We Like to Express Ourselves Around Here

Everything you are about to read happened in an eight-hour time span. You are about to read about Garrett and Whitman's Day of Terror. Please do not let this one day deter you from thinking these are the sweetest, coolest two boys alive, I assure you that they are but sometimes they have these moments that instill the sense of baffling fear an awe-inspiring pride. I call these moments: Hilarious. That's all.

It is impossible to keep an eye on small children constantly, especially when these two children happen to be brothers that are 18 months apart in age. When they were babies, they never got into anything. Even when they learned to walk or crawl, they only played with things they were allowed to play with. We have never had any crayon drawings on the walls or broken lamps or shattered glass or anything else that toddlers tend to fuck with that they have no business being around. They always kept to their own stuff. And I honestly don't mind giving them their privacy. They are very young but that doesn't mean they don't deserve some times to themselves, right? So I like to give them their space and if they need me, they will let me know. But I always check on them. We do a "Marco Polo" kind of thing every ten minutes or so just to make sure everything is kosher. A surefire way to know when these two are up to no good is to listen. If you hear nothing, you had better go check. Immediately.

We are a fan of gummy vitamins. We like gummy bears and if you put vitamins in a gummy bear why would you not eat it? That just seems silly. The label on the vitamins very specifically says “Keep out of reach of children” for obvious reasons. It’s a jar of gummy bears, duh. I gave Whitman his two allotted gummy vitamins for the day and put the jar back.

I left them to their action figures and playing "Star Wars Clone Wars" which is basically just the both of them beating the shit out of each other with plastic light sabers (if you call them "swords" around here, you get an ass-chewing). They were fine and I could hear them fighting and trying to decide who would be "Obi Wan" and who would be "Alligator" (Whitman calls Darth Vader "Alligator", cutest thing ever). And then I heard nothing for a second. I went downstairs to check on them and Whitman had a nearly empty jar of gummy vitamins in his hand. I asked who ate them, they both know they only get two, and Garrett confessed. He ate about 60 gummy vitamins when the dosage for adults and children is two a day.

If anyone was wondering what happens to a small child when they ingest way too many gummy vitamins, the answer is: nothing. I wouldn’t recommend it because I was fearful for his health for a second there but he lived through it without a stomach ache or whatever.

I checked on them a few more times and about the fourth check-in of the day I went into their room and saw this:

I thought this was some sort of misguided crafty project that Christy did with the boys Sunday morning, it was not.

While I was sleeping Sunday Morning (I got up around 10:45, which is earlier than I would have liked) and while Christy and Ron were outside painting, the boys were going through the kitchen drawers, collecting sharp kabob skewers, stealing two oranges and one apple out of the fridge, cutting that apple in half with something (I am guessing a knife, we have yet to find said knife), skewering the oranges and half an apple and hanging them around their room. No adult had any hand in any of this and they did it without anyone knowing.

I thought Christy, admiring their creativity, hung up their fruit art as a source of pride for her children, no no. They got it up there on their own…somehow. Christy even asked them what the purpose was of this nice display of produce and creative toddler fuckery and Garrett replied “It looked like it needed something there.” Something meaning: stabby fruit art.

I was one part horrified they could have seriously injured themselves from not only cutting the apple in half but stabbing the fruit repeatedly and with a certain amount of force with admittedly sharp skewers. And I was also one part proud of them for choosing to express themselves so oddly. Where did they even get the idea?

I swear I would never let them watch The Blair Witch Project. That was the first thing that came to my mind, but they haven't seen it and I wouldn't let them until they were at least 10.

After taking the pictures Garrett asked me if I was going to take it down and I replied that I wasn't and he said "Thank you, Stacey!" and he did a little dance since he got to keep his bit of artistic expression. So funny. So sweet. He was very proud of...whatever it was that he did...

So proud that he and Whtiman wanted to put something else together for me. So I had to go my room and wait to be called upon. Garrett had the bathroom. Basically he just set all of his action figures and Bakugan dumbassery on the bathroom sink and he told me, "Hey, if you brush your teeth can you try not to knock these over and if you do can you put them back?

Whitman his his room and he just piled his action figures on a table and showed them to me. He's simple but classic.

And, of course, he is showing me his toys and picking his nose. Hey Whit! When you are old enough to read this you will see that I had pictures of you picking your nose for the entire world to see. Sorry (I am not, you know better than that).

I finally corraled them both into my room to play Angry Birds on my phone. They both sat there quietly for a while until Garrett got up to pee. It took him a  while but he gets side-tracked from time to time. He wasn’t gone for five minutes, I mean that. He obviously had this idea in his head and he waited to go execute it while I was occupied. Kid's a genius. He comes back from the bathroom with a water bottle in his hand that he had all day. He holds the bottle up to Whitman's nose and tells him to smell it. I immediately put my hand up to shield Whitman from whatever was going to come out of that bottle which would have been piss. Yes. Garrett went and pissed in a water bottle and brought it back to Whitman. He thought it was hysterical. I was trying my hardest to stifle my own laughter but I held it together. I stayed strong!

Later on they were in the guest room/ office and Garrett now knows how to open up iTunes and play Big Time Rush on a continuous loop. He was in plain sight listening to the music and jamming out when Whitman was quiet and no where to be seen. He was hiding in the closet doing this:

Ron has one of those stamp thingys that stamps your return address on your mail because he’s fancy. I have absolutely no clue what this type of stamp is called but it’s one of those that if you push down and it flips around and stamps whatever for you.  Whitman found  it and covered himself with it. Because why wouldn't he? However, this might, sort of, be my fault.

