated, a sickening shiver rattling through my body, "no,no,no,no,no" Then, as if shoved by an invisible hand, I was down on my knees at her bedside, my arms draped across her motionless hips. my face buried in the satin of her back.

"Mama. Mama. I'm so sorry!" I sobbed. A deep well kind of sob. The kind that came without promise of a bottom. "Oh God! I am so sorry! I should have been here! I should have been here!"

In its shock, my mind tried to grab hold of something besides reality, besides the flood of questions trying to drown it: Why did Jerry Ecker have to go to Sacramento? Why did it have to be so damn hot in October? Why did I have to be so unsettled by some dream I couldn't even remember?

It was then that the poem about going back for the book came to me again. I thought about the ghost of myself who hadn't chosen to get out of bed early that morning to go to work. The one not so enraptured with possibility. Where was she? Was her mother still alive?

A voice sounded from downstairs. That voice, Anupam's voice, coming closer. "Jillian? Hello, Jillian?" I could hear his feet bristling the carpet, "Is everything alright?"

My mind reeled again, drawing me through the timeline of the day, crushing me beneath the weight of all that it was. I was the smell of the ocean. I was a handful of size 8's. I was Eunice, terrified of fire. I was Charley swaying alone in the parking lot. I was my hand inside another. I was the cat in the window. Then I was just unbeautiful Jillian Bayne, embracing the body of her dead mother. With an intensity, my mouth remembered itself. It spoke the only answer I had to any of this, "Anupam Raju."

************************************

Hey Ladies who stuck with me! Thank you sooooo much for reading! This is the first story I've completed since highschool (a billion and one years ago!). I know it doesn't represent my finest writing, but it felt so good to get something out from beginning to end, and really develop a character plagued by the consequence of choice. I was hoping, by not revealing the exact tone of Jillian's voice as she spoke the last line to let the reader decide whether or not she sees ol' Anupam as a solution to the problem (as in, finally she's free to live her life type of thing), or if she sees him as the cause of the problem, being that it was her sudden infatuation with him that caused her to miss the moment of her mother's death. What do you think? Was Anupam the cause or the solution?

Thanks again---we'll get back to my regularly scheduled life now :) !!!

that second sunday in october, part 4

(Just a reminder that this is a FICTIONAL STORY here. Now let's pick up where we left off :O) ).
Part I: http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october.html
Part II: http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october-part-2.html
Part III: http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october-part-3.html

---

Early Sunday morning found me in the driver's seat of my small, black Ford, steering in silence down 17th towards the flea market. I turned into the nearly empty lot and parked. It was still an hour before opening and I really didn't need to be here this early. It doesn't take much to open an orthopedic shoe insert stand. I reclined my seat slightly and rolled down the window, the car's interior filling with the sound of flower and fruit vendors setting up their tables--a combination of metal being drug across asphalt and garbled shouting--some in English, some in Spanish. Deeply inhaling, I tasted a slight tang in the ocean-flavored air blowing in from Newport.

Pink-tinged sunlight spilled across my lap, highlighting a few strands of gray cat hair on my pants. I methodically began picking them off holding them in pinched fingers outside the car window and watching as they rode the current of the slight breeze as I let them go. The movement of air against my hand and forearm felt good. It was still too hot. My mind stopped at the thought of heat. Heat...The image of Anupam and his sweaty brown-gold stomach, and the little fan, and that raised red polo shirt, and the heavy smell of meshed salt and sugar--all of it broke loose inside my mind. That is why I was here early. Because I couldn't sleep. I hadn't had any trouble sleeping....ever. Blissfully, I'd wake up with nothing on my mind except the list of things I had to do that morning. The list rarely or never changed: Take Mom breakfast, shower, dress, feed the cats, go to work. It was safe. It was predictable.

But at 5:30 this morning, I work up with an Indian accent lingering over my bed like it had moments ago been a part of me. I'd been dreaming, I think, though I never dream. There seemed something unsettling, almost dangerous, in lying there under the covers giving my thoughts any time to replay what they'd just experienced. I worked my way out of the tangle of blanket and headed for the shower--sticking to the routine of my day, just an hour and a half earlier than usual. I sat a tray next to Mom's bed with her breakfast and a note explaining my early departure, then paused to watch her for a minute--even working so hard for each breath, she seemed peaceful sleeping, her mouth pressed into a slight smile.

