Cheap Therapy

I have a phobia. Okay, actually I have several, but I'm only going to talk about one of them. It's something that's been bothering me for a long time, and I think it's getting worse every year. Maybe when I see it in writing, I'll realize I'm just being silly and be able to get over. So, really, this is just the cheapskate in me coming out. I don't want to have to fork over big bucks to a therapist. So here goes...

I'm afraid of Halloween. There. I said it. Now, just to be clear, I'm not afraid of witches or zombies or vampires or any of the ghoulish things that might be lurking in the dark. Quite frankly, I don't believe in them. I think what I'm actually afraid of is the possibility of ruining everyone else' excitement by my lack of zest for the occasion.

As a child I quite looked forward to Halloween. I somehow was able to overlook the cold and the dark to enjoy donning one of the silly costumes my mom had in her "tickle trunk" and go trick-or-treating with my friends. But something has happened over the years, to the point that I start to feel nervous about mid October, with the feeling escalating each day, until at last I feel a sense of great relief on November 1. As I've thought about it this past little while, I think I've pinpointed the exact day my feelings for Halloween started to change.

A little over 21 years ago The Mr. and I were blessed with twin sons. When they were first born they slept all the time, so I figured life was still pretty easy. I suppose that is why I agreed to be the MC for the Halloween parade at our daughters' school in just a few short weeks. By the time those few weeks rolled around, these little babies had woken up, demanding all my attention, and I found it ridiculously challenging to get anything accomplished.

The dad who had been the MC the previous year did a really great job - fantastic costume, witty quips, great interaction with the audience. He was a tough act to follow. Not wanting to disappoint, I had put a lot of pressure on myself to be just as entertaining as he was. That was a bad idea. After all, he wasn't breastfeeding twins. 24 HOURS A DAY!!

October 31st rolled around, and things weren't going well. The boys were fussy, and not eating properly, I barely got the girls out the door with a semblance of a costume, I hadn't had a chance to get in the shower. In days. I still hadn't finished my witty poems that I was writing about several of the staff and students to fill the silence as they marched through the gym. It was time to leave for the school even though the babies hadn't finished eating (strike one), and my costume wasn't complete (strike two), and my poems weren't finished (strike three).

Arriving at the school a few minutes late, my babies were foisted upon some previously designated volunteers, and I rushed into the gym. All eyes were upon me as I took my place. I knew what they were thinking: "Too bad her costume's not nearly as good as Mr. Mantika's from last year." I stumbled through my poems (and then proceeded to make up more on the spot when I ran out), all the while reading their thoughts: "I wonder why they asked her to be the MC. She's not nearly as clever as Mr. Mantika."

Thankfully, the program was over. I quickly left to pick up my (screaming) babies who were needing to eat, and then made a quick get-a-way, disappointed with my poor performance. Having their needs met, I put the boys - and myself - down for a well-deserved nap. That was short lived, however, when I realized that in all my confusion the last few days I had forgotten to purchase any Halloween candy. I woke the boys to put them in the stroller (the car was in the repair shop) and race to the store before the girls got home from school. Now, don't ask me how this happened, but there was absolutely no candy left. None! I decided I would have to make Halloween cookies to pass out. It was a lot of work, but after several hours, I got them done and individually wrapped, and they looked really cute! Now, I know what you're thinking, but honestly, it didn't even cross my mind. After all this was 21 years ago.

Well, it was time for the trick-or-treating to start, the babies were tired of being neglected, and I was still trying to get supper on the table. The girls were anxious to leave the house, but I was determined they had to eat something healthy before all that sugar. Finally, looking so cute in their "witch" and "businessman" costumes, they started out on their own (yeah, yeah, I know. But again, this was 21 years ago, in a small town, where we knew all our neighbors). Soon they came home visibly upset. It turns out one of our neighbors had scolded Daughter #1 because she was wearing a witch costume, and she "shouldn't be worshipping the devil and all his forms of evil". So instead of giving them candy, the lady gave them little cards with bible verses printed on them. Needless to say they weren't in the mood to do anymore trick-or-treating. And then to make matters worse, one of the kids who came trick-or-treating to our house looked at the cookies, and said "Everyone's just going to throw those in the garbage, you know. We're not supposed to accept things that don't come from the store." I turned away quickly so she wouldn't see me crying. All in all, it was a horrible day.

