Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Safe and Sound

Today, I put my daughter on the school bus just like I have done every day since her first day of school in August.  But today was different.  Today, I felt a tug at my heart and a pang of fear, lack of trust and paranoia come over me.  I realized that I will likely never put her on the bus the same way I did before Friday, December 14, 2012.

The school shooting in Connecticut is not the first where I have found myself watching the news reports with tears in my eyes and jaw dropped open at such an atrocity.  But this time it hit a little closer to home since this is the first school shooting that has occurred since one of my own children is in school.  Not only that, but the children that were killed were only a year older than my daughter.  When the shooting occurred, I happened to be volunteering in Maddie's classroom.  I spent time with each of the students playing word games with them in the library, three students at a time.  I love working with the kids because I get to see all their personalities, get hugs from them because they know that even though I'm not their mommy, I'm still a little piece of their own mommy with them at school.  I love to hear their stories about "this one time...my mom took me the store and I wanted a toy and she said no..." or "this one time...my dog took a giant poop in the backyard and I stepped in it and..."  or whatever the story may be, I am a captive audience and their little voices, little expressions and even little runny noses make me smile.

I think about my time in the classroom and how the same kinds of things were likely going on at the same time when tragedy struck.  Smiling faces, young minds at work and giggles all interrupted and violently brought to a screeching halt.  I cannot even wrap my mind around it, yet I can because I can vividly imagine what would happen if a gunman entered my daughter's school.  It gives me nightmares. My heart breaks for those families and those left behind with the painful memories and loss.  There are so many questions, opinions and a new awakening of fear that may have been put at the wayside between now and the last school shooting we had to hear about.

Then I am shifted to a different time in my own life when going to school meant a constant underlying fear and paranoia.   When I was ten years old, my parents split up due to my father's overall inability to provide a stable, healthy environment to my mom, brothers and I.  Prior to his departure from our day-to-day lives, he exhibited erratic behavior that prompted not only my mom, but my dad's brothers to step in and try to get my dad into some sort of psychiatric program.  Unfortunately, despite his history of violence against my mom and brothers, emotional abuse to all of us, inability to hold a steady job, substance abuse and a long list of manic behavior, the best he ever got was a short stay in a psych ward.  See, because family members cannot force their loved ones into treatment.  My dad would agree to go in, check out the wallpaper and then check himself out.  That's the way the mental health system works.

He was even free to roam the streets freely after the event that lead to my dad to ultimately get kicked out of my grandparent's house where we lived, which involved trying to run my brother over with a car in front of our house.  I remember feeling a sense of relief that the day-to-day drama was over, but that just gave way to the kind of trouble my dad caused once he was out of the house.  It started with him trying to break into our house, vandalizing my mom's car, stealing my mom's car, sitting out in front of our house and calling the house constantly like a bill collector.  We would call the police and they would come to the house to question my dad who likely would be parked out front.  He would show them his driver's license with our address on it and they would be on their way.  We ultimately changed our phone number and my mom sent my one brother and I away to my aunt's in Pennsylvania for the summer hoping the worst of it would be over by the time we returned.  That just made him more angry and fueled his erratic behavior.  It meant more mean phone calls to my mom at work, threats, keying the word "whore" into her car and more stalking in general.

Once again, the police were no help because until my dad actually hurt one of us, he was not seen as a threat.  Once my brother and I returned from Pennsylvania to start the school year, my dad started showing up at our schools.  We were never sure what his motive was, our biggest fear was that he would kidnap or hurt us in some way.  His mental state left a lot of questions of what he was capable of.  We certainly knew violence was part of his M.O., we just didn't know how far he was capable of taking it.

I was supposed to move from the Catholic school to public school in sixth grade, but it was clear that staying at a smaller school where everyone knew our situation was the safest bet.  Around the same timeframe, Laurie Dann, a mentally unstable woman, entered a school in Winnetka, IL, and shot several students, killing one and injuring several others.  Winnetka wasn't that far from where we lived and it sent up red flags to many schools to increase safety and security.  As luck would have it, it prompted my school to lock the doors and install a doorbell so guests had to check in at the office.  This meant that if my dad showed up, the women in the office who knew him could immediately take action.  Of course, in retrospect, I'm not sure what they could have really done if my dad really wanted to enter the school and cause harm.  Much like the school in Connecticut, the doors were locked and when the man broke the glass and entered the school, the people in the office tried to stop him to no avail.