And now here I was, sitting in my car, an hour early for work, finding myself whispering Anupam's name again. The sound of it--the way it made me feel to hear it--activated something in me. Something spring-loaded. Something that was deeper than whatever attraction I suddenly felt for him. It came spiraling up through the center of me, hot and angry. I slammed my hands against the steering wheel, again and again, the wheel quivering beneath the blows.

"Damn it!" I yelled, "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" I could feel my heart thumping inside me, my chest heaving like a runner's. My hands stopped banging against the wheel and clutched it tightly instead. I glanced into the rearview mirror and saw my green eyes staring back at me. "What are we supposed to do with this?" I asked my reflection. The eyes blinked knowingly and then looked away. I wasn't ready for things to be different. I mean, things were good. Really. Just because I lived a simple life did not mean I was a simple person, but this just wasn't the time to build any more risk or potential for change into my life. I was needed. Right where I was. At home with my mother.

I drew in a sharp breath between clenched teeth, then blew it out slowly, releasing my grip on the wheel, "Why was I even entertaining these thoughts? What did it matter? Why would a reasonably attractive, educated man have any interest in the red-headed orthopedic kiosk lady anyway?"

The parking lot was starting to fill.

"It's just another Sunday" I assured myself, "get through today and go home. He'll be gone in a few days and then you've got all next week to get over it."

***TO BE CONTINUED***

that second sunday in october, part 3

(Just a reminder that this is the continuation of a FICTIONAL story. It's told in first person and though there are remnants of my own life woven in, the I in the story is not me. Happy Reading :] ).



Part I: http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october.html

Part II:http://theboysquad.blogspot.com/2009/12/that-second-sunday-in-october-part-2.html

---

After we closed on Saturday, I walked to the parking lot with Charley Star. She sells avocados two stands down and across from me. She's also the one who knows everything about everyone in our little flea market village.

Charley's the type of woman you can't put an age on. Her hands look wise, but her face seems timeless. She arrived here from Nebraska, as she says "a hundred years ago", to pursue a career as an actress. She had appeared on the The Dating Game and Love Connection, which she informed me were places new actresses went to be seen. I wouldn't have known that. Her hair was like long strands of bleached wheat, twisted into dreadlocks she wore tied back and fastened with a rubber band. Assorted sizes of silver rings adorned every one of her fingers except the left pinky where she wore a yellow twist tie. I tried not to sound too anxious as we made our way towards our cars,

"So, um, did you see the Jerry Ecker had some help in the kettle korn stand today?" I asked. Charley rolled her eyes at the same time she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth--both a gesture of "of course".

"I caught up with him buying a churro at lunch" she said, "his name is Anupam Raju. Said it means 'incomparable' in Hindi. He's been doing grad work at UC Irvine since last year. Engineering I think it was...or maybe Anthropology..." Charley's voice trailed off as she tried to recall the conversation; "Anyway" she continued "he's friend with one of Jerry's boys. That's how he found out about the job. I guess Jerry's looking to start taking weekends off on a regular basis, and after this week, Anupam will only have time to work weekends, so it's a good match." She gave a little chuckle and added, "I warned him to be careful and finish school though. Not to get pulled in permanently by this glamorous flea market lifestyle." Charley reached back and pulled the rubber band from her hair, shaking her dreadlocks free across her back. For a few moments she just stared into the gray evening sky, as though looking for something., then smiled, "you could probably say hello to him yourself tomorrow Jillian, you know. He does work right next to you. I think you might find him a bit easier on the eyes than old Jerry Ecker." She gave me a little salute one of her ring-covered hands, opened her car door, and slid in.

I continued my walk toward the far corner of the parking lot, though much slower than when I was trying to keep up with Charley. "Anupam Raju" I whispered. My mouth twitched into an immediate smile. I threw my hands up over it, glancing around to see if anyone had seen. When I saw I was alone, I uncovered my mouth and said it a few more times--a little louder, a little more purposeful, "Anupam Raju.... Anupam Raju...."

