Halloweenie

I am a big weenie.  A Halloweenie, to be precise.

Every year, I hide out on Halloween.  I don't know why.  I like candy.  I like children.  I like costumes.  But for some reason, all of those things combined make me want to become a shut-in...straight up Boo Radley style ala To Kill a Mockingbird.  Maybe it's the forced "awh, soo cute" conversation when a child with a hatchet jutting out of his brain stands before me, or being scared of what the 18-year-old trick-or-treaters will do to my house if I don't act like it's perfectly okay for them to be there.  Or, maybe I'm traumatized from all of the sexy service worker constumes my peers donned during my 20s while I awkwardly par-tayed as an asexual bumble bee, field hockey player, or Waldo from Where's Waldo. 

However, now that I'm a parent, my Halloweenie-ness is dwindling.  Since EJ's first two Halloweens have been canceled by bad or catastrophic weather, this year is the first time I'm actually looking forward to the day.  I can't wait to have EJ and I greet our trick-or-treating guests and then slowly toddle around the neighborhood stock-piling candy for me, errr, I mean him.  Plus, EJ is going to be Elmo, so that is just too adorable (and a good photo to share with his high-school girlfriend down the road).  Who knows, maybe next year, I'll even go to a grown-up Halloween party after trick-or-tricking.  Perhaps Halloween is more sweet than scary, Boo.

When I Grow Up

I turned 35 today.  Does this:

a) scare the crap out of me?  (As all of my students know, 35 rounds up).

b) feel extremely exhilarating? (I have bookmarked articles on how certain years of your life are better than all the others, so I will pull out the late 30's ones and just go with those until 40 hits).

c) seem utterly ridiculous? (This morning, why did that nice Starbucks barista say, "Have a good day, ma'am"?)

The answer is C...C, C, C.

I know we grow up and grow old, but what about our inner psyche?  Despite having a child, getting divorced, lamenting about high cost of living, watching HGTV obsessively, covering some gray hairs, tending to achy joints, giving into the desire to be asleep by 10 on school nights, saving for retirement, reminiscing about the simpler days of my youth, and wishing those damn teenagers would like stop saying like already, I am still a kid at heart.  Or, maybe a preteen. Or, more like a twenty-something (because of the booze).  I certainly don't feel like a real grown-up.

I read Sandra Cisneros' Eleven to my class, and although it's written for children, the story describes beautifully how when you turn a year older, you're still just really all the ages underneath that number.  We all have days when we are versions of our two, ten, twelve, and twenty-year-old selves, so we shouldn't be defined by our outermost age layer.  So, I'm not really only 35.  In fact, my younger self pops up all the time.  I still laugh when someone farts.  I still want to cry (and sometimes do) when things can't or don't go my way.  I still get grossed out by gross, icky stuff.  I still love hanging with my boyfriend and picking out my outfits the night before school.  I still get worried about being called to the principal's office, and fight the urge to roll my eyes at the adults in my life.  I still have no idea what exactly I want to be when I grow up, and I still sometimes forget that my family and friends should not be taken for granted. 

As I enter into another year of life, I'm not going to set a grown-up goal like I usually do.  Instead, I'm going to try to live a little more fully in those inner layers.  That seems like a lot more fun, since messing up and trying new things is part of what your youth is all about.  I'll learn to be 35 one day...but probably not for a couple of years.


 

The Family Tree

EJ just had his first homework assignment.  Light reminder, he's two years old.  He (read, I) had to draw a picture of his house and who lives in it for a class discussion on families.  (Side note, I can only imagine the enthralling discussion he and his peers will engage in). 

This homework assignment was traumatizing for me. 

I tried putting it off.  I tried blowing it off, with some crazy mumbling about it not being important or relevant for kids to know about their families. Finally, the teacher in me took over, and I found myself sitting glumly at my desk.  I would get this done...I am a nerd and it was, after all, assigned.

Prior to beginning my drawing, I perused EJ's class directory, only to see that my little bugger is the only kid with just his mom's name in the "Parents" column.  Eesh.  I know that single parents are everywhere, but I'm still not super siked to display it on 11x13 construction paper.  I mean, EJ's everyday family is his grandma and I...we don't even have a cat or goldfish to jazz it up.  As I faced this fact, I imagined the other class moms using brand new, fine-point colored pencils to sketch and shade perfect replicas of their husbands, kids, dogs, and butlers.  I, on the other hand, had only dulled, broken crayons....the perfect metaphor for how I was feeling.

I got to sketching.  Two tall stick figures and one short.  The brown broken crayon was perfect to replicate my big wavy hair, but my short-haired mother had what looked like gray beanie on her head.  I tried to girly her up with a huge pink bow, but now it looked like Ethan was being raised by a stick-figure Maria Menounos (my hair dream) and Minnie Mouse.  Or, by a progressive lesbian couple.

I moved on...the worst was over and the house part would be easy.  Blue house, door, some windows.  Unfortunately, I grabbed the wrong crayon, and accidentally shaded 2/3 of the house purple before I realized my error.  Since it was too late to go back, I committed to the color choice, and now Ethan lived in a violet purple house with Maria and Minnie.  I threw some bushes out front, slapped on an orange sun, and quickly folded up the paper before EJ saw it and started asking questions.

Families are made up of the people who love you, no matter whether they're your blood or not.  I think it's time for me to really get that there is no normal when it comes to their size or makeup.  EJ and I have a lot of people who love and support us, so it doesn't matter if they live in our purple house with us or not.  Lesson learned.  Assignment done.