Moving Target

I love Halloween — for my kids. I think it’s a kid’s holiday: pretend, dress-up, candy, and fun after dark. I have always enjoyed my children’s excitement about Halloween.

But this year, it’s been a giant pain in my butt. Halloween, that is, not my children’s excitement.

First, I had every intention of constructing my kids’ costumes. I was going to use clothes and crafts materials to build Pokemon costumes for them, Dewott for Flora and Pikachu for Kate. I even got everything I needed — except for time. I mostly blame the bathroom renovation for this. It caused a lot of upheaval in different ways (primarily, of course, by completely disrupting our ability to bathe at home). I have to say, the girls took the news that I wouldn’t be able to make them Pokemon for Halloween extremely well.

Primarily because my husband brought home super hero costumes for them.

Second, actual Trick or Treat has been an issue this year. For the eight years I have lived in my community (and for some years before to my understanding), ToT has been the Thursday before Halloween.

I was totally ready for ToT to be the Thursday before Halloween. I’m so glad I thought to double check the township web site. Because this year they decided Trick or Treat would be on Halloween! Whheeee!

Now, the Thursday before Halloween? October 25? Was gorgeous. About 65 degrees, clear skies, no wind.

Actual Halloween? Long story short: the weather was going to be so inclement because of Superstorm Sandy, they postponed ToT until Saturday. Which, while it will be cold, at least should be dry.

Now, the girls have had Halloween events: the Boo Bash at the school Saturday the 27th, and classroom parties on Halloween, so they will get plenty of wear out of their costumes. As of today, they feel like ToT is never going to be here.

Don’t worry, my super girls. It’ll get here.

And Now for Something Completely Different

So I guess some people got to talking, and it was decided that there would be a big, giant Bitchin’ Bitchfest on the weekend of the Labor Day (for those in the United States it was Labor Day, that is). Here are the details. The upshot is we all need to bitch every now and again, and sometimes we can’t do it in our own space because people we know and love visit. So why not go elsewhere — like a bar to which you’ve never been — and bitch there?

I am hosting Maria from Zanti.

Dear Birthmom–

I want to like you, I really do. I want to not worry that you will be bad for my son. Oh God, do I want to be able to say my son without using a tone that suggests ownership. When I first met Larry, this boy that we share so intimately, he was 7weeks old and still on a regular dose of Morphine. He was a zombie of a baby because you couldn’t be bothered to put him first. I hate that about you–I hate that, in your mind, everyone is a player in the “A” show. This wasn’t your first baby, you saw what your addiction did to your daughter. You were clean when you found out you were pregnant but you chose to go back to using because that’s what felt good to you. Well now we have a little boy, you and I, who is sick a lot of the time. Because his immune system was under attack in your womb he suffers from maddening allergies. They are so bad that before we could pinpoint the allergens we thought he might have cystic fibrosis, he body was so full of mucous that he spent most days crying and every day being pumped full of antibiotics to help ease the infections. He and I have struggle though learning to speak and learning to walk and learning how to keep himself safe. His little body, in your belly, was so wracked with narcotics that he has to fight every day just to function like an average kid.

But I know that underneath of that addiction must lay some sort of illness or trauma that you mask with drugs. I can’t believe that you chose to poison yourself and my son simply because your are selfish.

I gets to me how you have treated me. My skin crawls when I think about your repeated assertions that you are the right person to be raising this little boy. I did not steal your son from you, I fought for two years to make sure that you and birthdad were given every, single chance to get him home with you. I invited birth family to every party we threw, I was available at the drop of a hat for visits (many of which no one could be bothered to attend except for me and a confused little boy). I wanted it to work for you but you couldn’t be bothered.

The only time you managed to get it together enough to show up for one of Larry’s events was his adoption day. HIS BIG DAY. HIS FAMILY’S BIG DAY. You had the audacity to turn the one day that was designed to be about my family and Larry, joining as one, into another act in the “A” show. Ho dare you show up to court and say you don’t approve of his adoption? How dare you take that day away from us? What good did that do you? He was officially part of my family by late the next day and all you managed to do was to hurt me. But that’s what you wanted, I’m sure, one last jab at my heart.

I cry a lot when I think that one day he will really want, and maybe need, to meet you. Because as much as I want to like you, I am having a really hard time. I want him to see you that way that I do, to know that you will lie to him and manipulate him the way you do everyone in your life.

But let me tell you something, Birthmom, I will never tell him anything but that you loved him. I will tell him that you were sick and loved him so much that you chose to let me be his Mommy. I will lie–for you and for him.



Thanks for reading. I’ll forward Maria any comments.