TO BE CONTINUED (...and I will keep posting this through the weekend. It's halfway done now)

that second sunday in october, part 2

(This is a continuation of what was started yesterday. This entry has the bulk of the back story in it so it's a little longer than I'd like, but still a quick read comparatively :) )

I retraced my course across the open market, weaving in and out of shoppers, back towards my booth. The afternoon heat had begun to push its way into our row of kiosks, unusually hot for October--even in Southern California. As I passed in front of the kettle korn booth again, I paused. I didn't really mean to, but the scene there held some kind of power of me so as to render my feet useless. There was the new guy, holding up the front of his red polo shirt about six inches. His bare stomach exposed to a small oscillating fan he had running in the corner. I could make out the little rivulets of sweat inching down his sides and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. The air at that moment was so thick and sweet it felt like I could hardly gulp it down. A customer approached his booth-- a girthy woman dressed head to toe in camouflage--her wide back blocking my view.

Somehow I willed my legs to move beyond the immense gravity that pulled upon that spot. I made it the few feet back to my kiosk and situated myself once again behind the counter. The rest of that day was spent selling orthopedic inserts, and wondering why I had born to such beautiful parents who had given me a name as beautiful as Jillian Bayne...and angry that there was nothing as beautiful about me to match.

My mother is naturally, gracefully beautiful--even being as sick as she is. She has almost black hair that she keeps clipped short like Isabella Rossellini's, and an intensely pink mouth that turns up at the corners. We have the same eyes though, bright green with a ring of gold flecks around the pupil.

Mom used to be very curvaceous too. One of the only things I can remember my father saying to my mother was: "You sure know how to fill out a sweater Lila." I was probably 5 or 6 when I heard that and can still recall wondering what it meant. Maybe I was more intrigued by the way he said it. How it made my mom laugh and tousle his already messy blond hair. How he then grinned and kissed her forehead.

Mom's probably lost 30 pounds since then. Her curves are pretty much whittled down to skin and bones now, and her sweaters hang rather than fill out.

My father was killed when I was 9 years old. He hurt his back while building me a playhouse in the backyard. A princess style one with a miniature turret that I had begged for for months. The doctor prescribed muscle relaxers to ease the pain. We're still not sure if the dosage was off somehow, or if Dad just reacted badly to the medication; all we know is that he passed out riding his motorcycle in the middle of a busy intersection. He was struck by a pick up truck and killed instantly.

Mom was devastated. She never locked herself in her room or checked out of life in any way, but it was though the light in her had the plug yanked. She still smiled--especially at me--but she didn't laugh much anymore.

I remember passing by the back window for days after his death and seeing that skeleton of a playhouse in the yard, the bent wood frame of the turret having just started to take shape. And then one afternoon I came home from school and it was gone. I found out later that my uncle had come and spent the day tearing it down--hauling the lumber scraps off to the city landfill. He said my mom needed as few reminders of my father around as possible.

A month or two later, Mom came down with Rheumatic Fever--a result of untreated strep. I overheard my uncle talking on the phone: "She's not taking care of herself. Not fighting it" he was saying, "She survived this illness as a child but who knows if she'll make it again. They won't know the extent of the damage for another week." She did make it, but the mitral valve of her heart was in bad shape, leaving her weak and easily tired. The doctors recommended a valve replacement, but said she'd have to get stronger to be able to withstand the surgery. Every cold or flu that came around plagued her and she had countless bouts with pneumonia. She never did seem to get 'strong enough'.

My help was never asked for, but I took it upon myself to become her personal caretaker. By age 10, I could cook breakfast and dinner, keep the laundry and dishes washed, and even learned how to run the lawn mower. "It's too much Jillian" Mom would say, "bless your heart, but you need to have a childhood."

Despite how horrible I knew she must feel, she never complained. She was as cheerful as a woman in her situation could be. During times she felt well enough, she would take in alteration work from a seamstress friend of hers, or volunteer at the library. She never missed a night of reading to me until I was 16 years old. We covered the entire Nancy Drew series twice. I always loved her not for what she couldn't do for me, but for everything she still could.

When high school graduation came, I watched the kids I had grown up with head off to college. The ambitious one going to Berkley or UCLA, and the not so ambitious ones driving the 15 minutes to Golden West.

And I chose...I really did, too, choose to stay at home with my mom. I couldn't imagine her there all alone, trying to do the sewing and keep up with the house. She would never ask for help from anyone else either, I knew it. Only when I promised her I would take some classes by correspondence did she agree to let me stay home with her and go to work for my uncle. I've never taken any classes, but shes' never asked--so we just maintain this comfortable silence between us concerning the state of my life. Mom and I need each other, and somehow that was--and is--enough.