Even when I entered high school, he would show up occasionally and it was more difficult to explain to my counselor as well as the police counselor why I felt so threatened by my own father.  I also worked at the church rectory when I was in high school and he would call me there and sometimes he would just want to talk to me, while other times the calls were threatening.  He even showed up at the rectory a few times, but once again because most of the parishioners and priests knew him and our situation, they were able to get me out of there safely.

He showed up at my high school graduation uninvited, and I saw him as I turned the corner inside the school where I was lining up with the rest of my class.  I had to dodge him by going through another part of the school to avoid him.  I think of all those instances and what his intentions were, but more importantly how much damage he could have done.  I want to think that he was just trying to see me, but there are a lot of things "you would think" a father would want for his children and he certainly never did those things, so who knows where his mind was at.

Luckily, he got his hands on an article from the local newspaper that stated I was attending Northern Illinois University even though I had ultimately decided to attend Illinois State.  We continued to tell my dad I was going to Northern knowing full well if he knew I was at ISU, he would be on my doorstep much like he did to my brother while he went there.

I lived in college feeling relatively safe until my junior year when I received a phone call from my brother who told me not to leave my apartment.  My dad spent a lot of his time in Central Illinois even after my brother left ISU due to some family members from that area.  My brother found out that my dad was at the student center at ISU and was worried that our paths might cross.  Of course, it had been several years since my dad and I had seen each other face-to-face, but since I lived only blocks away from the student center and walked the path right past it several times a day, there was a good chance we'd end up finding out exactly what would happen if he did recognized me.

I hid out in my apartment for several hours while my brother drove to ISU to pick my dad up and took him to another city where he was ultimately trying to get to.  That same year my dad showed up at my brother's wedding uninvited and had to be escorted out by my uncle.  Again, another seemingly innocent appearance caused most of us to pause while our hearts skipped several beats unsure of what would happen next.  It is a scary place to be and not something I wish on anyone.

Ultimately, my dad continued to live on the streets of several different cities abusing the system and prescription drugs in the process.  He was finally arrested in Florida for laying down in the middle of traffic on a busy road and was committed to a mental institution.  After years of sampling mental healthy facilities, he was finally forced to stay, evaluated and diagnosed with schizophrenia.  Of course, this wasn't the end of his trip.  He was eventually released from that facility and to be honest, I'm not real clear on what his exact path was from there.  I just know it involved a trial and error process of medications, programs, facilities and jail.  He sent a slew of incredibly strange letters with over-the-top religious rants, newspaper clippings with rambling notes written in the margins and random phone calls to whomever he could reach.

As the year's passed, his lifestyle and physical health led to his inability to walk.  It was at this time, he was put into a nursing home for both his physical and mental ailments.  It wasn't until he was in one of these homes completely unable to get out, that I finally went to see him and was able to forgive him.  I wasn't sure to what extent I could have him in my life after all of the horrible childhood memories and fear I lived through, but I needed to come to terms with my relationship with him.  I knew that I had to be careful, because I knew full well that when it came to my dad, if you open the door a crack to help him or let him in, he would swing it wide open and take advantage.  I kept distance, but forgave him in my heart.

Over the years I have continued to struggle with my relationship with him.  It will never be a "normal" father-daughter relationship.  His health continues to deteriorate and he has moved from one facility to another.  Luckily, after years of tinkering with his psychiatric medication, he seems to be relatively "even-keeled."  However, this past year I also found out that based on one of his antics and run-ins with the law in the past, he was placed on the "Registered Offenders List" making it even more difficult for him to find a quality facility to take care of him.  On one hand, I try to justify his behavior based on his mental health, but can't ignore the deviant, unpredictable and downright evil things he has said and done, even to members of his own family.  The biggest lesson I have learned is that there is difference between forgiveness and reconciliation.  I can forgive, but will likely never reconcile.

I wonder if "The System" was different, how things my have turned out differently?  Would we have been able to get him into a program that truly treated his mental illness earlier so that he could have been put on proper medication from the get-go?  Could he have been a functioning member of society and our family as a result?  "The System" certainly didn't make it easy for any of this to happen.  I try not to get political, but I can tell you "The System" is broken.  The policies in place don't work to treat patients with such mental illnesses properly and certainly don't protect their families.  The current state of affairs leaves the decision up to the patients themselves, which seems counter-productive since, in most cases, they aren't in their right mind to make a proper decision to begin with. 