Whitman and I like to look at tattoos together. I read a lot of tattoo blogs and I like to look at them in general and Whitman joins me most of the time. He will sit in my lap and we will look at pretty tattoos while he tells me what he would like for me to get (mostly Power Rangers and Storm Troopers) and he comments on which ones he finds "awesome." He sees my tattoos and he still can't quite grasp that they are never, ever coming off. He loves temporary tattoos and he also likes to draw on himself and call it a tattoo, so when a child finds a rubber stamp that looks not unlike a tattoo, of course he is going to cover himself in it, right?  It makes sense to me!

Needless to say, Whitman went to school with his address on his face today. It wasn't coming off easily.

But look at how much fun he had with it? I had little chance of keeping the hysterical laughter to myself any longer so I pretty much died at this point. 

At this point during the day I was both exhausted and vigilant. Under no circumstances were they to get another one over on me. Not a chance. So I watched them like a hawk and, of course since a half-assed adult was in the room, they were perfect angels. Of course I can't exactly say that if they hadn't come to me first and presented each of their ideas to me beforehand I wouldn't have worked something out with them in compromise. If Garrett could logically have told me that he was going to piss in a water bottle and that it was a good idea for some reason, I would  have heard him out at least. I mean, come on, I am reasonable...

 

 

 

 

 

 

Past Everyone's Bedtime

Okay so Christy has to make 200 cupcakes for something or another tomorrow. Pretty sure she told me what and pretty sure I don't remember.

"200 cupcakes," you're thinking to yourself, "but that is insane." Insane, yes but doable. I am not exactly sure how she does it but I will be upstairs in my room and come down to the kitchen what seems like minutes later and it's like cupcakes or a cake or whatever has appeared out of thin air. She's super fast. 

There are probably cupcakes every time you turn your damn head. Cupcakes like a mug.

Small portion of the finished product

She makes her own icing and it's pretty amazing. I don't exactly want to know what is in it because I am pretty sure it would make me vomit but I look past all that.

So good.

Then she takes the delcious homemade icing and puts in a fancy pastry bag holder or, in layman's terms, a Booya's cup. 

She goes pretty fast until one thing inevitable just fucks her all up. Something that could throw a chink in any plan. Without fail it happens every damn time.

Whitman

The kid eats cupcakes like a maniac. And every five minutes he gives you these really sad toddler eyes and asks, "Cupcake???" And you have to tell him "They aren't ready yet." So you give him the next best thing: The spoon.

I am pretty sure that Whitman is going to be like his aunt and his mother and love sugar. He has to have a dessert after every meal and when he chooses a snack it's usually either cheese or sugar.

I was an avid spoon batter eater in my day (earlier today) so I know the draw. It's a guilty pleasure very few can resist and I don't even try.

Once it hits your lips it's so good...

Is something on my face?

Since Christy had 200 cupcakes to make I did whatever I could to help out and chose to put the kids to bed. Let me tell you now, I suck at this. They always want to stay up a little later and I always give in. If they are good, they get to stay awake, if they start acting like dickheads, they have to go to bed. So I let them stay up until 10:00 and watch a movie with me.

We have the agreement that if they are good when I put them to bed, I will start putting them to bed more and more which basically means, they can do whatever they want and usually end up eating popcorn and/ or candy and watching a movie. They like this so they usually behave.

Whitman's "Stacey is putting us to bed" dance

Juice Boxes and Gummy Worms

This is what I get when I ask for a smile

Whitman still uses his baby blanket I made him. It's pretty cool.

Stella doesn't know what the hell to do

Just chillin

As of right now it is 11:05 and they still aren't asleep. But they are quiet and laying down and that is a win in my book. I will take it!

Stories I Shouldn't Tell



I don’t know if I am allowed to tell this story or not. I haven’t been given clearance but I deemed it appropriate. So I am going to tell it anyway*.

I cannot say enough good things about my nephews. They are excellent, really super cool kids and I think they get cooler every day. It is the neatest thing in the world to see. So when they actually do something horrendously, comically bad I reeeally want to share it. I just can’t help myself.

So good when they're sleeping...



Or wearing Power Rangers night vision goggles

They are great kids and, for the most part, they are very well behaved. Especially with me. I let them get away with pretty much everything to a point but they know if they fuck up, they will never get anything again from me.

Whitman (4) and Garrett (5) were playing outside a few weeks ago. It has probably been about a month now since it has happened. It was a very nice day outside, one of those awesome days that we had in February that were so desperately needed. The kids were outside playing and Christy had gone to run and Ron wasn’t home from work yet. I was watching the kids while she ran and I got ready. As soon as she got back, I had to leave to go have a drink (when I was drinking). 　

They were in the backyard and all the windows were open and sound carries well around here so I could hear them (they are also very loud) pretty well while I was getting ready. And I poked my head out a few times just to make sure they were ok. They were fine. In the backyard. Everything was good.

I had just checked on them and they were in their Jeep riding around the backyard. I thought "Okay, I can dry my hair real quick and then come to check on them again when I get done." I went back to my room and started drying my hair. It doesn’t take but about five minutes to dry my hair these days. I turned the hair dryer off and as soon as it clicked off I heard glass breaking outside my window. My window, which is on the side of the house not the backyard.

So I jumped up and looked out my open window only to see:

Garrett and Whitman, breaking beer bottles, from the recycling bin, on the drive-way. They each had a bottle in their hands, hands that were still raised above their heads. Immediately I shouted in Concerned Aunt Voice, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?!"

Normally I do not curse around them. I have gotten much, much better. Ask anyone! But they really caught me off guard and scared the shit out of me. That was the first thing out of my mouth.

Garrett looked up at me, arm still raised, frozen in time, with an expression that said, "Fuuuuuu..."

"Put that bottle down RIGHT NOW!" I yelled out the window.

And he stood there for a second like "Okay, it’s in my hand. How pissed is she going to be if I throw this one? I really want to throw it because it sounds really cool but is it going to be worth it if I lose tv and games for a week? Hmmmm..." He thought twice and put the bottle down.