TO BE CONTINUED

that second sunday in october

So--as promised, get ready for a week or so worth of a short story I wrote this semester. It will give me something easy to post while I get through finals! As a small warning, the story does contain the word d*m* -- which I hardly ever say myself, but which no other word worked quite the same as in the story. You'll probably also recognize some of my own personal stories (Rheumatic Fever, my father being killed in a motorcycle accident, etc) that I've shared here on the blog as being traits of various characters in this piece. Anyway, hope you enjoy the read :) . And now I present.............

THAT SECOND SUNDAY IN OCTOBER

I read a poem once about a man on his way to the doctor's office and how, at the end of his long country driveway, he remember he forgot his book and decides to back for it. From that moment, he begins to see a shade of himself everywhere he goes--the man a few people ahead of him in line, or the one just slipping out the door before he does--his double, just bumped an inch into the future; the one who didn't go back to the house for the book. I've spent a lot of time thinking about that poem. About the outreaching effects even the smallest decisions we make can have. Like the one I made that second Sunday in October. The weekend Anupam Raju sold kettle korn.

---

I sell orthopedic shoe inserts in my uncle's kiosk. We operate seven days a week in a large outdoor flea market in Costa Mesa--do very well too, as people ten to think about their feet and how much they hurt when they're walking around outside for hours. It's a fitting job for a single, 30 year old woman who lives with her mother.

Our kiosk is situated between the heirloom tomato seed stand and the one selling kettle korn. Jerry Ecker is the popcorn man. We talk often, when things are slow. Mostly about how slow things are. He's in his early 60's with thinning black-gray hair and oversized glasses. Even away from the popcorn, he smells persistently of warm sugar.

Half-way through October, Jerry decided to take the whole week off. He was going to go to Sacramento for his niece's wedding and staying to visit family, maybe tour a winery. I figured he'd just close down for the duration of his trip like he had the few times he'd been gone before. He hired someone to take his place instead. I couldn't see the new guy at first, but I heard him. He spoke with the thick, lilting Indian accent that seemed to enter through my left ear, sprinkle some glittery stupidity on my brain, and slide out the right. All morning long, that song of a voice vibrated the thing walls of my kiosk.

About 11, I left to use the restrooms, purposely taking the long way around to cross in front of the kettle korn stand. And there he was. The voice. Standing over a massive copper pot, stirring syrup with a long, wooden paddle. His arms moved in a wide circle, muscles flexing and releasing through the motion. His jaw set firm, his dark eyes intent on the work. He had perfect skin--an even brown-gold, glowing as the sun wrapped itself around him and scattered light of the glassy black of his hair.

I finished in the bathroom, taking a minute to study my reflection in the cloudy mirror hung above the sink. My red hair--half-curly, half-straight--was tucked behind my ears, a slight sunburn pinking up my flour-colored skin. My hands smoothed over my plain white shirt--down the narrow of my waist and over the ample of my hips. Using my fingers, I started to try and manipulate some sort of style out of my hair until I remembered that no one who buys orthopedic shoe inserts really cares what you look like anyway.

TO BE CONTINUED...

friday fotos: i finally took a months worth of pictures off my camera. but i'll only make you look at a few of them.

One final down...two more to go. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Come on semi-Genius--don't fail me now!!! I did manage to get one of my poems published this week. It's in the English majors magazine, but since English is the most populated major at my school--there was a lot of competition..... so I'll call it a little victory :).

Anyway, here's what we've been up to these last few weeks:

I celebrated Festivus with my friends. This has to be my favorite picture from that night. My friend wore her ugly Festivus sweater and posed for me near"the pole" which was covered in grievances to be aired. ... It was a Festivus miracle! :)



Got the old Christmas tree put up. I keep thinking I want to mix it up--try pheasant feathers and tortoise colored ornaments, but I just go back to the same way of decorating...because it makes me happy....

The boys get to eat the animal crackers off it on Christmas Eve:
After Thanksgiving, I swore I'd never eat again. But looking at all the food again, I take it back! I'll be hungry again by next November for sure!

Mmmmm.....my turkey. We never eat more than the breast. We're ham people. But this was tasty too!

The Thanksgiving table:

Green Eyes and the boys playing a few games Thanksgiving morning:

SOOOOOO many leaves to rake. Ethan was a real trooper. My Ninja friend came to help too. The next day I rented a leaf vacuum. The day after that, I couldn't lift my arms. Man! What a workout....but for someone who loves to vacuum like I do, it. was. AWESOME!

