Am I Really Dressed as a Whoopee Cushion Within a Whoopee Cushion?

Because when guys think of hot chicks, they usually think about corn.

I love Halloween. I am one of those people who drags out the giant spider and pumpkin everything on October 1^st. I am usually sweating doing so, since it is still 95 degrees here in Texas.

During my stupor of encasing every surface with cotton cobwebs and foam tombstones, I forget others may not share my zeal for this special day. It pains me to know the awesomeness they are missing. The orange and black Oreos, the watching of Hocus Pocus over and over again, and the dressing up – are you kidding me? Society has given us a day where one can dress in the scariest/bloodiest/sluttiest/creepiest/cross-dressing/insulting outfit you can find and guess what? You will not offend anyone because it is all part of the fun. Take this gift and run people!

Aside from the fun, Halloween is also a judgment day. This is the only day of the year a child will find an adult guilty of crap candy giving. Are you the cool neighbor who hands out Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, or are you the bag of pennies guy? Are you the house that has a smoke machine and sound effects with a talking skeleton, or is your porch light out at 6 p.m.?

The best neighbor is the one who hands out WHOLE candy bars, but those are a rare find. Like the Yeti or a four leaf clover.

I like to call the All Hallows Eve non-participants Grinches. Or more aptly – weenies.

There are many BS excuses…er…reasons, I’m sure for not participating in this spooky day. Maybe a person cannot decorate the house due their hip surgery. Or maybe they have just moved in, that day. Or perhaps the person is from another country, having just arrived to the US, and pumpkins remind him/her of their motherland’s great gourd famine of 1683.

But just not participating? On purpose? I don’t get it.

My sweet mother has bequeathed her holiday fanaticism to me. She decorates for every occasion. She probably has every type of bunny – wood, ceramic, fiberglass – for Easter. Halloween and Christmas, there is animatronic singing character in every room. Arbor Day? She’s probably got that covered too. She takes pride in her decorating skills.

The other day my mother commented that my sister, who is very classic in her decorating, has a bunch of fall decorations in her home. She said this with a gleam in her eye as if to say, “My work here is done people. Rochelle Out! **drops mic**”

I say Amen people! We need to jazz up our everyday existence. And if you can’t do it with fuzzy pumpkins singing the monster mash, what can you do it with?

So this Halloween, don’t be a weenie. Go get a bag of Jolly Rancher lollipops, put on a witch hat, and flip that porch light on. The neighborhood kids will thank you.

Unless you are wearing that sexy Ernie or Bert costume, then you’ll just make everyone uncomfortable.

Just don’t do it people.

Am I Really Trying to Fly a Plane and Bake a Cake while Cutting My Own Hair?

I can do it myself!

I know how to do none of the above. Well, maybe I can bake a cake – out of a box – but the rest, no.

Yet lately I have been trying to do everyone’s job and guess what, I severely suck at it. Duties might have been already taken care of, then here I come double checking, shaking things up, and pissing people off.

The workforce has terms for my behavior: not letting things fall through the cracks, or following up and confirming.

Janet Jackson had a popular 1980s song that sums up my behavior nicely:

Control.

I know, I will never make it as a Buddhist.

My control issues permeate to all aspects of my life. With my sweet child, sometimes I secretly smooth out her bed after her little seven-year-old hands make it because I think it looks neater. At the airport luggage kiosk I will grab my own Mr. T-sized bag, shooing away any kind soul trying to help me with it. I would literally rather throw out my back than ask for assistance. And if you try to “help” me by loading the dishwasher, so help me God, I will hunt you down and cane you because most likely, you will have done it the wrong way.

I also have the tendency to go bananas with group projects. I take over and do them all myself. Recently, I took over a school project because, in my opinion, it was not getting down fast enough and it was being done the wrong way. I am sure a couple of the ladies wanted to take me out by the dumpster and beat me, but oddly, I felt a sigh of relief knowing it was going to be done my way.

Here are my reasons: Things will get done, and things will get done well, or really, the right way.

Now before you all start the send that annoying b*tch to therapy fund, let’s take a look at why I, and many others, are so rigid…er…maybe need to go with the flow a bit more.

REASON #1 – It doesn’t matter the reason(s), it is most likely not going to change.