And stalking laws have improved slightly since my dad was sitting outside our house and schools, but it still takes a whole heck of a lot to prove that there is a valid threat until it is likely too late.  I'm not sure how to fix it.  I'm not sure how to help the people who need help or to assist their families to either work and live with mental health issues, or protect them from those with mental health issues.  What I do know is that the world is full of sick people who do horrible things and it is clear that there is something seriously amiss with their mental state. On one hand, every where you turn people are taking anti-psychotics, but as someone who takes anti-psychotics myself, it doesn't take much to have them prescribed.  I had several doctors offer them to me without even knowing any detailed information about my personality, issues with depression/anxiety or family history.  All I had to say was that I "struggled" a bit and they were ready to put me on whatever drug their pharmaceutical rep brought in that day along with a tray of sandwiches for the whole staff.  I was fortunate enough to eventually find doctor who knew not only my health history, but asked the right questions to ensure she prescribed me with a drug that was the best fit for me.

Of course, my case is far more mild than what we are dealing with when it comes to my dad or Adam Lanza, but my point is that there is a clear disconnect and lack of true understanding of how serious mental health issues can be.  I can only imagine what Nancy  Lanza went through raising her child.  Reports indicate that he was always shy, awkward and had a hard time fitting in and that he had a Aspergers, a form of Autism.  He was removed from mainstream school and partially home schooled.  His dad gave more money than his attorneys suggested in order to provide adequate services for his treatment.  Clearly, these parents went above and beyond to help support their son and his disorder which is not technically considered a mental illness anyway.  Aspergers Syndrome alone does not explain his violent act, however what more could have been done to help this boy in order to prevent this from happening and how can we help other troubled individuals whatever their issues may be in order to prevent this from happening in the future?  I don't know the answer to this and I wish I did.  I don't know what more my mom and my dad's brothers could have done to get him the treatment he needed.  I don't know what any family members of any of the other people who have been charged in previous school shootings could have done.  Chances are they were left scratching their heads, frustrated that there were no real answers, no real help or treatment to help with their troubled children much like the lack of resources available when we were dealing with my dad.

Either way you look at it, we are once again looking over our shoulders.  Whether it be 911, Columbine,  the movie theatre in Colorado, Northern Illinois University or any of the other random acts of violence our nation has endured, we've become a society riddled with fear.  All I can do do is hold my babies close and hold my breath each day until they arrive safely home from school. 

I'm thankful that I made it out of my childhood alive and as much as I hate to say this, I am thankful that my dad's physical ailments made it possible for him to be in a nursing home where he can never leave.  It is one less thing to worry about these days.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Happy Hanukah!

Today's trip to the grocery store went something like this:
Colin: Mom, I want one of those birthday candle things for Hanukah.
Me: they are called menorahs and I'm not buying one because we aren't Jewish and we don't celebrate Hanukah.

in: Yes, we are Jewish!!!
Me: no, we believe that Jesus is the son of God and Jewish people don't.
Colin: (screaming) I don't believe in Jesus! I'm Jewish and I want that menorah!!

Hence, our latest purchase along with some gelt. Happy Hanukah to you and yours'.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

It’s The End Of The World As We Know It and I Feel Fine

We make a conscious effort to take the kids to church as much as possible despite that fact the experience is far from reverent.

The act of actually getting out of the house with everyone looking presentable is no small feat in and of itself.  Then we have to make sure we have accouterments like Goldfish, fruit snacks and water.  Once the food runs out, there needs to entertainment and I still have yet to allow my kids to play with my iPhone during mass.  I guess I am a little old fashioned that way, but I find myself pulling out the quintessential parenting line, “We never had fancy things like that to play with in church when I was your age.  We were expected to sit quietly and pay attention to what the priest was saying.”

I’ll admit for a while, we just didn’t even bother bringing Colin because he was such a nuisance.  They have childcare at the church, but I was always worried he would bite someone and there would be no way for them to locate me in the church.  I could just imagine the priest stopping his homily to announce that my son had bit someone and that he was going to Hell.  I’m hoping we all make it to heaven together with no man, or 3-year old boy, left behind.  Now that he goes, he spends most of the time asking questions like, "Who's that dead guy on the cross and why is he bleeding." Or, "Why is the priest wearing a dress?"  When he's not asking questions, he's usually saying the word, "EVIL" really loud at the end of the "Our Father."