Whew! That was quite a month!

I have a lot of baking to do this weekend. Tell me your favorite Christmas-time treat!

and..... ~ Happy Weekending! ~

it's all been done

I don't know that I've ever believed in predestination. Or self-fulfilling prophecies. Or, as Freud claims, the idea that we will always recreate difficult situations from our childhoods in an attempt to continue working through them, thereby "dooming" ourselves to repeat mistakes again and again.....and again.

And yet, lately I've been re-thinking a lot of that. Some things in my life just seem to be too ironic not to ponder.

My cousin and I have been doing some family history research to gather stories about our family (her mom is my dad's sister). Turns out our great-great Grandpa who did great things like cross the plains with the Mormon pioneers from Nauvoo, Illinois to Salt Lake City, and march to the aid of the United States government with the Mormon battalion--was also the first man in Utah to be granted a divorce. He had three wives and divorced two of them. One for adultery on her part. Not sure of the reasoning behind the second one. We don't know what became of our great grandfather's marriage, but our regular grandfather was divorced, as were both our parents, as are we. Not exactly a family trait we care to pass down.

Then I think of my current situation. Growing up, there was so much stuff about my mom that I loved. She was kind and funny and friendly and creative and tenaciously optimistic, always putting the needs of others first while still taking opportunities to learn and try new things to make sure she didn't "lose" herself. There were also a few things about her, or life in general, that I didn't like at all---and that I vowed I would work as hard as I could to have be different for my own family:

Like the fact that because she was widowed when she was only 37, she had to work hard to provide for my 3 siblings and me. Insanely hard. She would leave just after dropping us off at school and not come home till 6:30 at night. Then it would be housework and homework and often working a second job catering. Looking back at pictures taken during those years, the dark circles under her eyes tell the whole story. My brother and I got into the most trouble--as bored, creative, unsupervised kids are wont to do-- during those few hours between school ending and mom coming home. She did her best, but there were so many dance and music and awards ceremonies she wasn't able to attend. It was rare that she took a sick day, but those were always my favorite days. I loved coming home and having her there. Her presence made our house feel like home.

I vowed that when I had kids, I was going to be that kind of mom who made family dinners and baked cookies and was just....there. I did everything I could to ensure that. First, I married a man who (I thought) shared that desire, and who was willing to work as hard as he had to to make sure that privilege was given to me. Second, I prepared myself for the job of mom. I learned to cook, to care for babies and entertain kids, and eventually--when my kids proved too smart for school-- I figured out how to home school. I **rocked** the job of stay at home mom. And I loved every minute of it.

And now.

I'm still at home and have a few more years of being blessed to be so until my "funding" runs out. But it's different now with school worked in and only me to do everything around the house inside and out. I notice bags under my eyes in pictures too. And I have to wonder "why?" WHY?!?! Why did I have to end up in the same situation with the same problems that I lived my life to have be different for my kids?

Seems a bit ironic, doesn't it. All of it.

I guess I've given up on having any real answers in this life, and have taken to just gathering the questions instead. One day--I believe God will answer them for me and it will all make sense. The how's and why's and what's and when's of this life. I know I am more than the sum of what seem to be my failures, and I take hope in that .....and in the fact that--more than anything--I know I am not alone in this ironic enduring.

*and as for the promised story--give me one more week of tweaking it and then I promise to put it up :).

friday fotos: what comes out of my cell phone camera

So, for Friday Fotos today, I decided to put up a few pictures from my cell phone. Now--my phone takes horrible, grainy pictures--but I think the every day images I choose to photograph are pretty funny. They range from the mundane to the downright unusual....

Often times I take pictures of my little ones to show them how miserable they look in an attempt to make them stop complaining. Like James in this picture who was having a major issue with the length of the line at Wal-Mart's pharmacy. I think I heard "it's too loooooong!" about a million times! :) ......


While still at Wal-Mart I took a picture of a wedding cake that would make me cry if it were mine....

Cake decorator friends commented that it wasn't so bad as far as technique, but the neon blue is blinding! And I think you should go with flowers OR lacey edges OR squiggly lines...but all three is a bit much!

This next one cracks me up! This car was parked at my gym. Not only was it missing like half of everything, it also had a handicapped parking permit hanging from the mirror!

Here is me with an idea for a silly picture.....