So, there it is. I really do think that was the beginning of my resentment towards Halloween. I feel like I let everyone down that fateful day. And I kind of think that's why I've dreaded it ever since.

I haven't bought any Halloween candy yet this year, and October 31 is only two days away. Interestingly, I think writing this down really has been theraputic. I should probably go to the store right away.

Dixie

Hippie Love

On Friday night our family attended our church Halloween party. I have to admit, I'm not crazy about Halloween - the dark, the cold, and especially the gruesome - but I do enjoy the dressing up part. And since this party was being held indoors, it seemed like a good fit. The Mr. isn't as enthusiastic about dressing up as I am, so I was a little hesitant to initiate this conversation:

"Honey, would you like to go to the church Halloween party?"

"Sure."

"Would you be willing to dress up with me?"

"Okay."

"Really? Like you'll wear a wig and everything?"

"Sure."

Wow, that was a lot easier than I anticipated. I figured once I showed him the costume I'd come up with, he'd change his mind. But he didn't. Even when I told him he'd have to come to the church by himself with his costume on (because the kids and I would already be there for a play rehearsal) he was still okay with it! And he wore it the entire evening without altering anything. How could I not love this guy.?
And, contrary to popular belief by our fellow church members, we didn't really dress like this when we were teenagers. Please. We're not that old.

Dixie

Closet Cowgirl??

I recently took a trip to visit Daughter #1 and her family. Leaving The Mr. and my three youngest at home, I hit the dusty trail. Okay, it wasn't exactly dusty; it was, in fact, raining - and then snowing - the whole way. But the depressing weather is not what concerned me. I have bigger issues to deal with.

When I travel alone I love to crank up the radio and sing along. The more familiar I am with the song, the louder I sing - and the faster I drive. You know what I'm talking about. I normally have my car radio set to a local station that plays soft rock/pop, and that's what I was singing along to as I started on my five-hour journey. After about an hour I realized this station was getting fuzzy, and starting to grate on my nerves. As I fiddled with the dial to find another station, imagine my surprise - not to mention disappointment - when I realized the only station I could pick up in this remote area was a country station!

Now, I have nothing against country music (or western folk, for that matter), it's just that I've never been part of that crowd and, to be honest, never had a desire to be. I grew up in a small town where the high school students sorted themselves into the usual groups: stoners, cowboys, honor students, jocks, etc. Since I had no desire to fit in with the first two groups, and no talent to fit in with the last two, it seemed natural that I got involved in the only thing that was left - student leadership. But I digress. What I'm trying to say is that I've pretty much stuck to that mold, never experiencing much out of my comfort zone - including country music. Back to my story...

As I continued my travels, I listened to one country song after another, all the while thinking I was just "putting up" with this kind of music until I could receive a different radio signal. Well, at one point I happened to notice that my thumbs were tapping along to the beat on the steering wheel. (I ignored that, assuming I had some kind of twitch.) A few moments later I realized my shoulders were swaying. What was that about? After all, I don't like county music. As I checked the speedometer, I realized I was going WAY to fast. Huh?? That only happens when I really like the song I'm listening to. What was that song? Something about three rounds with Jose Cuervo. (And, no, I don't condone this particular kind of behavior, but it really did have a fun beat.) Well, as the next couple of hours passed I tried to suppress my prejudice. I decided I kind of liked country music. Kind of. I listened to one song after another getting more and more into it, until at one point I caught myself singing at the top of my lungs, "...straw hats and old dirty hankies..." What? How did I even know those words? I was really getting worried.

Luckily, the signal for this station was starting to break up, and I found another one. Oh, good, it was something I'm comfortable with. As if to prove something to myself, I energetically sang along to "The Boys in the Bright White Sports Car", followed by "Mambo Number Five" and "Hey There, Delilah". I was really getting into it. And then, as a sort of special tribute to my high school roots, I belted out every single word to "I Will Survive!" Phew! I was back to normal. I knew it was just a temporary setback.

I'm not saying that I'll never listen to country music again. I probably will. But if The Mr. thinks I'm gonna let him get that cowboy hat and pair of boots he's been wanting for the last 20 years, he can think again!

Dixie