Trick or Treat, Smell my feet, wait, that might not be wise...

Ah, to be ten years old again...  If only I had the stamina my once ten year old body contained, for just one night.  It's obviously a bad sign when you run out of energy before your five year old does, right? Of course, some of my drain could have been the hour and a half it took to coax her into wearing her WHOLE costume and not just the cool headgear.  Or, maybe it was the fact that after her bag was half full, I was on duty to hold it for her between houses.  I was on my last legs before we even ended the second street, and I knew I was in for it when I turned the corner onto the third street.  These folks went ALL out, every window had some Halloween ghoul in it and the yards were a bounty of spiderwebs and multitudes of creepy crawlies.  We didn't get to pass one single house by.  It was a feast for the eyes. Every creature and goblin was done so well, we had a difficult time picking out which ones were actual people waiting to jump out at us.  Needless to say, I was thankful for really good heart medication at a few of the houses.

When we had hit the last house, the five year old finally decided her feet were too tired for more.  I was thankful for a bout a nanosecond before I realized I was going to have to carry both her and her overstuffed bag of goodies.  Ouch.  Time to put my feet up and make one of the big kids answer the door for the rest of the trick-or-treaters! Happy Halloween!

I think, I thank, I thunk... What?!?!?

So moving to the west side of Phoenix has its drawbacks.  First off, if you think being "west" of the desert saves you ANY grief from the heat; you are DEAD wrong.  It DOES save you a little from the crime, but that's about it.  But, don't forget to add in the obnoxious noise that comes from the Air Force Base right down the road.  An atomic bomb explosion has nothing on the fifty fricking jets that routinely fly directly over my house.  I may be able to sue the military for hearing loss.  I used to actually work with the aircraft here in Phoenix, but I don't remember there being so much night flying going on!  I can't get to sleep before midnight.  Since when do these government-paid jack-offs work past eight pm??? I'm sorry, since when does anybody working for the government actually work?!?! I got paid to sit on my softer side 90% of the time...WTF?

So anyway, I didn't bring you here for that...  I have decided that the world's problems can all be solved by a little helium.  Don't laugh, I'm serious.  If my kids can get along by just sucking down a little bit of helium from a birthday balloon, why not??? I say we need to provide a little helium to ALL foriegn diplomats, and a LOT of helium to our stupid representatives (especially Obama) then life would be a hell of a lot easier.  Because seriously, how pissed can you be at someone who sounds like Mickey Mouse?!?!?  I've thought this out; done the math and everything.  It would cost the taxpayers next to nothing to achieve world peace with my plan.  Damn, I rock.  Or, maybe that's what I get from too much intake of helium... Oh, if you could hear me now...

Pavlov ain't got nothin' on me!

So, everyone who's completed high school psychology has heard of Pavlov's Dog... I have not only proven this theory, but put it to good use around the home.  We recently celebrated two birthdays, which means I have an excess of cupcakes and cake lying around my house.  Children LOVE cake. 
     I say, take that cake and use it to your own advantage.  I have successfully managed to get my now 5 year old to clean her room FOR REAL, not just shove everything in the closet so Mom "thinks" it's clean; and have even managed to get the now 12 year old to keep his nasty, stanky socks out of my family room... I tell you... Cake can work wonders in the house. 

     I may actually start making cakes, just so my kids will do what I want.  You may call it bribery, but I call it a happy home.  If a little bit of flour, yeast and sugar can make my kids actually pick up after themselves; well, call me Marie Antoinette, and "Let them eat CAKE!"

     You can use cake for darn near anything.  Need laundry separated? CAKE.  Need floors vacuumed?  CAKE.  Need toilets cleaned???? CAKE!!!!  Damn, I rule!  Why didn't my mother think of this when I was a kid????  Of course, this is the same woman, who, when I turned sixteen thought it would be a good idea to get me a french silk pie to celebrate the occasion... Have I not mentioned I HATE pie????

Ok, so, pumpkin pie is good, but other than that... not a big pie fan.  I have never made the slightest inclination for anyone to assume I actually even tolerate pie, much less will eat it without there being turkey, dressing and mashed potatoes to accompany it. 

So, I have completely gone off topic... ADD anyone? Oh look! A butterfly!

Release the Kraken!!!

Okay, way too long since my last post, but I SWEAR I have good reason.  First off, I've been sick.  I promise I'm going to the doctor next week to figure out what in Hades is going wrong.  But first, I must tell you of my most recent encounter with a mythological fiend.  A caveat to this would be that my ONLY fear with bugs is cockroaches... too many "too close for comfort" occasions.  Having lived on a military installation more than once, I have developed a respectful , yet obsessive fear of roaches.

I swear the crafty not-a-cockroach sucker was two feet long (some may repute that, but I'm sticking to my story).  So, I'm walking nonchalantly to the bathroom... Wait, let explain something about my background first...  I have lived in Arizona before... For FIVE years.  And, I have never actually seen a scorpion, so I wasn't expecting to see one anytime soon.  I move back, and less than five months go by, and one shows up in my hallway, on the tile floor, four feet from the bathroom.  Like a true child of the Midwest, I appropriately freak the crap out.  Things with stingers... NOT so good!  It certainly didn't help that I recently saw "The Clash of the Titans" in the last few weeks.  Tank sized scorpions have kind of been in the back of my mind.  So, you can imagine my horror when I see one, sitting on my floor on the middle of the hallway, right in front of the bathroom door.

The enormous monster that had to be at least a foot in length was front of me and was MORE than enough to keep me paralyzed for an indeterminable amount of time.  I then sanely (IN NO WAY) referred to hubby's best friend to deal with said monstrosity.  Turns out, the thing was already dead, and maybe an inch and a half long.  I have officially resigned my post as the Man of the House!  I must cry "Uncle"!