Green Eyes playing a really cool, stripped-down and up-close kind of show (have I mentioned he's an amazing musician and songwriter, because--yeah, he soooo is!)

This one was taken for friends out freezing their bum-bum's off on Black Friday morning. This is L and I just lounging in my bed at 9 am, reading books. I did *all* my Christmas shopping a few hours later on the computer and was entirely done in 2 hours. (DON'T HATE ME :] ).

And that's all I have! I've got a crazy week, possibly two, ahead of me pushing toward the end of the semester. I feel both smarter and a bit stupider at the end of this very strenuous few months of learning. I think I'll take next week to publish one of my short stories here to give you something to come back and read without me having to do much thinking. Not my really good story that I've been told to publish in a fiction periodical, but the other one that's still pretty decent. Check back next week and see if I have the guts to do it :)!

All the best to you and ~Happy Weekending!~

jennifer p.'s favorite things *plus* the 101 words winner

Hey! If Oprah can do it...so can I! Of course I won't be giving any of it away...but you're welcome to go buy any and all of it for yourself :). Here's what's held my attention lately:



Rhett Miller and the Old 97's. LOVING this band I had heard of, but didn't really discover until they popped up on my Johnny Cash Pandora station. Some of their songs are hit and miss good, but when they're on--they are SOOO on it's amazing! The song playing now (No Baby I) is my all time favorite from them.







okay...I'm just going to admit it....I love choice....including choice in my tampons. I heart this box-0-possibilities....

I wear scarves from September to March. Something about them makes me feel uber classy and borderline French. Even when I wear my ripped boyfriend jeans, if I put a scarf with them, I feel like my whole being is saying "yeah...I'm sporting some ripped jeans....but I also have a SCARF on--so you better let me into your fancy restaurant..."

Oil of Olay 7-in-1 moisturizer is AWESOME! It's the first product I've used where I've *actually seen the difference* in the appearance of my skin. I use the regular formula at night and the "touch of foundation" formula during the day. It makes me look all dewy and glowy and has seriously reduced the lines around my mouth (yeah, I got 'em!)

I KNOW pop is not good for me. But one a day or every other day won't hurt me too badly...I hope. I loves me some Caffeine Free Diet Dr. Pepper---

drank with one of these babies.... (dark chocolate Snickers bar)

Finally, I beat dry winter skin with Bath and Body Works lotion. I've used up all my summer fruity scents and started in with something more dramatic for the colder season--

The Sensual Amber scent is sooo ohh-la-la how YOU doin'? I can't stop sniffing myself when I have it on!

So, those are my favorites! Make sure you comment and tell me something you're currently in love with!

And now for the 101 word story contest. It was TOUGH people! I loved every entry I got--and you're all winners in my book! But after several careful readings, the gift card goes to.....

Melissa Lester of A Little Loveliness for her story "Prodigal". I think she created characters with back stories and futures caught in a moment. I like where she started us and where she left us.

I enjoyed all of the stories and wish I had lots of money so you could all be winners! I'll have to do this again soon! Thank you again for playing!

can you write a story in only 101 words? if i like yours...i'll pay ya!

That was the challenge my Fiction class got last week. We had to write two stories with exactly 101 words--no more, no less. I'll let you read the two I came up with, then....if *YOU* are up to the challenge--write a 101 word story of your own (story=beginning, middle, and end. No poetry). Punctuation and titles don't count, but can't be excessive either. Tell me about it in your comment and I'll come over and read it. The one I like the best gets a $25 AmEx gift card (just in time for holiday shopping!). Since the tumbleweeds will be blowing through blogland until after Thanksgiving--I'll announce the winner on Monday the 30th. It's always more fun when you play along! :)

(Here are mine just to give you a vague idea. I bet you can do better!)

ALIVE

I had a certain order I liked to arrange them in, across the width of my bed: black rabbit, pig, dog, pink rabbit, teddy bear, teddy bear. My 8-year old self assigning such humanity to this line of stuffed animals. I felt their pain when one accidentally fell to the floor. Their cold when left blanketless. Their naked shame when I forgot to dress them. Therefore, I'm not sure why I was so surprised the night the two bears ripped me apart, the rabbits ran off to mate, and the pig just watched--amused--as the dog ate my entrails.