I then said, "Do not move. I will be down there in a minute." I ran downstairs in a mild panic dressed in basically a sleep camisole, hair just dried, looking like a maniac screaming at two kids breaking beer bottles on the driveway.

When I got outside, they hadn’t moved a muscle. They were both standing there bracing themselves.

Guys, I honestly didn’t know what to do. I was horrified that one of them might have somehow harmed themselves, and then I was really pissed that they did something like this on my watch, and then I was like "Well you know, it kind of makes sense..." they were bored and breaking glass is pretty cool.

I did the only thing I could think to do which is tell them to get inside, sit down on the couch and wait. So when I said that I expected them to do it and I got nothing but lip.

"What is the big deal? I didn’t hurt myself," says Garrett, incredulous.

"You could have though! Are you crazy?! You are breaking glass. Of course it is a big deal," I said and then pointed to the front door, "Get inside. Now!"

Garrett, still baffled as to why he would ever be in trouble for this says, "Fine! I will clean it up. Just calm down."

They walked inside with their heads down and sat there until Christy got home. My immediate first thought was, "Christy is going to shit..." and she did. It was quite a reaction to see.

This was probably the worst thing that they have ever done by far. I don’t know what had gotten into them and why, all of a sudden, they wanted to be beer bottle breaking bad asses. No clue. I am still a little amazed by the absurdity of it all. It is very, very unlike them in every way. They have yet to destroy anything besides a cupcake. It was nuts to say the least.

How did they get out of the backyard, you ask? Were they not locked in there? Don’t ya’ll have a gate? Yes, yes we do. And normally you would be correct. There is no way they could have unlatched the gate to get out of the backyard to the driveway. No way. So they did the next best thing.

Our fence has a gate and it’s also has where you can remove part of the fence, you know, so you can drive in your backyard. Yeah, so they actually moved the fence (somehow, I have no idea how) out of the way which is kind of tricky to get to the driveway with beer bottles in their hands to then go break on the driveway.

Not only did they go through the recycling bins for bottles but they moved fence. They planned this out. There was some strategy involved. Had to be. Methinks than when people say "Boys are crazy!" this is what they were talking about.

*Also if anyone out there is reading: If you go and like the link to this blog on fb and/ or retweet the link on Twitter (I am starting to like Twitter, I am so ashamed of myself, follow @staceygarrett) and if I can get let’s say 20 likes on fb and five retweets on Twitter (I have very few followers) by Sunday, I will post another story that I have actually been told not to tell. Ha. I am SUCH a whore. So go do that. Or not. It’s whatever.

Punishing Children that aren't Yours: A How-To...sort of

Yes, they are usually always this loving

I get this question a lot about my new found nanny-hood: Do you ever punish Garrett and Whitman? and/or How do you punish a kid that is not yours?

Short answers, heck yes and easily, and now I will break it down for you.

For the most part, as long as they aren’t harming themselves or anyone else and as long as nothing is in danger of being completely demolished, I let them do whatever they want. They almost never get out of control or take my lackadaisical approach to being a nanny for granted. They know if they are good around me, they can do whatever. But that is not to say I don’t have to break out the big guns from time to time.

Let me say now, because I know a lot of you still get confused, I am not a parent. I am not even a legal guardian. The two super duper cute little boys you see on my page constantly are my nephews.  I do take it as a compliment that people think they are mine and that I could make such adorable creatures, but alas, I didn’t. When I take them out in public, I get told constantly that my children are beautiful. I take this compliment with an enthusiastic “Thank you!” and accept it as my own compliment to both my womb and my genetics (technically, they did partly come from my genetics), even though I didn’t birth them. I was there when they were born, but that is it.

Though  not mine, they still do resemble me quite a bit

I don’t have a lot of experience with children either. I hated children until my family and friends started having them and I was like “Eh, kids aren’t so bad…” I would rather deal with children than most adults, mostly because children don’t judge and their assholish behavior comes from a genuine, honest place. They also aren’t that particularly hard to impress or entertain and that is a win/win in my book.

Though I have stopped numerous fights from escalating to bloodshed, overall they are pretty well behaved…for the most part.

90% of the time, they are loving and thoughtful boys that are well behaved and well mannered. Again, I’m not around kids often, but I think it’s a rarity to find children that are considerate of other people and most of the time they are. That other 10%, they are the evil, flesh eating spawn of a velociraptor.



See? Velociraptor.



Dirty-mouthed Velociraptor with a pumpkin

I have never spanked them or hit them, and I don’t look down on people that do spank their children. For some kids, spanking works as a valid form of discipline, I know it did with both my sister and I, with these two assholes, it doesn’t.

It is not to say that I don’t “believe” in spanking. When I tell people I refuse to spank, I usually get an eye-roll and a groan but, seriously, spanking doesn’t work. Also, let me say here, I don’t know shit about parenting. I am not a parent but I do have a small, slightly significant hand in raising these kids and I want to do my best.

I think I have spanked Garrett maybe twice and I want to say both of those times were to get his attention because he was being uncharacteristically unruly. When a child is screaming at the top of their lungs and flailing about it is very, very hard not to lose your cool. I did both of those times and I am not proud of it and I still feel like shit because of it.

Do they get warnings? Yes, they get two. The first tells them to stop what they are doing and to explain why they need to stop and the second says what is going to happen when they don’t stop. And that is it.

The Aunt/ Nephew punishment regime is based on privileges and losing or gaining them. They both watch television and play video games and they don’t care for these things to be taken away. Their reaction is also much worse when these things are taken away than if I had spanked them. I am also a firm believer in time out…I can almost hear the groans through the internet, but hear me out.

Have you ever witnessed a child in the corner? I have no doubt that is the most excruciating punishment that could ever happen to a child. Not only do they have to stand there with their nose in the corner not speaking or moving, but they have to do it for what feels like FOREVER to them. You can tell me that spanking is a better punishment but I do not believe you and I am pretty sure you are wrong.

