Halloween

The kids with their carvings

Usually I enjoy this time of year. I like sewing costumes even if I do wait until the absolute last minute. I just wasn't feeling it this year, but I managed to muster up the strength to sew, sew, sew.

Ward trunk-or-treat

Adam and Zach couldn't make up their minds this year. At first it was all about being an astronaut. It went from astronaut to ghost. Too easy, I thought. I already have the white fabric. Then it went from ghost to Ironman. The conversation went something like this.
Adam: We want to be Ironman
Mom: I thought you wanted to be a ghost
Zach: No, we want to be Ironman now
Mom: But I already have the stuff to make you a ghost
Adam: (pout)
Zach: (tantrum)
Mom: I'm not going to make you Ironman because I have started to make you a ghost
Zach: Then can we be the ghost of Ironman?
Mom: No, just a ghost, but how about a scary ghost.
Adam/Zach: That sounds like a plan

(That is their new phrase for just about everything, "That sounds like a plan." )

They weren't too thrilled about the idea of wearing a mask or anything over their heads, so we opted for white paint. Yeah, the do look a little like Michael Keaton in Beetlejuice, but they were happy.

Adam's scary face

Zach's scary face

Maren said she wanted to be an Egyptian Princess. So call the costume an Egyptian Princess or Cleopatra or whatever. I call it NEVER AGAIN. This costume was a royal pain in the.....


So here it is. The original Diva Dress. Hopefully she won't grow any over the next 10 years so I can get my time and monies worth out of this gown. If by chance she does, it'll be available for rent next Halloween.

You have to check out the back of this too. Man, I totally outdid myself.

Some people call me the Space Cowboy

Ft. Hood is the Great Place.... or at least the sign above the gate says so.

"Welcome to the Great Place"

I honestly have to wonder who coined that phrase. Ft. Hood and/or Texas and "great" are not words I tend to use in the same sentence.

We have been here about 2 1/2 years now. I've been a good Army wife (not like the ones you see on TV - that is a far cry from reality). I have done my best to make the best of the Lone Star State, but I really feel like Gene Autry lied to me.

The stars at night are not that big and bright....

And I have yet to hear anyone say ki-yippee-yippe-yi

I know it's considered poor etiquette to openly dislike Texas while within her boarders.

Etiquette is a bit of stretch too. There is actually a dress protocol of Texas Casual (i.e. boots and Wranglers). Emily Post would not condone this.

Anyway, an open negative comments about the People's Republic of Texas is like Spongebob taking on Sandy Cheeks. You might very well get karate chopped for it.

I have, however, become acclimatized to the harsh Texas conditions (yes, I shiver when the mercury dips below 93) and urbanized - which is ironic considering we literally are in Cowboy country; the most country thing we have done since living here is go to the Dairy Queen. My children have developed southern accents. Not to mention my country drawl is getting might thick as well. That is going above and beyond in making the most of 'where the Army sends you'. All that said, I just don't think I'll be embracing a longhorn any time soon.

~*~

Adam and Zach (who now insists his name is Zach E. Zach - future rapper?) have had a recent fascination with astronauts. Not necessarily stars and planets, just men in oversized white snow suits.

I blame Dwayne Johnson.

I really do love their imaginations, and most of the time I'm happy to play Spaceman and the Martian Mom with them. Maybe I shouldn't encourage all their misconceptions about the science - they believe space exploration to be a combination of Planet 51 and Toy Story - but to my own amusement I do.

The other day Adam told me that astronauts don't sleep. He elaborated by telling me all about how the live in spaceshits (no, not a typo) and they work in the stars. Zach added to the debate by explaining that astronauts always work at night; therefore, because he and Adam were astronauts (or Buzz Lightyear, I forget) they shouldn't have to go to bed. It was late. I was tired. They won, but they had to look at the stars on their ceiling and the light had to be turned out.

I suppose they really did have a compelling argument. If you think about it, it is always night in space. But spaceshits sounds like something contagious floating around NASA....

Uh, Houston. We have a problem.

Boys are just different

Raising little boys is far different than raising little girls - much different than I could have ever imagined. I thought kids were kids and they were all pretty much the same until they were old enough to know otherwise.

Maren was never a girly-girl, but compare to the twins she was valedictorian of the Pretty Princess Academy for Social Refinement. The boys are destructive, loud, and messy. I did not know spitting and hitting came naturally. As does interest in all things gross from bugs to boogers. Lately it has been their fascination with everything poop that has my rolling my eyes.

The other day I came home to find my husband - my 40 year old husband - sitting at the computer with a child on each knee. "What 'cha doin'," I asked. To my horror Adam replied, "We're finding elephants pooping."

Maybe "horror" is a bit of an embelishment, but I have creative license here. It's my blog.

I shot Cooper a look. I know I did. A look that shouted what-the-hell! (Another expletive should probably be inserted here, but I'm keeping it rated PG.)

He said, "Well, they wanted to see elephants pooping." Which was followed by giggles and other affirmation that Dad is awesome!

And as it turns out, you can find video of elephants taking a dump on YouTube. (I was going to post the video, but I couldn't find the one they were watching. You're welcome to search for yourselves. You know you want to.)

Dad is awesome. What can I say? I would have never thought to search YouTube for wildlife relieving themselves as an entertainment source for three year old boys.

I swear I didn't teach them these things. I don't even recall making vroom, vroom noises while playing cars let alone tee-heeing about pachyderm poop.

By the way, did you know that when playing matchbox cars; trucks, motorcycles, and tractors make different noises? If you're playing with little boys it's very important to get that right. You will be corrected!

I know, I know, boys will be boys, but when I tell people the twins were wrestling before they could crawl I get looks that say, "Exaggerating a little aren't ya?" Now I'm not talking Caine and Able. One was pulling the other back in during the delivery. Let's face it, the only birthright they were born into is about three-fitty and a collection of really bad jazz. Sorry, Coop. But it's true, there were several cage matches in their crib.

I always attributed other little boys naughty behavior and bad habits to daycare or older brothers that teach them bad things. I'm more and more convinced now wrestling and bath aversion is innate.

Help me!