--------

PAPER CUT/INFINITE SKY

I accidentally sliced my thumb against the edge of the telephone bill today--a quick sensation of pain, then the blood. And because I am wont to think of things like this, I imagined the people who lived inside my skin. They were running their streets in a frenzied panic. Above them, their fleshy sky ripped open, spewing stars and moons and clouds and atmosphere out into an unknown void. I pictured citizens on their knees, praying. (Except their scientists who were on their knees, thinking). I paused inside this scene momentarily, then licked the little puddle of red universe from my thumb.

Now....get to writing!!! And Happy Thanksgiving!

friday fotos: did i do all this in a week?

It has been another one of those weeks that seemed both incredibly long and blink-length short at the same time.

My head is crammed full of 14 straight days of reading existentialist writers/thinkers/philosophers/dramatists. Some of it was fabulous (Faulkner, Neruda) and others just left me feeling abandoned in a bleak universe (Sartre, Nietzsche, Ibsen, Darwin). I am nearly ***giddy*** that I only have a few weeks left of this semester. This girl could use a nice break!

------------

Speaking of breaks--the boys and I spent last weekend at the family condo. It was the first time in the 15 years that we've been going when the whole big Peterson family hasn't been up there with us. Dad Peterson just isn't well enough to go anymore--and without he and Mom Peterson there, no one else really felt the need to go. It was a little lonely--but we took Green Eyes and his kiddos with us for company. We even got two condos so we could spread out (Green Eyes took one, I took the other) . It was a great time--but it was also cast in very dreary overcast lighting that didn't lend itself to many pictures. Here's one I took in the ice skating rink/arcade. Do we know how to fill a place up with boys, or what?! :)

Here's one from my sweet Z's mini-birthday party. (We're having his friend party next week). He's 12....sniff.sniff. I made him a Rambo style birthday hat and he wanted store bought angel food cake. Easy Peasy :).


And here's my friend Ninja whom I mentioned in my last post. The one who came bearing jokes and the butane torch....

to caramelize the banana-topped chocolate creme brulee. Which I ate every bite of. And don't feel a bit guilty about :)

And that ends another busy week! So happy for the memories.

~Happy Weekending!~

and this too shall pass

One thing I've always loved about myself is that I'm resilient. You can knock me down. You can hurt me....but I don't give up. I for sure come up against times (like the last entry) where I have to shout "It's too much!".... but I think that's the point God actually wants to push me to, knowing that when I'm weak and turn to Him is when I'm the strongest.

I have felt such an outpouring of love and concern over these past two days......

*Your comments on my blog meant more to me than I can say (which is a lot, because--as you can tell, I'm not usually at a loss for words!)

*My boys seemed to get along better and say "I love you Mom" more often than normal. Just a little physical peace in our home did my soul good.

*Being the silly woman I am--I simultaneously entertained myself and was helped to feel better by learning the whole dance routine from Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance" video (oh yes I did! And I can rock it too :]! ).

*Green Eyes came over during his lunch break just to hug me, making sure I knew I didn't have to talk about what had happened with Brad--just that he was there for me. Later, while I was at the gym, he came back to my house and left a card on my pillow (and since the man IS a poet, you can only imagine all the good stuff he came up with in it :]).

*Later that night, my friend "the Ninja" came by with chocolate creme brulee that he'd made himself. The best part--he hadn't caramelized the sugar on top yet but had brought the torch to let me do it. Because, really, who isn't made to feel better by playing with a little fire? He then proceeded to spend the next hour just making me laugh in a way only Ninjas can.

What a blessing to be surrounded by the best people on earth. This will not be an easy road I have been called to walk, but God is so good to me. He seems to have this perfect system of pushing and releasing in place--one that is making me stronger than I ever even imagined I could be.

Finally, several of you mentioned counseling for me. Don't worry--I've got that one covered. The last therapist I saw--first when my mom died, and again after Brad and my separation, actually threw his hands up in the air and said something like "I got nothing! You are obviously a very self aware person who has taken a lot of psychology classes. You seem to understand your weaknesses and your reasoning behind your behavior. I COULD continue to see you, but unless you feel you need it, how about we just wait until you come up against something you can't do". I feel like I've got a few issues here I'm not sure how to tackle now, and I'm not afraid to ask for help.

So....there you go! As my sweet father-in-law always says: the scriptures say "and it came to pass", never "and it came and stayed and stayed and stayed". Thank goodness for that.