I am also a firm believer in rewarding good behavior. Something as simple as letting them pick out a free game on the iPhone will get you immediate, well-behaved results every time. Some people call this bribery, I call it incentive.

Plus, they are also still little and very young (they get bigger and older every time I turn around and it breaks my heart. Garrett now has a loose tooth, I nearly cried). They don’t yet completely understand why they have to behave certain ways and if I can give them something or take them out for ice cream or give them a few pieces of candy to reward them for not killing each other or eating their dinner or picking up toys, it’s a small price to pay.

So how do other aunts/ nannies/ actual parents punish their nephews/ charges/ children?

Collierville: Keeping My Clothes On...sort of

Ok. I get this question a lot “What is it like living in Collierville?”

I am not sure if people mean, “What is it like living in the town of Collierville,” or “What is it like living with your sister and her family?” It could go either way, really. So, I will use this here blog to answer these questions from time to time. I will tell you my experiences in both living in the uppity (in my eyes at least) town of Collierville and in living with my sister and her family. I will start with the latter:

Back story: David and I separated in February and since Mississippi and I have never  been BFFs, I chose to leave. I had no job and very little money at the time so my options were slim. Well, I really didn’t have any other option than to live with my parents.  This would have been fine if my sister, her husband and her two children weren’t living with my parents as well. That’s seven people living under one roof.

To say that this wasn’t an ideal living arrangement is an understatement (one day I will speak of this experience but today is not that day). I love my family as much as the next person but living with all of them in a normal sized home is a bit much, especially when you share a bathroom with four other people, one of whom is your brother in law.

I’m not speaking of his bathroom habits, I have no clue of what those are and I don’t want to know, but there was always the threat of walking in on a naked Ron which was not something that I wanted to do. Ever.

It almost happened once. It was early in the morning something happened, pretty sure it was due to a loud child waking up, and pretty much everyone was woken up. I got up to pee and as I opened the bathroom door, I heard a hurried “waitaminute!” it was Ron who ALSO got up to pee. The light was off and I didn’t see him and I was half asleep so I didn’t hear him either. Can you imagine the awkwardness if I had walked into the potty room and damn near rubbed asses with my brother in law while he was taking an early morning pee?

I then learned to always, ALWAYS ask “Do you have clothes on?” or, “Is anyone in here?” before walking into a room. You have to. The awkward possibilities are endless.

This got me through the months in Bartlett with no incidences to speak of, thankfully.

Then we moved to Collierville. I didn’t have to share a bathroom anymore! I got my own bathroom…sort of. My bathroom is also the same one the boys use. The only issue I have with this is the constant threat of sitting on/ stepping in of urine. Besides that,  the only downside is I have to walk down the hall to get there.

I don’t sleep with clothes on. I am not saying this to sound sexy or provocative or to invoke any form of pornographic images, I just get hot (temperature wise). It’s as simple as that. So when I wake up in the middle of the night in nothing but underwear and I have to pee, I have to weigh out the options in my head, “Okay, I can just go for it and hope that Ron, too, didn’t wake up to pee at 3:33 in the morning, or I can put on my Super Hero Squad t-shirt from earlier, pull it down over my ass and run to the bathroom…hmmm….”  I usually, lazily go for the former. Do you know how annoying it to wake up the middle of the night and get dressed? It’s the pits, really. So I usually just throw my arms around myself and hope for the best. I’m a gambling man.

Some of you may be asking yourself “So you, like, don’t care if the boys see you naked???”  The answer is no, but I probably should.

I am sure that all the parents who read this know that kids don’t respect boundaries or privacy. Unless the door is locked, they are coming in whether you are clothed, naked or mid-coitus. They don’t give a fuck about their parent’s privacy or their personal space and since I am sort of a half-ass parent figure, they don’t care about mine either. They will open the shower door to ask you where their red Power Ranger is. They will barge in while you are changing to show you the new level they achieved on Call of Duty (yes, they play Call of Duty). They will have a seat on the toilet while you are taking a bath and carry on a conversation with you about Nerf guns, and then when they are done they will leave the room to get their Nerf gun and then shoot you with it. All of these things have happened to me within the past few months. I have tried to shield them from my nudity but it’s impossible so I gave up a long time ago. Yeah, it’s a little fucked up but what are you going to do?

I’m sorry did you just say keep the door locked? Let me break it down for you what happens when I lock the door: Kid knocks/ bangs on the door until I answer. If I say “Give me a minute, I am changing,” they wait two seconds and then bang on the door again. You repeat yourself again and again and they just keep on banging until finally you are screaming at the top of your lungs, “LOOK! I WILL OPEN THE DOOR WHEN I AM FINISHED! GIVE ME A MINUTE! GOH!” they then start crying and you are left incredulous at yourself for consoling this asshole kid when all you wanted was five minutes to yourself to change out of your work underwear. So, yeah, locking the door is more work than it is worth.

Do they see their mother naked? All the damn time. All you have to do to see Christy naked is to open your eyes and there she is. I don’t know of one of my friends that have met my sister, male and female, that haven’t seen her naked. Her nudity has decreased, however, with the invention of the robe but I probably see a full-blown nipple at least once a week.

I am sure the day will come when the entirety of the Prewitt family will have seen me nekkid and the awkwardness in that house will live on until I move out. And when that day comes know that I will never, ever leave my room.

Halloween: A time for Family

*This was written Monday*

I am skipping Asshole Monday today (even though you will find many assholes in today’s post) to bring you a story of some of the craziest shit that my two eyes have ever seen. Keep in mind I really haven’t seen that many crazy things in my lifetime.

This about Halloween, a Garrett Family Holiday if there ever was one.