Seriously, it will not change. I can pretend these issues stem from me being the first born in my family and was asked to do a lot, but that’s a lie. I know plenty of middle children and babies of the family that act this way. Can a person learn to let things go in certain situations? Yes. Will this person every fully let go? Yes of course….on the day they die.

But control doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

We all need some modicum of regulation in our lives. Kids feel safe with rules and boundaries, adults look forward to creating a safe haven out of their homes. We need to know the little things will be done a certain way so we can get on with the big stuff. We need doers in this life, as well as Chiefs and Indians.

Some Chiefs (ahem, me) just have to learn to delegate a bit more and hope it all works out. To have faith that others will deliver a service.

So I promise to let some things roll off my back, and have faith that those cupcakes will be delivered to the school on time.

Right after I call to remind everyone about the cupcakes, and then go bake them myself.

Am I Really Losing Sleep Over Serenity Blue and Pantry Shelves?

Aaaaah, home ownership. A person’s stamp on the land when one can say, “This is mine!” It’s the American dream.

Until you need to update that dream.

Home renovations, a rite of passage. Or a form of 18^th Century Mongolian torture. My vote is for the latter.

I am not quite sure why updating one’s abode is so painful. Like menstrual cramp while sitting in traffic with a child in the back seat repeating, “I’m not doing my homework,” painful.

Is it the general disruption in family life and routine? Is it the debris and dirt? Is it the amount of time arguing with your spouse over this shade of chrome versus that shade of chrome, when in reality, IT IS JUST A FREAKING DOOR KNOB! Or is it the amount of delays in construction that leave you feeling helpless and confused?

This last one seems to be the hum dinger.

Months ago we chose a contractor. Picking a contractor is like picking a spouse: can you live with him through the good times? Can you show him your ugly demanding side? Can you give it up to faith when things are just not working out?

Our contractor is a great guy. Someone you can grab a beer with or share your bag of Twizzlers. His price is right, and more importantly, his work is phenomenal. Score for us. Good spouse choosing.

Much like a marriage, the remodel was off to a great start. Walls came down in a day, old carpeting was ripped up, and a whole host of oops, looks like we found some issues under the floor, came up.

MILESTONE #1 – Much like your first post-wedding argument, problems arose. No sweat, the crew worked through and fixed those issues and we moved on.

MILESTONE #2 – Then our contractor and his sweet wife had their second child. Hip Hip Hooray! There was a slight lull in progress, but we did not mind. It’s a new baby! We sent them a gift and wished them well. Our contractor stayed in contact with us, and work on the house resumed shortly after.

MILESTONE #3 – Then our contractor went into the hospital, with a very scary “You need to stay in the ICU for a week to ten days,” issue.

Holy crap, this poor guy.

After the shock and worry and praying for our contractor, we experienced another emotion:

Holy crap, what the f&*k is going to happen to our house? Apparently we had entered the in sickness and in health portion of our relationship.

Our contractor is a one man band. There is no right hand person to take over or help out.

Oh wait, yes there is: His dear sweet wife (now mother to a newborn and a four year old), began steering the work ship from her husband’s sick bed.

Holy crap, this poor woman.

Can you imagine? Having less than two hours of sleep a night, making sure your other child does not starve or go blind from watching too many La La Loopsy cartoons, giving orders and measurements to vendors and workmen (most likely in another language), all the while your life partner is out cold and hooked up to multiple tubes.

Only two words can sum up this situation: Shit Show.

We were at a loss. My husband and I agonized over how to give this poor family their space, send well wishes for a speedy recovery, and yet still keep our work project going.

Let’s put it this way, there is no right way to say, “Hey, I’m so sorry to hear about your colon, but do you know when the toilets are going in?” I’m pretty sure they hand out awards for that type of behavior, in A$$holelandria.

MILESTONE #4 – Keep going. We did the only thing we knew; we started doing as much as we could on our own (sans nail gun). This we figured would take some of the pressure off our contractor, yet scratch our professional itch of keeping things moving.

I am happy to report, our contractor is out of the hospital and doing much better. He does have a long road to recovery, but hopefully in the long run he will be that much better.

While worrisome and frustrating at times, we are glad we stayed with our contractor. Just like two spouses in marriage counseling, our home remodel has slowed, but will be back on track soon.

I guess that’s what they mean by in good times and in bad.