Now Madelyn, on the other hand, has become quite the mini-Church Lady and lives for going to “Church School,” which is the children’s liturgy where kids ages 4 and up can leave right before the first reading and have their own lesson downstairs.  She always comes back beaming and has made at least 3-4 new girlfriends in the process.  I often wonder how much she gets out of it, but she usually can reiterate what she learned each week, so I know she isn’t socializing the whole time.

Another clue she is paying attention is her recent inquiry about the end of the world.  I was standing in the kitchen a few weeks ago and Maddie approached me and asked if the world was really going to end four days before Christmas.  My eyes bugged out of my head and I almost choked on my coffee.  “Where did you hear that?” I asked.  I wondered if she heard it on the news or something when I wasn’t paying attention.

“I heard it at Church School,” she said with a worried look on her face.

“From one of the other kids?”

“No, from the teacher,” she said nonchalantly. 

Steam immediately came from my ears, I was sure of it.  What kind of grown person with half a brain tells a bunch of kids that the world might end four days before Christmas?  While I know that as Catholics, we are taught that Jesus will come again in glory, but I’m not sure how mentioning the end of the world to a bunch of kids is a good way to get this message across.  Let’s face it, all those kids heard was, “You’re all gonna die and there will be no Christmas.”  They might as well have thrown in that there is no Santa Claus while they were at it.  I even considered writing a strongly worded letter to the Pastor, but decided just to let it go.

I tried to explain the Mayan Calendar and their prophesy to Maddie.  I told her how there have been several other predictions that the world was going to end, and it never happened.  She looked confused and finally simply asked, “Is the world going to end at some time?”  Man, I miss the easy questions like, “Why is the sky blue?” 

Of course, none of us knows that, but if she keeps hearing about this “Second Coming of Christ” throughout her life, I need to provide some answers.  I finally explained that IF the world ends, then Jesus will come back and we will all go to heaven together and get to see all our family and friends in heaven, including Taz and Kira (the dogs we’ve had to put down in the last 2 years.)  Of course, this doesn’t take away the impending lack of Christmas, so I told her to just not worry about it and enjoy life.

In the midst of all this “End of the World” talk, I had some unusual occurrences involving my Grandfather.  Since his passing 16 years ago, I have always had several moments where I feel his presence or I see someone who looks like him.  Most of the time, once I really look at the man who has a similar walk, is wearing the same hat he used to wear, or haircut, I realize they don’t look that much him at all.  However, last Thursday when I was going to pick Colin up from school I looked over at the car next to me at the stoplight and there was a man who looked EXACTLY like my grandfather, right down to the glasses and hat.   I had to do a double take and when I was finished picking my jaw up off the steering wheel I managed to grab my phone to take a picture. 

I was a little concerned that this man would think I was a completely lunatic taking a picture of him, but I was also kind of hoping that, given his age, he would have no clue that “phones these days” could take pictures.  I managed to get a good shot of him before the light turned green and without him noticing me. I promptly texted it to my mom to get a second opinion.  I have to admit, I was a little worried that when I looked at the picture I had taken, that no one would appear.  However, there he was clear as can be and my even my mom agreed and told me to send it to my brothers.  Of course, once this gentleman’s car was in the lane behind me, I noticed it was a Toyota and my grandpa would never be caught dead driving a foreign car.  Oh, wait, he is dead?!  Perhaps it was manufactured in the United States?  That was the only reason my husband (who is incredibly similar to my grandfather) would let me buy my Honda Odyssey.

What made it even more unusual was that his 93rd birthday would have been on Sunday and I had been praying to him for good weather because I was helping plan a 5k race that day.  I assured my committee that based on my grandpa’s track record helping out with weather from heaven over the last few years, we’d be in good shape.  As luck would have it, it was 60 degrees the day of the race.