I knew that dad went all out for Halloween, he has for many years, but I had no clue of the extent that he has gone to in the past few years until Sunday night.

I did my own thing with my own house on Halloween with fairly crappy results and hardly any trick-or-treaters. I have no house now, so I went to my parent’s house to shill out Halloween candy to the children/ pre-teens/ full-on adults in Bartlett.

Last year after having about 12 trick-or-treaters and giving up on the pussy-fied children of Southaven, dad told me he needed someone to hand out candy next year. My mom doesn’t much care for handing out candy and dad is too busy rigging things to fall from the sky to worry with it. I volunteered for this last year and I honor my word. So Sunday afternoon I applied my crack-whore make-up, grabbed my artfully torn fishnets and my cape and headed towards the Bartlett with Christy, Ron and the boys in tow.

Surprisingly (not at all surprising) Christy wanted to dress as a slut. She didn’t, but the idea she has was a pretty cute one. She would wear the Sexy Ghostbuster costume and Ron and Garrett would be your run of the mill Ghostbuster and Whitman would be the Stay Puft Marshmallow man. Sadly, Garrett and Whitman don’t know who the Ghostbusters are and Ron wasn’t dressing up. So that was a no go, but still a good idea for a family. I called Garrett a Jedi and he corrected me and told me that he was actually “Master Obi Wan.” And Whitman was a red Power Ranger with a red light saber. No Power Rangers don’t carry light sabers but according to Whitman, they should.  

After the endless drive from Collierville to Bartlett and as we are approaching my parent’s cove we see two signs, about a mile apart, pointing people towards the “Haunted Cove.” Shit.

Very, very small sample

When I say “Shit” I really mean “Holy Fucking Shit, what is going on here?” I walked in to a front yard of insanity. I am not exactly sure if any description that I could give it will do it justice. I am not even sure if pictures would do it justice, it is something that you will have to see for yourself.  I know Christy took a lot of pictures so once she gets them off her camera, I will post them.  But, again, they won’t convey to you the entire experience that this was.

When we arrived, Dad was standing outside admiring his work and talking to the neighbors that appeared, to me at least, to be geeks (we can spot our own). So they thought it was pretty cool and they were in awe of my damn-near 60-year-old father rigging up this madness.

When I say madness, that is exactly what I saw. Not in the things that he put together or the decoration of it all, though it was both impressive and awe inspiring. It was madness in the mass amounts of people, not just kids, but PEOPLE who showed up.

Dad likes to count his trick-or-treaters to know how successful he was at Halloween. Since I was manning the door I had the clicker counter in my hand and I was told to count everyone that came to the door whether they came for candy or just to look. We left at 9:30 and I had already counted over 450 people. That is a LOT of people to come to some random dude’s house on Halloween for nothing to more than to take a peek of his massive collection of Halloween shit.

There were people standing on the sidewalk just looking at everything. There were people posing in front of the house for pictures. There were families who just showed up only to take their picture at this house. There were people posing with the animatronic thingys and proudly snapping photos. There were people EVERYWHERE. And this was just a house in the suburbs. I had no clue it was this much insanity and I was informed that it gets bigger and more people come every year. And I can’t tell you how many cars just drove in the cove to check it out. They didn’t get out of the car or anything, but they saw the signs and just drove in to take a gander. Insanity. And, apparently, the liberal media has caught on to this as well.

Dad was on the news the day before Halloween. It was on WREG and I have no clue of what the segment was called but I am sure it was something along the lines of “Over the Top Halloween in the Mid-South.” We didn’t see it, but someone that came by said “I saw you guys on the news!” This shit is making the NEWS, people. Not that the news around here is that prestigious, but still. The news. It’s just a guy who overly decorates for Halloween. (If anyone can find the clip for me, that would be great. I tried looking but found nothing and he would be pumped to see it.)

But that doesn’t mean that people didn’t want to take a gander at it which leads me to my small rant about trick-or-treaters these days:

What is the cut off age these days, 18? I saw punks with car keys in one hand and a candy bag in the other. And then there were the assholes who didn’t even have a bag, they just held out their hand, like “Go ahead and give me candy even though I know you don’t want to because I am old enough to vote…want a cigarette?”

And what happened to kids saying “Trick or treat!” and “Thank you!” Common Halloween courtesy was few and far between this year. And to all the punk ass kids that were too damn old to be trick or treating, if you are going to ask strangers for candy, at least dress up. Don’t come to me in a sweatshirt and jeans asking for candy. What are you supposed to be? An asshole? Good job pulling that one off. The most memorable offenders of this were the “rock band.” 

Lead Singer: “Trick or treat?”

Me: “Are you seriously asking me for candy? You have a full beard…”

Lead Singer: “We are in a rock band. See my guitar? This is part of the costume.”

Me: “But that’s a real beard and you seriously drove yourself here.”

Lead Singer: *showing his guitar* “See, we are in costume.”

I reluctantly gave this asshat candy but instructed him to shave next time if he is really going to trick or treat even though he is a grown ass man. It was him and two of his friends dressed like any normal 18 year old kids who don’t give a fuck and they called themselves a rock band.

I also had a hard time giving candy to an early teen dressed in garter snaps and a mini-skirt but at least she was dressed up! She was dressed up as a slutted-out Strawberry Shortcake but it was a costume. Props where props are due.

I have to give a few kids a pass for not saying anything when I handed them their candy. A lot of them were so distracted by everything going on around them that they couldn’t think straight and I forgive them for this. I am just applauding small children for being  brave enough to walk up to the door.

When I was little there is no amount of candy in the world that would have made me walk up this house but there were a surprising amount of kids that had no issue with it. Most kids came to the door and bravely got their candy. One little girl, I would say she was around eight, was dressed as a candy corn witch and she marched up the door and loudly proclaimed, “I am going up to that door right now and getting my candy. I am not scared. It is just a house!” I applauded her moxie. She is going to be fun when she grows up. I can tell. I awarded her with a good hand-full of candy.

