Monday, October 27, 2008

Grey Wolf

I am on fire this morning! I roasted chicken breasts! I made butternut squash soup from scratch! I washed two loads of laundry, including sheets! I went to two grocery stores! I did dishes! I put all my shoes away! I'm on fire, I tell you!! If it wasn't for taking a break to write this, I'd be folding clean laundry right now, but Rome wasn't built in a day. This is, however, Monday, and I can almost assure you that by the end of today I will have blown my wad, and the rest of the week will be a wash out. I'll be scraping by all week on what's in the fridge, and moaning about my lack of enthusiasm. But, Leila will have clean bed linens and that counts for something.
Here's what I was supposed to be doing this morning while I was busy with my incendiary self. Leila wants to be a grey wolf for Halloween. I don't know where this came from, but she's very organized about her Halloween costume choices, not one to change her mind again and again, and some time ago, she settled on a grey wolf, and she's not budging. I got perfect grey wolf fabric, and figured out in my mind how I'm going to transform the fabric, some pipe cleaners and elastic, and an old T-ball sweatshirt into a grey wolf, but I have yet to put my plan into action. I'm afraid to make the first cut, and I'm hung up on making the hood to big. That's where everything comes to a screeching halt for me. I am not by nature a crafty person. I like rules and order and recipes and tasks and steps, and I have to wing this costume. I do own a glue gun, but anyone can have one of those, they're cheap, so even though I have a glue gun, I should not be considered crafty. I've got to pull one out of my hat, though, because Halloween is this Friday and she can't wear my plan, no matter how cool it might be. I don't think I can get away with going trick-or-treating with her on Halloween night, accompanying her to every door while she is wearing jeans and a t-shirt and say, "She's supposed to be a grey wolf, but I couldn't get past the first cut, and can she have candy anyway?"
This afternoon I'm going to do it. I'm going to make her stand there while I pin wolf fabric around her head and figure this thing out. I expect to be flustered. I expect to swear a little bit. I expect to prick myself with needles. I expect to need a drink or two. All that is fine, and I will suffer all the frustration so my baby girl can be a grey wolf, as mystifying as her choice may be to me.
We had a pretty good weekend. Went to a Halloween carnival, had dinner with friends, saw another friend's new puppy, hung out with my parents, had dinner with Rob's brother in the city, it was pretty packed. Packed weekends are better than weekends where there is no plan even though it doesn't seem that way going into it. I always look forward to weekends where we have no plans, and can just hang out, but I'm always disappointed. I always sleep too much, and get grouchy, and we can't ever agree on what to do, so its better when there are plans.
I can't wait until Halloween is over, though, not only because the whole grey wolf thing will be behind me, but because I am totally haunted (get it?) by the mounds of Halloween candy in my house right now. For you moms out there who are popping fun size candy bars like xanax and thinking its no big deal, let me be the bearer of bad tidings when I tell you that there are between 80 and 100 calories in one of those little "fun" size bars of creamy goodness. I am eating them, make no mistake, but I'm still trying to do my 1500 calories-a-day thing (I've lost nine pounds!) so I am dutifully writing them down in my food diary and negotiating my wine ration for more candy bars. God, I love candy. And, like a complete idiot, I bought bags and bags of all the stuff I like. I used to get almond joys because I don't like them, and it did keep me away from the candy bowl, but I'm not sure kids like them either, and I don't want them to egg my house. You have to buy off the little bastards with the good stuff. So, I have butterfinger, twix, payday, skittles and snickers, and they are on my mind day and night. My husband has hidden them in the garage, but if I really wanted to I could sniff them out. Like a bloodhound.
I will now fold laundry, in a feeble attempt to keep my mind of chocolaty deliciousness.

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