But the oddities didn’t stop there.  On Friday morning, I got to the bus stop and my neighbors pointed out the unusual rainbow up above.  I looked up into the blue sky, where there was barely a cloud, and there was an upside down rainbow.  I had never seen or even heard of such a thing!  I immediately snapped a picture and sent it my mom, aunt, brothers and cousins who I had shared the picture of my “grandpa” with from the day before.  We came to the general consensus that Pa was smiling down on us.  Of course, with Maddie continuing to ask about the end of the world, I was hoping all this wasn’t a sign that Pa was sending that we’d see him soon…like on December 21st

I entered into the weekend extremely stressed out not only because I was knee deep in 5k planning and coordinating last minute details, but I also had to teach two Cycle classes Saturday morning, head home to get ready and pick up Maddie to go to my cousin’s baby shower, then get home so Tom could run to the gym and I could secure more fruit for the next morning because we had a surge of registrations for the 5k that day at packet pickup.  Of course, that also meant a database had to be created since the team working packet pickup was deluged and couldn’t build it for me.  I ended up typing it up all while Tom cleaned the house and made dinner because just in case I didn’t have enough going on, I agreed to host a jewelry party at my house immediately following the race.

By the grace of God, a wonderful husband and likely a little help from Pa, everything got done and I more than survived the weekend…the race was a huge success and I got to have a wonderful time with some good food, good friends and family. 

After all is said and done, I don’t really care if the world ends in a few weeks.  I am comfortable with my place in this world and that those I hold most dear to me, living and dead, will be with me in the end.  In the mean time, I am going to count my blessings, value the time I do have on this earth and take comfort in the fact that no matter what, I’ve got someone up there looking out for me. Even though several years have passed and I still miss him every single day, I know he’s never very far away.  And just in case ever do forget, he’ll be sure to send me a friendly reminder.

Monday, November 5, 2012

This is FUN, DAMMIT!!!

I’m pretty sure as I write this entry, my daughter is writing her own memoir, “My Life As A Kill-Joy: I’m 5, Therefore I Pout.”

It never ceases to amaze me that no matter what we do for our kids, they are so often ungrateful.  I don’t mean to sound like a martyr here, but I seriously can’t grasp how children can complain while they are at Disney World, having gifts, toys and princess shoes thrown at them.  I know what you are thinking, it is because they are spoiled rotten little brats.  I will take responsibility for the fact that we are generous to our kids, but I don’t think we necessarily go overboard.  And I can tell you that I was not the only parent dealing with cranky kids at the Magic Kingdom.  Everywhere we went, we kept hearing the same statements over and over again, “This is supposed to be fun!” or “You need to give me another 30 minutes without whining and complaining or we will not come back later…or I’m taking that toy away…or you won’t get that pirate sword…or cotton candy…or balloon…or…” whatever threat or promise necessary for any given parent to survive just 30 more minutes of misery.

Our very own resident diva, Maddie, came out in rare form during our trip.  The last time we went, she was only 3 ½ and she seemed very overwhelmed by the whole experience, especially when we allowed her to cash in on several shopping trips for souvenirs.  Rather than jumping for joy at the new sparkly Sleeping Beauty shoes, she pouted that she also wanted the $60 dress to go with it.  Rather than be happy about the Snow White sequin purse with white gloves, the Minnie Mouse Princess hat and her new Mickey t-shirt, she pouted because she didn’t get suckers.  Well, I’ll give you one guess who the real sucker was?  Me.  Because before we could leave Orlando, we hunted down those Goddamn Mickey suckers and what’s even better, two years later they are still at the back of my pantry.

Me getting choked up over the whole experience...prior to meltdowns.
This time, we decided that we would set limits on their spending since they are a little bit older and could grasp some simple budgeting concepts.  We emptied their piggy banks and told them that money was their spending money and mommy and daddy would throw some in on top of that.  For the most part, we did pretty good not going overboard and the whining and complaining was minimal.  That was until the morning of Maddie’s Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique.  For those of you unfamiliar with this, it is where you drop some serious coin on the chance for your daughter to be transformed into a princess by her very own airy godmother.  Maddie requested the full hilt, complete with a brand new Cinderella gown and hair extensions…yes, hair extensions.

She kept counting down the days until her VIP treatment, and when the morning came we schlepped off to Downtown Disney first thing in the morning. The idea was to have this done the day we were scheduled to have lunch with the Princesses at Epcot.  While we were waiting for her name to be called, I got a little choked up thinking of how happy it made me that we could do this for her.  What a special memory this would be for her.  Finally it was her turn and we went back to the dressing room where they handed her a beautiful Cinderella gown to change in to.  Once we got into the dressing room, I felt like I was dealing with one of the wicked stepsisters instead.  The dress was itchy.  I had to take the whole thing off and put her clothes back on underneath the dress.  She still seemed annoyed and when we finally emerged, they informed us that she was lucky enough to have been chosen to have her transformation done in the special seat at the front of the store.  They led her to a special makeover station that was situated right in the front window for everyone who walked in or by the store to see.  She seemed unimpressed.  She chose her hairstyle, color of her bobby pins and makeup and within a half-hour, she was Cinderella.  She looked quite pleased with the outcome until it was time to pick out shoes.  Unfortunately she is between sizes and the glass slipper/jelly shoe meant to go with her dress was ill fitting.  Bring on pout number 54 of the day at it wasn’t even 10 a.m.