Yes, we were very close to running out of candy. I gave out a certain number of pieces to each kid and that decided upon by their age. Old kids got one piece, adorable small children got however much I could get into my hand. I also had help in the candy giving out department. Garrett wanted to help but he only wanted to help the chicks. And not just any chicks, it was the tweens and the teenage girls. He was all “I want to do it!” He’s five and he has serious game.

Speaking of future dirty old men, my dad took it upon himself to point every father/ boy/ son/ punk to the front door to “check out” his “single” daughter. Geez. I guess he didn’t take into account that if I had taken interest in any of the males he sent my way it would have resulted in either a felony or adultery, thanks dad!

Overall it was a pretty fun night. Dad gets pretty into the whole thing and he was pretty proud of both the insanity the house was causing and his daughter donning copious amounts of fake blood to hand out candy for him. Who knew I could make him proud by dressing like an asshole? It really is that easy, apparently.

You might be asking yourselves, “If he does all this for Halloween, what does he do for Christmas?!” The answer to that is: absolutely nothing. He could care less about Christmas.  He puts lights in the windows and has a blow-up or two and that is it. He doesn’t even want a Christmas tree. Halloween is his Christmas.



Here, small child, pose in front of these skulls and fake dead people



You also might be asking, “Aren’t Garrett and Whitman terrified?” Not in the least. I can see how a regular toddler would piss their pants at the sight of animatronics insanity, not them. They have gotten used to it over the years and they know it is just their crazy granddaddy being crazy. When we pulled up the house Sunday Whitman yelled, “This is AWESOME!” And I think you are forgetting that they have ME as an aunt. They have seen far more blood and guts and monsters and zombies than all other children they know combined. They are phased by little.

The only thing they are scared of is the butler. His eyes follow you wherever you walk and it breathes in and out. It’s pretty creepy, for sure. They are fine with the severed clown heads, the demonic baby, the imprisoned demon, the skulls, the spiders, the graves, the skeletons, the rats, the crows, the mummy in a real coffin, and all the rigged ghosts flying overhead. They are cool with all of that, but they don’t fuck around with that butler.

I really need to amp up my costume for next year. While perusing the store for anything reasonable I could wear for a Halloween costume I found a Bellatrix Lestrange costume complete with Death Eater mask. Yeah, that is what I am going to be next year, I am pretty sure. It was full of awesome. Let it be said now that I do not support Voldermort or his army of Death Eaters.

Yes, I am already planning my costume for next year. I am my father’s daughter.

Someone Has to Teach Children Serial Killers aren't Real...oh...wait...

Michael Myers - kids love him

I have taken to calling myself “The Nanny.” Whenever random ass neighbors come knocking, or punk ass kids are trying to sell something, I just say “I am just the nanny…” and I am then relieved of all responsibility of whatever this person needs. Pass the buck, I say.

It’s easier and it requires no explanation. Plus it makes Christy and Ron sound cool for having a nanny. Ooohhh aaaaaahhh. I am pretty sure having a nanny in Collierville is very upper-crusty. And it kind of makes me look exotic or something. I need to work on my Russian accent and change my name to…something Russian.

However, I am in no way a nanny. Sure, I take care of the kids every now and again and I am happy to make sure they are fed, cleaned, punished or whatever but the majority of the time, I am left to do my own thing.  Plus, I make a shitty nanny.

Garrett loves scary movies. I try and only let him watch the ones that are PG-13 or the ones that don’t contain too much violence or bad language. My main concern is bad language because I know if he repeats it and gets in trouble, it’s coming back on me (because I am the only person EVER that slips up and says bad words in front of children occasionally…). See, I’m responsible. Yes, I know some of you are horrified, but he is tough, he can take it. If it’s on regular TV, I usually let him watch it since the language is usually edited out and there is no nudity or anything.

Halloween 5 was on AMC last night. Garrett said he wanted to watch a scary movie, this one happened to be on, it was edited for TV, so I let him watch it. Whitman was there too but he is not such a fan of the horror movies. But if his big brother is willing to watch it and you will let him sit in your lap, he will watch as well, he doesn’t want to miss out. So I had two toddlers sitting on my lap in an old hand-me-down recliner watching Halloween 5. They were terrified to say the least.

If they get too scared, I always turn it off. I don’t want to give them insane nightmares (there’s that responsibleness again!) but they usually want to power through it. There was a whole lot of creepy Michael Myers stalking going on and it proved too much for them. And it was the beginning of the movie so there wasn’t a whole lot of bloodshed just yet. Just, you know, a maniacal serial killer stalking babysitters. No big woo.  Throughout the 30 minutes that the boys actually sat there, they covered their eyes and/or closed their eyes altogether. At one point they both got up and hid behind the chair. I then changed the channel and Garrett said, “What did you change it for? I was watching that!” Kid’s a trooper, what can I say? I didn’t change it back, they had enough for one night. Besides tonight The Exorcist will be on…(I would never let them watch The Exorcist and it’s not coming on TV anyway).

Also last night (had a crazy night in the ‘ville) the doorbell rang around 7:00.  Usually it’s the boys because, for some reason, children like to be super annoying and ring the doorbell over and over again. They even found a doorbell in the garage. Who has a doorbell in the garage? Apparently we do. Anyhoo, there were a handful of children at the door giving us a flyer for Trunk R Treat at the church located right behind the house. It is actually on Halloween night so that kids won’t be subjected to evil devil worshipping witches handing out candy coated razorblades. The boys were upstairs with me when Ron answered the door. During this time, I was showing Garrett and Whitman my Halloween costume.* 

While Ron is talking to the Tween Christian Coalition, Garrett runs to the doorway, interrupting Ron and the tweens, and says “Dad! You should see Stacey’s Halloween costume. She’s going to be a scary vampire and she’s got fake blood and everything! It’s going to be the coolest!” Heh heh heh. I had just heard the TCC say something along the lines of “There won’t be anything scary or gory to scare the little ones.” Don’t worry, we scare our own around here. Also, Garrett is awesome. I tell him every day that he is the coolest kid ever. Both his mother and I were raised to have pretty high awesome self esteem, I’m just trying to pay it forward.

