Nobody but Mary asked me a question so Mary, and ONLY Mary, will be receiving a packet of cyber cookies. The rest of you suck.

Just kidding…guess I’m not as interesting as I thought, eh? Or maybe you all know too much already. Or maybe you’re shy or scared of offending me. Or maybe you’re not as nosy as I am. Or maybe…well, it doesn’t really matter, does it? You have your reasons, I know. And over the weekend, I’ll come up with my “Me” post without the added bonus of random questions from curious minds.

I slept late this morning. A full half hour past the time my alarm usually goes off. I know I must have turned the sound from Hell off at some point, but I don’t remember doing it. I do remember Kate crawling into bed with me in the middle of the night and I do remember hearing Michael’s war cries from his crib in the next room, but I guess one of his sisters pacified him so I managed to fall back to sleep. I hate sleeping past the alarm and hate even more feeling rushed and late.

I figured I would have to drive Emma into school but by the grace of Dog and some kind of Halloween miracle (hey! They make movies about Christmas miracles all the time! Why don’t they make one about Halloween miracles?! Now, * that’s * a good idea for a script! Mel, are you reading, sista? I just gave you another potential script idea and remember…I don’t want credit…I just want to come to one premiere. Please?! Okay, ending the bracket now), I managed to get her out to the end of the driveway by the time the “support our troops” bus pulled up. I felt grateful to be wearing red. Every Friday when I sport another color and see that bus driver, I have a little pang of guilt.

My Dad came and picked Kate up this morning to take her with him to the bank. For so many years, my sister and I have thought of my Mom as my Dad’s puppet. Just recently realizing that, for the most part, it’s been the other way around really fucks with a girl’s head. I have a new appreciation for my father, seeing him in this different light. And while it certainly doesn’t mean that my Dad isn’t also pretty fucked up and doesn’t have this asshole side of him that can be unleashed when you least expect it to be, it does mean that on mornings like this one, I’m more comfortable with him in my kitchen. And just typing that sentence right there made me realize how screwed up it is for a grown woman, mother of three, been on her own for a long time now to feel uncomfortable and nervous with her father in her house.

I forgot to mention that Don and I aren’t fighting anymore. I should really make a point of keeping you people updated. If you asked questions, however, it might not be such a problem! Ha!

I invited him, (and by “invited”, I mean begged) to come this weekend to my house to spend Saturday with the kids and I. Especially Miss Kate who told me yesterday that she, “misses her Donny”. But despite my promises of foot related activities and a good raiding of the baby’s Halloween treat by, he declined. Said he’s sick or something. Whatever.

So, it looks like I’ll be chasing my own crabbies away with a little porn this weekend. Ha.

You know, it’s hard to believe that November is waiting to announce it’s arrival tomorrow. Hard to believe that October is nearly over with and another month and another season is getting ready to begin. Because our Thanksgiving is in October, Christmas has already began edging Halloween out of the stores and by this time tomorrow, it will be in full swing with two long months of carols blasting through the grocery store and red and green everywhere you turn. And the toy commercials… oh Dog, I forgot about those.

I couldn’t have predicted the last year if I had tried…the challenges and the new beginnings, the learning and the painful growing, the ups and the downs and everything in between. I sit here this morning, like I likely did a year ago, unable to feel the way that I did last Halloween. Unable to pull up the emotions that rocked me and sometimes threatened to pull me under. I remember how real they were, sure, but to feel them all over again, clouded by walls and layers of defense, seems impossible. And I guess that’s a good thing, eh?

I was just interrupted by two bible thumping ladies at my front door. Second time in less than a month. I know they’re full of the goodness of the Lord or whatever, but honestly…Only so many ways to say, “not fucking interested” politely, you know…

Apparently my “KEEP OUT” mat at the front door isn’t enough. Any suggestions? Anyone? Anyone?

Oh yeah…and their knocking woke the baby up. Now who’s gonna burn in Hell? Oh wait, it’s still me. Nevermind.

Happy Haunting Everyone!