We finally settled on a pair of sparkly flip flops and all was good in the world of Maddie until she had to go and get her picture taken.  The package we opted for included professional photos.  We set her up with the photographer and Tom was watching her while a perused the gift shop attached to where the photographer was.  When I got back a few minutes later, she was finished and they uploaded the pictures right away.  As luck would have it, she didn’t smile in a single picture.  Any other time, she is Ms. Insta-pose, but dress her up in $200 worth of Disney’s finest threads and she looks like she just ate a shit-sandwich.  Luckily the kind woman at the photo shop agreed to let us have a redo and we got some cute shots.

We survived our trip to Disney and despite our best efforts to take it easy on the souvenirs, we still had a hard time fitting all our purchases into our suitcases.  Good thing grandma and grandpa were driving the RV back home!  Luckily Colin has cheap taste and most of his prized possessions were under $10 otherwise we’d have to take a second mortgage out on the house!

Miserable Princess scratching her crotch.  How lady-like.

We’ve been back from Disney for over a month and just got through Halloween.  I should have known that this Holiday would be no different than any other with the kids.  It started weeks ago with the hunt for costumes.  I don’t know how to express to you how difficult it is to shop for Halloween costumes when you children are scared shitless of all things Halloween, but picture Colin screaming at the top of his lungs with his fingers in his ears while cowering in a corner of Spirit Halloween costume shop.  They even walked around like they belonged in straight jackets when we went into Party City to buy Halloween plates last week and they were merely playing a Halloween CD!

I took them to a Halloween party at the gym the other day and it was a slice of pure hell just getting out of the house.  Turns out Princess Itchy Dress was making her return, but this time it was her Dorothy costume.  She whined and complained the whole time and by the time we got ready after skating practice, lunch and the usual pouting routine, we only made it for the last half-hour of the party.  Of course, the kids were pissed because they didn’t give out candy, just little toys and prizes for the games.  They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about what they would be next year for Halloween. 

I got to thinking about how I have a hard time “living in the now.”  I’ve always been the type of person who looks past what is happening at this moment waiting for the next thing to come along or I set high expectations for how things will go and end up disappointed when they don’t meet those expectations. I’ll admit that I’ve gotten better especially after having children because I see my daughter doing the same thing and I realize how annoying it is.  I have to constantly remind her (along with myself) to “Go with the flow.”

Then there is Tom who will hem and haw over what to order at the ice cream shop and when all is said and done, he has buyer’s remorse and wishes he would have ordered the other thing he was contemplating.  Rather than enjoying his delicious milkshake, he complains how good the other thing would have been.

The icing on the Halloween cake was carving pumpkins.  In years past, we never bothered because the kids were too young and I personally am not a big fan of carving pumpkins (guess the rotten apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?)  This year we decided to indulge them and even got a fancy little kit complete with a special light to put in the pumpkin.  Of course, prior to cutting into the pumpkins, we had to threaten Colin to eat his dinner otherwise he wouldn’t be allowed to help.  He ended up falling asleep at the dinner table and we woke him up when it was time to carve.  He immediately asked for a snack and we told him he had to finish his dinner first.  He was crabby and tired, but started to eat his raw broccoli just the same. 

Meanwhile, Tom’s parents had come over to help and grandpa took over cutting open the pumpkins with Maddie.  Once he opened it up and told her to reach inside to pull the guts out she started screaming and crying.  She had no desire to have anything to do with the slime that lurked inside.   Grandma and Tom worked on gutting the pumpkin while Grandma and I started pulling the seeds out so I could bake them.

Colin was trying to choke down his broccoli and came over to where I was at the sink and proceeded to gag and ultimately throw up all over the floor and my purse, which Tom has just brought to me to get something out of it for him.  Go figure.  And there I was again, one kid was curled up in a ball in the corner over her irrational fear of pumpkin slime and another was shooting broccoli out his nose.  All I could think was, “This is supposed to be FUN, DAMMIT!”