And now, if you think you can keep up with me....here ya go.Have fun! (sorry for the lingerie shot..) :)

the world is too much with us

You'll have to forgive me another sour-type post here. I feel like I am on the verge of.....I don't know, something.....and if I just keep putting words to those things which pull me out of bed at night, I might end up with the answer somehow.

Nineteen months ago, when I learned of all the truly horrible things Brad had done, my mind went into shut down mode. I've previously described it as watching him be murdered before my eyes, and that's still what it feels like as I reflect back on it. What I experienced during that time was very akin to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. My whole body--inside and out-- shook for hours at a time and couldn't stop. In an instant, it felt like I ceased caring about everyone and everything in the world. I had horrible headaches. I was unable to eat more than one small meal a day for at least a month. I couldn't sleep for more than an hour at a stretch--in fact I read through eight books in four weeks because I slept with a pile of them by my bed and, as soon as my eyes would flutter open, I would immediately start reading before my brain had a chance to take hold of the thought that had woken it.

I remember the first time it felt like I might be able to feel, really feel,about things (besides my boys) again. It was probably three or four months after the separation. I was watching TV and the commercial where the boy feeds his high-cholesterol dad a bowl of Cheerios came on. I felt a tear come out of my eye, and all at once started crying and laughing and literally jumping up and down. It felt so good to think I could actually CARE about sappy commercials and the like again!

Well, earlier yesterday evening, I got an email from Brad. I could be really terrible and go into specifics about what was said--but if I wanted to make this about a personal vendetta against him, I would have been publishing his emails all along. It's not about throwing him under the bus, but about attempting to give a voice to the lasting effects his decisions continue to have on my boys and me.

After reading the said email, all the PTSD symptoms started to come back. A raging headache, shaking, not being able to sleep (because of the headache and shaking). It felt like he took and grated steel wool across a scab that has never quite healed. Truly the last nail in the coffin of complete humiliation he threw me in.

Anyone who has read this blog for any amount of time will know that I not only loved my husband, but continue to love him. I pray for him. I mourn for him. And, sadly--foolishly even--there is/was still a deep down part of me that kept thinking "maybe, maybe, one day he'll find his way out and come back to those people who love him the very most". I couldn't imagine any happy ending for myself or my boys that didn't include some type of miraculous mending back of our family. Can I now?

I don't know. I don't know anything. I don't know what to do.

For as well as I think I am. For as much as I DO love being alive and finding joy in the every day. For as much as I feel, from time to time, that maybe I can move ahead-- there is still something quite dead inside of me. A persistent fear. A 'trust button' that just might be broken beyond repair. I loved that man as much as it is humanly possible for one person to love another. He was so good and kind and caring to me. We laughed together and cried together and lived our lives together. I bore him four sons. I still cannot wrap my mind around why on earth he would ever want to do what he did to me, or how he managed to hide it all from me for all those years. What could I have done different? What could I have changed? How could I have done any better than my best?

And now for the questions I have to ask myself tonight:

How do I get over this heart-gripping fear? Can some kind of happy normalcy exist in the same place as this brokeness? I'm waiting for the answers. And again, remind you---if there's even the tiniest spark of hope alive for saving your marriage: breathe on it--breathe like you will freeze to death unless you get that fire going again...because you just might.

I wish this on no one.

friday fotos: because at least i'm putting halloween pictures up before christmas

I know they're two weeks late(!)....but here's a look at Trick or Treating for the boy squad and I.

E wanted to be "a ladies man". I'm serious!--that was HIS idea! Here was my idea of what that type of dude looked like.....

Z thought he might be too old to go trick or treating this year, but I wasn't going to hear any of that! I told him he was INTEGRAL to our family Halloween and would need to help with his little brothers. He got on board with that idea pretty quickly :). Here he is being the nerd....

L was a tiger for the second year in a row. At least the costume actually fit him this year! And little J was a cutie pie pirate. He wouldn't wear the eye patch, but he DID carry the bread hook attachment for my Kitchen Aid around most of the day. I talked him into letting me hold that so he'd have two hands for his candy bag. Love these little guys so much! (the big guys too :)!)

And here we all are doling out candy from the back of our van. I realize I look like I'm made of wax in this picture--but you'd look like that too if you'd spent two whole days in skin tight leather, a three pound wig, and four inch heels!

And that's all I got for ya sistahs! (and a few of you loyal bruthas too!). Just so you have something to tell me...what candy did YOU steal most out of your kids' trick or treat bags?

~Happy Weekending!~