It’s been a long time since my house has looked this bad, but we’re in the Get Out of Jail Free Card window–the remnants of one holiday still hanging around, the beginning of another emerging, a time change, a Monday, a new month, a year’s end–together a perfectly good excuse to let it go for now, knowing it can all be put back together later.
Let’s get to the important stuff, shall we? Halloween!
I’m sad I didn’t get a lot of pictures this year. It was hot and muggy, the chicken lasted only two houses of trick-or-treating, Lainey shed her pig cape early (a strategic move, I’m sure, as underneath was the most blazing neon Justice shirt in the history of mankind), and it rained. But we had a strong start. I mean, for Pete’s sake, I hot-glued hay and white fencing on the wagon to overcompensate for what I knew would turn out to be a night of hot, half-dressed kids running wild on sugar and a dirty neglected chicken hat lying next to a mess of spilled kitty litter from the luminary bag that got wet and ripped open in the driveway.
But look! Pre-game was on point.
I dressed up as Frida Kahlo because I had everything in my closet to pull it off, minus an easy D.I.Y. flower crown. And also because it gave me the opportunity to dramatically fill in my sparse eyebrows. And also because I could put my resting bitch face to good use in pictures. And also because Frida’s words and life inspire me, and I love her. She was a pioneer in the selfie world.
I gave my friend Rebecca a blond wig for a costume–an obscure character that we ended up naming Estelle. Estelle’s character became more and more defined throughout the night as we had too much fun writing her story line–she’s from Jersey, is dating a guy named Mikey but likes his brother Nicky, calls everybody “Honey” and her Jersey accent is perfection. It was so much fun, I fell into Estelle’s character by the end of the night as well–which was completely confusing to everyone: Mexican painter running down the dark street in vintage granny boots, squeaking out a nasally, “Yo, ‘Stellie, wait up. My bubbies are falling out of this frickin’ bra.” Pretty sure I will only greet and carry on conversations with Rebecca as Estelle now. Possibly the rest of the world as well.
The farm animal puns were also aplenty.
Let’s see there was:
The Farmer and the Nell
Pig in a Blanket
Chicken Strips (Nella removes costume)
Fried Chicken (Nella doesn’t want to trick-or-treat anymore)
Insert random picture of my chicken being cute at school.
She walked in her school’s costume parade and chose a casual one-eyed peek from under her beak over her friends’ more obvious princess waves to acknowledge my presence in the sidelines. She’s subtle like that.
And now here we are, November.
Come join me at my virtual flagpole while I raise the holiday freak flag up two more notches. While we’re there, I’ll confess to you that I hung a frosted pine cone garland this weekend.
Things are a little nutty and messy over here, and I feel like I can’t keep up, but we’re happy and riding the current.
From last night’s Instagram post:
Sometimes when all the mothering juggling balls have fallen and I’m standing there holding nothing, looking at the mess of what I wasn’t able to keep in the air, I pick one ball–usually a weird one that ranks of little importance compared to the others–and I make that ball my all. The house is trashed, the kids ate Costco hot dogs for dinner, I have 100 e-mails I haven’t returned and work to do but, so help me God, Nella’s class bear journal we’re returning tomorrow? A work of art.
We had so much fun neglecting life to write stories and take pictures of a little bear named Theodore this weekend–a project the whole family embraced–and Nella’s asked me to reread his journal adventures at least 10 times now.
Too many balls in the air? Let them fall. And then pick one–just one–that will make you happy, and juggle away for a while.
From Theodore stories to ballet class last night…
Just one ball at a time. We can handle that. Or as Estelle would say, “Honey, lemme tell ya, ya doin’ just swell.”
