I suppose I’m the last person on the Internet to send my Halloween pictures into the giant tubes. Yes, I only have three pictures. It’s possible I may have been a little cranky on Tuesday. In the end I had to abandon cranky because as is usually the case, my BFF’s cranky cred trumped mine. She’s always trying to steal my thunder. She’s cursing me at this very moment, probably rocking one baby with her foot while nursing another one and holding a 2 year old on one hip while making French toast for a 4 and 6 year old, thinking of ways she can hurt me, of ways she can bring that thunder right back at me.
Anyway, so the party. My BFF, has a soccer team of kids and therefore throws one birthday party per year for them all, complete with hayride and bouncy house and cake and hot dogs on sticks. What more could one want in a party really? Well, costumes, of course!
So. Take one pregnant and very hungry person. Add a short nap, a mad dash to Target, a grocery store and a bowling alley, a 2 year old shoved into a Tigger costume and trotted out into 78 degree October weather, mix well with a yard full of screaming, dirt covered, icing crusted children, hands wrist deep in the blue cheese dip (where the fudge are the parents of these children? Oh, whoops. One of them is mine) and well- if you were there, you know the exciting and lurid cocktail that is produced. If you weren’t there to witness my transformation from omigod-your-belly-it’s-so-cute! Into get-thef-uckaway-from-me-and-make-that-baby-stop-crying-before-i-shoot-someone then…count yourself among the lucky ones. To clarify: it’s not the kids themselves; it’s the sheer volume. When I made a comment about the number of kids and how I might crawl out of my skin, my lovely friend instead of bodily throwing me off the porch, smiled and remarked “you know, I have to tell you it’s never gonna be any different around here”, and so, choking down my foot, I slunk off to busy myself with cleaning up trash and palming Hershey’s mini’s when no one was looking, and in an act of contrition I volunteered to stay with babies during the hayride. Well, and because the hayride included all those children. The next day, because kicking me when I’m down is so so funny, my friend called me the Anti-Mommy. I’m getting a bumper sticker. Or perhaps a T-shirt with a huge red slash/circle over the word “mommy”, positioned strategically over my gestating human. Personally, I like to call myself “old fashioned”, which has a sweeter ring to it, and lends it to more kids being allowed to hang out with my children.
Like I said though, Mel- she’s always got to steal my thunder so she went and got her crap stolen. In the end how can I justify being pissed off at kids putting sucked-on vegetables back in the veggie tray when my BFF is sitting on her back porch trying to collect her wits and courage enough to let her husband know that their COMPUTER was stolen! From their YARD! You win, Mel. Always.
Well, except…. TeenHer may win the stress prize in the teen division this year, after getting lost in the subdivision next door. Personally I believe it was karma for a 13-year-old dressing up in her regular clothes and carrying a pillowcase door to door in the bible belt where people look at her and think “what a nutty costume! So punk rock!”. Are you still on her side? Are you thinking, lay off the kid, she’s 12 and it was dark! Who doesn’t get lost when they’re high on sugar and walking through a subdivision full of houses that look exactly.the.same.? Let me explain: the subdivision? It has 2 roads. One is a cul-de-sac and the other is a loop. The whole loop is one mile long and it’s about a hundred yards from our house, and the homes of at least 6 other family members. And she had a cell phone. I will never let her live this down. In fact this event may be my justification when it’s time to implant a GPS chip in her arm.
Edited to add drama! The kids who stole the cell phone and laptop from Mel? Haha! Small world! They called a very close family member’s (yes, my family! Like I said, small world!) cell phone! And what a co-inky-dink that Mel’s fax machine is broken and so she had to email me the cell phone usage stats for me to fax into the cops! And what a stroke of ..luck? that I happened to decide to change the text color on the offending calls so I happened to be reading through the phone numbers and holy crap! There’s one I know by heart!
Here’s my question: I mean, OK. So you’re a thief. And you rob some cars. You’re already up for Dullest Knife in the Drawer for leaving the wallet with the credit cards in the car whose KEYS WERE IN IT when you stole the electronics. (Hey, I’m not complaining; I’m just helpfully pointing things out for next time.) Um, who on THE PLANET doesn’t know that all cell phone calls are recorded with caller ID?
Jesus. On the bright side: We know who took the stuff. Or at least we know who knows who took the stuff. And the trip to the confrontation is about 50 feet across the street to (the dark side) OUR NEIGHBORS who will be living IN OUR FRONT YARD when we move into the new house. Hello, alarm system and/or shotgun and big dog. Hello, ass whipping by an Anti-mommy who doesn’t give a rats ass whether you’re a minor, if ever one thing is stolen from our place.
Criminals, you always surprise me. If this hadn’t happened to a friend and wasn’t done by someone we KNOW, I’d even be a little amused.