*I was informed by my dad a few days ago that he bought me some “nice” vampire teeth that were expensive, so it looks like I am a vampire. I bought a cape and some fake blood and I am just going to wear like a black dress or something.  You might be thinking to yourself “Why can’t you just be whatever you want to be?” Apparently you are unaware at how seriously the man takes his Halloween. He probably sought out the best vampire teeth one can buy. I have no doubt that he researched it through all of his Halloween contacts and purchased the best pair, so I can’t let the man down.

Kids Say the most Spastic Things

Remember when he was this little and he didn't judge???

Children can be terribly judgemental at times and I know that this is shocking to no one.

Whoever told Garrett that every time a police car is around, someone is going to jail needs to be beaten. And I am only 30% sure that this person wasn’t me.

You can’t go over the speed limit or he will easily flip his shit. One night Christy, Garrett, Whitman and myself were heading to eat dinner at the local Mexican restaurant and we drove exactly 40 miles an hour the whole way. Garrett didn’t start to freak out until he saw a police car parked in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Screaming, face pulling, crying and hyperventilation ensued.

He was convinced that Christy was speeding and were about to be pulled over and everyone in the car would be taken to jail, including him and Whitman. I don’t know how many times I have told him that children his age and younger can’t be taken to jail. He remains unconvinced.

Saturday I had to take him and Whitman to the zoo for an event for MDA for my sister. Christy had to be there super early, so the kids could sleep a little longer and not drive her crazy while she did work things, I was happy to take them up there for her at a later time. In order to get to the zoo from Collierville I had to get on the interstate and I feared that this would invoke the wrath of Garrett and his speeding phobia. It did.

As soon as I merged onto 385, he started to freak out, “STOP SPEEDING!” and so on and so forth. I assured him I wasn’t going any faster than the people in front of me. As long as we are all going the same speed, no one will go to jail. He was quiet for a minute but I could see the terror quietly building.  He kept it at bay long enough to negotiate:

Garrett: “Go back to the 2.”

Me: “You want me to go 20 miles an hour on the interstate?”

Garrett: “Yes.”

Me: “That seems unreasonable.”

Garrett: “No it’s not.”

I refused because that is insanity and I won’t let a 5-year-old backseat drive me and he started screaming for me to stop speeding again and again until I  had to pull out the Mean Aunt Stacey voice and tell him that I have heard enough and to please chill out until we got the zoo. He was in no danger and no one was going to jail.

I have no doubt that after I dropped them off and made sure they were safely in the zoo, he told anyone who would listen that we narrowly escaped jail. I would shrug his speeding freak-outs off as a kid just trying to make sure no one goes to jail, but I feel this is just the tip of the OCD iceberg.

He is going to be really annoying when he starts attending D.A.R.E. meetings at school. It’s a large fear I have.

I remember attending those at school and being terrified at the thought of drugs and alcohol especially when they said, “Don’t let your parents fool you, alcohol is a DRUG!” I don’t think that is exactly what they said but it was something along those lines. My parents don’t drink so I was never really terrified that they were going to become junkies free basing in our laundry room. I hardly ever saw alcohol and when I did it was either on TV or at Catholic weddings which I used to cater (yes, I used to cater weddings when I was a child. True story. Maybe one day I will tell you about it.) I figured I didn’t know any of those people so their abuse of the evils of alcohol meant nothing to me. Such is not the case with Garrett.

He already tells his Kindergarten teacher that all his parents and aunt do is sit around drinking cold beer (he calls it “cold beer” never just “beer” the kid is smart, he knows beer should always be cold) all day long which…isn’t entirely untrue. So I have a feeling when he is formally taught that alcohol is bad for you and leads to all kinds of bad things, we are all in for some rough times.

Is he going to run screaming at us, arms flailing, trying to knock the drinks out of our hands? Are we going to get lectured every time we crack open a cold beer? Are we going to be silently judged by a child for the next 10 years until he turns 15 (!) and he starts drinking for himself? Is he going to call Child Services on us for drinking a few beverages a day a week?

In all honesty I picture it going something like this: Ron, Christy or myself will be drinking something that isn’t tea or Juicy Juice and Garrett will say something along the lines of “Stop drinking alcohol! It’s bad for you! You’re going to get a fat booty!” And after the 143^rd time this happens, and we are tired of trying to explain to him that we aren’t alcoholics and that we will be okay, we just send him to his room with no cold beer.

Why?

Why does my sister feel that I really need to see the giant turd that
Whitman just expelled. She even sent him up here to tell me, "It's a
big, big one! It's a nake!" and then he cried when I refused to go
look at it.

And then my sister is all "No! You have to see this!" She took a
picture of it with her phone and then showed it to me? Why? Why do
moms feel this is necessary?

I can't be sure but I think she just measured it.

Sent from my iPhone

Thankfully, I was at least semi-clothed

The past couple of days have NOT been my jam.

Yesterday morning as I am hauling ass to my car to then haul ass to work, I notice that my bag (some people call them purses, I call them bags) seems a little lighter than usual. I ignored that and just went on about my half day that I took yesterday. Before I left for work, I go into my bag to look for…something and I notice that my giant lady wallet is not there.

I didn’t immediately start to freak out. I assumed it was just at home somewhere. I would go on about the things I needed to do and look for it when I got home. No need to freak out just yet. I left work at 12:00 and I went and picked up Stella and all of her things and I headed home.

