Summer is Leaf-ing. Hello, Fall.

Driving by the park last Friday after school pick-ups, I noticed the trees were bare.

Which meant summer is gone. {Sniffle.}

Which meant the leaves were on the ground (because, let’s be honest, the good workers of Huntington certainly aren’t picking them up anytime soon).

Which meant it was time to jump in huge piles of leaves!

Which is exactly what we did on the gorgeous, sunny, 70-degree fall Sunday yesterday!

First, we picked up lots of leaves.

And we kind of played …

… while Daddy did all the work.

But then we all helped. (Well, I took pictures. Somebody has to!)

Piper supervised.

Can we go now?!

Couldn’t wait any longer.

And it continued.

 

 Well, that’s one way to do it.

And then they just got mean.

My poor Daysie girl. She was terrified. She did the Doggy Paddle out of the leaves. (I laughed. Don’t tell her.)

Kids in the leaves…

… leaves in the air …

… leaves in the hair …

… love everywhere.

But not there. (Scrooge of picture-taking.)

 Also, HOW SMALL DOES PIPER LOOK?

Trust me. When she is trying to sit in your lap for some lovin’, she ain’t lookin’ so small.

You’re welcome for 500 pictures of leaves.

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America, America, God Shed His Grace on Thee

I’m so sad this morning. Not angry or bitter or vindictive. Just purely, unequivocally sad.

It seems silly to say out loud, but this uneasiness in the pit of my stomach is so similar to the feeling of losing someone you love. I suppose it isn’t too off base, though. I love my country. I love America. And I’m afraid – actually, quite terrified – that we may have just lost it.

I don’t understand the reasons behind those 60 million votes. I don’t understand how there could be a reason, at all. But here we are.

There are so many things I want to say. On here, to people on Facebook and Twitter, to whoever will listen. I want to list out all of the crazy, illegal things that happened yesterday. I want to tell all of those people that they’re biased, racist and bigots, just like they have done to me.

But it doesn’t matter. It will change nothing.

From here, ironically, I’m going to go Forward. I will do whatever is necessary to keep and protect my family, because they are what matter.

I will do my part as a Christian, and pray for the President, because I do not want him to fail again. He fails, we lose.

Most of all, though, my heart is broken for the next generation. Faith and Christian will never know the America that I knew. I will teach them to love and serve their country, just as I was taught, but I can’t blame them if they don’t understand why.

Fortunately, I know Who is in control, and that eases my heavy heart.

As for my mascara that is now smeared down my face, well, that’s a tragedy in itself.

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Major Photo Dump: Halloween Festivities

If you follow me on Facebook or Twitter, you’ll know that I was seriously stressing out about this Halloween party. (And if you’re not following me, click on the links and DO IT!)

I feel bad for complaining because I know it always comes together nicely in the end, no matter how stressed I get. And this time was no exception.

Christian was uber excited about this party, and even though he told his classmates it was his birthday party, no one showed up with gifts (thank goodness!!). He also wanted to know why I hadn’t decorated the house a week in advance.

Because I ain’t magic, kid. ‘Kay?

With ridiculous help from my Mom & Aunt Tarah, it all worked perfectly.

Here’s some of the decor:

And some of the food:

I’m really upset with myself for not taking a picture of the blood shots because they were a hit. And, I’m not going to lie, they were really awesome. (It was just red jello in a syringe. Minus the needle, of course.)

And some games:

Do you see the confetti busting out of those balloons? Yeah, I’m not smart.

And wrapping people in toilet paper? Always fun.

And the treat bags:

Evan said, “You’re already throwing the party. Why do you have to give them stuff, too?”

Clearly, he doesn’t understand. Again, I didn’t take a picture of the stuff inside, but (toot, toot, goes my own horn) – super cute.

Besides, these kids are too cute to NOT give them stuff:

First guests to arrive:

Christian won the Best Costume for his age group. I know the host isn’t supposed to win, but the kids voted, and, well, he won. What was I to do?

And finally, at the end of the night, we all gathered in the front yard for a little story of spookiness. It was followed by a man on the roof, a chainsaw, tubs of intestines, eyeballs and maggots, a graveyard with a scare and the inevitable piercing screams of 13 children.

Also, I sent a child home that was scared. to. death. And I felt horrible. (Fail award!)

And then everyone went home, and I sat down and thought I might cry from relief. Until we made this video, and then I cried from laughter for the next three days. Not even kidding. (Watch it ’til the end. It’s not that long.)

I get it. We’re horrible. But what is a Halloween Party without a little scare?

And, because you haven’t looked at enough photos yet, here are some other Halloween events…

Pumpkin carving:

And Trick-or-Treat (in November, thanks Hurricane Sandy!):

Holy 1 Billion Photos. I’m so sorry. Except I’m not.

Happy Thank-Goodness-Halloween-Is-Over!

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On Month 10 of Marriage

It’s funny how time changes people. Gray hair, wrinkles, mall-walking. It must be crazy to spend fifty, sixty years with the same person and see all the different stages of their life and how they adapt to each one.

We’ve been married for not quite a year, and – boy – has this man evolved.

Yeah, he gets better looking each year, becomes a bit more compassionate and slower to anger. He’s a better person than who I met five years ago, sure.

But I’m not going there today.

See, five years ago when I met Evan, he was a collar-popping, boat-shoe-wearing, pea-coat kind of guy. He had better style than me.

Okay, that’s not even possible. But whatever.

Dude was preppy business, and it was all I could do not to tie a sweater around my shoulders and invite him to tea at the country club after a leisurely match of tennis.

But in the last 10 months, something happened.

Change.

And not the kind that you get after breaking a twenty on a Chai Tea Latte at Starbucks which you put in a jar on your dresser until it’s full and then you cash it in for a new Burberry scarf for your husband. Why not? BECAUSE HE WON’T WEAR IT.

I am not bitter. Anyway.

Change. It happened. And I blame my brother.

My brother, Jared, is a good ol’ boy from the country, who prefers a freezing cold morning in his treestand over, well, just about anything.

Also, he wears camo.

And while I certainly agree with “to each his own,” I do not feel it applies to my husband.

Especially when camo is involved.

My brother and my husband have been working together for over a year now, and they have influenced each other’s interests, even if unconsciously.

Jared has become more aware of current political happenings. You will now regularly find him in the shop with his earbuds plugged in, listening to Glenn Beck or Rush Limbaugh.

And Evan? Well, he is now a hunter of deer.

Welcome to the family.

I don’t really mind the hunting part because, honestly, I really like deer meat. Unless it’s Bambi, and then my emotional self simply cannot deal with that.

And the camo? I understand it’s necessary to blend in with your surroundings if you want that prized buck.

But this morning, the day after the day that marks our 10 months of marital bliss, I find my husband wearing … sigh … a camouflage sweatshirt. At work. Not in the woods trying to kill a deer that will inevitably be mounted above my fireplace.

If only it stopped there. There are currently bottles of descenting shampoo, conditioner, bodywash and deoderant all over my bathroom.

We are officially redneck.

So, here we are, five years in love, and almost a year into being Mr. & Mrs., and we’re already experiencing change.

I want to hate it. I really do. But even in camo, this guy is smokin’.

Besides, the preppy isn’t completely gone (this was just a few months ago).

So, as long as I’m never asked to put on that horrendous fabric, I think I’m more than okay with being married to a country man.

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