I got home, unloaded Stella and I started looking for my wallet. I looked everywhere. The kitchen. The living room. My room. The bathroom. The boys room. Outside. Nothing. My room is in a disheveled mess right now due to the great yarn reorganization 2010 so there is yarn everywhere. I looked through every bin, basket and shelf thinking that maybe in my yarn haze I took my wallet out of my bag for some reason I can not think of at this moment and put it in my yarn. Yes, that does seem absurd but who knows, really?

I apparently don’t because I still haven’t found that fucker. It’s not at work. I called security and the front desk to see if a wallet has been turned in. Nope. The last place I remember using it was Target on Wednesday. I called Target yesterday to see if I was just stupid enough to leave it there.  They didn’t see one but they told me to call back in about an hour to talk to the retail manager because he sometimes keeps things in his office like lost wallets from stupid people.  

What really, really sucks is that, of course my license is in there AND my social security card. Yes, I know that you aren’t supposed to have your social security card in your wallet in case it gets stolen, but I since I got a new job, guess what you are going to need??? A Social Security card so I haven’t taken it out of my wallet yet. So not only do I have to get a new license, I have to get a new social security card as well. Say it with me…Fuck. My. Life.

And it still could possibly be at Target but I wouldn’t know. I failed to call back because I locked myself out of the house.

You see, Whitman has this obsession with locking doors. Not sure why, he just wants to make sure all doors are locked. We had to break into my bathroom one day because he successfully locked everyone out. We have those tricky door knobs that you just push the button in to lock the doors. Easy enough for a three-year-old to lock any door.

Christy even told me a few days ago that she is terrified that Whitman is going to lock everyone out of the house one day from his constant door locking. Well he didn’t lock everyone out, just me. I have, so far, been the only person locked out of the house.  Why was I even outside, you ask? Let me drop some knowledge:

Stella had just gone out a couple hours ago but she drank a lot of water when we got home so I decided to let her out.  I let her out the back door and she just stared at me. I know what this look means. It means that she doesn’t want to go out by herself, she wants you out there with her. So, being the good dog owner I am, I went out there with her. And, naturally, I shut the door behind me.

Stella did her business and I turned to go back inside, set on taking a nice nap for an hour or two when…the knob wouldn’t turn. Sometimes it sticks and you think it’s locked but it’s not. That was not the case yesterday. I tried for longer than I care to admit here to turn the knob in hopes that it would give. It didn’t.  And, as it turns out, unleashing a string of vile and offensive words at the door in rapid succession, doesn’t make the door want to open either, for future reference.

I am not sure what time this was. If I had to guess, I would say it was a few minutes before 3:00.  Ron doesn’t get home until 4:30 so I had close to two hours locked outside of the house. They do have a garage keypad but no one knows the code yet and this wouldn’t have mattered anyway because I didn’t have a phone to call anyone and say  “Hey, I locked myself out of the house…yes, yes I know that is stupid…can you give me the garage code…you don’t know it?...well I guess I will just wait until Ron gets home…”

I have little doubt that that is exactly how the conversation would have gone so having a phone or not, wouldn’t have mattered. I was locked in the outside quadrant of the house. Fuckity fuck fuck!

I came in through the front door when I got home and I went in and out of it several times looking for my wallet and ransacking my car for it so I thought “Wow, it sure would be lucky if I left the front door unlocked.”

I didn’t have shoes on and our driveway/ walkway isn’t just paved with the gravel cement shit that is hell on your feet, I swear to you that it is paved in small, sharp, jutting boulders.  So I walked to the front door, braving jagged, pointy hell on bare feet and I tried to see if maybe, just MAYBE it was unlocked. It wasn’t. I then had to walk back over the boulders to the backyard, where I waited.  

In retrospect, it wasn’t that bad.  I sat with my feet in the pool and just hung out. It was warm yesterday so I could have actually gotten into the pool and hung out there but I only had on a tank top and shorts. And I wasn’t about to get in with clothes on and taking them off at 3:00 in the afternoon for a skinny dip in Collierville was out of the question. I think they arrest people for that there. And I have no desire to appear naked in my sister’s pool when her husband gets home with their two children. I just don’t. So I settled on wading under a large acorn tree that pelted me with hard acorns every 15 minutes when the wind blew hard enough to shake them loose.

Stella, being an asshole, wanted to go in. She was bored with the outside and she needed to explore the house a little more, so she would stand outside the door and whine. Dummy. I tried to explain to her that she can whine all she wants but we aren’t going anywhere any time soon.  She didn’t quite grasp what I was trying to say and she continued sitting there, whining and looking at me like “I don’t understand why you don’t just open the door? You’re so MEAN!”

When Ron finally got home I let Whitman know that he locked me out of the house and it was all his fault for having an obsessive need to lock doors. He replied by putting his hand on my arm and saying, “I sowwy.” I couldn’t really be mad after that. I wasn’t even mad, it was more funny that the day I notice my wallet missing is also the day that I lock my dumb ass out of the house.

When Christy got home she asked “Why didn’t you just go next door the neighbors (Mr. Roper) and wait there?” Was she high? Does she know me? The chances of me knocking on a near stranger’s door and hanging out in their home for hours in inappropriately short shorts and a tank top that really should have had a bra worn with it, are non existent. I suck more than anyone at small talk and it was bad enough that I lost my wallet and locked myself out of the house in the same day so, no, I wasn’t going to make my day even worse by hanging out with Mr. Roper. Homey don’t play that.  

I have so far cancelled my check card and ordered new checks and the thought of getting a new license makes me want to cry. I was just there in JUNE and now you are telling me I have to go back?

Wallet, wherever you are, please turn up. You are my newish, awesome, red Hello Kitty wallet and I love you and I miss you. Come home to me. Show yourself you big coward?!? Where in the living fuck are you?